by Emma Newman
“You were supposed to come tomorrow.”
“I was? You mean it’s Friday?”
She nodded. “You got the day off work?”
Now Sam understood why his boss had sounded so pissed off. He’d lost track of the days with all the trips to Exilium and missing a night’s sleep. “I’m lucky you’re home.”
Just the hallway said “wealthy executive apartment” with its shiny wooden floor and tiny halogen spotlights. It smelt faintly of paint, and the skirting boards looked like they were made of the same burnished copper. It was definitely Leanne’s territory and felt like a domestic annex to her professional life. It wasn’t the kind of place he could imagine himself living in at all.
“Marcus and I were nearby so we thought we’d come back here for a debrief instead of going all the way back to the office so late in the day. He wanted to make sure the apartment was OK.”
“Marcus is here?”
“Yeah, come through, I can’t wait to show you the place.”
Sam clenched his teeth and left his rucksack near the door. He hoped “debrief” wasn’t as literal as he feared. “I can come back later, if you’re working.”
“Don’t be silly, we’re just about finished anyway. What do you think of the building? Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Weird skirting boards though. I suppose it’s trendy or something.”
“Just wait till you see the view,” she said, her heels clipping on the floor as she went to the furthest door and opened it. “Come on.”
He closed the front door and followed her into a spacious open-plan living and dining room with the kitchen in the corner. Most of the wall in front of him was glass, allowing the panoramic view of the city to have the best impact.
“Wow,” he said after a few moments. “That’s cool.”
“Isn’t it beautiful? You can see the London Eye, the Houses of Parliament, and in the day it looks completely different again. I’ll never get bored of this view. Make yourself at home.” Leanne’s heels echoed in the large space. “I’ve just opened a bottle of wine, do you want some?”
Sam dropped onto the corner sofa. It was less squishy than he’d have liked. “Go on then.”
Leanne brought his glass of wine as he twisted the wedding band on his finger. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Ekstrand had reacted to it when he first met him, the way it had seemed to burn the Thorn brother’s hand. He was certain it had also helped him to escape Exilium. The ring itself didn’t seem anything special to him though. Perhaps the forge it was made in had something to do with all the weird shit.
“Love, do you remember who recommended that forge where we made our wedding rings? I was trying to remember the other day—a friend of mine wants to do the same thing.”
“It was me.” Her boss entered from the hallway. Sam hoped he’d been in the bathroom, rather than the bedroom.
“Marcus, this is Sam, as you know. Sam, meet Marcus.”
Sam had only ever seen Neugent at a distance, usually in a car, or spoken to him on the telephone. Up close, he was struck by how old he looked: mid-fifties at least. There was more grey than blonde in his hair and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth calmed Sam's primal competitive streak. His eyes were such an intense cobalt blue Sam wondered if they were contact lenses.
They shook hands. “It’s good to meet you properly at last, Sam,” Neugent said and Sam forced himself to smile, even though the sound of his voice set him on edge. It had been associated with whisking his wife away and ruining their plans for far too long to mean anything else to him now.
“Hello.”
“Yes, I used that forge for my own wedding.” Marcus smiled. Smug bastard. Sam wanted to punch him, then and there. “Much more romantic than something impersonal picked out of a jeweller’s window.”
“I didn’t realise you were married,” Sam said, spotting Neugent’s wedding ring.
“My wife passed away some years ago.”
“Oh.” Sam took a gulp of the wine to fill the awkward silence.
“Good journey?” Neugent asked, sitting in one of the stylish armchairs.
“Not bad,” Sam said, wondering when he was going to leave. The silence crept back like an unwanted dog.
“So I understand you’re a computer programmer,” Neugent eventually said.
“I code.” He shrugged. “Websites though, not computers, mostly database-driven sites and server side scripts.” He spoke quickly, hoping it would end the agonising small talk. He didn’t come to London to chat with his wife’s boss. Surely Neugent would realise he wasn’t welcome?
“Well,” Neugent said, standing up, “I’ll leave you both to it. Have a lovely weekend. Good to meet you properly Sam.”
“You too.”
“I’ll make sure I have those ideas for the Bolivian situation for you first thing on Monday morning,” Leanne said, escorting him out.
“The meeting is 8am sharp but there will be breakfast there,” Neugent replied. “Remember: don’t be intimidated by their sabre-rattling.”
“Don’t worry, it takes more than a few idiots with delusions of grandeur to bother me.”
Sam looked at his wife, taking in her slender legs, her high-heeled shoes, the way her hair was perfectly straight, and wondered who the fuck he was married to now. He remembered a time when she lived in combat trousers and Doc Martens boots, her hair wild with bright purple streaks, and curves his hands could really roam over. Now she was too skinny with too many sharp angles. The way she laughed with Neugent, high-pitched and brittle, was the opposite of the throaty roaring guffaw that used to burst out of her.
He hadn’t appreciated it as sharply as he did now, sitting in an apartment in which she looked right at home but which made him feel like an alien. This wasn’t who they were, or who they used to be. The thought of leaving the home they’d scrimped and saved to buy and patched up in their first year of marriage felt like a betrayal. But it was clear she’d already left all that far behind.
