I fidgeted. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. The binding has been removed now so maybe you’ll still get to work with Winter. I should have told you before but it didn’t seem right to do it over the phone.’
Eve barely heard me. ‘Second Level? I hoped, you know I hoped, but I thought I’d have to do the exams first. My parents will be thrilled! I’m thrilled! And Arcane Branch?’ She glanced at Winter. ‘Do you think I’ll still have a chance of getting a spot?’
‘A position has just opened up,’ Winter said stiffly, not looking at me.
Eve jumped to her feet. ‘This is just amazing,’ she said, still shaking her head in disbelief. ‘I have to go and tell Harold Fitzwilliam Duxworthy the Third.’ She darted out of the room.
I twisted my fingers in my lap. ‘That went better than I expected,’ I said.
Winter murmured non-committally.
I took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t know Iqbal was going to do that,’ I said in a rush. ‘I didn’t ask him to. Well, not really. In fact, I found some ossombe root a few days ago and stuffed it in my bathroom cabinet. The binding wasn’t all that bad.’
Winter didn’t say anything. Bloody hell, this was hard work.
There was a sudden thump from the bedroom. Relieved to have a distraction, I opened the door to investigate. My secret stash of catnip had been attacked and there was a trail leading from the smashed jar on the floor all the way to the bed. Both Brutus and Princess Parma Periwinkle were rolling around on the duvet with expressions of feline glee. Winter peered over my shoulder and grunted with disapproval.
‘Ivy?’
From beyond the living room, Eve reappeared with her arms by her sides and a confused expression on her face. ‘Why are there are two people tied up in the middle of my living-room floor?’
Epilogue
He stood outside, hands shoved in his pockets and a flat, grim line across his mouth. The pub was well lit and busy. Every time the door opened to welcome a new patron, the sound of appalling music drifted out. He half turned to leave. This was a pointless venture; the sensible thing would be to go home right now. There were reports to write and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before he had another time-consuming assignment to occupy both his days and nights. Besides, she didn’t want him there.
The door opened again and a group of friends fell out, giggling and stumbling towards him. From inside, the music faded away to a burbling voice. ‘Our next victim is the fabulous Ivy Wilde who…’ The door banged shut, muffling the words.
Winter sighed. Then his feet swerved round the happy group and into the pub’s interior almost of their own volition.
Ivy’s friend, if that’s what he was, was pushing her up onto the small stage. She was laughing, her blonde curls bouncing and catching the light, but he could see the reluctance in her eyes even from this distance. She turned in his direction, her chin angling upwards and he hastily veered left towards the bar and caught the eye of the barman.
By the time he had a whisky in hand, Ivy was already onto the second verse. Her cheeks were rosy pink and there was a tremor to the fingers that were clutching the microphone. She wasn’t a particularly bad singer but her lack of enthusiasm made her painful to watch. He wished that she wouldn’t sway her hips like that. The movement only served to accentuate her curves and, despite the quality of the whisky, his mouth felt uncomfortably dry.
Regardless of her reluctance, the crowd seemed to appreciate her efforts. They were certainly whooping and cheering loudly enough. The more they yelled, the more confident Ivy grew with both her singing and her dancing, to the point where she replaced the microphone back on its stand and abandoned her sultry swaying for more energetic movements. What no one seemed to have noticed was that she also seemed to be inching closer and closer to the edge of the stage. It wasn’t a long drop – probably less than a metre – but she’d no doubt had one or two drinks already and she could fall and hurt herself. That was what he told himself when he pushed his way through the crowd to get closer to her.
‘Oi!’ A fat man holding the dregs of a pint of beer glared at him. Winter glanced in the man’s direction, which was enough to make him immediately subside. Winter nodded, satisfied.
He’d just reached the front of the stage when Ivy whipped round with alarming speed, as if attempting a pirouette. Her sparkling eyes fixed on him and widened. Unfortunately, her surprise was also her undoing: her feet kept moving but her body didn’t follow and, almost in slow motion, she began to topple forward. Winter didn’t pause. He braced himself, held out his arms and caught her as she fell.
‘Oooomph!’ Ivy coiled her arms round his neck and beamed up at him. She smelled of honey and sunshine and just the tiniest smidge of ancient magic. He breathed in deeply. ‘My hero!’ she burbled.
Winter stared down at her, his expression inscrutable. ‘Are you trying to maim yourself?’ he inquired.
Her smile widened. ‘I know, right? This is why I hate doing karaoke. It’s far too energetic.’
‘Ivy! Are you alright?’ Her dark-haired friend appeared, concern on his face.
Ivy extricated herself from Winter. ‘Apart from the horror of that song, Iqbal, I’m good.’ She reached up and patted Winter’s chest. ‘My partner saved me.’
Winter’s jaw clenched. ‘We’re not partners any more.’
For a moment a shadow crossed Ivy’s face then she brightened again. ‘You should count yourself lucky,’ she grinned. ‘I’m far too much like hard work.’
It was on the tip of Winter’s tongue to tell her that she should know by now that he liked hard work. But someone else was bearing down on them, throwing shot glasses in their direction.
‘Tequila!’ Ivy smacked her lips. ‘I really shouldn’t.’ She took one anyway and downed it.
Iqbal grabbed another glass and thrust it at Winter. ‘Adeptus Exemptus, I think you deserve one for that catch.’
Under any other circumstances Winter would have refused but he knew that was what Iqbal was expected, so he took the glass and tipped it back, wincing slightly as the fiery liquid burned down his throat.
‘Good man!’ Iqbal clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Let’s get another round!’ He headed off to the bar.
‘Come on.’ Ivy tugged Winter’s elbow. ‘We’ve got a table in the corner.’
He allowed himself to be led through the crowd. Ivy plonked herself down on one of the chairs with a happy sigh. Winter debated for a moment then joined her. ‘Who’s your friend?’ he asked, his tone harsher than he’d intended. ‘You didn’t introduce us earlier when he gave you the ossombe root.’
‘Huh?’ Ivy looked blank for a moment then realised who he was talking about. ‘Oh, you mean Iqbal. We go way back.’ She waved her hands around. ‘He’s a good guy. He just likes karaoke too much.’ Her eyes fixed on him. ‘What’s going on back at the Order?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
She pursed her lips. ‘I risked life and limb, Winter. I think I deserve to know.’