“I thought you went to America.”
“Leave when, after centuries on the outs, the time of magicians is rising once more?” He sounded awed by the very idea of it. “The sorcerers will be on their knees to R’hlem in no time.”
Yes, because I wouldn’t go to him. “We’re doing our best,” I snapped.
“Oh, don’t tell me you actually fancy yourself one of them.” Mickelmas scoffed.
“That’s what you were training me for, wasn’t it?”
“No!” He stamped his foot. “I was training you to become like one of them.” He looked as if he wanted to shake me. “They’ll never accept you. They can never accept anything that isn’t the same as them.”
My life among the sorcerers was not perfect, but it was a damned sight better than I had ever expected after the commendation ball.
“Isn’t that too harsh?” I asked.
“Oh, you’re becoming soft. How disappointing. I thought you had the fire of your father in you.” He paused. “That came out a lot funnier than I meant it to.” He smiled a little. “Eh? Fire? Your father?”
“And speaking of my father”—at this he stiffened—“what the hell did you mean about him not having drowned?” If Mickelmas tried to slip away from me again, I was going to hang on to his neck until he told me.
“Oh, why do we have to harp on things that are past? I’ve said many stupid things to people I never intended to see again.”
“Tell me.” My hands bloomed with flame.
“I don’t know what happened to your father, all right?” He inched away.
“Then how do you know he didn’t drown?” That was what Mickelmas had said, in St. Paul’s on the night of Korozoth’s attack. Your father didn’t drown. And then in an instant he’d gone, leaving me with the echo of those words in my head.
“Your aunt needed something to tell you when you were a little girl.” He wiped his brow. “William left your mother before you were born. He never came back, and I don’t know what happened to him. There’s the truth.”
I’d expected many things, but I hadn’t expected that.
What was he saying? That my father could be walking around out in the world somewhere, right now? That he’d abandoned me?
“It’s not true,” I said softly. Mickelmas pursed his lips.
“It didn’t seem fair to keep you ignorant about that.”
I kept thinking of that painting in the bar. The young man’s face—my father’s face—had looked so like mine.
“Do you think he’s still alive?” I asked numbly.
“I’ve no idea,” he replied.
I hadn’t known I’d feel pain at this. My hands stopped burning.
“I’m sorry,” Mickelmas said, looking away. “At the time I didn’t think I’d see you again. I felt you ought to know the truth. Stupid idea.”
What had I wanted? Some tragic tale or wild explanation? I was a fool.
“That’s enough now.” Maria stalked out of the pub. That warm, rich, womanly tone was back in her voice. Willie had reemerged. “Don’t upset the girl.”
“Who is this red-haired person?” Mickelmas looked her in the eyes and froze. His whole expression shifted to something unreadable. “Have we met before?”
Maria shook her head, curls tumbling in her face. “No. I’d remember the pleasure,” she mumbled.
“Go home,” Mickelmas said, turning back to me. “When the time’s right, we’ll come for you.”
“But I need your help now.” I unsheathed the tiny dagger from my left wrist, the one weapon I’d brought. He accepted it gingerly, his expression clearing as he held it up. I could tell that he recognized it.
“Where did you get this?” He swiped it once through the air, twisting his wrist in such a way that the blade sparked in the sunlight. Bloody hell, he seemed to know what he was doing.
“We found it in Ralph Strangewayes’s house,” I said.
At that, he paused. “Tell me everything.” While I spoke, he continued to study the blade. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t know about this.”
“You don’t think they’ll work?” My heart sank. He handed the blade back, hilt first.
“No, they will. But these are weapons forged from another world.” He sniffed. “They’re crafted to use against monsters, by monsters.”
“I’ll take the risk. Can you teach us?” Getting the others on board with this plan, particularly Blackwood, might prove difficult. But the idea of learning from Mickelmas again was strangely comforting. I’d missed our lessons in Ha’penny Row.
He hesitated. “The sorcerers will never agree to this.”
