A Soul's Worth

by T. S. Barnett

  “They’ve no idea what they have, do they?” his mother asked as the suite door opened and Cam appeared, carrying a heavy tea tray. She held out a hand to stop the golem from pouring the tea. “Come here, please.”

  Cam obediently stood in front of her while she inspected him, gingerly touching his cool metal body and looking into his bright aperture eyes. “It doesn’t remember anything from before? About poor Sir Bennett?”

  “Doesn’t seem to,” Warren said, and Cam shook its head.

  “Warren Hayward tells me that Sir Bennett died to create me, but I do not believe I am Sir Bennett. I have no memories of being human. I am me. I am Cam.”

  “I decided to keep him, rather than sell him, since he’s...the real thing,” Warren said, risking a glance over at his father. “I don’t think the other ones are quite as self-aware,” he added quickly under Mason’s narrow gaze, “but they do speak and learn better than any other automaton on the market.”

  “Oh, you must be so careful, darling,” his mother said, lightly patting Cam on the arm and thanking it for the tea it poured. “You don’t know the risk you’re taking, showing something like this to the world. What if someone finds out the truth?”

  “I do give them insides,” he objected. “They look like proper machines. Who in their right mind would ever suspect magic, in any case?” His father stared silently at the golem as it handed him a cup of tea, and Warren cleared his throat once and attempted to settle back casually into his chair. “It’s been months, mum. No one suspects a thing—they’re all too enamored with the idea of a mechanized butler. It’s fine.”

  “I just worry for you. You know what they’d do to you if they found out.”

  “I know, mum. It isn’t an issue.”

  Anna took one last look at Cam and gave a small sigh, and then she turned the conversation to the topic of marriage instead. She demanded to know how Warren had met Elizabeth, what she was like, what he loved about her the most, and countless other inane, pointless things. He told the story as best he could, occasionally taking artistic liberties with their courtship, and he finished by saying what he thought they would want to hear—that she was the best thing ever to happen to him, and that he anticipated a long and prosperous future with her. The detail about Elizabeth not being able to bear children could always come up later if need be, at a crucial and heartbreaking time.

  “I’m so glad you’re happy, darling,” Anna said, leaning over to place a hand on her son’s knee. “I never would have imagined you’d do this well for yourself. We made the right decision after all, letting him go off with Sir Bennett, didn’t we, Mason?”

  His father only gave a small grunt of agreement, his gaze on the bottom of his teacup.

  “I’m so glad,” she said again, patting Warren’s knee quickly in a moment of exuberance. “I’m so glad that I won’t even bother you about grandchildren yet.”

  “We should get settled in,” his father said quietly, the first words Warren had actually heard him speak in years.

  “Oh, yes,” Anna agreed, and she leaned forward to set down her cup. “We won’t keep up your whole day, darling; I’m quite tuckered out from the trip myself. Lots of bustle and go taking a ride on the train, isn’t it? Be quite nice to take a bit of a breather for a few days.”

  Warren stood and put his empty teacup on the tray, and he bent to kiss his mother on the cheek. “You should come for luncheon tomorrow. I’ll show you around the city a bit. Just ring when you’re ready and I’ll send Cam with the autocar.”

  “All right, dear. We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Warren stopped to shake his father’s hand, but Mason ignored him, brushing by him to set his cup on the table. Just as Warren was about to give up, his father muttered, “I’ll walk ‘im out.” He put a rough hand on his son’s shoulder and led him to the suite door, waiting for Cam to follow them out before pausing just outside the doorway and pulling it just to behind him.

  Mason leaned over to peek through the cracked door, clearly making sure his wife wasn’t listening, and then he turned back to stare at Warren with a hard face. “You’re a fool, boy, and you’re in over your ‘ead.”

  “What are you talking about? I told you; I give them insides—”

  “Might fool your mother wiv all ‘at,” he growled, glancing this way and that to check the hallway for eavesdroppers, “but you won’t fool me. You know an’ I know there’s no way to make a golem wivout spillin’ blood. What’ve you gotten into?”

