Magic and Loss

Chapter 24

“This is most certainly a . . . change from the Upper East Side,” Clarence said as he looked up at the looming boardinghouse. He was trying to remain positive, although I could tell he was somewhat intimidated by his surroundings. “Most . . . quaint. In a peculiar way.”

“Don’t worry, Clarence,” I smiled reassuringly. “It’ll grow on you. I promise.”

As I unlocked the front door, Beanie was so excited he slipped his leash and dashed headlong into the house. He was greeted by Scratch, who rubbed himself along the length of the Boston terrier, a look of feline delight on his hairless, wrinkled face.

“You’ve come back!” Scratch exclaimed, his voice barely audible above his purrs. “I was afraid you were gone for good! Thank you-thank you-thank you for bringing back my dog!”

“Oh. My.” Clarence gasped, staring in astonishment at the hairless winged cat rubbing itself against my shins.

Scratch froze in midpurr. “Who’s the nump in the suit?” he growled.

“Clarence is an old friend of mine. Please don’t call him a nump. He’s going to be living here now. Clarence, this is Scratch.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance . . . sir?” Clarence said, with his usual aplomb.

“Great, another num—I mean, human underfoot,” the familiar sniffed, fixing the butler with a bloodred glare. “But if Tate and Beanie say you’re cool, then I guess I’m okay with it.”

“Where’s Hexe?” I asked.

“He’s still locked in his office,” the familiar replied in a worried voice. “He won’t talk to me anymore. I’ve never seen him like this—it scares me.”

“Hexe—it’s me, Tate,” I called out, tapping on the closed door. “Can you hear me?” The dead bolt abruptly unlocked itself, although I had not heard any movement inside the room. I glanced down at Scratch, who nodded his head, before pushing open the door.

The office looked like it had been ransacked. The floor was covered with books and scattered papers pulled from Hexe’s sizable collection of grimoires, as if someone had been frantically searching for something. The shadows thrown by the Tiffany lamp with the armadillo-shell shade made the taxidermied crocodile hanging from the ceiling seem far less dead than usual. Hexe was slumped across his desk, surrounded by empty bottles of absinthe, Cynar, and barley wine, with a hookah sitting by his silver-clad right hand.

As I stepped into the office, I was struck by the peculiar odor that permeated the room. At first I was at a loss to identify it; then, with a start, I realized it was Hexe. He normally had a warm, pleasantly chypre-like smell that reminded me of citrus and oakmoss with just a hint of leather, but now he seemed to be exuding something closer to bitter lime with a touch of mildew. I knew then I had made the right decision coming back.

He stirred as I drew closer, raising his head to squint at me. “Tate—? Is that really you?” he asked in a ragged voice. Although his hair was uncombed and he was wearing a couple of days’ worth of beard, there was no sign of the sneering, cold-eyed stranger in his weary face.

“Yes, it’s really me.” I smiled gently as I knelt beside him. “I’ve come back to help you, baby.”

“I never meant to say and do those things to you,” he said in an earnest whisper. “It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about it. I never wanted to harm you, Tate—you’ve got to believe me.”

“I know,” I said as I caressed his stubbled chin. “The gauntlet is doing something to you, poisoning you, somehow. Your mother says she knows a psychic surgeon who can help you.”

Hexe drew back and a flicker of fear crossed his face. “But—but—I need the gauntlet.”

“Do you need it more than you need me? More than you need our baby?”

“But that means I’ll no longer be able to work Right Hand magic.”

“You can’t work Right Hand magic now, anyway. So why fight getting rid of the damned thing?”

Hexe dropped his gaze to his gauntleted hand, which he had yet to move or try to touch me with. “I was going to cast a Come Hither to summon you back and hold you to me. I even looked up the spell. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Does that make me weak?”

“No,” I said as I put my arms around him. “You’re the strongest man I know.”

It took a pot of coffee and a couple of Vegemite sandwiches, but I eventually coaxed Hexe out of his office and into the kitchen. As he sobered up he became more and more like his old self, even though he still smelled a bit “off.” Throughout it all, Scratch sat on his favorite perch atop the refrigerator and watched his master intently, as if afraid Hexe might disappear if he looked away.

“What did you say to my mother about the gauntlet?”

“Just that it’s cursed and turning your Right Hand magic widdershins. I didn’t tell her about Boss Marz smashing your hand with a witch-hammer. She’s scheduled a meeting with the psychic surgeon for tomorrow.”

Hexe froze in midchew. “That soon?”

“The quicker we can get that thing off you, the better,” I replied.

“I suppose you’re right.” He set down his half-eaten sandwich and stood up from the table. “I’m going to go take a shower. Care to join me?”

“I’ll be there shortly,” I said. “I just want to check in on Clarence and see how he’s settling in. This has been a big day for all of us.”

After tidying up the kitchen, I headed upstairs and stopped by what, until recently, had been Octavia’s room and knocked on the door.

“It’s unlocked, Miss Timmy.”

I opened the door to find Beanie sitting on the bed, patiently watching Clarence as he unpacked a collection of loud Hawaiian shirts from his luggage and placed them in the wardrobe.

“I see you’ve got a fan.” I laughed.

“He seems to find everything I do fascinating and of the utmost importance,” Clarence replied. “It’s certainly a boost to my self-confidence.”

“What’s with all the Hawaiian shirts?”

“All my adult life, I have dressed like a butler. Years ago, I promised myself, once I retired, I would never wear a suit and tie again. I have been collecting Hawaiian shirts for exactly this occasion. I can’t wait to start trying them out.”

I tried to picture Clarence in something besides the tidy three-piece suits he had worn for as long as I could remember, but my mind just wouldn’t go there. It was like trying to imagine my grandparents naked.

