Chapter 7

ETHANIEL

“You must let me come with you.”

Ethaniel tipped his head in acknowledgement as he sealed the envelope and passed it to the messenger hopping from foot to foot at his back door. Just an hour ago, he’d gone out this same back door for some fresh air and wound up with a minor English noble carrying a strange book crashing into his life. How quickly the tides changed.

“Perhaps,” he demurred, letting the boy snatch the envelope and a few bills from him before bolting down the alley. “My friend doesn’t trust easily. And he’s already going to be wary due to the lack of specificity in my note.”

Ethaniel shut the door, bolted it, then motioned Calix back down the hall to the stairs. Calix, however, didn’t budge. He hadn’t let go of the satchel for one moment. “No, I need to come with you, Ethaniel.” Determination made a thin line of Calix’s pretty lips. “There is something wrong with this damn book. This whole situation.” His face crumpled with worry.

“Let’s start with something easy.” Ethaniel wanted to reassure Calix it would all be fine, even if the uncertainty of everything ate at him, the teeth of that worry blunt but persistent. “My apartment is secure. I need to check on my uncle, but let’s get settled somewhere more comfortable.” He gave Calix what he hoped was a smile void of concern, even shifting his shoulders away from his ears a tad. Just in case Calix had an eye for body language.

Ethaniel was also bearing in mind that he did not know Calix, and had already jumped to help a complete stranger. And may have put Aubrey in harm’s way because of his own need to bloody help all the time.

“Right. No, of course….you’re right.” Calix sighed and slowly uncramped his fingers from around the satchel. “There’s so much swirling about in my mind and I don’t feed on chaos.”

Ethaniel did let his smile warm at that. “Nor do I.”

He led Calix back upstairs, but did the impolite thing and let the man linger in his small living room without refreshments while he dashed over to Jeremiah rooms. When Ethaniel cracked the door to peer in on the old man, he got a soft, “You can come in,” in reply.

“I was hoping you were still asleep,” Ethaniel said as he went to Jeremiah’s bedside. His uncle was turned on his left side, his head cradled on his arm. This position and the way the light had faded from the room made Jeremiah’s white hair look ethereal. Ghostly, even. It was a sobering thought.

“I was until a few minutes ago. Turned over and heard two voices outside.” Ethaniel flinched but Jeremiah tutted at him. “You were more than quiet, son. But my good hearing hasn’t given up yet, so let me have it while it’s still fairly sharp.”

“Still, Uncle…”

“No, no. I won’t…hear of it.” While Ethaniel groaned, Jeremiah laughed, the sound showing the rusty state of his lungs. “You brought someone home? That’s surprising.”

Ethaniel paused. Deciding. Letting Jeremiah think Calix was a suitor would keep him in the dark — which Jeremiah would hate but would hopefully keep him safe, should this whole mess be something more difficult than a consult with Aubrey.

And that alone was going to be challenge enough.

“It’s a friend,” Ethaniel finally said. “We’re going to have tea and talk books.”

“Ah, lovely then.” Jeremiah patted his hand, eyes already fluttering closed once more.

“Dinner, Uncle?”

“If you’re making tea, just that and some bread.”

“All right.”

Ethaniel got to his feet, kissed his uncle on the brow, and then returned to Calix. The man was still rooted to the spot before the fireplace. As twilight began to show itself across the sky like an iris unfurling, Calix was cast in half-shadow, dreamlike and almost hazy. The man was so focused on the flames that he jumped when Ethaniel said, “Sit, please. No call for you to stand.”

Calix shook his head. “I was terribly cold all of a sudden, so I stoked the fire.” His fine throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I heard it again.”

Instantly, Ethaniel was at his side. Tomorrow couldn’t wait. They should go to Aubrey tonight—

“Just a word.” Calix held up a finger. “A single word.”

He had to know. “What did it say?”

