“Really?” Ben tried to trace his thoughts from before the meeting with his mother. “I don’t remember that, Lucas. Maybe I wasn’t clear when I was talking to you earlier.”
“Dude, you said that this was so important you were willing to go to battle with your mother, willing to accept whatever punishment she would give you for doing it without her permission, if that’s what was necessary.”
“No, that’s not how it is at all,” Ben said. “I’m better than an entry-level, working-class job. My conversation with Mother reminded me of that. Sometimes I get caught up in romantic ideas of being one of the little people. You know, the ones without money.”
“You mean, people like me,” Lucas said, disappointment evident on his face.
“No, Lucas, it’s not like that at all. Listen, I’m feeling kind of dizzy. I’m going to go lie down. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Sure. Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m good. Thank you.”
Ben went through the door to his bedroom and dropped onto his bed as if his bones had melted. He was asleep within moments, his mind slipping into a confused darkness.
Margaret turned her head toward her friend, confidante, and personal assistant as Benjamin left the study. She smiled.
“Benjie never figured out you got rid of his girlfriend all those months ago?” Helen asked her.
“Helen, please don’t call him ‘Benjie.’ His name is Benjamin. But no, he hasn’t come to ask me about it. Yet. I’m sure he suspects I had something to do with her running off without notice but nothing more than that.”
“It’s kind of risky, making people disappear like that,” Helen said. “It could get us attention we don’t want.”
“Oh, relax. There is no evidence, no real motive. The incompetent investigators at the police department couldn’t come up with enough to even interview me, let alone charge me with anything. No, it will be forgotten. Just as our dear Susan will be forgotten. Benjamin will think twice about acting on base attraction for fear of being abandoned again. It will all work out for the better.”
“I guess so.” Helen smiled. “I never liked that girl, anyway. She was much too good for her own good, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. It is unfortunate emotions interfere with mind control. By the time I found out about Susan, Benjamin was already too fond of her for me to manipulate him. In any case, it’s done now.”
“If you had been working on him consistently, like I always tell you,” Helen said, “you wouldn’t have to force him to change his mind like that.”
“And I have told you,” Margaret said, “that manipulating someone’s mind with magic is tricky. There is a chance I could damage my son, even a chance that the damage would shift his brain to conflict even more with what needs to be done. It’s not an exact science. It’s magic.
“For the most part, I have to allow my lessons as he grew up to dictate his opinions, just like with everyone else.”
“Well, your lessons don’t seem to have worked,” Helen said acidly. “He seems to balk at everything you want him to do.”
“His father impressed his own teaching on the boy up until he was fifteen. Benjamin clings to his father’s ideas. If I had gotten to him to myself earlier, it would have made everything much easier.” She pulled a lock of hair back from her face. “These little sessions to correct him will work, for now. Hopefully I can bring him around to the right way of thinking. Eventually.”
“He’s twenty-six, Margaret. Don’t you think if there was a chance, he’d have already come around?”
“Oh, Helen. You really should learn more about the way the mind works. People often change drastically in their late twenties, sometimes completely reversing their opinions. I’ll give him another few years. He’ll come around, you’ll see.”
“Sure, sure,” Helen said. “And if he doesn’t come around? If he continues to be stubborn and resistant and so, so honorable like his late father? What then?”
“He means nothing to me compared to the empire we’re building, compared to our grand plans,” Margaret said with no emotion. “If he is too much trouble, then he will just have to join his father in the grave.”
Chapter 8
Abigail straightened her clothes as she got out of her car in the servants’ garage at the Huntsman Estate. In her phone orientation, she’d been advised in no uncertain terms that if her auto was visible at any time, she would be let go on the spot. Margaret Huntsman would not be embarrassed by “dilapidated vehicles strewn throughout her property.”
One of the other members of the house staff, a woman named Sadie, met Abigail at the door of the servant quarters and gave her the uniform she would be wearing. She followed Sadie to a small changing room. The clothing Abbie carried was the classic maid’s uniform, black dress with white collars and a white apron. At least it was tasteful. She’d been afraid she would be forced to wear one of those God-awful “sexy maid” outfits with a short frilly skirt and a low neckline. The dress came down to her knees and the neck was high enough to wear to church.
Abbie unconsciously wiped her palms on her uniform. Her throat was dry and she cleared it softly. She had gone undercover before for different missions, and each time, the worst part was at the beginning, when she first sank into the role, first made contact with those she’d be interacting with for the remainder of her mission. She didn’t show the tension outwardly, of course. If she did, she wouldn’t be much of an operative.
Still, her heart fluttered and her stomach jerked as if something within was alive and trying to get out. She took a deep breath, doing so through her nose so she didn’t look like she was taking a deep breath. It would be fine. This was just another mission, like all the others she’d done. She would do her job and then move on to her next assignment.
Claire Roberts, the Housekeeper, was maybe in her late fifties. She was short and graying and thick about her middle, but when she smiled she seemed to be a kindly grandmother, making Abbie feel comfortable, like she was with family. She was Abbie’s boss and was never called anything but Mrs. Roberts, even by Margaret Huntsman. Her round face swiveled toward Abigail.
