“I have. He’s in the corner. Been there a few hours.”
Simon patted her plump arm and went toward the hidden booth in the corner. There sat Nick, looking up expectantly. “Mind if I join you?”
The older magician jerked his chin toward the empty seat.
Simon settled in and tried to appear comfortable. Nick seemed relaxed enough, as always, but there was a curtain of distance around him that Simon had never felt before the Bedlam affair. Nick’s eyes were furtive. Silence dragged on.
Finally, Simon said something he rarely said to Nick, or needed to, “How’ve you been?”
“Good. Yourself?”
“Bit melancholy. Just been by Beatrice’s grave. Otherwise, though, I feel rather well, thanks to you.”
Nick nodded with satisfaction. “Gratified to hear it. I trust Beatrice is pleased now that you’ve stepped from the shadows to become a hero.”
“I don’t know about that, but I sleep better at night.”
A moment of silence drifted between them like a thick London fog.
Simon coughed. “The newspapers have already lost interest in Dr. White’s disappearance and the horrific conditions of the hospital. It’s all been shunted over to a parliamentary committee to clean up.”
“What about all those deformed atrocities that White created?”
“From what I hear through sources, the homunculi are all dead and gone. I assume without the doctor to maintain them, they just collapsed eventually. A dead man’s switch of sorts.”
“And the Anstruther sister?”
“Imogen still lives. Kate is working day and night, trying to find a way to undo what White did to the poor girl.” Simon tightened his mouth sadly. “We’ve no idea what will become of her. I don’t know how much of her is truly in there. Kate will never abandon her, that much I do know.”
“Foolish,” Nick muttered. “What good is life to that thing now?”
“That’s not for us to decide,” Simon replied sharply.
Nick tilted his head and drank.
Simon sighed. “Let me ask you something, from a purely scholarly point of view. Student to teacher.”
Nick eyed him sarcastically.
Simon continued, “What did you do to me at Bedlam? How did you bring me back? Kate assures me I was quite dead.”
“Kate may not know everything, contrary to her own opinion. You were salvageable by using the necromancy you hate.”
Simon paled. “You mean vivimancy?”
Nick shrugged. “Use the polite euphemism if you wish, but the world is too dangerous to be so na?ve.”
“But I’m relatively certain that I’m not a reanimated corpse. I’m alive. Is it possible you’ve been the most powerful mage on Earth all this time without telling me?”
“No.” Nick took a deep breath. “As you often note, I am a dabbler. Possessor of many skills, master of none. I mixed a bit of this and a bit of that, necromancy and elementalism.”
“I see. And what did it cost you?”
“I have no idea.”
“You must. Necromancy drains life from the user. Magic isn’t free, as you well know.”
“What did you sacrifice, Simon? You gave up your life to stop Gretta, who may or may not have been stopped since we have no idea where she went. That seemed a stupid trade.”
“I’d do it again tomorrow to keep everyone safe.”
“That doesn’t make it any less stupid. You must be proud of yourself. You took out two of the Bastille Bastards. Your days of anonymity are over. Your pointless grandstanding just put you on the map for every crazed mage out there to notice.”
Simon rapped the table with his glass. “You may have noticed we were not talking about me. Now, what did you do to yourself in order to save me?”
“Nothing at all. I’m the same lovable Nick.”
“You’re lying. I can look at you and tell you’re lying. I’ve always been able to tell when you’re lying.”
“Oh have you?” Nick threw back his head and laughed uproariously. “Simon, your entire problem is that you can’t tell when anyone is lying, including yourself.”
“Then just tell me, for God’s sake. Why play games? What did saving me cost you?”
Nick pursed his lips in thought. He looked bemused. “Just a few years.”
“A few years? It aged you? You look the same to me. Your magic always allowed you an extraordinarily long life span.”
“It did. However, from this day forward, I will grow a little older every year until I finally die just like everyone else in this pub.”
Simon sat back, stunned. “I’m sorry. I never wanted that.”
“Stop it!” Nick snarled. “It was my choice, not yours. I can be noble, too.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Why don’t we head to Hartley Hall, where we can—”
“No.” Nick drained his pint.
“I’m sorry?”
“No. Simon, I’m not staying.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m leaving London. It’s lost its luster.” Nick leaned forward. “Come with me.”