“The lady said she wished to speak to Miss Timmy, and refused to leave until she did so,” the butler explained apologetically. “I deemed it best not to aggravate the situation, given her . . . abilities.”
My mother snorted in disgust and returned her attention to Lady Syra. “What do you want with my daughter, sorceress?”
“That is between Tate and me,” the Witch Queen replied politely but firmly.
“Her name is Timothea!” My mother’s shout was loud enough to make the pendants on the crystal chandelier jingle.
“Mom, please! Let me handle this,” I said, doing my best to try to soothe her. “Do you trust me to do that?” For a moment it looked like she was going to fight me on it, but then she grudgingly sighed and nodded her head. “So,” I said, turning to face Lady Syra, “why are you here?”
“It’s about Hexe. Is there someplace where we can speak in private?” she asked, glancing about the ballroom-sized salon.
“We can talk in the library,” I said, motioning for her to follow me. My mother glared at Lady Syra as she passed her on the stairs, but remained silent.
Compared to the Grand Salon, the library seemed relatively cozy. Once I closed the door behind us, Lady Syra heaved a sigh of relief and allowed her shoulders to drop.
“If Hexe sent you here to try to talk me into coming back,” I warned her, “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Scratch: I’m not setting foot in that house until he agrees to give up the gauntlet.”
“While I am here on Hexe’s behalf,” she admitted, “he didn’t send me. Something is horribly wrong with my son, and I need your help. I stopped by the house last night for a visit, but no one answered the door. I was about to leave when Scratch called out to me from the rooftop and said Hexe had locked himself inside his office and was refusing to come out. So I used my passkey to let myself in. It took some cajoling, but I finally got Hexe to open the door to his office. I don’t know what he was doing in there, but he positively reeked of Dragon Balm. I asked him what was going on, but all he would say was that you’d left him because you were tired of being poor, and then slammed the door in my face.” She shook her head as she spoke, as if she could not believe her own words. “This has something to do with the Gauntlet of Nydd, doesn’t it?”
“I’m convinced that’s what’s wrong,” I replied grimly. “There’s a curse on the gauntlet that’s keeping Hexe from using his Right Hand magic.”
“I should have known that thing was trouble the moment Trinket hissed at it!” Lady Syra said ruefully, reaching up to pet the familiar looped about her neck. “Is it true Dr. Moot was the one who bonded that thing to Hexe’s hand?”
“I’m afraid so.”
She frowned in consternation. “But why would he go to that old tosser? Was it just a question of money? I would have paid to have it done properly, you know. Curse that foolish pride of his. He’s just like his father!”
“He had his reasons. They seemed to make sense, at the time,” I replied, leery of going into detail for fear of saying too much. Things were bad enough already without dragging the Maladanti into it. “I’ve tried to talk him into getting the thing removed, but he’s convinced that if he can find Madam Erys, he can get the curse lifted without having to remove the gauntlet itself. He won’t listen to reason.”
“It’s the damned Dragon Balm,” Lady Syra said with a grimace. “Esau used to smoke that crap to try to forget the man he used to be. There was always a touch of darkness to my brother—the same that exists in all Kymerans—but once Nina was no longer in his life, it spread like a cancer throughout his soul, until it drew him down the spiral of the Left Hand path.”
“Is that what you think Hexe is trying to do—forget?”
“If my son has indeed lost his Right Hand magic to a curse, he is suffering a fate most Kymerans would rather die than endure. No wonder he seemed a shadow of himself. Tate—I don’t know what happened between you and Hexe, but if you truly love my son, you will come back with me to Golgotham.”
“Please don’t ask me to do that, Syra.”
“I’m not asking, Tate; I’m begging,” she said, taking my hand and clasping it tightly. “I could have cast a Come Hither and dragged you back downtown against your will, but I didn’t, because I know that’s not what Hexe would have wanted. You wear the Crown of Adon, which marks you as his true love, just as it marked his father as my true love. When my father forced me to send Horn away, I became bitter and angry, and I could feel the darkness rise in me, whispering in my ear in a shadow’s voice. The only thing that kept me centered, that drew me back to the light was my child. When I looked into Hexe’s eyes for the first time, I was filled with hope and strength. If not for my son, I would have joined my brother on his downward spiral. Of that I have no doubt.
