Chapter Thirty-Four

Kingston smiled at her as cheery and bright-eyed as ever when she came downstairs for breakfast the next morning. Was that a glimmer in his eye? Did he know what had happened?

Isolde just hummed to herself over the griddle. Graves was nowhere to be seen.

Kierse had rarely woken up in the same house as the person she'd had sex with the night before, and she certainly hadn't had breakfast with them. But here she was... still in Graves's house. Waiting and wondering if he was going to be changed by what had occurred.

"Have a good time last night?" Kingston asked.

Kierse startled as she took a seat across from him at the breakfast bar. Did he know about her and Graves's hookup? She reached for the pancakes and bacon on the bar to keep her hands busy.

"Uh, yes."

"Excellent. Graves has always been unconventional, but he gets the job done."

Kierse coughed around her first bite of pancake. "He does."

"Such a power play, to not inform you of the start of your training," he said with a guffaw. "Isolde, darling, more coffee, hmm?"

Isolde bustled over. Her cheeks were rosy and flushed as she came up to Kingston's side. "Of course, Master Kingston. Enjoying your breakfast?"

"Best food this side of the pond, my dear."

She blushed a deeper red and dipped her chin as she darted away.

"You should concentrate on how to replenish your powers once you're depleted," Kingston said with a wink. "Once you figure that out, you'll be a lot safer."

"How did you figure it out?"

He took another sip of coffee and considered. "My father was an artist. He was a gentleman first, of course. In the peerage and all that."

Kierse raised an eyebrow. "Peerage?"

"Ah, he was an earl of some importance during the Hundred Years' War." He noticed her blank look. "It was a very important war between Britain and France that began in the fourteenth century."

Kierse should not have been taking a sip of her juice at the time he said it. She sputtered, the juice running down her chin. She swiped at it with a napkin. "How old are you?"

Kingston just laughed. "Old."

Kierse's eyes widened.

"Back to the subject matter at hand—my father was an earl, but his true passion lay in the arts. An uncommon thing at the time, but he painted and sculpted and set about making a legacy that was more than just war. I was part of that legacy. I was raised to take his place, which meant I grew up at his side while he painted and at his side while he rode and at his side while he went to war." Kingston took another drink from his coffee. "Art was always what rejuvenated me. It is not surprising that it also helps my magic."

"You speak so freely about your powers."

"Unlike Graves, you mean? I had a much different upbringing. I have no shame from my abilities. My conscience is clear." He tapped his head. "Much of what we do is mental. And while I saw many warlocks hanged and witches burned in my day, they never came to my door. Graves was not so lucky."

Kingston turned surprisingly quiet after that. Contemplative.

Kierse finished her breakfast. Thinking about what Kingston said brought her mind back to Graves. She had seen terrors in her time, and she had been the subject of them. She knew that shame and how it wrecked a person.

Graves appeared in the kitchen a moment later, freshly showered, in a crisp black suit and black gloves. "Morning."

Kierse looked up from her plate. Her eyes found Graves, and he met her stare. She thought that he'd look away or make it awkward. But... he didn't. He just tipped his head at her, a small quirk of his lips, same as always. She sighed slightly in relief. She was glad that things could go on as they had been. Wasn't she?

Kingston finished his plate and stood to clasp Graves's hand. "Morning, indeed. Are we all set to go?"

"Yes," Graves said. "We have reservations."

Kierse pushed her plate away from her. "Do I have to go to the museum?"

"Of course," Kingston boomed. "I have so much to teach you."

"Was he regaling you with British history?"

Kierse nodded. "He was."

"He tends to do that," Graves said, a look of exasperation on his face.

"I still relish when the sun never set on the British Empire," Kingston said.

Graves pulled a disgusted face. Like he couldn't believe Kingston would admit that out loud. Kierse was starting to realize why he didn't invite his old mentor around more often.

Kierse frowned. "I don't know as much history as you two, but wasn't the British Empire actually terrible?"

Kingston looked at her askance. "Depends on who you ask."

Graves narrowed his eyes at Kingston. "Yes, like if you ask all the colonized countries, they would agree that it was terrible."

"So progressive," Kingston grumbled.

"Kingston," Graves said with an irritated scowl. "You cannot still believe that is true."

"The British have done much good in the world," he said, all bluster. "We were good to you."

Graves's face went sharp at all edges. If it had been Kierse he was looking at that way, she would have known to run the other direction, but Kingston seemed unaffected. "I would hardly say ‘good' was the correct word."

"If you say so," Kingston said, dismissing the conversation.

Graves and Kierse exchanged a look, reading each other in the span of a second.

"Let's go before he starts up again," Graves said with a tip of his head.

Kierse followed Graves and Kingston to the elevator. George was idling with the limo, and Kingston swept inside. Graves stepped up to her before she could follow him into the car. "Try not to filch the entire museum."

She scoffed. "As if I'd let you see what treasures I nicked."

And was pleased to see his amusement.

The drive to the Met was quick in Graves's limo. Kingston prattled on the whole time, and Kierse watched Graves evade Kingston as deftly as he did her. Then George parked out front and opened the door for them.

Kierse had stood outside of the Met hundreds of times, staring up at Coraline LeMort's all-seeing statue. She'd eaten from her favorite bakery right around the corner. She had stolen from wealthy patrons off these steps.

But never had she imagined that she'd be allowed in through the front door.

The museum used to permit everyone within its walls. But after monsters appeared, several prized paintings had been stolen during the looting, so they'd closed their doors to the public. Admittance was by reservation only, and the price for entry had become steep. Nearly impossible for most people. Another elite club that she never thought she'd have access to.

