Page 48

“Breakfast?” he repeated, and even his voice seemed weary, with even more of a rasp in it than usual—he had a proper magician’s voice, I’d always thought, as if he spent most of his time in a smoky cave. “I’ve had a few spiders. Dark magicians confine our nourishment to arachnids and human blood, though sometimes—”

I walked away without bothering to listen to the rest. I went upstairs and made a pot of coffee, then brought it downstairs with cups and the paper bag of sesame bagels Élise had supplied. I deposited the bagels in front of him and poured coffee for both of us.

He eyed me with a frown. “What are you doing?”

“It’s in both our interests if you don’t starve to death,” I said. “When was the last time you ate?”

He thought about it. “Yesterday.” Then, “I think.”

He helped himself to a bagel and I watched, because I was, in fact, curious about whether he ate or not. He devoured the first bagel in a half-dozen bites and began to work on a second.

“Thank you,” he said, all awkwardness again.

Satisfied, I went around his table, planning to return to the crate of Artefacts I’d brought up from the second floor, because I was elbow-deep in that mess now, then stopped. Banshee lay on the floor beside Havelock’s chair, tail twitching in contentment. She opened her eyes, blinking at me, then unfolded herself in a long stretch.

“Well!” I said, crossing my arms and smiling at him. “What’s this?”

“Nothing,” Havelock said emphatically, pointing his bagel at the cat. “She’s a fiend. A wraith in feline form. I can’t work out how she gets in here. I’ve chased her out twice already.”

“That was your first mistake,” I said. “Cats are inherently contrary. Now that she knows your workshop is forbidden, she’ll never stop breaking in.”

I didn’t say that I’d watched His Majesty shepherding Banshee around the workshop just the other day with the air of a tour guide. He’d shown her his secret passageway, I had no doubt.

Havelock leaned back in his chair and said plaintively, “She won’t leave me in peace.”

“You’re her type. Dangerous and unpleasant,” I said. “At least she’s a quiet cat,” I added, but he only snorted as if I’d made a joke.

I paused, examining him. His eyes, while shadowed, had no redness in them, and he wasn’t clutching at his handkerchief as he usually did when near one of the cats.

“Your allergy’s fading,” I said triumphantly. “I knew it would. You can get used to cats if you’re around them enough.”

Havelock swallowed another mouthful of bagel. “Is that like mithridatism?”

I made an exasperated sound and gave his shoulder a shove. I’m not sure where it came from; it was a childish gesture I had used with Robin, who was always teasing me. I drew my hand back immediately.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said.

“What?”

His dark hair had fallen over his brow, partly shielding his eyes. “I’m not actually going to turn you into a sparrow.”

“I know that,” I said, and frowned. “I only wish I knew why I know that.”

“So do I.” He gave me a sharp look. “Even the most arrogant magicians cower in my presence. I always assumed it was your obstinate humanitarianism. You’re like an altruistic bull.”

“It would help if you were more forthcoming,” I said.

“About what? The apocalypse incident?”

I suppressed the urge to wallop him over the head with a bagel. “Yes. That. Among other things.”

“Not much to tell.” His rings flashed as he fiddled with the music box. “I created the enchantment. Then it almost destroyed the world.”

It took me a moment to digest the fact that he was actually answering me with something other than a deflection.

“It seems there’s a great deal more to tell than that,” I said cautiously, because I didn’t know how long this small window of sincerity would remain open. “You created the spell. But you didn’t cast it, did you?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “No.”