Hexmaker (Hexworld Book 2), page 11
“I see.” Owen’s parents didn’t believe in excuses either, it was true. When he’d been nine, he’d been expected to answer his tutor’s questions without hesitation or error. A Yates must excel at all things; that was the lesson he’d learned.
But even if he had failed, even if he’d disappointed his parents, they wouldn’t have thrown him out on the street and left him to make his own way through the world. They expected him to know his duty to them, but they in turn stood by their duty to raise him to manhood. Oh, there had been more than a few moments when he’d believed they might disown Nathan, that was true.
But by then Owen had been the heir. Had the influence to put his foot down…so long as he complied in other ways. “And then you met Madam Galpern?”
Mal’s eyes widened in faux innocence. “I’m sure I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Owen gave him a look, and he relented. “Quigley needs to keep his big mouth shut. Aye, I met her, a year or two later. She saw something in me—the first time anyone ever did.”
No wonder Mal was loyal to her, and to this other friend he’d met at the saloon yesterday. Owen touched his hand gently. “I’m sorry.”
When they first met, he’d assumed Mal chose to be a thief because of some moral failing. Perhaps he’d merely done what he had to, and in the process fallen in with the wrong people, never knowing anything else.
Things would be different now, though. Even though they couldn’t stay lovers for much longer, Owen would see that Mal could count on him.
Mal squeezed his hand. “Nothing to be sorry about. So, should I come with you tonight, instead of tomorrow? Meet the family?”
“Not tonight.” Owen winced. “I suspect…well. You’ll get a formal introduction to Mother tomorrow.”
“And you want to prepare her for what she’s in for?” Mal asked with a sly grin.
Owen snorted. “The other way around—I wish to spare you for as long as I can. Once we’re done here, go back to The Folly for dinner. There’s a restaurant on the first floor, near the entrance. Order what you like, and have it sent up to the apartment. You’re fond of chicken, aren’t you?”
Mal licked his lips. “Well, I am a fox.”
“I suggest the coq au vin. It’s quite good.” Owen hesitated, but it had to be said. “And please, Malachi, have Bertie accompany you. You should be safe inside The Folly, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t take the El alone.”
He expected an argument, but Mal only nodded. “Aye. I’ve no desire to get myself killed, believe me. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Thank you.” Owen had the sudden urge to lean over and kiss Mal. But that was foolish. They had sex, but they weren’t lovers in any other sense of the word. And even that would end soon.
Instead, he gestured to the gears on the table. “I’m guessing a thief needs a good eye, and I could use a second set of hands. Would you care to assist? I’ll explain some of the principles behind the mechanical movement, if you’d like.”
Mal’s worried look eased into a smile. A real smile, not the sharp grin he usually offered Owen. “Aye. I would indeed.”
When Owen arrived for dinner, it was to discover Edith and Kirk Vandersee there as well. He restrained his annoyance—this had seemed an excellent opportunity to question Mother about where Mrs. Jacobs might have been the night of her husband’s murder. But he couldn’t ask such delicate questions in front of anyone else without appearing horribly gauche.
Instead, he kissed his mother on the cheek, then bent over Edith’s hand. She was a plain woman, her mousy brown hair swept into some complicated arrangement a fleet of hairdressers had no doubt labored over for hours. A delicate string of pearls circled her neck, and she wore an evening dress of blue silk. He tried to imagine stripping the silk from her body, kissing her neck tenderly, and cupping her breasts. The images left him utterly unmoved.
Still, he would manage. There were plenty of hexes meant to ensure a man’s performance. He could even draw up his own, once he learned the correct pattern. He would identify her preferences and ensure her pleasure. At least one of them should gain satisfaction from the experience.
“Miss Vandersee,” he said, and tried to sound happy to see her.
“Dr. Yates, it’s lovely to see you,” she replied woodenly. “I was so pleased when your mother told us you were coming.”
“Quite; quite,” Kirk enthused, shaking Owen’s hand. “Any progress on the Jacobs murder?”
