by S. L. Prater
“Are you finished with my books, then?” The clerk dusted crumbs off his chest.
“Today was supposed to be your day off,” Paul said softly. “Wouldn’t you rather be somewhere else? Anywhere else?”
Annette swallowed. She slid closer to the butler on the sofa.
“Still is my day off,” Chambers said. “But those are my books she’s combing over. If the witch has found mistakes during her audit, I’d certainly like to hear about them. So here I am. Tell us what you’ve found.”
“No mistakes,” Marnie sneered. “Nothing I found was an accident. Each discrepancy was quite purposeful.”
Madam Becker’s eyes widened. She shook her head at her daughter. The gesture was meant to caution her, but it goaded her instead. Marnie never could abide a bully. Even if Bran wasn’t nearby to chase them away this time. It wasn’t in her to ignore them, which was probably why so many had followed her home from school as a youth.
Chambers rose out of the armchair. He stretched to his full height, his massive hands in fists. “Are you going to share the findings of your audit with me or just stand there? Give me my books back, little mouse. You’re wasting everyone’s time here.”
Marnie touched the star symbol beneath her blouse for comfort. “Paul, please send a wire for the blade guard Raif and a watchman while you’re at it.”
“I told you it’d be this way.” Chambers shook his head at the butler. There was sweat on his brow. “It’s always this way with their gender. They add dramatics to everything. They can’t help it.”
“I’ll send for a watchman straight away, just as soon as you leave this house, Mr. Chambers. I won’t allow you to harass these women. They are my guests here.”
“I come and go from the manor as I please,” Chambers shouted.
“You won’t when Master Warmington finds out you’ve been stealing from him,” Marnie shouted back.
“Nonsense!” Chambers’ voice boomed off the walls. Curious staff came to peak around the archway. They cowered out of sight as his tirade elevated. “I’ve worked here for years! I have Master Warmington’s trust!”
“I knew it!” Paul perched on the edge of his seat. “I knew you were crooked!”
Chambers’s eyes popped slightly from his head. “The audacity. The dramatics. There’s always dramatics with their gender. You can’t take any of it to heart. Master Warmington won’t hear this!”
“He will hear all of it and gladly,” Paul said.
“Why you would put stock in the opinion of a seductress and her bastard—”
Marnie was ready to curse him—or maybe just a jinx? Something small to trip him up and humiliate him. Something that would be hard to prove.
Madam Becker had a better idea. Her mother’s fist landed with a crunch against the clerk’s nose. Chambers stumbled back, falling over the ottoman, landing on his spine with a thud that rocked the floors. His feet flew over his head. He lost one of his boots.
“Dear God,” Paul said, eyes widening on the unconscious bear of a man bleeding on the floor. “That was brilliant!”
* * *
It took longer for the watchman and Raif to arrive than it did for Marnie to explain it all. Mr. Chambers had been embezzling. With a promise from the butler that their jobs were safe, staffers were eager to share with the watchman how he had robbed them of wages or lied about household purchases, pocketing the money himself. Her efforts earned her a new rose gold armband from the Warmington Estate and the promise of a favor from Raif. The band crowded her wrists, clinking against the others.
“Would you please stop smiling at me like that,” Madam Becker said in the steam carriage on their way home. “I behaved horrendously. I won’t have it.”
Marnie chuckled. “Paul did not think you behaved horrendously. In fact, I’ve never seen a man so cheered by violence.” She reached across her seat to pat her mother’s knee. “Did you see the way his legs went over his head?”
That earned a smile out of her. Annette gnawed her lip, trying to make it behave. “It was a bit amusing, the way his boot sailed off.”
“Never been prouder. You should be the one wearing this armband.” Marnie, who had stood closest when the assault occurred, had a small spattering of blood on the collar of her blouse. She did not mind it, though, not one bit. Maybe later she’d cut out the fabric and frame it. “Does your fist hurt?”
“Not really.” The madam examined her hand. Her knuckles were slightly discolored.
“Certainly not as bad as his nose, right?”
