CHAPTER Ten HARM
As the days passed, the demon and the witch fell into a routine. He tried to aggravate her to the point where she’d throw up her hands and release him from the contract because she’d be glad to be rid of him. She tried to ignore his barbs, getting more frustrated that he wasn’t growing the least pliable.
Deliverance sat at the table, saying as little as possible while Sixt ate dinner. She attempted to keep up a one-sided conversation, telling him all about her day at work. Then they adjourned to her cozy sitting room where they watched TV.
Since he wouldn’t admit to liking anything and refused to respond when she inquired as to whether he’d like to watch this or that, she began provoking him by deliberately going out of her way to choose movies that were well known for being hated by men. He sat. He watched, but never gave an indication how he felt about her choices.
He entered into a grudging one-sided truce with the cat. He learned to tolerate Ashes. She, on the other hand, decided the demon was cat-worthy and availed herself of every opportunity to jump on his lap. It happened so regularly when he used the computer in Sixt’s office that he’d stopped shoving her away. He allowed the cat to curl up, purr, and make bread on his doeskin-clad thighs.
Occasionally he even talked to it, knowing that, should that information ever get out, his humiliation would be complete. He knew Ashes wasn’t an ordinary cat, but she seemed content to pretend and demons are very tolerant about creatures keeping secrets.
Deliverance was rapidly rediscovering things about himself that had been lost to him. For instance, he’d forgotten the simple pleasure of being.
Just being.
Sitting still and needing nothing.
Doing nothing.
He’d forgotten that he liked to read and listen to music. He even liked a trickster version of chess, the kind of wargame where the only rule is win. He began to play regularly with a firemander named Mercury in Eruptian dimension.
And wine. Though he didn’t need to eat or drink, he found that he liked wine. He’d never had a reason to sit for dinner on a regular basis. Watching Sixt enjoy wine with dinner every night gradually began to reshape his perspective.
One might say it was consciousness-raising. He liked the way it looked, the way it smelled, the way it was inextricably tied to romanticism. His daughter was a vintner and, of course, he’d had Black Swan wine, but there’s no rest or pleasure for addicts, only a compulsion to look for the next fix. While he’d been in that state, true enjoyment of anything was an impossibility.
The problem with reconnecting with simple pleasures was that the realization of what he’d missed, for centuries, made his blood boil like he had fire in his veins. Which he did, actually, but it was usually more… dormant.
The night he confronted the biggest wrong done him by the witch he felt his anger erupt into rage like the eruption of a volcano. He realized that his Rosie, Litha’s mother, had taken her life because Deliverance couldn’t control his constant and insatiable need to copulate. When he drew a line to the cause of Rosie Pottinger’s death, he found the witch, Sixt. If she’d never cursed Deliverance, he would have mated with Rosie and extended her life so that she’d be alive that very day. They would have raised their daughter together. Perhaps had other offspring.
In his mind, the witch, Sixt, became a villain so complete he saw a red haze whenever he thought of her. He seriously contemplated ending the contract and the curse by simply eliminating the witch. He might have followed through except for deciding that execution would be far too merciful.
Deliverance had served a few weeks of what he thought of as his ‘sentence’, when the witch’s brother, Harm, showed up. The demon thought it was a passably good name for a warlock.
Warlock was not an official term for male witch, but after first being misunderstood, it made its way into popular culture in the twentieth century and stuck. Right or wrong, male witches had become warlocks.
Sixt’s family had chosen to cross beyond the veil, all except for one of her brothers. Like Sixt, he’d found reasons to stay young. And alive.
His name was originally Hans, but it had changed many times. He’d flitted from one interest to another. Like Sixt, he’d moved on before anyone noticed his perpetual youth. For a time he’d kept company with the young offspring of noblemen and kings. He’d indulged in the decadent behaviors of narcissists and the idle rich until eventually boredom overtook him.
He’d accumulated enough money to patronize inventors. It was a good use of wealth, not just from the perspective of investment, but also because he enjoyed keeping company with sharp minds and driven personalities. He was thus occupied with the rapid development of machines throughout the industrial revolution, the age of the atomic bomb, and the technical revolution.
