Magic and Loss: A Novel of Golgotham

by Nancy A. Collins

  We took dinner that night in the formal dining room. Hana had whipped up an impressive four course meal from items I’d forgotten were even in the kitchen: creamed parsnips, butterscotch yams, braised kale, and roast caribou in blackberry sauce. Torn insisted on serving me, neatly depositing portions of each entrée onto my plate with the precision of a brain surgeon.

  As I watched him at work, I was suddenly reminded of Clarence, my family’s butler. Clarence had been my friend and confidante throughout childhood, and the only adult in my young life that actively encouraged my artistic streak. I found myself wondering how he was doing, as he was getting on in years, and felt a surge of shame that I had not called him to tell him about the baby. I silently scolded myself for holding the fact my parents were his employers against him.

  “You know, this is the first time I’ve ever taken a meal at this table,” Torn said as he sat down. “Back when Hana and I were in service, we normally ate in the kitchen.”

  “It’s the first time I’ve eaten in here, as well,” I admitted, glancing up at the twin crystal chandeliers that dangled from the claws of a wrought-iron dragon mounted to the ceiling. “It always seemed a little bit much for just Hexe and me.”

  “In the old days, Lord Eben and Lady Lyra took every meal in here,” Hana said wistfully. “Even toward the end, with Lord Eben bedridden, Lady Lyra still dined in this room.”

  “Perhaps you could tell me what Hexe’s grandparents were like? He doesn’t really talk about them that much.”

  “Lord Eben was what you would call Old School, nowadays,” Torn replied. “He believed in keeping faith with the traditions of our ancestors, and was often very stern in that regard when it came to his children. However, he was far more . . . progressive than his own father. Lord Jynx would have had Hexe smothered at birth and taken Lady Syra’s magic as punishment for daring to bring a half-caste child into the Royal Family.

  “As for myself, I found Lord Eben to be a just man—strict at times, but fair-minded when it came to his rulings as justicar. He was particularly well regarded by the dwarven Thanes. As for Lady Lyra, she was a gracious, kindhearted woman. She’s the one who made sure Hana and I were properly pensioned off by the GoBOO. In the old days, retainers were paid out of the Royal Treasury—now we’re considered civil servants.”

  “Did they love him?”

  “Who? Hexe? They positively adored the boy!” Hana said with a laugh.

  “Almost as much as they were ashamed of him,” Torn added sourly.

  • • •

  After dinner, Torn and Hana insisted on clearing the tables and doing the dishes. The two of them moved like a well-oiled machine, whisking away the plates without having to ask one another a single question. Not that there wasn’t plenty of communication going on between them—but it was done in the shorthand of the exchanged glance, which is unique to the deeply married.

  At one point I announced that I was headed down to the basement to fetch a load of fresh towels and bed linens from the dryer. On my way back, I noticed that the kitchen was empty and all the dinner dishes washed and returned to their cabinets. As I reached the second floor landing, I saw that the door to Octavia’s room was shut, although I could hear the muted murmur of voices on the other side.

  “She’s what?” Torn’s shout was enough to make me drop the folded blankets I was carrying.

  “Must you be so loud?” Hana responded in a hushed voice. “What if she hears you?”

  “It’s Syra all over again!” Torn fumed. “He’s just like his father! No respect for tradition!”

  “After all this time, can’t you let that go? Tradition has already cost us a son, as well as a grandson. Isn’t that enough? And frankly, he could do a great deal worse, if you ask me.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said as I opened the door to Octavia’s room.

  Torn and Hana spun about in guilty surprise, like children caught raiding the cookie jar. “I told you to mind your voice!” Hana hissed.

  “You’re Hexe’s other set of grandparents, aren’t you?”

  “So you’re finally figuring that out,” Scratch sneered as he strolled into the room. “Will wonders never cease?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” Hana admitted. “Horn is our son.”

