Necessary Sacrifices

by R. L. King

  “Yes, unfortunately. Especially with the older generation, it’s difficult to get the same level of respect if you don’t have the right lineage—magical and social. But that’s changing. Take Eddie, for example—he comes from a working-class family in London, and he’s one of the brightest mages I know. He’s carved quite a niche for himself with the library, and even the old fossils have to respect him. It’s one of the things I find refreshing about American society, honestly.”

  “Even though you’re one of the aristocracy?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me either way. That’s why I often get tut-tutted by the worst of the old fossils. Knowing one’s place goes both ways, and I’ve proven on numerous occasions that I don’t know—or give a damn about—mine.”

  They passed through a wrought-iron gate and drove up a narrow road, gliding to a stop in front of a well-lit two-story manor house about the same size as Stone’s place. A servant in formal livery came out and opened the door.

  Stone got out first and offered Verity his hand, surprised at how easily he fell back into the formal habits his upbringing had instilled in him. She took it and gracefully exited, taking in the scene as if she had attended such gatherings her whole life.

  Inside, the affair was already in full swing. Another servant led them to a cavernous great room, where small groups of people either stood chatting with drinks in hand or circulated around. There were too many to count, but Stone estimated the room held as many as a hundred people. A large, formal bar had been set up on the far side of the room, and light chamber music played from somewhere. Stone had met the house’s owners, an older married couple of his father’s generation, but he’d never been to this particular home. Elegant and understated with dark, wood-paneled walls and old paintings and art objects scattered about, it had the same effortless, old-money feel to it as Desmond’s places did.

  “Stone!” a voice called.

  He and Verity looked up to see Eddie Monkton heading through the crowd. “Hello, Eddie.”

  Eddie eyed them up and down. “You two clean up nicely,” he said with a grin. “You look amazing, Verity. I hope old Stone’s told you that.”

  “I think I surprised him,” she said, returning the grin. “He’s not used to seeing me as anything but his apprentice.”

  “His loss.” Eddie nodded toward the bar. “Come on, then. Let’s get you some drinks.”

  It had been quite some time since Stone had attended a get-together of this size, and he was surprised at how many people he didn’t recognize, especially among the younger attendees. He’d been away longer than he thought, apparently.

  As they followed Eddie across the room to the bar, he scanned the small groups they passed, spotting familiar faces—at least to the extent that he recognized them—about half the time. Everyone, from young to old, was dressed in formal style, but there was a lot more room for “interpretation” of that style than there would have been in a gathering of mundanes. Some of the older guests wore fashions that would have fit in nicely a hundred years ago, while some of the younger ones had gone for more modern, dramatic takes on the classic suit-and-cocktail-dress motif. He noticed, however, that just as he’d predicted the general mood was somewhat more understated than it might have been under other circumstances; even those who had never met William Desmond knew him by reputation, and in Britain’s tight-knit magical society, losing him was not unlike the loss of a beloved political or entertainment figure back in the States. His death would be felt in the community for years.

  Drinks in hand, Stone and Verity let Eddie lead them to a group that had gathered in a small nook near a window and some floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Stone raised his glass to Arthur Ward, and nodded to the other three he didn’t recognize as Ward made introductions. He noticed his friend eyeing Verity with the same impressed amazement as Eddie had. She was certainly commanding attention.

  They’d chatted for a few minutes when another man approached the group. “So this is the apprentice I’ve been hearing so much about!” he boomed. Of medium height and stout, with a large, snow-white walrus mustache, he carried a half-empty drink and wore a stuffy, old-fashioned suit.

  Stone shifted over a little to give him room. “Walter. Good to see you. Verity, remember I mentioned Walter Yarborough, who was going to be my master before I started with Desmond? Walter, this is Verity Thayer.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure, my dear,” Yarborough said formally, bowing over Verity’s hand and kissing it.

  Verity seemed amused. “Good to meet you, Mr. Yarborough. I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

  “Stone here’s had some very complimentary things to say about you, I must say. Quite a talented young mage, he tells me.”

  Stone didn’t respond, though the urge to sigh was strong. There was no helping it—get a few drinks into old Walter and he turned into a genuine British stereotype.

  “Well, I hope things are going well,” Verity said, still amused. She subtly reclaimed her hand.

  “How long have you got left now?”

  “Another year or so.”

  “Good, good. Four years, then?”

  “Four, yes.”

  Walter nodded emphatically, his drink threatening to slosh over the edge of his glass. “Four. Excellent. Stone here finished in three—don’t know if he ever told you that. We were all amazed old Desmond, rest his soul, let him go so soon—quite unusual, that, especially for a stickler like Desmond—but I suppose we can be certain by now his confidence wasn’t misplaced.”

  “Er—” Stone said. “Yes. Well. How have you been, Walter?”

  “Oh, doing well, doing well. I’ve got a new apprentice of my own. Bright lad. Lazy, but bright. Lot of the young lot are lazy these days. But he’s working out fine so far. He’s over by the bar chatting up one of the young ladies.” He shook his head ruefully in that direction. “Typical young bloke. You’d best watch Miss Thayer, Stone. He’s got quite the roving eye.”