  Warren scowled, feeling like a child under his father’s gaze. “Why would I be into anything? Why lie about it?”

  “Because you’re a greedy little shit an’ y’always ‘ave been, an’ I wouldn’t put it parst you to kill a man if you thought it would turn you a profit. There’s darkness in you, boy, an’ this city can make any man ruthless.”

  “What do you know about me?” Warren hissed, leaning in close to his father to keep his voice low. “I wasn’t anything but free labor to you. You’re just sorry you lost the spare set of hands.”

  “I know what I see,” Mason grunted, and he glanced back to the door. “Tomorrow, send your mother off with your new missus. We’ve got some talkin’ to do.” Before Warren could protest, his father had stepped back inside the suite and shut the door in his face.

  “Is Warren Hayward in trouble?” Cam asked quietly.

  “There isn’t anything he can do to me,” Warren spat, and he waved for Cam to follow him and stalked off down the corridor.

  At the house, Warren spent his evening pacing the study, and this time it wasn’t worry that moved him, but anger. He had long ago given up on earning his father’s respect, and their conversation that morning may well have been the most words they had ever exchanged at one time, but Warren no longer felt the need to treat his father with respect that would never be reciprocated. Who was he, anyway, except a bitter old man who didn’t care about anything aside from his business? He didn’t even like his wife, and it had been clear throughout Warren’s entire life that his mother was the one in love—though with what, he couldn’t imagine.

  Ben was an adequate sounding board for Warren’s wrath, though he couldn’t be told the whole story. Warren fabricated an argument in which his father warned him against using magic at all instead of revealing the truth to his favorite inspector. Ben listened patiently until he was quite sure Warren had worked out the worst of his bitterness, and then he moved to stand behind him and placed his hands on Warren’s shoulders. He bent to touch a light kiss to Warren’s neck, his rough hands pressing into the tense muscles of Warren’s shoulders.

  “If you’re going to keep sayin’ there’s nothing to worry about, hadn’t you best stop worrying?” he murmured, nipping at the redhead’s earlobe and making him jump. “You said he doesn’t mean anything to you.”

  “He doesn’t. He never has,” Warren grumbled. “I don’t care that he’s always been distant. But he chooses now to pretend as though he should have a say in anything that I do? It’s infuriating.”

  “I can tell,” Ben chuckled, and he gently brushed Warren’s hair behind his ear to get better access to his neck. He smiled against his lover’s skin as he felt him shudder, and he let his hands slip slowly down Warren’s arms as he pressed close against him.

  “You’re one to tell me not to worry,” Warren sighed, tilting his head with a small smirk as Ben’s teeth grazed him. “Have you finally finished grousing?” He chuckled as Ben bit him more sharply.

  “I’m finished with you telling me I’m grousing because I don’t want to share our home with two thieves and your wife,” Ben muttered as he laced his fingers with Warren’s. “But I trust you. If you say this is the way it has to be, then this is the way it’s going to be. No more fuss.”

  “That’s something I’m going to need you to promise,” Warren said with a chuckle as he leaned back against Ben’s chest.

  “If you’re keeping all your promises, this one’s the least I can do you.” B
en gave Warren’s neck one last kiss before releasing him. “Now quit your grousing, will you? Your da’s just givin’ you an ‘ard time. You want I should be out of the house tomorrow, or shall I hide in the bedroom and listen through the door with a glass? Maybe ‘ave Cam come and give me the gossip as it ‘appens?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of telling you how to live your life.”

  “Any more than you already have.”

  “Yes.”

  Ben smiled at him, a real smile for the first time in what felt like ages, and Warren pulled him down for a kiss, determined to pay him back in kind for all the teasing he’d just endured. He led Ben backward by a hand on his chest until he was close enough to push him onto the bed, climbing on top of him and settling comfortably onto his lap as he deftly began to unbutton the other man’s shirt.

  “I thought you were angry,” Ben chuckled, watching as Warren pulled his shirt open and shuddering as the redhead’s fingernails scraped sharply down his stomach.

