Several locked doors later—none of which could withstand Sir Kipling’s magically enhanced powers of going-wherever-he-wanted—they found themselves exiting a utility tunnel that led back out to the street nearly a block from the Midtown Castle and several blocks from where they had parked his aunt’s Buick. It was late enough that nobody was out and about, for which Sebastian was grateful, since he didn’t want to deal with a police officer responding to a 911 call about a bleeding woman.
When they got to the car, Sebastian took a quick look around, then stripped off his jacket, cummerbund, and dress shirt, and handed the shirt to Mallory. When she looked at him blankly, he pointed to her head.
“If you bleed on my aunt’s car, I’m pretty sure she will skin me alive. You too, if she can catch you.”
That made Mallory’s mouth twitch. She took the shirt and pressed it to her head, not resisting as Sebastian opened the passenger door and gently pushed her into the seat. He replaced his tux jacket and hurried to get behind the wheel.
At last, they were off. When no one showed up to run after them yelling, shooting guns, or chasing them down in an intimidating fleet of black SUVs, Sebastian finally relaxed.
“Tell me you got the thumb drive.”
“Yup,” Sebastian said, unable to keep a relieved grin from his face. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the drive to prove it.
“Good,” Mallory said, eyes closing and head leaning back against the seat. “Because that was the easy part.”
Epilogue
Sebastian took them to Aunt B’s house, figuring Mrs. Singer would have an easier time coaxing Mallory into a bandage than he would. Also, because Mrs. Singer cooked the best southern food he’d ever tasted.
It took Sir Kipling hissing at Mallory to get her out of the car and headed up the front porch steps to the house. Sebastian wasn’t certain why she was so resistant, but he suspected it had more to do with her effort to push people away than any dislike she held for the house’s occupants—well, most of its occupants, anyway. He couldn’t blame her for not liking his aunt.
The late hour worried Sebastian, but both his aunt and Mrs. Singer appeared at the door almost as soon as he’d rung the doorbell, as if they’d stayed up waiting. Aunt B ushered them in with a grave nod and shot a wary glance up and down the street before pulling the door closed. As Sebastian had predicted, the moment Mrs. Singer spotted Mallory, she went into ultra-mothering mode, shooting off orders and dragging the hapless Mallory into the kitchen to be thoroughly doctored. She sent Jamie running upstairs for first aid supplies and a spare shirt for Sebastian, while Aunt B started boiling water and warming up food.
When Mallory adopted her best icy glare and tried to insist on cleaning her wound herself, Mrs. Singer just said: “Dearie, I’m a mother of five. That doesn’t work on me. Now stop complaining and sit still.” After that, Mallory offered no more resistance. Sebastian couldn’t tell from her resigned look if she were annoyed or just tired, but either way he made sure to turn away and hide his smile at the exchange—Mallory would hopefully be training him more in the future, and he would prefer to survive it with all his limbs attached.
Despite acquiescing to Mrs. Singer’s treatment, the moment the older woman declared her fit to eat food and get some rest, Mallory stood, scooped up her compact backpack, and turned to Sebastian, holding out her hand with a raised brow. He gave her the thumb drive without argument, but snagged a plate of food for her before leading the way out of the kitchen and up the stairs to Freddie’s old bedroom. After settling her in and shooing off the curious teenager, he headed back downstairs to eat something himself. He knew Mallory needed peace and quiet to find the information they hoped was somewhere on that drive. After that, who knew how long it would take her to track down John Faust. It might take hours...or days.
No time, hurry, hurry, hurry!
The tight feeling was back, like an iron band clamped around his chest, and it was all Sebastian could do to force his lungs to keep expanding—in and out, in and out. They were so, so close, he reminded himself, trying to drown out the nasty little voice of doubt that whispered, what if you’re too late?
As he reached the base of the stairs, a meow at his feet made him start, and he had to put out a hand to the wall to steady himself.
“You know, Kip, one of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack, and then where will we be?”
