by S. L. Prater
Hero Witch titled the front page. Marnie read a portion of the article upside down, nibbling a corner of toast. She grabbed the paper and righted it when she spotted her name. A picture of the war-torn parsonage flanked the article. The piece included gushing quotes from Brother Doyle, praising the efforts of the magic-riding witch, apprentice councilor Sophia Marnie Becker. Feeling both pleased and mildly embarrassed, Marnie read on. She was given far more credit than she deserved for aiding the people of Glint.
The piece went on to describe the demon magic that had overwhelmed Bran’s birthday party. Her magic-riding was praised further. She was declared Bran’s savior. Jack was also mentioned for his efforts in destroying the curse and controlling a fire that threatened to consume the entirety of Silk District.
Marnie is easily the greatest magic wielder of our time, Brother Doyle’s quote ended.
She made note of the author, questioning the purpose of the piece. The whole thing stunk of politics and made her uneasy. Her stomach soured slightly, and for a moment she worried she’d see her breakfast again. She read the article a second time, hoping it would share Addie’s current condition, but the little girl was hardly mentioned.
A rap at the door turned her head. “Come in.” She rolled the newspaper and laid it on the cushion beside her.
Raif stepped inside, his red hair slicked with sweat. His tunic was disheveled, partially untucked from his trousers like he’d been sprinting. “Good, you’ve eaten. We have to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
Raif ushered her to her feet. “Security issues.”
“But Bran . . . ? I’d like to say goodbye.”
Marnie tested her footing, pleasantly surprised her ankles now held her weight. The ground seemed steady, and her mind was clear. The headache was gone, and her stomach was full to bursting. All she needed now was a hot bath and a fresh change of clothes, and she might finally feel human again.
“There isn’t time.” His worried face fed Marnie’s unease. “You must go now. We are locking down the palace.”
“My God, what for? Lord Bran—”
“The emperor is fine. Please, Marnie.”
She followed, walking quickly, eyes scanning halls, hoping for a glimpse of the emperor. She found nothing but speedy, bustling staff. The crowded gates had fewer guards than she remembered.
“You have to tell me something.” Marnie stopped on the stone steps, digging in her heels. “Anything?”
Raif combed agitated fingers through his hair. “This is all mostly procedural, I promise. A staffer made a small attempt on the emperor’s life.”
Marnie gasped.
He gripped her elbow, urging calm from her, looking over his shoulder for spying eyes. “He is fine, not a scratch on him, I swear on my mother. The staffer is an old man with a confused mind. He shouldn’t have been allowed back in the palace after the last time we found him wandering the halls. When he couldn’t remember why he was there, he got agitated. Lord LaFontaine suffers from being softhearted, and he let him stay.”
She nodded, calmed by the honesty she sensed in him.
“I’m not supposed to be sharing this with you,” he said. “Now get out of here, and go home before you drag us both into trouble.”
Marnie kissed his cheek lightly, amused when he flushed and his lips quirked into a smile.
“Get going,” he said with more heat, his scowl back in its practiced place.
She hurried for the gates.
Chapter 9
“I’m not eating that,” Marnie said, shaking her head at Jack and the goat eyeball balanced in his palm. It stared at her with more life than it should have, detached as it was.
“If you swallow it whole, you barely taste it,” he said. “And this way you can take care of the well issue for the villagers without having to spend days in here solving equations.”
Marnie had been holed up in Bran’s former chambers for most of the week. The newest chalk and largest blackboards were stored there. It wasn’t as though Bran planned to use any of it anymore, so she helped herself to the resources, secretly reveling in the comforting smells and memories held within.
Each morning, she had received a small mountain of telegrams seeking assistance from the ‘Hero Witch’ apprentice, and each morning more armbands arrived along with the post as a thank you for a job well done. Both her arms dangled with new bands in gold, silver, bronze, and even a brilliant green glass one. The problems in the telegrams ranged from drying wells to dwindling beehives. She received two requests to double check an estate’s books and one request from a local hairdresser seeking assistance in growing her business.