“They’ve already shut me down. I only need to prove to them that the weapons work,” I said.
He smiled a little. “You can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?”
“You’re saying yes?” Relief flooded through me.
“I’ll never pass up an opportunity to make your great Order acknowledge magician superiority.” He pulled at his beard. “When do we begin?”
—
THAT EVENING, I SUMMONED MY LITTLE “unit” to Blackwood’s house, after Magnus had finished his patrol of the barrier. Maria and I waited in the southernmost parlor, the one filled with Chinese pottery and tapestry. Fiddling with the plain gold locket about my neck, I smiled as Magnus and Dee entered, Blackwood behind them. A footman waited by the door. Oh dear, that wouldn’t do.
“Can we be alone?” I asked. Blackwood looked confused but dismissed the servant.
“I’ll keep watch,” Maria whispered, and ducked out. It was only the four of us now, the boys and I.
“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Blackwood muttered, coming to stand beside me with a weary expression. He frowned. “Where’d you get that locket?”
“It was the best way to make him comfortable,” I said, fingering the golden clasp.
“Keep who comfortable?” Magnus reclined on a sofa, hands behind his head.
I slipped the locket off and opened it. Mickelmas exploded out and somersaulted across the floor. Blackwood leaped back, and Dee nearly fell off the sofa. Getting to his feet, Mickelmas turned his head side to side, popping his bones.
“Still not the most comfortable escort I’ve ever had,” he said.
Magnus jumped to his feet, knocking a china tiger off the table beside him. It shattered into pieces on the carpet, a curling tail here, an ocher eye there.
Blackwood looked like a life-sized, bewildered statue himself.
“I remember there being more of you the last time,” Mickelmas said to the boys. Noticing the smashed tiger, he waved his hand, murmured, and in a flash the porcelain creature was reassembled and standing atop the table. With a wry smile, Mickelmas wiggled his fingers in another spell, and the tiny creature came to life. It paced from one end of the table to the other, giving miniature roars, its striped tail lashing. Dee made a wondering noise and poked at the little beast. It bit him.
Mickelmas sat down on the sofa. Fluffing his coat, he plumped a pillow and leaned back. “Much more comfortable. Now then. Who’s ready for a little magic?”
For a moment, the only sounds were the ticking of a clock and the china tiger’s mewls. Dee and Magnus were each frozen in a different expression: Dee horrified, Magnus elated. Blackwood finally broke the silence. “You brought him into my house?”
I hadn’t anticipated his outrage. Evidently, that had been stupid.
“I’ll try not to be insulted, Your Lordship.” Mickelmas patted Dee’s arm, and the boy jumped. “Glad to see you fellows still in one piece.”
“Oh. Thank you very much,” Dee said, brightening.
“Howel, you madman.” From Magnus, that sounded like the finest compliment in the world. He went up to the magician. “Good to see you again, sir! I was afraid you were done for.” They shook hands.
“I remember you. The bold, stupid one,” Mickelmas said.
“Bold and stupid is the Magnus family motto.” Magnus pondered
a moment. “What’s the Latin? Ferox et stultus?”
“You did remember your lessons! Master Agrippa would be pleased,” Dee said.
“May I see you alone?” Blackwood thundered at me.
He ushered me to the next room, the “armory” that contained the crests of every Earl of Sorrow-Fell there had ever been. His own hung above the doorway: two hands twined in ivy—the standard Blackwood crest—with his own personal insignia, a star to symbolize his status as the family’s guiding light.
Right now, an erupting volcano would have been a better image. Blackwood stormed away from me, his fists clenched by his sides.
“We needed help,” I said.
“How? Where? Why?” A vein flickered in his neck with each word. He made toward an antique clock as if about to punch it.
“He knows Strangewayes’s weapons.”
“The weapons?” The incredulity on his face gave way to cold fury. “You’re lying to the Imperator again. Only this time, you had the audacity to bring the three of us into it!”
My face warmed at the truth. I hadn’t wanted to say this, but there was no other choice.