“Okay, dear,” she said in a soft, sweet voice, “it’s really very simple. You are responsible for keeping the second floor tidy, all except the bedrooms. Those will be taken care of by the chamber maids. You will dust, clean, vacuum, keep the linens organized when they come back from the laundry, keep the fireplaces clean and the fires burning, and do whatever else anyone in the household asks of you. All except other maids and laundresses, of course. If they try to give you orders, you come straight to me, and I will sort it out.”
“Yes, Mrs. Roberts,” Abigail said.
The Housekeeper nodded and then her friendly face transformed into chiseled stone. “One thing you need to remember above all else: Ms. Huntsman is very particular about things in general, but especially about the way those around her act. Your predecessor was let go because she persisted in saying things that should not be said. You will maintain perfect etiquette at all times and will refrain from gossiping or speaking in a negative manner about the household itself or any member of it. Is that clear?”
Abbie put on her best chastised look. “Yes, ma’am.” She already knew how strict Margaret was. Ms. Huntsman. She had done her research.
“Good.” The kindly grandmother’s face came back, and Mrs. Roberts smiled. “Let me show you where everything is, and then I will show you where you’ll be staying. I do not expect you to work today, but just to get accustomed to the surroundings and meet the other members of the staff.”
When they turned the first corner, another woman was standing in the hall. She was a brunette, with hair at chin length, styled so the ends curled under. Her uniform looked like a cross between a maid’s outfit and a cocktail dress, sleeveless and tight across her slender frame, but with the same white apron that Abigail wore. She had a sour look on her face, as if she had just eaten something that did
n’t agree with her.
“Ah, Harper, good. Harper Addinson, this is our new maid, Abigail Henderson. Harper is Ms. Huntsman’s personal maid. She takes care of her rooms and all her needs. If you ever need to interact with anyone on behalf of Ms. Huntsman, she is your contact.”
The woman put her fists on her hips and scanned Abbie with her eyes. Abbie felt like Harper was counting the strands of hair on her head. She was not an ugly woman. On the contrary, she would probably be lovely, if she didn’t look like she hated life. Harper raised her chin and her pinched mouth moved.
“Pleasure.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Harper,” Abbie said with as much cheer as she could muster. The other woman nodded while somehow still keeping her chin raised. She turned and moved off toward the stairs to the upper floors.
“Ahem.” Mrs. Roberts cleared her throat. “Well, that is Harper. You’ll get used to her.”
The pair wandered through the second floor, Mrs. Roberts pointing out the things Abigail needed to know. As they entered the hall from one of the sitting rooms, they almost ran into a young man striding down the corridor as if he was on an important mission. He hadn’t seen them yet, so Abigail took the opportunity to scan him for details. That was her mission, right, to be observant?
He was of average height, maybe five feet and ten inches or so, Abigail thought. His light brown hair was cut short but styled so that it crested and swept back in a wave with just the right mix of styling and chaos. His blue eyes blazed as he looked at the carpet in front of him, mumbling something to himself as he moved. His clothing was casual but would not have been out of place in any situation with the addition of a tie: slacks, a button-down shirt, a nice pair of dress shoes. He looked fit, his appearance enhanced by the clothes that were obviously tailored for him. He was altogether pleasant to look at.
Abigail noticed when he first caught sight of the two women in his peripheral vision. His eyes widened slightly, his mumbling ceased, he stopped walking, and his head snapped up. When her eyes met his, for just a brief moment, she felt as if she knew him somehow. Or, at least, she wanted to.
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry, Mrs. Roberts. I was carried away by my thoughts and didn’t see you. I almost caused a collision.” He chuckled weakly.
“Good morning, Master Benjamin,” the Housekeeper said. “This is our new maid, Abigail Henderson. Abigail, this is Benjamin Mason, Ms. Huntsman’s only son. You will address him as Master Mason.”
Abbie had been staring at those blue eyes—so like the lake near her home—but when they swiveled to meet hers, she dropped her gaze. Not knowing what else to do, she dipped into a curtsy. “I am pleased to meet you, Master Mason.”
“No, no, no,” he said, a smile lighting up his face. “Please don’t give me that ‘Master Mason’ stuff. Call me Benjamin, or Ben.” He reached out and grabbed her hand to shake it. When they touched, a jolt of tingling energy traveled up her arm, dissipating at her shoulder. She barely suppressed a small gasp. It wasn’t a metaphorical tingle, not mere attraction. It was a physical sensation as if she’d been given a mild electrical shock. She had never felt anything exactly like it before.
His eyes widened into a surprised look, but it disappeared quickly. He shook his head slightly as he looked down at his own hand, still clasping hers. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Abigail. Welcome to the household. I hope you enjoy it here.”
He looked at Mrs. Roberts, still holding Abbie’s hand. Warmth spread from the tips of her fingers and crept up her arm, slowly replacing the tingling. He seemed to notice and released it, as if reluctant to do so. When he looked up, his smile returned.
“Well, I better get going. Nice to meet you, Abigail. Be nice to her, Mrs. Roberts.” He winked at the older woman and set off down the hall. Abigail watched him go.