  “Ms. Thayer is quite capable of watching herself—and making her own choices,” Stone said before Verity could speak up. To his left, he heard Eddie Monkton snicker.

  “Yes. Yes, of course she is. Of course she is.” Yarborough took a drink. “Well, in any case, it’s good to see you, Stone, and good to meet Miss Thayer. I’m sure we can chat later. For now, I’m making the rounds.” He raised his glass in farewell and disappeared back into the crowd.

  Eddie laughed. “Same old Walter.” He waggled his eyebrows at Verity. “Best watch out for that apprentice of ’is, you know.”

  Verity’s eyes sparkled as she watched Yarborough’s sizeable backside recede. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” She punched Stone’s arm lightly. “So he was going to be your master? Somehow I can’t see you two together.”

  “Walter’s all right,” Stone said. “Bit…stiff, but all right. You’re right, though—I doubt we’d have made it through four years. He’s—a different kind of old-fashioned to Desmond.”

  “I’ve never even met Mr. Desmond and I think I noticed that,” she admitted.

  The four of them chatted for a while, keeping the topics light. Waiters circulated among the crowd with trays of hors-d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne, and most of the little groups shifted and reformed periodically as the evening went on. When Eddie spotted a couple he wanted to discuss library business with and drifted off, Stone glanced around the room to see if anyone else he knew had arrived.

  His gaze skated over a man standing by himself near the bar, but then snapped back. Tall, dark-haired, in his late forties, he looked somehow familiar, but Stone couldn’t immediately put his finger on where he’d seen him before. He took in the serviceable but unremarkable suit, watchful expression, and vague air of discomfort, trying to remember when he might have met the man.

  When the recognition finally came, he tensed.

  Verity, who’d been standing next to
him chatting with Ward, noticed. “Doc?”

  “No, it’s—nothing. Just saw someone I think I might know. Would you excuse me for a few minutes, Verity? Feel free to circulate on your own—no need to stay tethered to me all night if you’d rather not. Go make some contacts.”

  “Sure, no problem. I’ll be around.”

  As Stone approached the bar, any lingering doubt he might have had as to the identity of the man he’d seen disappeared. Even thought it had been more than twenty years since they’d last spoken and the years had not been altogether kind to the man, he had no trouble recognizing the features and the proud stance. The man wasn’t looking at him; beyond him a much younger man, barely more than a boy, leaned on the bar and was attempting to chat up the attractive but obviously uninterested female bartender. Had to be Walter’s apprentice, Stone decided, but he didn’t care at the moment. His attention was fully focused on the older man.

  “Hello, Selby,” he said casually. “It’s been a long time.”

  The man turned, and Stone got a better look at him. He still had the same dark hair, handsome features, and slyly amused dark eyes he’d had when he’d been the assistant estate steward back at Caventhorne during the time when Stone had begun his apprenticeship, but now his face showed a few lines, his expression was more resigned than sardonic, and he had a slight stoop to his shoulders. Even though he was fewer than ten years older than Stone, the combination of Stone’s looking several years younger than his actual age and Selby looking several years older made the difference much more pronounced.

  The man regarded him in a combination of confusion and just a bit of suspicion. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t—”

  “Sorry, forgot my manners. It’s been quite some time since we last saw each other. Alastair Stone.”

  A series of expressions—nervousness, concern, even a hint of fear—flashed across Selby’s face before it settled into repose. “Ah. Yes, of course. I should have recognized you, sir. Forgive me.”

  “It’s all right—it’s been a while. How have you been?”

  “I’ve been…well.” His gaze shifted around, almost as if he were trying to see whether anyone was paying attention to them. Then his expression clouded. “I was so sorry to hear about Mr. Desmond. Quite a shock.”

  “It was indeed.” Stone shifted to magical sight, watching Selby’s aura. The familiar red-purple appeared mostly calm, and only a bit clouded with unease. That could have been expected, though—after what Selby had accidentally unleashed at Caventhorne, Desmond had been kind to only remove him from his position on the staff. He could easily have done much more, and no one would have blamed him for it, given how many people had almost died that night due to Selby’s mistake. “Did you attend the service this morning? I didn’t see you there, but that’s not surprising—the turnout was quite impressive.”

  “I did. I was in the back. I—didn’t linger after it was over.”

  Stone nodded noncommittally. “So—what have you been up to? I’ve been living in the States for the last ten years, so I’m not caught up on all the latest news.” He continued watching Selby’s aura as he spoke.

  Selby hesitated. “I’ve been out of the country myself,” he said at last. “Been working in France for the last fifteen years. Overseeing a small staff for a family with a chateau in the Loire Valley area.”

  “I see.” Stone finished his drink and motioned to the bartender for another one. By now, Yarborough’s apprentice had apparently realized he wasn’t having any success and departed. “Magical household, is it?”

  “Yes. The lady of the house and her daughter are both Talented.” He glanced around the room again, still looking uncomfortable.

  “Everything all right, Selby?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, too quickly. Then he got a good look at Stone and his shoulders slumped. “Could we speak privately, sir? Just for a few moments.”