  “You’re a good distraction,” Warren murmured, bending to press a kiss to Ben’s chest as he worked the inspector’s belt undone. He helped Ben wriggle out of his trousers, laughing as the larger man sat up and easily flipped him over onto his back.

  Ben kissed him like he always had—with eagerness, need, and care, and Warren realized quite how long it had been since they felt at ease with each other. Ever since the topic of marriage was brought up weeks ago, Ben had pulled away from him and accepted his affection in an irritatingly passive way. Perhaps it really was as Elizabeth said—as soon as it became clear that she wasn’t a threat to what he and Ben had, he had come around. Warren kept his favorite inspector close to him, accepting and returning every kiss and touch.

  By the time they heard the sudden knock on the door, the blankets had been rumpled so severely that they were half spilled over the edge of the bed, and Ben jumped at the sound, causing a yelp from Warren as he jerked away with the redhead’s bottom lip still between his teeth. This brought on a hastily whispered apology, which caused a sharp thump to the inspector’s chest, which, in turn, led to Warren shushing Ben’s laughter while attempting to stifle his own.

  “Your mother telephoned, Warren,” Elizabeth’s voice came through the closed door. If she could hear them inside, her voice gave away no amusement. “She wanted you to know that she and your father are going to dinner. I’m choosing to pretend that this has some special meaning between the two of you and that she didn’t actually just call to let you know of her intentions to eat today, but on the off chance that she did, it’s my hope that I’m disrupting your afternoon the way she did mine.”

  Warren put a hand over Ben’s mouth before he could answer and just called out, “Thank you!” before hiding his face in Ben’s shoulder to laugh.

  “Good night, gentlemen,” Elizabeth said, and Warren could practically see the dry smirk on her face as he heard her heels clicking on the hallway floor.

  “She’s a bit of a bastard,” Ben muttered, already bending to nip at the tender skin on Warren’s shoulder. “I see why you get on.”

  Warren flicked him sharply on his flesh bicep and pulled him down to kiss him again.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next day, as promised, Warren’s mother telephoned to ask if it was all right for them to come by for luncheon. Cam had spent all morning talking to the automaton in the kitchen—which consisted of only a single arm on a track around the top of the room that absolutely did not have the capacity to understand anything the golem said to it—and was quite eager to present its work. The golem served the food and poured the tea while Warren and Elizabeth sat in uncomfortable silence across the table from his parents.

  “This is a lovely house, Warren,” his mother said once she had finished scolding him for smoking. “I’m so proud of you; who would ever have thought you’d end up here? From our little coaching house?” She tittered to herself a moment. “Oh, but I should be asking about your beautiful wife, darling! I’m so glad we get the chance to talk, Elizabeth.”

  “I feel quite the same, Mrs. Hayward,” Elizabeth answered with what Warren considered an impressive amount of patience.

  The questions fell from his mother’s lips like a waterfall, and Warren’s mind wandered until he occasionally heard his name mentioned. After what seemed like an eternity, the table was cleared, and Warren stood to address his wife and mother.

  “I thought it might be nice if you two took in the sights a bit this afternoon. Mum’s never been to London, after all, have you? It would give you a chance to have a bit of an outing, and the weather is more than warm enough.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze bore straight through to the back of Warren’s head, but he only smiled at her while his mother gushed.

  “That sounds wonderful!” she said brightly. “You’ll be all right on your own, won’t you, Mason?”

  His father grunted his agreement but said nothing.

  “Take Cam with you,” Warren offered, predicting Elizabeth’s objection that she knew little more about London than Mrs. Hayward. “He knows the city very well, and he’s read just about every history book about it.”

  “Oh, how exciting!” Anna moved from her seat to gather her handbag, and Warren escorted the two women to the front door, calling to Cam to prepare the autocar.

  Just before they left, Elizabeth leaned in close to Warren on the pretense of giving him a brief kiss on the cheek and whispered softly into his ear, “If I tell you you’re going to America, you’re going.”

