Book 2, Chapter 045

When Rachel got back to the break room she was practically glowing.  She felt good: sorting things out with Ean had been a relief, especially since it had involved acknowledging some of her own issues.  She couldn’t quite believe she’d been that open with someone she’d known so short a time, but she’d known she could trust him – and spelling out what she wanted had been cathartic.

Rachel sat at the table and woke up her laptop. In moments she had an internet search up and was looking for current social events in the city.  "Because it’s the city," she muttered to herself, "so there has to be something going on.  And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let myself run out of drive now.  I need to get out and have some fun, and stop talking to myself – or my cat, for Pete’s sake."

She stopped and pulled up the inter-office instant messaging client.

Rachel:  "Hey, I found something…little community theater is having a play open tonight.  How do you feel about going out for dinner and an old fashioned show?"

A moment later Ean replied back: "Sure.  Where and when?"

Rachel copied and pasted the address of the theater and added: "I’ll pick up the tickets on my way home from work.  It’s at seven.  Do you need a ride?"

Ean: "No.  That’s not a bad walk.  Dinner after?"

Rachel:  "Sure.  We can just grab fast food – it’s been a while since I’ve worn formal wear to a burger joint."

There was another pause before Ean sent: "Okay.  See you then."

Rachel shut down the IM window and placed an order for two tickets.  Then, still buoyed by her good mood, she said: "…and hopefully whatever his ‘next emergency’ is, it isn’t tonight."  Then she reached out and rapped her knuckles on the tabletop, just in case she’d jinxed herself.  Not because she was normally superstitious, but because it had felt like the thing to do.

Then she opened up Army Shooter and went looking for a match to take up the time until her next coffee round.

But, unfortunately for Rachel, knocking on wood wasn’t going to make a difference.  Not because she had accidentally jinxed herself by voicing her hopes out loud – but because she was the ‘next emergency.’

Yes, Rachel felt good.  And she was practically glowing.  In fact, to a wizard – or anyone else with the right sort of eyes – she was practically a beacon; shrouded in a glowing nimbus of power, and she had been getting brighter by the second for days.

Et Alia, Book 2: Black Magic, Secret Agents, Shakespearean Tragedies and Interoffice Dating

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