Father of Mine #2
I look at the clock, seeing it’s now just shy of eleven a.m. This isn’t an optimal time to reach out yet.
He’ll be three cups deep into the fortified Turkish coffee he drinks in place of water, and if he’s not already on a conference call with the board, he’s probably haranguing the gardener about the unevenness of the hedge maze.
Still, Morgana wants intel, and I am nothing if not a dutiful errand boy.
Especially because I have shit to make up for and I intend to do so thoroughly.
I tap the contact, and listen to the cold, recursive ring of the Briarton family line while I brace for impact. He answers on the second cycle, as though he’s been sitting in the study waiting for bad news.
“Septimus Helios Briarton the Fifth, at your service,” he barks, his voice like gravel and dry leaves.
Christ, he’s such a stilted old windbag.
“Father,” I say, trying for lightness and failing. “It’s Ignatius. Didn’t it show me on the caller ID?”
There’s a pause, long enough to register as an insult. “Ah, so you do remember you have a father. I wondered, since it’s been, what, six months? Since the Spring Solstice debacle?”
Here we go—the old ‘you’ll never measure up’ song and dance.
“I had finals to grade,” I say. “I have a duty to my students, and now that there’s a new Dean… I simply haven’t been able to make time for anything.”
“Ah, the new regime. The Society’s version of parole that’s darkening our ivory halls of education with a murderous blight.
Morgana LeCiel… from nothing yet she felt she could taint the reputation of illustrious and well-loved Coronas.
” The way he says her name, you’d think she was an off-brand detergent.
“Tell me, Ignatius, how is it you can find time for that, but not for your own blood on the important mage holidays?”
Because even the bullshit here is better than a Briarton family occasion, you jackass.
My teeth clench as I grit out, “I didn’t skip Samhain on purpose. There was—there was an incident with a student. The campus has been extremely busy with revamping security and the investigations.”
He snorts. “You have a knack for collecting lost causes, son. Is that why you’re still languishing in a mid-level posting?”
“I’m the department chair and have been for years now,” I point out, though the title means exactly nothing in the real world.
“Head of the department is not enough for a Briarton,” he counters. “When I was your age?—”
“Yeah, you’d already taken over the consortium, I know.” I don’t mean for it to sound mocking, but it does.
His way of taking over would earn someone jail time now and he has no qualms about ignoring that fact.
“Your mother is worried,” he says. That’s a lie—she’s never worried about anything since she dove into pleasure magic and bondage clubs after he started having affairs. “She thinks you’re getting soft.”
I almost laugh. “If by ‘soft’ you mean not willing to engage in blood feuds with the rest of the board, then sure.”
He ignores the jab. “What do you want, Ignatius? I have a meeting with the Dutch investors in five minutes, and arguing with you was not on my schedule. It’s a waste of energy, as always.”
I stall for a moment as I consider how to put this. “There was a murder on campus.”
Another pause, as he’s listening now, eyes narrowing somewhere in a house full of oil portraits. “One besides the first? Interesting. Go on.”
I give him the short version, and a few facts I know he’ll appreciate so he stays curious, then hit him with what I want. “Do you know anything about the Beauregards I should be aware of?” I ask.
My father laughs, and it’s the kind of sound that makes your spine shrink. “Everyone knows the dirt on the Beauregards. They’re old money with the usual flaws. Their men never could keep their baser instincts under control.”
I jot down a note. “You think this could have been because of family rivalries?”
“I think everything ties into business and old grudges at our level, son,” he says. “The matriarch is still alive, while her husband is not, yes?”
“Allegedly,” I say. “She’s kept herself out of the news since the last lawsuit. From what I gather, the heirs handle most things now.”
“If she’s in play, your little problem will escalate quickly.” He lowers his voice, a trick he uses to make you lean in, even over the phone. “If I were you, I’d keep your head down. Or, better yet, use this as an opportunity to get close to the new dean—that’s how you rise.”
I want to tell him that I’m already closer to Morgana than he can imagine, that she’s probably reading my mind right now, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “She’s not easy to impress.”
“Then you’ll have to work harder,” he says, and I can hear the sneer in his voice. “Don’t embarrass me, Ignatius.”
Before I can reply, he disconnects. A click, then silence, like the world is done with me for the day.
I put my phone down, and breathe for a moment.
My office smells like magic and all the accoutrements, which is soothing.
Out the window, I hear students in pea coats laughing as though no one’s ever died within ten miles of this place.
I can taste bitterness on my tongue, which is nothing new after a call with him.
I see the screen of my laptop with bright colors.
The leather of my chair is soft and comfortable, as I sit quietly.
All five senses are engaged and my anxiety can melt away if I just breathe.
I text Morgana the bare minimum, so she knows I’ve been working on what I promised.
Magic Man: Beauregard family info is thin, but I will add to the files.
Lady M: Don’t do anything that will cause you harm, but press for more if you can.
I delete the thread, then close my eyes and try to will myself into a better version of the day.
It doesn’t work, but I pretend it does.