Chapter 6

AUbrEY

Earlier that morning

The teacup placed at Aubrey’s elbow was one of his favorites — a delicate sky blue porcelain with silver filigree patterns scrolling gently across its surface. The scent of lavender and honey wafted toward him and he drew in a long, steadying breath.

“I thought you might need it,” Alon said as he shifted to Aubrey’s left — out of the overhead light produced by a magically imbued lantern. Gas lights were fine for general lighting, but for his work, Aubrey preferred a single, bright light he could move as needed.

“I do indeed,” Aubrey murmured, not taking his eyes off the small book that lay flat on the table before him.

“Tricky bit of business, then?” Alon asked.

“Something like that. Though…” Aubrey paused to lift the next page with a small iron tool that looked better suited for a dentist’s tray. “This one’s not as finicky as its companion.”

“The one that roared at you or the one that let out a miasma of fungal spores?”

Aubrey chuckled. “Both then, I suppose. No, this one is rather bland. Although apparently it caused a bitter fight amongst members of the University of Paris.” Now he slid his gaze to Alon, whose sandy blonde hair and dark gray eyes looked pale in the bright light. “My reports say the argument was over the best time to take laxatives in January.”

Alon smothered his laugh with his hand. “Oh, I can’t wait to see that in the monthly report.”

“I refuse to include it. The board doesn’t need to know.” Aubrey took a sip of his tea with his ungloved left hand. Contamination of any kind between himself and the book wasn’t something Aubrey was willing to risk. Every single artifact that came into the Magnificus Collectio was handled with the utmost care and respect; nothing was taken for granted.

This book, while likely harmless and mildly hilarious in some regards, had been brought in as part of a collection, donated by a wealthy widow whose spouse had considered himself a bit of a curator. The deceased had done more than most — lead boxes, iron tools, and where needed, glass and velvet cases for displaying his prized tomes. All of those materials diffused magic, but collectors didn’t usually have the specific knowledge, or the particular talents, to deal with the bizarrely arcane.

Aubrey and his team did, however. So they’d spent the better part of the last week examining the books. This one, a strange mix of prophecy and advice, wasn’t magical. But it was battered. Aubrey intended to repair the broken spine and crinkled pages, then put the book out on display in Darwin’s Attic. Tourists loved “prophetic” books. They loved the scandal and the shock, and the possibility. Strange but harmless items kept money flowing through the Attic, and thus funding the Magnificus Collectio’s endeavors was the worst part of the work. But his talents were needed, and for the most part, Aubrey felt the work called to him. It wasn’t for forever, but the here and now worked out perfectly fine.

If only every other part of his life could be neat and orderly.

Aubrey’s thoughts had drifted so many times back to Ethaniel, from the moment they’d parted months ago. He’d made an egregious error, thinking his assistance with Jeremiah would be seen as that…and thinking it was wanted. Ethaniel’s defiant fury at Aubrey even suggesting getting Jeremiah more help had gotten Aubrey evicted from Ethaniel’s presence. It had been a startling, painful lesson.

Aubrey had felt seen by Ethaniel immediately — yielding where he was unbending, sweet like water against Aubrey’s sharp edges and cool demeanor. And Ethaniel had been sweet on Aubrey’s tongue, too, in those stolen moments that could have lasted forever and still left him desperate for more. He missed Ethaniel. Seeing him at Twisted Silver the previous week had been a necessary wound, a reminder that he wasn’t as tortoise-shelled as most made him out to be.

Alon was one of the few who knew Aubrey had more to him. He was a good assistant, a good man, and talented with languages and cyphers. They were lucky to have him on staff. Aubrey knew he should say such things more often. But even when he was surly in his concentration, Alon never treated him any differently.

Clinging to people like Alon, like Ethaniel, made Aubrey feel so completely selfish.

“Hmmm. You’ve got that distant look again,” Alon said, shaking Aubrey out of his thoughts. “Which means you should finish your tea, give it a rest.”

“I’m all right,” Aubrey instantly replied.

Alon simply nodded. “I choose to believe you, Aubrey, but really…you should step away for a moment. Go outside, even.”

Aubrey raised a brow, torn between amused and curious. “Why would going outside change anything?”

