Crawling to my knees, I grabbed Magnus’s arm. “Stop,” I gasped. “Let the Order deal with him.”
“Where’s the other one?” Magnus cried. “There were three of you. It was Hemphill, wasn’t it?” Cellini couldn’t answer. He’d been knocked unconscious. When Magnus released him, he collapsed to the ground. “Do you know what he was going to do?” Magnus growled. He picked up the knife, blade gleaming in the moonlight, and tossed it away with a hiss of disgust. “Are you all right?” He helped me up off the ground and held me close.
“I’m fine.” I leaned into his embrace and felt him trembling.
—
WE PACED OUTSIDE THE LIBRARY, LISTENING to the muffled voices within. Once or twice, someone shouted, and then the murmuring returned. Magnus glared at the door, as if he could bore a hole through it with the strength of his will alone.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m not sure I could have kept them off on my own.”
“If it were up to me, they’d hang the pair of them.” Magnus hadn’t changed out of his bloody, torn clothes. His hair stuck wildly in the air, and part of me wanted to pat it down. “I can’t believe they let Hemphill go.”
“I can’t be certain he was there. What will happen now?”
“Excommunication. They’ll bind Lovett’s stave, and he’ll lose his position as heir to his father’s estate. Cellini will be shipped back to Rome to face their brand of justice.”
“Bind his stave?” I knew that excommunicates were sorcerer outcasts but didn’t know the details.
“They dip the stave in molten lead to bind its power and sever its connection. Sometimes the sorcerer doesn’t survive.” He looked pale. “There are those who consider execution a more humane punishment.”
The idea wrenched my heart. I touched Porridge in its sheath for comfort. “Even if Cellini hated me, why risk so much?”
Magnus shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I looked at my hands. “I know he was your friend. This can’t be easy.”
“It’s easier than you think, Howel. I could never let anyone hurt you.”
My hands prickled with energy. There was no time to discuss it further. Palehook opened the door, a rumpled, tearstained Lovett by his side.
“Miss Howel. I shall endeavor to see that every bit of justice is done. You’ve my word on that.” I noticed that Palehook didn’t quite look me in the eye while speaking, and he pulled Lovett away as soon as he was able. Agrippa exited next, his face pale. He took my chin in his hand.
“Are you all right, my poor, brave girl?” He looked me over, tilting my head this way and that. “You’ll have a few bruises, but I think that’s the worst of it. Go upstairs and let Fenswick look at you.”
“I want to see him.” I gazed toward the library door.
“No, I can’t allow that.”
“If you stay, Master, and I’m beside her, he won’t try anything,” Magnus said. He looked as if he’d adore one small excuse for another beating.
“Please. I won’t feel well unless I’ve seen him.” I didn’t need more opportunities for nightmares.
The door creaked open, and Cellini slunk into the hall. His face was swollen, both from the bruises and from crying.
“Why did you do it?” I said.
“I didn’t think they planned murder. We just wanted you to leave.” When he spoke, I saw the hole where his front tooth had been. He wept. No sight had ever made me sicker.
“You should have wanted to help me. Since I’m the prophesied—”
“Oh, enough of that stupid tapestry!” His tears vanished; his anger startled me. “I held my tongue because English ways are not our ways. If you believed you could find salvation in a girl sorcerer, who was I to disagree?” He sniffed and wiped his nose. “At first you were all right, Miss Howel, but now you’re dreadful.”
When Magnus started for Cellini, I put my hand on his arm to hold him back. Cellini noticed, and his fury grew. “Look at that! Ordering men about. The trouble is English sorcerers don’t study their Bible. Paul’s first Epistle to Timothy: ‘Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man.’ In Rome, women aren’t even allowed inside an obsidian room.” He looked to Agrippa and Magnus. “She’s not one of us. She’ll destroy everyone if you let her, and it’s only lucky I won’t be here to see it!” Magnus grabbed Cellini and lifted him off the ground by his collar. Agrippa stepped in at once to separate them.
She’s not one of us. Cellini and I had always gotten along, or so I’d thought. We played charades on the same team together, laughed over breakfast. How could I not have seen this anger? Had I really done something to deserve it?
Or had I simply been proud? I remembered his anger when I’d flicked that little bit of fire at him, laughed at him. Perhaps arrogance in a woman was unbearable. I tried to find some apology in his eyes. There was only fury.
“Give me your stave,” Agrippa said.
As if it were torture, Cellini undid his hip sheath and handed it over. Part of me hurt for him. But the colder, angrier part won out.
“I will be commended,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. “You can do nothing about that.”
“Someone will,” he muttered.
I had to wonder, as they escorted Cellini off and I wiped my eyes, if someone else would attack. Even with my progress, I knew he was right. In a woman, pride was unforgivable.
—
“TAKE THREE DROPS OF THIS IN a glass of water,” Fenswick grumped, handing me a vial of bubbling golden liquid that changed to pink when I turned it upside down. He flapped his ears as I helped him off the bed. “Anything else troubling you?”
“I still have nightmares.” The R’hlem dreams hadn’t come to me as much since I’d gained control of my powers, but they did return.
“Well, keep chewing willow bark.” He waddled to the door, when a housemaid entered with a tray for me. She wrinkled her nose at Fenswick and walked straight into him, bowling him over. He got to his feet, dusting himself off.
“Be more careful,” he snapped. She set down the tray and swatted at him with a napkin.
“Disgusting little thing. Shoo,” she said, driving a hissing Fenswick from the room. I sat up.
“Don’t you dare treat him like that,” I cried.
The maid scowled. Why was tonight Lilly’s evening off? “Beg your pardon, miss, but it don’t hurt him none. They don’t feel things as we do.”
“He’s a person,” I said.
“No, he ain’t, miss, if you’ll pardon me.” She sniffed. “He’s a beast.”
Once, I might have agreed with her. Now, as she handed me my tray, all I could hear were Cellini’s hissed words: She’s not one of us.
—
AFTER LESSONS THE NEXT DAY, I took to the library to read about hobgoblins. We didn’t have many volumes, but I found one passage in A Compendium of Faerie (Laurence Puchner, 1798) that said: A Mandrake Root or moldy Onion can be most instrumental in welcoming a subject of the Dark Fae Queen into a home.
Agrippa’s kitchen didn’t contain a single mandrake root. However, I found an old onion with green bits sprouting on it. This would have to do. I took myself to Fenswick’s corner of the house. He lived inside a chest of drawers in an empty servant’s room.
I found him relaxed in the bottommost drawer, his ears tucked behind him as he attempted a doze. “What is it?” he said. “Can’t you let me rest?” He rubbed his eyes with two of his four paws.
“I wanted to give you this.” I handed over the onion. He took it like he’d never seen one before in his life. “I thought it might make you feel more at home?”
For a moment, his expression didn’t change. This had been a grave mistake. Then his ears parted to the side. His black eyes glistened. He hugged the onion to his chest, sniffled, and said, “I’ve been in this house six months, and no one’s…welcomed me yet.”
I’d no idea how a sprouty onion made one feel wanted, but there were many things I didn’t understand. “I’m glad to have been the first.”
“Why do you care?” His ears perked up.
“I suppose I know what it’s like to not quite belong.”