15. Disappearing Ink
FIFTEEN
DISAPPEARING INK
Patience is a practice that must be mastered in both human and animal forms. When your instincts urge you to act swiftly, it is often the perfect moment to embrace stillness and restraint. True strength lies not in haste, but in the art of waiting.
To maintain your dignity, try focusing on the small, deliberate motions that ground you in the present—whether it’s adjusting a cufflink or tracing the rim of a glass.
These subtle gestures provide an outlet for your instincts without betraying your impatience.
Patience is not only a mark of refinement but also of control, allowing you to navigate both human society and the natural world with elegance and grace.
–EXCERPT FROM THE METAMORPHIC MAN: A GENTLEMAN SHAPESHIFTER’S GUIDE TO CULTURED CONDUCT
“Here, at least have a donut before making her sign anything.” Will shook the donut box at Arthur. “It would be a crime for you to come all this way and not indulge a little.”
Arthur hesitated, salivating over a bear claw. Will shook the box a second time.
“Come on, live a little.”
Arthur capitulated, helping himself to a flaky, buttery, cinnamon-laced bear claw.
The exterior of the pastry was covered with paper thin slivers of shaved nuts, resembling fur.
The tip of each phalange of the bear’s paw ended with a whole pointed almond evoking the claw.
He could smell the rich marzipan and rum raisin filling.
It was a work of art. Almost too beautiful to eat.
Arthur set the pastry down on a napkin. “The entire reason I’m here today is to save Ms. Westabrook the trouble and fuss of having to travel back to Boston to handle this matter.”
“I do think I’d like to know a little more about the property, though,” Maida interjected. “And about you too, Arthur. I knew you looked familiar at the crosswalk.” She pulled a pencil from her pocket and began to doodle absent-mindedly on the back of the paper menu.
“You did?” Arthur raised a brow, casually, as if his heart hadn’t resumed its frantic tap dance. He could feel her knees laced between his and it was making the hair beneath his pants leg grow. He didn’t dare move. Friction would only make matters worse.
Desperate for a distraction, he tapped the pile of documents on the white Formica table to square the stack.
“Yes.” Maida nodded. “I knew I knew you from somewhere. It must be because I knew your father. Although…” She looked up to study him again, taking stock of his face as though she were about to draw him.
She tilted her head one way, then the other, and narrowed her eyes.
“You don’t seem anything like old Reggie. ”
“We weren’t close,” Arthur said. “I went away to school in Ireland, and was mostly raised by my family there.”
“I was going to say, I can definitely hear a little Irish influence in your voice.” Maida looked back down at her drawing.
She was turning bright pink. Did this mean she liked his accent? He could have warmed his hands in the radiance of her blush. He glanced down at the donut and back up to the curve of her ear. It was a toss-up which one he wanted to nibble on more.
He closed his eyes for a moment and blew out a quick breath. “Back to these papers…I’d be happy to explain my thinking.”
“Arthur?” Maida continued to sketch as she posed another question. “Why haven’t I ever heard anything about this house until now?’
“The Lathrop family is notoriously private,” Arthur acknowledged. “And there’s not many of them left. I’m only aware of your mother’s younger sister and the elderly aunt who has been taking care of the property in question.”
“I have aunts?” A hurt expression crossed over Maida’s eyes.
“Yes.” Arthur nodded. “That’s correct. Although one of them is missing at the moment, which is why I’m here.”
“I don’t understand.”
Arthur suspected that Maida’s confusion had little to do with him or the house. She was wondering why neither of her aunts had ever contacted her. That wasn’t a matter he could address.
“Inheritance law can be very tricky. The bookstore was bequeathed to you, but until recently it’s been held in trust. Are you following me?
” Arthur looked into Maida’s eyes again and was surprised when she stared back again, unblinking.
It was as if she was searching for something.
This time, he looked away first. “As I was saying, the property is matrilineally entailed.”
“I think I understand that, but then why didn’t my mother’s sister inherit the bookstore once my mother passed away?” Maida questioned.
“In this type of ‘fee tail female’ entailment, the inheritance is passed down to the oldest daughter in each generation. Your mother’s sister could not inherit because she wasn’t eligible. Only you are, as the current oldest daughter of the oldest daughter of the Lathrop line.”
Maida clutched at the locket that was hanging from a sinuous silver chain around her neck. Arthur could make out the letter L and wondered if the necklace might have belonged to her mother. Her brow was furrowed.