“For one, it smells like old glue and bad dreams back here. Horribly whiffy. And two, you are only human and deserve a break.” Alon nudged him with an affable shoulder. “Go. This poor old book can wait for your magic. He’s not running off anywhere.” Alon leaned forward and peered down at the pages. “Plus I’m desperately curious to see if these poor sods who didn’t take laxatives in January made it to February without perforated bowels. Horrible.”

Maybe now was time for a break.

Glass shattered at his feet as soon as Aubrey stepped outside. Tiny flecks of green-silver glinted in the spring sunlight. A few had sprayed up onto his black brogues; there was even the glitter of it in his upturned pant cuffs.

Above him, on the balcony, two afternoon drunks yelled out apologies. They seemed unbothered by anything that could have happened. Nor did they seem to notice the perfect circle of glass.

Twice in one week.

Aubrey’s father would have been spinning his Cunning webs as soon as the first one appeared at the auction house while he’d been talking to the copper-haired man clinging to the arm of Lawton Adler. His parents did not believe in coincidence, nor did they see every little oddity as a sign from beyond the veil. They taught Aubrey and his sisters to appreciate the strangeness in the world, and to love it. That love turned to revelry, and idolatry.

No, he was not going to fall back into those old ways of thinking. But two circles of glass in less than a week, and even he was suspicious. But it was a mystery for later.

Later never manifested.

In its place was a well-scrubbed young man of fourteen, bearing a light blue envelope in one hand, the other held out in expectation.

“Is this for me?” Aubrey asked, mildly amused by the boy’s candor.

“You’re Aubrey Lavigne, yeah?”

“And what gave it away?”

The boy shrugged. “Said you’d be a well-dressed, tall man with a monocle on a chain and eyes that looked like glass.”

Something prickled at the back of Aubrey’s neck. Emotions washed through him — delight, surprise, shock, and a single, crystal-clear icicle of fear. Ethaniel had described him perfectly. He already knows you so well.

“Well, then that’s me,” Aubrey said, laying a half-dollar on the boy’s palm and snatching the envelope away.

“Said you’d be quick, too,” the boy said before bustling off.

Aubrey forced himself to wait until he was in the back of the building and down two levels. Back into the Magnificus Collectio, and even further back, into The Cabinet. His office was tucked away in the corner, the door half hidden by seemingly endless bookshelves stocked with all the harmless things waiting for repair or inspection.

Aubrey forced open the creaky door, closed it, and then sat down in the leather armchair to read Ethaniel’s note.

Aubrey,

I’ve come into a strange set of circumstances involving an item that may be interesting to you. I’m afraid I can’t say much else, but if I know nothing else about you, I know your skills. Your talents. This is a delicate matter, but one of strange magic. I can’t trust anyone else with it.

Please meet me at Bryant Park, the benches on the west side of the fountain. Tomorrow or the following day at ten a.m.

Send any reply back with instructions to ring the back door. I’ve had to ward the shop for the night.

I liked seeing you last week. I’d like to see you again.

Sincerely,

Ethaniel

Elation was a slow burn of champagne fizz in his veins, but it was tampered with caution. The glass. This note. The lack of trademark wordiness in Ethaniel’s letter. It was all wrong.

When Aubrey came back to Alon and the book he’d been working on, he found Alon and a few other employees chortling.

“You missed it,” Alon wheezed, clapping a hand on Aubrey’s shoulder. “Way more intrusive than laxatives. Completely dreadful.”

Aubrey shuddered. “I don’t want to know.” But he let Alon tell him anyway.

When Aubrey returned home that evening, he went into the little-used spare bedroom and stood before his sheet-draped altar. Despite the insistence to his parents that he no longer observed their Cunning Folk ways, Aubrey had kept the altar. Some of it was deference to the beliefs with which he’d been raised. And even his learned Hermeticism hadn’t driven away every bit of the occult out of Aubrey’s life. It was like when one stared up at the stars and realized that yes, those were flaming balls of gas in the vastness of the universe, but those very stars could make the night feel magical.

