by H. L. Burke
“Metal parts?” he asked.
She nodded.
A grin crossed his face. He did have a nice smile. It had been in her thoughts far more than she’d like to admit over the last few days. Silly thing to be dwelling on with all the death and danger around them, but somehow it calmed her when she felt overwhelmed.
“Ah, I have an idea then,” he continued. “Do you have a magnet?”
She gaped. “That’s … brilliant.”
“Don’t look so surprised.” His expression tightened. “I may not be an engineer, but I do have a brain.”
“Yes, you do.” She cleared her throat and pulled her spare toolbox out from under the bed. She handed him a horseshoe magnet from within.
He knelt and waved it over the section of rug where her parts had fallen. Metal bits flew up to the magnet and clinked against it, sticking fast.
“I’m sorry, for calling you an idiot before.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “You handled yourself well today, with that awful woman.”
A smile quirked the corners of his mouth, and she had to look away. However, this time it wasn’t shyness or anxiety that drove the deflection. No, this was something new. Something she didn’t want to dwell on for fear it would consume her.
Auric passed her the magnet, now covered with clockwork pieces. “So, what are you making?” He motioned towards the work table.
“Oh, nothing important.” She picked up the paper she’d sketched her plans on. “It’s actually kind of a silly thing, but working calms me.” Hesitantly, she passed him the schematic. “I like your sister’s pet fox, so I thought I’d make myself something similar. Only I was thinking something different, smaller, maybe a ferret or a mouse.”
His gaze flicked across the paper. “Impressive. How do you plan to animate it, though?”
She bit her bottom lip. “That’s the thing. I could make it windup and it would move, maybe even complete simple tasks, but it wouldn’t be like Jaspyr. I don’t know how to create life.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I guess magic is better for some things.”
He passed back the paper. “We don’t really create life. A familiar is made by enticing a Fey spirit into a mechanical vessel. It’s complex, and takes more magical energy than is available to me right now, or else I’d be willing to help you with it. Maybe when all this is over, I can take your creation back to Mountain’s Foot and animate it for you.”
“You’d do that?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to make one, but with Jaspyr around the manor, there isn’t a need for another. It’s hard to tell how familiars will react to each other.”
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
He scratched at his beard. She wondered what his hair felt like. It looked soft but also shiny, like twisted gold wire. “On my way home—” He cleared his throat then reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, tissue-paper package. “A vendor was selling these. It made me think of you. Practical, but also pretty.”
The paper crinkled when she touched it. Pulling it away, she uncovered a pendant with a garnet-studded gold frame surrounding a small clock face. Something in her chest softened. “For me?”
He nodded. “If you want it.”
Somehow unable to speak, she also nodded. Her father had given her presents, but they were always purposeful: tool sets, books, a leather satchel once. They were never just pretty. “But why?” she whispered.
He opened his mouth, shrugged, and closed it again. His cheeks reddened slightly.
Shame heated Lotta’s skin. Hurtful, ungrateful girl, something within her shouted. He did something nice for you. Just accept it.
“I’m sorry if it was forward of me. If you don’t want it—”
“No!” she blurted out, a little too loudly. She inhaled. “I like it very much. Thank you.”
Again that smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Again something within her flip-flopped.
“May I?” He motioned towards the necklace. Instinctively her grasp tightened around it. Did he not believe she wanted it? Was he going to take it away? He lifted the chain which dangled from her hand. She let him have it but stiffened when he stepped behind her and looped it over her head. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he did up the clasp. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply to fight the chills sweeping through her.
“Perfect.” Pleasure hummed in his voice. “I’ll see you at dinner?”
“Yes,” she said.
As the door closed behind him, she collapsed onto her bed. “Oh, Lotta, you idiot, what are you doing to yourself?”
Men didn’t like Lotta. She was too outspoken, too practical, too abrupt. Auric was the complete opposite, so sensitive. There was no way she could trust herself with his affections … but it seemed he might be offering, and God help her, she wanted to accept.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jericho entered Styles Manor via the servants’ entrance off the kitchen. The elderly cook, Tess, looked up from a carving board covered in diced apples. “Ah, Master Jericho, good to have you back.”
More at home with the household staff than with Styles and his ilk, it had only taken Jericho a bit of fetching and carrying to ingratiate himself with Tess and her underlings. This both allowed him to come and go as he pleased and use them to keep track of Cordon Styles’s movements.
Pushing a strand of faded red hair under her chef’s cap, Tess glanced him over. “Is that grease on your hands? What have you been getting into?”
Jericho pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to tidy his appearance. Between Rill and Auric taking care of things around the manor, he’d been able to slip away often over the last two days to help Lotta with her generator. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed good, honest labor. It took him back to his uncle’s carpentry shop. He’d built a support system to hold the generator in place with just a rough sketch she’d scratched out on a piece of paper then helped her tighten bolts in place. The work was nearly done.
He tucked his handkerchief back away. Hoping to change the subject, he nodded towards the apples. “Making a pie?”
“Yes, and you’ll get plenty tonight, don’t you worry.” Tess winked. “Master Cordon never appreciates rustic desserts, but I thought you might have a taste for them.”
