Tales of the Otherworld by Kelley Armstrong

to say something. But what? Rumor had it that his wife had been the one to leave. Had he fought it? Did he want her back? None of my business, but not having a clue about the situation meant I couldn’t respond to this without risk of jamming my foot in my mouth and shutting his for good.
    So I said, “Oh,” and sat there, like an idiot.
    “Bryce—that’s my younger son—wasn’t even two when she left,” he went on. “Everyone said that was good, that he’d be too young to remember her, and that Sean was the one I had to worry about. But it’s the opposite. Sean’s fine with it. They weren’t close, as odd as that may sound. She seemed like she’d make a good mother. That was important. But I suppose she
knew
it was important—part of the deal—so she played her role until the kids actually arrived. Anyway, Sean got over her leaving. Bryce hasn’t. There’s really no substitute for a mother.”
    “If you’re blowing off important meetings for them, then I’d say you’re doing a damn good job of substituting.”
    His nose wrinkled, sloughing off the reassurance. That wasn’t what he wanted. What did he want? Just someone to talk to, I think.
    “I’m going to take Bryce out when I get home. Just the two of us. Overcompensating, but …” He shrugged. “It might help.”
    “It will.”
    He moved his now-cold soup aside. “We were going to talk about tailoring the spells and potions to children.”
    “Right. I brought a couple of books. Let me grab them.”

    Things changed after that. Kristof relaxed enough for me to start thinking of him
as
Kristof, not just calling him that to his face.
    The key to getting him to relax, not surprisingly, was his kids. And that was the key to getting me to see him differently, too. The more he talked about his sons, the more respect I had for him. It was like seeing a mythical being come to life—a real parent, the kind I’d heard existed, but never met. Certainly never had myself.
    When he came for his lessons, I’d ask about his boys, and he’d talk about them for a few minutes before we got down to work.
    I guess a guy like Kristof Nast had learned not to let his guard down. The world has to see him as a cold, cutthroat corporate leader, not a single dad juggling play dates and baseball games. I was a safe outlet for that—someone who wouldn’t think less of him if he had to interrupt our lesson to call home and see how his son did on his math test. Someone who was too low on the totem pole to ever use that weakness against him.
    So he relaxed. Nothing drastic. The tie came off, the collar was unbuttoned, there was a little more conversation. The occasional smile. Even, once or twice, a laugh.
    A couple of months later, as fall was setting in, I was the one calling him to reschedule a lesson. I was running an errand for Lavina—a courier job that had gone sour. I’d avoided an ambush by the client, who’d decided he didn’t want to pay for the goods and brought along two buddies to support his point of view. When I called Lavina, though, she wanted me to trade in my messenger cap for a pair of brass knuckles.
    “Teach him not to mess with me, Eve. Then bring back my scroll and the payment.”
    “Sure. I’ll do that tomorrow, when he’s lowered his guard…and gotten rid of his guards.”
    “No, you’ll do it now.”
    I’d argued. I’d warned her that I thought this new client was trouble. And I was annoyed that in spite of my warnings, she seemed to be pushing ahead with the Dhamphir project, and not happy that I refused to help out. Besides, though I didn’t say it, I had a more pressing—and better paying—engagement that evening, with Kristof.
    When I balked, she threatened. So I did my best. By the time I had payment in hand, though, it was six thirty. I still needed to take the goods to Lavina, go home, and clean up.
    I explained to Kristof. He said he’d be at the hotel. I could come by if I felt up to it, or skip it if I was too