“He is very charming,” Abbie said, a bit breathless.
“Yes.” Mrs. Roberts narrowed her eyes at the young woman. “Don’t you dare even think about calling him by his first name. Ms. Huntsman does not tolerate that kind of familiarity from the staff. Master. Mason. Is that clear?”
Abbie had a habit of putting people she met into four categories. She was a keen observer of people and could usually decide within a few minutes if someone was more likely to be of the fire, earth, air, or water personality. From Benjamin Mason, she got a definite water vibe. Yes, he would definitely be a water if he was anything. Strange from the son of a fire witch, maybe a fire warlock himself.
All Abbie could do was to nod in response to Mrs. Roberts’s questions, her thoughts entirely consumed by the man she had just met and wondering why she felt as if they’d always known each other.
Chapter 9
Ben hurried down the hall toward the stairs right after he had almost run into Mrs. Roberts. Abigail. The new girl’s name was Abigail. There were fourteen members of the household staff, including Mrs. Roberts’s husband, the butler. Or, as the man liked to be called, the Estate Manager. Ben had learned long ago that his mother frowned on his making friends with any of them except Lucas. His mother tolerated that because it was so difficult to determine where duty left off and friendship began. But this girl, Abigail, she seemed…interesting. Even without the tingling when they touched, she fascinated him.
All morning, the confusion from the meeting with his mother the day before swirled in his mind with what Lucas had said. Had he actually changed his mind completely? He was tense and confused and feeling out of it, but when he touched Abigail’s hand, it was like she washed all of it away. After the initial burst of electricity, a feeling of calmness, not unlike the one he felt when he and his father had gone sailing, came over him. It surprised him, almost like he had been shocked with static electricity. More sustained and more powerful, though. He wondered if she felt it, too.
Anyway, he seemed to be thinking more clearly now. Whatever had infused him with this feeling of peace, he appreciated it. And he wanted to feel more of it.
As he made his way toward his mother’s favorite office—she had three in different parts of the house—he pictured Abigail in his mind. She was slender. Willowy, that was the word. She moved gracefully like a willow in the wind. She wasn’t too skinny, though. He noticed some curves under the maid’s uniform. He liked that body type, slender and fit but with curving lines he could study…
He mentally slapped himself. What was he doing? He had other things to think about. Things like her heart-shaped face and the way her lips had pursed—just slightly—like she’d been considering something. Her nose was so cute; not too large or small, setting off her cheeks but not drawing attention away from her eyes. And oh, those eyes. He had only met them with his for the briefest of moments, but he felt himself sliding into them, and it took a monumental force of will to keep from being lost. They were blue and liquid, like chips of ice floating in a deep pool with a fire behind them, reflecting out and lighting up the room with their sheer intensity. He wondered if that rusty red was her true hair color or something that came from a bottle. Either way, it was fantastic the way it framed that pretty face of hers.
Ben shook his head to try to dispel the thoughts, not sure if he wanted to do so. She was just a maid, no one for him to get all worked up over. She was pretty, though she probably wouldn’t be classified as beautiful. But he had other things he needed to think about. With a last image of those amazing eyes, he pushed it all from his mind and quickened his pace.
The second meeting with his mother that day was uncomfortable, as most meetings with her were. Ben had been close to his father when he was still alive but never quite connected to her. She was always aloof, a harsh taskmistress who rarely—if ever—showed affection. He wondered what he would be like if he had been raised by her without his father’s influence. He shuddered at the thought.
Henry Mason—his friends all called him Hank—was a great man, as far as Ben was concerned. He was self-made, a hard worker and clever thinker who always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. He
made his fortune the old-fashioned way, hard work and persistence, sprinkled with a bit of a gambler’s spirit. More, though, he was a great father. Ben missed him dearly.
As hard as he worked, he would still take time off so that the two could go and camp and hike and explore nature. They spent so much time in nearby Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Tetons National Park, Ben considered the areas his back yard. He had thousands of cherished memories of time alone with his father, enjoying the wilderness together.
When Hank died suddenly of a massive stroke when Ben was fifteen, he felt like his world was ending. His mother had always been hands-off with him, and now he was left with only her. He rebelled, of course, as any fifteen-year-old would. He refused to obey her, he slammed doors, he hid from her, and he spent countless hours in his rec room, not even going to meals. No, he had never been close with his mother.
Asking her about Susan was more difficult than it should have been, but he did it. He had tried before, several times, but always found himself done with the discussion with his mother without having brought it up. The conversation only lasted a few minutes, but he left her office feeling like he had been beaten up. He wished he had thought of it the day before and asked then, but that weird light-headed feeling affected his ability to think clearly. Somehow she had given him no information, no answers to his questions, and he was outside the office door before he realized he had even left. He shook his head and aimlessly walked the hallway, not even paying attention to where he was.
“It’s really none of your business…” a voice said from down the hall. Ben came out of his reverie and noticed he was near the laundry area at the edge of the building, near the kitchens. He wasn’t sure about the voice, but he thought it was one of the laundry maids.
Water & Flame (Witches of the Elements Series Book 1) Page 5