Spellcaster
Page 56
“Say the word. Anything I can do for you, Nadia, I’ll do. And I know what’s at stake, you know? I know what Elizabeth can do. I’m not afraid. I’m with you, no matter what.”
As they looked into each other’s eyes, Nadia found herself remembering what they said about a Steadfast—that the power she gave to a witch was in proportion to the potential for trust between the two. The potential for understanding, and for love.
14
“NADIA?”
“Hmmm?” She kept staring out of the living room window, where the sky was darkest. That was the east, the direction of the ocean. All Nadia could see was the image of her and Mateo together, surrounded by sea spray, with the power of that magic coursing through her—and the look of wonder in his eyes—
“Earth to Nadia.”
Startled, Nadia turned to see her father giving her a look. “Sorry. I kinda zoned out there.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with being on Cole Patrol tonight? You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
“Of course I’m okay with it. That’s my job, right?” Okay, it was past time to get her head out of the clouds. She and Mateo could explore anything—everything—tomorrow and all the days after that.
“Hey.” Her father took a seat next to her on the sofa. Already he was in work mode—the pen tucked behind one ear was a sure sign—but his expression was worried. “It’s not your job. You’re not the nanny. If you have homework, or you and Verlaine were going to do something—”
“I don’t, and we weren’t. Seriously, Dad, your case is coming up. Go do your lawyer thing. I’ve got Cole.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Nadia knew she ought to be grateful he was so worried. Lots of parents dumped stuff on their kids without even asking. But honestly, it was almost irritating. Dad knew she helped out, knew she wanted to do it, so why did he keep being so careful with her? It was like he wanted to make himself feel better about it or something.
Luckily, Cole was having a good night. All he wanted to do was watch Toy Story 3 for about the zillionth time.
“I hate that bear,” Nadia said as she lay on the sofa, watching Cole munch on Cheetos. She’d be scrubbing orange gunk out from under his fingernails.
Cole nodded. “Lots-o is a douche bag.”
“Cole!” It was hard to sound all strict when she was trying not to laugh. “Don’t use that word!”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s bad enough. Did you hear that at school?”
Cole nodded. He looked crushed, poor little guy. “That’s what Levi calls our PE teacher.”
“Well, don’t you call him that. Or anybody else.” Nadia was already on the verge of cracking up. “Um, you want some ginger ale?”
“Okay. But—Lots-o is one, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. You can think it. Just don’t say it. That bear’s a—let’s call him a jerk.”
Nadia made it into the hallway before she started giggling. Somebody ought to hear that story. Maybe she could text that to Mateo? It was as good an excuse as any—though she didn’t really need an excuse to reach out to him anymore, did she? But her phone was nearly dead.
So on her way to the kitchen, she stepped into Dad’s cluttered cubby of a home office. He wasn’t in it; instead he was pacing the length of the backyard, over and over, while he talked with his client on the phone, prepping him for a deposition. Dad could never talk on the phone without having at least fifteen feet of walking space. She could barely hear him outside the window, going on about a “hostile work environment” or something like that. Nadia leaned over his desk to plug her phone into the charging station—ten minutes would give her enough juice for the rest of the night—
—and saw, hovering on his laptop screen, an email from William Kamler.
Aka, her mother’s divorce lawyer.
This was snooping. Definitely. Which didn’t make Nadia even hesitate before reading it all:
Mr. Caldani—
I have communicated your thoughts about visitation to your ex-wife. However, she remains adamant a meeting with the children is not advisable at this time. You point out, correctly, that this goes against the recommendations of the court-appointed psychologist; however, parental visitation can never be forced by any legal order. Ultimately, only Mrs. Caldani can decide when or if she will choose to contact her children again, or allow them to initiate contact with her. Although I am sympathetic to your feelings as a father, my legal duty is to protect my client’s personal—
The screen saver came on, blurring the page into blackness, then replacing it with a weird multicolored swirl that bounced around the screen.
Nadia couldn’t seem to move. Her gut had turned as cold and heavy as stone.
She’d given her father crap about how he wasn’t the person she needed to talk to. But she hadn’t realized Dad was practically begging Mom to see her and Cole, or at least call or email once in a while. Even that didn’t change anything.
Her hands shaking, Nadia went to the kitchen and poured Cole his ginger ale, then went back into the living room with a smile plastered onto her face. “Here you go, sweetie.”
“Sweetie?” Cole wrinkled his nose. “I’m not a sweetie. How come you’re talking all weird?”