“What does the house look like?” Maida asked. She picked up her pencil with her free hand and started to idly sketch again. “Is it a cottage or a colonial style home? How many bedrooms? And what kind of neighborhood is it in?”
Arthur lowered his head to look at her. He chose his words of discouragement carefully, for maximum impact. “It’s very, very old. The place requires constant upkeep. Aside from the expense, it would be a massive commitment. You’d have to give up your life here and move back to Boston.”
He felt a tiny bead of sweat accumulating on his brow. What would he do if she wouldn’t sign?
“It’s a gorgeous old Queen Anne-style mansion,” Will piped up.
“With a wraparound porch and a turret. The whole first floor is a bookstore. There’s also a delightful little coffee shop.
I think you would love it! Can’t you picture it?
” He reached out to touch her locket and Maida swatted his hand away.
“Cut it out, Will.” She frowned at him. Then she turned back to Arthur. “This place sounds quite charming. You don’t have a picture you could show me, do you?”
“I’m afraid not,” Arthur said. He could see Maida was sketching a house now, with a turret and a porch, not unlike the Mudpuddle’s, probably as a result of Will’s prattling on.
“Perhaps you can tell me more about the area where it’s located? What’s the address?”
“It doesn’t have a street address. It’s in a very exclusive area.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Really? What neighborhood would that be?” Maida asked, raising an eyebrow as she added an eyebrow window into the roofline.
“Primrose Court,” Arthur and Will both spoke at once. Maida stopped sketching, and held her pen in midair, looking at them quizzically.
“Am I supposed to know where that is?” she asked.
“It’s a neighborhood in Boston,” Arthur explained.
“No it’s not. I grew up in Boston and I’ve never heard of it,” Maida spoke skeptically.
She spun the menu around and started sketching something new in the blank spot.
“It’s…tiny?” Arthur said. He hadn’t meant it to sound like a question.
“Nope.” Maida dug in her heels. “You haven’t convinced me.
There’s got to be something else you’re not telling me.
I hate to say it, but I think this might be some kind of scam.
” Her pencil flew over the paper in a blur that left a wake of scribbled leaves, branches, and Arthur couldn’t quite see what else.
“I assure you, this isn’t a scam, Maida. I should have mentioned that I have personally been to the Mudpuddle, and met your aunts.” He felt his grip on the situation starting to slip.
“The Mudpuddle?” Her brows drew together. “What’s that?”
“I’m sorry,” Arthur apologized, “the Mudpuddle is the house. It’s also the name of the bookstore in the house. I’m not doing an adequate job of explaining.”
“You’re doing a terrible job,” Will agreed.
“Wait. Have you been there too, Will?” Maida asked.
“Every year, as a kid. We’d go there on field trips.” Will got a dreamy look on his face.
“What about my father?” Maida asked.
Will shook his head vehemently. “No way, Mayday. Primrose Court is an exclusively magical community. You have your witches, your shifters…there’s even a few full fae living there.
You kind of have to see it to believe it.
Or maybe that’s believe it to see it for most people.
” He twisted a paper straw wrapper into a tight, slender rope as he spoke.
Arthur’s kick under the table was swift and targeted.
Will winced, swallowed, and continued on. He was displaying the same dogged determination he’d had when slogging past oblivion in the space between the portals. “You really need to come with me to see the place in person, Mayday.”
Mayday? What kind of nickname was that? Arthur’s next kick missed, probably because Will knew it was coming.
“Come on, Arthur, hear me out. I really think she deserves to know…” Will dropped the contorted bit of paper and wrung his hands instead.
“Is this your idea of a joke, Will? Or is it some kind of game? Can one of you please enlighten me?” Maida was getting agitated now, glancing back and forth between them.
Arthur bristled. He desperately wanted to enlighten her. In every possible way. But not enough to risk breaking her. It was cruel, not being able to tell her the truth about her own family.
“Magic is real, Maida!” Will blurted out. “Your whole family is magical. And so are we!”
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!
Arthur rested his head in his hands and breathed slowly.
“You do realize how crazy you sound, Will?” Arthur fought to keep his voice calm and rational. “Enough with your joking. Nobody finds it funny.”
“That’s because I’m not joking! I told you, Arthur, I don’t believe in gaslighting.” Will’s tone turned plaintive. “Maida deserves to know the truth. Why can’t you see that she belongs in Primrose Court?”