In the sixties he bought a Greek island. It was as beautiful as it was impractical. Every night he’d go to bed thinking that perhaps the next day he’d be ready to move on to the next experience and shed the body that had served him well in every way. But the next morning he’d arise and walk directly from his bed onto the stone terrace that adjoined his rooms. The juxtaposition of the profusely blooming red bougainvillea trailing from white marble urns against the backdrop of the Mediterranean’s deep azure blue informed him that he was not yet prepared to give up the exquisite experience that was life on this plane.
Every decade Hans, by whatever name he was using at the moment, would hire an attorney who was sworn to loyalty by both profession and a very specific gag spell developed by Hans himself. Hans would travel to some obscure location for a couple of weeks while the staff turned over.
The solicitor would hire people from the other side of the world, enticing them with a too-much-money-to-refuse ten-year contract, and when Hans returned to his island, every position in the household was filled with someone new and eager to please. Usually people who spoke Spanish because it was less likely they’d carry on a conversation with the occasional Greek fisherman or tourist who drifted near the island.
He even had a handyman who could also function as plumber and electrician.
There was, of course, a property manager who spoke Greek and was capable of managing food delivery or replacing appliances when necessary. There was no concern about loose lips, because the property manager, who might have been called a butler in other times, was the recipient of the same gag spell as the lawyer.
It was lonely, but productive, because Hans had used the time to hone his craft and become powerful, perhaps more so than any warlock who’d lived before.
Through it all, he’d never been in danger of discovery. Until the age of satellite. Even that wasn’t much of a challenge. He simply spelled the island to appear uninhabited to aircraft, satellite, drone, or anything that passed overhead.
Hans reached critical boredom just about the same time that he realized he wanted to see his sister. He called Sixt to say he was coming from the sidewalk outside her building, where entrance was delayed pending her okay to the doorman.
She was waiting in the hallway when the elevator doors opened and threw herself into his arms when he stepped off, making him take a stumbling step back and wish he’d come to see her even sooner.
As they stepped inside her penthouse, Hans looked at Deliverance with curiosity.
Sixt said, “This is my brother…”
“Harm.” He stuck his hand out.
Deliverance hesitated for a minute before deciding that he didn’t want to punish Sixt through her brother. He shook hands.
Sixt’s eyes had widened when her brother had announced his name was ‘Harm’. For obvious reasons, the principal credo of witches was keep a low profile. In answer to the claim that ‘nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition’, witches would say it was always on their mind.
With his good looks and show-stopping smile, keeping a low profile was a challenge for Hans to begin with. But the addition of a name like ‘Harm’ was, well, curious.
“Harm? Really?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s a new age.”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong, brother. The outer trappings are new.” She waved her hand at the view out the window. “Skyscrapers, drones, internet, cars that drive themselves. Da. Da. Da. People are just the same.”
He flashed a blinding grin. “Good thing we aren’t people.”
Deliverance looked at Harm like he was infectious bacteria rapidly multiplying. And he was definitely not interested in family reunions. “May I be excused?” he asked, words dripping with venom.
Sixt sighed and waved her hand. Deliverance disappeared.
“Am I interrupting something?” Harm looked at Sixt as if expecting an explanation.
“As a matter of fact, now is probably not the best time.”
Recognition lit up Harm’s face. “Hold. The. Newsflash. That’s not that demon you were pining for…” The way Sixt jerked her chin up and fixed him with a glare caused him to rethink finishing that sentence. “Okay, then. Your business.”
“That’s right. Just like I don’t meddle in your business. But for the record, I was never pining for the demon. I just had unfinished business with him.”
“Oh. Right.” His tone changed. “You worried about being hunted?”
“Always.”
“Why? Looks like you’re…” He looked around at the penthouse office. “Fortified.”
“And connected to judges, congressmen, even movie makers.”
“Movies?”
She canted her head. “Cultures are shaped by their stories. Right? You know this.” She motioned him to walk with her toward the kitchen. “I like movies that make witches comical, like Bewitched, or sympathetic, like Nanny McFee.”
His lips twitched. “Not a Blair Witch fan?”
“Please. I had to pay those little fuckers three fortunes to say it was all a hoax.”
“So this is what it’s come to? Instead of using your talents to get what you want, you bribe kids with cameras?”
“Whatever works.”
He nodded. “Who am I to judge?”
She smiled. “As I remember, back in the day, you rained down some major judgment on witch persecution.”
He smiled. “I still keep track of their descendants and make sure there’re never more than one or two alive.”
“Sins of the great-grandfathers sixteen times over? Maybe it’s time to let that go.”
