by Crook, Amy
“Do I want to know?” asked Smedley; the sprite had vanished again when he came in, and was evidently intending to stay that way.
“Probably not,” said Alex, amused when the cup disappeared, too. “I’ll explain tomorrow, when I give my statement.”
Smedley chuckled and shook his head. “I’m sure there’s rules against me being in your flat alone at night, what with you Courting your young man,” said Smedley, finishing off his tea, “or else I’d make you do it tonight.”
“I think police work counts as an exception,” said Alex, “but I also think we both need more sleep before we try to be coherent.”
“Amen to that,” said Smedley, setting down the cup. “Well, I hate to rescue and run, but I’ve got to go add this to Armistead’s pile and get back to my warm bed.”
Alex grinned evilly. “Good,” he said.
Once Smedley was gone and the house properly locked up, Alex went back into the kitchen and put the frying pan in the sink. “I’ll never get the dents out of that,” he said with a sigh, looking at the fridge.
“A good brownie could do it,” said the sprite, reappearing. “I might know someone, if you’re interested.”
Alex chuckled and shook his head. “You’re already an answer ahead, though I think keeping you from being scorpion food ought to make us even.”
“I reckon I could see to that, but there’s still the matter of the whisky we discussed,” said the sprite, hopping down to the table in one impossible-seeming leap. “And this,” he added, showing off his anklet.
“And that,” Alex agreed, though privately he’d have removed it, even without the favours owed. “Let me see what sort of drink I have on hand before we bargain.”
He rifled through the cupboards, finding three bottles at various levels of fullness, though the third one was both dusty and nearly empty. “Well, this is what I have,” said Alex, setting them on the table.
The sprite paced around them, opening each and sniffing it, then closing it up. “That’s a pretty big favour there, and more’n I can drink in a night anyway,” he said carefully.
Alex nodded. “Are you wanting to bargain for all of it, or a measure?” he asked. He didn’t have a lot of experience with the fae, which made him cautious, but this creature had so far done him no actual harm.
“Now, that really depends on the sort of favours you’re wanting,” said the sprite.
Alex thought about this for a moment. “What if I wanted your name?” he asked.
That seemed to take the sprite off guard; his name could be used to call him, or even bind him again, but Alex had already shown himself to be both generous and honourable. “And ye promise to only use it for future bargaining, no binding or curses?”
“I would be willing to promise that, should that be our bargain,” said Alex.
The sprite laughed. “A cautious man, despite the state of yer wards,” he said. “All the whisky and the anklet off, for my name.”
“All the whisky currently sitting on this table, and your iron anklet removed, in exchange for your full and true name,” said Alex, smirking right back at him.
Another bout of laughter. “Throw in another cuppa?” it said, producing the cup out of nowhere.
Alex chuckled. “If you promise not to steal the china, I’ll pour you more tea for free,” he said, adding milk and honey to the cup as he spoke.
“No, no, I won’t be beholden to your hospitality, the tea before was in exchange for my honesty and we both know it, but this tea is part of our bargain,” said the sprite stubbornly.
Alex poured and stirred, whistling a little charm to get the honey to dissolve all through the liquid, then made up another cup for himself as well. “All the whisky currently sitting on this table, as much tea as you like this evening, and your iron anklet removed, in exchange for your full and true name.”
“Deal,” said the sprite, holding out a tiny hand.
“Deal,” said Alex, shaking it. “You drink, I need to get my lockpicks.”
The sprite took up the middle bottle like it wasn’t nearly his own size and carefully topped off his teacup. “I bet your man doesn’t know about those,” he said, sitting down and sipping the concoction. “Ah, now that’s bliss.”
“It’ll be even more blissful without that anklet,” said Alex, slipping into his lab, grateful to find that those wards, at least, had remained intact. Lapointe may or may not have known about his lockpicks, but Alex definitely wanted to keep them from Smedley’s attention. He had a feeling that, male bonding or not, Smedley wouldn’t put up with nearly so much as Murielle had over the years.
