Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(61)
“It’s a tux,” Quinn mused. His night vision was no doubt a hell of a lot better than mine. “Huh. He doesn’t really seem like a tux kind of guy.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s for my dad’s sixtieth birthday party,” I explained. “My mom had the bizarre idea that black tie would be fun. So now all the Luther Shoes employees who are going have to run out and rent tuxedos, the poor bastards.”
Quinn’s mouth quirked. “I take it you’re not a fan of formalwear.”
“I’m a fan of comfort, durability, and movement,” I said archly. “Not sequins.”
“But you’re going to the ball anyway?”
“I have to.” My mom was going all-out for this stupid thing, even though my dad, as a general rule, didn’t like fuss. When I’d suggested that I would be better off manning the kids’ room— most parties have a kids’ table, but in this case Mom had actually hired a nanny service to take care of the guests’ kids so everyone could enjoy the party—she’d put her foot down and said I was to be charming, polite, and engaged. Apparently I had used up all the sympathy points I’d had left over from my multiple stab wounds. “And don’t call it a ball. It’s a friggin’ birthday party.”
“Where is it?”
I flushed and muttered, “The Glenn Miller Ballroom.”
Quinn’s face broke out into a grin, and I swatted him.
Chapter 26
The next day was a cool, overcast Friday, and Simon came over in the early afternoon so we could do my magic lesson before I had to go babysit Charlie. The dogs announced his presence at one o’clock, and I went outside to meet him, figuring I could avoid his having to deal with the herd. When I stepped out, though, Simon was already halfway to the front door. He usually wore khakis or jeans and a button-down shirt to our practices, the kind of outfit a young professor would wear to class, but today he had on threadbare green cargo pants and a quilted vest over a long-sleeved hoodie with paint on the sleeves. I was immediately suspicious, especially when I noticed that his outfit included a pair of galoshes.
“Simon?” I said warily. “Why are you wearing that?” As I stepped off the porch, I caught sight of his station wagon in the driveway. “And why is there a goddamned canoe tied to the top of your car?”
“We’re going to canoe out into the lake,” he said, his voice obnoxiously cheerful, “to see if you can sense life underwater.”
I glared at him. I don’t like large bodies of water. Oh, I’m fine in bathtubs and the occasional swimming pool, but anytime there’s wild, natural water under me, I have a tendency to freak out. Let’s just say there was a reason I joined the army instead of the navy.
My dislike of water extends to a serious discomfort with boating, since I actually fell out of a boat the first time I died. “Not a chance,” I informed him, folding my arms across my chest.
“Look, you need a new location, Lex,” he argued. “We’ve been doing the woods for weeks, and it’s too easy for you now. It’s time for a new challenge.”
“Yeah, your lips are moving, but all I hear is ‘Lex, I want to do an experiment on you,’” I grumbled, not moving an inch toward the boat. “I’m a boundary witch, Simon, not a magical guinea pig.”
“It’s not that, I promise,” he cajoled. “But I know Lily’s been helping you work on controlling your emotions. And fear is a really strong emotion. You need to learn how to focus despite it.”
Shit. I really wished that wasn’t such a good argument. But when I was in the army, we rarely dealt with one problem at a time under ideal conditions. Instead, my unit was usually facing several different obstacles at once, in 110-degree heat. And the army trained us with that in mind. I had to admit, this didn’t seem much different—if I ever did get into a situation where I would need to use magic to protect Charlie, I would probably be terrified.
So I went and got my own galoshes, muttering under my breath about mad scientists, and begrudgingly got into the car.
I guided Simon down the scrubby access road toward what Sam and I used to fondly refer to as “the lake.” I’m still not sure if it had an actual name, or if it was just considered an offshoot of the nearby Sawhill Ponds. It was a tiny, green patch of water—Sam and I could swim across it by the time we were ten—and when we were kids, my dad and some of the neighbors had pitched in to stock it with fish. Then my dad got too busy with Luther Shoes to fish much, and I hadn’t been to the lake in years. For obvious reasons.
It was just as I remembered—green water, tiny rocky beach. If anything, it seemed even smaller. But it suddenly struck me as menacing. When Simon opened up the back of the station wagon, I grabbed myself a life jacket, tugging the straps and snapping the buckles very carefully. I looked up when he laughed. “Jeez, Lex, you look like you’re preparing for the firing squad. I promise we’ll stay shallow. And look, the lake is calm.”
I eyed the murky water, which seemed menacing against the overcast skies. It was true that it wasn’t moving much—the breeze wasn’t nearly strong enough to create anything approaching waves—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the water was my enemy. What bothered me was that I couldn’t see what was going on underneath the surface. Admittedly, I probably wouldn’t run into a whirlpool here, but there could be giant rocks or long tendrils of seaweed just waiting to latch onto us and trap us underwater.