It seemed a delicate matter requiring a light touch, on the one hand, and possibly a lot of power and know-how on the other. It no doubt sounds vain, but I had plenty of that on my own. What I didn't have, at present, was a colleague I trusted without question, and who could drop everything and come with me.
And so I went alone.
I had no use for a car in the city, as it was quite crowded, and a vehicle was difficult to maintain and properly house, and really unnecessary since I lived only blocks from the ministry. A brisk walk in the morning and evenings, replaced by machinery's briskness, wouldn't have done anyone any good — other people on the road, or my own waistline.
I would, however, require a car for the trip to Skeffield Manor. I preferred not to be reliant on trains, and in truth, I had only gotten my license to drive a few months ago. It was all still quite new and exciting.
Between one thing and another, I'd been working for the ministry since I was fourteen. When I'd been needed somewhere, I had an escort or driver, sometimes even a bodyguard. Things were a lot less tense now that the war was over — less tense at home even than they'd been beforehand, regarding the climate towards powerful magicians like myself — and in any case, I was quite able to look after myself at this point in my life, a staid thirty years of age, with a great deal of experience under my belt, and all the training a magician could possibly wish.
If I had had to endure a lot during those years, well, it was less than the men who had not survived at all, or those poor souls who had been crippled by injury and repaired with machinery — and then thrown unprepared on a world ready to hate them.
I took pleasure in renting a car for the journey. It was quite a sleek maroon car, long and low and with clever handling. It purred while the engine ran. I quite enjoyed the sound, and the feeling of the wind against my face and in my hair as I drove down.
Of course, this was work, not a trip for fun, but with the ministry's vagaries and sudden requirements for this or that or the other — hurry up and wait, get there and no time to spare — I had learned to take my pleasures where I could find them.
That had been less than appreciated by the ministry when, at sixteen, I had had quite the affair with a young man who was my driver. After that they had only given me into the care of older and quite boringly straight-laced fellows, generally with wives and sometimes even grandchildren of their own, who could not possibly look at me as an equal or someone to have an affair with.
I had, of course, learned to grow more circumspect. Growing up in the ministry and with magic is rather difficult, I must say, but I had found my place at last, and let no one say now that I was not settled, classy, and circumspect.
My last affair had been, let's see, nearly six months ago now. It was a mutually agreeable relationship, but one neither of us had expected more from, nor had trouble ending. I had enjoyed it while it lasted, then moved on.
I lived a self-sufficient life, and liked it that way, generally. The work required a lot from me, and, well, as anyone who survived the war can tell you, the memories require a lot from you at times. I would not like to share a life with a man and have him look at me in horror if I woke up screaming. As I sometimes do.
If I thought waking up beside another person would sometimes ease some of those night terrors, I was also not foolish enough to think that there was someone who would either be trustworthy enough for that or interested enough in me to sign on for such a burden.
But I had not had a bad life, overall, and it was nothing to think sadly on. I was in a nice car on a beautiful day, driving off for an adventure in the countryside. I was certain of my powers, able to rely on the one man I fully trusted (myself), and possibly going to deal with some malevolent spirit or fae.
I leaned toward fae, personally — perhaps a criminal trapped between realms, whom the hidden artifact had allowed to contact a human touched by magic — but I intended to keep an open mind. One never knows what one will discover, if you haven't already decided without evidence.
If all went well, I might be responsible for discovering another hidden artifact. These things are of fae build, and very useful indeed to the ministry. When they can be understood, they can offer many glimpses into other realms and access to power and knowledge. If used carefully and responsibly, they can guide us to a better understanding of magic and better integration with technology.
Even when such fae-based objects are not able to be understood by us mortals, they still house power, and that power can be carefully tapped, harnessed to run the world: magic, technology, careful spells, or wars.
The magical items that had been found there were already being studied and their magic harnessed to run part of the ministry's necessary base magic.
Think of it as something like electricity. With a lot of electricity running smoothly and correctly through a building, it can be tapped easily by turning a light switch, or plugging in an electric phonograph or other small appliance, or running something large like a refrigerator. It is always there, in the background, doing its job without complaint.
Magic is like that in many ways. Where there is a great deal of energy needed, it must be running constantly in the background to tap. In nature, there is magic: free-flowing, abundant, peacefully spread out. But only skilled magicians, such as myself, can tap magic and continue to use it, channeling it, shall we say, to do our bidding.
Most people can't touch magic — or can only touch it slightly, not gather it and tap it on their own. These artifacts allow a steady, free flow of magic so that even the only slightly gifted can perform their duties where it is turned on: running spells and performing checks, within the bounds of the power source's reach.
This allows the ministry to employ many more people than it otherwise would, because the truth is, there is a great scarcity of magically talented and trainable people who can do the job, or any job, with their magic.
