“Am I so valuable?” Aubrey said. He gaped at her, baffled by her sharp tone.
Kittens aren’t supposed to scratch.
“You can help us, Miss St. Clair—”
“I don’t remember anything about being a cat.”
“You might be surprised.”
By anything men do to win points against other men? I doubt it.
They were traveling along the foot of Palisades towards its south face, still the base of nobility from the days before the royal family was sent gently into exile. The mansions there were just as large as those on the north side but composed of timber and leaded windows. Fewer columns, more ornate carvings.
Sir James said conversationally, “Lord Simon comes from the distaff side of the old royal family—one of Prince Karl’s bastards married the youngest daughter of Count Drann; they produced a dozen children. Unfortunately, disease and degeneracy have left Lord Simon the last survivor.”
“Unfortunately.”
Again, that curious stare.
“Our royal family may be happily ensconced in Ennance, Miss St. Clair, but our aristocracy still has a role to play in our country’s progress.”
Aubrey couldn’t answer, didn’t know how to argue with Sir James’ premise, only, Why should I have to pay the price for that progress?
Sir James certainly wasn’t paying any price.
She wanted Kev and Dmitri to pay.
“Why was Lord Simon banned from Academy buildings?”
“Well, eh hem. Lord Simon has always gone his own way. There are actions, scandals—the Academy, you know, would never have sanctioned Mr. Marlowe’s experiments.”
She flinched, and her claws partly unsheathed. She let Sir James see and was glad when he seemed to suck in his stomach to widen the space between them.
“Who told you about the experiments? Mr. Stowe didn’t.”
“Does Mr. Stowe know?”
“Did Lord Simon? Kev?”
“I received information.”
From Lord Simon. Or from Jacobs speaking for Lord Simon who would know what he knew from Kev.
She said, “Do you make potions?”
“My role lies in protecting Academy interests.”
No, Aubrey decided.
“I think the police should be able to arrest magicians,” she told him.
He tutted. “You’ve have a terrible experience, Miss St. Clair. But you reverted. You’ll see your family soon.”
You give your word? The word of a gentleman?
She didn’t say it. She still needed his goodwill.
The carriage stopped. Aubrey stepped out and looked up at a monstrous manor of overhanging eaves, narrow windows—three-a-piece to a single casement—and baroque arches. It was impressive although its edges (of sashes, of pointed roofs) were crumbling.
The mansions about it were in equal disrepair. This was the shadow side of Palisades’ hill, tucked away from Kingston’s bustle and the modernism of New Government House.
They walked up a stone path to a pair of heavy double doors. Sir James dragged on a bell pull—far off, chimes sounded. After several minutes, a butler opened the left-hand door.
“Ah, Sir James.”
He stepped aside, so they could enter a long hall, dark despite the oblique morning sun, but then the windows were shuttered. Candelabras sent dim paths of light across the ceiling’s heavy, wooden beams.
Someone likes to be dramatic.
“Milord will see you in the upstairs smoking room.”
They mounted behind the butler to a lounge filled with jeweled lanterns. Red light from a dying fire stroked the worn carpet with its faded ornamental patterns. Elaborate carvings of snakes and flowers adorned the window frame and mantel.
Lord Simon, otherworldly in a red velvet robe, turned from the fireplace, but it was the lean blond man by a pair of deep armchairs that provoked a hiss from Aubrey.
“I don’t want him here,” she said, backing up.
She ran into Sir James’ large bulk and instantly darted forward, so the second armchair reared its back between her and both Sir James and Jacobs.
The latter sighed ostentatiously.
“Miss St. Clair—I am trying to help. Surely, you want to understand your condition? Lord Simon knows the right questions—”
“Another fetch-and-carry boy,” she said, and Lord Simon laughed.
“Go away, Jacobs,” he said.
Jacobs flushed.
“I thought—”
“I’ve never been partial to gossips. You have less ability than a slum magician—and about as many ethics. I don’t need you here.”
Aubrey might have felt sorry at Jacobs’s crestfallen expression—if he wasn’t such a snake.
He said bitterly to Lord Simon, “People say you betray your friends.”
“I have no friends, and the lady has requested your departure. Take him out.”
Jacobs shrugged off the butler’s hand, tugged down his waistband, and left the room on a stiff saunter. Aubrey stepped slowly into the space between the armchairs.
“You see,” Lord Simon said, swiveling to study Aubrey. “I am not unreasonable although I should have taken you with me when we last met.”
She forced herself to meet his black, mocking eyes, to not step back as he approached her.
“You would have treated me more kindly than Kev?”
“Not more kindly. But more comfortably.” He lifted her chin with a long-fingered hand. “You are young.”
“I was younger then.”
“It’s been less than a year, child." He turned Aubrey's face carefully. "But then, time is a costly commodity.”
“I don’t suppose you are sorry.”
“Is that wrath?” Lord Simon said, one hand still on her chin, the other raised to brush hair from her eyes. “From such a nice, young thing?”
