I made a show of jiggling the game play buttons while I pushed a little bit of energy into the computer chip that ran the device. The screen restarted instantly, and I immediately shoved the Game Boy back into Peter’s hands so he could continue his current game.
“You certainly have the magic touch,” Mr. Connors said. His smile didn’t go all the way to his eyes. One thing I’ve observed from working around families dining in our restaurant is that fathers don’t like to be shown up in front of their children.
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t do a thing, Mr. Connors, although I felt a little static shock when I touched it,” I said, shrugging. “Luckily it kicked itself back on or I think you’d have had to turn it off and on.”
“Exactly what I said,” he said, looking at his wife in vindication.
She raised a brow, then turned and smiled at me. “Thank you, Declan, even if it was just static. I’d think the dishwashing would ground you out, but hey, static is an odd thing, right?” she said, teacher’s eyebrow raising again.
So not fooled. Jessica wasn’t either but unlike her mother, she wasn’t even slightly afraid.
“Thank you, Declan,” Jessica said. “Peter, did you thank Declan?”
“Thanks Declan,” Peter said, not looking up from his game.
“Just break the record, buddy,” I said, turning back toward the kitchen.
“Declan, can I call you later about our English assignment?” Jessica asked.
“Of course, although I’m only half done,” I said, then waved goodbye to the Connors.
Jessica didn’t need my help with English or really any class, even tech. It was just an excuse to call and chat, probably thank me for helping with her brother, who she was fiercely protective of. She called me at nine-thirty, and we talked for almost a half hour. Believe me when I tell you that I would fix all of Peter’s games if I could talk with her for even ten minutes.
***
“Declan, lad, how’s the firewood supply looking?”
“Um, same as yesterday, Aunt Ash. I haven’t had time to get to it. That dinner crowd last night was crazy.”
“Yet you’re playing your game, now aren’t ye?” This she asked as she watched me running my dirt dude across the game space in the back barn. Overhead, Draco lurked in the rafters, unseen but making enough noise to let me know he was there.
“We agreed that Wytchwar counted as practice,” I said, pretty sure I had a winning argument.
She snorted, which dashed my hopes. “It’s like your crack drug now, isn’t it?”
“Well, I do like it, but it’s still practice,” I allowed.
“Do ye like a heated home when it’s freezing cold outside?”
“Well yeah, but we do have oil in the tank,” I said, almost wincing as the words tumbled themselves out of my mouth.
“Oh? And does this magical oil pay for itself? Lad, ye know that we use as much wood as possible on account of it practically falling down in our forest and not having to pay a dime for it, right?”
My contributions to our economic condition mainly came in the form of website administration, cheap dishwashing, odd jobs like painting and gardening, and being solely in charge of gathering wood and feeding the furnaces. Fire was one of my elements, and thus the home fires were my charge. I once argued that I could probably draw enough heat from the earth under us to keep us warm, but my aunt just raised one brow and wondered how bright a beacon that would be to our enemies. Part of me wanted to call them in, wanted to go to war. But I had also heard many stories about the caliber of the witches in our home circle. Mom and Ashling were tops but not enough to beat twelve to eighteen witches who were fifty percent of their strength. How I measured up, I didn’t know, as my aunt would never say when I asked.
“I’ll get to it,” I said, holding up my arm for a circling Draco to land on. On the game course, my Double D stopped all motion, freezing in place. Draco flew over top of him, stretching his claws in a pretense of grabbing him from six feet up. He swooped past the dirt avatar and landed on my arm, stretching his head to sniff my face.
“He’s uncommon real looking,” my aunt commented, watching the little avatar dragon.
“He gets better with every game we play,” I said. “Your spells worked great.”
“Not my spells doing it, lad, as awesome as they are. Something you’ve added on your own is responsible.” She studied him a bit longer, then turned to me. “Now… firewood.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She nodded and then left the barn.
I put Draco back on the ground. He made his awkward-looking yet deceptively fast crawl over to the frozen dirt dude and poked him with a winged forefoot, looking for all the world like a long-necked giant bat. When the avatar failed to move, Draco launched himself from the ground and flapped up to hide among the rafters.
Five minutes later, I was in our woods, looking for likely deadfall, my ax on my shoulder. I found an upright, broken-off maple tree that had died in a storm a few years ago. It was maybe twenty feet tall to the snapped-off part.
I was too