Magic is not an easy pursuit, and it takes years of learning to become really adept at it. I suspect that as much as I thought I knew about magic, in twenty years' time, should I live that long, I would find out so much more that, looking back at myself today, I would think I had been but a child in its study and use.
It is also not something you can really build on generation after generation, as some forms of knowledge are. It can be so widely divergent and individualistic in each person, that someone can explain or teach, with the best will and skill in the world, for years without really improving anyone else's grasp on it — even if that person is greatly gifted and trying hard to learn.
Magic is largely a private pursuit, requiring discipline, great stubbornness, and a willingness to apply oneself. Books, practice techniques, and many other forms of study might be required, but there are always people who can't find the ability to do more than the very mundane, no matter how much untapped potential they have.
It is not a quick and easy task to acquire really skilled magicians, and a great many were lost during the war, as well — people who had barely begun to form any personal idea of magic before they were told to go out and kill with it. Those who survived were sometimes so warped and damaged, they didn't survive for long.
I remember the toll it took on me, and sometimes still takes, yet I was fairly skilled and mature at the time. Anyone who was a teenager or younger and had literally anything to do with the war, I am afraid they have all died. Either during, or after, by their own hands, sometimes in truly horrible ways. One young woman, whose face I remember vividly, electrocuted herself. It was not fast, or painless, and she didn't want it to be.
I am never certain of the morality of using women in a war, especially women with magic. They seem to take it hard, killing anyone, even enemies. We're all humans, aren't we? But it seems to me women are better at remembering that than are men, though of course this is a generalization. I have met men with kind hearts and strong senses of common humanity even toward those they disagree strongly with. But I have not met many, whereas I have met few women who lack it.
Although some would say my experience with women has been curtailed, and that is true enough as it goes.
At least in one way, I don't know women at all.
#
It was still a bright day by the time I got to Skeffield Manor, but it was beginning to grow overcast, as if rain was on the way. I don't mind a bit of rain, but it was an open-topped vehicle and I wasn't at all sure I had the technical know-how to get the top up on my own.
That would be an amazing picture for the locals, wouldn't it? A smartly dressed man with somewhat ginger hair struggling with the rooftop of his rental car. Because I am not particularly tall, and it was a rather imposing vehicle, I had no doubt whatsoever that it would look particularly funny, to those inclined to laugh. Especially when it came out that I was from the magical ministry.
People do love to laugh at magicians. To a certain extent, I understand. It's better to laugh than be afraid. But that doesn't mean I particularly enjoy being the one laughed at.
I would venture to say that, foolish though it is, I mind it more than the next man. Since my youth, I've been uprooted and shunted around for others' convenience, and there has been no sturdy bedrock of stability and safety, aside from my magic. I suppose that stark fact has made me dig deeper into it and grow further in it, but it's also warped my view of people. I don't connect easily with most of them, I trust even fewer, and I am very much a man who likes to stand on his dignity.
Only in the last few years have I begun to settle in at the ministry, finding my place and feeling slightly more at home. I am almost never shunted around these days, and I have almost stopped expecting to be uprooted at any moment for someone else's whim. There is, apparently, some benefit to growing older; I have more authority over my own life now.
At any rate, I got to the manor before the rain arrived, but I felt like I was racing it. With ominous rumbles in the sky, and a growing feeling of not being fast enough, I was reminded of the war: bombs in the distance, and never quite enough time or strength to do what I could.
I pushed those thoughts away quickly. This situation was nothing of the sort.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to seeing Louis, but in a way, that made it trickier yet. I could say I was simply here to visit him, but I doubted he or Robert Skeffield would believe that. Robert would be suspicious no matter what I did; he was that sort, soldier clear through and always looking for his next campaign, whether he knew it or not.
Another choice was to flash my badge and demand to see what I wished. I could not see that going well, and it was likely to hurt Louis.
My third choice, I felt, was probably the best: be very friendly and pushy, but don't quite get to the badge-flashing stage, and act as though it doesn't even occur to me that they might not want my help here.
They were going to get it either way — this was a ministry affair clear through — but I would rather not have to antagonize a Skeffield.
They were a powerful family, and their cooperation with the ministry (so far) had netted the ministry several objects of rare purity and power, clearly of fae origin and offering a lot of pure power to tap, even if they didn't yet have a known purpose.
Of course, their purpose might've been discovered and I wasn't told; that's often how it is in the ministry. One learns to accept it.
I pulled up in front of the carriage house, and got out. There were men standing around in workman's clothes. I sensed their mechanical-magical additions; it would be difficult not to. Skeffield Manor had become a key resource for helping to employ and reintegrate mechanicalized ex-soldiers into society. I didn't let on I noticed any difference at all, and hopped out of the car.