Entering through the high white columns in her dress and heels made her feel like a fraud. The only thing from her old life was the wren at her neck. Did they know they were letting a thief on their grounds? But Graves and Kingston held their own esteem, and no one even looked at her as hands were shaken and pleasantries made.

Graves seemed to have no taste for the museum itself, but Kingston came alive inside it. This was his area of expertise, after all. Kierse's eyes bounced along the white marble walls and the intricate entrance that gave way to galleries upon galleries of artwork.

"Do you think it's wrong that they hide all this art from the rest of the population?" she mused aloud.

Graves tilted his head, his gray eyes considering her, though he was clearly surprised by her question. "Art has always been collected, catalogued, and coveted by the wealthy. It is no surprise they do so here."

"Everything is like that with the wealthy."

"True," he conceded, coming to her side as they walked. She could almost brush his arm. Her stomach flipped at the brief contact. "They closed the museum, thinking they were protecting the art, but all they did was close it off. Art flourishes in the dark times, in the pain and heartbreak. I feel many of those not admitted would understand these paintings in a way that the wealthy never can."

"Yes," she breathed. "If you've always had a full belly, how can you understand hunger?"

"Precisely."

She leaned in closer to him. "I feel as if we're wasting this day with Kingston. Shouldn't we be doing reconnaissance?"

His eyes met hers, darting to her lips only briefly. She could feel his warmth intensify. "Sometimes there's information to be found when you're not looking for it," he said mysteriously.

She believed him, but the winter solstice was a ticking bomb in the back of her mind. Their time was running thin.

"Now, now," Kingston said, wagging a finger at them. "None of that. I can feel the heat from over here."

Graves pulled back, taking his warmth with him. His face turned perfectly neutral. "I have no idea what you mean."

Kingston shook his head at them both, and she blushed. "Come along. I want to see the new exhibit first. It's Egyptian."

"Haven't you been to Egypt?" Graves asked as they fell into step.

"Naturally."

Kierse listened to their easy banter as they moseyed through the museum. After only an hour, she wondered why she had ever wanted to be in this place so badly. Of course, the answer was because it was forbidden. And forbidden things tended to be the things that she liked best.

But otherwise, it was insanely boring. Kingston must have been getting something from all this aimless wandering, but all Kierse got was sore feet. Why had she sprung for heels when she had perfectly good sneakers?

Kierse forced down a yawn as they left the Egyptian wing and headed into an exhibit filled with portraits. She needed the conversation to turn or she'd never make it.

"I know that look in your eye," Graves said.

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "What look in my eye?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You're going to rob us all blind."

"Who says I haven't already?"

Kingston laughed. "We surely would have noticed."

"Where is your pocket watch?"

Kingston reached into his jacket to take it out and show her. But then he froze. It wasn't there. "By god, I must have misplaced it."

Graves held his hand out to Kierse. "I did tell you not to steal anything."

"I thought you meant from the museum," she said with a dainty laugh as she slapped the watch into his hand.

She didn't mention the bills she'd taken out of Kingston's pocket earlier. He wouldn't miss them. Not that she had any use for British pounds with the current royal's face on the front. She quickly changed the subject so he didn't start to wonder what other mischief she had gotten into. "How did you and Graves meet?"

Graves sighed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, this story."

But Kingston beamed. "It's a good one."

"If you say so."

"And I do!" Kingston cheered. He directed them past the portraits and into some seriously strange room of abstract paintings. Kierse didn't understand how a circle and a line on a canvas was art. "Graves had recently arrived in London after getting into a spot of trouble."

"What sort of trouble?"

"The sort that doesn't need explaining," Graves said, low and unapologetic.

Kingston tipped his hat at him. "It doesn't matter, but it was not pleasant. He arrived with nothing but the clothes on his back and a knife wound that split his belly. It was shallow but long. Here to here," Kingston said, motioning to one side of his stomach and then the other. "People died from worse all the time, especially then."

Kierse wondered when exactly this had all taken place. If Kingston was from the 1300s and Graves had known Imani a hundred and fifty years ago, there was a lot of time in between. But she didn't push. Graves didn't like to talk about his past any more than she did. She could see he was already uncomfortable with this line of conversation.

"I found Graves near dead outside of an inn. He was pleading with the innkeeper for dinner while he all but bled out on the steps. I made to intervene, but then he used his powers. All magic has a sense or a taste or a feeling attached to it. You can get better at masking it, but for the trained individual, it never fully goes away."

"And you helped him?" she asked. Though she wanted to ask what Graves's power felt and tasted like. Every time she was with him, she just felt heat.

"No," Graves said curtly, stuffing his gloved hands into his pockets. "He didn't."

"Well, of course not," Kingston said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I thought he was a street urchin near death."

"You left him to die?"

Kingston snorted. "Does he look dead?"

"He left me to the innkeeper," Graves said.

"And bless her poor soul, she felt sorry for you. Nursed you back to health and tried to marry you off to her daughter."

"That was... an unfortunate side effect. Thank you for reminding me of that, Kingston."

"Anytime. Jolly good." Kingston laughed. "Well, I didn't see all of that. But when I came back to the inn a few months later, Graves was all but running the place. He'd even come into some money and was in negotiations to buy out the tavern next door."

"Yes, yes, we all love a feel-good story," Graves said grimly.

"He made something of himself, and I decided then to offer him an apprenticeship. Bastard didn't think he needed it."

Graves shrugged one shoulder. A confident smirk graced his features. "I didn't."

Kingston grinned at Kierse. "He needed it."

Kierse couldn't help but snicker as she filched the watch back out of Kingston's pocket.