“And your father had the audacity to sacrifice magicians and witches to hide his own sins, didn’t he?” Charles Blackwood had been every bit as guilty as Mary Willoughby or Mickelmas when he’d allowed the Ancients into our world, but he had managed to hide his involvement and avoid punishment. For over a decade, witches had been executed and magicians oppressed, but sorcerers and the Blackwood family in particular had thrived.
The temperature in the room cooled, and I shivered as Blackwood drew closer. I was tall, but he was taller. Still, I would not be intimidated.
“You think that’s fair?” he hissed, bringing his face close. My pulse quickened, but I stared him down.
“Should everyone be punished for what your father did?”
He struggled for a minute. “No.”
“If we defeat R’hlem with magician weapons and training, we can prove to the Order how wrong they’ve been. You said you wanted to make it right.”
Blackwood stepped closer, and I instinctively moved back. He shepherded me against the wall, locking me in a corner of the room. His gaze captured mine.
“Are you sure this isn’t about you?” he murmured.
“What makes you think that?” I asked, uneasy.
Maybe it was the dim light, but I could swear pity momentarily softened his features. “Since R’hlem sent that message, you’ve grown reckless. Insisting we go to Cornwall, insisting on these weapons, seeking out the very magician you were supposed to stay away from!” His anger resurfaced. “You feel responsible, and that makes you take action. Careless action. God forbid you wait on anyone else’s instruction, oh no. It’s entirely your fault; therefore, it’s entirely your problem to fix.” It was as if he’d seen me naked, my whole mind and soul exposed to him. “But you aren’t alone in this, Howel, and now you’ve made us all guilty by association!”
With nowhere else to go, I turned my head and studied the very interesting wall.
“Don’t be a coward.” His voice softened. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Reluctantly, I turned back to him. Blackwood stepped away. There. I could breathe more freely. “Don’t you feel guilty for what your father did? You know we have to do this.”
With a groan, Blackwood walked toward the door.
“We will.” He stopped to look at me, his expression grim. “I thought we had no secrets from each other, Howel.” And there it was, the great reason for his anger. For years, he’d carried his father’s sin. No one, not even his mother or Eliza, had known their family’s darkest secret. When we’d finally trusted each other with the truth—I was a magician, he a traitor’s son—I’d become his first real friend.
I’d wounded him without thinking.
My face burned, but he left before I could reply. I trailed after him, back into the parlor.
Blackwood settled into a corner of the room, retreating entirely into himself. Magnus, at least, was enjoying this. He’d picked a vase—Ming dynasty, from the look of it—and was badgering Mickelmas to hide inside it.
“Two pounds says he can,” Magnus said to Dee.
“I am not a trained bear, you rascals.” Mickelmas laughed. He’d helped himself to the decanter of brandy by the window and was sipping a glass.
“Is it like bunching yourself up tight in a ball?” Magnus asked. “Or do you just sort of shrink?”
Girls’ voices sounded outside the door. One belonged to Maria, the other to Eliza, who was probably wondering why Maria was guarding the door.
“Quickly!” Magnus whispered, holding out the vase again. With a groan, Mickelmas leaped into it, disappearing from view. Eliza entered, stopping short at the sight of Magnus gleefully hugging a vase to his chest.
“Oh. Hello?” she said, surprised.
“I, er, love the decorating.” Magnus held out the vase. “May I keep this?”
“What?”
I looked around nervously and saw that the china tiger had curled up beside Mickelmas’s glass and fallen asleep, thank God. Because I’d no idea how to explain that.
“No, Magnus, you can’t have it. I think this piece would look better in another room.” I snatched the vase and said to Blackwood, “Let’s take it out, shall we?”
“Yes. The vase needs a new home.” Together, we hurried past a baffled Eliza.
In the garden, I released Mickelmas from the vase in a flurry of purple and orange. He pulled an apple from Blackwood’s tree and shined it upon his sleeve.
“We would be honored to accept your help,” Blackwood muttered.