“This may take a moment,” said Alex when he emerged, blinking for a moment at the double vision of the sprite drinking his tea and the table being empty. “I’m a bit rusty.”
“Off is off,” said the sprite. “You’re the type to keep your bargains.”
“Oathbreaking is very serious indeed for a mage,” he said, sitting down and opening up the kit. The sprite stuck out one stubby leg, and Alex found it strange to cup the tiny foot and find it warm and alive, despite the doll-like proportions. “I would not risk myself that way, it’s not worth it.” He snagged two of the tools and slipped them into the lock. “Hold yourself steady.”
“Oh, aye,” said the sprite. “Smarter to just not promise nothing you ain’t ready to make good on.”
“Exactly,” said Alex, feeling around with the little picks. The lock seemed to be a simple one, with no hum of magic to it, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t thwart him. He pushed and the picks slipped, and he sighed. “Bugger,” he said, trying to get the picks properly set against the tumblers inside.
“Naah, ain’t my type,” said the sprite, taking another big sip of tea before going all still and quiet again.
“Good,” said Alex, trying not to think of what sort of strange perversions a human-philic fae might have tried to visit on his sleeping body. “Damn, I really don’t want to have to call a locksmith,” he said, when the picks slipped again.
“Oh, hey, bring me some paper, would ya?” said the sprite.
Alex got up and fetched the little pad and its stubby pencil from beside the phone. “Why?” he asked, handing it off.
“Key looked a bit like this,” said the sprite, drawing the shape crudely on the page. “Had a funny thing down here, like a little kink in it,” he said, pointing to the lower edge.
“Ah, that’s probably what I’m not catching right,” said Alex. “Smart of you to pay attention.” He chose a different pair of lockpicks and fit them in, feeling them slide into place much more surely. “Hold still.”
This time, when he pushed, something inside the lock gave and the little circle clicked open. Alex pulled it away and tossed it into the sink with the frying pan with a shudder. “Nasty thing,” he said.
“I know why I think so, but why do you?” asked the sprite curiously, examining its wounded ankle.
“It was obviously created for the purpose of tormenting the little folk,” said Alex with a shrug. “Why else make a cold iron shackle in that size?” He rummaged in the cupboards until he found a jar of healing cream. “Hm, this is nearing its end, but it should help some,” he said, passing the jar to the sprite.
“I can’t read it to be sure it ain’t bad for me,” he said, opening it up and sniffing curiously.
Alex picked up the cap and read off the ingredients list. “Nothing I recognise as harmful to you, though the magic’s faded a little.”
“I’m willing to try it if you’re willing to wash it off should it hurt me,” said the sprite, dipping a finger in it and sniffing again. There was a pause while they both waited to see how the magic would react to the sprite’s skin, and when nothing happened it took a whole handful of the cream and slathered it around the broken skin. “Seems good,” it said.
“Keep the jar,” said Alex. “I’ve stopped cooking the sort of things I burn myself on.”
The sprite laughed. “Cautious all around, t
hen,” it said, capping the jar and making it vanish. Upon inspection, the bottle which had been half full was also empty, probably squirrelled away while Alex got his lockpicks.
“I’m awful at it,” Alex said with a laugh. “You wouldn’t want to eat my cooking any more than I did.”
“Now, you’ve kept your bargain and more, so it’s time for me to be honouring my part,” said the sprite, standing with a sigh. “I be Connaneach Kellimeannaugh, but me friends be calling me Con, and I reckon you’ve earned that, too.”
Alex bowed. “It’s good to meet you, Con, I’m Alex.”
“Alex it is,” said Con with a chuckle. “I shoulda known ye’d be too smart to give much away there. Now, I’ll be back for the rest, by the bye, so no drinking yon whisky.”
“It’s all yours, where would you like me to store it?” asked Alex.
Con cocked his head. “You’ll leave a way for me to knock, if you’ve warded me out?”