Ethaniel was surrounded by ghosts — the ghost of the man across the hall, and now the ghost of Calix’s proper London roll. The man sounded hollowed out as he whispered, “I’m afraid to say it out loud. The word isn’t odd…but how it spoke was the way the penitent say the name of God. It was horrible. Beautiful.”

“Could you write it down?” It was crawling up Ethaniel’s throat, curiosity’s claws in his soft tissue.

“All right.”

Ethaniel quickly grabbed a pen and old handbill from his tiny desk nearby, and they sat where they had earlier. He had to keep himself from leaning forward, to see, as Calix scrawled his terrible single note.

Ethaniel read the word once, twice, at least a dozen times before looking up at Calix, confusion marring his brow.

Convergence

“It means nothing, and yet apparently something,” Ethaniel finally replied, confused and deeply troubled. “Does it mean anything to you?”

“No.” Calix shivered and pulled his jacket tighter to him with one hand. The other hand rested possessively on top of the satchel. “But being near it makes the world feel as if it’s spinning off its axis. I feel…unmoored, like a boat that floated away from the dock with no heading.”

Ethaniel wasn’t going to let the poor man shiver. He went to the closet and pulled out a thick blanket, the wool scratchy but warm and in a shade the color of winter pine needles. Carefully, he draped the blanket over Calix’s shoulders. The way Calix looked at him with gratitude nearly rooted Ethaniel to the spot. Ethaniel felt useless in the moment, hovering over a man who looked like he’d been hollowed out by life itself; everything crashing down on him in one short afternoon.

But dinner he could do, and Jeremiah was waiting. “I need to make something up for my uncle, and you look like you could use some tea.” Ethaniel tried for a small smile, even though Calix wasn’t looking his way. “Or perhaps something stronger?”

Calix’s laugh was raspy and devoid of joy. “Something stronger for certain. But I’m already imposing—”

“You’re not.” The words came easily. He wanted to help, even if all they could do right now was wait out their meeting with Aubrey. They should go tonight, but he didn’t think wandering about the city in the dark while clutching a satchel with gods only knew what inside was a smart move. “You’re welcome to stay here or you can join me in the kitchen. It won’t be anything fancy, I’m afraid, but dinner will be warm. I can guarantee that.”

With that, Calix got to his feet, setting the satchel aside to fold up the blanket. “Let me help. Please.” His brown eyes bore into Ethaniel now and something about the sadness on the other man’s face made his protective nature flare once more. “Doing something, anything, will keep my mind from swirling into a pit of despair and self-pity. I’m a decent cook, all things considered.”

“Really?” Ethaniel leaned in, pretended to peer closely at Calix. It made the other man stifle a tiny chuckle. Good, at least Calix could still laugh. “Then the help is appreciated.”

Before Ethaniel handed Calix one of the good kitchen knives, he paused, put the blade back down, and said, “I need to know something. Directly.”

Calix lifted a brow but his expression remained smooth. “Certainly.”

Might as well bite the bullet, as the expression went. “When we met, you didn’t use any title. Yet your accent, your bearing, your manners say otherwise.” Ethaniel waved a hand around the simple, but clean, kitchen. “This is not the proper place for gentry, Americanized or not.”

Calix’s retort was swift, precise. “Does it matter?” When Ethaniel jerked back, Calix softened his tone. “I mean that. Truly. Yes, I am titled but only because my father preferred to claim a bastard over having no male heir. I’m the only one left. I chose a different path, a different life, when I came to America about a decade ago. England might cling to the old ways, but I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

There were a lot of nobles in England. Many minor, some with great clout. Ethaniel still needed to know, if only for his safety and that of his uncle’s. “And yet, there are enough people here whose heads will turn at a title. And even more who can be swayed by Marquis this or Lord that.” Ethaniel moved closer to Calix, peering down and into the man’s fathomless brown eyes. “I will help you, Calix. But my uncle is ill and needs a great deal of care. I won’t risk him. I need honesty moving forward.”