“I like math,” Marnie said. “It won’t take days, and I’m not swallowing an eyeball!”
She had to reference one of Bran’s boring books to correctly solve for void ratio and soil saturation. When completed, she’d be able to brew another potion which would successfully bring fresh, clean water back to a well. Dry season had taken its toll on parts of the capital.
“And no magical intoxication,” she told Jack after she finished the last calculation. “That’s the beauty of alchemy. Exact proportions, well measured, with no threat of overflow.”
He held her left hand aloft in answer, displaying where her nails had turned black from one of her earlier experiments with a balm that could strengthen a hive queen.
Marnie waved him away. “They’ll go back to their natural color soon. At least I can stand on my own two feet.”
“This came for you.” Jack’s voice was somber.
She laid her chalk down, curious at his tone. Balanced in his palm was a delicate box wrapped in newsprint, the same article that declared her a “hero witch,” she noted as she took it from him.
She unwrapped it and popped the lid on the box. Inside was an armband, handmade with woven strips of colorful linen and braided leather. At the bottom of the box was a small signature in looping handwriting.
Addie.
Moved to tears, Marnie’s eyes stung. Jack tied the band in place for her, high on her arm. Sniffling, she went back to the blackboard, accidentally dropping her chalk. Her eyes were watery.
When she bent to retrieve it, Jack gripped her elbow and squared his shoulders. She faced him as he pulled another band from his pocket. This one was whittled out of antler and covered in spirit symbols and witch runes.
“Jack?”
It warmed her skin as he moved it up her wrist. The magic on it smelled like wildflowers. His smile was sunshine.
“The ‘hero witch’ saved me once, too,” he said.
She bit her lip. “It’s really beautiful. I absolutely love it, but I wasn’t an apprentice then.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
***
Marnie read the morning paper over breakfast, wearing her leather alchemy apron in preparation for a day of problem solving. She glanced over a disheartening article titled Witches Seek to Steal Loreley Jobs Via Magus District. She had never even heard of such a place.
She squinted at yet another article gossiping about an alleged attempt on the emperor’s life. She was making herself crazy, collecting rumor and tabloid pieces about Bran’s welfare. Jack had scolded her about it. Her mother was beginning to worry. Her math was slipping. Her last potion, meant to cure scalp itch for a local hairdresser, was off. The potion worked, but its mixing stained her leather apron, turned her fingers green, caused her ankles to swell, and left her ravenous with hunger for three full days no matter how much she ate.
Captain Alastor hurled himself in danger’s way to save the Lord of Loreley, according to sources inside the palace on the day in question. Alastor, high councilor to the crown, was unwilling to divulge any information regarding the assault.
Marnie tossed the article aside, the pit in her stomach growing. She hadn’t seen or heard from Bran in two weeks. No one had. He hadn’t attended any social gatherings or political parties outside of the palace—not that this was uncommon for hi
m. He hated parties. Regardless, she was going to lose her mind if she didn’t see him soon, alive and well.
Her plan set, she removed her apron, dressing in her best blue skirt instead. She had Cook wrap half a loaf of her prize-winning sourdough bread in a cloth napkin. She filled a small flask with an expensive malt liquor before she set off for the palace. The demon blade was in her pocket, squirming. She carried her gift down the walkways, weaving through automatons as they deposited milk bottles in doorways. Marnie stepped on a discarded church pamphlet. There is Only One God, the bold black lettering shouted at her.
She walked beyond the palace gates, sidestepping an excitable crowd to stand by herself under the hot sun, beside a barren bit of wall hedged with shrubbery. Some of the men in the mob at the entrance carried signs. Most of them read Bring Back the Vote or Down with Appointment. She leaned against the bars and waited.
It was Raif who noticed her first. He saw her bread and licked his lips. Looking over his shoulder, he crossed to her.
“Sophia,” he greeted.