“That is why you must go back to Golgotham—Hexe needs you and his child to fight the darkness gathering within him. I have already lost my brother to the Left Hand path—I will not stand by and allow it to claim my son as well. If you can get Hexe to agree to it, I will pay to have the Gauntlet of Nydd removed. Once it’s off, I’ll have it destroyed. I don’t care if it’s a historical artifact—it has meant nothing but sorrow to the Royal Family.”
I fully intended to tell her no. The word was resting on my tongue, waiting to be spoken. Going back to Golgotham was risky for me, not to mention the baby. But when I looked into Syra’s eyes, I saw a mother terrified for the sake of her son—a son who had the same golden eyes.
* * *
When I told my mother I would be returning to Golgotham with Lady Syra, she was so taken aback she actually set aside her bourbon. “What do you mean you’re going back?” I could almost see the steam shooting out her ears.
“Hexe needs my help,” I explained. “We might be having problems right now, but I still love him.”
This did not mollify my mother in the least. “I know what you’re up to, witch!” she snapped, pointing at Lady Syra. “You’re trying to steal my daughter away from me! You’ve cast some kind of spell over her so you can drag her back to your good-for-nothing son!”
“Mother, please! You make it sound like I’ve pricked my finger on a spinning wheel!”
She turned to glare at me in disapproval. “This was all an elaborate trick, wasn’t it?” she fumed. “You just wanted to get back into my good graces long enough for your father and me to unfreeze your trust fund. Is that why you got pregnant in the first place—to get Grandma and Grandpa on the hook?”
“I don’t want your money if it means turning back into a kid you can push around and tell what to do!” I replied. “I’ve been there and done that, Mom. I didn’t like it the first time, so why should I sign up for it again, and bring my kid along for the ride? And speaking of which, as far as I’m concerned, my baby only has one grandmother . . . and it’s not you.” I knew I drew blood with that last remark because I saw her flinch, and I realized that I would regret saying it later on, but at that moment I couldn’t have cared less that I said something so cruel to someone I loved. I was my mother’s child, after all. I turned to Lady Syra and motioned for her to follow me. “Come on—I need to pack.”
“No need, Miss Timmy,” Clarence announced. He was standing at the head of the stairs that led to the Grand Salon, holding my suitcase in one hand and Beanie’s leash in the other. “I trust I wasn’t being too presumptuous?”
“Honestly, Clarence!” my mother spat. “First you let that witch in the door; now you’re helping Timmy pack her bags! Have you no sense of loyalty?”
“Ah! That reminds me,” the butler said, taking an envelope from his breast pocket as he stepped forward. “Here is my letter of resignation, effective immediately. Normally, I would have given substantially more notice than this, but the circumstances are unique. I will be accompanying Miss Timmy, as she is in greater need of my services than either yourself or the master.”
She opened the envelope, scowling at the contents. “This letter isn’t
dated.”
“I wrote it some time ago,” Clarence replied. “I’ve just been waiting for the right opportunity to deliver it.”
“You’re leaving us to go work for her?” she scoffed. “How do you expect to get paid? In magic beans?”
“While I may have served the Eresbies, from boy to man, with my mouth shut and my thoughts to myself, I have also kept my eyes and ears open and have used information I have overheard at table to make certain investments in the stock market,” Clarence replied. “I have managed to accumulate something of a nest egg. Granted, it’s nothing compared to the Eresby fortune, but, to be blunt, I don’t need your stinking money, ma’am. I’ve got plenty of my own; more than enough to retire anywhere in the world. And as it so happens, I’ve chosen to retire in Golgotham—at least until the baby comes.”
“You’re behind this as well, aren’t you?” my mother snarled at Lady Syra, her eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. “You weren’t happy with taking away my daughter, so now you’ve cast a spell over Clarence and turned him against me as well!”
“You still don’t get it, even after all this time, do you, Millicent?” Lady Syra said sadly. “A true heart is stronger than any magic I can cast.”
And with that, I walked back out of my parents’ penthouse, leaving my mother sputtering to herself, alone and untended, in the echoing expanse of the Grand Salon.
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.”
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