"He's just my companion for tonight. Didn't want to come alone. If I'd known you were coming, I would have come with you."
"Why don't you ditch him, then? I'll be good. I'll even dance with you."
"I already promised him two dances. I don't have it in me to dance more, so I'll pass. Besides, I thought you came here to pick up girls. And I'd be a terrible wingwoman."
"That you'd be." He looked at Jack. "Don't hurt her anymore. If you try to pull any of the things you did three years ago, I won't let it slide."
"Hey! I can defend myself fine. I could beat your ass, for starters." I pointed at Jack, "his, too. Police don't know how to street fight."
I never liked men trying to protect me. Somebody protecting me meant they were stronger. That I was weaker. And I wasn't. Not physically, not mentally. I may be a fool when it comes to love, but I certainly could beat most men in a non-magical fight.
"Really?" asked Jack. "I wouldn't be so sure."
I turned around. What was the deal with him? He'd seen me in a bar fight (after advising me, multiple times, not to). He'd also rescued me from the police station after the guys I fought with ended up with rib fractures and severe bruises.
"Well, would you like to test it? I can come to your training place one of these days. Wouldn't want to attack a police officer outside of it. You could arrest me."
"That would be nice." Whether the nice thing would be training with me, or arresting me was left unsaid.
9
I did dance the contradance and the quadrille. I'd promised it, after all. I'd never been a very good dancer, but mother had taught me some moves, and I did passably well. I hadn't stopped observing grandpa though. He'd been drinking. Socializing with other professors, students, eating the snacks — and drinking glass after glass of champagne. When he took a shot of liquor the waiter was carrying (for mages — the height of irresponsibility. What were the organizers thinking?), and none of his colleagues did anything to stop him, I decided it was enough.
Hard liquor was dangerous to magicals in a way that more diluted alcohol wasn't. It made magicals lose control.
I went towards him. As he was about to take a sip, I took it from him and handed it to Jack, who had followed me.
"Professor. Since I've met your family, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend. Detective Jack Taylor."
Jack, who'd been promoted from companion to boyfriend, downed the shot glass, and left it at an empty tray under my grandfather's stare. He then extended his hand.
"I'm so glad to meet my girlfriend's supervisor. Dana has told me a lot about you and the research, sir. She's very excited."
"Is she?" he said, looking around, trying to find another glass. I had to distract him.
"Now, sir, before we leave, I think it would be nice if we could dance one dance? Jack won't mind."
"That might be inappropriate, Miss Bedwen. I'm your teacher, after all."
"It's just a contradance, Professor. Or are you feeling too bad? In that case, let me escort you home."
If he'd been sober, I wouldn't have been able to manipulate him so easily, but he was very drunk. That might be helpful. Now, I had to just get him out of here.
"I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine. Let's dance!" he said, grabbing my arm. I might get a bruise tomorrow.
During the dance, he actually managed to go in circles, hold and release hands, and dance passably enough. Most people were also a bit drunk, so he wasn't worse than most of them. By the end of it, I had managed to get him quite close to the exit, and gently pushed him toward the door. Jack, smart guy, had collected our coats and called a cab by now.
Grandpa had only realized I was taking him outside once he felt the cold air on him.
"Why are we leaving? The party's not over!"
And he collapsed on me.
By the time the cab arrived at his home, he had regained enough conscience that Jack and I didn't have to carry all his weight. With each of us holding one of his arms, we carried him inside. The housekeeper, who'd opened the door as soon as the ring sounded, escorted us to his bedroom.
"Does he get like this often?" I asked her, as we laid him in the bed. She nodded. I turned to Jack. "You, go out, you've done all you could."
He seemed a bit offended, but he did leave. I made sure I heard the entrance door close. I turned back at the housekeeper.
"So, how frequently does this happen? Do you understand the dangers of alcohol for mages? Especially strong liquor."
