“Technically Ben just winked at me, but yeah.” He really didn’t like the speculative sound she made as they reached the car. With any luck, it was about the car. Not that his luck had been great of late.

“Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s your ass.” Arra leaned back, looked down, and made a small dismissive moue. “And then again, maybe not. Did you happen to mention that CB has his memory back?”

“I didn’t, exactly, but he does.”

A raised brow invited him to continue.

“I retraced the paper. Like he did for me.” Might as well spread the reaction around.

“Did he now?”

“Yeah. He’s kind of pissed.”

“No doubt. How fortunate, then, that I’m probably going to my certain death.”

Eighteen

Eighteen

“UH, ARRA,that’s a new lock. Remember, I told you about the break-in.”

“I’m not senile, boy.” She paused and tossed a twisted grin at him over her shoulder. “At least you’d better hope I’m not, all things considered.” The key turned smoothly and she pushed open the apartment door. “You put the supplies in the kitchen; I’m going to rescue my cats.”

Wondering whether it was wise for her to waste energy on something that could be solved by a visit to Julian—and the next instant realizing that the thought of a visit to Julian was probably why she’d done it that way—Tony set the two bags of groceries and the single bag from the liquor store on the counter. By the time he heard the door open again, he had the frozen dinners in the oven and the coffeemaker on. A bottle of vodka in each hand, he watched both cats stalk down the hall, noses in the air and tails lashing from side to side.

“I thought they’d be glad to see you,” he said as the wizard came into the kitchen.

Arra snorted. “You’ve never had cats, have you? Put those down; we’ll eat first, then you can put the potion together while I try to remember just how the Light of Yeramathia goes.”

“Try to remember?”

“Give me a break.” She pulled the coffeepot out and shoved a mug under the drip. “It’s been seven years, it was a joint effort originally, and it may have to be adapted for local conditions.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“But what?”

Good question. “Nothing.” Wait. Something. “I’m to put the potion together?”

“That’s right. Better make a double batch, we’re probably going to have to pour it down the throats of the entire crew. Those that survive anyway.”

“But . . .”

“Until the final . . .” A spark leaped off her fingertip. “. . . zap, it’s nothing more than organic chemistry—no more complicated than putting together a decent salsa.”

“I don’t cook,” he protested, shooting a wary glance at her fingers.