by Sara Hanover
“What could possibly have been out there that slipped past you?”
Scout’s ears went back as though I’d insulted him. I stared at him. “Don’t give me that look. Goldie informed me. What we need to do now is find out who or what and run it off.”
He shook his head energetically, ears flapping.
“No?”
I raised my palm at him, and he snuffled in response. “Point that somewhere else?” I considered Scout’s silent advice. “I suppose I could sit in the window all evening with my hand hanging out and see what the stone sees. That doesn’t sound the least bit practical.” I dropped my arm. “Maybe the Society will have an idea if I can figure out an oblique way to ask them without revealing much on my side. This being a sorceress has got to have some advantages, right?”
Scout sneezed. It meant nothing particular to me except that perhaps the aroma of freshly chopped onions on the air got to his sinuses. I laughed at him and set to making corn bread to accompany the chili.
* * *
• • •
I was deep into my laptop, going over the course catalog—not for this upcoming semester but for summer and fall—when my mother straggled in, her hair wind-tangled and her briefcase bag hanging precariously off one arm and carrying her laptop case in the other. I jumped up to rescue the bag before it spilled her paperwork all over.
“Thanks, hon,” she got out as I followed her to her downstairs office.
“Tough day?”
“Not really, but they want me to teach one class this semester.”
“I thought your sabbatical was approved?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “The committee giveth and the committee taketh away.”
“How did the read-through go?”
She dumped her laptop on her desk and reached for the bag I held. “It didn’t.”
“You didn’t get to present what you have so far?”
My mom took a moment both to collect herself and finger-comb her blonde hair away from her face. “I did present . . . the first chapter. But we only had half the review group show, and they stopped me. Tessa, their faces were like stone. I have no idea if they liked or even understood what I’d written. I let them know I’d finished all four chapters and wanted to make whatever changes they deemed necessary, rewrite, and publish in the next three months. Four chapters don’t sound like much, but I’m talking 130 pages of work and citations. Not to mention that I suspect each of them has an agenda and wants to see me express it.”
“No reaction to that, either?”
“None. I’d have gotten more reaction out of a statue.”
“Then that’s their problem.”
She leaned on the desk and looked across at me. “Do you think it’s the magic?”
I paused to consider that thoroughly. Having read her paper at least once, I knew that she didn’t draw heavily on magic’s actuality, at least not in the first three parts of her examination and argument. Instead, she traced the history of magic realism in storytelling, oral and written, through the past to the present. Rather like saying: If there’s smoke, will there be fire? I finally answered, “I don’t know. It could be, but shouldn’t be. Are you facing a stubbornly conservative review group?”
“All academia tends to be conservative, even if they’re liberals. They have the school’s reputation to consider, as well as their own, when it comes to degrees and publication.” My mother sat down heavily with a sigh. Her eyebrow, however, ticked up. “What did you cook that smells so good?”
“Chili. With cornbread.”
“Oh, I’m in! Start some tea for me, too, please. I’ll be in soon as I put my laptop in to charge.”
“Tea’s already made, but I’ll get it piping hot.”
“Thank goodness.”
I left to the sounds of her fiddling with her computer.
Because she worried, I did. After semesters of nagging for her to finish her dissertation, now they (or someone) balked at giving her the time to do so and had gone back on the sabbatical agreement. That sounded political to me, and although my mother kept her job worries fairly quiet, I still had a good idea of some of the situations. If the professor were here, I’d rope him in to actively help her, for he’d retired from the university in extremely good standing and influence. I’d have to find him first to manage that, though.
I set the kettle back onto high after fishing out the tea leaf infuser. The chili went back on simmer and the corn bread had kept nice and warm in the quilted basket for baked goods, so all I had to do was set her place at the kitchen table. I thought about it for half a minute and set a third place, just in case.
When she joined me, I’d already scooped out a second bowl and wedge for myself and she’d scrubbed her face clean of makeup for the day and put on a moisturizer that gave her a glow despite the fatigue in her eyes. She’d barely begun to eat when a knock came at the kitchen back door, and our visitor didn’t wait for us to let him in.
Simon approached the table, tugging on his suit coat to make himself absolutely presentable. He looked like a chimney sweep, regardless, dark old-fashioned clothing and often a bowler hat. “That smells fabulous, ducks. Which one made it?” His tail twitched from side to side, rather like a cat approving of the sensory information about him.
“I did. Place all ready for you.”
He helped himself and when he sat, he took a deep draught of the tea before anything else and leaned back in his chair. “Ah, that’s a good one for a cold night. Might add a bit of brandy to it . . .”
“No brandy.” My mother gave the dapper lesser demon in his suit, tail and all, a look that stopped any protests. “If it’s too cold out there in the garage, Simon, you might want to consider sleeping in here. Or perhaps in the basement.”