Thunder rumbled overhead, like an angry god, and the clouds look dark, dark. The feeling of electricity and gathering energy in the air made my teeth buzz and the hairs on my arms stand on end. It gave me the jittery, slightly overwhelmed feeling of too much coffee. Storms tend to affect magicians much the way they do cats: we are not pleased with them.
Although to be fair, I do know of one magician who takes great strength from storms, and can always do her best work then. She is quite a phenom, though, and that is indeed rare. Agatha is quite the magician, but the only one like that whom I've ever heard of.
"Here, will you put this in out of the storm for me?" I addressed the nearest man respectfully, but with the clear air of expecting to be obeyed. It is a sort of casual command — perfectly polite, but definitely in charge — that many people respect automatically, and in fact makes them feel more at ease.
It helps to look the part (which I do, dressing in quiet but expensive suits), carry yourself with your head high, as though you could easily belong absolutely anywhere, and use perfectly correct English. I have no difficulty with any of that. I think that the level of magic I've been blessed with really does add to my confidence, and that helps get a person through some sticky situations no matter what.
The man caught the keys and looked at me, waiting. "And you're here for, sir...?"
I recognize a guard when I see one. I inclined my head to him with the faintest of smiles. "Robert or Louis, either will do. Soon as someone can show me the way. I'm not familiar with the estate."
This seemed to satisfy him, and he gave the keys to another fellow, who moved hurriedly to put the car in out of the storm's oncoming wrath. I suspect I was not the only one present who would hate to see such a lovely machine take storm damage.
The first fellow — he had a big cleft chin, dark eyes, and a rustic handsomeness about him — led me to the large manor house and indoors, where he handed me over to another ex-soldier with the news that I was here to see Robert or Louis.
This man took one long, hard look at me, and nodded. "I'll show him in, then," he said. "If you'll excuse me, sir, but we're searching for weaponry. Can you turn out your pockets for me? If you refuse, that's all right, but I won't take you past this room just yet. I'll speak with the master."
I was somewhat impressed with the security arrangements. Perhaps this really had been a safe place to sent Gareth Silverman to recover.
"Of course." I submitted to the security and followed him into see Robert Skeffield. I would have preferred to see Louis, whom I consider a dear friend. The man has such a warm nature, like cheerful spring sunshine. He would be very glad to see me, and offer whatever help he could. Now I would have to convince Skeffield first.
The introduction went passably well. He remembered me from the ministry and as Louis's friend. The jealousy seemed to have passed, and he retained only his cool demeanor as a man who did not make friends easily with magicians.
"Come to check on Gareth?" he asked.
I seized on the reason, wondering that I hadn't thought of it myself on the way. All my plans and worries, and this was clearly the most reasonable of them all — the obvious choice. As at least nominally an ally within the ministry, and someone who had been working to get Gareth free from his magically dampened prison, my presence here was not strange at all.
"Yes, of course," I agreed blandly. "Can I see him?"
"He's under guard," said Skeffield, frowning. He proceeded to unburden himself about the whole thing. It appeared he was only too direly in need of magical help with the things going on here, and probably quite glad to see me arrive to help.
Of course I would, if I could, but I was really here to track down the unwholesome presence and, hopefully, another hidden fae artifact.
He told me all about discovering Cillian there as a spy — something I knew from Jimmy's side of the story, but not the ministry's. They hadn't shared that with me, of course. Spies aren't much good if their itineraries are widely known. I didn't let on that I'd spoken with Jimmy already and knew a bit of what was going on, or the real reason for my visit; I listened gravely and proved willing to see them both.
Skeffield took me to see Silverman personally. He didn't beat around the bush, either.
I felt Gareth's life-beat from far away; it was immediately obvious he was doing much better than he had been. It felt like he was close to a full recovery. From the last time I'd heard his life-beat, I hadn't expected that, so I was pleasantly surprised.
When we entered the room, it proved to be a pleasant enough bedroom, despite the two men standing guard outside it. Gareth was clearly under guard, but he was not being treated poorly. He was, however, nearly pacing holes in the carpet.
At the sight of me, he looked hopeful and desperate. "Powers! Come to spring me? I must know—" He cut himself off at the sight of Skeffield, and scowled. Then he forced himself to continue in a more restrained voice, "I must join Silus on his trip. I must. I'm worried about his safety, and it's not right that — that he face it alone."
"He's not alone. He has help."
"He doesn't have me." Gareth scowled at me, facing me head on. He looked so nearly fully recovered that I could only rejoice to see it.
I reached out to shake his hand, and he accepted distractedly. He was indeed much better and stronger than he had been, but he was also clearly distraught.
"Do you have some reason to fear for his safety?"