“There’s always the doorbell,” pointed out Alex.
“Then it don’t matter much.” Con jumped down to the floor with another of those strangely graceful leaps and meandered toward the door. “I’ll be seeing ye.”
“I’m sure you will,” said Alex, watching as Con faded out. The door didn’t even open, but there was something quieter when he was gone, and Alex let out a sigh. The fae were always a handful, but this one had been well met indeed.
Alex wrote down Con’s full name before he could forget it, tearing off the page first and then sequestering it in his work room along with both remaining bottles of whisky. He tucked the page with the full name and the strange little drawing of the key inside his own personal grimoire, which was as safe as he could make it and still have it to hand.
He only hoped it would be a long time before he needed to call upon the little sprite.
Alex used up the rest of his nervous energy cleaning up the kitchen, though he really didn’t have anything he could do for the dents. He left a bit of bread, milk and honey in a bowl outside his door as a sort of tithe to the faerie folk for keeping him alive and well another day, and then finally let himself collapse back in his own bed.
Tomorrow, he’d have to re-ward the whole damn place, and he’d need all the sleep he could get.
CHAPTER 18
In Which We are Very Busy, and Several Realisations are Made
When Alex next awoke it to the sound of his doorbell. His phone had four different voicemails from various agents demanding he answer for himself about last night, and he still hadn’t read the letter from Julian that came in with Horace last night. It seemed everyone wanted a bit of Alex’s time today; that and the scratches on his favourite frying pan convinced Alex that it was a perfect day to be brought breakfast.
“Hold your horses!” yelled Alex, putting on his dressing gown and finding his cane before letting in his two very annoyed Guardians.
“You didn’t tell us you were attacked!” said James irritably.
“I didn’t have your numbers,” said Alex, tossing his phone to Jacques after unlocking it. “Add them, and I won’t leave you out of the loop again.”
Alex stayed stubbornly in his pyjamas until he was fortified with the coffee and a proper full English breakfast that James had brought for all three of them, a tacit statement that they’d all need the energy today. A long, hot shower and two more voicemails later, Jones arrived for physical therapy. Alex had already amended the day’s to-do list. After PT, they would pick up his coat, go by the Agency make his statement and get back to the flat. He’d be half the night warding it again, and he needed to write to Julian before that.
“This is proving more challenging than I thought,” mused Alex, contemplating the notes he’d taken during the sprite’s recitation. “Note to self, never accept a job from Smedley again.”
“What’s that?” asked Jacques, though his attention, like James’, was outside rather than inside the car.
Alex mmed vaguely and sipped at the the tea he’d made to replace the long-drunk coffee. They made their way to the hospital in distracted silence, the Guardians alert and Alex’s attention on his notes. If only he could figure out the identity of the mage from the hints Con had given him, he’d be well on his way to a case solved and a Courtship abandoned.
He ignored the pang he felt from that, then when it wouldn’t be assuaged he tucked his notes away and pulled out Julian’s note instead.
Dear Alex,
Is it strange to admit that I’ll miss the excuse to visit that I had while you were in hospital? I don’t want you back there, but I’ll hate not seeing you until our date.
Speaking of which, will a week from Friday do? That’ll make you second to last of the whole round, and Saturday’s already spoken for by Willoughby and his relative-riddled schedule. I think he just likes to call the shots, maybe more than I’m comfortable with, for all I’m looking to become someone’s consort.
Will your Guardians chaperone us, I wonder? They’re very nice, but you snog me more when no one’s looking.
I will miss your kisses each minute I do not have one.
Yours,
Julian
Alex swallowed, blushing, and folded the letter back up. “I’m going to have to re-do my wards tonight, once I figure out how the sprite got in,” he said.
James nodded. “We can’t help, we’re not yours permanently, I’m afraid.”
“You’d be out in the cold if we needed to divert that energy to another charge later,” said Jacques.