  “Was our son,” Torn interjected stiffly. “I disowned him when I discovered what he’d done. Our family has served the heirs of Adon for countless generations—but he disobeyed the one rule all Servitors must obey: no fraternization. Of course, Lord Eben had to let him go when they discovered the truth, severing a tradition of service that stretched back to the sinking of the spires! He dishonored his family, disgraced his lineage . . . he’s brought nothing but shame on us.”

  “But Horn’s the captain of the PTU!” I interjected. “He’s one of the most important people in Golgotham!”

  “His place was to serve!” Torn shot back angrily. “Just as I served, and my father before me, and his father before him!”

  “But he does serve—except now his duty is to all of Golgotham, not just the Royal Family,” I pointed out.

  “The girl’s right, you old grump,” Hana said, folding her arms over her sagging breasts. “I’ve tolerated this grudge against our son long enough! Besides, it’s not like you don’t have a scrapbook of newspaper clippings detailing every arrest he’s ever made and promotion he’s received.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about who you are?” I asked.

  “Force of habit, I suppose,” Torn sighed. “The only way we were allowed to be a part of Hexe’s life was if we never revealed the true nature of our relationship to him. Lord Eben made us swear an oath of secrecy. Should we break it, we would be banished from Golgotham.”

  “Ugh. How awful! That must have been difficult for you.”

  “Yes, but we got used to it,” Hana said as she took her husband’s hand in hers. “At least we had access to our grandson when he was young, even if we couldn’t tell him who we were. That all changed when Lord Eben died and Lady Syra became the Witch Queen. Once we were pensioned off, we were no longer able to see Hexe on a regular basis. Oh, Lady Syra would send us snapshots now and then, but that’s not the same. The last time we actually laid eyes on him was at Lady Lyra’s funeral, fifteen years ago. He was already growing into a fine young man.”

  “I don’t understand—why have you kept your distance for so long? Lord Eben was the one who swore you to secrecy, not Lady Syra. Why not come forward once the old Witch King was dead?”

  “The boy had enough trouble being accepted by the Aristocracy without his calling the family butler and cook grandpa and grandma,” Torn replied sourly. “A lot of things have changed in Golgotham since I was a lad—but not everything.”

  • • •

  After bidding Torn and Hana good night, I checked my cell phone to see if I had missed any messages from Hexe. Zilch. I tried calling him again, only to be informed by a polite, if robotic voice, that “this phone’s subscriber was currently unavailable” after the first ring. It occurred to me that if I wanted to talk to Hexe, I was going to have to wait up for him.

  I took a spare blanket and made myself a nest on the sofa in the front parlor. Beanie promptly joined me, snuggling in tight between my hip and the sofa cushions as I read the copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting Nessie had given me. Despite my best intentions, I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew the sound of the front door closing startled me awake.

  “What are you doing down here?” Hexe asked, sounding more surprised than pleased to see me. The smell of barley wine and cigarette smoke clung to him like perfume. No doubt he had rounded off the evening by stopping in at the Calf and claiming his fair share of free drinks.

  “Waiting for you.” I yawned. “I’ve got some big news. I tried calling you earlier, but you didn’t pick up. Why didn’t you call me back?”

  “My phone lost its charge,” he replied with a shrug.

  As I got off the couch to gre
et him, I noticed for the first time that his right eye sported a nice new shiner. “Heavens and hells! What happened?”

  “I got jumped by a couple of unrulies,” he replied bitterly.

  “What for?”

  “Because I’m walking around wearing the equivalent of five solid gold Rolexes,” he explained, holding up his gauntleted right hand.

  “You need to get an ice pack on that,” I said, steering him toward the back of the house. As Hexe took his place at the kitchen table, I removed a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer and wrapped it in a dish towel. “Here—put that over your eye,” I said, holding it out to him. Hexe did as he was instructed, wincing slightly as the ice-cold compress touched his face. “It’s not magic, but it’ll work.”

  “So—what did you have to tell me that was so important?” Hexe asked.

