Magic and Loss

“Perhaps I’m not,” she conceded. “But that can be said for a lot of things in life. Come along, dear.” As we left the doctor’s office, she paused to give him a final, withering look. “Oh, and by the way, I’ll be stopping by your receptionist on the way out in order to cancel my next appointment.”

* * *

“I can’t believe he would try to fob you off on another doctor like that!” my mother fumed as we exited the penthouse elevator.

“He did have a point, Mom.”

“So does a pencil,” she sniffed. “That doesn’t mean I should sit there and let someone jab it in my eye.”

Clarence opened the door before my mother had a chance to retrieve her keys from her purse. “Welcome back, Madam,” he said, then turned to address me. “Miss Timmy—you have a lady caller in the Grand Salon.”

My mother frowned and glanced at me. “Who could that possibly be?”

“Perhaps it’s Nessie,” I suggested.

Upon entering the Grand Salon, I instantly recognized the regal figure with the peacock blue hair standing before the fireplace, staring at the museum-quality Durer hung over the mantel.

“Lady Syra!” I exclaimed, unable to refrain from smiling in welcome.

“What are you doing here?” My mother asked frostily. She was standing on the staircase behind me, glaring down at the Witch Queen with unconcealed hostility.

“Hello to you, too, Millicent,” Syra replied graciously.

“Why on Earth did you allow this woman into my house?” my mother snapped, turning her withering glare on Clarence.

“The lady said she wished to speak to Miss Timmy, and refused to leave until she did so,” the butler explained apologetically. “I deemed it best not to aggravate the situation, given her . . . abilities.”

My mother snorted in disgust and returned her attention to Lady Syra. “What do you want with my daughter, sorceress?”

“That is between Tate and me,” the Witch Queen replied politely but firmly.

“Her name is Timothea!” My mother’s shout was loud enough to make the pendants on the crystal chandelier jingle.

“Mom, please! Let me handle this,” I said, doing my best to try to soothe her. “Do you trust me to do that?” For a moment it looked like she was going to fight me on it, but then she grudgingly sighed and nodded her head. “So,” I said, turning to face Lady Syra, “why are you here?”

“It’s about Hexe. Is there someplace where we can speak in private?” she asked, glancing about the ballroom-sized salon.

“We can talk in the library,” I said, motioning for her to follow me. My mother glared at Lady Syra as she passed her on the stairs, but remained silent.

Compared to the Grand Salon, the library seemed relatively cozy. Once I closed the door behind us, Lady Syra heaved a sigh of relief and allowed her shoulders to drop.

“If Hexe sent you here to try to talk me into coming back,” I warned her, “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Scratch: I’m not setting foot in that house until he agrees to give up the gauntlet.”

“While I am here on Hexe’s behalf,” she admitted, “he didn’t send me. Something is horribly wrong with my son, and I need your help. I stopped by the house last night for a visit, but no one answered the door. I was about to leave when Scratch called out to me from the rooftop and said Hexe had locked himself inside his office and was refusing to come out. So I used my passkey to let myself in. It took some cajoling, but I finally got Hexe to open the door to his office. I don’t know what he was doing in there, but he positively reeked of Dragon Balm. I asked him what was going on, but all he would say was that you’d left him because you were tired of being poor, and then slammed the door in my face.” She shook her head as she spoke, as if she could not believe her own words. “This has something to do with the Gauntlet of Nydd, doesn’t it?”

“I’m convinced that’s what’s wrong,” I replied grimly. “There’s a curse on the gauntlet that’s keeping Hexe from using his Right Hand magic.”

“I should have known that thing was trouble the moment Trinket hissed at it!” Lady Syra said ruefully, reaching up to pet the familiar looped about her neck. “Is it true Dr. Moot was the one who bonded that thing to Hexe’s hand?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She frowned in consternation. “But why would he go to that old tosser? Was it just a question of money? I would have paid to have it done properly, you know. Curse that foolish pride of his. He’s just like his father!”

“He had his reasons. They seemed to make sense, at the time,” I replied, leery of going into detail for fear of saying too much. Things were bad enough already without dragging the Maladanti into it. “I’ve tried to talk him into getting the thing removed, but he’s convinced that if he can find Madam Erys, he can get the curse lifted without having to remove the gauntlet itself. He won’t listen to reason.”

“It’s the damned Dragon Balm,” Lady Syra said with a grimace. “Esau used to smoke that crap to try to forget the man he used to be. There was always a touch of darkness to my brother—the same that exists in all Kymerans—but once Nina was no longer in his life, it spread like a cancer throughout his soul, until it drew him down the spiral of the Left Hand path.”

“Is that what you think Hexe is trying to do—forget?”

“If my son has indeed lost his Right Hand magic to a curse, he is suffering a fate most Kymerans would rather die than endure. No wonder he seemed a shadow of himself. Tate—I don’t know what happened between you and Hexe, but if you truly love my son, you will come back with me to Golgotham.”

“Please don’t ask me to do that, Syra.”

“I’m not asking, Tate; I’m begging,” she said, taking my hand and clasping it tightly. “I could have cast a Come Hither and dragged you back downtown against your will, but I didn’t, because I know that’s not what Hexe would have wanted. You wear the Crown of Adon, which marks you as his true love, just as it marked his father as my true love. When my father forced me to send Horn away, I became bitter and angry, and I could feel the darkness rise in me, whispering in my ear in a shadow’s voice. The only thing that kept me centered, that drew me back to the light was my child. When I looked into Hexe’s eyes for the first time, I was filled with hope and strength. If not for my son, I would have joined my brother on his downward spiral. Of that I have no doubt.

“That is why you must go back to Golgotham—Hexe needs you and his child to fight the darkness gathering within him. I have already lost my brother to the Left Hand path—I will not stand by and allow it to claim my son as well. If you can get Hexe to agree to it, I will pay to have the Gauntlet of Nydd removed. Once it’s off, I’ll have it destroyed. I don’t care if it’s a historical artifact—it has meant nothing but sorrow to the Royal Family.”

I fully intended to tell her no. The word was resting on my tongue, waiting to be spoken. Going back to Golgotham was risky for me, not to mention the baby. But when I looked into Syra’s eyes, I saw a mother terrified for the sake of her son—a son who had the same golden eyes.

* * *

When I told my mother I would be returning to Golgotham with Lady Syra, she was so taken aback she actually set aside her bourbon. “What do you mean you’re going back?” I could almost see the steam shooting out her ears.

“Hexe needs my help,” I explained. “We might be having problems right now, but I still love him.”

This did not mollify my mother in the least. “I know what you’re up to, witch!” she snapped, pointing at Lady Syra. “You’re trying to steal my daughter away from me! You’ve cast some kind of spell over her so you can drag her back to your good-for-nothing son!”

“Mother, please! You make it sound like I’ve pricked my finger on a spinning wheel!”

She turned to glare at me in disapproval. “This was all an elaborate trick, wasn’t it?” she fumed. “You just wanted to get back into my good graces long enough for your father and me to unfreeze your trust fund. Is that why you got pregnant in the first place—to get Grandma and Grandpa on the hook?”