He laughed. “Hmmm. Maybe. I’ll bet they spend their lives wondering why they can’t ‘catch a break’.” He made air quotes when he spoke the phrase ‘catch a break’. ”Maybe they don’t know why they’re being punished.” He shrugged. “But it’s entertaining for me.”
“So where’ve you been the past…” She stopped to try to remember the last time she’d heard from her brother. “Fifty years?”
He pursed his lips. “More or less, I guess. Last time I saw you was San Francisco. 1969.” He waved at the penthouse. “So you’re trying on empire. I read all about WC6.”
“Keeps me busy.”
“Distracted, you mean. It keeps you distracted. Not busy.”
“What’s the difference?”
Instead of answering, he said, “And you think you’ve insulated yourself with so much power that you’re safe from humans with torches and pitchforks?”
She sighed deeply, looked out the window for a time, then turned back. “Hide in plain sight. If somebody wants to hunt me, well, I have enough money to charter a shuttle to the moon if I want to. Enough to buy an army of mercenaries.”
He smiled. “Remember the healing potions. Our parents sold them for just enough to get by?”
She locked gazes with Harm. “Of course I remember.”
“Makes more sense to take their money and let them die.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“No? How would you put it?”
“The enterprises I control aren’t evil, Harm. They’re just successful. I help a lot of people who are good money managers enjoy their retirement.”
He laughed. “That’s what you tell yourself?”
“I just play the game…”
“That was set up by nut job, insecure little men whose insatiable desire for more money is a cry for help. Or mother’s milk. Usually hoarding syndrome.”
“Is there a point on the horizon? Have you spent the last fifty years meditating in Nepal? And now you think you’re a German warlock version of Yoda?”
He laughed. “Hardly. I’ve pretty much done the same as you. Just more quietly. If we pooled our resources, we could probably buy a country big enough to get a front row seat at the U.N.”
She raised an eyebrow. “No interest in politics. Other than the protection racket they offer. Thanks just the same.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t care if you take advantage of humans. After everything they’ve done to us…” He trailed off then asked abruptly, “You have any friends?” She scowled. “Right. Same here.” He poured himself a bourbon remembering how their parents had instructed them to go their separate ways and not make friends with other witches. Separation was key to safety. “How about love? What’s with the ‘may I be excused’?”
“My business,” she reminded him.
He saw by the tortured look on her face that he’d hit a nerve dead center.
“Ah. The demon. What’s his name?”
“Deliverance,” she said quietly. “Why are you here, Hans?”
“Harm. Can’t you guess? I’m lonely. And it satisfies to the core to talk to somebody who knows who I really am.”
She nodded, walked over and sat down on the end of the sofa close to the big plush chair he plopped into. “It’s nice.”
“Maybe we should seek out others like us. Enlarge our social circle.”
She laughed. “It wouldn’t take much to enlarge a social circle that consists of two.”
“You mean three. Don’t forget about Delerious.”
“Deliverance.” She sighed and looked at the fire. “Not a friend.”
“Ouch. Well, all the more reason to network. Come on. You’ve never thought about it? Casting a spell to find out what others are out there?”
“Maybe I don’t want to know if we’re the last.”
“Pish. That’s beneath you. And we’re not the last.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“Oh, well then.” She agreed sarcastically.
“He reached over and tapped her knee with two fingers. “Let’s find out for sure.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“We have to lower the personal guards so we can be found. Right now there might be somebody out there looking for you. Or me.”
Sixt gave Harm a snide smile when she saw a dreamy look cloud his eyes. “And there it is. You’ve devolved into a sappy romantic who thinks that love is just over the next hill.”
“Why does that make me a sappy romantic? Our parents loved each other.”
Sixt turned to face forward at that. It was true. Her parents had given every appearance of loving each other and their children. They were crazy idealists. Love family. Serve community. Harm none.
“They did.”
His face softened when he saw that Sixt was wearing the faraway dreamy look he knew he got when he thought about a mate. “So what’s wrong with that?”
Her eyes snapped to his as her attention slammed back to reality. “Clusters invite being burned at the stake. Or drowned by dunking.”
He waved around the room. “We’re not poor, powerless farmers, Sixt. They should stay awake at night worrying about what we could do to them. If we combined our resources, we could rain global economic woes down on the world. Like plagues of Biblical proportion. We can put people into power or yank them away from every good thing they’ve ever known. Now we’re the big bad, sis. Don’t you know that?”