“Indeed, your enthusiasm is boundless, my young squirrels.” Slipping his arm through mine, Mickelmas led me toward the garden wall, his mirth dissolving somewhat. “You know what you’re asking, I take it?” He glanced at Blackwood. “Are you aware that Ralph Strangewayes went mad? Stark raving mad.”
Hunting creatures beyond the realm of sanity would do that to a person.
“These weapons are not natural,” Mickelmas continued. “I heard the stories when I was a boy. They say that Strangewayes’s power shattered his mind. Have you experienced headaches, nosebleeds? Have you seen things that aren’t there?”
Nosebleeds. Headaches. I went a bit cold.
“The weapons can hurt us?”
“You don’t know as much about these things as you might wish.” Mickelmas frowned. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.” I forced myself to mean it. After all, we didn’t need the weapons for long. We weren’t hunting; we were fighting. There was a difference…wasn’t there?
“Very well. Shall we commence our lessons?” Mickelmas addressed the last question to Blackwood, who lurked by the door and resembled nothing so much as a tall shadow with a terrible attitude.
“Not here,” he said.
“My thoughts exactly. I find this place to be a bit dour.” Mickelmas smirked.
“I’ve access to Master Agrippa’s house,” said Blackwood. “Until they sort out the Agrippa heir, the Imperator gave it to me. We can train there.”
“Splendid. I’ve always wanted to reside near Hyde Park. Very chic.”
“You’re not going to live there?” Blackwood sounded horrified.
“I have to be on hand whenever you all find yourselves with a free moment. Besides, I can’t have you coming into town to look for me.”
“Fine. Stay out of sight. If you’re caught, I know nothing about this,” Blackwood snapped.
Mickelmas appeared at my side and kissed my hand. “Farewell, my adorable know-nothings,” he said, winking one great black eye. With a flip of his coat, he vanished. Blackwood and I stood alone in the garden.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t speak to me, Howel. Not right now.” With that, he stalked back into the house. Damn. Well, he’d a right to be angry. If the Order discovered our collaboration with Mickelmas, they could throw us all in the Tower. They c
ould strip Blackwood of his title and estate.
Hell, he had more than a right to be angry. He’d a right to evict me from his house. That I knew he wouldn’t only made me feel worse. But after a while, he’d see that what I’d done was right. We’d laugh about this one day. Hopefully.
I returned to the parlor. Dee stood by the window, looking out into the street. He motioned me over.
“How did it go?” He couldn’t raise his voice, as Eliza was over by the fire, talking excitedly with Magnus.
“We’ve a new teacher.”
Dee puffed out his cheeks. “I feel like an outlaw. Never thought I’d feel that.” Then he nodded toward the sofa. “The tiger’s waking,” he whispered. Indeed, the little porcelain cat was yawning and stretching. Taking out Porridge, I improvised a quick spell. With a movement designed for freezing water, I wished the creature to become still. It did as I asked—and transformed into a small ice sculpture.
Hopefully, it hadn’t been too expensive.
“What are you doing over there?” Eliza called.
“Nothing,” Dee and I answered in unison. He sat down on the sofa while I walked over to Magnus and Eliza. As I approached, I couldn’t help hearing their conversation.
“The Winter’s Tale follows the essential plot of Othello for the first half, and then deviates into some absurd comedy.” Eliza groaned with exasperation. “A bear simply waltzes on to eat a minor character, and then shuffles off. What terrible writing! Shakespeare only did it for the money.”
“He wrote all of them for the money.” Magnus had been eating walnuts, and now he tossed a shell into the fireplace.
“He didn’t have to be so obvious about it, did he?”
“Ah, but poetry has always had two chief concerns: lining pockets and wooing women.” Magnus laughed when Eliza made a face.
“You wouldn’t know it from some of his sonnets. Remember? ‘My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun’? Such an original way to woo.”
I was surprised at Eliza’s knowledge and the light in her eyes as she enjoyed the debate. Her face fell a little when I approached.
A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Page 14