She offered him a slice of bread. He took it, eyeing her suspiciously as he ate.
“I need to see him,” she said.
“Not without a summons.”
She groaned. “You swear on your life, on your mother’s life, and your grandmother’s life that he is safe?”
“Safe and well, Sophia,” he said, his mouth full. “The newspapers exaggerate. They always exaggerate, and you better not be giving any credence to the tabloids. That’d be folly, right there.”
“So then, Alastor didn’t have to thwart the assassination attempt himself? The attacker didn’t slip by all of you?”
Raif glared at her sideways. “Technically, yes, but as I told you, he was an old man, weak and confused. His mind was long gone. He had no idea what he was doing. Alastor exaggerates too. He likes being the hero. It’s good for his estate, but no one was hurt, including the emperor.”
Marnie closed her eyes, taking deep breaths through her nose, willing herself to calm, but a knot of stress remained between her shoulder blades.
Raif took the last of the loaf and brought it to his nose. He inhaled it, his eyes fluttering shut. “Lord, this is good bread. I’d marry a woman on the spot who made bread like this.”
“I could introduce you to Cook if you’d like,” she teased. “She’s only about ten years your senior and already married with a litter of children.”
“Just my luck.” Raif squinted at her. “What is it between you and my lord?”
Marnie’s face flushed. “I—”
He shook his head. “No, don’t tell me. I shouldn’t have asked, and I don’t want to know. What’s that you got?”
Marnie handed over the flask.
He sniffed it and took a swallow, grimacing slightly. “He asks about you too.”
“Does he?” Her lips twitched. She fought away the smile.
“Nonstop, he does. When I tell him later you came by here with your bribe of bread and liquor to check on him, I’m sure he’ll start up again. ‘Was she well, what was she wearing, what’d she smell like?’ That sort of thing. He’ll make me batty.”
Marnie bit her lip; a flush of merriment bloomed inside her chest.
She sobered. “It’s madness the palace doesn’t employ a house magician. When I think about what happened to the former emperor . . .” She glowered at the hulking palace. “There’s no one here who could protect him from something like that.”
Raif took another swallow and then capped the flask. “Well, that’s all about to change, I’m sure. Isn’t that why you’re apprenticing? We’ll have a ‘hero witch’ like you amongst the staff in no time, I’d wager.” He handed her the flask.
Marnie shook her head. “It’s your bribe, keep it. I’ll have Cook make your lunch for a week if you’ll agree to bully Bran into eating. A real meal, I mean. Something hearty at least twice a day.”
“You have yourself a deal . . . Is it true what they say about you? You’ve got a gift with numbers?”
She shrugged. “I like to think so.”
Raif took a leaf of sketch paper out of his pocket. He scribbled an address on it with a coal pencil and handed it to her. “My uncle is the butler at the Warmington Estate. Ever heard of them? There’s an armband in it for you if you can help him with a problem he’s been having with the house books . . . Though it doesn’t look like you have room for many more.”
Marnie’s arms were stuffed with bands. It wouldn’t be polite to inform him the bands he saw were a small portion of what she possessed. She kept most of them in a box under her bed at home. “Warmington. I know that name from somewhere. I’ll visit with them today.”
“I’ll send word ahead of you, let them know you’re coming.”
***
Back at the manor while they shared tea in a sitting room, Marnie’s mother explained why the name Warmington was so familiar to her. Madam Becker had been raised Annette Leffler, a server in their household. Her mother smiled and flushed as she spoke of her old friendships.
“The butler’s name is Paul Marris,” she said. “I remember him well. He was a footman before I took a job with the Beckers in their kitchens. He is a kind fellow. You’d do well to help him.”
“Mother, you wouldn’t want to come with me, would you?” She studied her over her teacup.
Her hazel eyes brightened. “Could I? Oh, but look at me . . .”
Marnie was looking at her. Her mother was as impeccable as ever in a floral gown, her hair pinned back, a rosy beauty who had aged in a way that made most women jealous. “What’s the matter?”
