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I wondered if I ought to curtsy to the woman.
But I was not a servant. I had been hired for a job, albeit unwillingly, and I was not some scullery maid to be scowled into submission. So I kept my back straight and clasped my hands before myself, fighting for some courage. Maureen’s glare turned sharper, and her mouth thinned.
“I do not know what game my daughter is playing in having you here,” she said at last. “But I highly suggest you conclude your business quickly.”
Thinking of Delilah and the deal already struck, I dredged up a smile reserved for those clients who had come to the end of their marriage and were preparing to sign divorce papers. Normally there was some pity and kindness to the gesture, but I could find none of those emotions for Maureen, which was just as well because I had the sense she would happily toss me on the bonfire stack and light it.
“As I have expressed multiple times, Mrs. Leslie, marital counseling requires a level of trust between all parties. Some of that trust has, regrettably, been tarnished and we will have to take whatever time is necessary to rebuild it.”
Maureen’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been paid, Miss Grayson. You won’t get a penny more if you do the job in a day or a week.”
I clenched my jaw and fought to breathe. Fury doused all fear and I glared at the woman. “I wouldn’t take a penny more from you if I were starving in the street.”
To my immense satisfaction, she blinked in surprise. I took that moment to excuse myself, giving her the barest nod of my chin before trekking off in Derrick’s direction. He hadn’t called me over, but I was not going to be standing with that woman for another second.
Of all the rotten, horrible things she could attempt! Calling me greedy after having me abducted?
I was halfway to Derrick’s side before I realized Maureen’s surprise had been real. But was she surprised I wouldn’t take the money or that I wasn’t afraid to talk back to her? And why hadn’t she known about the runestone?
She could be lying. In fact, it was more than likely she was lying about something, and I wished for my empathy back. Liars always had anxiety rife through them and were easy to spot.
Lord Malcolm’s voice became clear as I stepped into the cluster of people surrounding Derrick and his mother. “It will be nice to have your mother back in London. Think how good it will be for her to see home again.”
Derrick’s shoulders were locked and stiff, and I watched him flex and bunch his fists once, twice, and again before he responded. “Her home is in Wales, not London.”
“It’s a good deal closer to Wales than New York is, wouldn’t you say?”
“My mother’s living arrangements are none of your concern,” Derrick said, ignoring the tense crowd.
I had no idea if these were Lord Malcolm’s men or not, but they stood in varying degrees of discomfort, their gazes bouncing between Derrick and Malcolm and back again. Their faces were unfamiliar, ranging from thin and wiry to bold and broad, and for a heartbeat I could almost imagine them clustering in a dark alley, ready to strike at anyone who stumbled their way.
“Don’t be stubborn, boy,” Malcolm said with a smile that glinted a silver canine. “You’ve had your fun and it’s time to head home.”
“I’m not a boy. And London is not my home.”
“Come on, Derrick, can’t you see I’m trying to help you? This isn’t where you belong. Those Constable tattoos are joke. The CEB will never have your back the way the clan will.”
“I’m a half-breed, Grandfather. No clan is going to have my back.”
“People will forget about that.” Malcolm gestured with his cigar, wafting sweet smoke into the center of our little circle. “You’ll see. Give them time and even the runts will come round.”
Shifting on my feet, I looked to Derrick’s mother. She was gaunt, with high cheekbones gone hollow, and a mouth drawn down into a confused frown. There was a sense of bleakness all about her, hovering in the air so that even I could feel it. The runestone throbbed in my palm and I rubbed at it, unable to take my eyes off Mrs. King. There was conversation around us, Derrick snarling something at his grandfather, but I ignored them to concentrate on her.
This was magic. Or the results of magic.
I couldn’t know more unless I accessed the aether, but I would bet my life on it. Humans had largely come around to the morality of aiding the mentally ill in recent years, though that did seem to be declining as institutions meant for their wellbeing were overburdened by too many patients and not enough staff or funds.
The Bright had always been more understanding toward the unexplainable. Chemical imbalances sometimes correlated with spells gone awry or, as I believed to be the case for Mrs. King, an overuse of one’s magic could fray the neural pathways in the brain, resulting in a near catatonic state.
Derrick’s account of the night his father died echoed in my mind as I watched his mother. She had been protecting her family, there was no question. And she had strained herself to breaking point.
A little shiver sped up my spine.
This was the risk all warlocks took when accessing the aether. The human part of us couldn’t handle all that information for long. One had to keep their time open to the aether short, plan ahead what they wanted to do, what spells or enchantments they looked to create, else they could end up insensible on the floor.
Father’s voice floated to me, unbidden; “Magic is like the ocean. You know it when you see it, and a lot of us extraordinary creatures can play in its shallows, splashing through waves and manipulating its energy to our own purposes. Summoners and wizards can wade through magic, touch it and move it, maybe even swim through it, but it remains on the outside of their skin. Creatures like vampires and werewolves, or the Fae, on the other hand, have magic built into them. They’re more like whales and sharks living in the deep, as reliant on magic to sustain them as humans are air to breathe.”
The warning was clear, and it was staring at me now through the unblinking eyes of Mrs. King. Too much magic and you will drown in it.