"Aside from the fact that every other expedition to that area has ended not without death? No, what could you possibly imagine?" He gave a hard, cracked laugh, and pressed his hands to his face, drawing a shuddering breath. "I — I must get to him, Powers. He's only doing this for me. They've tried for ages to get him to go, but — he's only doing it for me. I can't lose him."
I thought for a moment that he might be about to break down, but instead he looked up, determination in his eyes. "You can help me. I would prefer if you do. But you cannot stop me."
"Are you well enough to be a help, or only a hindrance?" I asked, crossing my arms and surveying him critically.
He flushed, but met my gaze squarely. "I can help. I know I can help."
I did some quick mental calculations. There was no reason he couldn't undertake a rushed journey to catch up with Silus. The two were in a committed relationship, which on the purely mercenary level meant their magic would be stronger if they could stay near one another.
At least, that was how it worked with opposite-sex paired magicians. I had never met a pair of committed same-sex magicians, myself, but presumably it would work much the same.
There was another good reason, too. The ministry was likely to view Gareth with extremely distrust for years if he didn't redeem himself with something great. This was just such a chance, and one that might not come around again soon. If he could do any good at all on such a mission, it would improve his standing remarkably.
"I'll speak with someone. In the meantime, perhaps you could start preparing. You'll need cold weather clothing and lots of supplies. Get started on the prep, and I'll grease some ears. This could be the best thing you can do — providing you really are well enough to tackle the journey."
He appeared startled by my support — and then rushed forward to shake my hand again, very hard, in both of his. "I will — I will!"
I spoke briefly with his guardian, Jonas Rollings, whom I outranked by quite a lot. He reported to me without rancor. There had been no attempts on Gareth's life, and, though he had hidden his partial recovery, most likely from fear, it was far along.
"But if he's going to that Siberian place, I don't want any part of it. Someone else can get their good deed credit. I'll ask for a different assignment, if you please, sir."
"I'll pass along the word. I'm sure someone will agree to accompany him." Even if we had to hire some mechanicalized men for the job, we could find someone. Many of them were clearly still skilled at soldiering tasks.
We shook hands, and I moved on, at Skeffield's request, to speak with Cillian Kinsy, the unsuccessful spy.
He wasn't pacing his room, but gave the impression he had been recently and was now taking a break to pout. At my entrance, he sprang up off the bed. "Finally!" he said.
Skeffield gave a small snort. "He arrived to see to Gareth, not you."
The man went back to sulking, his eyes flashing dark things. Of course he had sent to the ministry to have his identity confirmed, and of course, as with any unsuccessful spy, they were being very slow about sending someone to fetch him. Let him cool his heels here if he couldn't keep his cover; the ministry was in no hurry to claim him.
"Have you discovered anything incriminating, then?" I asked him in a sharp voice, a "report, sir!" sort of voice.
He swallowed hard. "I thought I had, but it appears not, at present" he said cautiously, and then proceeded to unburden himself regarding the attack on Jimmy from his perspective. He claimed to have only been trying to restrain the "little rodent" and had thought there was good reason to suspect him of being part of a bomb plot.
Unfortunately, this action had revealed his hand without discovering anything, Jimmy being well-known and having ties to Graeham. It was all a muck-up, and he more or less acknowledged that.
In the midst of a complaint that he could've found the culprit with a bit of backup and some actual support from the ministry, instead of being thrown in blind without a knowledge of all the players, I cut him off.
"I'll take you back with me if you will stop justifying yourself. But if I were you, I would seriously consider staying. Cooling your heels here may be less unpleasant than doing so back at the ministry. You have spoiled any undercover work that might be possible here for some time, and your boss will not be pleased with that at all. If he chooses to give you another assignment that's not in-house, I doubt it will be as pleasant at this."
He paled at my words, but his jaw firmed. "Yes sir. I'll — go back anyway. I'm no good here now, but...you will see what you can find out about the bomb plot, sir? Won't you?"
I agreed to it, but didn't mention that the "bomb plot" was almost certainly a part of the harassment campaign against various supporters of the mechanicalized men and their rights. Our latest intelligence had strongly suggested that it was all a bid to distract and spread fear, to waste manpower and resources, and was being tracked to its source by people more capable than Cillian.
I was under no illusion that there might not indeed be a plan to bomb someone, but it almost certainly wasn't coming from any of the "hotbeds" of mechanicalized men support. No, the ministry would have to stay on its toes to prevent assassination attempts, but they were very unlikely to be coming from here.
Fortunately, the manpower that the mission had wasted was actually very little. Cillian didn't have the chops for proper undercover work, apparently. Better to find that out now than later, doing more important work.
Perhaps I was being too hard on him, but I had heard the story first from Jimmy's point of view, and it was hard to have much sympathy for someone who had used magic on that damaged and harmless fellow.