The cat gave him a smug look and reared up on his hind paws, stretching mightily and digging his claws into Sebastian’s pants near the hip.
“Hey! Stop that, you little monster. These pants are expensive.” Sebastian bent down and picked the feline up—probably Kip’s plan all along—and carried his purring burden into the kitchen, worry temporarily forgotten as he focused on finding his enterprising feline partner the best bowl of milk his aunt had to offer.
Once food had been eaten, dishes had been washed, and tea had been brewed for those who wanted it, Mrs. Singer sent Jamie back to bed—against his strident protests—then she gave Sebastian a look that told him he’d be cleaning his aunt’s bathrooms for a month if he didn’t hurry up and tell her how close they were to finding her daughter.
He gave them the full story this time, mindful of his promise to Mrs. Singer and knowing he would need both their help to see things through. At the mention of Jacopo Romano’s name, his aunt gave him a sharp look, but didn’t interrupt. By the time he was finished, Sir Kipling had settled himself into a purring puddle on his lap and he was aching all over. The adrenaline rush of their operation and subsequent flight had long since dissipated, and with nothing else for him to focus on, every bump, bruise, and half-healed wound was making itself known. Yet no matter how he hurt or how his body drooped in weariness, he couldn’t stand the thought of trying to sleep—couldn’t stand the thought of facing the dark, or being left alone with his thoughts.
For an awkwardly long time all three of them sat around the table in silence, each of them glancing hopefully at the kitchen door in turn, as if they could make Mallory appear by sheer force of will. After a while, Aunt B got up and started boiling water for another round of tea. She set a steaming cup in front of Sebastian and told him: “Drink,” then sat down to her own tea and began filling him in on her progress with the “alphabet” spell for Sir Kipling’s collar. As she spoke, Sebastian tried to examine her without seeming to stare. It had been barely forty-eight hours since she’d been assaulted, mind controlled, and almost killed. Besides a grayish tint to her skin, however—a sickly look that had clung to her ever since John Faust had cursed her last summer—she appeared as stiff-backed and severe as ever.
The conversation drifted after that and covered a range of topics, including what Aunt B knew about the Romano family: not a great deal, and none of it good. They were powerful and dangerous, but prior to this had focused their dealings on the northeastern part of the country. Aunt B also discussed what magical defenses they might face rescuing Lily. That topic reminded Sebastian of the long object poking him through his jacket pocket, and he felt a strange, bittersweet pang at the reminder of what he’d discovered that night. He used a napkin to withdraw the bent hair stick and laid it on the table for his aunt to examine, careful to keep the iron away from his bare skin. Aunt B was very interested in it, and had Sebastian describe in detail exactly what it had done to the illusion spell on the door. They spent a long time discussing the properties of wrought iron and how it interacted with—or rather, negated—magic, and by the time that topic had finally wound down, Sebastian’s foggy brain told him it must be close to the wee hours of dawn.
“Kentucky.”
All three of them turned in surprise to find Mallory standing in the doorway, laptop in one hand, empty plate in the other. The bandage on her head gave her a lopsided look, but it took nothing away from the grim satisfaction in her eyes.
“Be more specific, if you please, Trista. What about Kentucky?” Aunt B said.
“Trista is dead and gone,” Mal
lory said, her dark eyes meeting the old woman’s gaze with a spark of defiance. “My name is Mallory.”
There was a tense pause, then Aunt B nodded. “Of course. Mallory. Pardon my lapse in memory. What about Kentucky?”
“That’s where they’re hiding, in some town called Lewisville.”
Energy surged through Sebastian and he jumped up, spilling Sir Kipling to the floor in a heap. “You found her?”
“Um, do you mean Looeyville, honey? I think the ‘s’ is silent,” Mrs. Singer butted in.
“That is the grammatically correct pronunciation, Freda, since the city was named after King Louis XVI,” said Aunt B. “But in fine Kentucky fashion, I believe the natives pronounce ‘Louisville’ as Looavul.”
