Chapter Twenty-Six
TWENTY-SIX
Something lurched in Vesper’s chest.
She tried to stay calm, to employ reason and logic the way she always did when faced with a crisis.
But the longer Maximilian seized, the more her panic heightened.
She started to have flashbacks, memories of the way Francis Gladwell had seized and convulsed the same way in the museum’s maze before he’d died. Her mouth went dry.
“Mr. Kite.” She crossed the room in a few strides and knelt beside him. “Can you hear me? Tell me what I need to do.”
“Miss Evans.” Maximilian’s eyes were screwed shut. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Please … don’t … trouble yourself. I’ll be fine in just a moment.”
Vesper stared. “You’re absolutely not fine,” she said indignantly. “Something’s very wrong. You’re clearly ill.” She started to stand. “I’m going to go get Mrs. Cauble.”
“Don’t.” Maximilian was still grimacing, his eyes were still closed, but his voice was steadier, firm. “She’s probably asleep right now. I don’t want to wake her. Not for this.”
“Maximilian.” Vesper’s fear was giving way to impatience. “You can’t just stay like this. You need to see a doctor. We need to figure out what’s—”
“I already know what’s wrong, Miss Evans.
” There was a touch of annoyance in Maximilian’s voice.
“Believe me, a doctor’s not going to fix it.
” He seemed to brace himself, then with some effort, he sat up.
He kept his eyes closed as he turned toward the fire, so that Vesper was staring at the back of his head. She frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s better if I show you.” He took a deep breath, then slowly he turned to face her. Vesper gasped.
Maximilian’s eyes were no longer a normal color like brown, gray, blue, or green—they were bright purple, the color of a hyacinth in bloom. She went still.
“What’s happened to your eyes?”
Maximilian covered his face. “It’s the arcanic energy,” he explained. “Using it makes me ill.”
“What?” Vesper frowned. “Are you sure? I’ve never heard of arcanic energy having a physical effect on anyone, negative or otherwise.”
Maximilian examined his fingernails. “That’s true for most of the population,” he said calmly, “but there’s a very small percentage of people who can develop what’s referred to medically as an arcanic energy intolerance.”
Vesper blinked. “What exactly does that entail?”
Maximilian frowned. “I can be around it, but when I try to channel it in great quantities, my body reacts poorly to it.”
“How poorly?”
“Imagine a migraine headache, but much worse.”
The words took a moment to sink in. Vesper stared at him, horrified. “So, every time you use sorcery, you get sick?”
“It depends,” said Maximilian. “Sometimes, I can do a little without issue. Other times…” He winced. “It can take hours or even days to recover. The more arcanic energy I channel, the worse it usually is.”
Something clicked into place and Vesper thought back on all the times she’d see Maximilian use sorcery.
She remembered the first night she’d met him, when she’d seen him onstage beside Francis Gladwell.
All this time, she thought he’d been uncomfortable because of the inventor, but had that discomfort come from using sorcery? She thought of something else.
“That’s why you went into the maze,” Vesper said. “You were having a reaction after what you did for Mr. Gladwell’s demonstration.”
“I was able to get it under control quickly that time,” he said. “But yes, that’s why I was there.”
“And after you got us out of Mr. Gladwell’s hotel room, when you collapsed at the end…”
“I tried to hold on for as long as I could.” Maximilian sounded pained now. “I spent the next four hours in bed recovering.”
“Do your eyes turn purple every time?” she asked.
“A side effect.” The sorcerer nodded. “It’s why I change the color. I’d rather people think I’m vain than know the real reason.”
“I don’t understand.” Vesper shook her head. “If channeling arcanic energy does this to you, why on earth would you continue to use it so frequently?”
Maximilian massaged the back of his neck.
“I didn’t find out about my intolerance until my third year at university,” he said slowly.
“At first, I thought I’d caught some sort of cold, then I told myself that it was just a by-product of stress.
” He shook his head. “Eventually though, through process of elimination, I figured it out. I told myself that I would use sorcery less once my studies were complete and I’d received a degree, but then…
” He shrugged. “I suppose a part of me doesn’t want to give it up.
Sometimes, I believe I really can handle it, but… ”
“But you can’t,” said Vesper gently. “You’re not being honest with yourself about your own body’s limitations.”
“It’s not just that.” Maximilian massaged his temple. “There’s also my reputation to consider.”
Vesper blinked. “Your reputation?”
