Chapter Eight #4
“Well, I can’t exactly show up on Carlisle’s doorstep announcing myself as an F.L.E.A. and asking questions—not if we hope to keep this quiet.”
“But how long can we expect to be able to keep word of this from spreading—if it keeps happening, I mean?” Vesper asked. “Incidents of rogue magic aren’t easy to cover up, you know.”
“It’s a bit easier when you have the government on your side,” he said, a slow, smug smile curving his lips.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself. And if you’re expecting me to fall over myself fawning at how wonderful it is that the Fleas can help us—”
“F.L.E.A.s. And don’t worry, I have met you before, you understand.”
She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again.
That should have been an insult—or, if not precisely an insult, then not entirely a compliment, either.
But there was something about the way he said it—something knowing and teasing, something that implied that he knew who she was and liked her the better for it—that made her feel warm inside.
So, instead of retorting, she merely said, “Will you speak to your superior at work tomorrow?”
He nodded. “Perhaps I can stop by your flat and tell you what I’ve learned before I head home in the evening?”
She shook her head. “I’m at Holloway’s tomorrow evening starting at five—why don’t you come see me there instead? And could you try to ensure that you don’t look like you’re about to whip out a Flea badge at a moment’s notice, this time?”
“You’re incredibly irritating when you want to be, aren’t you?”
Somehow he made this sound like a compliment, too.
Instead of replying, Vesper allowed her gaze to wander around the room; no one seemed to be paying them any mind, and she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
There were tables full of revelers, though the crowd was, as Ashbridge had noted, not overwhelming, and the audience skewed slightly female.
There were at least three tables occupied by ladies who were exchanging rather seductive glances—or, in one case, an open-mouthed kiss—secure in the knowledge that no one present this evening would be bothered by the sight.
Vesper was fond of Mauve’s for this reason.
When it had been Colton’s, the magic on offer had lain in the way of hallucinatory effects—the sort of magic that Vesper, personally, didn’t like much.
After her husband’s death, however, Genevieve had started making the potions and powders using her own family Word—hers was an old family whose magic was nearly gone, and she was the last of its line.
The menu items on offer now were gentler, solely focused on erasing unpleasant memories, lifting moods, creating feelings of well-being and trust. It was, honestly, quite lovely.
It was the sort of place where people might come for an evening to escape, without worrying about the consequences.
“You look happy,” Ashbridge said, and Vesper glanced up at him, startled, wondering what he’d read in her expression.
“I like Mauve’s. It always feels so cozy and safe.”
His brow wrinkled a bit. “As safe as one can feel while breaking the law?”
Vesper rolled her eyes. “It’s only been illegal for a few years.”
“No,” he corrected. “During the war, too.” This was true; licensing laws had been tightened during the war, and magic had been caught in that net—it was what had led to the government eventually making the changes permanent, with the Forbiddance and Licensing Act of 1920.
The thinking at the time had been that an intoxicated and bespelled population was not good for war readiness.
“We thought that was temporary, though,” she reminded him. “And before that, these clubs had existed for generations—my grandmother brought me to Mauve’s once when I was a child.”
“Charming. Indoctrinate them young, is that the philosophy?”
Her grip on his shoulders tightened. “It’s not indoctrination, Ashbridge—it’s our way of life. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Isn’t that always the line? None of us mundanes would understand—we’re not sophisticated enough to grasp the complexities of the magical world.”
“No,” Vesper said shortly. “It’s that you’ve not even tried—you decided you disliked magic before you ever knew anything about it.”
“For good reason,” he informed her, his jaw tight.
In the dim light of the room, his gray eyes looked troubled.
It struck her once again, the rankling sensation of irritation still coursing through her, what a risk she was taking, inviting a man inside this magical club who could so easily shut it down, ruin everything that was special about this place, this world—her world.
However, as she turned in his arms in the soft light, looking at his handsome, frowning face, she decided—in a fit of will that was completely untethered to logic—that she simply wouldn’t allow it.
She would not allow this man, representing a government that she despised, to ruin everything that she held dear.
She loved magic.
And by the time she was finished with Max Ashbridge, she vowed to herself in that moment, she was going to make him love it, too.