He could tell he was in hot water, and was polite and quiet, telling me thank you again and that he would pack and be ready for whenever I returned. I warned him it might not be tonight, and then left the room.
Skeffield looked at me with amusement in his raised brows. "Quite the little captain, aren't you?"
I wondered if he called his boyfriend "little" in such a condescending voice. We were of a height, Louis and I.
I did not dignify him with a response. It wasn't meant to be answered. And there was a better reason for not replying: I felt Louis's strong, warm life-beat heading my way. He was excited and hurrying...but there was another tone underneath, a desperate worry he was trying to hide...
Was he, too, hoping I could help him? Well, he was the only one I would help without feeling slightly bored. I would do a great deal to help Louis, if I could.
"Jocelyn!" said Louis, coming down the hall to me. He was dressed with subtle lack of flair, for him. He was elegant and neat, but not colorful, and he lacked the little extra touches. No handkerchief in his pocket, no bright neckcloth, tie, or scarf. Dull gray socks and plain, boring shoes. Nothing fancy at all.
There was a faint strain around his eyes, but he still held out his hands for me, greeting me with warm affection.
"Louis." I shared his embrace, and felt with amusement the jealousy flame up from Robert, who a few minutes ago had been rather more impressed with me than not.
Well, lovely. If he was that sort, he'd run Louis a merry chase, wouldn't he? I drew back and held Louis at arm's length, searching his eyes. He had that slightly tragic look to him that meant something was wrong. What, I didn't know. I hoped it was something I could actually help with, rather than relationship difficulties. I had no strengths there.
Louis and I had dated at one point, but it was a very casual sort of relationship, taking place over about three weeks when I was between assignments and he was between rich older boyfriends who liked to control him.
I hoped for his sake Robert wasn't one of them; he seemed to be committed to Louis, so there was some hope it was different from the normal pattern.
When we'd dated, the sex had been lovely, but it was a pretty casual relationship on both our sides and we had stayed friends when we ended up parting. He'd been open to getting back together when I was in the area again, and I'd been polite enough to leave the possibility open, but I think we both knew it wasn't likely to become a permanent relationship.
Still, I had some lovely memories of taking him apart under me, till he was a gibbering mess of intense pleasure. He was a sweet and responsive lover: beautiful, giving, and very sensual.
He had almost no gag reflex and was willing to go down on me at the slightest hint I might like it. Seeing him looking up at me with his sweet eyes as he swallowed me down had been extremely enjoyable. I could read his desire to please reflected in his expressive eyes: his longing to feel wanted.
With my knowledge of magic, I could read his life-beat pretty well and quickly learned what he enjoyed. It had made me a better lover than he'd expected me to be. I was able to give him as much pleasure as he did me without him having to ask for the things he most wanted but didn't like to verbalize. He'd liked a bit of rough stuff, when in a certain mood, but hated to ask in case lovers thought that was always what he wanted, or looked down on him for it.
All in all, we had some mutually enjoyable sex and a respectful friendship out of those three weeks together.
He was very pretty without his clothes on, even prettier than he was with them, and I had warm memories of lying in bed with him, both of us naked and no longer hungry for sex, enjoying being with one another, talking about our days.
He could talk on and on about decorating. I remembered letting the words wash over me in their comforting rhythm as I ran a hand lazily and gently over his bare skin. It felt good to hold him; but I had never tried to keep him, and he had never tried to keep me, either.
Robert had no reason to be jealous of me. I was not the only man who had been with Louis before they were together, and I would not apologize for that, if he ever learned of it. I thought I had treated Louis well, the way he deserved to be treated. I hoped the same was true for Robert.
Now, looking into Louis's eyes, I tried to guess what was wrong, but I couldn't. I sensed only a heavy anxiety weighing him down, but not its cause or if there even was just one cause.
"I'm so glad you came," he said, clasping my hand and squeezing it. "I do hope you can figure out what to do about Gareth, and the spy. I don't really trust either of them, I must admit, and I'm not always sure when they're telling the truth. It's all a bit much, to be honest!"
"Magicians are like that," I said, casting another quick glance at Robert. He was sticking close, watching us both. Louis had his hand still distractedly in mine, but I let it drop.
"Can you stay?" he asked abruptly. "Lunch, perhaps?"
"It's already raining. I'd rather not drive back in that." I looked at Robert, waiting to be invited or churlishly refused.
"Of course, stay a few days," he said, through slightly gritted teeth. Louis didn't notice, which gave me concern about his mental state. He was normally very observant.
I gave Louis's shoulder a squeeze and said, "Of course I will. It'll give us time to catch up."
After dealing with the magical difficulties of others, I was now in the exact place I wanted to be, to do some investigating of my own, and no one suspected a thing.
Except Robert, of course, and he only suspected I was after Louis.