“Just knowing you’re keeping me safe while things are in flux is enough,” said Alex quite truthfully. He tucked the letter back in his breast pocket, then started searching through his jacket for the mints he was sure he’d put back in there. What he came across instead was a crinkling paper bag with the cleaner’s tag on it, stapled shut.
“What’s that?” asked James, suddenly intent on the world inside rather than out.
“Stuff I left in my pockets, according to Victor,” said Alex. He pulled the stapled-shut bag open, unfolding the little packet to find a single object inside that he was absolutely sure wasn’t his. “Ah,” he said, handing the bag carefully over to James.
James looked in at the innocuous little carnelian ladybug, fortunately carved of one piece so it was merely magical and not likely to attack. “Definitely the source of your ward breach.”
“You still need to re-ward,” said Jacques. “But we’ll dispose of that while you’re in therapy.”
“Good,” said Alex, wrapping his coat a little tighter and hoping his favourite cleaning lady had merely been fooled and not knowingly endangered him. He’d hate to have to find someone new who could get bloodstains out of his clothes.
~ ~ ~
After Alex’s hour of torture, they stopped by the Temple, the tailor and finally a restaurant for lunch, where not Victor but Flora was waiting to check up on him. For once he was glad to see her, and after a brief reassurance on his part she happily told him all the gossip, an alarming amount of it centred around Alex himself.
“Someone even started a rumour that the Guardians were watching you because they thought that you’d set the magical construct on the priest yourself, but the Temple actually squashed that one,” said Flora, sounding amused.
“We’re Guardians, not jailers,” said James, sounding offended at the very idea.
Alex chuckled. “People do like to talk, though,” he said, finishing up his food and feeling quite a bit better for replenishing his reserves. “I don’t suppose this is your treat?” asked Alex, making puppy-eyes at Flora. They were eating in a private room, which meant the Guardians could get food, too, but also that waiters were few and far between.
“Yes, go on to your busy life,” teased Flora. “I’ll call you if there’s any new developments.”
“Please do,” said Alex, weirdly grateful. He kissed her cheek and let himself be ushered back out to the car, where Jones was just finishing up his own meal, courtesy of the restaurant’s to-go
menu. “To the Agency we go!”
~ ~ ~
“You didn’t pick up or call back,” said Smedley, wagging his finger.
Alex shrugged. “I needed to do my PT and get sustenance first. I’m here now, aren’t I?” he said, holding the door for Smedley, who used his badge to get them all four on the elevator without much fuss. “Was there something actually urgent?”
Smedley chuckled rather wickedly. “One of the devices nearly took Armistead’s eye out last night, right about the same time I was rescuing you.” He schooled his face into the appropriate expression of sympathy as the elevator doors opened.
“So they both activated at once? Interesting,” said Alex. “I wonder where the last one went.”
Smedley stopped short, all signs of humour left. “What do you mean?”
“The sprite told me there had been three left after the first six went to the shop. He was meant to deliver one for my flat, and one to the Temple, which means there’s one more out there,” said Alex, biting his lip.
“What sprite?” asked Smedley. “No, nevermind, put it all in your statement and then I’ll ask questions.”
“Hm, Lapointe was right,” said Alex. They went into one of the recording rooms, as they were referred to when people were being polite.
“Right about what?” asked Smedley, sitting to one side to help foster the illusion that the room’s primary function was not for interrogation. James and Jacques set themselves up on either side of the door, surprisingly unobtrusive for all that they still looked like Guardians.
Alex chuckled. “You are smarter than you look.”
Smedley laughed and threw a balled-up scrap of paper at him.
~ ~ ~
“You look worlds better,” said Alex, sitting on Lapointe’s uncomfortable couch. “I guess Dr. Tamlinson does know what he’s about after all.”
“I heard that,” said Geoff, coming in with coffee for everyone; he’d insisted on seeing Alex for himself when he heard his former patient was well enough to show up at the Agency. “Just because you’ve got creamy mounds is no reason to be an arse.”