“None I can comment on,” Owen replied, which wasn’t entirely false.
“How ghastly,” Mother exclaimed. Her hair was swept into a coiffure even more elaborate than Edith’s, and pearls trimmed her gown of bronze silk. “If you men insist on speaking of such matters, I must ask you to withdraw.”
Kirk immediately bowed over her hand. “Please, do forgive my terrible manners, Mrs. Yates. I let my concern for you and Edith get the best of me.”
Owen barely kept from rolling his eyes. Still, Kirk’s lie worked, as Mother beamed at him. “Of course, Mr. Vandersee. You’re always so thoughtful.”
The dinner gong rang, and Kirk offered his elbow to her. “May I have the privilege of escorting you?”
That left Edith for Owen. She kept the touch of her gloved hand so light on his arm, he could barely feel it. As they walked, he tried to recall the last time he’d seen her. It had been shortly after his proposal, which, if not ardent, had been extremely proper. Her acceptance had been as serene as his offer.
Well, they both knew the arrangement wasn’t one of passion. It hadn’t bothered him then; why should it now?
They took their seats. “Is Father not joining us?” Owen asked, as the servants brought the first course of green turtle soup.
“He’s at a dinner meeting with the mayor and other important people. The elder Mr. Vandersee is there as well, which was why I invited Edith and Kirk to join us tonight.” She shivered delicately. “Safety in numbers and all that.”
“We appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Edith said. Owen suspected she would have much preferred spending the evening in, but hadn’t felt able to deny her soon-to-be mother-in-law.
“The men are encouraging the mayor to take action to protect us all against this horrid maniac,” Mother went on. “Really, it’s a disgrace the fiend is still running loose. He might strike at any of us!”
“That isn’t likely,” Owen reassured her. “He was after a very specific artifact in Mr. Jacobs’s possession.”
“Enough—we shan’t speak of such things any further,” she said. “Owen, I believe you have an announcement to make?”
So Nathan had told her. Kirk and Edith both looked at him, brows arched in curiosity. Owen cleared his throat. “Yes. I’ve bonded with a familiar.”
“Congratulations, old boy,” Kirk said, raising his glass. “As high as you scored on the witch tests, we all expected this sooner or later. What sort of animal is he?”
“A fox,” Owen said.
Mother sniffed. No doubt she’d wanted something a bit more regal. Her own mother had a cheetah familiar; a portrait of the two of them hung in the drawing room, the cheetah sitting at her feet, a jeweled collar around its throat. Owen tried to recall its name, or even gender, and failed.
“How lovely,” Edith said with a genuine smile. “What’s his name?”
It was probably too much to hope they’d get along. “Malachi.”
Mother carefully set her spoon aside and signaled for the servants to bring the next course. “Dreadful. I certainly hope you intend to change it.”
Something seemed to constrict Owen’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. “No,” he said, as the saddle of lamb was laid out in front of him. “I rather imagine he’s accustomed to it, after all.”
“It sounds Irish.” Mother frowned as if she’d smelled something unpleasant.
Blast. Owen should have expected this. “Probably because he is Irish.”
Mother’s eyes widened. “And you…well.” She sat back. “What’s done is done. Has he already converted?”
The memory of Mal’s many blasphemies came back full force. “I haven’t brought it up,” he said, as neutrally as possible.
“So long as he understands he’ll have to give up his papist ways by the wedding,” Mother said.
Edith took up her own wineglass. “Well, I for one look forward to meeting Mr. Malachi,” she said. “I assume you’ll bring him to the dinner party tomorrow night?”
“I had planned on it,” he admitted, a bit surprised she’d asked.
“He can meet the rest of the family then,” Kirk agreed.
Mother looked shocked. And, to be honest, Owen was rather taken aback as well. Kirk had never struck him as being particularly unconventional in his thinking about familiars.
