The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele #3)(44)

I laughed. "There are only six bedrooms, not including the servants' bedchambers in the attic. Not at all large, compared to some."

He laughed too. "Not in my world, Miss Steele."

"Nor mine. It's quite a difference to the rooms above my father's watch and clock shop. After his death, I needed employment, and Matt needed an assistant. It worked out perfectly for me. Considering I had no experience as anyone's assistant except my father's, I'm not sure he got the same benefit from the arrangement as I did."

"I beg to differ," he said warmly. "I think he did very well out of the arrangement. Very well indeed. He does, after all, get to enjoy your company every day."

My face heated, and I tried to laugh off his flattery, but I felt his gaze on me. It was unnerving; not because I felt embarrassed by his flattery but because I liked it.

"Tell me about yourself," he said after an awkward pause. "I'd like to get to know you better."

"Why?"

"Because I like you, and that's what people do when they like one another."

"Oh. Yes. Of course." I sounded like an unsophisticated oaf.

"And you're a magician and I've met so few."

"Shhh." I glanced at the door just as Bristow entered, carrying a tray. He deposited it on a table and I poured the tea. "There's not much to tell," I said to Mr. Barratt after Bristow left. "My mother died when I was young, and my father passed just over a month ago. I've been around watches my entire life and helped him in the shop whenever I could."

"You said he was artless and you never knew you were a magician until recently. It must have come as a surprise."

He had no idea how much. When my watch had saved me, I thought I was going mad and imagining things. "Tell me, Mr. Barratt, does your magic manifest itself in ways other than the one you showed me at the Gazette office?"

He set his cup down and gave me his full attention. "What do you mean?"

How much should I tell him? How much could I trust him? If I wanted answers, I had to, at least a little. "What I'm going to tell you cannot be repeated to a soul. Do you understand? I don't want to read about it in your newspaper tomorrow morning."

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, fixing me with a curious gaze. "I promise to keep your secret, Miss Steele."

I took a sip then set down my cup too. The slight delay seemed to irk him but he did not try to rush me. "My watch saved my life once, as did a clock I worked on."

"Saved your life how?"

"I threw the clock at an assailant. It wasn't a very good throw, and would have missed him, but the clock deviated from its course and hit his head."

He sat back again, somewhat deflated. "Perhaps your aim is better than you think."

"My watch jumped out of my reticule and wrapped its chain around the Dark Rider's wrist when he attacked me. It caused him to convulse violently."

He sat forward again and cocked his head to the side. "Jumped out?"

"Of its own accord, yes. I know it sounds odd, but I swear it happened.

"I believe you. Did you order it to…act on your behalf?"

I shook my head. "I wouldn't know how."

"Did you say anything to it? Anything at all?"

"No. It was as if it knew."

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw and studied the middle distance. "Remarkable."

"You know more about magic and magicians than anyone," I said. "Have you heard of this sort of thing happening to others?"

"No. Never. Those I have met use simple spells to work simple magic, most of which is useless—and temporary. I've heard of previous generations wielding stronger spells. No spell at all, however…that's new and very intriguing. You're special, Miss Steele."

"Is special a polite word for odd?"

He smiled. "Not on this occasion. Having a clock and watch both save you is a benefit. You're fortunate. I wonder how it works. I mean, why you? Why can't I summon ink and make it splash in someone's eyes, for example?"

"Has your life ever been in danger?"

"No."

"Perhaps that's why. Perhaps it only works when there is a threat."

He considered this for moment then shook his head. "My father died when a runaway coach knocked him over as he crossed the road. He was an ink magician too and had a sample bottle in his pocket. It didn't save him."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right, Miss Steele, but I think it disproves your theory and proves mine. You are special. The question is, why?"

Why indeed. "I know so little about my grandparents or great-grandparents, so perhaps I inherited it from one of them. I wish I knew more about this magic and where it came from. Not knowing is terribly frustrating."

"I can imagine." He moved to sit beside me on the sofa, so close that our knees almost touched. "There must be some people still alive who knew your grandparents. Could you speak to them?"

"About magic?" I shook my head. "It's not a good idea to bring it up with the artless."

"Why not?"

"Because they'll assume I'm asking because I've inherited my magic, and they'll fear me or despise me since they're afraid of losing customers."