Calix’s nostrils flared, his jaw tensed. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you,” he replied. The very air between them simmered and it made Ethaniel suck in a tight breath. The tension wasn’t…entirely unwelcome. And after Calix’s panic and fear earlier, seeing some fight in the younger, slighter man set something roiling in Ethaniel’s belly.

“Then be honest with me once more.” Daring, perhaps stupidly, Ethaniel put his hand on Calix’s shoulder. “But if you’re somehow in line for the throne, let’s just skip over it.”

That pulled a startled laugh from Calix. “I’m not. I promise.” He sighed and looked away and for a long moment, Ethaniel wondered if the man would answer. That would change things drastically between them, and he would hate it.

When Calix looked back at Ethaniel, all the tension had bled out from his face, his posture. “My mother, Lily Addington, was from a wealthy American family. She was left a house in upper New York when her parents died in a carriage accident. I loved it there, especially spending summers in the woods and in the gardens. But we always went back to England when autumn set in. Part of her arrangement with my father. To keep me close. But she and my father never married, and since I was the product of their little affair, Mother always said we should be grateful that he didn’t throw us out.” And like he’d practiced it for a play, Calix said, “I’m the Earl of Batherton. And if I have my way, I’m the last.”

Relief flooded through Ethaniel. He wanted to sink into, to drop to the floor like a boneless puddle. Oh, any earl was wealthy enough to buy entire blocks of real estate in New York City, and the working class part of him would always squirm in discomfort around gentry. But as far as he knew, Batherton was in no way connected to the Patterners’ Guild, or any guild, in London. No shipping magnate or purveyor of branded quick magic here. Just an Earl from the country. Rich, educated, probably spoiled and a little unused to the rougher side of life. But not someone who could pull the right strings and destroy the safety net Ethaniel had built over the last decade.

“You look relieved,” Calix said quietly.

“I am, to be honest,” Ethaniel replied, giving Calix a wan little smile. “My life here is…very carefully constructed. And the right — or, I suppose, wrong — person could destroy that.”

Shaking his head, Calix said, “And I suppose I’m not this horrible person who would do such a thing?”

“So far, the worst you’ve done is crash into me.”

Calix bit his lip. Oh, that was a fine expression on the man’s delicate features. Ethaniel didn’t have the time to get so distracted now but perhaps for a moment, he could visually trace the lines of Calix’s brow, his cheekbones, before returning to the matters at hand.

“I brought a strange magical book into your shop. Into your home.”

“By invitation,” Ethaniel corrected, earning him another smile. “But that invitation isn’t free, my good Earl.” Calix groaned, playfully aggrieved, and Ethaniel felt like they’d been set back on mostly even ground. “Help me finish this soup and then perhaps we can have a look at that strange magical book of yours. I don’t have the proper equipment to handle it, but we should at least make sure it isn’t going to…set itself aflame or something awful like that.”

“I don’t think it will do that. Or, at least I hope not.” Calix replied. “Though I’m surprised my friend didn’t come looking for it.” Doubt was an anchor around Calix’s tone.

That didn’t sound like an invitation to probe too deeply, so Ethaniel let go of Calix’s shoulder and returned to the countertop where the onions that needed chopping awaited. “How exactly did your friend come to this book, by the way?”

“I’ve tried to figure that out myself. I think it was part of a lot he purchased at an auction last week. A new business venture of his.” Calix came to stand next to him, hip propped against the counter and looking more at ease now that they’d cleared the air a bit. “He’s…spirited, I suppose you could say. Most people who meet Lawton love or hate him, and it’s easy to see why. He’s a keen observer of people and has this kind of natural charm, but it can come off as flippant. He and I didn’t fit in too well at boarding school, where we met. So we stuck together, supported each other. And when I left for the city, he followed.”

Ethaniel set an onion onto the chopping board and cut its ends off before peeling the outer layer away. “I hear a but coming on.”

Calix chuckled. “But his version of spirited sometimes gets him into trouble. He’s vivacious and daring, and that can run afoul of the wrong people.”