“I trust your young man is feeling better?” he asked solicitously.

“He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s doing a lot better,” I replied. “He’s more like his old self than he’s been in a while.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I know you love him very much. I can see it in your eyes whenever you talk about him.”

“I was never able to sneak much past you when I was a kid.”

“No, you couldn’t,” he agreed as he unpacked the clay ashtray I made for him at summer camp twenty years ago, and carefully placed it on the bed stand. “But, then, you were always a very loving child.”

“Clarence—are you sure about all this?” I asked gently. “I appreciate you wanting to help me, but if this places any hardship on you at all . . .”

“Ever since I was a boy I’ve wanted to see exotic places and unusual people,” he smiled wryly. “However, I am not much for travelling. I have a deathly fear of flying, I turn green the moment I set foot on a boat, and I have an unfortunate tendency to become carsick after a couple of hours. For someone like me, Golgotham is the answer to my prayers . . . provided the cat doesn’t eat me.

“And as for hardships . . . what I said to your mother wasn’t hot air, Miss Timmy. You don’t have to worry about money for the time being. I would be honored to handle the household finances until you and your young gentleman get back on your feet.”

I jumped off the bed and threw my arms around the old butler—or at least tried to, since my belly was now in the way. “Clarence, you’re my very own fairy godfather!” I exclaimed. “And you’ve really got to stop calling me ‘Miss Timmy.’”

“Whatever you say, Miss Timmy.”

As I entered the bedroom, Hexe strolled out of the bathroom, fresh from his shower. As he toweled his hair dry I realized it was the first time in weeks I’d seen him naked, and was startled to see how thin he had become.

“I went to see an obstetrician today,” I said.

Hexe lowered the towel to stare at me apprehensively. “Is the baby—?”

“He’s perfectly healthy,” I replied. “But we’re going to be parents a little sooner than we thought.”

He laughed joyously as he grabbed me up in his arms, twirling about as if we were on a dance floor. For a few glorious moments everything we’d gone through seemed to disappear, and we were happy again, just like we used to be. We were still laughing as he pulled me down onto the bed.

“When you went away, I was afraid I’d never get the chance to be a father to my child,” he said, placing his hand over my gravid belly. “I know what it’s like, growing up without a father. I don’t want to perpetuate that kind of a family tradition.”

“You’re not being fair to your dad, Hexe. Your mother sent Horn away to keep your grandfather from banishing him.”

“I realize it’s stupid and childish,” he sighed, “but part of me is still mad at him for not being around when I was a kid. There’s so much I needed to learn that only he could teach me—like how to be a father and a husband. This is all new territory for me, and I’m afraid I’m going to fail at it.”

“The fact that you’re worried about being a good dad is a good sign,” I reassured him. “I attended some of the most exclusive private schools in the city and, believe me, truly bad fathers fuck up their kids without giving what they’re doing a single thought.”

Hexe held up his right hand, turning it from side to side as he studied the Gauntlet of Nydd. “The funny thing is, I just wanted to be able to support you and the baby. You would think I, of all people, would know that magic has its price. The gauntlet may have given me back the use of my right hand, but it’s come at the cost of nearly driving away those I care most for in life.”

“Well, it’ll be gone for good in a couple of days,” I said firmly.

“Still, even though it perverts my magic, at least it allows me to use my hand for more wholesome purposes, such as brushing my hair . . . and other things,” he said as he slipped his hands underneath my blouse. The gauntlet’s finely crafted chain mail felt as smooth and organic as snakeskin sliding against my flesh. “It’s been a long time . . .” he whispered.

“Too long,” I agreed, as I pulled his hungry mouth toward mine. We made love for the first time in weeks, fumbling and giggling until we found the best position to accommodate the changes to my anatomy. And once it was done, we drifted off to sleep, with Hexe cradling me in his arms as if I might disappear. The bitter lime smell that clung to him was almost entirely gone, save for a faint, lingering trace.

I am walking up a long, winding staircase of living glass, its colors forever shifting and pulsing. The staircase twines about a towering pillar, and as I climb I look out across a vast cityscape made of living glass, its spires shining and strobing in the sunlight. I raise my eyes to the skies and see massive dragons wheeling far above my head, their long, narrow tails fluttering in the wind like the tails of a kite.

At the top of the staircase is a temple. Although it, too, is made of living glass, its doorway is fashioned from the skull of a massive dragon, its fleshless maw yawning wide to accept the faithful. I enter the temple, the interior of which is one vast room, in the center of which is a huge cauldron filled with multicolored flames. Kneeling before the holy fire is a figure dressed in a hooded robe, its head lowered in prayer. Although I have never seen this place or this person before, I know that I stand in the Temple of Adon and that this is the Dragon Oracle.

The robed figure rises and turns to face me. In one hand he holds a tall staff made from the shin of a battle-dragon. I start with surprise, for the face of the Dragon Oracle is that of Mr. Manto. The only difference is the white sash that binds the blind prophet’s eyes. The Dragon Oracle points to the multicolored fire dancing in the cauldron, causing it to flare and jump even higher. When he speaks, his voice echoes like a struck gong.

“The hand is in the heart.”

As the Dragon Oracle intones the words, I recognize them as the final portion of the prophecy pieced together by Mr. Manto, a world and countless millennia away. But before I can unravel the meaning of his words, I am overwhelmed by the smell of rotting limes. Suddenly a disembodied six-fingered right hand emerges from the sacred fire and strikes with the speed of a cobra, grabbing me by the neck. I try to pry the phantom hand from about my throat, only to have it tighten its grip. I struggle to free myself as the life is throttled from my body. . . .

And I awoke from my dream to find Hexe leaning over me, his eyes rolled back in his head, as his gauntlet-clad hand squeezed my windpipe.