“I’ll change. Have an attendant go ahead to announce our visit. I’ll find something more suitable.”
The madam disappeared before Marnie could insist she looked lovely or tell her Raif had already sent word ahead. To avoid a lecture, she did as she was told, sending off an attendant with news to confirm their arrival.
Madam Becker took an hour to change her clothing. The efficient woman never took an hour to do anything. When she finally presented herself, her auburn hair was perfectly coiffed and pinned. She was as lovely as a flower in a lavender shift dress and sheer shawl. She had painted her lips and powdered her face.
“You’re sure you want to come?” Marnie teased. “It’s your one day off for the week, and you want to spend it shut up with me, running numbers to check another estate’s books?”
Annette waved her away. “Don’t be silly. No time spent with my daughter is a waste.”
***
“You look lovely,” Marnie told her mother. “And nervous.” She stopped her from straightening her dress for the fifth time. The footman had just left them in the foyer of the Warmington Estate to fetch the butler.
“Not at all, Marnie,” she said, taking off her shawl, then changing her mind and draping it over herself again. Her eyes glowed. She fussed with her hair.
“You mentioned the butler was kind,” Marnie said. “Is Paul also a handsome man?”
“Don’t be silly, dear.” She snickered.
Paul was a handsome man. Tall and fit, bronzed skin, thick chestnut hair, and dark green eyes. He had a smooth rumbling voice. He wore a thin vest over a cotton button-down shirt in a pale gray. After greeting them, he embraced Madam Becker, and his arms lingered around her. Marnie was notably an afterthought.
He guided them into a parlor with dark wood furniture. The wall coverings were embroidered in a leaf pattern. Marnie allowed them to chat amongst themselves, certain they had both forgotten why they were there in the first place. She lost count of the number of times her mother giggled like a much younger woman.
Marnie cleared her throat. “You have an issue with your books?” She tapped the lion badge on her chest as a friendly reminder.
“Right, right,” Paul said, his smile sheepish. He pointed to the small stack of ledgers balanced precariously on the hutch in the corner. “Whatever light you can shine on those will be much appreciated.”
> Marnie gathered them. “This shouldn’t take long. Please, Mother, enjoy the company of your friend,” she said when the madam rose to accompany her.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Annette said, but her heart clearly wasn’t in it. She put up little fight, falling easily back into reminiscing.
***
Marnie completed her work in a quiet courtyard, sitting on a cast iron bench surrounded by orchids. The demon blade squirmed in her shoe as though bored. She was better at ignoring it when there were numbers to occupy her.
She straightened her blue skirt and focused on the books, her pen held in her teeth so her fingers were free to follow the numbers. It didn’t take long to identify the ‘error’ with the Warmington Estate ledgers. A staff member, most likely the clerk who handled the books, was embezzling. The funds appeared to be coming most often out of employee wages. She made note of the strange notations besides the names of specific employees, jotting down those names for later. There were inconsistences in the costs of goods for the manor, as well. A few easy interviews would quickly confirm her suspicions.
Marnie shuffled back to the parlor, just in time for lunch. A maid served finger sandwiches and strawberry lemonade. Her mother and the butler were no longer alone. Their happy chatter had ended. The air was thick with tension.
Paul introduced the new addition. “Marnie, this is Mr. Chambers, my clerk.”
Chambers was as big as a bear, with a thick neck and an intimidating stare. He loomed over Paul as he claimed another finger sandwich. The clerk downed it in one bite. His hands were the size of serving platters. He chewed with his mouth open; his teeth were huge.
“Mister Chambers,” Marnie said politely, playing pretend to the best of her ability. She even managed a smile, a weak one.
“Hmm,” said Chambers. He planted himself in an armchair and kicked his dirty boots up on the ottoman. His dark hair was thinning. He had the eyes of a desperate man. The look in them had Marnie’s stomach fluttering with nerves.
“Are you finished with my books, then?” The clerk dusted crumbs off his chest.