They shared a laugh. Marnie forgot her worries for the moment. She forgot about the crushing weight of responsibility, which piled onto her shoulders with each new telegram she received. She forgot for the moment that decisions had to be made. The emperor had wanted her to try out for the council position, but in a few short weeks, she was expected back at the academy, just after his coronation.
But what if she won the position?
She had always wanted to be an alchemist. Marnie still longed for that.
She forgot, briefly, that Loreley was an unfair place to live, where her kind was distrusted and abused, and that for some reason, it had all been laid on her shoulders to fix.
Chapter 10
Marnie missed Bran. Terribly so. The demons weren’t helping. They taunted her with bad dreams and images in her mirror of the emperor in trouble, sick, or hurt. They taunted her so often, she had Jack move the heavy glass to her closet so they couldn’t create horrible visions in its reflection anymore. Jack regularly slept on her floor for comfort, but tonight she was alone. He was trying out some new spell, which required him to stay awake for thirty-two straight hours.
Another week had gone by so slowly.
No word from Bran. No summons. More armbands. More requests. More than she’d ever be able to fill. She could multiply herself by five and not touch all the requests that flooded the manor. Jack helped her prioritize the more serious ones. Her efforts earned the ‘hero witch’ more attention from the newspapers.
They called her Sophia in the streets. Strangers shook her hand and introduced their children to her. More than once, she heard the snap of a camera from some tabloid or another. Reporters asked her for quotes. In the market, vendors begged her to sample their wares in the view of crowds. She felt special. Hopeful. Sometimes she felt like a hero witch.
Sometimes she didn’t feel like the disgraced daughter of a domestic servant and her master’s heir.
Marnie wasn’t delusional enough to believe she’d actually win the position on the council. The resources of the others outweighed hers too heavily. They made several appearances in the papers too, and that wasn’t the point anyway. She would continue to showcase the advantages of bettering relationships with witches everywhere, and then she’d return to Acheus and finish her studies. As soon as she obtained her license, Bran could add her to the palace as an alchemist, the very first the crown had ever employed.
In the capital, alchemy had been reserved for healing balms and potions at hospitals or clinics. Marnie was displaying through the apprenticeship its many other advantages, and the people were responding positively. The two boxes full of armbands tucked under her bed were proof of it.
The moon was high in the sky, peeking through clouds that threatened to storm. Unable to sleep, she climbed out from her covers in her nightgown, the short, thin piece with a low neckline. The folded knife was tucked into a tight pocket she had sewn into the hem. It weighed against her thigh as she abandoned her chambers.
Bran’s old room wasn’t far, and it comforted her to be among his things, to lie under his covers, smelling his enticing smells. Maybe she’d read one of his fat boring books until her eyes were finally heavy enough for peaceful sleep.
The room was cast in long, familiar shadows, the bed unmade in clumps of quilt and pillows. In a hurry to get settled, she rushed over and flopped onto the mattress, landing on something hard and large.
She felt movement beneath her and
screamed.
Bran covered her mouth with his hand. “Marnie?”
Her scream turned into a delighted squeal. Relieved to see him, to feel him and know he was well, she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed hard enough she would have throttled a smaller man. “What are you doing here?”
“Is this magic?” Bran asked, breathless. “Did I summon you, somehow, at this ungodly hour? I’ve certainly been thinking of you hard enough.”
He lifted the blankets, and she slid under them. Marnie nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the soothing scents of an autumn night: crisp, cool, rainy air, with hints of cider. “I tried to come to see you.”
“Safety measures at the palace are an obnoxious thing,” Bran said. “There are only so many summonses out on loan to keep visitors to a minimum for security purposes. The palace is buried in postage and telegrams. I’ve tried to tell them how I want my messages prioritized, but then Alastor quotes protocols at me. These things are his realm. He’s lived in it most of his life; I must trust him on it, I suppose.”
“And yet here you are,” she chided, “breaking all those protocols, I bet.”
