If he could also liberate that particular item he’d told Léirsinn about—something he’d never thought to need, actually—from under his grandmother’s chair, he would consider the venture a complete success.
Léirsinn’s hand was suddenly on his arm and he froze. He looked where she was pointing to find a fat, snoring lad half sprawled over the back stoop. He nodded, then very carefully walked with her to the back door. He picked the lock silently, then opened the back kitchen door. He stepped over the slumbering guardsman, made sure Léirsinn had followed him, then closed the door behind them. He silently turned the lock, then looked at her.
She only returned his look and shrugged.
He took a careful breath, then carried on.
He made note of the innards of his grandmother’s home and realized that he tended to judge houses more on their ability to provide him with places to hide and less on their beauty. His granny fared well on both, though he couldn’t say that her house extended any sort of friendly welcome. If she could have forced the very air he breathed into some sort of regimented order, he suspected she would have.
The hallways, as it happened, were replete with useful alcoves whilst everything else was placed at regular intervals, including furniture, plants, mirrors, and doorways. Even the carpets seemed terrified to buckle or lose track of any of their threads. He understood. He’d never made a visit during which he hadn’t been excruciatingly aware of his appearance and manners.
It had made poaching a doily or two almost irresistible, he had to admit.
He spared a wish for even the faintest hint of werelight, but set the thought aside almost immediately. He could see well enough in the dark and that had the added benefit of not disturbing the slumber of any sleeping butlers, of which he found several on the journey down the main passageway.
He made the appropriate turns through the house, avoiding grand staircases where possible and keeping to the darkest of shadows everywhere else. He tiptoed with Léirsinn through a great room full of statuary that he wasn’t entirely sure weren’t his grandmother’s enemies preserved for all time in marble—she shared some unsettling proclivities with his mother—and arrived finally at a particularly unassuming doorway.
He looked at Léirsinn but she was only watching him with wide eyes. He understood. The damned house was definitely built to intimidate.
He tried the knob and wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. For all he knew—and he thought he might have good reason for being cautious—his granny had had un-noticed minions following him from the moment he crossed the boundaries of her land. He hadn’t sensed anything, but the uncomfortable truth was, his grandmother was a witch of the first water. He would have given much to have been allowed free rein in her private solar for even a single hour. He had attempted the same on more than one occasion, calling upon both his vast stores of charm and the ability to make a nuisance of himself, but he remained unenlightened.
Hence the need for a bit of sticky-fingeredness.
He kept his hand on the doorknob for another moment or two, then decided there was nothing to do but press forward. Without magic, they wouldn’t set off any alarms save ones normally triggered by the average housemaid. He supposed he could don the persona of distracted manservant well enough in the dark. Escape would be difficult, but within reach. He had already discussed the possibility with Léirsinn earlier, though he imagined she’d tried to put the warning out of her head as quickly as possible.
He let them in, looked about the chamber to make certain they were alone, then closed the door soundlessly behind them. He let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been clinging to so thoroughly, then looked at his companion.
“Well,” he said, “we’re here.”
“Thrilling,” she said, sounding as if it were anything but. “What now?”
“I need a book.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“They’re useful.”
“I wouldn’t disagree with that,” she whispered, “just with where you seem to think you need to look for them.”
“I crave excitement like another might crave a bit of flight on the back of a spectacular horse.”
She pursed her lips at him. “Let’s discuss that later, after we’ve escaped.”
He couldn’t argue with that idea, so he turned his mind to a study of the chamber. He had never seen the book his mother had described for him, but knowing his grandmother as he did, he suspected she would have kept it either behind glass, behind spells, or behind her favorite decanter of port. There were bookshelves aplenty lining two walls, draperies covering windows on a third, then an enormous fireplace occupying the fourth. Chairs were set in a pleasing configuration in front of that hearth, chairs he was relieved to see were not only the usual ones set there, but ones that were comfortingly empty.
He identified a sideboard bearing a full complement of what he was certain would be delicate, exclusive liquors. It occupied a prime spot within that gaggle of bookshelves, which seemed to him the most likely spot to begin his search.
“Do you have a grandfather here as well?” Léirsinn whispered. “Just so I know if we should expect disapproval from more than one direction.”
He smiled briefly. “Not to worry, we’ve only my grandmother to worry about. My grandfather ran off with a parlor maid before I was born, or so I’ve heard, but I’ve never taken the time to verify the truth of it. For all I know, my grandmother turned him into fire irons.” He shot her a look. “It’s been done before.”
“By Prince Soilléir?” she asked uneasily.
“He certainly has the spells for it,” Acair said, “but unfortunately he only uses his powers for good, or so he claims. I have absolutely no idea what he really does save endlessly put expensive creams on his visage to hide his age.”
“Is he old?”
“Extremely, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him.” He shrugged. “Virtuous living, I suppose.”
“I’m not sure I want to know more.”
“I’m not sure I want to think about any more,” he said honestly. “But remind me later if you’re curious about either essence-changers or fire irons. At the moment, let’s find what we need and escape whilst we still can.” He nodded to a long sideboard. “We’ll try there first.”
He walked with her across a floor that didn’t squeak—reassuring, he supposed—and stopped in front of a selection of bottles. He considered, carefully moved several to the right, then reached out and pushed on a square of wooden paneling behind them.
It opened soundlessly.
“Amazing,” Léirsinn breathed.
He shot her a look. “I may have done this before.”
“Less amazing, then,” she said, “but not by much. What’s inside?”
“Not purses made of my grandfather’s innards, one could hope,” he said grimly. He looked for spells adorning the opening, then hesitated and turned to Léirsinn. “Do you see anything dangerous that I’m missing?”