But I'd already had Louis, and we'd moved through that stage and into a warm but casual friendship. My future didn't lie with Louis. I didn't think it lay with anyone, to be honest.
I let him lead me down the hall, though, talking distractedly about the decorating he'd done to the manor. I nodded along, only half listening, glad to see him, glad to see where he lived, and slightly glad even to make Robert jealous. I hoped that meant he'd pay a little more attention to Louis while I was here: there was clearly something wrong.
I would move heaven and earth to help if I could. I really am quite fond of him, you know, in the only way I can be.
#
Louis cheered up quite a bit over the meal we shared. I got to meet Skeffield, Sr., and several other members of the household. Mostly, though, I enjoyed a good meal and listening to Louis talk. It brought up nostalgic feelings in me, though no lust.
It had been a long time since I had been close enough to anyone to attend a dinner party that wasn't for work, and Louis was an excellent host. He was sensitive to other people and extremely aware of niceties. The food was excellent and the place felt very welcoming after the second glass of wine.
Robert got a faint flush to his cheeks, the only sign that he was drinking. He cast Louis alternately affectionate and concerned looks, but more of the former as the meal progressed and Louis's anxiety slid away from him.
He was in his element here, taking care of people with food and wine and cheerful conversation.
The other magicians attended the meal, as well.
Personally, I'd have let them eat in the kitchen, but now that I'd more or less given my blessing to all the magically gifted people in the house, Louis invited them all to supper.
There were a few tense moments between Gareth and Cillian at first, and Jonas didn't know what to do with his forks, but Robert was such a commanding host — it didn't even need to be said that no one was going to argue and ruin Louis's dinner party — and Louis was such a kind person that by the end, everyone had settled down and really begun to enjoy themselves.
As the wine flowed freely, I felt my sense of magic grow. I had always been stronger magically when I was drinking — better at sensing it, that is, not doing it. Doing magic often requires a clear head. But the feeling of magic — ah, that I have so much more strongly when I'm a bit tipsy.
At the beginning of the meal, the lights from the candles, reflecting and shining on faces, were the brightest thing to me. As it progressed, as I got more giggly and less sober, the lights from everyone's life-beats was stronger, like a flow of color, a wispy beauty like the Northern Lights.
I both felt and saw the pulsing, the rhythm, that each soul here had individually. It seemed for me to be connected with the heartbeat, but the soul or some individual blueprint that couldn't be measured outside of magic gave each one a form, color, and strength of its own.
Louis's was sprightly, strong, and cheerful. He had a whimsy about him even in his life-beat. I adored looking at it, so strong and happy lately, definitely happier than he'd been when he was with me. He seemed to feel safe and loved. I could want nothing more for him than that.
I raised my glass at him, toasting him, and he smiled so happily back that Robert got his glare back, if only for a moment. Robert's life-beat, even though I saw it as color and movement and rhythm, to me looked like a strong wooden thing, if that makes sense: the heart of an old oak tree, not easily swayed, and where once planted, would stay forever. I was no longer worried about whether he treated my friend right. If he didn't, he would fix that as soon as he realized. He was wholly about Louis.
His father had not attended the meal, as he was feeling poorly this evening, so I didn't get a chance to see his life-beat when I was in that state, unfortunately. I did get to see just how much better Gareth was doing, though. His life-beat was strong, pulsing, powerful: and in some ways more "him" than it had ever been before. Was it just the removing of the curse from Bauer?
I had never connected with the man, never really trusted him, and, though I bore him no ill will, I didn't consider him a friend. (I considered very few people friends, to be fair.) I was still pleased and startled to see how much stronger he'd grown, though. His connection with Silus was doing them both good, I thought.
Did a firm romantic connection with another magician give everyone such a boost? It was worth looking into. Perhaps I could find another magician to bond with and increase both our power.
If it really did increase a magician's strength, which I had heard it did for men and women, there would surely be many gay people who would be willing to give it a go, too. Having your magic and your life connected to another person might not be without difficulties, but it would be worth it, especially if you did get such a close and caring relationship out of it, as well.
I wondered at that. Silus had always been a cold son of a bitch to me, and, as far as I knew, to everyone. It didn't bother me, exactly; I had never expected different from him, and as long as he did his job and I did mine, I had no expectation that I needed to be friends with everyone anyway, so what did I care? The thing that mystified me was how he could've changed enough to care about anyone.
Gareth had some skill and a good heart, but I would not have thought him a man worth sacrificing everything for, which Silus had clearly done. He had gone to Siberia for this man, I thought, turning it over in my head, and reaching for my glass of wine again. It tasted very good tonight; everything did. Colors, smells, tastes, all enhanced, beautifully enhanced.
The good thing about my reaction to wine was that I was unlikely to impair myself in doing my job because of it. I could work even drunk, and I hated hangovers enough that I avoided getting drunk on most occasions.