  Stone narrowed his eyes. “If you like. Let’s step outside.”

  He’d spotted a pair of French doors leading out into a small patio earlier when he’d been circulating; it was to these that he led Selby now. Since the winter air was chilly, no one else was there. He leaned against the wall and looked out into the carefully manicured garden. “What’s on your mind, then?”

  Selby looked even more uncomfortable. He rubbed his neck with the hand that wasn’t holding his drink. “Well…sir…I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. We never got to talk again after—well, after what happened. I was in hospital for quite some time for my injuries, and—while Mr. Desmond paid for my treatment, he made it clear I wouldn’t be returning to his employ. I don’t know how much he told you about what happened.”

  “He told me the whole story.”

  “I certainly don’t blame him for his decision—I’d have sacked me too, after my foolishness almost got you and him and the rest of the staff killed.”

  “That was a long time ago, Selby,” Stone murmured. “I’m sure he forgave you for it.”

  “So am I.” He didn’t look at Stone. “He took care of me—arranged for the best care, sent money to help with expenses—until I recovered from my injuries and secured another position. He even set up a small account to help me with getting settled in, and supplemented it periodically up until he passed away.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I don’t think he entirely blamed you for what happened—he told me you were convinced your brother was trying to contact you. He didn’t approve of your actions, and thought you’d have been wiser to go to him with your concerns, but he understood why you did what you did. And I know he always felt guilty over what happened to your brother.”

  “Yes, sir.” He sipped his drink and continued looking out over the garden. “Mr. Desmond told you about Gareth, then, did he?” he asked after a long silence.

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t even think about it at the time—when I told you about what I’d seen, I wasn’t even surprised that you seemed to know exactly what I was talking about. Didn’t occur to me that he might have told you.”

  “I asked him. After I saw you doing magic out in the shed that night, and I got into a bit of trouble for overreaching myself, magically.” He glanced at the other man, watching his aura with care. “Selby—have you been keeping up your magic at all, after you left?”

  The red-purple aura shifted in discomfort, and even in the dim light Stone saw Selby’s cheeks flush. “Not…not really, sir. A bit here and there to help me with my duties, but after what happened, I—well, I mostly gave it up.”

  That was a surprise, but Selby’s aura gave no indication that he was lying. “Did you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Selby looked rather miserable. “I came to the conclusion while I was in hospital that nothing good seems to come to my family from it, especially since I know my talents are…minimal.”

  For several moments, Stone didn’t reply. Then he said, “What did you want to speak to me about?”

  The other man began pacing, his entire aura radiating discomfort. “Well…sir…I know I have no right to ask you this, but—well, I’ve managed to put my past mistakes behind me. I’ve got a good position with Monsieur Bertrand and his family, and they know nothing of—any of what I’ve done. Mr. Desmond told me he would never reveal it—that as far as he was concerned, it was over and in the past. And he never did. Now that he’s passed away, aside from his staff at the time, you’re the only one who knows anything about what happened.”

  Ah, so that was it. He should have guessed. “And you’re worried that, now we’ve spoken again, I’ll make trouble for you because of what happened.”

  Selby didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to.

  Stone regarded him silently. “You loved Mr. Desmond, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. I did.” Selby’s gaze came up, and his expression was stricken. “He was always good to
me, even when he didn’t have to be. It was one of the biggest regrets of my life that I feel I betrayed his trust with my stupidity.”

  “I believe you.” And he did. Selby wasn’t a good enough mage to hide his aura, which was currently awash with shame and sadness. Unless the man had somehow managed to develop powers he’d had no potential for—and as far as Stone knew, that didn’t happen—there was no reasonable way Selby could have been responsible for any foul play that might have befallen Desmond.

  “You—do?”

  “Yes. I do. And you needn’t worry—I have no plan to cause you any trouble. You were young, and we all make mistakes. Yours certainly had justification, even if you didn’t approach them in the wisest way. I bear no ill will against you at this point. I’m glad you’ve done well for yourself and found a situation where you’re happy.”

  The relief on Selby’s face was nearly instant. His face lost some of its lined, peaked look, and he held his shoulders a little straighter. “I—appreciate that, sir. I truly do. I wasn’t sure whether I should come tonight. I don’t feel terribly welcome among—” He indicated the people inside with a hand gesture. “But I didn’t want to be seen at the reception this afternoon, and I felt I owed this to Mr. Desmond. And then when you approached me, after all those years…” He swallowed. “I know we didn’t get on so well, and I regret that now. I was young and arrogant and…more than a bit envious of you and your circumstances.”

  “I know,” Stone said. “But that was a long time ago. As I said, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

  Selby studied him for a moment, almost as if trying to reassure himself of the truth in Stone’s words. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He glanced back toward the inside of the house. “I think I’ll be going, actually. As I said, I don’t feel terribly comfortable here.” He offered his hand. “I’m glad I was able to talk with you tonight. You’ve taken a burden from me that I’ve carried for too long.”

  “I’m sorry you had to do that. Please—keep in touch.” He pulled one of his business cards from his wallet, wrote the number at his local home on the back, and offered it to Selby. “I’m sure Desmond would have wanted it.”