Tarquin, bizarrely, was bare-chested except for a heavily embroidered waistcoat. He was smiling at Winter in a way designed to encourage violence. Before he met me, Raphael Winter always managed to present himself as a slightly standoffish and occasionally offensive witch – and one with absolute control over his emotions. I wasn’t the same person I had been back then and neither was he. Usually that was a good thing – but not always.
Rather than answering any of the questions, Tarquin’s gaze switched to me as I came up the stairs. He loped towards me and stretched out his arms, trying to draw me into a tight embrace. What he didn’t yet know was that I could perform magic safely again. I flicked out a surreptitious rune that I doubted even Winter would notice.
Tarquin drew in a sharp breath and stepped back, dropping his arms; otherwise he didn’t react. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked. There was a faint squeak in his voice.
‘You were in Dorset recently,’ Winter said, folding his arms. ‘Weymouth, to be exact.’
Tarquin suddenly looked bored. ‘I’ve been in a lot of places recently. The folks in Human Resources can’t seem to let go of the fact that I’m now in Arcane Branch and they keep demanding my time.’ He shrugged and examined his fingernails. ‘I can’t help it if every other witch in HR is incompetent and they need me to do their work for them.’
More like Arcane Branch had quickly realised Tarquin was incompetent and were trying to palm him back on his original bosses. Rather than say that, I focused on what was important. Go me – I could be the bigger witch after all. ‘What work are you doing exactly?’
‘Pre-entrance interviews for mature non-Order witches who wish to gain entrance to our esteemed establishment,’ he said. He looked at me archly. ‘If you want to join the Order, Ivy, I promise to treat you fairly and in the same manner as the others. I won’t automatically turn you down just because I know how to make you scream in the sack.’ Beside me, Winter stiffened. I nudged him with my elbow. I was by his side, not Tarquin’s.
My floppy-haired foe continued. ‘And I won’t automatically add you to our ranks either. We are a merit-based organisation, as I’m sure you know. If you can prove yourself to me, I’ll consider your application.’
From anyone else it would have sounded as if they were taking the piss, but Tarquin managed to sound sincere. It took everything I had for me not to burst into giggles. Insults would slide off his glossy exterior; laughing at him meant he’d refuse to talk to me for a month. Normally that would be a good thing but, with Winter no longer in the Order, we needed Tarquin on our side if we were going to find out the information we wanted.
Winter, speaking through gritted teeth, stared at him. ‘You make the decision whether new witches are allowed into the Order?’
‘New old witches,’ Tarquin said. ‘And yes, that responsibility is mine. It is a heavy burden, I admit, but someone has to step up to the proverbial plate and take charge.’
I tilted my head. ‘Let me guess,’ I said drily. ‘You talk to the applicants and make notes, which are then passed to someone else. Someone who makes the final decision.’
Tarquin frowned and held up his index finger. ‘First of all, I don’t talk to the applicants themselves. My task is far more important than that. I talk to their families, that way one can get to the heart of the matter whether they have enough talent to join the Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment.’
I pressed my lips together. Don’t smirk. Don’t smirk. Don’t smirk.
‘Secondly,’ he said, ‘the notes I pass on are taken very seriously. I have been told that, if it were not for my recommendations, Human Resources would not have the faintest idea whether to allow entrance or not.’
Tarquin had never really understood sarcasm. I nodded as if to agree with him; I could keep a straight face if the situation demanded it. ‘So you visited the Rees family in Weymouth in Dorset to find out about Clare and whether she had the ability to become an Order witch?’
‘Yep. Her and the other members of her coven. Seven of them. It took bloody ages but,’ he said with a sidelong look at Winter, ‘when it comes to the Order, there’s nothing I’m not prepared to do. I am now, and will for ever be, fully motivated and dedicated to the Order’s cause. Only the worthiest and most hard-working witches are like that.’
‘Indeed,’ Winter murmured. ‘And only the worthiest and most hard-working witches avoid pointless self-aggrandisement.’
Tarquin frowned. ‘Self what?’
I interrupted hastily. ‘Never mind. So if I have this right,’ I said, ‘Clare Rees and the rest of her coven applied to become Order witches and it was your job to vet them.’
‘Yes.’
‘And,’ I pressed, ‘if your recommendation is positive, what happens next? What’s the next step?’
‘They enter the Order, of course.’
Winter’s lip curled. ‘Just like that?’
‘Yes.’
‘The applicants aren’t interviewed or tested or anything?’
‘Oh. Sure, yeah, that happens.’
I could hear Winter’s teeth grinding from a foot away. He obviously never worked anywhere near HR when he was in the Order. ‘Go on. Explain how that works.’
Tarquin looked confused. ‘I don’t know. That’s not my remit.’
‘You have no interest in or curiosity about the rest of the process?’ Winter’s voice dripped with disdain.
Tarquin leaned over. ‘Not. My. Job.’
I put a hand on Winter’s arm. Just because he wanted to know everything about the Order Departments he’d been in didn’t mean everyone was like that.
‘Anyway,’ Tarquin continued, ‘I should get on. I’m a very busy and important person these days. It’s lucky you caught me, to be honest. I don’t always have time for conversations with civilians.’ As he glanced at Winter, his implication was clear. Where Tarquin once did everything he could to bow and scrape and get into Winter’s good books, now that Winter wasn’t in the Order Tarquin couldn’t care less what he thought.
Because I could, I repeated my earlier rune and this time I put a little more effort into it. Tarquin’s eyes widened and his hands dropped, scrabbling at his trousers. His cheeks began to turn red. ‘I have to go,’ he said in a high-pitched rush. He spun round and headed back into his flat as if hell itself were after him.
As soon as Tarquin’s door closed, Winter turned to me. ‘What exactly did you do to him?’
I shrugged. ‘Nothing.’
‘Ivy.’
I grinned. ‘Okay, I may have performed a small spell which I developed for some of the more gropey taxi customers.’
Winter’s eyes darkened at the idea that I’d been forced to drive around men whose octopus arms and pinching fingers had caused me grief. ‘What’s the spell?’ he asked, his jaw tight.
My smile grew. ‘Let’s just say that it can make you feel rather uncomfortable in the groin area.’ Winter frowned so I elaborated. ‘It constricts your underwear until…’
He held up his hands and winced. ‘I get the picture.’ He glanced at me. ‘Don’t ever do that to me.’
‘I won’t. But I’ve developed other spells that are less uncomfortable and more – pleasurable. I’ve never really had cause to practise them on anyone. Perhaps you would be willing to be a guinea pig?’