The lighting in the corridor was dimmed for the evening. Normally the lighting would adjust when someone was present, courtesy of Mentor. Normally, but it was always dark in Sharon's world. Ever since the explosion that rendered her blind.
Stopping outside of Jason's door she caught a whiff of pine wood. Not uncommon if Jason had recently stretched a bit of canvas. That was one thing, among thousands, that Sharon missed about not being able to see. Even as a young teen, Jason had the raw talent with drawing and painting. She could only dream what his refined talent could turn out now. She smiled sadly to herself.
“Let me in, Mentor,” she said. The door opened quietly and she stepped inside. Heat and humidity came at her from the bathroom door. The scent of soap lingered, overlaying the smell of Jason's sweat. Sharon could only assume he had worked out, showered and changed.
There was also a stronger smell of pine and machine oil. Her senses reached out. Jason's easel was folded and leaning against a wall. There was a crate standing near where he preferred to exercise his hobby.
"Witches,” she heard Jason say quietly. “Witches. Are warlocks male witches? Or are male witches just witches?” This was followed by a sigh. “Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.”
She had the impression of Jason standing by a window. In her mind's eye Jason's reflection was garbed for battle. His forehead leaning on a balled fist pressed against the glass. In his free hand Jason held a paintbrush. The bristles moved across the glass. Had there been paint on it, Sharon had no doubt a face would be on the window. “You asked,” Sharon said. “I'm here. How was your trip? Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No,” he answered quietly. “He found me. Hello, Sharon.”
“He? And what's this about witches?”
Jason kept staring out the window. “He called himself Phil Actery.”
“That's a strange...Phil Actery? Phylactery?” Sharon smiled to herself. “Intending as a charm or safeguard against harm. Where did you find him?”
“Like I said,” Jason quietly said with a shrug of his shoulders, “he found me. Met him outside of Québec City.” Tossing the paintbrush like a dart into a cup with many others, Jason turned to Sharon. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to drink?”
“I had dinner with some friends. What do you have to drink?” she asked, sitting down on the couch.
Making his way to a small cabinet, Jason opened it. “Coffee, various flavors. Hot tea, again various flavors.” Sharon heard another cabinet door open. “Wine,” Jason said quietly. “There's wine. White, red, rosette. Looks like Marlene was collecting bottles.”
Hearing the tone in his voice gave Sharon pause. “Jason, are you okay?”
“I'll survive, Sharon. That's was I'm best at. A HERO slayer couldn't kill me. The Blood Guard couldn't kill me. The Tharian Elite Guard couldn't kill me. Their pet gladiators failed. I survive. It seems like the only damned thing I do is survive.
“So, wine?”