“Yes,” Mother said frostily. “And then perhaps you can introduce us to your hunting dogs, Mr. Vandersee.”
“Mal is a person,” Owen said, more sharply than he intended. “Not a pet.”
Mother sniffed. “Have that attitude, and soon he’ll be ruling you, rather than the other way around.”
Heat crept up Owen’s face, and he hastily took a sip of wine.
“Mrs. Yates, you said the flowers you chose for the wedding would be pink and white?” Edith asked.
Ordinarily, Edith’s mother would be the one to make the wedding arrangements. As Mrs. Vandersee had passed many years ago, and Mr. Vandersee never remarried, Mother had eagerly seized on the opportunity to order what was sure to be the wedding of the year, if not the decade.
“Lily of the valley and pink chrysanthemums,” Mother replied. “I approved the final design for your bouquet last week…”
Owen supposed he should be grateful at least someone was excited for the wedding, even if it wasn’t either the bride or groom. The rest of the dinner passed in uncomfortable harmony, while he and Edith nodded and made approving sounds as Mother waxed rhapsodic over the guest list.
At last it was time for Edith and Kirk to leave. As they bundled into their coats and hats, the housewitch moved quietly through the foyer, charging and igniting the hexlights. His familiar, a spaniel, followed on his heels. As he watched, Owen realized he’d never seen the familiar in human form. He didn’t even know her name.
“Mother, may I have a word with you in private?” he asked.
As soon as they were alone, she said, “I’m disappointed in you, Owen. I expected better when it came to your familiar.”
Owen wanted to object. Point out that she was hardly being fair. After all, it wasn’t as if either he or Mal had chosen one another—it was simply that their magic was the most compatible. Shouldn’t she be glad he was exercising his talents to the fullest?
But she’d see his words as ones of complaint—or, even worse, an excuse. Neither of which had ever been tolerated in the Yates household. So he only said, “Yes, Mother.”
“When your father hears…” she sighed and shook her head.
“I know you find it a distasteful topic, but I wished to speak to you about the murder,” he said.
She frowned. “I’m certain I wouldn’t know about anything connected with such a sordid affair.”
“Actually, the question I had was about Mrs. Jacobs.” Owen paused, wondering if there was any delicate way to put it. “Specifically, about her whereabouts the night of the murder.”
Mother took it as he’d expected her to: poorly. Her eyes flashed fire, and she let out an affronted gasp. “Surely you don’t mean to suggest Mrs. Jacobs had anything to do with her husband’s death!”
“Not directly—clearly she didn’t kill him with her own hand—but if she was perhaps involved with, say, another man—”
“Owen Reynard Yates!” Mother drew herself up to her full height, which was still a head shorter than his own. “I can’t believe you would even make such a suggestion.”
He held up his hands in an attempt to pacify her. “Mother, I know it’s shocking, but it’s something we must consider. If you’ve heard any sort of rumor connecting her with someone, a close friend or a widower, perhaps—”
“I refuse to listen to another word of this.” She folded her arms across her chest and leveled an icy glare at him. “Why are you wasting time asking such questions, when you know very well none of us would be involved in murder?”
Owen arched a brow. “Us?”
“People of quality. The Four Hundred.” She turned away from him. “This crime was committed by one of the lower classes. To even suggest Mrs. Jacobs had the slightest involvement is simply beyond the pale.”
“Mother—”
“No. I will speak no more of it.”
Blast. She’d been his best hope. But once she made up her mind, neither heaven nor earth would move her to change it. The only person who had ever gotten the better of her was Mrs. Vandersee. Her determined campaign for acceptance in society, coupled with the willingness to spend lavishly on balls and costume parties, had broken Mother’s resistance and won the Vandersees a place among the elite, despite the newness of the family’s fortune.
“Good night then, Mother,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
He was glad to escape to the sidewalk. A carriage waited a few feet away, but to his surprise, both Kirk and Edith still stood not far from the steps leading up to the house.
