Oracle's Moon (Elder Races #4)(54)

Brandon was the first to arrive. He was a stocky man with pale blue eyes that seemed to weigh everything. Grace didn’t especially care for the sensation. It left her feeling like he was judging her and found her lacking. That feeling intensified in their first conversation that morning.

“We only have twelve people coming from a smattering of local covens,” Brandon said. “Not the eighteen we’d originally thought. Apparently there’s a rumor going around that you’ve had a Djinn hanging around.” He studied her coolly. “He isn’t here now, is he?”

Taken aback, Grace muttered, “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, he’s not. I can’t believe six people canceled because of that.”

Brandon shot her a sidelong glance. “Djinn are Powerful and unpredictable. They make folks nervous.”

“Folks need to get over it,” she snapped.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Her ready temper flared, but before she could say something she might possibly regret later, Brandon asked her for a list of projects. Since he was about to spend the day working on her property, she decided it was probably best to just let the subject drop. For now.

It was the height of summer, and everything was overgrown. She hadn’t had the time or the energy to keep up the fenced-in backyard. As a result, the yard was too unkempt to take the children out to play. The main issues, she told Brandon, were mowing the property (not an insignificant task, since it took a good ten hours for a single person to sweep through the open areas on a riding mower), moving a dresser downstairs to the office, and getting the backyard in shape so she could take the children out to play.

She said, “We used to keep more of the property mown, but right now I’ll be grateful to have the area around the house, the main path to the back, and the grass by the driveway cut down.”

He nodded as he listened. He had turned his attention to studying the house. “A couple of the guys are bringing their riding mowers,” he said. “We can get the whole property done this time around.” He pointed at the roof. “Got some tiles missing. That roof won’t make it through the winter.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I know.”

That earned her another assessing glance. “Well,” Brandon said after a moment. “Winter’s several months away yet.”

Then a couple of cars turned into the driveway, and the work day began.

It was a sticky, sweltering, tiring and sometimes strained day. Several of the witches would barely speak to her. One or two others treated her with a smooth, smiling courtesy that seemed even worse. Her Power bristled, as it had when she had explored trying to sell part of the riverfront, but just as it did not pay the monthly bills, it also didn’t mow the lawn, so she shoved it aside irritably. For some reason the ghosts in the house were agitated too, which added to the undercurrent of tension, although Grace was fairly certain she was the only one who could sense them.

She was grateful to see someone she really liked, a quiet witch in her thirties named Olivia, who worked as a reference librarian for the Ex Libris Library in Louisville. Ex Libris was the major repository in the United States for resource materials on or about humankind’s witchcraft, Power and magic systems. The library also had one of the largest collections worldwide. Olivia belonged to a coven of professional academics, teachers, professors and other librarians.

Olivia gave Grace a genuine smile in greeting. Grace found herself gravitating toward the librarian as the day went on.

Once tasks were allocated, people dispersed and got busy, and the underlying tensions dissolved somewhat. Grace was constantly being pulled from one question to another. Which dresser did she want brought downstairs? Where did she want it put in the office? Did she want all the clothes that were in the dresser brought down too, or did she want them left upstairs? Did she care if the rosebushes out front were trimmed, and would she like them watered? Did she know there was a hole in the backyard fence? The hole would need to be repaired before she took the children out to play again. Would she like that done today?

Then late morning, as Grace and Olivia arranged the lunch on the table, the house phone rang. Grace picked it up.

The caller was Brandon on his cell phone, from the back meadow. Cell phones didn’t work on the property very well, so their connection was spotty, but he managed to ask Grace to come to the back to give the men some advice. “If it isn’t too much trouble,” he said through the crackle. “We were hoping you and Olivia might bring some iced tea too.”

“Sure,” she said, looking at the full, heavy pitcher and glasses with resignation. She hung up and told Olivia, “I’ve got to go to the back meadow. Would you mind helping me carry drinks back for the guys?”

“Of course,” Olivia said. She surveyed the table. “We’re done here anyway. People can help themselves to lunch whenever they’re hungry.”

They collected everything. Olivia grabbed the full gallon of iced tea before Grace could. She didn’t say anything, just picked up the glasses, and they headed out. “I have to admit,” Grace said. “I’m relieved to get away from everybody else for a few minutes.”

“They’re a charming lot this morning, aren’t they?” Olivia said, snorting with scorn.

Grace darted a glance at her. The librarian’s short chestnut hair gleamed with honey highlights in the sun, and her gray eyes were vivid with intelligence. Olivia had a quiet Power that ran deep; she worked daily with books and resources of Power, so she must be proficient at her craft. Usually witch librarians were symbologists who could read, control and infuse words and images with Power.