  “Canterbury offered to make me a partner in his business today.”

  Hexe perked up upon hearing this news. “Does that mean you’re getting a raise?”

  “I suppose so,” I replied. “We haven’t really hammered out the details yet. But it does mean my job is secure. He took me to lunch to talk it over, and on the way back we passed the Machen Arms—except now it’s GolgothamVue—just as Ronnie Chess was evicting this old couple. I saw Octavia trying to help them and stopped to see what was going on—well, long story short, they’re staying here until their new apartment is ready. It shouldn’t be more than a few days.”

  “How much are you charging them?”

  My smile suddenly faltered. “Huh?”

  “We’re in no position to hand out charity right now. We’ve got bills to pay. Anyone who stays under my roof is using electricity and water, and they’re eating our food. You are charging them rent, aren’t you?”

  “It never even crossed my mind,” I admitted. “I mean, Octavia’s already paying for her room. I just assumed—”

  “Of course it didn’t cross your mind,” he snapped, tossing aside the makeshift ice pack. “Why should you care, after all? It’s not your name on the utility bills, is it?”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, suddenly feeling as disoriented and off-balance as a sleepwalker who has awakened to find herself standing in the middle of someone else’s house. Within a heartbeat everything I had imagined safe and familiar had turned hostile and alien, and I was at a loss at how to change it back.

  “Do I look like I’m having a laugh?” he replied in the kind of deliberate, overloud voice reserved for particularly slow children.

  “But these aren’t just two random nobodies who came in off the street,” I said, trying my best to explain the situation. “Hana and Torn used to work for your grandparents! They’re really looking forward to seeing you again. . . .”

  He gave an incredulous laugh, as if I’d just said the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “Why would I want to interact with my grandfather’s old servants? Perhaps you’d like me to spend time with a discarded coat and a bent paper clip as well?”

  “I—I just thought you might want to say hello—” I stammered.

  “You just ‘thought’; is that it?” he jeered mockingly. “See, that’s the problem with you, Tate—you’re human. You can’t think like me, and you never will.” Hexe lurched to his feet, swaying unsteadily. I knew he had been drinking, but up until that point I had no idea just how drunk he truly was. “Either you get some money out of them or I show them the door—it’s as simple as that. I don’t need another pair of mouths to feed under my roof. And I certainly don’t need a couple of doddering antiques getting in my way, yammering on about the ‘good old days.’ I don’t care who they are—they could be my chuffing grandparents for all it means to me! Either they pony up some rent, or they’re out on the curb!” With that, he staggered into his office, slamming the door behind him loud enough for it to be heard throughout the house.

  I stood in the kitchen, trembling like a tuning fork, my cheeks burning with shame, as I struggled to try to understand what I had done to trigger such a flood of venom. He had never spoken to me in such an insulting, dismissive tone before, even when I’d done things to deserve it. I kept telling myself he was drunk and upset about being mugged, but that didn’t keep the words from hurting any less. I wiped the tears from my eyes and then went to the sink and threw some water on my face before going upstairs to bed.

  As I crested the second floor landing, I was startled to see Hana and Torn standing in the doorway of their room. I could tell from the looks on their faces that they had heard more than enough of Hexe’s harangue. I opened my mouth to try to apologize, but before I could say anything they closed the door.

  When I got up the next morning to go to work, they were already gone.

  Chapter 19

  To be honest, it would not have surprised me if I never saw Hana and Torn again. But, to my relief, they showed back up at Fetlock Mews later that day. Torn explained that they had decided it would be better “for everyone involved” if they stayed elsewhere until the loft space was ready, and had taken a room at the Sabbat Inn, the only hotel located within Golgotham. A couple of days later, they moved into the refurbished loft and set about making it their new home. Neither of them ever said a word to me about what had transpired that night, but I could see the shadow of it in their eyes whenever they stopped by the shop, which was quite often, as Hana seemed determined to stuff both Canterbury and myself as if we were taxidermy with a seemingly never-ending supply of freshly baked breads, pastries, and cookies.