She sighed. “Seems like our insecurities, and I’m not saying they aren’t justified, drove us in similar directions.”
“It was only logical to insulate ourselves with money and power. As far as the benefits we could have given the humans? Like our parents wanted to do? Their loss.”
She felt a wave of affection for her brother. It had been a while since she’d felt connected to anything other than work and Ashes. She smiled. “You hungry?”
He ran his hand over a divinely formed six pack that rippled under his salmon-colored knit shirt. “I’m always hungry. You know that.”
She chuckled. “I figured some things never change.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he returned her look of affection. “Some things never do.”
“Let’s go out among the torch and pitchfork crowd. They’ve learned a thing or two about culinary arts since we were children in Germany. What do you feel like?”
“Manly food.”
“What is that?”
He looked scandalized. “You must know. Americans specialize in manly food. Burgers. French fries. Steak. Prime rib. Shall I go on?”
“No. I get the idea. I heard about a place where people go after work sometimes.”
They slid into either side of a red leather booth. The Café Fry was an oddity. It had Relais Chateau ambience, including quiet live piano, coupled with five star diner fare.
“What do you usually eat at home?” she asked.
“More or less healthy. Not this. That’s why it’s so much fun.” He winked.
“Why don’t you just eat what you want and make your body react as if it’s healthy?”
“Because I’d rather use the energy that would take on other things.”
“Like?”
He shrugged. “Tell me about Deluge.”
It took a couple of confused seconds to realize he was probably referring to Deliverance. “Calling him something besides Deliverance doesn’t bother me, Hans. So you might as well stop.”
“I’ll make you a deal. You call me Harm. I’ll call him Deliverance.”
“Deal.”
“And by the way. I also shortened my last name to Licht. Women like it better than Lichterketten.”
“Licked? Please tell me you’re somebody else’s brother. And how do you know what women really think. Behind your back they probably say, ‘Do no Harm.’”
“You. Are. Hysterical. So what about the other?”
“What other?”
Harm narrowed his eyes. “Calling a summit.”
“Oh. It’s a summit now! An hour ago it was putting out feelers to see who’s out there and if they’re interested in having a chat over cocktails.”
“I never said anything about cocktails.”
“Yeah. I added that.”
“Well. Good idea. So brain storming. That’s what we’re doing, right? You’ve already expanded the idea to include pretty drinks and chatty witches.”
It was her turn to narrow eyes. “Harm. What’s this really about? Are you rutting?”
He almost spit his swallow of beer on the table. “Rutting? That’s a little insulting. And, by the way, not a subject available for in-depth discussion with my sister.”
“Your protest is noted. It was also noted that you didn’t deny it. You want to use me like a prop to cover that you’re creating your own personal dating pool.”
He looked sheepish. “Well…”
“There’s not a WitchMatch.com? Maybe you should fund the start-up.”
“Funny. I don’t remember you being so witty.”
“I don’t remember you being so sneaky.”
“Then you weren’t paying attention,” he said with an irresistibly affable grin. “Come on. Who knows? You might find somebody.”
“Who says I’m looking?”
“Want to tell me about the demon?”
She did a mental run through intending to list the reasons why she shouldn’t tell Harm the truth, and couldn’t come up with any. She concluded that it might even feel good to unburden. So that was what she did.
When she was finished, he said, “Wow. Seems like I arrived just in time.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You’ve managed to fuck things up royally with the demon and this half-cocked plan of yours to set things right… Well, it’s not going to work.”
“Why not?”
“Because holding the demon against his will isn’t going to open his heart to explanations as to why it wasn’t really your fault that he’s been cursed the past couple of centuries. I can’t believe I have to actually spell that out for you.”
She slumped in the seat. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I never should have left you alone in Paris. I see that now.” He shook his head. “I’ll have a talk with the demon. Male to male. Smooth things over.”
“NO!” Her raised voice drew eyes in the semi-quiet establishment. She looked toward the wall and got her breathing under control, waiting for people to return to what they’d been doing before her outburst. “You will not have a conversation with Deliverance on my behalf. I’m handling this.”
“No, you’re not. You think you are, but the course you’ve chosen is ill advised and isn’t going to end well.”
“You don’t know that.”
