Chapter 3 #2
“Honestly? Probably not, since the moving furniture that feeds him was replaced by more moving furniture that feeds him. The house has been acting… grumpier. Though somehow all your plants survived my neglect.”
“The plants are Phytomancer-enchanted to be self-sustaining.” Making do with the kitchen’s meager contents, he started cooking breakfast for dinner. He buttered a pan and cracked eggs into it.
“Ah,” she said. “Why do you have so many plants?”
“The house requires a lot of oxygen. It’s got to breathe, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” Her gaze flicked over the walls as if they might start moving.
“Don’t worry. It probably won’t get any more sentient.”
“Very comforting, thank you.” Silence lingered before she filled it again. “While you were gone, I, er, couldn’t help but notice that the locked room on the second floor is no longer locked. By an Intentions Lock, that is.”
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “How long did you spend trying to break in?”
“Too long,” she huffed. “What’s in there now?”
“Depends on who opens the door.”
Mention of the forbidden room conjured forbidden memories.
How, entangled in dreams by a demon, he had pressed Cora against that door, then almost inside of her.
How she had inadvertently revealed to the dream demon how to break in and steal Koschei’s Egg, the cage for his heart, in a futile bid for immortality.
An uncomfortable silence inserted itself.
There was everything to say but Malachy was uncertain how.
His gaze raked over her. She hovered near the kitchen doorway, half in, half out.
By her makeup and attire—elbow length satin gloves that matched her dress and low heels—she had just come back quite late from something.
“Were you out somewhere?” The question did not sound innocent with the gruffness of his voice.
“Oh, I was out with Anita and her brother, Tim Tambo. Anita’s a real gem.
Since you left, I’ve been spending loads of time with her.
If I were into women, I’d—er, never mind.
Even Sloane came out with us. She’s warmed up to me, now she’s convinced I didn’t murder all those people, only rot their corpses a bit. ”
His gaze fell upon her. All this time, he had been worried sick about her, fearing she would break apart without him holding the pieces together. And she had put herself back together, perfectly imperfect.
She shifted under his tender scrutiny. “I dunno about you, but I could use a drink. I’ll fetch us a bottle.”
When she returned from his well-stocked cellar it was with a bottle of his favorite Irish whiskey to complement their feast of eggs and toast, garnished with wilted cilantro and paired with a half-eaten tin of biscuits.
The glasses were all dirty, so she rinsed off two teacups and filled them to the brim.
“Sorry about the mess. I would’ve tidied up had I known you were coming back tonight.”
She could have burned his house to the ground, and he would only care that she was there amongst the ashes.
“I didn’t even know I was coming back tonight.
The Tribunal and… All this time, Cora, I have only wanted to—” Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair.
He had everything to say to her and none of it was coming out how he wanted.
Months starved of human contact had not improved his conversational skills, and her nearness reduced him to a blathering idiot.
Which he further proved by blurting, “Are you all right?”
The teacup paused halfway to her lips. “Am I all right? Are you all right?”
“Other than the verbal incontinence I seem to have developed.”
“Glad to see nothing’s changed.”
He didn’t miss the fond tilt of her lips. He huffed a laugh.
They sat and clinked teacups of whiskey across the kitchen table. Their gazes held. Their smiles faded. The air between them grew heavy.
She glanced away, and Malachy guarded the disappointment from his expression as he raised the teacup. The first sip of whiskey was a physical relief. It had been too long since its smoky sweetness had warmed him.
Cora tucked into her meal with an appreciative groan. “So,” she said around a mouthful. “Which of your assorted crimes did the Tribunal charge you for?”
“The so-called charges were unrelated to any alleged crimes.”
“Spoken like a true criminal.”
“Thank you. This was about pointing fingers for the London Nightmare, and utter bollocks at that. They didn’t have a fuckin’ case against me since—” He gagged.
“Didn’t stop them from giving me a five-year sentence and delaying my conditional release until now.
Bastards even had the gall to ask— Jesus.
” He downed whiskey to clear his constricting throat.
She watched him closely. “What specifically did the Tribunal give you a five-year sentence for?”
“Bullshit bureaucracy about my role with—”
Her eyes narrowed as he spluttered and coughed. “And the nature of your conditional release is what exactly?”
“They want me to hunt down the escaped d—Damnit.”