She curled back onto the sofa and drew her knees up to her chest. If she hugged them against her tightly enough, it made her feel less sick inside. “No reason.”
As they looked into each other’s eyes, Nadia found herself remembering what they said about a Steadfast—that the power she gave to a witch was in proportion to the potential for trust between the two. The potential for understanding, and for love.
14
“NADIA?”
“Hmmm?” She kept staring out of the living room window, where the sky was darkest. That was the east, the direction of the ocean. All Nadia could see was the image of her and Mateo together, surrounded by sea spray, with the power of that magic coursing through her—and the look of wonder in his eyes—
“Earth to Nadia.”
Startled, Nadia turned to see her father giving her a look. “Sorry. I kinda zoned out there.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with being on Cole Patrol tonight? You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
“Of course I’m okay with it. That’s my job, right?” Okay, it was past time to get her head out of the clouds. She and Mateo could explore anything—everything—tomorrow and all the days after that.
“Hey.” Her father took a seat next to her on the sofa. Already he was in work mode—the pen tucked behind one ear was a sure sign—but his expression was worried. “It’s not your job. You’re not the nanny. If you have homework, or you and Verlaine were going to do something—”
“I don’t, and we weren’t. Seriously, Dad, your case is coming up. Go do your lawyer thing. I’ve got Cole.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Nadia knew she ought to be grateful he was so worried. Lots of parents dumped stuff on their kids without even asking. But honestly, it was almost irritating. Dad knew she helped out, knew she wanted to do it, so why did he keep being so careful with her? It was like he wanted to make himself feel better about it or something.
Luckily, Cole was having a good night. All he wanted to do was watch Toy Story 3 for about the zillionth time.
“I hate that bear,” Nadia said as she lay on the sofa, watching Cole munch on Cheetos. She’d be scrubbing orange gunk out from under his fingernails.
Cole nodded. “Lots-o is a douche bag.”
“Cole!” It was hard to sound all strict when she was trying not to laugh. “Don’t use that word!”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s bad enough. Did you hear that at school?”
Cole nodded. He looked crushed, poor little guy. “That’s what Levi calls our PE teacher.”
“Well, don’t you call him that. Or anybody else.” Nadia was already on the verge of cracking up. “Um, you want some ginger ale?”
“Okay. But—Lots-o is one, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. You can think it. Just don’t say it. That bear’s a—let’s call him a jerk.”
Nadia made it into the hallway before she started giggling. Somebody ought to hear that story. Maybe she could text that to Mateo? It was as good an excuse as any—though she didn’t really need an excuse to reach out to him anymore, did she? But her phone was nearly dead.
So on her way to the kitchen, she stepped into Dad’s cluttered cubby of a home office. He wasn’t in it; instead he was pacing the length of the backyard, over and over, while he talked with his client on the phone, prepping him for a deposition. Dad could never talk on the phone without having at least fifteen feet of walking space. She could barely hear him outside the window, going on about a “hostile work environment” or something like that. Nadia leaned over his desk to plug her phone into the charging station—ten minutes would give her enough juice for the rest of the night—
—and saw, hovering on his laptop screen, an email from William Kamler.
Aka, her mother’s divorce lawyer.
This was snooping. Definitely. Which didn’t make Nadia even hesitate before reading it all:
Mr. Caldani—
I have communicated your thoughts about visitation to your ex-wife. However, she remains adamant a meeting with the children is not advisable at this time. You point out, correctly, that this goes against the recommendations of the court-appointed psychologist; however, parental visitation can never be forced by any legal order. Ultimately, only Mrs. Caldani can decide when or if she will choose to contact her children again, or allow them to initiate contact with her. Although I am sympathetic to your feelings as a father, my legal duty is to protect my client’s personal—
The screen saver came on, blurring the page into blackness, then replacing it with a weird multicolored swirl that bounced around the screen.
Nadia couldn’t seem to move. Her gut had turned as cold and heavy as stone.
She’d given her father crap about how he wasn’t the person she needed to talk to. But she hadn’t realized Dad was practically begging Mom to see her and Cole, or at least call or email once in a while. Even that didn’t change anything.
Her hands shaking, Nadia went to the kitchen and poured Cole his ginger ale, then went back into the living room with a smile plastered onto her face. “Here you go, sweetie.”
“Sweetie?” Cole wrinkled his nose. “I’m not a sweetie. How come you’re talking all weird?”
She curled back onto the sofa and drew her knees up to her chest. If she hugged them against her tightly enough, it made her feel less sick inside. “No reason.”