Harm laughed. “Sixt. Anybody sitting here, listening to this story, would tell you the same thing. You need to tell him the truth. I’ll be with you as your, um, second. Back you up.”
She shook her head. “I just need some time. Once he gets to know me he’ll understand that I didn’t mean it. I’ll tell him how sorry I am. You’ll see. He’ll come around.”
To say Harm looked skeptical was the understatement of the season. Everything he’d learned about demons pointed to the folly of Sixt’s plan. Demons were not known for being understanding, especially not when they believed a wrong had been done them, and Harm was afraid Sixt might get herself into even more trouble with a well-intended, but misguided plan.
“I don’t think so.”
“So we agree to disagree.”
He was dubious, but agreed to a change of subject. At least for the moment.
“For now. Now about the summit.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I’ll send out feelers. You send out feelers. We’ll see if we get a response. Let’s have a date and place in mind.”
“I have a place in Aspen. Kind of private. Off the beaten path, but big enough for a party. It has an airport. So it’s accessible. Ski season won’t get started for another seven weeks. So it won’t be crawling with Texans.”
“Is that usually a problem?”
“Frankly. Yes.”
He chuckled and she noticed the light of excitement was brightening his eyes. “What do you need me to do?”
“Let’s see how many we scare up. If any. How are you going to reach out?’
“Ravens.”
Her eyes widened. “Ravens? Really? Old school much?”
“What’s your plan?”
“Internet.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Of course I am.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I’m going to send out a social media announcement couched in a spell that will fly straight to the attention of those of our kind. It will be visible only to those who can see.” She raised her eyebrows for effect. “If it happens to accidentally make its way into the landing space of someone not intended, they’ll see an error message.”
Harm sat back and looked at Sixt in a different light. “Sixt. You’re a little genius. That’s too brilliant for words. I feel like a dunce for not thinking of it myself.”
She preened for comic effect but sincerely reveled in the compliment.
A server set food in front of them; Harm’s triple burger slathered in hickory sauce with melted Colby in between each meat patty and Sixt’s lobster on a roll with fresh coleslaw.
Harm turned his plate around on revolution. “I’ve just decided I’m moving here.”
Sixt smiled. “For the burgers?”
He glanced at the sandwich in her hand. “Not for the lobster rolls.” She chuckled. “Maybe partly for the burgers.”
“You need a job?”
He barked out a laugh and shook his head. “A job is the last thing I need. So what will it say? The, uh, message.”
“Good question.” She thought as she chewed then said, “Fall Ball? Witch summit hosted by Teutonics. All branches of the World Tree welcome.”
He nodded. “That’s good. Do we really have to do a ball?”
“Hey. I’m new at this. I don’t know the expectation.”
“If one person answers, it’s going to be a really sad little ‘Ball’.”
“Okay. Scratch Fall Ball. How about ‘Meet Us In Aspen for a summit’?”
“Yeah. That’s more like it. Fill in the date and time.”
Sixt chuckled. Harm’s growing excitement was contagious. And maybe he was right. The luxury of interacting with others was worth the risk. That, and Sixt hadn’t been sitting on her hands for the past couple of hundred years. She’d been learning and growing and practicing. Even if she didn’t have money, power, and connections in high places, it would be damn hard to take her down. She doubted that an army could do it.
Back at the penthouse they were sharing a bottle of wine on the sofa in front of the fire. Harm hadn’t stopped talking about what they would talk about with other witches, how many were likely out there, what they’d be like.
Deliverance stepped out of the passes into the hallway outside Sixt’s sitting room, thinking she’d be expecting him for ‘quality time’. He arrived just in time to hear her tell her brother, “So you’re really thinking you might find a mate.”
“One thing I know for certain,” he replied, “I won’t find a mate secluded on my island or, pleasant as it is, sharing grape with my sister.” He took a sip of obscenely expensive black blend. “This is good.” He angled his body so that he could face her. “Maybe there’ll be somebody for you.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
She laughed softly. “Not looking.”
“Why?” Realization hit his features like a spotlight. “Not that demon.” Deliverance turned his head slightly toward the conversation on which he was eavesdropping to hear her answer, but she gave no verbal reply. “I guess I haven’t asked. Have you ever come close?”
“To mating?” She shook her head. “Not even close.”
“Boyfriends?” She shook her head again and took a sip of wine. “Lovers?”