The bad side of my reaction to wine was that I couldn't drink to forget. During the war, I had had no escape, and I had none now from the occasional nightmares, the memories brighter than daylight. But I pushed those thoughts away now. They were for another time, and old enough and long enough borne that I needn't think of it all now.
Having tasted the beautiful people around me — their magical traces, anyway — and feeling good about the world (aside from memories), I reached out now to see if I could get a feel for the house. It must be a special place, to have hidden so much magic for so long. Magic must have seeped into the bones of the house from having those hidden artifacts for so long.
It did not give up its secrets easily, either. I sought, probing gently. I had the map Jimmy had drawn more or less in my head, and tried to reach up higher to the second story, where that small room with the voice had been. It felt no different than the rest of the house. My quick sweep of the energies of the house revealed nowhere that stood out — although two mechanicalized ex-soldiers were secreted in the pantry, giving one another orgasms. I lingered for a moment, enjoying their pleasure. It was intense and bright, wholeheartedly given and received from both.
I moved regretfully along. It is hard, I think, to be a magician without becoming a bit of a voyeur at times. You are aware of so much, whether you want to be or not. I suspect most of us don't mind sensing a bit of pleasure sometimes, compared to the other things we have to sense...pain and regret, grief and fear and evil...
I did another quick sweep of the house, but again, I sensed no foul energies. No presence, no magic waiting to be sprung, nothing. I would have to do a closer scan soon.
I returned my attention to the dinner party in time to realize I'd missed a question. Louis was looking at me inquiringly. "Would you like to see the house?" he asked me. He was obviously hoping I'd say yes so he could show off his work.
I agreed quickly. This was the perfect chance to get a good look at the room without anyone noticing I was paying special attention to it at all. It was much better than sneaking in at night, or asking to see it, or finding some excuse of my own that people might not believe.
Louis beamed at me, and offered more wine.
I accepted. Let it never be said I'm needlessly rude.
#
Despite being tipsy, I enjoyed the tour immensely. Louis's winning ways hadn't changed, even though he'd found a new lover. I felt the warmth from him, the friendliness, just as always. We hadn't been a good love match, but we were a good match as friends, and I appreciated how glad he was to show me everything about this beautiful home. Even though it was huge, it was a home: a warmth-filled home.
Mechanicalized men lived in some of the rooms; friends and employees lived in others. Most of the house had life in it, and a life that filled it with something vital and clean. The magic hidden in it could've made it a place feeling like it had spidery cobwebs and hidden trapdoors, but that wasn't the effect at all. It was as though once revealed and removed, the fae-magic objects had left no trace of nastiness or overwhelming power behind. They must have co-existed well in the house, or been very firmly in a kind of stasis.
Whatever magic residue remained had been absorbed agreeably and easily by the house, or the mechanicalized ex-soldiers' machinery, or something else, most likely a combination of several things. Whatever the case, the house had an unusually magically clean, happy feeling to it. There was something of Louis's happiness and whimsy about it, too. He had poured love into these walls, even more than he usually did for clients.
That was one reason he was such a good designer, I felt certain. He left a home feeling better than it had before. Many might not have a great deal of taste regarding redecorating a house, or even care all that much what it looked like: but everyone cared how welcoming and happy a house felt, and when his work inspired those emotions in people — as it did — of course he was in high demand as a designer.
I'm sure he felt it was his choice in color and fabric, furniture and curtains — in short, his taste — that made him so popular. I thought it was more something internal that came out when he worked. He had no magic, no, but he had a warmth that so much of the world lacked. It made him shine very brightly indeed, and it was reflected in his work. A specific shade of yellow could brighten a wall, but Louis's care and thoughtfulness, his warmth and gentleness could brighten whole homes and lives. It had definitely done so here.
By the time we got to the room where Jimmy had been contacted, some of the wine had worn off for me. I had a clear head, although I still retained a strong sense of the magic swirling around us all, at all times.
It was a pokey little room, a tiny hole of a room, used as a library. But it wasn't a particularly large or interesting library. It was only for books on botany, horticulture, agriculture, and floriculture. The books were old, yellowing, and extremely specialized. They looked as if they'd be very dull unless one was an absolute enthusiast and expert — perhaps even then.
There were a few samples in frames on the walls, and a case with some ancient seeds behind glass, the shelves of books, and a comfortable chair. But the room was clearly almost never used. Louis seemed not to have known what to do to redecorate it, so he'd left it alone aside from changing the chair and switching the wallpaper to a pale green with unobtrusive leaf patterning.
The room was disappointing. I quested here and there, feeling as best I could, but there was nothing different about it that I could find. It was deeply mundane, more mundane magically than the kitchen. I couldn't make sense of it.
