Witch In Charge - Celia Kyle Page 0,33

all about it. She’s late because she was trying to help me. It’s one thing to be a stickler for rules, but if you don’t make allowances when necessary, then you’re a tyrant. And, after all the efforts this young woman made for me tonight, I’d say she deserves more than a little allowance.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes, it is. Kelly respects you more than anyone I can think of.”

“And how exactly do you know that?” Owyn asked, an eyebrow cocked.

“Because,” Ronun shot back, a warm humor creeping into his voice, “she was only one minute late instead of thirty.”

Her jaw dropped. She knew she was famous for being behind, but to hear herself anatomized as if she wasn’t in the room was something else again.

Then something strange happened. Owyn laughed. It wasn’t loud, boisterous or long, but it was thick with appreciation. All the tension in the room subsided.

“I suppose that’s true. Well, Miss Holloway, now that you’re here, let’s get to work, shall we?”

The venerable man turned his back on them both, giving Kelly a chance to steal a glance at Ronun. He shot her a wink as he ducked back through the doorway.

It all seemed unreal. Her stickler of an employer had laughed and the dour gargoyle had winked. The latter might have been the more miraculous. Was it possible they were becoming…friends? After their conversation, and his leaping to her defense, the conclusion seemed inevitable. Who’da thunk it?

As she stood rapt in the wonder of it, the sizzling memory of their kiss tingled back over her. Yeah, friends was good and all, but friends with benefits was better. Now how in the hell was she gonna make that happen?

Thirteen

The notion of actually studying in any room at Othercross University came to Kelly as a kind of revelation. For her, those reverent halls had always been more often a place for her to crack up her friends or flirt with boys. Occasionally stealing one or the other into some dark corner to push the chosen activity even further.

Every classroom was her playground. She never really saw herself as a student so much as a fun and sexy raconteur. But now that she actually cared about someone who was suffering under a curse? Well, her studious side came roaring to life.

Straightening her imaginary glasses, she leaned hard over her desk to get a better look at the document before her. Well, not really her desk. More like a corner of a desk that had been allocated to her. Shortly after her arrival in his department, Owyn had grudgingly cleared his own work away from a meager patch of tabletop and scooted up a chair.

As if her mind wasn’t cluttered enough already, the looming stacks of books, paperwork, bowls, jars, leaflets, scrolls, parchments, and the odd scrap of papyrus threatened to distract her every moment.

One chipped, yellowed edge drew her attention more than the rest. As much as she tried to focus on the work in front of her, the antique patina of it called to her with an irresistible yearning. She could just discern the outline of a foot, surrounded by a thousand tiny hatches and shapes.

What is that? Egyptian hieroglyphics? Don’t be stupid. Ancient Greek?

The book she was supposed to be poring over didn’t stand a chance. That was in a language she knew inside and out—and there weren’t even any pictures! Besides, it was open and available to her, and nothing fired Kelly’s curiosity as much as something half-obscured.

“Mr. Stahagan?”

“Hmmph?”

Bent on pursuits of his own, he was clearly in no mood to be bothered. She kept her tone cautious, but she was not to be denied.

“What's that?”

“What's what?”

He didn’t even look up.

“This.”

She leaned over, and lifted the stack just enough to tug lightly at the brittle corner. Only when a carefully organized shambles of documents threatened to tumble over did the old man turn his jowly face to her.

“Careful,” he said, clambering up from his seat and arriving at her side just in time to prevent a stationery disaster. “Let me see,” he said with a sigh.

As he lifted the upper half of the stack, Kelly slid an ornately scribbled fragment out into the open. As it came to rest before her, Kelly marveled at it. Surely this must belong in a museum, not lost in the scramble of a government employee’s desk.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, suddenly afraid to touch the object of her curiosity.

“Language,” he said with quiet imperiousness. “Never in front of the documents.”

“Sorry.” The