Both of them faced a man whose name Owen struggled to remember. Creswell, that was it—Davis Creswell. His family wasn’t badly off, but their fortune was too small and too new to earn admittance into the Four Hundred.
Kirk stood with his shoulders squared and his hands drawn into fists. But all of Creswell’s attention was fixed on Edith. A look of pleading distorted his handsome face, and his blond curls were mussed. Dark circles ringed his brown eyes, as though he hadn’t slept in days. “Edith, please,” he said.
Edith stood before him, her shoulders sagging, her gaze averted. Her face in the electric street lights was astonishingly pale.
“How dare you address my sister in so intimate a fashion?” Kirk snapped. “How dare you address her at all?”
Owen’s fingers tingled, and he was suddenly aware of the warm place behind his heart. He had hexes in his wallet, and magic to charge them now, should Creswell mean them ill. “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked.
Creswell’s gaze shifted to Owen, and his expression changed to one of loathing. “You,” he said.
“Mr. Creswell, please.” Edith spoke at last, lifting her gaze to him. “Dr. Yates and I will be wed soon. There is nothing more to be said. Please leave us, and don’t try to contact me again.”
A look of pain flashed across Creswell’s features.
“You heard my sister,” Kirk growled. “Leave now.”
For a moment, Owen thought Creswell would refuse. Then the man looked back to him once again. “I hope you appreciate the treasure you’ve been given, sir,” he said coldly. “Good night to you all.”
He turned on his heel and stalked away down the sidewalk. Edith stood very still, but she watched him depart with wetness clinging to her lashes.
The devil? Owen stepped closer. “Miss Vandersee? Is everything all right? Did he offer you some insult?”
Edith drew in a long breath. “Thank you for your concern, Dr. Yates. I am quite well. Kirk, please take me home.”
“Forget Creswell,” Kirk said. He led her to the carriage, and the footman hastily jumped down and opened the door for them. “He’s not worthy of you.”
“So I am told,” she replied.
The door closed. Owen caught a glimpse of her pale face through the window, before the driver snapped the reins. The carriage pulled away, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk.
Mal sat on the edge of his bed, sipping a cup of tea. His bed—it seemed like such a luxury, still. Almost as much as the tea set, painted with hexes to keep the contents hot.
The apartment was surprisingly lonely without Owen to keep him company. He’d grown used to having his witch around.
Once Owen got married, though, he probably wouldn’t have much time for Mal. Not with a wife, and eventually children.
No sense brooding over it. Mal had known what he was getting into when he agreed to bond with Owen. Besides, a little bit of loneliness was a small price to pay for his own bed, and fancy clothes, and not having to wonder where his next meal was coming from.
Still, it would be nice to spend some time together now. Take advantage of their arrangement. Mal had made a detour between the Coven and the Folly that evening. Bertie had seemed dubious when Mal asked him to wait outside the pharmacy, but the last thing Mal wanted was half the MWP gossiping about his private life.
The pharmacist hadn’t so much as blinked, of course. The contents of the box were sold as medical devices, and hell, maybe someone even used them that way. A second stop at a hardware store had secured a length of rope.
Owen was in for a treat. If he ever came home.
It had been just as well Owen wasn’t with him this evening, though. He’d caught sight of Sophie, loitering just outside The Folly when he and Bertie arrived. After saying goodnight to Bertie, he’d waited a few minutes, then slipped back out into the street himself.
He hadn’t gone out of shouting distance of the guard, of course, or down an alley where he might be cornered. Sophie had just winked at him and passed a small package, before going her own way. He’d sauntered back into The Folly less than five minutes after leaving, and had a leisurely dinner of coq au vin in the restaurant before returning to the apartment.
Only then had he taken out and unwrapped the package she’d given him. Inside was a replica of the necklace he was meant to steal, glittering with glass diamonds. He couldn’t even imagine how much the real thing must be worth. Even if the necklace was broken up into its component gems and sold off, it would represent a small fortune. Whole, it would be worth a large one.