“I don’t care if it’s pronounced supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” Sebastian exclaimed. “Just tell me you found Lily!”
“I found credit card transactions connected to the alias John Blackwood,” Mallory clarified.
There was a crash of breaking china, and Sebastian whirled to see his aunt frozen in her chair as she stared at Mallory. Her teacup lay shattered on the floor.
“W-what did you say?”
“Credit card transactions,” Mallory repeated slowly. “You know, those plastic things—”
“No, what was the name?” Aunt B said, looking like she’d just seen a ghost.
“John Blackwood.”
There was a long silence.
“What is it, Aunt B? Have you heard the name before?” Sebastian asked, attention zeroing in on her. He hardly had any brainpower left to contemplate John Faust and whatever the wizard knew about Sebastian’s family, but the look on his aunt’s face made him a whole other level of suspicious.
“N-nothing, Sebastian,” his aunt said, visibly gathering herself. “That is excellent news, Mallory. Thank you for your tireless efforts to help find Lily.”
Mallory’s shoulders twitched like she’d started to shrug but then immediately suppressed it. “I’m getting paid,” she replied, looking down at her laptop.
There was an awkward silence, and Sebastian was torn between grilling his aunt about her reaction and heading out the door then and there to start driving toward Looaville...Loueeville...whatever the place was called.
“Be that as it may,” Aunt B finally said, “your help has been invaluable. It is late, however, and no one is going anywhere until all of us have had some rest. To bed, the lot of you.”
“I’m not staying here—”
“We need to leave now—”
“Don’t be silly dear, you can hardly stand upright—”
“Silence.”
The iron edge in his aunt’s command cut through the arguments and objections like a razor, and everyone’s mouth snapped shut. The old woman glared with steely eyes at each of them in turn, then spoke slowly, her words weighty with age and wisdom.
“Only fools allow pride and impatience to get in the way of sound tactical decisions. Mallory, you will sleep here tonight, as it is the most logical and convenient option. Sebastian, you will get some rest, or I shall put a sleep spell on you myself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. We will deal with the rest tomorrow.”
Sebastian opened his mouth to argue, but his aunt caught his hand in a boney grip.
“I know, nephew. I know. I fear for her as well.” Her gentle squeeze of his fingers and the hint of a quaver in her voice sucked all the bluster out of him, leaving him with a leaden weight in his stomach.
“If they were planning to kill Lily outright, they would have already done so. Since that has not happened, they must be keeping her for some purpose. You will do Lily no good if you fall asleep at the wheel and die in a car wreck. Your mind and body need rest. Tonight, you must sleep. Tomorrow, you will act.”
His aching heart protested, but his aunt’s words brought a sudden awareness of his body. He swayed in place, light-headed from weariness. “Fine. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Mallory agreed, and turned and disappeared down the hall.
Sebastian followed much more slowly, and wasn’t sure how he made it up to his room without falling on his face. He didn’t remember taking off his tux jacket and hanging it on the back of his desk chair, turning the lights off, or crawling under the covers. He did remember moving over so Sir Kipling could curl up against his chest because the cat’s purrs made his body relax, easing the tight ache across his shoulders and tension in his belly.
“Wergonna find’er, right?” he mumbled, already half asleep, but some part of his brain refusing to rest until he was sure.
Of course.
The words that echoed through his head brought with them a reassuring peace. It bypassed his higher brain function and settled like a warm blanket over his soul, sending him to sleep with its reassurance guarding his heart and mind against the darkness.
Interlude: Trial By Fire
Lily woke up on her own bed, surrounded by sunlight. It seemed late in the day, but she still felt unusually tired, despite having slept in. She sat up and stretched, then pulled the covers back and put her feet on the floor. Glancing down, she was surprised to see her knee-high boots on her feet. Now that she was paying attention, she realized she wore the rest of her adventure outfit as well. Her hand reached up to pat her normally frizzy chestnut hair, and found it neatly pulled back in her usual bun. Had she passed out fully dressed last night? Her clothes didn’t look wrinkled, but then they wouldn’t, being magically enchanted to resist wrinkles, stains, and odors.
