Mine to Fear (Mine #3)(16)
Once everything is securely in place, I release the spell. Its colors die off, hopefully ready to activate when needed. That's should do—
“What are you doing under there?” An all too familiar voice booms, making me jerk upright and hit my head on the underside of the table.
“Ow.” Pain throbs through my forehead.
“Oh, it's you,” Jack says.
With each word, my head pounds more. Not only do I wish he'd never entered the room and almost caught me doing something that would get me, at best, killed, but now I wish he'd just go away so the stabbing sensation wouldn't be as bad.
“Yes, it's me,” I say as I scoot out from under the table. “At least, what's left of me after you startled me into smacking my forehead. What made you think it'd be a good idea to scare me while I'm trying to get the cleaning done?”
“You're cleaning?” One of his eyebrows raises like he doesn't believe me. Given the nature of what I was doing, I can't blame him. I do anyway. Brute.
“Yes, I'm cleaning. Don't you know there's a council meeting tomorrow?”
“Everyone is aware.”
“Well then, why were you yelling at me while I was trying to clean?”
“Because climbing under the table isn't necessary to clean well. Is this some strange ritual that takes place in Envadi culture?”
Strange Envadi ritual indeed. He probably hates warm milk, too. “Don't you ever clean the floors under there? And the…” I struggle to think of a legitimate reason why I'd be down here on the floor. “…chairs? Look at the seats and legs of these things. There's an alarming amount of grime.”
His eyes narrow. Definitely not buying my story. But my spell isn't active yet and won't be until Zade's voice sets it off, so barring that, it's not like he can find anything wrong.
To prove my story, I lean back down and rub my cloth from cleaning the windows down the legs of the closest chair. It actually is kind of gross this close up. Not awful, but like no one's really thought of this task before. Still, as I move to the next leg, it feels rather inane, but I don't stop. The carving parts where there's more of a crevice in the chair have the most amount of dust, which takes the most work to clean out. I push harder at slipping my rag into each one like these chairs really need to be shiny for tomorrow. The whole time I'm focusing in on him while he looks at the chair, trying to gauge his reaction. Wondering if he believes my story.
It doesn't take long to forget about him as I come to a crevice that's particularity deep. When I finally get it clean, I realize I forgot to keep track of him and glance up. He rolls his eyes.
There. He's bought my story, even if it meant making a fool of myself; it's nothing new where he's concerned. Without another word, he strides from the room. I won't miss him when it comes time to leave and find a place I can help more. Too bad it's not today. Even more unfortunate now, I have to scrub all these chairs. All fifteen of them. That's a lot of chair legs. What a foolish way to spend my afternoon. Tomorrow had better be worth it.
I'm just finishing the first chair when Jack comes striding back in the room. What trouble is he going to cause now? Except he doesn't say a word, or even look at me. He sits on the floor next to me, pulls out a cloth, and starts wiping down the chair.
Is this guy for real? Does he want to help get these clean or is this a way of keeping an eye on me? It has to be the latter. There's no other reason someone like him could possibly have for doing otherwise.
I move on to the next chair on the other side, working on cleaning out each crack. It's mind-numbing work that leaves room for thought, but instead my mind clears, making way for just the movement to lull me in a sort of peace I haven't felt for a long while.
Time quickly passes as we work, and we continue to move away from each other until we're half way through and we start moving toward one another. By the time I get to the last chair, my arms ache. While I'm working on the front legs, Jack takes the back until we're both through.
I drag myself to a standing position and stretch my arms far above my head and then behind my back. It feels good to move about after being cramped on the floor so long. And it would have been longer if it wasn't for Jack. Grudgingly I say, “Thank you—”
“Don't bother,” he interrupts. “If I hadn't helped, you would have still been here when the warlocks arrived to secure it for the meeting, which would cause problems and delays.”
Meaning, I cause problems and delays, but it answers why he helped. At least he doesn't suspect me of something.
“And if they find anything,” he eyes the table where I left the spell, “you can be assured they will know who did it.”
Or not. “I'm sure they'll do an excellent job.”
He glares me down as if that will somehow make me stop talking. “You need to lower your face to me.”
These warlocks really have no clue how to treat a female. I laugh even though I feel more like slapping him. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“Because you are a woman.”
“I most definitely am.” I make certain to look him right in the eyes, letting all the fierceness boiling within me shine through them. “And you sir, are a man with very poor manners.”
I turn away, but before I'm able to escape past him entirely, he has the gall to say, “We run a better house than this. You will follow Chardonian rules while you're here. Learn them and don't dawdle again. If you're faced with a task that time-consuming, request help.”