"This is the first time." I could tell she was lying. She had been too calm and efficient when I brought him home, as if she'd dealt with that many times.
"I'll deal with you later. Now, help undress him. Let's take his boots first."
She helped me take his boots off, and we removed his jacket and belt. I then rolled him into the bed, covering him with the blanket.
"Bring him a glass of honey tea. But first, you and I will have a conversation."
As the housekeeper took me to the kitchen, we sat there with a pot of strong tea. She seemed on the verge of tears. I took a sip of tea, trying to figure out how to approach the issue.
"Do you know arall are not allowed strong liquor? Especially mages." She nodded. "Do you know why?"
She took the cup of tea, her hand shaking.
"Because they lose control of their magic."
"Exactly. A pint of beer, a glass of wine, or a bit of champagne. That's our limit. Hard liquor makes us do things like create sparkles. But for mages… Their magic channels are already formed. When they use magic, there's less friction. It's easier for them, and they tend to lose their ability to make decisions before they lose the ability to control it. It can be very dangerous. For him, and for everybody around him."
"I know!" she cried. "It's just… you know what they do with mages who've lost control. I can't… he's a good man, you know."
The standard procedure for mages who've lost control of their magic is to block their magic. They say it feels like losing a limb. Once mages lose magic, it goes downhill. Which is why it's understandable they didn't report him.
A servant burst into the kitchen.
"Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Hughes! The master's lost control again!"
Again? He'd already lost control of the magic? I thought it hadn't happened yet. An unstable mage is terribly dangerous. I stood up.
"You!" I pointed a finger at the housekeeper. "We'll talk later. You!" looking at the maid. "Bring me some cream. I'll deal with it."
The girl gave me a shaky nod, and I went upstairs, taking my wallet out of my coat.
As I went into grandpa's bedroom, I could see things were bad. The bedside table was floating around, dancing. The lamps were glowing with a bright green light. The smell of lilies was distinct, and the bookshelf was jumping in a musical rhythm. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. Grandpa was laying in bed, with a sad, empty look on his face. The cream wasn't going to be enough. I had to calm him down a bit first.
My brothers had lost control of their magic a few times, so I was used to dealing with the loss of control. They were kids, though, and grandpa was an adult. I was going to use the same approach I used with them though. Hopefully, it would work.
I went towards him — he was too out of it to notice me, or didn't care — and sat on the bed next to him. I then put an arm behind him, hugging him, and started scratching the nape of his neck with my fingertips, in a massaging motion.
"Good boy. Dave's a very good boy. He always makes Dana proud. Look at the magic — so strong! I really like the green color. And the bookshelf is dancing — just like we danced today. Do you like dancing? I don't. I am very pretty in this dress though. Doesn't Dave like my pretty dress? It's purple — it seems black, but it's actually purple. Isn't it just so pretty? Would Dave prefer if it was green?" The point of talking nonsense, non-stop, is to distract him, to get his mind off the magic, to make him think about anything.
He turned towards me. I had to stop hugging him, and just continued
gently massaging the nape of his neck. That's the point where magic concentrates. He looked at my dress.
"I like your dress. It's very pretty." He said in a high pitch voice. There, I got him to interact with me.
"That's good! I'm really glad. Now, this is my only dress. You don't want to ruin my only dress, do you? I'd be disappointed."
His face contorted into a weird expression, and he jerked my hand off him. The bedside table started moving in circles, rather than just floating, and the bookshelf changed rhythm, and became faster. One-two-three, one, one-two-three, one, one-two-three, one. He was becoming more agitated. I'd obviously hit a nerve, but the wrong one.
I tried to touch him again, but he wouldn't let me. I had to figure out what the issue was.
"Is it because I said I'd be disappointed?" the bookshelf started jumping even faster. Yes, that was it. "Dave could never disappoint me. He's my grandpa! How could my grandpa disappoint me?"
His gaze, distracted before, focused on me.
"Grandpa?" he asked meditatively as if tasting the word.