“I come from a long line of respectable sorcerers,” he said. “People wouldn’t understand if I didn’t use sorcery in my everyday life.”
“People wouldn’t expect you to use sorcery if they knew what it cost you,” Vesper argued.
For the first time, Maximilian looked scornful.
“Miss Evans, I’m the sole proprietor of a multimillion-gild company.
Everything—my family’s reputation, our fortune, the Kite legacy—hinges on the belief that I am a strong, competent, and capable leader.
If people knew that I was a sorcerer who couldn’t perform sorcery, what exactly do you think that would make me? ”
“It would make you Max,” said Vesper firmly. “And it would make you a person still deserving of respect and decency.”
The sorcerer blinked, surprised. “Max?”
“What?”
“You just called me Max, not Maximilian.”
Vesper felt her face warm. “Isn’t that what you prefer? That’s what you said the first time I interviewed you. I put it in my notes.”
Maximilian nodded. “It is.”
Vesper looked away, and for a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Abruptly, Maximilian stood. He moved around one of the armchairs, and snatched a glass and a large brown bottle from the side table next to it before sitting back down next to her on the rug.
“What is that?” Vesper asked.
“This?” Maximilian looked down at the bottle. “It’s apple cider, spiked with whiskey.” A devilish smile touched his face. “I don’t suppose you’d want some?”
There was a hint of challenge in the question.
Vesper heard it. She knew, in any other situation, that she would have said no.
Sharing a drink with someone like Maximilian Kite was more than a little ill-advised.
But then she thought about what had happened in the bathtub earlier, the voices she hadn’t been able to silence.
Maybe a drink, just a sip, would quiet her mind and help her sleep tonight.
She held out a hand. Maximilian stared at her.
“Really?”
“Pour me a glass.”
Maximilian blinked in surprise, poured, then handed Vesper the glass. She sipped tentatively. The drink tasted just like normal apple cider, but there was a pleasant cinnamon aftertaste that burned the back of her throat when she swallowed. She handed the glass back, and Maximilian clapped.
“Well, well,” he murmured. “The no-nonsense reporter’s got expensive taste. You should know, the whiskey in that goes for five hundred gild a bottle.”
Never in her life had she ever consumed anything worth that much. She made herself shrug. “It all tastes the same.”
Maximilian gave her an amused look. “You continue to amaze me, Miss Evans.”
Vesper shifted slightly. She didn’t know what to make of the way Maximilian was looking at her. His eyes, still purple, seemed to be getting brighter. The sorcerer grinned.
“You all right?”
“Fine,” she said. She searched for a way to divert the conversation and looked down at herself. “I saw the picture in the hall of you and your parents.” She paused. “What happened to them?”
Maximilian studied his fingernails. “My parents were always interested in new technology. One day, when I was fourteen, they were invited to join the maiden voyage of a flying invention called a dirigible.”
Vesper had a sinking feeling.
“The dirigible crashed shortly after takeoff,” said Maximilian brusquely. “Hard landing. No survivors. I suppose it’s why I’m hesitant when it comes to new technology.” He said the words without emotion.
Vesper did some quick mental math. If Maximilian had turned twenty just a few months ago, and his parents had died when he was fourteen, it meant that he’d lived in this huge manor alone for the last six years.
She’d lost her family too, but at least she’d had Tom and the staff at the Globe.
She felt a surprising pity for the sorcerer.
“I’d like to make a deal with you, Miss Evans.” Maximilian’s tone had warmed again. “You just asked me a question, and now I’d like to ask you one. We’ll call it … a game of reciprocity.”
Vesper pursed her lips, immediately skeptical. “What on earth would you want to ask me?”
The sorcerer paused for a moment, apparently thinking, then: “Why do you live at the Globe’s office, instead of with your family?”
Vesper stiffened.
“Sorry.” Maximilian turned to face her. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”
Vesper took a deep breath. She’d never told anyone about the worst day of her life. For eleven years, it had been her secret, a creature she’d kept caged in the back of her mind where it couldn’t hurt her. She looked at Maximilian and made a decision.
“Pour me another glass.”
Maximilian refilled the glass and handed it to her again. Vesper downed it in one swallow. She waited until the burn in her throat subsided, and then she spoke again.
“Have you ever heard of the Hillbrook Fire of 1887?”
Maximilian frowned, clearly confused. “I was a child, but I remember it vaguely,” he said. “It happened down in Pebblebrook, right? Wasn’t it a bakery that went up in flames?”