“Basement? No.” He shuddered. “Too warded for the likes of me. Although I might consider bunking around here somewhere—” He looked about. “Might be some room in the mudroom?”
“But that’s where the dog crate is . . .” And we all turned at once to look at Scout who perked one ear up innocently.
“Aye, but that begs the question, doesn’t it? Does the pup ever sleep in it?” And Steptoe twisted about and stared at me as if he knew perfectly well the answer to that question. He probably did because the tell-tales undoubtedly told him all that happened that they could sense in the upper hallway, including visitors in and out of my bedroom. That would be me and my dog and occasionally my mother.
“You know he doesn’t,” Mom said patiently. “Why don’t we store that in the garage and . . . well, what would make you happy?”
“A little cot of my own. I’ve got a nice down comforter, I have, to put on it.”
“No pillow?”
He winked at me. “Wouldn’t mind a little pillow. Nothing fancy.”
“I’m sure I have extras in the upstairs closet. Move yourself in soon as you’re finished with supper.” Mother picked up her spoon again. “Now eat before it goes cold.”
So he did. Where his tail went, I never quite saw. Unlike a cat, he didn’t sit with it curled about him. I had the feeling it came and went as it pleased. He hadn’t had it for centuries, and now that he’d recovered it, it seemed to have gained a certain independence from its owner. We ate until the chili pot was scraped clean, much to Scout’s disappointment, and all but the last half of cornbread wedges which Steptoe crumbled into his bowl, on top of the last spoonful of chili. Then he put it down on the floor for Scout.
“What?” he said defensively as Mother frowned. “I’m dispossessing him of his crate and mudroom. I think he deserves a sop for that, doesn’t he?”
“No more than that. I don’t want to deal with a dog and chili gas all night.”
Steptoe roared a laugh at that and cleared the table for us, rolling up his suit coat sleeves so he could wash the pot.
�
��Who would think a demon would have such good manners?”
He tossed us a look over his elbow. “Maybe it’s because I grew up in Britain where they are generally a polite group, except for that lot in Parliament. Come t’ think of it, Canadians are polite, too.”
He got a smile from my mother as she left the room, and I tossed a silent thank you at him for that. “No worries.”
“Sure you’ll be warm enough in the mudroom?”
“More than. Might even send a bit of heat throughout the entire house. That’s how I got ’ere, you know.”
“Oh?”
“Bit of a cold, cold winter even for Scotland that year.” He scratched his eyebrow, cockney accent fading a bit as he talked. “A handful of hedge witches got together and decided to conjure up a fire imp, to keep the home fires burning a bit easier. They managed to open a tiny hole—and who popped through but me. I’ll admit my mistress on the other side at the time gave me a boot in the arse to push me through, but they were taken aback and didn’t keep ahold of me like they intended. Thus I was free to work my mischief in the world. I wandered down to old London soon enough and, as the years went by, shipped to the new world. Eventually,” and he stopped to rub the side of his nose. “Eventually, Brandard and I ran afoul of each other and he bested me. Took my tail and bound me to this great city and that blessed church. Enough years of that and I decided, takin’ a look about me, that I needed to be changing sides. So I have, and ’ere I am.”
I blinked. Decades of history all swiped right, as it were, and my fingers itched a little. To have some idea of what he’d seen, what he might have meddled in, settled about me . . . but it was not something to be done now. When, and if, Steptoe wanted to talk, he would, and hopefully I would be able to listen. Yet he’d never given any sign at all that he knew anything about my father. Ran in different circles, I suppose. I wanted to get upstairs alone to look through Morty’s precious journal.
He dried the pot and set it in the cabinet under the stove top. “Your mom is a bit down in the mouth.”
“College politics.”
“Politics is everywhere. If Brandard were ’ere, would it help?”
“Might. He’s about somewhere.”
I hadn’t mentioned the professor, but Simon thought the same as I did, evidently. It would be nice to have the old guy as an ally.
Since our missing phoenix wizard had bound Simon to the earthly plane by taking his tail from him and performing some ritual or other, more or less nailing Simon in place, that observance from the lesser demon was about as reliable as we were going to get, unless the professor decided to phone home.
“You’re sure.”
“Positive. My bond would be gone if he were lost to th’ world.”
“But you can’t tell me where,” I sighed.
Simon shrugged a shoulder and rolled down his sleeves. “I try what I can, ducks.”
“I know.” I pushed away from the table, made a hand sign to Scout to head back outside, and as we went out the door, I found a lone figure sitting on the steps. My heart beat a little faster as I recognized his silhouette in the evening light.
CHAPTER SIX
OATHS, BIG AND SMALL
I THINK I would have recognized Carter anywhere, even in absolute darkness. Scout bounded ahead of me after snuffling him a welcome. I sat down on the stoop next to him, and he turned to look thoughtfully at me.
“I smell old forest on you.”