"Yes, grandpa. I'm Claire's daughter. Remember Claire? You have a daughter, Claire. She'd be unhappy to see you like that. Don't you want to make Claire happy?"
"Claire?" his eyes became watery. The window opened, the cold air freezing the room. The adrenaline flowing through my blood didn't let me feel the cold, though. "Claire's dead! Dead! It's all my fault…"
It was bad. It seemed like I would have to lay all the cards on the table, or I'd have no grandpa. And as much as I didn’t trust him, I didn't want to lose him, either. Besides, my family was safe in Crow Hill. No stranger can come there unnoticed.
"She's not dead. How could she be dead when she had me? I'd know if my mother was dead, wouldn't I? Would you like to see a photo?"
"A photo?" he eyed me with suspicion. His voice was still high pitch, but the bedside table stopped moving, hovering an inch from the floor. The bookshelf slowed down, and the lamps returned to their normal color, with a slight greenish tinge. That's good.
I took the photo I carried around in my wallet. This time, he let me approach him. I sat again, massaging his head with my right hand while holding the photo with the left. He leaned towards me, letting me calm him.
"Look," I said, putting the photo in his hand, and putting my index finger on it. "That's mother — Claire. That's my father, and I'm standing just behind him. The ones sitting on the floor are my brothers. That's the eldest — Sam. He's twelve. He goes to middle school. When he starts high school, he may come to Ashford. Don't you want him to come to Ashford? He could stay with us. Living in the house. I'm sure Billie would like the company."
"I'd like that," he said, his voice becoming deeper. The furniture stopped moving, the bedside table falling to the floor. The thump it made probably alerted the housekeeper, who'd been waiting in the corridor instead of the maid. She came in, carrying a glass of cream.
"And what are their names?" he asked, pointing at my younger brothers, his voice completely normal, his face no longer child-like. The housekeeper gave me the glass. I tried to give it to him, but he didn't open his mouth.
"I'll tell you if you drink this glass," I said. He obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the cream. I stopped massaging his neck. Cream has a temporary effect in blocking diffuse magic. It won't stop a mage in full possession of his faculties from using magic, but it does make unconscious magic hard.
I tried to take the photo off his hands so I could point. He held firmly. I turned around. The housekeeper had probably overheard part of the conversation, but I didn't want her to hear any more than she already had.
"Please leave," I asked, as nicely as I could. "This is a private conversation. Besides, it's safer if you leave us alone. Could you please close the windows first, though? It will get cold."
She seemed shaken as she was closing the windows. It took her several tries to lock them. She then nervously nodded at me and left. I waited a couple of minutes after I heard her leaving before I continued.
"Well, that's Billie in the middle. He's eight. And that's Mikey. They really look like you. I look more like my father. But my brothers — they look exactly like you!"
He pointed the finger at the photo.
"Mikey. Billie. Sam. Claire." He kept repeating it, like a spell, staring at the photo under the tenuous light of the few lamps left. I tried to lay him down, but he refused. Since he was calm, and not doing anything, I took off my boots, and sat on the bed, with my back on the wall. Now that the adrenaline was gone, I felt bone tired. Surely, I could close my eyes for a bit.
The exhaustion of the day did me, and I was soon floating in blissful sleep.
10
When I woke up the next morning, I was laying in bed, still in grandpa’s room, my head on a pillow, covered by blankets. I was still dressed in the same dress as yesterday. But, with all the wrinkles and tears it had, it was unusable. I wondered how I would go to the dorm. I stood up. It was past sunrise, the room was brightly lit. It's rare for me to wake up so late, but I guess I was quite tired. I checked the bed. The photo wasn't there. I guess he remembered what I told him last night. My brothers didn't tend to remember the things I told them when their magic was out of control, but they were kids — and he was not.