“I certainly do.” He took a step towards the door.
“Master Jericho!” Tess called.
He glanced over his shoulder. The cook dropped her eyes, her mouth pinching as if she’d just bit down on a worm in one of her apples.
“I don’t wish to speak ill of your wife. She seems like such a sweet, fine-mannered lady, but you are a fine-mannered gentleman yourself, and … even if he’s my employer, I don’t like how Master Cordon has been flitting around her. Taking her out to luncheon today, dancing the other evening?” She shook her head. “It ain’t proper for a married woman.”
Jericho tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his thigh. He had worried about this task making Rill uncomfortable, but foolishly, he hadn’t considered what it might do to her reputation. Well, a couple more days and it would all be over. “Thank you, Miss Tess, but I trust Rill. You don’t need to worry on my behalf.”
“Of course.” The woman’s face reddened. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”
“No, no offense taken. She’s … well, let’s just say Cordon Styles is the least of my concerns right now.”
Tess’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t speak again. Jericho hurried down the hall and up the back stairs to their quarters.
He entered and found Auric lying on the floor surrounded by a sea of papers, a thick, leather-bound book over his face.
“Death by bureaucracy?” Jericho chuckled.
Auric pushed aside the book and squinted at him. “Just resting my eyes. Even with the generators, we still have that hearing the day after tomorrow, remember?”
“Yes, though I thought we’d prepared for that already. Until we know exactly what accusat
ions they plan to level at you and what proof they have, there isn’t much we can do in way of defense.” Jericho circled the room, picking up the scattered papers. Auric had inherited Hedward’s tendency towards disorder. Keeping the workshop at Spellsmith Manor tidy had often been like raking leaves during a windstorm.
“I keep hoping I’ll stumble onto some sort of legal loophole I can throw in Hovawart’s face, forcing him to drop the whole thing.” Auric stood up, scratching at his beard.
“Yeah, that would be nice, but in my experience, you can’t just magic away your problems. Even with magic.”
Someone knocked at the door. “Come in!” Auric called.
The butler entered. “Masters Spellsmith and Carver, an Inspector Hovawart is here to see you.”
Auric grimaced. “What does he want?”
“Just to talk.” Declan Hovawart poked his head through the door. “Two days ago you turned in a woman, one Rivera Blackthorn, claiming she’d assaulted you and your acquaintance, Lotta Tyckner, on multiple occasions, for which we had her under investigation—”
“Had?” Auric’s face turned an unappealing shade of red. “What do you mean had?”
“That isn’t something I am at liberty to discuss. What I would like to discuss is your assertion that she was involved with the murder of Terryn Alvin, which you included in your statement.”
The butler slipped out, closing the door behind him and leaving the two friends with Hovawart.
Hovawart adjusted his tinted glasses, his face placid. “What made you so certain Miss Blackthorn was associated with that crime?”
Auric cleared his throat. Jericho drew closer to him, ready to back him up if Auric couldn’t come up with an acceptable lie this time. He wasn’t ready to admit he and Rill had been there during the murder itself.
“When she attacked Lotta, the woman—you say her name is Blackthorn?”
Hovawart nodded, and Auric continued.
“Miss Blackthorn used one of Alvin’s magical containment vials. I deduced she must’ve been either purchasing or stealing them from him. Either way, it seemed a bit of a coincidence that he died within days of presumably doing business with a cold-blooded killer.”
“I see.” Hovawart rubbed his hands together. “A logical conclusion, I suppose, but circumstantial. Being a client of Alvin doesn’t necessarily make her his murderer. My position in the government forced me to deal with Alvin on multiple occasions, and I can assert that many of his clients were of a less than savory nature.”
“Perhaps, but Miss Blackthorn is the only one I have encountered.” Auric crossed his arms.
Good work, Auric, Jericho thought.
Auric drew himself up and set his mouth firm. “Now, I understand the sensitivity of ongoing investigations and all, but as one of the almost victims of Miss Blackthorn’s attack, I’d like the security of knowing that she’ll be contained for the foreseeable future. So, if you can’t tell me why you had her under investigation rather than still have her, at least can you give me the assurance that she’s not going to show up here to make another attempt on myself and Miss Tyckner’s lives?”
Hovawart removed his glasses and polished them on his sleeve. “Yes, I believe that will be impossible, seeing as she is, as of this morning, deceased.”
Jericho raised his eyebrows. “Deceased? How?”
“Ongoing investigation. Can’t comment.” Hovawart returned his glasses to his nose, his expression stony.
“Fine work, though, having a prisoner murdered in your custody.” Jericho put on his smuggest smile. “Doesn’t say much for the security in this city. Should I be concerned?”
Hovawart stiffened. “The security at the prison is topnotch. I suspect natural causes.” He straightened his collar. “For the best, I suppose. Like as not, she would’ve been incarcerated for some time at great cost to the taxpayers. Now, if you will excuse me.” He nodded curtly to Auric. “I’ll see you in court.”
As soon as Hovawart left, Auric gave out a long breath and collapsed onto the couch. “At least they can’t accuse us of Blackthorn’s death … though it doesn’t sound as if Hovawart is keen on investigating it.”
