Simon walked into the sitting room, looking into the rippling view of distant Paris. If Nick had stolen the key, as Ash said, and used it to open the portal, he was gone now. Simon could follow, but the odds of finding one man in that teeming city were very thin. And, if Nick was trying to lose himself, he would likely open a second portal from Paris and vanish into that.
Perhaps there was another reason that Simon wasn’t seeing. Just because Nick had worked for Ash, just because he had secretly watched Simon for her, just because Nick lied about it all, didn’t mean Ash was telling the truth now. Malcolm warned him, wisely, not to trust her. Ash lied out of habit and with a long-game agenda that few could penetrate. Perhaps Simon just couldn’t fathom the perverse leverage Ash was trying to exert on him and his team.
Simon lifted a hand to the portal and brushed the softness of the otherworldly surface. The evidence that shimmered in front of him was inconclusive. He muttered, “Nick. Did you want me to follow? Why didn’t you close the portal behind you?”
“Because,” came a voice from the corner, “I didn’t leave.”
Simon spun to see Nick lounging in his usual spot on the tattered sofa. The older magician looked exhausted. His eyes were ringed with dark circles. There was a whiskey bottle and empty glass on the table next to him. Nick lifted one hand off his chest and tossed an object across the room.
Simon caught the gold key out of the air. He slowly looked up from the glittering device in the palm of his hand to his friend. Nick couldn’t meet his gaze and threw his forearm over his eyes. Simon waited for the explanation, however twisted, however disappointing, that would strike Ash’s lie into the dust.
“Why did you take it?” Simon asked.
Nick glanced from under his arm with a look of curious annoyance. His confusion dissipated when he realized Simon was still searching for excuses. He took a deep breath. “Ash told you, didn’t she? You wouldn’t be here looking like that, asking me stupid questions otherwise.”
A coldness slipped through Simon’s body. What little vigor his spell had given faded. He was losing touch with the room, with his thoughts. He was staring at Nick but seeing someone different. Not the man who helped him, who advised him, who toasted innumerable drinks with him and carried him home after nights that went on a bit too long.
“Tell me, Nick.” Simon could barely make himself heard.
Nick sat up. He let his hand rest on the neck of the bottle but then released it. “You already know. Why drag it out?”
Simon took a step toward him. He couldn’t feel the floor under his feet. He seemed to be floating in another world. “You tell me.”
“Simon, I’m not going to fight you. I’m tired. Do what you want to me. I don’t care.”
“Tell me, Nick.” Simon lost all sense of place in a haze of confused rage. “You tell me!”
Nick looked up. “I did it.”
“Did what?”
“For God’s sake, Simon.” He glanced away. “I killed your father.”
“Why?”
Nick laughed and shook his head. “Ash told me to do it.”
“That’s all? You didn’t hate him? Some past wrong he did you? Some old grudge to settle?”
“I’d never seen him until that night.” Nick started to shift, but Simon leaned forward slightly as a warning so he settled back. “There was a war in the Order of the Oak. I was on Ash’s side then.”
“Why did you come to me when you knew I was his son?”
“I had no idea at first,” Nick retorted angrily. “I didn’t know you were Edward Cavendish’s son until last year. You told me when you were drunk.”
“And you didn’t tell Ash?”
“No, of course not. By then, I knew I wasn’t going to let her have you.”
“Even though she would kill you for failing?”
“I didn’t want you to be like me.” Nick rolled his eyes as if he was going to cry from the memory. “Just kill me and be done with it.”
Simon stared at his old friend for a long time in motionless silence.
Finally, Nick rubbed a hand over his face and looked up, almost in anger. “Don’t play your games with me. Either kill me, or stand there while I walk through that portal.” He struggled to his feet and faced Simon.
“No, you’re not running away this time.”
“I’m not going to rot in that new Bastille of yours.” Nick jabbed a finger at him. “I swear to you, I’m not.”
“Don’t you dare fight me.”
Nick sneered and started toward the portal when an arm rose in front of his chest like an iron bar. The two men stood nearly nose to nose. Simon stared, dark emotions locked under the surface. Nick sighed and quickly raised his hand, trailing flame. Simon ducked as the fire surged past him.
A powerful fist drove into Nick’s jaw and sent the man sailing across the room. He crashed into a desk, overturning it in a noisy pile. Nick was quickly back to his feet with fire flying from his waving hands.