this looks wonderful.”
“Dig in,” she told them and freshened their coffee before turning toward the back behind the counter and calling, “Dave! Did you pay to have the windows repainted? It looks amazing!”
“What’s wrong?” Bartholomew asked.
“You… you changed something about the world—unintentionally. Doesn’t that bother you?”
Bartholomew gnawed on his lip. “It happens sometimes. Intention is only part of it, remember? The elements give direction too. In this case, I was giving a blessing, and the place I was blessing had its own ideas.” He glanced outside with a somber little smile on his face. “If my intention had been at work, the colors would have been much different.” He sobered. “But you’re right. We do have to be careful. If we don’t take intention and direction seriously, you end up with… upside-down starlings and a riot at a sci-fi convention. I need to figure out how to fix that.”
“But wasn’t it all of you?” Lachlan asked.
“The starlings, yes,” Bartholomew said, eyes still outside. “The riot? Mm—pretty sure that was all me.”
“Mm.” He’d said something like that earlier. And Lachlan remembered that half-despairing look Jordan had given him when Bartholomew had whispered in his ear. “Are you ever going to tell me?”
“I think I have to,” Bartholomew said unhappily, turning back to his plate. “But we need to eat first before the eggs get cold.”
Lachlan would have let Bartholomew change the subject, but he saw Bartholomew’s eyes go distant and thoughtful, and for once didn’t try to fill in the silence. They sat there quietly, invested in their food, until Bartholomew pushed back his plate and sighed.
“You didn’t eat much,” Lachlan remarked. “I thought you said you were hungry.”
Bartholomew shrugged. “I’m not that big a guy. Small guy, small meal.”
Lachlan took his plate and started cutting up the steak. “It looked like you were thinking too hard to actually eat.”
Not quite a smile this time. “That too. Is there a supermarket we can visit before we get to your place? I have an idea.”
Lachlan took a bite of Bartholomew’s steak and closed his eyes, because it was just as good as his had been, and that was saying something.
“Yeah. You going to tell me what we need?”
Bartholomew went to chew his lip again, but Lachlan reached across the table and stroked it gently with his thumb. “Stop,” he said, voice soft. “You’re going to make it bleed.”
Bartholomew licked it quickly, eyes going wide when he caught Lachlan’s thumb. Lachlan felt a slow smile stretch his own cheeks.
“You have plans?” he asked. “For when we get to my place?”
Bartholomew nodded, tongue sneaking out to catch Lachlan’s thumb again. Lachlan felt a shiver of want pass through him, as strong as it was welcome.
“Think we might spare a little time for ourselves?” Lachlan chided, “Nah, nah, nah—no chewing.” This time he popped his thumb right into Bartholomew’s mouth, and he… oh yeah. Bartholomew pulled it farther into his mouth and sucked on it, scraping it with those slightly crooked teeth when Lachlan pulled it out.
“Okay,” Bartholomew said, and he was sober too, his green eyes wide and intent. “I may need your help, though. See, the thing is, I wanted to make amulets. I’ve got the rest of Ellen’s yarn in my pocket, and if I can buy some herbs and flowers at the grocery store, and maybe a little bit of oil at the pharmacy, I can make a potion to soak them in. That way, after Jordan and I figure out what we need to do tonight, I can give everybody pendants of protection for whatever comes our way.”
“What did you have in mind?” Lachlan asked.
“Discs,” Bartholomew said promptly. “If you can cut a dowel into little slices, I can use a Sharpie—”
“Stop!” Lachlan complained. “You are hurting my ears. Oh my God. Tell me what you want on them—I’ve got a wood burner and a sander and stencils—just don’t insult my craft, okay?”
Bartholomew gave him one of those shy smiles again, the kind that said he wasn’t used to asking for help, like that was a big surprise. “Thank you, Lachlan. I would love it if you donated your craft to this. I was looking for practical, and you’ll make it special. That will be wonderful.”
Lachlan couldn’t help it. He’d already been crushing, but every time Bartholomew opened his mouth and said something lovely like that, something sincere and well meant, Lachlan’s heart melted to a gooey puddle. At this point, Bartholomew was taking up a man-sized soft spot in