Dead Magic (24 page)

Morgana did not smile. She did not appear relieved or happy that Winslow was alive. In fact, Valeda thought as she watched the two, the House Witch seemed more annoyed than anything else.

Without warning, Valeda felt her magic react to the situation.
It's quite angry at the way Winslow is being treated,
she surmised.
And in his own home, too!
Any mother would have worried for their son's health and safety, but this one can't be bothered so much as to embrace him.

Winslow's hand covered her own, squeezing until she looked at him instead. His focus remained on his mother, but Valeda felt his magic calm her down, reassuring her that all was well. Though how all could be well, she didn't know. Someone needed to smack Morgana Agoston into a reaction.

His mouth twitched into a faint smile and Valeda had the horrible idea that he could read her thoughts.

"I've heard two conflicting rumors about you," Morgana said at last. "They say you strained yourself out of Talent rescuing some commoners. But then they say you rescued Lord Delgora from his would-be abductors. A feat that required considerable magical aid."

"Are those the only two rumors about me, my Lady? I've done so many other things that I would have thought the rumor mill would be overflowing by now."

"Do not be impertinent."

"But we get along so much better this way."

Morgana stood suddenly and her face twisted into a scowl. Valeda swallowed her fear, suppressing the urge to run far, far away from this domestic dispute. Winslow remained calm beside her, smirking over at his mother with all the reverence of a toad to a fly.

"You are my son and you will answer me," Morgana said. "Have you lost your Talent?"

Winslow tilted his head to the side and considered her for a moment. "Yes," he said smoothly. "I have lost my Talent."

For a fraction of a moment, Valeda thought she read dismay in the House Witch's face. But then Morgana collected herself and sat back down, smoothing her skirts as she did so.

"Lord Feverrette is the one who rescued Delgora that night. Not me. I was . . ." Winslow turned to Valeda now. With a cheeky smile, he lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles before finishing his sentence. ". . . otherwise engaged."

Collata made an unladylike snort of disgust. "Yes," she said. "You must be so happy. We all know your tastes run toward the Untalented."

Valeda glanced at Collata, distracted by this news. What exactly did that mean?

"Oh, I'm afraid it's true," Collata said with a taunting smile. "Or did you think you were the first Untalented he's ever brought home?"

Valeda felt Winslow's reaction before she saw it. His anger pulsed through his magic, which in turn fed her own. She met his blue-green gaze and held it, ignoring the rest of the room.
He's mourning someone,
she realized. But who or why were too complicated for her magic to answer.

"You are quite mistaken, dear sister, if you think this is my home," Winslow said. "A home denotes a place of warmth and charm. Where someone might feel accepted and loved. Agoston House has never given me such an impression."

"Winslow Fagen Agoston!" Morgana gasped. "One more word out of you and I shall banish you from House lands."

"Do it." He turned to face his mother, his body vibrating with fury under Valeda's fingers. "I don't go there anyway. The only person remotely of interest to me is Jem, and she's always at school. Father is too busy hiding away in the liquor cabinet and Collata's just as frigid as you are, Mother. So please do it. Banish me and make my avoidance of your presence legally binding."

Morgana leaned forward in her seat, gripping the armrests so tightly that Valeda swore she could hear them cracking under the strain. When the Witch spoke next, her voice was changed, deep and reverberating, echoing the rage of the woman.

"You come into my house and speak thus to me?"

"You knew when you summoned me here that this would be unpleasant," Winslow said. "Now banish me and make it official."

Wind gusted through the room, swirling around Morgana in a sudden, malevolent tempest. Valeda felt the danger. Her Talent rose in warning as whatever spell had just been cast whipped toward them. Without thinking, she lifted her free hand and muttered a word she was quite certain she'd never heard before.

"
Tateuote,
" she said.

A purple mist shielded them from the gust, dissipating as soon as the danger had passed. Valeda lowered her hand, every bit as startled as the rest of the room. Morgana's eyes widened in surprise and Collata made a choked sound. Jemima, on the other hand, whooped her joy and rushed over to stand beside her brother.