“Bloody hell, they gagged you?” As one of “Mother’s” former pets, Cora, of course, recognized a gagging spell.
And he, of course, couldn’t answer. “Those nasty bastards. What did they gag you for? Have you been gagged this entire time? Is that why I never heard from you? Wait. You probably can’t talk or write about it, even if you want to.
Mother, that beastly old bird, had an inordinate fondness for gagging spells.
They’re finicky magic; bound to be a loophole somewhere. Let’s see what you can say. Demon?”
The word he tried to form caught in his throat.
“That’s a no. How about Coal-Eye? Nope, sorry—here, have some more whiskey. So not that either. Ghose?”
Hesitantly, he said, “Ghose.”
“Ha! Bloody amateurs. Proper names it is then. If the gag ever stops you from saying something, you could make the choking sign instead. Much easier on your tongue.”
“Your concern for my tongue is appreciated.”
Her gaze flicked to his mouth and lingered. Color rose on the crests of her cheeks. Catching herself, she tore her eyes away. She reached for the whiskey bottle beside his hand, and their fingers touched. A glancing touch that set off a chain reaction inside him. She hastily withdrew.
“Say, what is Rome like in the springtime?”
“I wouldn’t know. I was locked in a cell between bullshit hearings.”
Her eyes widened. “I had no idea. Blimey, you must have hated that. What have you been doing all this time? Pacing and scheming?”
He had schemed his revenge with cold, exacting cruelty. But now, in the quiet dark of his kitchen, his thoughts were far from vengeance. “Suffice to say I have planned each and every Tribunal Master’s death.”
A moment of stunned silence. Had he gone too far?
“That sounds diabolical,” she said. “When do we start?”
Her mouth curved into a sly smile. A smile that lifted his misery.
“First thing in the morning,” he said with a matching smile.
“Brilliant. The Masters will rue the day they inconvenienced Malachy Bane.”
Her laugh, low and husky, was a breath on the embers of his hope, stoking new life in a hearth gone cold. He drank in the loveliness of the sound, the sweetest reward. The last three months melted away like a bad dream.
Their gazes held across the table in a suspended moment, too long and not long enough for his thundering, yearning heart. She was the first to look down. With reluctance, he let the moment slip away.
“Has much changed here in London?”
“Dreary as usual,” she said. “Though some of the gang has started warming up to me. The other day, Dimitri wrote me a poem. You know that giant Hydromancer used to be a poet before he fled the Russian Revolution? Apparently, his poetry is quite, er, sensual. If you read Russian.”
“I have the English translations if you’d like to take the bottle of whiskey into the library and read them.”
She cast him a look under her lashes. “You’ve read Dimitri’s naughty poems?”
“His poetry might be the reason I hired him.”
Cora laughed. “I don’t think I could ever look Dimitri in the eye again.
He’s been a swell second on some of the nastier jobs; doesn’t get queasy like Sloane.
She boked all over this dead bloke, and he was only missing half his torso.
Dimitri, on the other hand, fought off a reanimated corpse that attacked me.
Killing that bastard a second time wasn’t justice enough, if you ask me. ”
Malachy listened to her bloodthirsty chatter, his heart full to bursting. He wanted to close all the distances between them, take her in his arms and kiss all his frustrated longing into her.
“Even Ravi has come around. Well, he cringes less, at least.” After a long pause, she said in a voice underpinned by muted anguish, “Together we’ve been visiting…
Teddy’s grave. For Ravi, and for closure, I’ve been communing with Teddy.
I’m careful not to upset him. The dead don’t take well to news from the living.
It hurts, but it would hurt worse not to have him at all. ”
Malachy reached out, aching to touch her, yet remained in his chair. An unexpected touch was the fastest way to spook her. Slowly, he covered her hand with his. She stiffened but didn’t move away.
“It’s a rare gift you have, Cora. I would give anything to speak with my brothers and sisters one last time.”
Unshed tears brimmed in her eyes. “It doesn’t feel like a gift.
It feels like the ultimate exercise in futility.
He’s dead, Mal. He’s dead and he’s never coming back.
I just want to know why Teddy did it. Why he chose death over living with me.
It’s been eating me alive, and I can never ask him.
” Head bent forward, her shoulders dropped.
“I knew Teddy was hurting, but I didn’t know how much.
I could have stopped him. I should have stopped him. Why didn’t he tell me? Why?”