She came back to the doorway. “What?” she asked.
I’m wondering if there’s a marriage to save here, he thought. “Nothing,” he said.
Cathy made it to the tube station, found the right platform, got on the train and then burst into tears. She should have known Poppy wouldn’t let her go without one last attempt to make her utterly miserable, but to ask for an Iris secret too? Even if she did unearth one, how could she possibly hide Poppy’s task from her new family? They wouldn’t want her to have anything to do with her former patron.
A man sitting across from her asked if she was all right and she mumbled something back to deflect attention, horrified she’d lost control in public. It was the beer, it had to be. Come on, she thought, hold it together. There was no one to turn to, no one to protect her from Poppy or Iris or even her own husband, so she had to pull herself together and come up with a plan.
It felt better out in the open air again. Cathy remembered the last time she’d walked to the anchor property for the Emporium of Things in Between and Besides in Cloth Fair. She didn’t know then that Lord Poppy was already waiting for her and the memory of being led into his trap almost made her turn around. But the Shopkeeper had promised he hadn’t betrayed her, and besides, there was no one else in the Worlds she could go to. The only other person who would even be capable of helping her to hide from the Irises was the Sorcerer of Wessex and she had no idea where in Aquae Sulis his house was, thanks to his extraordinary paranoia.
She recited the Charm as she knocked on the door, making it echo into the Nether reflection of the property. Her feet were throbbing; the stupid shoes provided for her honeymoon had slight heels and she wasn’t used to walking miles in them. “My kingdom for my old trainers,” she said with a sigh and rested her forehead against the door.
There was the familiar sound of a key turning twice in the lock and the door opened. She could see the Shopkeeper through the haze marking the threshold between Mundanus and the Nether. His
eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Catherine!” He beckoned her inside.
She took off her coat and hung it up before realising what she’d done. The Shopkeeper locked the door. As she’d hoped, the shop was shut to customers. “How are you?”
“I’m very well, thank you,” he replied, returning to his usual spot behind the glass counter. As always he was dressed in a bow-tie and tweed suit, his white hair neat. A different leather-bound book was on top of the counter but she couldn’t see the title on the spine. “And you?” He frowned at her. “Catherine…you’re wearing a dress. With flowers on it.”
She pulled a face. “I know. Things could be better. I…There are two things I wanted to ask you. First: do you have any Charms that could make me an artist?”
“Which medium would you like to work in?”
“Painting. And I have to be really, really good.” It was doubtful she could find a way back to her life in Mundanus before the painting was due.
“Do you paint or sketch already?”
“No.”
He pursed his lips. “I have various Charms that could help with certain skills but it sounds like you need everything…I do have a few things I could combine but there would be side-effects.”
“I don’t care, as long as I can paint.”
“I can give you a combined potion for an eye for colour, form and beauty, increased manual dexterity, improved concentration and a substantial boost to your raw creativity, but I can’t give you anything that will make you able to hold a brush correctly or make the best decisions in terms of subject and composition.”
“But I don’t have time to learn that.”
The Shopkeeper peered over the top of his glasses at her. “This isn’t just a new hobby, is it?”
Cathy shook her head. “It’s really important.”
“Well,” he said, pushing the glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “I have heard about a very rare Charm that can supposedly make one truly artistic but it has to be made to order. I take it from the way you’re looking at me you wish to place one?” When she nodded he went back to the counter. “It will take somewhere between three to four weeks. Do you still want the combined potions too?”
“Yes! I’ll take…ten of them.”
“Ten!”
“Well, they’ll run out, won’t they?”
“Each one will be effective for a number of hours. I wouldn’t recommended consuming more than one per year, otherwise—”
“It’s fine. Really. Ten. Charge them to my husband’s account, unless there’s something I need to pay myself?”
“You’re in credit, actually,” the Shopkeeper said, much to her surprise. “You overpaid me for the Luck Egg. A kiss of genuine gratitude and affection is worth a huge amount. They’re very rare.”
She almost kissed his cheek again, before remembering the curse. “I am genuinely grateful. Will it take you long to prepare the potions?”
“I’ll do it straightaway and Letterboxer them to you as soon as they’re finished. We’ll settle up for the Charm once it’s in. What was the second thing you wanted to ask?”
“I was hoping I could renegotiate with you, perhaps take my old job back and—”
“Wait a moment! I thought today was your wedding day. Am I mistaken?”
“No,” she said, holding up her left hand.
His lips matched the colour of his hair. “What in the Worlds are you doing here?” It was as close to a squawk as she’d ever heard out of his mouth. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Where is your husband?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“Of course not.”
He gawped at her. “What…why…what…”
“We had a row, he left and I—”
The Shopkeeper covered his ears. “I don’t want to know, Catherine, I mustn’t know, and I must ask that you leave, immediately!”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want them to find you here once they start looking for you. Bad enough that Poppy tracked you down to my shop. If Iris did as well they would ask very difficult questions indeed.”
“But I don’t have anyone else I can ask! I don’t want to get you into trouble, but I wouldn’t have risked coming here unless I really needed to. And this isn’t any different to the time you helped me before.”