Whatever the voice was, it had activated and contacted Jimmy. But it would not activate here for me, and it had hidden itself too well to be detected by even my skilled magic. I wondered at that, and it made me more concerned than ever.
Louis kept shooting curious glances at my face, concerned, so something must've shown on my features. I made an effort to smooth them, and asked him to show me more of the house.
"Almost finished now," he said, taking my arm through his. "I think you'll adore your room!"
I did. He'd done it in wallpaper with a large rose print. The most "masculine" thing in the room was a small wooden dresser, and even this held an air of delicacy about it, with its finely curved, fragile legs.
The bed was big and soft, with lots of soft flower-print pillows, a delicate pink lamp on a stand, and white lace bedspread. The room had a lush delicacy about it, and the warmth and friendliness about it told me I would sleep very well here indeed. It was also in a very quiet part of the house.
Robert looked uncomfortably around at the design, heavy on pink and soft fabrics, laces and doilies. It was not a quiet room, but it was deeply peaceful. Louis had made this a soft place, a restful place to let down one's guard, a place for nothing overtly masculine. Robert, with his military background, had no plans to enjoy it, apparently.
He seemed in a hurry to leave, and in fact left Louis and me alone for the first time since I'd arrived in the house.
Louis dropped his smile and turned to me. "Oh, Jocelyn, are you all right, really? You don't seem quite...here." He looked at me with concern, gently grasping my arms, searching my face with his sensitive, empathetic gaze.
I shrugged. I didn't want to tell him I was trying to work and that was why I was distracted. The cover had held up so well, I saw no reason to blow it just to allay his concern. I squeezed his arms in return and told him I was fine, very well indeed.
"Is it the nightmares again?" he asked, tilting his head, compassion in his gaze.
I looked away. He had known me well enough to find out about the nightmares, or at least more than I shared with most people. Any people.
"No worse than normal. How are you?"
"I am quite well, thank you." He laughed. But there was a strain around his eyes that told me he was lying. A shadow, something bothering him, despite his lovely and happy life.
It wasn't his boyfriend, was it? I'd seen how happy they were together. I really hadn't thought this had anything to do with Robert.
"Tell me," I said softly.
He dropped his head, sagging, and let out a heavy huff of air. "I never can hide anything from you, can I?" His voice was low now, and devoid of his chipper, cheerful lilt. He almost sounded like a different person.
I waited.
He swallowed visibly. "It will sound so...so foolish, Jocelyn. I hate to burden you with this..."
"Burden me. I'm here for you, Louis."
"I — I know. But you deal with real nightmares, and you n-never complain even once." His voice hitched, and he brought a hand up to cover his mouth. Tears brimmed in his eyes. "They hurt. It's tearing me up, and — and I dread going to bed, because it'll be there again. He'll be there. The — the nightmare voice." He gave a full-bodied shiver, and finally met my eyes, his gaze guilty and haunted.
I felt something grow very still inside me.
"Who's there, Louis? In the dream."
Fear made his face look gaunt, and his eyes were far away, dark with the weight of this. "Someone talking to me. Offering me things, whatever I want, if only I'll release him. I don't even know how to release — whatever it is. But it seems...bad. Evil, Jocelyn."
It made a frightening kind of sense. The presence had been able to reach Jimmy and communicate with him — after nightfall — because he was touched by magic but completely lacking in the ability to do any himself. He'd been touched by magic during the war. For Louis, that touch had come later, with some of the things surrounding the manor and the artifacts secreted here. Apparently that gave the thing the ability to contact them.
It had contacted Jimmy, Louis, and perhaps others within the vicinity. But I would be willing to guess none of them had any actual magic or the ability to really understand what was happening...or how to stop it. I wondered how many others were being haunted by this sinister voice.
Louis swallowed. "I don't...I don't know how to make it stop. And I'm afraid...what if someday I accidentally say yes? What if there's something I want enough and, even in the dream, I say yes, j-just once? What will happen?" He looked at me, haunted and frightened and so very brave. "I know it's just a dream, but I — I hate sleep these days. I hate that voice, but I don't know how to make it stop."
I clasped his hands. "I'll make it stop, Louis. I think I can help with this. Thank you for telling me."
He looked so relieved, I was afraid he might burst into tears. Instead, he hugged me tightly, pressing his face against my shoulder. The shudders that went through him might have been tears. I rubbed his back, and held him close.
He had been so frightened, poor fellow.
"Never mind, old man, never mind," I said. "I'll fix it all."
Robert returned to the room abruptly. "What's the holdup?" he began, and then stopped when he saw us embracing, a stony look entering his soldier's mien.
Louis moved away from me and started toward Robert, his face tearful but alight with hope. "Oh, Robert! He's going to help me. He's going to help me with the dreams!"