It all looked so real that Lucas wanted to get up so he could run his fingers over the nap of the velvet curtains. “That’s…amazing.”
“Thank you,” she replied calmly. Whatever it took for her to cast that illusion, it didn’t seem to be requiring too much of her energy.
“How long will it last?”
“Until I stop it. That is, if I wanted the illusion to stay in place permanently, like the ones back in Jerome, I’d need to refresh it about once a week, because it would start to fade after a while. But otherwise it’s basically set it and forget it.”
It was a display that staggered him a little. That is, he’d known Margot had to be a very strong witch in order to be tapped as an elder, but this was the first time he’d really seen her powers in action. “Well,” he said, attempting to sound casual, “color me impressed. Are both your parents strong witches, too?”
At the question, she stiffened a little. “My mother has a knack with plants. If it’s green, she can make it grow. She’s a big hit with our neighbors.”
Lucas sent her a questioning look, and she smiled, albeit rather unwillingly.
“They grow a lot of pot.”
He felt his eyebrows lift even further.
“Pot’s kind of a thing in Jerome,” she explained. “I mean, it’s not as if everyone partakes, as it were, but it’s definitely part of the culture.”
Well, that would explain the slightly off nature of some of the smoke he’d smelled outside the Halloween dance….
“Anyway,” she went on, “I’m not sure why my power turned out to be so strong. My father was a civilian.”
“Was?” Lucas asked delicately, not sure of what else to say.
“Is,” she clarified. “That is, he’s still alive. I’ve just never met him.”
Since he couldn’t think of a remotely intelligent way to respond to that, Lucas remained silent, waiting to see if she would say anything else, or whether she’d clam up once again.
Then she seemed to give the smallest of sighs. “Oh, I suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference one way or another.” A small silence, as if she were gathering her thoughts, and then she went on, “My mother wanted a child, but she really didn’t want to get married. Didn’t want to be tied down, although I have a hard time figuring out what she thought she’d do with a child if she wanted to continue with her free and easy life. Anyway, my father was — is — an Italian artist. He was traveling through the Southwest one summer, painting as he went, and then he came to Jerome and met my mother. They had quite the fling, I guess, and in September his visa was up, and back to Italy he went.”
Lucas nodded but didn’t reply immediately. Well, Margot’s story explained the “Paolo Cantu” in the “Father” section on her birth certificate…and it also explained her dark, lithe looks, which made her stand out amongst the McAllisters, most of whom had hair in shades of light brown and red and even blonde. “Does he…does he know about you?”
“Oh, yes. My mother made it very clear to him that she didn’t expect him to support me or anything, but every year for my birthday he’d send me these beautiful little hand-painted cards with Italian scenes on them. Sort of like limited-edition postcards, I guess. He got married a few years after I was born, and I have a grand total of five half-siblings, and a bunch of nieces and nephews.” A faint smile. “So I suppose you and I have that in common. I’ve never met any of them, though, as they’ve never come to the United States, and obviously I’m a little limited in my ability to travel.”
A silence fell. Lucas wasn’t sure what he should say…or even if she wanted him to say anything at all. He had a feeling that she’d never told anyone else that story, although of course the members of her clan of her mother’s generation would know something of it. At last he cleared his throat and said, “Thank you.”
She didn’t ask him for what. “You’re welcome.”
In that moment, the illusion of the weathercast disappeared, and the television went back to normal. The forecaster was saying, “Low pressure is deepening over the four corners region, bringing with it increased chances of snow in northern Arizona and western New Mexico. Up to ten inches of fresh snow are forecast for Flagstaff. A travel advisory has been issued — ”
Lucas picked up the remote and shut off the TV. He didn’t need to hear any more. Come what may, it looked like his wish to be snowbound here with Margot was about to come true.