"Who are you?" Morgana asked Valeda, her voice betraying just how shaken she was.

"She's no one to you," Winslow said curtly. "Just like me."

Then he turned and led her out of the drawing room. Jemima followed on his heels, giggling at the display she'd just seen. None of them actually spoke until they were out of the house and at least three blocks away.

"Did you see her face?" Jemima asked with a laugh. "You'd have thought the Crone herself had spit one of her teeth on the carpet!"

"Jem, don't be crass," Winslow said, but he was grinning.

"Oh, Winslow, I am so sorry!" Valeda said. "I don't know what happened . . . I just . . ."

"Sorry?" Winslow stopped walking to stare down at her. "She was about to douse me with frost bite. You saved me from a whole lot of pain, Vee. Don't ever be sorry for that."

"Frost bite? On her own son?"

"Motherly affection is foreign to Lady Morgana," Winslow said with a rueful laugh. "It wouldn't be the first time she's done it."

Valeda gaped at him and looked back down the street. Anger flinted deep inside her and she felt her magic urge her to go back, to challenge the horrible woman, or something. She couldn't really think past the intense desire to hit Morgana Agoston several times with a blunt object.

Winslow cupped her face with a gloved hand and turned her to look at him. He was smiling at her, almost laughing. Then he bent down and kissed her. Some part of her protested that they were standing in broad daylight on the corner of the street with Fates knew how many people watching. But the bigger part of her just leaned into him, focused only on the warm press of his mouth to hers.

Jemima cleared her throat. "I admit it was fairly amazing, brother, but could you leave the snogging for indoors?"

He jerked away so fast, Valeda staggered on her feet. She was dizzy from the moment, but still caught the look of pained confusion in his face. Then he turned and left her, walking toward the house at the far end of the street.

"Come along," he called brusquely over his shoulder.

Jemima shot her a look of compassion and then ran to catch up with her brother. Valeda felt tears burn the backs of her eyes as she watched them go. She couldn't follow. She felt ashamed and exposed and vulnerable, and she would be damned if she let that man see her cry. So she turned down the closest alley and ran.

No news report was worth this.

***

Winslow had just stepped into Feverrette House and hadn't even managed to get his gloves off when he was accosted by Dorian.

"What took you so long?" Dorian asked and then looked to Jemima. "And who is this?"

"Hey!" Jemima said with a frown. "You know me! It's Jem!"

Dorian blinked down at her. "Little Jem?"

She grinned. "Not as little now."

"Fates preserve me, you're huge." Dorian laughed and embraced the girl. "But does this mean what I think it does?"

"I was waylaid by family," Winslow said, unable to stop smiling at his little sister. It had been far too long since he'd seen her and his heart ached at how much taller she'd gotten in his absence.
Time is so cruel,
he thought. "Not to worry, though. I think I'm properly banished from Agoston lands now."

"You're gone an hour and manage to get yourself banished from home?" Bartholomew asked as he came into the vestibule. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Where's Miss Quinlan?" Dorian asked.

"She's right behind me," Winslow said, unbuttoning his jacket. "And you of all people should know, Barty, that this banishment has been a lifetime in the making."

"Um . . . Winslow . . . Miss Quinlan's not coming," Jemima said.

"What?" He frowned at his sister.

"I saw her dash the other direction as we climbed the steps," she said. "I can't say as I blame her, either. What with you snogging her in the middle of the street and then shoving her away like some gnat in your face. I thought you had better manners than that."

Winslow felt the pit of his stomach knot in fear. He turned back to the door and yanked it open. He scanned the street for signs of Valeda, calling on his Talent for aid. He saw every distinct face as though they were right next to him, but Jem was right, Valeda wasn't there. He'd known she wouldn't be. He couldn't sense her anywhere, not even the lingering flint of her anger tinged the air around him.

He pushed a hand through his hair and cursed his own stubborn pride.

"You snogged her in the street?" Dorian asked from behind him.