  A couple of weeks after they moved in, Canterbury’s attorney came by with a sheaf of legal documents requiring my signature. While my salary as junior partner wasn’t large enough to completely offset the loss of Hexe’s income, it did provide me with the stability and peace of mind that comes with job security. And for the first time since learning I was pregnant, I was finally able to focus on truly getting things ready for the baby.

  Outside of the boneknitters and psychic surgeons found at Golgotham General, the majority of health care in Golgotham was provided by hedgewitches such as Hexe. Although I knew from personal experience their healing arts were effective, I still wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of trusting the health of my unborn child to someone dangling a crystal pendulum over my rapidly swelling belly. Magic was all well and good for Kymerans in my situation, but I was human and I needed the comfort afforded by my people’s own unique arts—science and technology.

  There was a clinic just across the river, in Brooklyn, just off the F, that offered a low-cost prenatal service. It was eight hundred dollars up front, which was a hefty chunk of change for our household, but it would pay for monthly office visits for the first twenty-four weeks, as well as blood tests and one ultrasound. I’d been squirreling away a percentage of my paycheck, plus whatever money was left over after paying the bills, in the cookie tin. So far I had just over six hundred dollars saved up.

  Upon finding myself with a spare thirty dollars after settling the grocer’s bill, I opened the lid on the tin, only to find the kitty considerably lighter than before. My heart somehow managed to both sink and speed up as I counted out the bills, then tallied them up twice more, telling myself I must have miscounted. But each time it came up short the exact same amount: one hundred and fifty dollars.

  Surely some nefarious burglar had managed to sneak into the house, somehow managed to make it past Scratch, and then made a beeline to the cookie tin on my dresser without touching anything else at all. I really, really wanted to believe that was the case, because, otherwise, I would have to suspect the only other person in the world—well, the only one with thumbs, anyway—who knew where I was stashing money.

  “Do you know anything about this?” I asked, shaking the cookie tin at Scratch.

  “I ain’t no snitch,” the familiar replied and quickly ran out of the room.

  I glanced in the direction of the four-poster, only to find the carved owls perched atop the bedposts had turned their backs to me.

 
Maybe it was the hormones, but that’s when I lost it. I had put up with his increasing moodiness and going out drinking every night because I felt bad about him losing his magic, but I had finally had enough of being treated like a clueless fool simply because I had five fingers instead of six.

  “Where are you going?” Scratch asked as I yanked my peacoat out of the downstairs closet.

  “I’m going to go and get my money back,” I snapped. It didn’t help my mood that I now discovered my coat would no longer button thanks to my baby bump.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist! So he took some money without telling you . . .”

  “You don’t understand, Scratch!” I snapped. “He didn’t do this to me; he did it to the baby!”

  • • •

  I managed to keep a pretty good mad-on all the way to the Two-Headed Calf. Over the last month or so, Hexe had put Lafo’s promise of free eats and drink to the test. Up until recently we had been eating at the Calf twice a week, but now that I had stopped drinking because of the baby, Hexe had been hitting the pub every night on his own, coming back later and later each time. I was usually asleep by the time he would stagger home, reeking of artichoke schnapps. Half the time he didn’t even bother to come to bed, passing out instead on the couch in his office.

  Since it was a weeknight, the Calf was relatively quiet when I arrived. Bruno nodded in welcome as I entered, but I brushed by without responding. I was too busy scanning the booths and tables for some sign of Hexe. I then hurried upstairs, but he wasn’t among the diners, either.

  As I went back downstairs, I caught sight of Lafo, who was manning the taps behind the bar. He smiled in welcome as I approached. “Evening, Tate. Looking for someone?”

  “Has Hexe been here tonight?” I asked.

  “No, he hasn’t,” he replied as he pulled a pint for one of his customers. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him in a couple of weeks.”

  “What? But he’s been coming here almost every night . . .”