In essence, there was nothing wrong, in Aubrey’s view, with a bit of superstition, or even awe at how magical the natural world seemed to be. After all, philosophers and priests liked to ruminate on where magic came from, but ultimately, the source didn’t matter. Society had long ago accepted that some people were granted gifts, but Aubrey strongly believed real consequences came from what was done with those very gifts. So often they were squandered. And if one listened to the philosophers and priests and lawmakers, those very gifts could be dangerous; even evil. He didn’t like to insert himself into the arguments that rang off bathhouse and church walls alike, but it was hard to ignore the way they’d changed over the last few years. The looming nearness of the turn of the century concocted a lot of strange fears and anxieties. Another good reason to not advertise his abilities, or his proclivities.

Slowly and with great care, Aubrey drew off the sheet and let his gaze rest on the obsidian plinth leading to a caduceus of veiny white marble. His family took their gifts seriously — it was magic, yes, but according to his mother and father, the Lavigne bloodline was ordained to heal the sick. If they’d been church-going folk, they might have said their gifts were God-given. And if that was the case, Aubrey’s ability to mend, rather than heal, was a blaspheme upon their family.

Carefully, Aubrey put both hands on the altar, his palms flat against the cool obsidian, and closed his eyes. He considered himself a patient man in all other aspects of his life, but this small ritual always left him feeling antsy. Perhaps it was the absence of belief. Perhaps he simply could no longer shut his mind off from the slow drip of his days, filled with monotony and boredom.

Perhaps it was knowing that if he left his mind to quiet itself, he’d be shown a truth he wasn’t quite ready to admit to. Yet.

Your powers are simply different, his mother had told him. We’ve always had those in the family whose abilities twist and turn. You can mend materials, Aubrey. That is a unique gift. Your father’s disappointment is only that — disappointment that you are not more like him. He’ll come around, and when he does, you will be stronger because you will have embraced your truth.

Aubrey squeezed his eyes shut. What his mother had said would pass never did, and he’d been left with a broken heart and an urn he took with him to New York. Why couldn’t his father have stayed alive long enough to see Aubrey’s powers grow…and why was he so terribly selfish in his wish to have his father back?

Aubrey shifted his stance and curled his fingers over the plinth’s edges, reveling in the bite of rough stone. Obsidian had to be unpolished when used in altars; a way to ground oneself to the Earth. The first time he’d touched the obsidian, the memories of the stone had flooded back — the smell of dirt and grass, the sensation of wholeness, then a great loss as it was pried from a larger piece of stone. Stone, dirt, trees…they didn’t have memories, so to speak. But through his ability to mend, Aubrey could sometimes sense things. It had never been easy to describe when his parents pressed for more.

All Aubrey knew was that every torn page, every shattered bit of glass, every moth-chewed scarf could tell him something. But this extension of his magic wasn’t stable, or predictable.

The glass again, he thought as he opened his eyes and stared at the twin snakes of the caduceus. I should have touched it, when it shattered at my feet. It could have given me something and instead, I walked away.

He pushed away from the altar, quickly throwing the sheet back over it, and walked back downstairs. Left wondering.

His last act before heading to his study was to pen a response to Ethaniel. Overthinking the matter would only leave him pacing the halls, chasing the ghost of sleep well past the witching hour. And Ethaniel wasn’t coy typically. Smart, handsome, talented, but very forthright. It had been one of the first things Aubrey had been pulled to, that down-to-earth mentality that seemed burned into Ethaniel’s bones. That man could have taken his patterning talents to anyone in the city and been offered a bounty in return, but Ethaniel had stuck by his uncle’s side. Dedicated, loyal, honest.

And, to put it rather bluntly, Aubrey was terribly curious. Ethaniel wouldn’t write such a message for no reason.

Aubrey wrote his reply and then sent it off with one of the evening messenger services. For all the availability of quick magic, he’d rather set the envelope into a person’s hand. Slowly, Aubrey walked back upstairs to the bank of windows that graced his study and stared out into the dark city, watching as lights flared to life across its expanse; tiny torches of civilization against so much black. He let the melancholy sink in, scratching its way into his mind, into his body, until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

Then he threw himself into the night’s work, looking for any story in his family’s books so he’d stop kicking himself for not having that shard of glass.