“Yes, but I can’t sleep over there.” He gestured out the long narrow windows where the palace was a drab backdrop. He rubbed his eye with his palm. “I need sleep. I feel my mind slipping. I thought here, in my bed, was the best way to get it. Alastor wouldn’t like it. Most Blade Guards are loyal to him, so I only brought Raif with me.
“He’s across the hall now, and he won’t tattle on me, at least . . . Are you the reason he keeps trying to shove food down my throat? He constantly has apples and snap peas in his pockets with an insistent desire to share. He’s turning into a grandmother.”
“Someone needs to make sure you eat.” She leaned into him, bathing in the warmth of his bared chest.
Bran’s arms wrapped around her, hands skimming her back and waist, and the blood in her veins began to simmer. She kissed him where his heart beat the hardest. Her lips lingered there.
He groaned. “I think if I announced our courtship, I’d be able to have a summons made specifically for you. You could enter the palace whenever you wanted.”
She broke the kiss and bit him.
“Ouch,” he chuckled.
“Bran?”
“Hmm?” His nose was buried in her hair.
“Kiss me?”
He stilled against her.
She waited, her brow pressed to his chest.
“Kiss you. In my bed,” his voice faltered. “In the moonlight. Now—”
“And keep your love for me a secret.”
When he was silent for too long, trailing his fingers through her hair in a maddeningly pleasant way, she added, “It’s not as though you planned to tell anyone about this moment. You didn’t know I’d be here. I didn’t know you’d be here. Kiss me now. We can argue about the details later.”
“Stop being reasonable.” His voice was gruff. He had to clear his throat.
She laughed.
“I do love that sound.”
His hand cupped her cheek, and his lips found hers. The kiss evolved quickly. His tongue in her mouth, his eyes liquid pools in the dark, Marnie felt boneless. He kissed her jaw, her throat, and nuzzled her ear. The autumn smells were everywhere, overwhelming her senses. She was a puddle. She could have slipped under his skin and lived there.
“Marnie, are we . . . ?”
She gasped, blinking in the dark, trying to clear her vision. “Floating? Hmm, yes, we are.” She clutched him close to keep him from falling. “I still don’t have a handle on this magic-riding tendency of mine.”
He brought his lips to hers with a new urgency. They hovered a foot above the bed, the blankets draping them. His fingers trailed her waist, cupped her breasts until her back arched. She played with the hem of his undergarments, and he froze.
“No, no, don’t stop,” she begged, her fingers digging into the muscles around his spine, raking the blades of his shoulders. When she kissed him next, his response was controlled, chaste. His legs ceased weaving with hers.
They spilled out of the air, landing on the mattress with a jolt. Marnie whimpered, disappointment cooling the blood in her veins.
He brushed his lips across her forehead. “You are not my mistress.”
“Fine,” she grumped. “But I’m not leaving this bed.”
“Agreed.” He pushed at her shoulder, turning her so her back was against his abdomen. He restrained her there like he knew her mind, knew she would misbehave.
She twisted, testing his resolve. He growled at her. When Marnie huffed an incoherent complaint, he pressed a kiss to the space below her ear, stealing some of her fight with its sweetness.
He laid a possessive hand on her hip. “Your hair is tickling my face.”
“Your feet are freezing,” Marnie whined, but he was already gone, breathing deeply.
* * *
Jack brought Marnie his preferred selection from the stack of telegrams the next morning. He came directly into Bran’s bedroom, seemingly unmoved by Marnie’s state of dress, or lack thereof. He looked at the emperor’s sleeping form wrapped around her, but he made no comment, his placid face free of judgment.
“This is the one we want,” Jack said, handing her a telegram written by a furniture maker from Gold District. “He has a poltergeist problem. An urgent one. They’ve gotten into his mirrors.”
Marnie squinted up at him, blurry-eyed. “How many mirrors?”
“All of them. They’re infesting the place. Apparently, the mischievous spirits enjoy cursing at him and his shoppers at top volume. He hasn’t sold a thing in weeks.” He took back the telegram. “I think I have a solution, a spell that will save his mirrors and his business with it. We shouldn’t have to break the glass.”