"I kissed her. I didn't mean to," Winslow growled in frustration. "I never know what I'm doing with that blasted woman. My magic keeps pushing me toward her. Like . . . almost like . . ."

"You're drawn to each other," Dorian said. "You can sense when she's nearby. You can read her emotions as though they were your own."

Winslow frowned at the busy street, still searching. "Yes," he said. "What the hell is this?"

"I don't know," Dorian said and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "But it's the same with Elsie and me, if that's any consolation."

Winslow forced himself to look at his friend. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Dorian said. "Elsie said Fate had preordained us together. It was a battle to get her to marry me because of it. She said she couldn't be certain if this was real love or just a manifestation of our Talents."

"But, you love her," Winslow said. "I know you do. I can see it on your face."

"Yes I do," Dorian said with a sigh. He looked at the closed door beside them and shook his head. "But as long as we're both Talented, Elsie will always have a lingering doubt in her mind."

Winslow looked back into the street. Half of him wanted to rejoice with the news. After all, if this was just a byproduct of their Talents, then he was not betraying Bryva's memory in his attraction. The other half of him mourned. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Valeda Quinlan had represented redemption for him. Or at least the hope of redemption.

Bryva would not have wanted him to torture himself for the rest of his life.

The idea that his growing fascination with Valeda could be nothing more than the machinations of Fate filled him with a sense of betrayal. He was not some puppet to be yanked about and neither was Valeda.

"You should go find her," Dorian said. "People might not know about her yet, but she's still in danger. Her association with us alone makes her a political target."

Winslow thought of the way she'd rescued him from his mother's spell and a renewed sense of urgency hit him. At least one House Witch was aware of Valeda's Talent now. Knowing his mother, word was going to spread very quickly.

He nodded to Dorian and bound down the steps, making a brisk pace back the way he'd come.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" Caresse asked with a worried frown.

They stood in the vestibule of Feverrette House again, with Caresse bundled to her ears in fur and Bartholomew hovering by the front door. Dorian smiled at his sister, grateful for her concern. Under normal circumstances, he would have insisted on accompanying them to the train station, but everyone had agreed that Elsie should remain hidden for now. And he wasn't leaving Elsie's side, not even to greet his mother.

"You won't be gone more than an hour, sister," he said. "I'm sure we will be just fine until your return."

"I would prefer if Lord Agoston were here," she said.

"So would I," Bartholomew muttered.

Dorian agreed with them, but he understood the danger to Miss Quinlan as well. Winslow needed to find Valeda before anyone else did. And if Elsie was right in her interpretation of Magic's will, then the sooner they had the girl back in their custody the better. Fated or not, Dorian still didn't understand how the woman had suddenly become Talented or what ramifications would come of it. At first he'd been afraid that Winslow would somehow suffer, as if she had somehow stolen part of him, but after careful observation Dorian couldn't believe that. Winslow was every bit as healthy, and every bit as Talented, as the day he was born. So whatever Miss Quinlan had, it was either in her system all along and waiting for the opportunity to emerge, or Fate was sitting somewhere in the corner laughing at them all.

The look on Caresse's face told him that she was thinking along the same lines
. She looks like our mother when she frowns like that,
he thought. All statuesque and prim, with her light eyebrows pinched together in severe thought and her fine nose wrinkled in displeasure, she might have been mistaken for Jessamine Feverrette. Dorian smiled and took his sister by the shoulders, meeting her blue gaze straight on before he spoke.

"It will be all right," he said. "Gremor is here. I lived through many years on the run with that man and I'm certain he won't fail me now."

"Very well," Caresse said, but he could hear the hesitance in her voice.

"The carriage is here," Bart said, opening the door.

Caresse embraced him one last time before turning to take Bart's elbow. They exited together, looking every bit the nobles that they were. Dorian closed the door and sighed, pushing back his own worry.

Elsie was supposed to make her speech at the opening ceremony of Winter Tournament, which would be tomorrow at twilight. She was not scheduled to speak. She would just interrupt. As she'd pointed out earlier, none of the Council cared much for her as it was, so she needn't worry about making anyone angry.