She paused long enough to splash some water on her face and scrub it dry, then headed back to her room. Mehrnaz had gotten up again and was peering out the side window, past the neighbors’ driveway and into their messy yard, with the kind of rapt and wistful expression Dairine would normally have expected to see on someone looking through a window into Shangri-La or Middle-earth.
“You ready?” Dairine said. “It’s almost twelve-thirty . . . we should get going.”
Mehrnaz turned and suddenly Dairine was thrown off balance by the nervousness in those dark eyes. “Is this going to work?” she said. “Truly?”
Is this going to work . . . ? It was a question Dairine remembered from what seemed too long ago. The stakes had been much higher then. But how do I know what this feels like for her? Except by looking at her.
“I told you it will,” Dairine said. “And I told you I didn’t have time to BS you, Mehrnaz. Let’s go show ’em how it’s done.”
She headed for the stairs, and heard Mehrnaz follow her down, and Spot ticking along on all his legs after her. “Spot, set up the transport spot in the back for Javits, we can pop out in their dedicated transport hot spot—”
But from behind her, as she passed through the dining room, came the sound of a soft chime. It was nothing associated with Dairine’s phone, or with Spot. She turned around. “Was that yours?”
“Uh, yeah,” Mehrnaz said. She’d stopped in the living room, and was staring at her phone and looking a bit shocked. “I lost track of the time, it’s Isha already! Is it all right if we go in about fifteen minutes?”
“Sure,” Dairine said, “but if you—” And then she paused, because Mehrnaz had promptly shoved one arm deep into the empty air and was now was pulling something long and brightly colored out of an otherspace pocket. “Um. Is that a rug?”
“What? Of course it is.”
And suddenly it dawned. “Wait. Do you mean—”
“Well, I’m a Muslimah after all, you knew that. What did you think the hijab’s about? It’s not because I don’t like how my hair looks or something.” Mehrnaz giggled. “Look, I need to wash up real quick. Is there a bathroom downstairs? Do you mind if I use it?”
“What? Sure! Down the way you came and straight back, the door right in front of you.”
Mehrnaz headed out of the living room. “Thanks. Just a few minutes for ablutions, and then I’ll be in here for ten minutes or so, okay?”
“Fine.”
Dairine wandered out and went into the kitchen. I am an idiot, she thought. It’s not like she was going to stop doing her religious stuff just because we’re on the road . . .
Spot paused in the middle of the kitchen floor and looked at her curiously. Should I go wake up the transport spell?
“Sure,” Dairine said. “Put it on standby until we get out there. Fifteen minutes or so . . .”
Right.
Spot headed for the back door, developing a set of manipulating claws as he went, and pushed the screen door open with them. Dairine let out an impatient breath as the door swung closed behind him—she’d been all ready to go. Well, never mind. Time enough for some tea or something.
She filled the kettle and put it on the stove, then fished around for a teabag and a mug. In the middle of this process, though, Dairine heard a sound she hadn’t been expecting: her dad’s car turning into the driveway. Oh great . . . ! But she got down another mug while she sat waiting.
A minute or so later her dad came in through the back screen door with a pile of mail from the shop. He smooched Dairine on the top of the head as he started to go past her, but she put out an arm to stop him. “Not right now, Daddy.”
“I have to change, sweetheart, and then I have to—”
“Okay, fine, but not right this minute. Mehrnaz’ll be in there praying.”
“Oh.” Her dad blinked as the kettle started whistling. “All right. I wanted some coffee anyway, and a sandwich . . .”
They puttered around in the kitchen together for a few minutes. “How’s it all going?” her dad said, pulling the sandwich makings out of the fridge: mayonnaise, mustard, ham.
“Not bad, so far.” Dairine wrinkled her nose. “How can you mix those? So gross.”
Her father grinned benevolently. “So finicky. Your friend in there—” He paused while he started to put the sandwich together. “Mehrnaz, is it?”
“That’s right.”
“Is that an Indian name?”
“Iranian. Her family moved from there to Mumbai after one of the big earthquakes.”
“Oh.” He went rummaging in a drawer for a knife. “I’m behind on all this stuff you gave me to read. Sorry. You two working together all right?”
“Yeah. She’s nice.” Dairine sighed. “Her family situation’s kind of odd, though.”
Her dad put his eyebrows up at that. “Problems?”
“Well, a lot of them are wizards.”
“You’d think that would make everything easier.”
“I did too, at first.”
“But not now?” Dairine’s dad looked thoughtful. “Interesting.” His eyes flicked in the direction of the living room. “Meantime, just so you know, Nelaid’s coming down to the shop tomorrow.”
Dairine snickered. “You should hire him.”
“I have to say, if he didn’t have such a long commute, I’d be tempted. Among other things, he has nothing but praise for a place where people don’t try to assassinate him once a week.”
Aha, Dairine thought. He has told him. And Daddy hasn’t freaked—
“Which surprises me,” her dad went on, intent on eating his sandwich. “I mean, we don’t exactly live in paradise here. It amazes me how many aliens who come to visit seem to like our place better than theirs.”
“The grass is greener on the other side, maybe?”
“Well, when a tree says that to you—or someone who could be mistaken for a tree—you pay attention.” He smiled. “Where is my favorite decorative planting? Has Filif come along to this thing?”
Dairine shook her head. “He’s home on Demisiv, I think. But then this is pretty much an in-system affair. Sker’ret’s the only non-Solar I’ve seen so far, and he was there to ride herd on the worldgating infrastructure.”
Her dad laughed in between bites of his sandwich. “Well, if he’s still in the neighborhood and he feels like a snack, have him stop by. All those boxes in the shop . . .”
“If I see him, I’ll tell him,” Dairine said. And she frowned. “Daddy . . .”
“I know that tone,” her dad said, putting his sandwich back on its plate. “And that face. What’s the problem?”
“Overprotective parents.”
“Meaning not me for a change?” he said. “Wow.”
On sudden impulse Dairine threw her arms around him. “You’re absolutely okay!” she said. “Seriously. Way better than most.”
“Wow,” her dad said again, and hugged her back. “Not every day I get a thumbs-up like that.” He gave her a look. “Maybe I’ll let you off the hook about this week’s shopping. Just this once.”
Dairine snorted, let him go, and picked up her tea. “At least, you got that way once you came out of your state of shock about your kids being wizards.”
“Well, I like to think Nita took the edge off a little and made things easier for you. You didn’t have it all that bad, I think.”
She wasn’t about to admit that he was probably right. “Is that ham okay?”
Her dad threw her a look that said he knew when the subject was being changed on purpose. “Yeah, it’s still fine. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice to have some of the pastrami that was on the last shopping list . . .”