Aubrey lifted her arms, hands splayed, and scratched two long gashes down Lord Simon’s hand.
Sir James said, “Now, now!” while Lord Simon stepped back, black eyes glinting.
He tugged a handkerchief from a pocket, wrapped it around the wounds. Aubrey opened her mouth and licked her fangs.
Lord Simon gave a dry chuckle. He settled into the central armchair, his wrapped hand cupping one knee. In the firelight, he looked crueler, more alive. He gazed up at Aubrey and raised his brows.
She neared the second armchair, lowered herself to the edge.
She said, “Did you pay Kev to experiment on me?”
“Did your friends in the police tell you to ask me that?”
“I won’t be cut open.”
Lord Simon sighed.
“Kev is competent but untrained. Observation—exposure to external stimuli—would have provided more information. Dissection is the refuge of slum magicians.”
Which doesn’t mean, Aubrey thought, that you didn’t encourage Kev to do it.
“It likely triggered your reversion,” Lord Simon added.
Sir James grunted an a-ha sound.
“I’d never have needed a reversion if I hadn’t been bespelled,” Aubrey said.
“You even sound like a policeman. Plebian work.”
“You work with Dmitri.”
“Kev’s nephew—not my choice.” Lord Simon glanced towards Sir James who stood near the mantel, eyes flicking between him to Aubrey. “Did Academy leadership discover anything of worth?”
“Sir Prescott insisted on doing an examination.”
“Emotional voyeur.”
“We need to understand why this potion lasted.”
“Unless it wasn’t the potion but the person.”
“That is your theory. More effective formulas have been discovered.”
Lord Simon said to Aubrey, “If the person, not the potion, determines a potion's efficacy, the Academy will be reduced to a mere sideshow of magical experimentation: cross-your-fingers-and-shut-your-eyes. One in twenty is not the kind of result that justifies government grants.”
Sir James said, “The potion affected others. Claws. Fangs. Some fur—”
“Every Academy student starts his education enamored with transformation. The fascination wears off. It’s a party trick. An utterly useless weapon.”
Aubrey said, “Unless a spy snuck the potion into the enemy’s drinking water.”
“All their drinking water? At once? What for? To make them more dangerous?” Lord Simon motioned to Aubrey’s hands, her still-extended claws.
“I didn’t want these.”
“Pity. They are quite formidable.”
Sir James was muttering—agreement with Aubrey, protests at Lord Simon’s caustic answers.
Now, he said, “The Academy has already aided the military: temporary vanishing potions to confuse the enemy.”
“Temporary,” Sir Simon growled. “Never permanent. This girl, however, changed twice.”
Aubrey said, “The second time, I was afraid.”
“And if I frightened you now?”
Aubrey’s claws bit the arms of the chair. Lord Simon watched the motion, eyes hooded.
She said, “I won’t change again. You won’t get anything from me.”
“So you can control it.”
“I don’t know.”
“I suggest you try,” Lord Simon said, so softly she doubt Sir James heard.
That gentleman was looking towards the smoking room door where the butler loitered.
The butler intoned, “Police have arrived with another individual.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sir James said.
Lord Simon waved a languid hand. “Send them away. You’d better go with him, Sir James, bring your great authority to bear on the police's tradesmen minds. I’ll keep Miss St. Clair company.”
“I’d rather go with Sir James,” Aubrey said, already on her feet.
Sir James said, “Now, now. You are still in Academy custody, Miss St. Clair.”
He strode out. Aubrey stayed standing. Lord Simon leaned back to watch her.
“Are the police such romantic figures? Shouldn’t a debutante set her sights higher?”
“I want to go home. The Academy was supposed to help me.”
“The Academy is fighting a rearguard action. The government will agree to regulation. If not tomorrow, then soon.”
“You make use of the Academy but mock it. Why get involved at all?”
“To satisfy my curiosity.” He laughed at Aubrey’s disbelieving frown. “You don’t believe me.”
“Everyone has an agenda, even the police.”
“Even the police?! How shocking—an institution with an agenda.”
Aubrey bit her lip.
“I’m not naïve. I know people want things—need things.”
“I want—a solution. I don’t much care where I find it. Or how I obtain it.”
The butler reappeared in the doorway.
“Sir James requests your presence, milord.”
Aubrey started towards the door as Lord Simon stood. His hand descended to her shoulder, fixed her in place. She glared at the white handkerchief still circling his palm.
“I suggest you keep your claws sheathed,” he said. “Although few scratches don’t bother me, I can become annoyed.”
The bubble pushed at her sides. She clenched her teeth.
“Watch her,” Lord Simon said and went out.
Aubrey assumed he was addressing the butler, but the man had already gone. She frowned at the closed door. Perhaps the butler stood guard outside.
“I am not a slum magician,” a voice whined.
Aubrey whirled. A small door swung open on the other side of the fireplace. Kev stood here, hands clasped, eyes concentrated on Aubrey.
Continued in Chapter 9 "Remnants" on October 11, 2013 . . .
©
Katherine Woodbury