Putting aside the mystery of her clothes, Lily rose and looked around. Her bedroom appeared as it always did, except when her eyes passed over her bare closet door she had the odd feeling there was something missing. She couldn’t remember what it was, though, so instead she looked around for Sir Kipling. He usually took every opportunity to nap, and the bed—or more specifically on top of her on the bed— was his favorite spot. But then, if it was afternoon he was probably on one of the front windowsills watching the traffic pass by and soaking up some sun. Troubled by his absence, she wandered down the hall and peered into the kitchen, where she noted his empty food bowl. That wasn’t right. She usually left a little extra in there so he had something to snack on. When had she last fed him?
“Hello, Lily.”
Lily screamed and tried to whirl to face the intruder, but stumbled over her own feet in the process and ended up spilling toward the floor instead. Strong hands caught her before she could get far, and they gripped her tightly as she struggled to get free.
“Hey! Calm down, Lily, it’s just me. Sebastian. It’s okay, you’re safe.”
Lily almost cried in relief, but quickly recovered and gave Sebastian a firm smack on the shoulder, her momentary fear fueling a healthy dose of anger. “Don’t do that to me, Sebastian! I almost had a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Sebastian said, and he wrapped his arms around her in a warm embrace.
Caught off guard, Lily froze. At this point merely holding hands was still awkward between them. He had never hugged her before, save for a few times when she’d initiated it following various trying circumstances in their adventures. But before her brain could decide how to react to this new forwardness, he released her and pulled back.
“How are you feeling?”
“I—I’m not sure,” Lily said honestly. Something was bugging her. “Have you seen Sir Kipling? He wasn’t in my room.”
“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” Sebastian said, giving a dismissive shrug.
“That’s weird—wait, what are you doing at my house?” There was something she was forgetting, she just knew it.
“Waiting for you to wake up, of course.”
“Oh. Um, okay. Did something happen? I don’t normally get up this late…” She trailed off, brow furrowed.
And then it hit her.
“Madam Barrington! Is she okay? Richard—I thought—what happened at the museum? Did you catch Roger? Did the demons
—”
“Whoa, calm down, Lily, calm down! Really, it’s okay. Everyone is alright. Here, come sit down.”
He tugged on her hand and she followed, still a bit stunned, as he led her to the couch and helped her sit. Then he sank down beside her.
“Now, take it slow. What do you remember?”
He hadn’t let go of her hand, and she appreciated the warm, reassuring grip, even if it made it harder to think.
“I—I remember we defeated that, that thing in Roger, and he ran away, and then the corridor was full of demons, and then you came with the fae, and then we—we…” She stopped and lowered her eyes because a flood of heat surged through her at the memory of his passionate kiss. That was all it took to turn her brain into a lump of useless tissue. All she could think about was that kiss. What had he meant by it? Had it made him as weak in the knees as it had made her? Why hadn’t he said anything about it? Did he regret it? The whirlwind of micro-analyzing thoughts made her shrink inside even as the warmth from Sebastian’s hand spread through her whole body.
Strong fingers caught her under her chin and gently tilted her face up until she was forced to look into Sebastian’s eyes. They were...hungry. “What did we do?” he asked, his voice husky.
“We...we...kissed.” Her voice was a bare whisper, and her face felt hot enough to fry an egg.
“Did we, now,” he murmured, and his face leaned closer, those hungry brown eyes locked on her blue ones.
His lips covered hers in a wash of heat, and desire swooped through her. She felt like she’d just jumped from a plane and was free-falling through endless empty space. When her lips parted in surprise, he sucked the air out of her lungs as if he needed it to breathe. He pressed closer and closer, and before she knew it, she was leaning back on the couch and he was on top of her. His weight made her burn with yearning until the sensation swamped her mind and she couldn’t think anymore.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity Page 18