“Is he like you?”

There was a heavy pause and Ethaniel could feel Calix’s stare. “How do you mean?”

Ethaniel cleared his throat, embarrassed. That had slipped out faster than he could reel it back in. “Nobility?”

“Ah, yes, very minorly. Most of his family are academics but there’s some property and a few racing horses, that kind of thing. Lawton’s always gone in the opposite direction as them.” Calix looked down at the ground, scuffing at a worn spot in the floorboards with his shoe. “But his father always managed to ruin family finances with some scheme or another. If Lawton’s father had stuck to being a shipping merchant, they would have been quite comfortable. But I think that left Lawton feeling ‘less than’ in some way. Monetarily or otherwise.” He gave Ethaniel a weak smile. “He’d stuck to me like glue for a long time. It’s an…odd relationship, the two of us.”

Something about Calix’s tone tickled the back of Ethaniel’s mind. He could almost hear another layer underneath, like when he could see the base function of a pattern that made up something more complicated. The red carnation brooch the man had worn into his shop the previous week had been partially hidden by his scarves, but it had been there all the same. Common knowledge amongst people like himself knew that the brooch was a hat tip toward the queer community as a whole, but unless he saw Calix kissing another man in public, Ethaniel could only harbor a few educated guesses.

If there was anything deeper about Calix Addington, Earl of Batherton, Ethaniel was terribly curious.

“Let me,” Calix said a few moments later as Ethaniel moved to cut carrots. “I can handle a knife, I promise.”

Ethaniel stepped out of the way so Calix could take up his spot. He sat on the stool Calix abandoned and realized his mistake the moment Calix began to remove his jacket. The material was sumptuous but decidedly plain next to what he’d seen Calix in previously. Calix handled the garment with care and when it was dangling from his fingertips, Ethaniel held out a hand in silent offering.

In the few moments it took to place Calix’s jacket over a chair by the window, Calix had rolled up one sleeve of his dark blue shirt and was working on the other. The man’s forearms were shockingly muscled. Ethaniel stared. Hard. He shouldn’t have. While shame battled with his own baser desires, Calix got his attention by clearing his throat.

Whether Calix was oblivious or playing along, Ethaniel had no clue. But he didn’t hear a word of insincerity as Calix said, “Apologies. I didn’t want to have my sleeves get in the way.”

“No need to apologize. I was simply startled.” Amongst other things, Ethaniel thought. “I should have offered you an apron.”

“I’m perfectly content as is.” Calix threw him a small smile then began to wield the knife with shocking precision against the tough fiber of the carrots.

“Right, well…” Ethaniel left Calix to his task so he could make Jeremiah a tray. He made sure to add a few extra sugar cubes into his uncle’s tea; it was easier to hide the bitter taste of the pain relieving tincture the doctor had given him the prior morning. Jeremiah hated the stuff but agreed to take it only if Ethaniel came up with a way to hide the flavor. So far, the extra sugar had been working.

With his tray set and Calix slowly adding carrots to the soup pot on the small gas range, Ethaniel made his way back upstairs, only to find Jeremiah asleep once more. Clutched loosely in his right fist was a blood-flecked handkerchief. A bit of quick magic would keep the tea warm for another hour or so, but Ethaniel would feel better knowing his uncle had taken the tincture.

He woke Jeremiah up with a gentle hand at his brow. The old man snuffled and wheezed for a few moments; the sounds sent Ethaniel’s heart racing. Jeremiah didn’t sound well at all.

“Just some tea for now?” Ethaniel asked as Jeremiah blinked awake. “I brought the bread and some jam, but I know you’re not always hungry when you first wake.”

“You fuss too much over me,” Jeremiah grumbled through a hoarse voice, and even though he sounded like he’d swallowed gravel, Ethaniel had to chuckle at that. Jeremiah wouldn’t stop grousing about Ethaniel’s fussing until he was gone, so any attempt on his uncle’s part at his usual tone made him feel a bit better. “You dosed my tea again?”