I made myself as decent as I could, after having slept in the dress. I put it back on after bathing. My elaborate hairdo was a mess; disentangling it was a pain. I took out all the hairpins (how did I sleep with them? They're so uncomfortable) and used some lace to make a ponytail.
I then went down to the living room. Grandpa was there, sitting in an armchair, reading the newspaper. He'd already had breakfast, as there was only a portion for one left on the table.
"Good morning, Miss Bedwen. I asked Bettie to keep breakfast warm."
I nodded in thanks but didn't touch the food. Instead, I took a chair and sat in front of him.
"Breakfast can wait. There's something more important we should discuss… Gramps." Better to discuss the issue head-on. He knew about my family, about mother, about my brothers. I had told him the night before for his safety, throwing caution to the wind, but now I wasn't so sure it had been the right step. I had to be sure this wouldn't endanger my family. Otherwise, I would report him. As an unstable magician, he would have to face an inquiry. A tribunal of Healers would check him. Even if he managed to escape it, dealing with the trouble would make him too busy to engage in any shenanigans.
Caerland was safe. But I still had to ensure this man would not harm those close to me, now or in the future.
He slowly folded the newspaper. The room was so silent, you could hear the rustling of the freshly ironed sheets of paper. He lay it aside.
"Are you sure you want to discuss it right now, Miss Bedwen?" he said, interlacing his fingers.
"Yep. I need to know saving you yesterday wasn't a mistake."
He looked past me, avoiding my gaze. Typical light arall behavior in conflicts.
"I still think you should have breakfast first, Miss Bedwen. This will be a long conversation. One you shouldn't start hungry. But if you don't feel like having a proper breakfast, I'll ask Bettie to bring coffee and sandwiches to my office. It's the most private place in this house."
Grandpa's office was quite ascetical. The only thing hanging on the wall was a portrait of a middle-aged woman whose likeness to mother was striking. The table he sat in front of was facing a bay window, not the entrance. It was obviously a private office, not intended for visitors. There weren't many books, instead, the bookshelves were full of files. There was another chair in the room, wooden and not very comfortable, on which I sat.
There was a knock, and Bettie brought a tray of sandwiches and a pot of strong coffee and placed it on the table. As she served the coffee into two tiny cups, I put a generous teaspoon of sugar into mine and started nibbling a sandwich. It was a cheese and bacon sandwich. The greasy, delicious food helped me calm down a bit.
When the houseke
eper left, I went by the door and checked she had left. I then firmly closed the door. Grandpa, observing me silently, tapped his fingers on an artifact on his table.
"This room is now completely soundproof, Miss Bedwen. Nobody can hear us now." His voice sounded menacing. I was in the same room with a possibly deranged mage who was obviously skilled in light magic, and maybe even illegal magic. A mage who happened to be my grandfather, who I'd saved from destroying himself yesterday.
Dark arall don't know fear. Magic pumps through the veins whenever we experience danger, goading us into using it. I breathed. One thing was definite; if he tried to use any mental magic on me, none of us would be going out of this office alive. Uninitiated or not, any dark arall who wants to can do great harm to their enemy… at the cost of their life. Which is why Initiation is required to use magic (having mages die after using magic once kind of makes it useless).
He also knew, of course. So, unless he's suicidal, he won't try anything like that. I took another sandwich. Whenever my magic becomes agitated, I feel ravenous. The silence lingered, and the chewing and slurping became the only sound I could hear. But, despite mother's attempts to make me into a lady, I was unfazed, continuing chewing the sandwich, slurping the sweet coffee.
"For somebody who said they're not hungry, you seem to be eating quite a lot, Miss Bedwen." He said, amused.
I shifted on the chair, trying to become more comfortable. I got closer to the table and moved the tray of sandwiches closer. I was stalling. How should I start this conversation?
"Appetite comes with eating. But I can listen and eat at the same time. Where do you have the photo I gave you yesterday? Because I certainly don't remember giving it to you permanently."
The Apprentice's Path: The Alchemist #1 Page 8