Dark Magic leaves traces.
Zimsy took her downstairs, where she opened her presents from the Christmas festivities she missed. Ambrose was careful not to comment on the now permanent marks on her skin.
She hadn’t seen Mal at all. However, he had sent her a Christmas gift, which was a vintage pearl layered necklace wrapped in silver and emerald paper with a cameo broach. It was perfect.
There was a short note as well.
Lucky for you, I purchased this weeks ago. Otherwise, saving your life would have sufficed as a gift itself.
Maeve missed the Sacred Seventeen Party, for which she was grateful. She found out from Abraxas that the Committee announced no engagements at all. He speculated the current state of affairs prevented them from making any movements currently.
Later that evening, Zimsy walked into Maeve’s bedroom, where she sat up in bed reading a book.
Zimsy smiled.
“You have a visitor.”
Maeve threw the book aside, knowing from Zimsy’s smile it was Mal. Without his ring, she couldn’t tell if he was close or not. She tossed the covers aside and grabbed her dressing gown.
She nodded at Zimsy, who left and returned a moment later, much to Maeve’s happiness, with Mal. Zimsy bowed her head at Mal and left them. Maeve stood from the edge of her bed, and Mal reached out to assist her.
“I’m alright,” said Maeve, slightly, lying, holding up a hand to Mal. “Please.” Maeve gestured to the armchairs in her room.
He seated himself in the chair, keeping his eyes on her the whole time as she walked his way. Maeve noticed the Dread Ring on his finger.
“I’m glad to see that you are,” said Mal.
“What happened?” Asked Maeve bluntly. “What on Earth was that, and how did you know exactly what to do?”
Mal sighed, being equally blunt. “That was something similar to a Vexkari I did not intend to make.”
Maeve’s mouth dropped. “What?”
His eyes swam with remorse.
“I believe when we were in Albania, and I killed those men, and I was doing so much dark magic, some things got crossed, and when you and I….”
“Oh,” whispered Maeve.
“I also believe that’s why you spent months feeling ill,” said Mal. “I suspected for a while that something may have accidentally rooted in you, but nothing drastic ever changed. You were ill, and then fine, and ill and then fine. I kept feeling for something foreign attached to you. I never felt anything strange. Because it was me.”
Maeve bit her nails, looking down at the floor, disturbed that a part of him had nearly killed her.
“I don’t have all the answers,” said Mal. “But I am terribly sorry, Maeve.”
He spoke with sincerity.
“You saved me, though.”
Mal gave her a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Each time you have been in peril over the past year, it was because of gross negligence on my part. It won’t happen again.”
Maeve knew better by now than to argue with him. She owed him her life three times now. It wasn’t his fault.
“Thank you for the gift. And the gown, even though I didn’t get to appear in it,” said Maeve.
Maeve knew he had purchased those things with his own money earned from working at The Daydreamer.
He smiled softly at her, “Here.”
