Magic and Loss

Chapter 18

After carting Hana and Torn’s belongings back to Fetlock Mews, Canterbury, Octavia, and I immediately set to work retrofitting the loft next door.

The second floor apartment was a huge open space with no interior walls save for a stable-box in one corner large enough to accommodate a pair of centaurs, which was fairly easy to convert into a traditional bedroom. However, upon laying eyes on the bathroom—with its tiled surfaces, reticulated shower-hoses, and scrubbing wands—I coaxed Canterbury into bringing in a licensed plumber to tackle the task of making it truly biped-friendly. Some things, I have learned, are best left to the professionals.

Since it was going to be a couple of days before the loft would be truly habitable, Octavia volunteered her room at the boardinghouse to her former neighbors. At first the old couple refused, claiming they didn’t want to impose any more than they already had, but finally relented once she explained she was scheduled for a week’s rotation at the firehouse anyway. Octavia and I helped the elderly couple pack a couple of changes of clothes and a few other essentials into a carpetbag and left Canterbury to deal with the plumber.

“Is this where you live now?” Torn asked in surprise, peering out the window of the brougham at the boardinghouse.

“Yes,” Octavia replied. “I’m renting from Tate’s boyfriend.”

“This boyfriend of yours—he’s Kymeran?” Torn asked warily.

“Yes,” I replied. “Is that a problem?”

He opened his mouth, as if to launch into a tirade, only to be silenced by a glare from his wife. The old man shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Things were different when we were coming up, that’s all,” he muttered, by way of explanation.

As we entered, we were greeted, as usual, by Beanie, who came scampering from the back of the house, eyes agog and tongue flapping.

“That’s an unusual-looking familiar,” Torn said as he studied the Boston terrier. “What kind of demon is it?”

“It’s a pedigreed frog-bat. Can’t you tell?” Scratch sneered as he sauntered into the room. “Now that I’ve answered your question, it’s your turn to answer mine: what are you two doing here?”

Torn gave a dry, humorless laugh. “I see the cat still has a tongue.”

“You two know each other?” I frowned.

“We three know each other,” the familiar purred as he brushed up against Hana’s leg. “Now you I’m glad to see. You’re the one who made those scrumptious mouse-meat pies. . . .”

“You mean mincemeat, don’t you?” Octavia corrected.

“I know what I said.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Scratch,” Hana smiled. As she reached down to stroke the familiar’s chamoislike skin, Scratch rose onto his hind legs and pressed the flat of his head into the palm of her hand, a public show of fondness I’d never seen him bestow on anyone besides Hexe.

I turned and gave Torn a quizzical look. “Do you mind telling me how it is you’re so, uh, familiar with my boyfriend’s familiar?”

“My wife and I served the late Witch King, Lord Eben and his consort, Lady Lyra, for forty years,” Torn explained with a melancholy smile. “I was the butler; she was the cook. My own father had served the previous Witch King in the same capacity, as had his father before him, and his father before him—going back to the drowning of Kymera.

“In fact, I was born in the servants’ quarters on the third floor, back before it became unstable,” he said, gesturing to the stairs that led to the upper stories of the house. “Hana and I began our service as children, and we saw to the Royal Family until the day Lord Eben breathed his last. After that, Lady Syra pensioned us off and we moved into the Machen Arms. Today is the first time we’ve set foot in this house in twenty years.”

“Is Hexe, I mean, His Serenity at home?” Hana asked hopefully.

“He left just before you arrived. I’m afraid he had pressing business elsewhere,” Scratch replied.

“Let me show you and Hana where you’ll be staying,” Octavia said as she reached to take the carpetbag from Torn. “It’s the second bedroom off the stairs. . . .”

“That would be Lady Syra’s old room,” the old butler grunted, refusing to relinquish his grip on his luggage. “I know it well.”

As Octavia made sure her friends were settled in, I retreated to my room to change out of my work clothes. I tried to call Hexe on his cell, to let him know about our new houseguests, but it rolled straight to voice mail. I left a brief message, asking him to call me back ASAP, and then stripped down to my undies.

I turned sideways to inspect my silhouette in the mirror. I was just over three months along, and my lower abdomen was already swelling like a ripening fruit. I rested a hand on my stomach and gave it a little pat. I was still conflicted about advertising my pregnancy to the world at large, given the recent racial tensions in Golgotham, but there was only so much camouflage I could expect from my welder’s jumpsuit. Pretty soon everyone and his familiar was going to know I was carrying the Heir Apparent’s child simply by looking at me.

I found myself suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of dizziness and decided to stretch out on the bed for a couple of minutes. I must have been more tired than I realized, because the next thing I knew I was awakened by the smell of cooking.

My initial thought was that it was morning and that Hexe was once more making breakfast in the kitchen. Then I glanced at the bedside clock and realized it was still evening, albeit an hour or so later than when I first lay down. Feeling slightly disoriented, I put on a pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt and headed downstairs.

Hana was in the kitchen, tending boiling pots and a sizzling skillet, while her husband busied himself setting the table in the dining room, each moving about their tasks as easily as if they were in their own home. The old woman smiled upon spotting me standing in the doorway.

“Did you have a nice nap, dear?” she asked pleasantly. “I checked in on you earlier and saw you were asleep—you must be exhausted after today, given your situation.” She glanced meaningfully at my shrouded midriff.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied. “But you didn’t have to do all this. . . .”

“It’s the least Torn and I can do,” she said as she retrieved a roasting pan from the oven. “You have been extremely good to us—I daresay you have shown far more kindness to us than any human ever has.”

“We’re not all like Chess,” I said with a wry smile. “Although I should point out that you don’t have to be a Kymeran for him to treat you shabbily.”

“Such an awful man!” Hana clucked her tongue in reproach. “Truly dreadful!”

“You should have let me curse him.”

Hana cast a disapproving glance at Torn, who was standing in the doorway of the dining room. “Things were bad enough already without us making it worse. Besides, he was probably wearing protective talismans strong enough to turn back every spell in the book. His type never set foot in Golgotham without loading themselves down with counter-charms.”

“I still should have tried,” Torn grunted. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“You’ve never cursed anyone in your life.” Hana laughed as she kissed his cheek. “You’re not that kind of man; that’s why I married you.”

Torn’s normally taciturn demeanor melted away as he took his wife’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And all this time I thought it was my good looks and chiseled abs.”

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 greet 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.