Jericho took the chair opposite Auric and tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. “Natural causes my eye. Sounds like her employer might’ve been afraid she’d say something to the wrong people. If you can hire one assassin, you can hire another. I doubt there’s a code of professional ethics for those in that trade.”
Auric mouth turned downward. “I can’t believe I was friends and roommates for almost five years with a man who could order a woman under his employment killed in cold blood like that. How did I not see it?”
“You said it yourself, he’s a politician. Men like that are masters at hiding their true minds. You weren’t the only one fooled. As far as society is concerned, Cordon Styles is a sterling example of a modern man because he wears the right clothes and says the right things in public.”
“And you’re an outsider worthy of suspicion because you insist on dressing like a carpenter and say what you think rather than what people want to hear.” Auric laughed. “I grow less and less enamored with ‘polite society’ by the day.”
“Well, let’s get through with this trial, get Lotta’s generators set up, and get back home where we belong.”
The door behind Jericho opened and both men turned to watch Rill stride in. She slammed the door shut then leaned back against it, her eyes closed and her expression weary.
“You all right?” Jericho stood and crossed the room to take her hand.
“I feel as if I need to bathe. I swear, if I have to laugh at one more of his quips at the expense of a waiter or put up with his gaze .... oozing across my body one more time, I’ll haul off and slap the cad.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I know it’s for the good. I mean, I’ve kept him away from you and Aurry, so I think it’s working, but still … I don’t like it.”
Jericho drew her into an embrace. “You can quit if you want.”
“No, it’s worth it.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper covered in dark gray pencil rubbings. “I got him bragging on his business acumen and then managed a tour of his office out of it, not the one here, but the official one near the congressional building. While I was there, I noticed an open notepad with a few pages torn out. I had a hunch so I asked for a cup of tea, and while he fetched it, I rubbed the paper with a pencil. It’s not much, but look who it is addressed to.”
Jericho took the paper and squinted at the scratches. “Hovawart?”
“Yes. I think Styles is informing on Auric. Anything he learns that he thinks Hovawart can use in his case, he’s writing down and sending. Anonymously, I suspect, considering he had a stack of official letterhead stationery right next to the notepad and was choosing not to use it. Though, that’s only a suspicion.”
“We haven’t given him much to tell.” Jericho handed Auric the paper.
“No, but it honestly doesn’t surprise me that they are communicating. They want the same thing: the rifts reopened.” Auric sighed. “Could we use this to our advantage? Plant something misleading to keep both of them off our backs for a little while?”
“Maybe … Lotta said her generators could be ready to test as early as tomorrow, though. If the test goes without a hitch, the next step is taking the design right to the Magicians’ Congress.” Jericho took back the paper, wadded it up, and tossed it into the fireplace. “Once that’s done, Styles will have officially lost. He can’t take away the knowledge of the generators from that many people.”
Someone rapped on the door. Rill stiffened. “Styles?” she breathed.
“Maybe.” Jericho glanced around the room. There was nothing incriminating in plain sight. “Put on a good face. Remember, we suspect nothing,” he whispered.
Pasting on a pleasant smile, he opened the door. His grin turned into a gape. “Master Spellsmith? What are you doing here?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
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“Not the most pleasant greeting, Jericho.” Father strode past the wide-eyed young man into the room.
Auric swallowed. His father looked well enough, but the last time he’d seen him, he’d still been so weak. “Father, you really shouldn’t have come here. The trip alone was far too much stress.”
“Rubbish.” Father waved his hand dismissively. “I’m fine, Auric. Stress and lack of sleep was all. No, I’ve rested up, but your mother and that blasted out-of-town magician you hired to help out have banded against me. They won’t let me step foot in my own workshop. Bored out of my mind, and you two not even sending me reliable status reports on my court case? Of course, I’m here, and I’m ready to speak for myself in this matter. Just catch me up on your progress.”
Auric and Jericho exchanged a glance. No idea where to begin, Auric scratched at his beard.
Rill put her hand on their father’s shoulder. “Dad, I appreciate you wanting to help, but you have to trust that we have it under control. We didn’t write because there simply wasn’t anything to say yet. The hearing isn’t even for couple more days.”
His eyes lit up, and he stroked her cheek. “Ah, Rill, you are glowing.”
She turned bright red.
“Ah-ha!” he shouted triumphantly. “I knew it! Your mother suspected, some sort of maternal instinct, but you were being so coy. Even my episode didn’t stop me from noticing how Jericho was lifting everything on your behalf and staring at you out of the corner of his eye as if you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite crack. I remember those days with your mother and myself.”
“Father, I … oh, all right, yes, I’m expecting, but I have another eight months or so until the baby arrives, and I don’t want to make a fuss over it.”
“A fuss? Of course we’re going to make a fuss! This is my first grandchild!” He punched Jericho in the chest. “You rogue.”
It was Jericho’s turn to flush.
Auric cleared his throat. “Really, Father, I’m glad that you are well enough to travel, but Rill is right. There isn’t anything you can do to help us, and I’d feel much better if you were resting right now rather than worrying about the court date.”