Harm looked incredulous when she shook her head to that as well. “You don’t mean you’ve never had a relationship with a male. Not even human?”
“For a short time I had a husband who was aged in the extreme and completely infirm.” Harm understood by the inflection that she meant there was nothing physical. “It was arranged by a friend in the Danish court. I got a title and a tidy sum out of it.”
“No real relationship? Ever?”
“Nobody interested me.”
“Except that demon.”
“Well,” she shrugged and looked away, “there was that, I guess.”
“Sixt. You’re not saying that…” He paused trying to process what he was about to ask. “You’re not saying that you’ve never…”
“You know, Hans, being my brother and only living relative gives you liberties to ask about my personal life, but they’re not unlimited and you’re crossing a line.”
“Why? Modern people are really open about such things.”
“Maybe I’m not modern.”
“That off-the-shoulder top you’re wearing and that Andy Warhol painting,” he pointed to the wall behind her, “say otherwise.”
“Alright. Correction. I’m not modern in every way.”
Deliverance remained motionless while he processed what he’d just learned. The witch was inexperienced in matters of romance and she might have an infatuation that had lingered over a passage of time that was noteworthy even for a demon.
Perhaps his plan was due for a little tweaking. Perhaps he could pretend to tolerate his captivity, draw the witch out, even give the appearance of liking her. Gag. Perhaps she would open up like a moon magnolia at midnight, giving him all the information he would need to arrange for her eventual comeuppance.
Once he’d settled on a course adjustment, he stepped around the corner and into the room as if he’d just arrived.
Sixt looked up. “Oh, Deliverance. I won’t be needing you tonight.”
The demon’s eyes slid from Sixt to Harm, who said, “You’re welcome to join us. Maybe a game of whist?”
Sixt wished they were seated at a table so she could kick her brother in the shin.
“Not much for cards,” Deliverance said. There was no reason not to be polite to the warlock.
“Wine then?” Harm pressed.
The demon kind of liked Harm in spite of himself and smiled slightly. “Thank you for the offer. I don’t drink often and tonight’s not the night.”
“Well, I don’t want you to feel unwelcome just because I’ve barged in on my sister.”
“Unwelcome?” Deliverance looked at Sixt like he’d love to throw a fireball and incinerate her where she sat. “Why does he think I’m here?”
“He knows the whole story.” Sixt looked away as she raised her wine glass to her lips.
“In that case,” Deliverance said to Harm, “you should know it’s senseless to ask a slave if he feels welcome.”
“But we can always make the best of a situation, old man. Just direct your feet to the sunny side of the street,” Harm said.
Deliverance looked at Sixt. “Is he serious?”
“We’ve been out of touch for a very long time. I’m not sure.”
To Harm, he said, “It’s easy to have a sunny disposition when you’re the master,” his eyes slid to Sixt, “or the mistress, in this case, and not the slave. If that’s all, I’ll be somewhere else.” He managed to refrain from adding, “Anywhere else.”
“Yes. That’s all,” said Sixt and the demon disappeared.
Harm chuckled and shook his head. “If you think that demon is coming around to your way of thinking, you have lost your way.”
“I don’t think I have much choice but to ride this out. Maybe cosmic intervention…”
“Cosmic intervention,” he repeated. “You ever heard of magical thinking?”
“Not the specific phrase, but I can guess what it means.”
“No, you can’t. It’s a human term for what adolescents do when they choose to believe, without logical basis, that things will ‘magically’ go their way.”
“Is there a point forthcoming? Because I’m going to bed…”
“Hold on to your patience. This absolutely applies to your situation and you know it. Your belief that any good can come from forcing that demon to be where he doesn’t choose to be is the very definition of magical thinking.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yeah? Well, I hope that when we ‘see’, you’re still in one piece.”
She sighed. “There’s a guest room down the hall that way. Did you bring luggage? Are you staying long?”
“One. Thank you. Two. I didn’t bring luggage, but this will not be the first time I’ve slept in my clothes. Three. As to how long I’m staying, how long before you kick me out?”
She laughed. “You can stay until you get on my nerves. I’m not used to having other people around. I mean other people who don’t work for me.”
“Same here. Let’s use each other to get reacquainted with being sociable.”
Sixt remembered how much she’d enjoyed the salonnieres in Paris during the years when she was first on her own and decided that Harm was right. It would do her good to enjoy the company of people of a like mind.