“Of course I did. Extra sugar tonight, even.”

“Ah, well.” Jeremiah smacked his lips and slowly sat up, then reached for the cup Ethaniel brought over. “Let’s get it over with.” He barely winced as he sipped the tea, but followed every swallow with a bite of bread. It was good to see Jeremiah eating.

“Let me get you a clean one.” Ethaniel plucked up the blood-stained handkerchief as Jeremiah ate. “I’ll be right back.” Jeremiah didn’t protest, much to Ethaniel’s relief.

Leaving his uncle’s bedside to go to the linen closet gave Ethaniel a moment to pause. He leaned against the cold wall and closed his eyes, but regretted it the moment he did. The pattern he’d seen when he’d dropped his sight over Calix’s book returned, swimming sickeningly in the dark behind his eyelids. Colors flashed — green, purple, red — and the seemingly infinitesimal pattern churned. Ethaniel’s stomach heaved and he gasped, flinging his arms back so he could press his palms to the wall and grind his fingertips into the rough plaster. Pain was good for shaking loose from a pattern; the bite of tiny points into his skin made Ethaniel suck in a breath and immediately, the flashes began to fade.

Logically, Ethaniel could blame the lack of sleep over the past few nights as he neared Jeremiah’s bedside. He’d also been working more, taking on more projects. The stress of seeing Aubrey again. The stress of what — and who — had crashed into his life today.

Logic could explain all of it.

Ethaniel knew it was the book. He needed to try to look at it once more, and now that he knew what to expect, maybe he could get a little closer. Aubrey could admonish him on the morrow about lacking training in handling questionable magical items. Lord knew Aubrey was the city’s foremost expert who had actually written the manual used by other artifact researchers.

Calix had been near the book for hours, and while it had made him rather dizzy and nauseated, nothing worse than that had happened. And he hadn’t felt any ill effects himself. There were a few still-active dampening cloths in the back room, tucked away for when an embroidery pattern went awry and Ethaniel needed to undo the work. It would probably be enough.

Determination set in his step and in his mind, Ethaniel pushed away from the wall, got Jeremiah settled once more, and went into the kitchen. Calix was standing over the stove, wooden spoon in hand, peering down at the soup. Steam from the near-boiling pot left the hair at his temple clinging to his skin, and even from the doorway, Ethaniel could see the flush in Calix’s cheeks. Calix was a beautiful man. Knowing Calix’s peerage, and the conflicted feelings that brought up in him, couldn’t hide the man’s beauty. And Ethaniel could stare later, when there weren’t so many questions hovering about in the air like troublesome fruit flies.

“Are you certain?”

Ethaniel shook his head. “Not entirely. But I do count myself lucky you haven’t run off and left me with the problem and the question of the thing.”

Calix looked scandalized at the suggestion. “I would never! I brought this trouble to your doorstep, I should be the one—” And he motioned at the satchel that now sat on the table between them. Moving to the small study had been Calix’s idea and Ethaniel’s aching body was grateful for the comfort of the big fireplace and worn but clean armchairs.

“I can see the patterns, Calix.”

“But I should be able to—” Calix huffed and crossed his arms. “It spoke to me. Shouldn’t I be the one to try?”

“What we should do is stuff the thing into the cellar and wait for Aubrey’s reply,” Ethaniel said, his tone more terse than he meant. “Apologies. It’s been a long day.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize to me. But…Aubrey?” Now Calix sat forward, hands gripping the armrests. “Aubrey Lavigne? He’s a curator of some sort at Darwin’s Attic.”

Amongst other things, Ethaniel thought. The bitterness of their argument had long faded into a soft yearning, but he doubted he’d be able to think about the place without that tiny taste of salt. “You know Aubrey?” he asked, startled.