I lifted my arm and sniffed my sleeve. “I would have thought onion and garlic and chili powder, but okay.”
Carter raised an eyebrow. His looks wouldn’t knock the socks off a girl, being on the plain and trustworthy side, except for the scar/dimple in his chin. I could see beyond the surface, though. He was the whole package: strong, funny, heroic, thoughtful. And tall. “Hiram take you in to the family estate?”
“He did. Goldie retrieved her things and a journal for me.”
His mouth tightened a little. “I would have gone with you.”
“No need. Wasn’t a real friendly welcome but not awful either, and Goldie got what she wanted, and then she dropped the traitor bomb in their midst.” I paused before adding, “Although I would have loved it if you’d come.”
He made a sound of disbelief. “She made accusations?”
I crossed my chest. “Believe me. And Hiram isn’t happy about it, either.”
“Don’t blame him. Harpies like to stir up trouble.”
“Well, she did.”
After a long moment, as if he wanted to weigh his words, he said, “I could skim the journal for you.”
“Nope,” I told him. “I can hardly wait.”
“You might get a little dismayed by what you read.” He put his hand on my arm, warmth bleeding through the shirt and into my skin, comforting and strong. He took my hand in his and traced my outline, fingers and all, with a gentle touch. Each slight caress sent a thrill through me.
“I know. Gotta do it anyway.” I leaned into him. “I missed you.”
“Work.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been assigned to something dangerous. For you, not me.”
Those words chased away the comfort and his stroking ceased. “Are they moving you?”
“No, but I might have to transit up and down the coast a bit.”
“Ordinary or magical research?”
He gave a short laugh. “I can’t tell you that. But I need you to be a little circumspect. Cautious.”
I felt as protective toward Carter as I could feel he did toward me. I answered, “The more I know, the less I’ll have to go find out.”
Tension instantly coursed through his body. “You can’t do that. I need to know you’re safe, and the way you’ll be safest is not to know anything about what I’m doing. This is deadly business, Tessa, and I can’t share what I know with you. I don’t want to, but it’s what is best. It’s the only way I can keep you secure.”
“Sounds like Mafia or a drug cartel.”
“Not much different, and that’s all you need to know. I’ll be around except when I can’t.”
I turned to look at him closely, lines deep about his mouth, that offset little cleft that was really a small scar of some kind, his plain yet handsome to me features, the sheer determination that sculpted his face, and the inner heat that always managed to shine through. Goldie called him a sun lion. The professor had called upon his ability to project the massive heat of a solar flare to bust open an elven gate and send our enemy through it. Yet he was human. I knew that through every nerve and bone in my body and felt it keenly as he leaned in and kissed me. Tender and yet demanding that I return it, so I did, closing my eyes and falling into the sensation. He moved his hands up to cup my face, and I encircled my arms about his waist although I couldn’t reach all the way around him. We finished one kiss and began another, a yearning one, open and deep that made my body pulse and my blood rise until finally we both pulled away reluctantly. He brushed my hair from my eyes.
Then he gently put his fingertips on my chest, on the breastbone, and I could feel a warmth flood me, a heat that went somewhere secret and stayed.
“What—”
“A bit of love. So you will always know it, and that it comes from me.”
I put my hand over his for a brief moment, and then he pulled away.
“I don’t like not being able to talk freely with you,” he told me.
“But I’ll see you. And you’ll send word if you need me?”
“I don’t know yet if that will be possible.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “No?”
“I have to be careful.”
It hurt him to say that, I could see it in his eyes, barely viewable where we sat on the back stoop, with the moon half-hidden by clouds and the porch light off, but I could still see it. I had had plans, a lot of them,
and it ached that I wouldn’t be able to carry through with them, at least for now. “It won’t—it won’t be long, will it?”
“Might be.”
“How long? Six months? A year?”
“Not a year. Beyond that, I can’t tell. It’s a job that needs to be done, and I am uniquely qualified to do it.”
So it was magic, my question answered sideways, at least a magical edge needed that only he could provide. That brought all sorts of possibilities bubbling up. “Is it the Society—” but he stopped my question with his index finger across my lips. “No, and no more questions.”
I managed to say “But” and that was about all before he took me in an enormous hug and just held me close, until our heartbeats matched and my breathing became slow and easy, and even then he didn’t let me go. The heat he’d given me glowed as well, and I savored it. Not until Scout finally came trotting up and shook cold evening dew all over us, effectively a cold shower, and reminded me that there was supposed to be frost in the morning.
That passage of time he’d given me meant I might be soaking in summer heat and humidity before he could hold me like this again. I burrowed my head against his shoulder; he tightened his grip on me, and we both knew he didn’t really want to let go. I knew then, deep down, what I needed to know: I hadn’t driven him away as I had my father. He didn’t want to go. Duty demanded he be blocked from me and had dragged him off.