Marnie could tell by the smile on his face she wouldn’t like his solution. “All right. Give me a minute.”
“Wear something warm.” His smile widened.
“Warm? In the dry season?”
No, she wasn’t going to like this at all.
* * *
“Yeah, yeah, it’s a brilliant spell,” Marnie grumbled.
“Sweat is the main ingredient,” Jack said, “and I can’t make enough on my own. Not for so many poltergeists.”
“I heard you the first time. Ugh, why can’t these spells of yours ever require me to smoke rare tobaccos or eat a delicious cake or take a luxurious bath? I can take a bath like a champion, but don’t ask me to exercise.” She wore rider’s trousers, extra thick socks, and a knit sweater. The demon blade was in its compartment in her boot heel. Jack offered to run with her through the gardens, but Marnie couldn’t bear the thought of people she knew staring at her while she galloped around.
She tried to remember the last time she ran anywhere on purpose and came up blank.
“The streets, then?” he offered, but she couldn’t bear the thought of strangers staring at her either.
“It’s undignified,” she argued. To appease her, they marched for the trains to seek solitude in the woods outside the walls.
They reached the tunneled ramps which led to the underground trains at a brisk walk. Pastors in brown stoles handed out pamphlets. Marnie spotted the heading below the naked tree symbol: Common Symptoms of Bewitchment and Possession. Jack waved them away when they offered them.
Marnie was already winded. “I’ll never make it in these clothes. Let’s just get this over with now.”
Kicking up her heels, she ran, chest heaving, legs burning, down the ramps. She was stopped by a cramp in her calf not several yards later. She howled.
“You smoke too much,” Jack said.
Marnie looked him over, hair in her eyes, annoyed by his musculature and lack of sweating. He was not even flushed. She powered through another several yards of the tunnel, fueled by pure stubbornness, a slight limp in her step.
She nearly collapsed when she reached the platforms below. Bent over, she clutched her knees, gasping, tryi
ng not to think about the fact that the tunnels were built on an incline. She would have to walk up the ramps on their way back.
Jack would have to carry her.
“That’s it. I give up tobacco,” she wheezed.
“No, you don’t,” Jack said knowingly. “You’ve got smokes in your pockets right now, I bet.”
“I won’t give up smokes,” Marnie said. “I give up running. Did you get enough yet?”
“Hold still.” Jack produced an opaque vial the size of his thumb from his pocket. He uncorked it and ran it over her forehead and across her hairline and cheeks, catching droplets. “Loads here, just from your face.”
“Disgusting.” Her lungs hitched. “Please don’t ever ask me to do this again.”
Marnie jerked her knit sweater over her head, her shirtsleeves sticky with sweat. She tied it around her waist.
Jack was gone.
“Jack?” She looked around. The platforms were empty. The next train to unload wasn’t due yet. “Oh, there you are . . .”
He wasn’t alone. She found him near the benches behind the stone columns, speaking softly with an elderly woman. The woman smelled strongly of mildew and age. Her clothing was filthy and moth-eaten.
Marnie hoped she wasn’t living down here. The tunnels were notoriously dangerous, even in Silk District. The rose gold armband glinted on her wrist under the gaslights as Marnie checked her pockets. She was disappointed in herself for carrying smokes but no money. The tunnels began to rumble. The trains weren’t far now.
“A gift for you, ma’am.” Marnie removed the armband.
The old woman waved her hands and shook her head.
“She wants us to take her to Hood Road,” Jack said.
Marnie shivered. The gallows were on that road.
The old lady, her silver hair a stacked nest on her head, shuffled closer to Marnie. Her oblique smile revealed teeth that were black or missing. She put her hand into the crook of Jack’s arm and allowed him to lead her. When her back was turned, Marnie slipped the armband into her loose clothing. Hopefully, the old lady would find it later. The delicate jewelry would buy her several hot meals and a place to sleep for a while.
