Chapter 7 #2
After that he went to bed, but not to sleep. He stared at the now-closed door, heart thumping too fast in his chest, wondering what in the hell that visit had been about.
Ella disappeared down the towpath that led to Ellicott Mills’ schoolhouse, and Beatrix stepped into the clearing beyond, the one where she’d danced with Garrett during their brief courtship.
That had been in the fall, the leaves in a riot of color overhead and underfoot.
Now the trees circling this space were snow-covered and dark.
“Beatrix …”
She spun about. Garrett was standing in the clearing. Here and now.
As she fell back a step in shock, he strode toward her, deep green coat swirling behind him.
“Stop,” she said, unaccountably afraid. “Don’t come any closer.”
He did stop, a wounded expression ghosting across his face, and she took a calming breath. Showing up in the middle of the forest after she’d told him never to come again was unnerving, but she wasn’t in any physical danger from him.
Then she recollected what he’d done to Peter and took another step backward.
“I asked you to stay away,” she said.
“Beatrix—this is important.”
For a split second she thought he’d come to warn her about her bugged house. Then he said, “What is Blackwell doing?”
Her breath caught. “What?”
“Why is he here?”
Back when she’d desperately wanted Garrett to figure that out, he’d done all but nothing. Now that she desperately wanted him to remain in the dark—now, he cared?
“He needed a break from the stress,” she said, handing over the answer Peter had once given her.
Garrett shook his head. “I don’t believe that. You don’t believe that.”
“Haven’t you ever wanted to stop?”
Her jab hit. He winced.
“Sometimes,” she said, “people just want to come home.”
He crossed his arms, face hardening. “And sometimes, people want to take advantage of a helpless woman.”
“That’s enough,” she said, and stalked from the clearing.
He ran after her. “Why are you defending him? You hated him.”
“I’m not defending him, I’m defending myself,” she said, not breaking her stride. “A helpless woman? You really don’t know me at all.”
“Beatrix,” he said, and he sounded so distraught that she slowed to glance at him. “What sort of deal has he struck with you?”
Her rapidly beating heart stuttered. Had he found the contracts? Did he know?
Her voice sounded odd to her own ears as she said, “What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t in his bed last night,” Garrett said. “Don’t make me say what I mean.”
Oh, for the—
“Wizard Garrett,” she said, stopping.
“Theo.”
“Wizard Garrett, I share a bedroom with my sister. I don’t do anything at night except sleep. And I am not having relations with my employer.”
Except in dreams. Though … not last night. What had happened?
Garrett did not look appeased, and she forced her attention back to him.
“Of course you would say that,” he said. “You don’t trust me.”
No, she didn’t.
“You’ll be found out,” he said.
“I’m telling you, I’m not having—”
“Is he making you meet him somewhere at night after everyone’s asleep?”
She glared at him. “No. Be sensible! We’d be exhausted all day while making highly technical brews.”
He frowned—a thoughtful frown, not a mulish one.
“I’m going to be late for work,” she said. “And so are you, assuming I’m not your assignment.”
“You’re not.” His voice was low. “Beatrix, I swear I’m on your side.”
And yet he didn’t say a word about the recording equipment. She crossed her arms.
“Once I’m determined to do something, I never, ever quit,” he said, pinning her with his gaze.
Her stomach clenched. Did he mean Peter or her?
She caught a glimpse of red as he pulled a leaf from his coat.
He was gone with a pop. She braced herself against a tree, waiting for the adrenaline to clear.
Then she strode on to work, the conversation replaying in her head.
Helpless woman. Don’t make me say what I mean.
Honestly! Garrett all but accused her of prostituting herself and then had the gall to say—
She stopped at the edge of the forest. If he had known about the recording equipment, he could have seen for himself that she didn’t leave her bed all night.
Did he not know? Did he not have access to the recordings?
Or perhaps he did but thought someone was listening, and that was his roundabout way of warning her?
He wasn’t in his bed last night. Wait—did Garrett break into Peter’s house? She remembered with a jolt why she hadn’t slept with him overnight: Dreamside had abruptly cut off.
She ran the rest of the way to work.
As she lifted her fist to hammer on the door, it opened, revealing a white-faced Peter. She leapt inside and shut the door behind her.
“Are you—” she started to say, but he put a finger to his lips.
“He’s gone,” she murmured.
His eyes widened. “You saw him?”
“Talked to him and watched him dematerialize.”
He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Let me check the house. Just in case.”
The trembling wasn’t obvious at first, but by the time he got to the attic, he had to hold his casting arm still to get the magic to take.
“Peter—what did he do to you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “He didn’t see me. But I couldn’t get any sleep after he left.”
She took his arm. “Come on. Bed.”
“No, the R&D—”
“You’ll be good for nothing until you sleep,” she said, leading him out of the attic.
“All right.” He sounded so exhausted that she wondered how he’d stayed awake as long as he had. “What did Garrett say to you?”
She recounted the conversation—he winced at Garrett’s accusation—and finished as he crawled into bed.
“It was too much to hope that he’d never come back,” Peter said. “But why now?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem likely that it was pure coincidence he showed up so soon after the equipment was installed, but he didn’t say anything about it.”
“Well—we did learn something useful.”
“What?”
He sighed. “I saw him dematerialize hours ago, and my locket charm went off only once since then. So when wizards teleport in—”
“It doesn’t set off the charm,” she said, stomach sinking. They’d suspected as much, but she’d hoped all along that it wasn’t true.
“Without fail, we must keep the protection spell around this house,” he said.
If a wizard got in unobserved … She shuddered. She didn’t want to think about the consequences.
“Wait,” Peter said as she turned to go.
He reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a package wrapped in silver paper. A present. Her heart twisted.
“Merry Christmas, Beatrix.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, hardly able to get the words out.
She opened it downstairs, self-reproach making her fingers clumsy. Inside was a red-and-brown scarf—warm, soft to the touch, beautiful. Something she needed but would not have bought. A perfect gift.
She blinked back tears, thought of her sister—this could be the day—and got to work.