Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Kit
AS I WALKED THROUGH THE HALLS of the brC building, frustration settled like a seething mass in my lungs.
The broadcast I’d finished recording with my colleague had gone as well as could be expected.
I’d known when I left Germany to return to Halifax there would be unfavourable opinions.
My detractors, ever ready with a pithy pot-shot, were already lambasting me in the press as nothing but a frightened boy abandoning the troops—and indeed all Canadians—at the final crisis.
I’d mitigated as best I could, explaining I’d only come home to address a family emergency and expected to be back in Germany soon with our soldiers.
Until then, I’d told everyone I had full confidence in Sam McKenna’s capability as a temporary replacement.
And that I had no doubt my dear friend and French counterpart for Radio-Canada, Pierre Tremblay, would take Sam beneath his wing.
The rest of the interview had gone smoothly, and at the end I’d gratefully escaped with the ready excuse of other engagements.
Could a person drown in guilt? Because my sense of duty and honor agreed with those who believed I was letting the troops down.
They didn’t get to leave, family emergencies or not.
And I was a familiar face, someone many of them had met.
My visits were always well received. I’d been told over and over it improved morale for Kit Daring to tag along.
As if my being there made them important, their stories remarkable, when I was nothing more than a peddler of pretty words.
But if I made them feel commendable, my role in the war had made me feel doubly so.
The danger of the action, the thrilling escapes and intrigue…
It wasn’t altruistic, my need to be in the thick of it.
A part of history as it unfolded before me.
And my absence certainly wouldn’t alter the outcome; the Allies were going to win in due course, no doubt left. But my ego implied I ought to be there to record everything.
How could it only have been a day since I discovered Ted and Mary-Alice missing?
It felt like years, my mind’s shadowy recesses offering scenario after horrible scenario whenever I wasn’t actively focused on other things.
A day seemed far too long to have nothing to show for the search.
Some part of me had foolishly hoped Gus would work his magic and instantly solve the problem.
The fact his spell didn’t succeed worried me.
Something blocking him wasn’t occurring by accident.
Gus didn’t have to say as much for me to understand he believed so too, but asking him to use blood magic to overcome the resistance was a bridge too far.
The instability blood introduced exponentially increased the odds of a backfire or harm to the caster.
But it also increased the power of a spell, hopefully enough to pierce whatever was getting in the way.
It was dangerous, even if Gus was exceptionally gifted.
Just because I hadn’t ever seen him get seriously injured using blood magic, didn’t mean he’d never been. I was gone a long time.
Using my blood would give us the strongest chance since I was connected to Ted by it, but it would also make the spell much harder to control.
It was bad enough I was asking him to do blood magic at all, I wasn’t going to force Gus to risk killing us both.
Besides, I shouldn’t have asked him to do it in the open.
His family had kept their secret for generations and letting it get out could put his livelihood and reputation at risk.
The legislation that had been well on its way to curtailing the use of magic in general and blood magic in particular had stalled when a second world war broke out.
Governments around the world decided using magic, even blood magic, wasn’t so bad if it gave them a leg up on their enemies, but eventually the war would end.
No mage I knew had any delusions: once it was no longer useful, we’d be right back on the chopping block.
Except I wouldn’t be. With magic that never worked right, so was never used, it was easy for me and Ted to conceal our heritage. We shouldn’t have to, but we did all the same. I had to be more careful talking to Gus about his.
Quietly humming a tune I’d had stuck in my head all day, I almost made it to the elevators when a cultured male voice called my name.
“Yes?” I asked, turning to greet a tall thin man in his late thirties or early forties. The expensive-looking suit he wore said he was someone with clout.
His face lit up as he closed in on me, then shook my hand with a cool firm grip. “Montgomery Herbert, brC Vice President. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Daring. I’ve heard fantastic things.”
“That’s great to hear, sir. Hopefully I live up to them.”
“It’s fantastic luck I caught you before you left. I’d planned to listen in on your interview, but I got roped into a meeting and—do you know, I think I’m a little star struck. You’ll have to forgive my rambling.”
