Rémy pointed to the desk in the corner. “We sat over there. She asked me detailed questions about my family, my past relationships, my work history, my death count, and I provided her with answers she deemed satisfactory. When she agreed to accept me as a client, I gave her a few strands of my hair and thirty-three thousand dollars. Cash.” He turned to me and added, “Your mother spoke of her pride in you and your upcoming graduation.”
His words offered a small comfort. I clutched them to my heart.
Kostya continued his questioning. “Do you recall anything else about the interview process?”
“Moira paid meticulous attention to detail. She walked me through this room, had me choose fabrics and other bits and baubles that caught my eye. When we finished, she piled everything over there.” He pivoted on his heel, setting wisps of mist to spinning, and directed our attention to one of the rectangular tables. “She cut samples of my choices and added them to the envelope with my hair. I have no idea what she did with the envelope.”
Beryl picked up the questioning. “Did my mother give you a receipt? And was there any mention of a delivery date?”
The mage raised his eyebrows. “You really are as ignorant of her life’s work as you confessed, aren’t you? Moira guaranteed results within one year or she would refund my deposit—minus expenses. She provided a handwritten receipt then prepared tea from her samovar. We chatted about inconsequential things, and I left.”
“If you hadn’t heard from Moira after the year was up, why didn’t you come back for your refund?”
“I never said I did not come back,” he answered. “When the year passed and I had not heard from your mother, I returned. Another woman met me downstairs and explained that she was assisting Moira with her contracts and that they needed more time. She neglected to mention your mother was dead.”
“And what did you do after that?”
“I waited another year, and I continued to wait. I made Northampton a regular stop on my travels. I monitored the shop when I was in town, and when I saw the lights on in the second-floor windows two days ago, I decided I had waited long enough.”
“Did you approach the building to see who was here?”
Rémy shook his head. “I had business to attend to elsewhere, so I had to wait until this evening. Lucky for me you answered the front door, as the portal in the cellar is out of commission.”
“There’s a portal in the cellar?” Alabastair asked, stepping closer to Rémy.
“Yes, that’s what I said. I was only given access to it that one time.”
“I happen to be a Portal Keeper.” The necromancer adjusted the cuffs of his formfitting sweater. “If the sisters are comfortable doing without me for a short while, I shall ascertain the location of the portal and test to see if it is in working order.”
“First we have to figure out how to get into the cellar. I’ll go with you in case there are more doors that require the use of the ring.” Alderose stopped her pacing and turned her back to the mage. Waving Beryl and I close, she asked, “Are you okay with me leaving?”
I darted a glance at Kostya. He seemed focused on Rémy. “I’m fine, Rosey. Kostya’s here.”
“I need to get my charger, then I’ll be right back.” Beryl squeezed my waist and headed toward the door. She disappeared into the stairwell after Alderose and Alabastair.
The moment the sounds of their voices and footsteps faded, Rémy strode to the door, closed it, and pressed his palm against the wood. Ice spread across the surface, filling in the gap between the door and the frame.
“What are you doing?” Kostya asked. With a quick turn of his wrist, he’d released his whip. Agitated fingers tapped the grip.
The water mage ignored Kostya, shrugged his shoulders, and shook out his arms, freeing the chains that adorned his jacket. Staring at me, he said, “I don’t think any of you realize how much is at stake.”
“We’ll find your beloved,” I said, backing myself into the solid wall of Kostya’s fiery chest. “We just need time.”
“I have no time to give.” Rémy stepped closer and grabbed the arm Kostya had wrapped around my chest. “For too long, I have bet borrowed time against a future I cannot fathom.”
With those words, the chains hanging from the back of Rémy’s collar rushed forward and wrapped around Kostya’s neck, head, and legs. The demon sucked in a surprised breath as the chains released a spray of water, immobilizing him in a coating of ice within seconds. I slipped from my friend’s frigid grip, landed hard, and found no purchase on the film of ice coating the floor. Rémy crouched in front of me, grabbed me by the back of my neck, and lifted.
A loud banging from the other side of the door interrupted him. “Clementine, are you there?” Beryl’s yell barely penetrated the insulating layer of ice. “The door’s frozen closed and—”
“Beryl, run!”
“Wrong thing to say, little witch.” Rémy threw his chains toward the workroom door while growling out a command. Enchanted metal penetrated the wood, ice cracked, and my sister’s frightened scream ended in a gurgle.
“Don’t you dare hurt her,” I hissed. Pain blurred my vision. I fought against the need to close my eyes. The emotions scudding across Rémy’s face were telling a story at odds with his actions.
“You have no idea the loss I have suffered because of my patience, because the witch your mother left in charge kept issuing false promises and dead ends, and because hope—my hope—is a self…renewing…resource.” He jerked my head back even harder as he enunciated each word, but I refused to cry out. “A resource that I ran out of five minutes after you opened the door.”
A new set of story threads pushed aside