“Of course it is! You’re married now, Catherine, and not into just any family. Didn’t your parents prepare you? The Irises are ruthless in their pursuit of perfection, in all things. I have no idea what William Iris thinks he’s doing leaving you free to run away on your wedding night but I don’t want to be caught in the mess if it’s discovered.”
Cathy didn’t move. She couldn’t. Where was there to go but back to the honeymoon flat? She looked down at the floor, not wanting him to see the despair in her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was softer and she watched his shoes as he came out from behind the counter. “I genuinely want to help but I can’t take the risk. And you can’t either. You need to go back to…wherever you’re supposed to be and hope that you get there before your husband discovers you’ve gone.”
“I don’t give a stuff if he knows.”
“Catherine, listen to me. I once knew a young lady married into the Iris family and unhappy with her lot. She came to me for a sleeping Charm. I thought it was for her own use, but in fact she was using it to make her husband sleep as soon as he came to bed instead of fulfilling his—” he cleared his throat “—marital duty.”
Cathy smiled at the thought of it, admiring the solution.
“They realised what she was doing,” the Shopkeeper went on, his expression humourless.
“What happened?”
“They packed her off to the Agency and replaced her with a more obedient wife.”
“Perhaps life with the Agency was preferable.”
The look the Shopkeeper gave her turned Cathy’s guts to water. “Oh no, Catherine. I can assure you, she has not improved her situation. Now go back to your husband before the same happens to you.”
8
Will stroked Amelia’s back, breathing her sweet scent in deeply. She was nuzzled into his chest, the bed was soft and they were both warm and relaxed. He could feel her belly against his hip, her right leg draped over both of his, her breasts pressed against his side.
Her skin was divinely smooth and free of blemishes, her hair long with a slight curl having been freed from its elaborate pinning. He explored the curve of her waist, brushed his fingers down her hip as hers traced the line down to his belly-button.
Will planted a kiss on the top of her head. She tilted her face up and stretched to meet his lips with hers. Her nipples grazed his skin and, seized with a pulse of passion, he grasped her about the waist and rolled her on top of him so her breasts would be squeezed against his chest. She giggled and let her hair fall around their faces, forming a secret world in which only their kisses existed.
Gradually, the realisation that he couldn’t stay there all day as well as all night crept in and tarnished the gilded pleasure. This was how it should have been with his wife. He should have been tempted to tell Catherine that his plans for the day had changed and that they weren’t to leave the bedroom until their marital home was ready. Instead, he found himself dreading seeing her again.
“What is it?” Amelia asked. “Do you have to go?”
He wrapped both arms about her, pressing as much of her skin against him as he could, wanting to have her leave an impression in his flesh that he could take with him. “Soon,” he whispered. “I don’t want to. But I should.”
“It is your honeymoon, I suppose,” she said, a twitch at the corner of her mouth waiting to break into a smile.
“Hardly,” he muttered. “I’d rather pretend it was ours.”
“I’m game,” she said. “Let’s pretend you’re being called away to a function at Black’s that you simply couldn’t get out of. Whilst you’re drin
king cocktails, I’ll bathe in milk and honey, and while you play billiards I’ll wash my hair in rosewater.” She kissed his throat. “And as you play cards, I’ll brush my hair a hundred times with my sandalwood comb until it shines.” She kissed his chest. “Then I’ll come back to bed and warm it for you, so you can slip between the sheets.” She kissed his belly. “I’ll wrap myself around you and steal the chill from your skin.”
He pulled her back up to kiss his lips, trying to control his baser urges. “If I’m not careful, I’ll never leave.”
“I’ve always preferred a carefree man,” she said, smiling.
After a few moments locked together, he summoned all the willpower within him to slide her to the side and get out of the bed.
She pouted at him as he reached for his shirt. He was ashamed by the strewn clothing he’d have to reclaim and wear again. “I’m sorry, my love,” he said softly, watching her hand stretch across the sheets towards him. “I have to go.”
She heard the conviction and flopped onto her back, though even that was graceful. Her hair spilt across the pillows, she stretched, languid and the very epitome of temptation. As she stared up into the inside canopy of the bed, Will struggled into his underwear, embarrassed by the effect she still had on his body.
“I never thought I’d be a mistress,” she said as he pulled on his trousers. “I was taught how to be a wife in charge of a household and oiling the wheels of Society for my husband’s success.”
He twisted round to face her. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She smiled, and he couldn’t help but reflect it. “If I’d married, I never would have been with you and I wanted that, secretly.”
“I wanted to be with you,” he said. “I resented other people for taking my time, I kept waiting for when I could see you again. I never dreamt I’d have anything like this with you. I’m sorry you won’t have the life you deserve, but the selfish part of me is glad we can have this.”
He leaned across and kissed her again, then brushed his lips down her throat, skimming her breast until he reached a nipple and sucked it into his mouth. He felt her back arch as she gasped and cupped the other breast in his hand as he nibbled playfully. When he pulled back, her green eyes were bright with lust, her cheeks flushed and lips deep red. She grabbed at his collar but he pulled back before she could catch it, wagging a finger.