His bashful expression was charming. I shook my head and tried not to laugh. This wasn’t an unusual reaction to me, but it had never been my bosses who stumbled over their words. “Nothing to forgive. I wouldn’t exactly call myself a star.”
“But you are!” Boyish excitement filled his voice. “Everyone in Canada knows you. My mother talks about your broadcasts with the pride you’d expect she’d reserve for her own children.”
A chuckle escaped me. “Tell her I’m glad of her support. It means the world to me that my work is so cherished.”
“No, no, I can’t tell her that. She might consider you adopted and downgrade me to second favourite,” he said, expression comically rueful. His eyes sparkled when I laughed.
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“Personally, I might be able to live with the downgrade, but my sister would take it quite poorly if she was bumped down another rung.”
We grinned at each other, and I recognized a glimmer of attraction in his gaze. That was interesting.
And complicated.
“Listen, Mr. Daring—Kit?”
“Kit’s fine.”
“Kit, then. We’re hosting a film viewing for certain key employees Wednesday evening at The Capitol Theater. I’d love for you to attend. It’ll be a good chance to rub elbows with the players in Halifax. I know you’re not planning to stay long, but connections are always nice to have, yes?”
Go to a theater when I ought to be looking for Ted? Regretfully, I shook my head. “I don’t—”
“It would mean a lot to brC to have you there. Politicians will be in attendance, and local businessmen. You’ve got quite the record for charming them to throw more funding our way, I’m told. Mr. Whitman of Whitman’s Department stores has already asked if you’ll be there.”
Now what were the odds of that? For the second time in as many days, someone was mentioning him to me. If he was asking after me, did he know I’d visited Salter’s house? And if so, why did he care? “If it means that much, I’ll be there.”
“Excellent! Should we send a car for you?”
“Please. I haven’t had the opportunity to hire one yet.”
“Oh. I have a cousin who can get you an excellent deal. We can arrange that. In the meantime, the car will pick you up at six-thirty. There will be a reception before the showing, so I’ll see you there.
” The unsubtle way his gaze raked over my body left me in little doubt as to how much he was looking forward to it.
Flattered and apprehensive in equal measure, I gave him a small uncomfortable smile. “See you there.”
Gus
MUM WAS FRYING MEAT FOR SHEPHERD’S pie, while I poked at the boiling potatoes with a fork to check if they were done. “You’re making an awful lot. Are you expecting company?”
“Matter of fact I am, but that’s not why.
I figured poor Kit’s over there in that stuffy old house all alone, and he’s probably worried sick about Ted and Mary-Alice.
Who knows when the last time he ate was?
So I doubled the recipe. You can take it over when it’s ready,” she said, not looking up to see my reaction.
“I can, huh?”
“Mhm. While you’re at it, you could have dinner with the man. I know you took his case, so you’re clearly not avoiding each other like you have been.”
“Mum—”
“He needs a friend, Gus. And you’re all he’s got.” She did look at me then, her gaze imploring before she went back to shuffling around the finely chopped meat.
Sighing, I turned off the burner under the potatoes. “These are done. Who are you having over?”
Mum’s face flushed slightly. I thought so, anyway. Her skin was already pink from the heat of the stove, but no, she’d definitely gone a shade darker. Something uncomfortable churned in my gut.
“No one you know. A friend.” Her gaze darted to meet mine, then went right back to the stove. “We met at the hospital.”
A man, she meant. A man she was seeing. At her home, just the two of them, so it must be serious.
Or maybe it wasn’t. I hadn’t expected her to be alone for the rest of her life, had I?
She deserved companionship and love. Not that I believed in the lasting power of love these days, but if anyone deserved it, she did.
So why did I suddenly feel seventeen again and as wrongfooted as when I came home to find her crying because my father had left?
“What were you doing at the hospital?”
Brightening at my question, she replied, “The new series of articles I’m working on profiles the work of the doctors and nurses at the veteran’s hospital.
I’ll also be interviewing veterans and their families.
We’re hoping the paper spotlighting them will bring in some donations for veterans’ rehabilitation. ”
“Can’t wait to read them, Mum.”
After she finished cooking, I did as asked and headed over to make her delivery.