“No, we’ve only met once. But we met at the auction Lawton won the books from.” Calix’s brown eyes were now glued to the satchel as his words dripped into the space between them. “That…thing was probably in that lot. And I met Aubrey that day and you know Aubrey and that’s…honestly, that’s a tad too much coincidence for me, Ethaniel.”

Ethaniel covered his mouth with his hand as he thought. Coincidence wasn’t something he personally believed in. The world and its idiosyncrasies, magical or not, were more than strange enough. But he couldn’t shake the sensation that Calix had the right of it. This was all far too odd to be mere happenstance.

Ethaniel watched Calix twist his hands together as his gaze grew distant. “Coincidence or not,” he said slowly, “Aubrey is extremely talented and knowledgeable. He’ll be able to help. The other option, is of course, to simply return the book back to your friend.”

The moment he made the suggestion, Ethaniel knew it was the wrong one. The question of those beautiful, terrifying patterns would haunt him, but ultimately, it wasn’t his business.

Right?

“I can’t do that,” Calix replied. “Lawton’s…I don’t know what he’s done but all this shady business. The book, the money, the woman I saw him talking to at the auction. Being chased by that man. Lawton not coming back around to try to find the book. Or me.”

Ethaniel sucked in a breath. The pain in Calix’s voice was evident. He felt betrayed, left to fend for himself by someone he called friend. That kind of wound stung more than most. “Then stay here tonight. I know it’s not a plush apartment or brownstone, but the wards will hold until morning.”

Relief seemed to hollow Calix out, making him curl forward and hang his head until his entire body drooped. “Thank you. You are…” He looked up at Ethaniel with those pretty brown eyes. “You are far too kind.”

A few replies came to mind but the moment was snapped in half by the buzz of the back door bell. Ethaniel made quick excuses to Calix and took the stairs at a jog. He didn’t want to leave the messenger outside for too long, or so he told himself. The eagerness in his steps belied something else, but Ethaniel dashed all that aside to carefully unseal the door’s ward and poke his head into the alley.

The messenger was a tall, thin young man with dark hair, probably barely eighteen, and he wore a heavy black scarf around his neck that he fussed with while Ethaniel dug in his pocket for a few coins. There were no lights in most of the alleys in this part of the city, but the light spilling out from his doorway circled the boy’s lean face like a halo.

Out of curiosity more than anything else, Ethaniel said, “Did you pass anyone as you came into the alley? A big man, perhaps, muscled like a boxer?”

“Nah. No one really out, guv.” The boy motioned to the darkness around him. “Don’t know. It’s weird tonight.”

“How so?”

The boy shrugged. “Don’t know. Just a feeling.”

Ethaniel couldn’t do much with a feeling, but on some level he understood. He gave the boy an extra coin, thanked him, and immediately shut, bolted, and warded the door once more. He took the letter from Aubrey upstairs, not even glancing at it until he was seated across from Calix once more.

It was clearly Aubrey’s hand that had so gracefully written Ethaniel’s name on the front. He could almost feel every scratch of the pen on the page, how Aubrey never paused when penning his name and every word on the thick cream paper inside.

Ethaniel,

Your note intrigues me, as I’m sure you knew it would. And I’m honored you would trust me with something that seems to be a rather delicate situation. Please be careful with this ‘strange magic’, but I know you will. Because of your immense skill and your calm disposition and how much you care.

Because I know you, Ethaniel.

Let us meet tomorrow at the time and place you have chosen. If this strange magic is an item, I don’t wish for it to be out in public for too long. Dampen it as best you can and bring it along, but also do what you can to hide it from sight. It is likely we’ll need to take it to the museum. I’ll prepare ahead of time, should that need arise.

I’ve missed you.

Sincerely,

Aubrey

“Any luck?” Calix asked after Ethaniel refolded the note and set it on his lap.

“He’ll meet with me,” Ethaniel replied as he rubbed his thumb along the edge of the note.

“With us, you mean.”

Ethaniel didn’t see a choice in the matter, not anymore. “With us.”