Tell the Wind and Fire(43)

“Good bit more money in it. He’ll be able to keep me in the style to which I wish to quickly become accustomed,” Penelope said, and tapped her glass against Jarvis’s.

“Guess I’m doing a good job. Or somebody put in a good word for me.”

Jarvis twinkled at me, and I wanted to shout and disclaim responsibility, but I was responsible. If it wasn’t for me, Jarvis would never have met Ethan; Jarvis would not be involved with the Strykers at all.

“Didn’t need to. Anyone can tell good work when they see it,” I said.

We were all pretending, but there was a value to pretending. When you pretend hard enough, for long enough, you can convince yourself. It was not likely Jarvis could be anyone’s target—he was not even a Light magician. He would be trying to establish order, and doing it kindly. This job brought in a lot more money, and it was not so dangerous. Maybe it was not dangerous at all. Maybe Jarvis would be safe and Aunt Leila would be safe and Uncle Douglas would be safe. Maybe Ethan was right to hope and I was wrong to doubt and everything would be well.

We ate the dinner I’d made, and from picking at the salads we progressed to fighting over the last brownie. By the time dinner was over, Marie was laughing on the sofa while I made coffee and Jarvis tickled her and explained that he would not be gone for long at all.

“There’s a nice house in the Dark city for important officials such as myself, and I have a card which ensures that if there is any need, I have priority transport out. Do you know what priority is, Marie belle?”

“My name’s not Maribel,” said Marie, raising her eyebrows, and Jarvis laughed. The extra money would go to Marie’s future, I told myself—she was so smart. This could be good.

“Mr. Stryker said that I would never be gone longer than two weeks at a time, and that usually it would only be a week. I will see you every weekend, and now that your father is rich we can go to a Broadway show every Saturday night if you want.”

I was bent over the sideboard, pouring Penelope’s coffee. The sound of a gasp and glass breaking made me spin around and spill the coffee over myself and the floor in a dark scorching trail. I barely noticed I had been burned. All I could think was that it was the window breaking, that Carwyn had come back.

My father had dropped his cup. I thought for a moment he was having one of his attacks, but when I looked at him, his eyes were clear.

That was almost more terrifying.

“I’m sorry,” Dad said, and laid his hand on Jarvis’s arm. “I’ve been trying to hold it in, but I can’t. You have to listen to me. You have to believe me, Jarvis: you can’t go. It’s too dangerous, and you won’t be able to help. Josephine thought she could help people, and they killed her for it.”

I willed tears back. We had never, never talked about Mother.

“Everything’s absolutely fine,” I told him. “Jarvis just got a promotion at work.”

“At work with the Strykers?” Dad asked, his voice suddenly sharp. “In the Dark city, where they are rioting? I tell you, he mustn’t go! We all have to run away, get out of both cities while we still can, before they burn—”

Jarvis jerked his arm forcibly out of Dad’s grasp.

“Leave off! You’re scaring Marie.”

“Dad,” I said. “Dad, please. Please come lie down. For me, for Mom.”

Dad fumbled for my hand as he came toward me. “This isn’t madness, Lucie. It’s the truth.”

I would rather have listened to madness than truth. At least madness had some hope in it.

“Aren’t you tired of the truth?” I said in a low voice, so the others could not hear. “When has it ever helped us?”

My father looked at me. I couldn’t hold his gaze. I had to lower my own, and as I did I felt hot tears creep out from under my lashes.

“All right,” Dad said finally. “I’ll lie down. You’re right, Lucie. I am tired.”

I guided him through the door. I sent what magic I could through my rings—small, soothing pieces of magic, like sprinkling a few cool drops of water on a brow hot with fever, all I could do to comfort him. I smoothed his pillow with a hand heavy with rings, smoothed his thinning hair as gently as I could, as if he was a sick child.

“Jarvis has to go,” I whispered. “If he can help the people in the Dark city, he has to.”

“Josephine always said that. No matter what the danger is, no matter what you might find, she said, you have to go, you have to heal. She had to heal him, Lucie. She told me she had to.”

I didn’t know who “him” was: probably just another one of my mother’s patients. I didn’t know why my father was suddenly talking about her.

“Shhh,” I said, my throat aching. “We are all perfectly safe. Nobody has any reason to hurt us. Everything is all right.”

His eyes opened and he looked at me with disbelief, as if I was the mad one, as if I always had been.

“Nothing is all right. They killed your mother.”

I felt pierced through with guilt. I wondered what my father really thought of me, about my lies, about my consorting with the Light Council, whose guards had killed Mother. I had nothing I could say in my defense. I just kept stroking his hair.

“Hush,” I said. “I know. I know.”