  “Yes, dear,” he said with a smile as he pecked her cheek, earning himself a cheerful laugh from his mother before the two women went down the front steps to the waiting autocar.

  Now alone in the house with his father, Warren stepped into the dining room, where the older man stood at the back of his chair with a frown.

  “Let’s have it then,” Warren said with little patience. “Let’s hear your wisdom.”

  “Wisdom’s nothin’ to do wiv what you’re doin’, boy,” his father answered. “Let’s see it. Where you do it.”

  Warren paused. “You want to see my workshop?”

  “Aye.”

  Warren hesitated, but he gestured to his father to follow him and opened the hidden door in the hall, leading him down into the cellar. Mason coughed as he reached the bottom of the steps, holding his hand to cover his nose and mouth.

  “Christ, it’s thick in ‘ere,” he said, attempting to wave the air away from his face. “How many?” He scowled when Warren only looked at him with a blank stare. “Answer me, boy; ‘ow many’ve died in ‘ere?”

  A small thud of guilt ran through Warren as he realized that without his books in front of him, he didn’t know. “Dozens,” he said after a moment. “What’s thick in here?”

  “Can’t you smell the blood? Surprised you can’t smell it all through the house.” He walked over to the partition and leaned around it to inspect the table. How’s it done?”

  “Why do you care? Thinking of becoming a business partner?”

  “You answer my question, lad, before I slap that smart mouth.”

  Warren scowled at him, but he said quietly, “It’s a circle.”

  Mason nodded. “Supposed it would be. Now you listen ‘ere,” he went on, turning back to face his son. “Not a word of what’s said ‘ere makes it to your mother, understand?” Warren said nothing, so his father snorted at him and continued. “You’re a man now, an’ I can’t make you do summin you don’t want to do. What I can do is do my duty as a father and give you fair warnin’.”

  “Your duty as a father?” Warren laughed, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Since when has that been of any interest to you?”

  “I done right by you as far as need be,” Mason grumbled. “You ‘ad a place to sleep and you never went ‘ungry. All the rest your mother ‘andled just fine. But this is different. Your mother don’t know nothin’ about this business, an’ she never will.”

  “Get to the point, will you?”
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  “I know what you’re into, boy, because I’ve been deeper than you. Blood magic plays havoc with a man’s soul, and that’s the truth. You laugh if you like,” he said louder to speak over his son’s chuckle, “but I see it in your eyes already. You think this isn’t the same since it’s not your blood you’re usin’, but it’s takin’ what it wants from you just the same. You’re lyin’ if you say you can’t feel it.”

  “I don’t feel anything,” Warren shrugged, and his father took a step closer to him.

  “That’s the point. Look at me. You think I was always this way?” Mason shook his head. “It gets under your skin. You do it because it’s easy, and because every time it feels a little bit less like doin’ wrong.”

  “You expect me to believe that you were so involved in blood magic that it made you into the miserable bastard you are today, and all you have to show for it is that coaching house?”

  “I gave it up,” he said quietly. “I gave it up the day I realized I didn’t love your mother no more.”

  Warren paused, and he watched his father with a furrowed brow, his eyes traveling down his sleeves as he remembered the older man’s scarred forearms mopping the floor or counting out coins. He used to wonder what had caused so many scars, but now he knew—he’d done it to himself.

  “I don’t ‘ardly feel nothin’ anymore. When I was young, I did whatever I pleased—I gambled and twisted men’s minds to think I’d won when I ‘adn’t, I made people forget they’d seen me when I stole from ‘em, and I killed anyone who crossed me wrong. I used blood magic like it didn’t matter. But it matters.” Mason tilted his head slightly, and his gaze went distant, though he couldn’t quite manage to look sincere in his sorrow. “I remember lovin’ your mother. I remember when she was young and beautiful, and I would’ve done anything for ‘er. I did do anything for ‘er. Anything it took. An’at puts me ‘ere. That’s the worst of it, boy. I don’t feel it no more—but I remember what it was like.”

  Warren folded his arms across his chest, more for a sense of security than out of disrespect. “Why are you telling me this?”