His eyes had gone very wide. She’d said that word out loud a grand total of once before in her life—twice, if you counted dreamside.
She let out a shaky breath and pushed on while she had the advantage. “It really comes down to this: Do we have principles, or don’t we? Are we willing to stomach some uncertainty to save people’s lives … or aren’t we?”
He slumped into a chair. “That’s not fair, Beatrix.”
“If you insist on seeing one of your choices in a worst-case light, you have to look at the other that way, too.”
Silence set in. She bit her tongue.
“All right, let’s go,” he said, jumping to his feet. “We’d better make sure a brewing-only restriction will fly.”
Remarkably,it did. He’d been sure at least one of the towns or counties would pitch a fit about paying for a wizard who wouldn’t fix a leaking roof or fight farm pests, but brews were apparently their main priority. Just as remarkably,Croft was able to get that worked out in twenty-five minutes flat.
“Excellent,” Croft said, beaming at them. “Couldn’t be happier that you’ll do it, Omnimancer.”
“It’s not as good a deal for Ellicott Mills as one-hundred percent of an omnimancer for free,” Peter said, clinging to his misgivings. “People might be annoyed by the wait.”
Croft snorted. “People can go soak their heads.”
“I hope that’s not what you’re planning to tell anyone coming to complain?—”
“No, no, it was clear as day that you wouldn’t be able to go on working for free once you were married, never mind how big your hospital bills were. This way we won’t lose you entirely. Anyway,” Croft added in a conspiratorial whisper, “our town’s contribution to the collective pot is housing.”
Beatrix’s laugh was so infectious, Peter couldn’t help joining in, no matter how uneasy he still felt.
When they got back home, their answering machine had nine messages.
Omnimancer and Mrs. Blackwell, I was outraged to hear what happened to you, and I wanted to tell you that my friends and I are taking up a collection …
Sir and madam, you don’t know me but I feel I must help after all you’ve tried to do …
Mr. Omnimancer, you and Mrs. Omnimancer helped my little girl last year even though we’re not from Ellicott Mills, and I’ll never forget it. I can only send a little bit, but I’m asking all my friends to do the same, and you know that a lot of little bits add up…
And on and on like that. He stared at the machine, stunned.
“I thought everyone hated us,” he murmured finally, as the last message wound down and the machine clicked off.
Beatrix wrapped her arms around him from behind, laying her head against his back. “When you’re laid low, you find out who your friends are.”
Someone knocked on the door just as the telephone rang. He glanced at the time: Nine o’clock on the dot.
“I’d better …” he said, gesturing to the phone. The same brisk female voice as the morning before asked him to hold for the general, and he watched Beatrix open the door and give Mrs. Clark a hug as he waited to disabuse the Pentagram of the notion that he’d be coming back.
The line click-clicked. “Hello again, Blackwell,” Whitaker said. “Will you accept the offer?”
“Thank you, but no.”
The pause that followed suggested shock. Still, Whitaker’s voice was as smooth as before when he said, “I understand you might not want to leave Mrs. Blackwell home by herself, given the danger she’s in. I’ll assign a bodyguard. A typic Marine, if you’d rather not have a wizard. She’ll be perfectly safe.”
Now it was Peter’s turn for unsettled silence. In all their fearful activity the last twenty-four hours to deal with their financial crisis, they’d given next to no thought about the death threats. He couldn’t protect himself, let alone Beatrix. And Beatrix couldn’t use her most effective defense without landing them both in prison for breaking the magic-use law.
How much uncertainty and riskwashe willing to stomach to do the right thing? How could he live with himself if anything happened to her?
“Blackwell?” the general said.
Do we have principles, or don’t we?
He closed his eyes.
