Free Sorcerer's Luck by Katharine Kerr

up my smartphone for the security system so I could get in if he happened
to be gone.
    â€œJust make sure you arm the system again once you get upstairs,” he said. “I’ll show you
how.”
    â€œThanks. You’ve got some awfully nice things. I can see why you’re worried about
security. Those Chinese vases!”
    â€œThey’re not tourist items, no.”
    â€œYou’ve got all kinds of cool stuff. I’m kind of surprised you’d trust me like this. I
mean, we just met.”
    He gave me the strangest smile. I couldn’t tell if he was amused or saddened by what I’d
just said. “Oh yeah,” he said eventually. “But I’ve got ways of checking a
person out. I know I can trust you.”
    â€œWays? You mean with sorcery, I guess.”
    â€œYeah. You’re not offended, are you?”
    I considered. “No,” I said. “It’s a lot easier than having to supply references.”
    I was expecting him to laugh or at least smile, but he just nodded, as if he agreed.
    â€œWhat else do you need to know?” he went on. “There’s the garage. I don’t have a car any
more, so you might as well use it.”
    â€œYou don’t have a car? How do you get around—uh, sorry, never mind.”
    â€œSorcery’s a lot more ecologically sound than burning fossil fuels. It’s too bad that not
everyone can do it.”
    â€œYeah, for sure. And speaking of burning things, I’ve got to get ready for work.”
    Quitting the burger job gave me my next big thrill. I went to work as usual, but as soon
as I arrived, I told the manager I was leaving. I offered to stay on for a
couple of days while they found someone else, but the manager had a file of
students who wanted the job. No problem, he said. At the end of my shift, I was
free of deep-fried grease at last. The night manager, a decent guy in his way,
wished me luck with my new job.
    â€œThanks,” I said. “Is there any way I can get my last check early?”
    â€œThey all ask that.” He sighed and shrugged. “I’ll hit up the boss for it. Don’t hold
your breath.”
    When I got back to the flat, Tor insisted I sit down and rest. I let myself sink into one
of the leather chairs in the living room while he bustled around in the
kitchen. He came out again with brandy in proper glass snifters.
    â€œJust something to celebrate with,” he said. “Celebrate you getting out of that
apartment, I mean.”
    â€œThanks. And I’ve quit the burger job, too. So that’s something else to celebrate.”
    He saluted me with his glass. I had a sip of the brandy—very good, probably old, I
figured, and expensive. I turned a little in my chair to look out at the view
through the western window. Fog had crept in over San Francisco, though Yerba Buena Island
and the East Bay were still clear. The lights of the distant city made the fog glow, shot
here and there with streaks of color. In our companionable mood
I came close to telling him the truth about my disease. Close, but not close
enough—what if he threw me out? Rooming with vampires doesn’t fit most people’s
definition of gracious living.
    â€œYou know something?” Tor said. “It’s good to have you here.”
    â€œIt’s good to be here.”
    It was only a polite thing to say, but it gave me the oddest sensation—that I’d spoken
something more true than I could know. For a brief moment I felt as if I’d been
struggling to accomplish some task for a really long time, for years and years,
even. I’d finally finished it. Or maybe I’d lost something, years and years
ago, that I’d finally found again. None of it made sense. I put the sensation
down to the brandy.
    Later, when I went to my room, I looked at the decoupage on the writing desk. The green
lion had returned to eat the sun, but around him the circles of shrimp