Sorcerer's Luck by Katharine Kerr Page B

to cast over me at the county fair. How could I
trust this man? I’d only known him a couple of weeks. He watched me with sad
brown eyes—the wild animal’s eyes, I thought. Not quite human.
    â€œAre you going to be able to work two jobs once school starts?” Tor said.
    â€œI’ll have to try. I won’t be able to go full-time. I only need to take nine units to keep
my scholarship.”
    â€œShit, that sounds exhausting.”
    It would be, but I refused to admit it.
    â€œI get this feeling about you,” Tor went on, “that you’re always on the edge of being
exhausted.”
    I went cold and very still. Did he know about my disease? My heart started pounding, a
dangerous waste of energy for someone like me. I tried to calm down. He
couldn’t know. How could he know?
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he said. “Maya, hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He opened the car
door. “Look, I’ll go away. Think about the offer, okay? I just want to help—”
    â€œHelp with what?” I snarled at him and regretted it.
    He winced. “I’m really blowing it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
    He got out of the car and started to shut the door.
    â€œWait!” I said. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t mean to be rude.”
    He hesitated, then got back into the car, but he left the door open.
    â€œYou’re right about me being tired,” I said. “All my friends tell me I push too hard. I
just don’t know what else to do.”
    â€œIf I hadn’t worked that stupid spell at the fair, would you feel better about the
offer?”
    â€œYeah, I would.”
    â€œI’ll never do anything like that again. I swore it on the runes, and I’ll swear it again
if you want me to.”
    I hesitated. I kept remembering how clean his flat was, no mildew, no gray
streaks on the ceiling, no dope dealers on the corner, no worry about someone
breaking in. Shape-changer, I reminded myself. He told me he turned into a bear
of all damn things! What if it’s true?
    â€œThink about it,” he said and shut the car door. “Let’s go have lunch. Not at a burger
place. Like Indian food?”
    â€œSure do. Just tell me how to get to it.”
    He laughed and gave me directions to a nice little restaurant in Berkeley. Since the lunch
hour was long over, we had the place pretty much to ourselves, which meant we
could actually hear ourselves talk. We ordered a dosa stuffed with curried
vegetables to share, some sag paneer, and various side dishes, along with rose
flavored soda for me and an Indian beer for Tor. While we ate, we chatted about
nothing important, the food, mostly. At one point, the conversation drifted to
pets.
    â€œWe always had cats when I was growing up,” I said, “but I couldn’t keep a pet where I am
now. It would be animal cruelty.”
    â€œFor sure. My dad liked cats. He had an old tomcat that died just before he did. I didn’t
tell him, though. He was so sick by then that it probably would have pushed him
over the edge, so I just made up stuff about how the cat was waiting for him to
come home.” He fell silent for a long minute. “I don’t know if he believed me
or not.”
    â€œYou didn’t have him home? Y’know, the hospice program and all that.”
    â€œI wanted to, but the idea really freaked my mother. It would be putting death into the
house, she said. Dad didn’t want her any more upset than she was already, so he
decided to die in the hospital.”
    â€œWas that the house you’re in now?”
    â€œNo. We were living in Mill Valley then. Y’know, I’m sorry. I keep talking about gloomy
stuff like Dad dying. I’m not real good at being social. Small talk. That kind
of thing. I spend too much time alone.”
    â€œI’m not real good at it myself.”
    He smiled but said nothing more. For a little while we