supposed that was something. “I’m with Reg on this one, Monk. What the devil’s going on?”
Melissande, being Melissande, had already washed their tea mugs and toast plates and was now doggedly blacking the old-fashioned kitchen range. As though tedious domestic tasks could somehow alleviate anxiety and grief. Blacking had smudged itself on the end of her nose and across one freckled cheek. Unlike Bibbie, she never could keep herself clean.
“At the risk of being accused of ganging up on you, Monk,” she said, “I’m going to throw in my lot with Reg and Bibbie. No more mysteries, please. Not tonight.”
“Sorry,” he said, and rubbed at his burning eyes. “Mysteries are all I’ve got. If I knew what was going on I’d tell you, but I don’t so I can’t. Sir Alec’s buggered off to fetch something. He didn’t say what. He wants me to get familiar with this- ” He pulled the other Monk’s portable portal from his pocket and placed it on the table. “And brush up on shadbolts, the construction thereof. And no — ” he added, as Reg opened her beak. “He didn’t explain why.”
Reg closed her beak with a snap, rattled her tail feathers and snorted. “I think I’ve had about as much of that Sir Alec as I can stomach,” she growled. “It’s time that young whippersnapper was put in his place.”
“Really?” Bibbie dredged up a grin. “Make sure you give me plenty of warning. I’ll sell tickets.”
“No,” said Melissande, and dropped the blacking tin and polishing cloth into the kitchen’s cleaning box. “You won’t. He’s only doing his job.”
“Ha!” said Reg, rolling her eyes. “And there she goes defending the bureaucrats again. I swear, ducky, there are days when I can’t tell which side of the bread you’ve spread your butter!”
Oh, bloody hell. He looked at Bibbie, who heaved a put-upon sigh then stood. “We’ve some books on shadbolts in the library,” she said. “Mel, come and help me find them, would you?”
As she and Melissande left the kitchen, he looked at Reg. The bird was hunched painfully on the back of a chair, feathers fluffed out again as though she were cold, or ill. He’d long ago given up trying to understand Gerald’s attachment to her-or her fierce devotion to him, for that matter. For himself he hardly knew how he felt about her. She was unbearably autocratic and sweepingly opinionated, given to tantrums and hectoring. But then in the next breath she’d be so funny and so wise, supportive, protective. Heart-stoppingly brave.
Talk about enigmas. She makes Sir Alec look as complicated as a blank sheet of paper.
Leaning sideways, he stroked his fingertip down her drooping wing. “We’ll find him, Reg. We’ll get him back.”
She rattled her tail again. “’Course we will,” she said, in a tone of voice that meant, Are you sure?
No. He wasn’t. But if he admitted that out loud he’d hex their chances for sure. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve always wondered-if I can ask-why Gerald? Of all the wizards you’ve come across since you were-” He cleared his throat. “In all this time. Why did you pick Gerald to adopt?”
For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she sighed, sleeked her drab brown feathers close to her body, and stared into the distance as though watching the sweet unfolding of a memory.
“He reminds me of someone,” she said softly, her eyes warm. “Someone I knew a long time ago.” Then her gaze sharpened, and she looked down her beak at him. “As for why he let me adopt him, Mr. Nosy Markham, and why he puts up with my crotchets and moods, you can ask Gerald that yourself when he gets back.”
If he gets back. If I can get him back. If Sir Alec lets me try. But he didn’t say that aloud. Instead he crossed to the sink, collecting the kettle on the way. “I could use a cup of tea,” he said, pretending he hadn’t seen the fear in her eyes. Pretending she couldn’t see the fear in his. “One to drink, this time. Do you fancy a mug?”
“Why not?” she said, after a moment. “Just make sure you warm the pot first.” She sniffed. “The man hasn’t been born who remembers that.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Crouched on the library floor trying to read book spines, Bibbie sighed. “Melissande, you’re staring.”
Melissande winced. Rats. And there’s me thinking I was being so surreptitious. “Sorry.”
“If you want to know something, ask,” said Bibbie, sitting back on her heels. “I mean, I might say none of your business but that’s not the same as biting your head off.”
“True.” She pressed her finger against the last book checked so she didn’t lose her place. “All right. So here’s the thing. I was wondering if you-that’s to say, I’ve been feeling somewhat-you see, there’s this-”
“Yes, Mel, Monk cares for you,” Bibbie said kindly. “And no, I’m sorry, I’ve no idea why he’s not made a formal declaration. All I can tell you is, well, don’t give up hope. He’s never once looked at anyone the way he looks at you. He’s just slow on the uptake. He is a man, after all.”
Suddenly ashamed, she stared at the old library carpet. “You must think I’m awful,” she murmured. “Worried about my silly feelings while Gerald’s missing and there’s a dead Monk upstairs and-” She bit her lip, shatteringly close to an inappropriate emotional outburst. “It’s just-I can’t bear to think about any of that. About how we might never see Gerald again.”
Bibbie’s blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare, Mel. Of course we’ll see him again.”
“Bibbie…” She cleared her throat. “About Gerald. Do you-”
“Quite a lot, actually,” said Bibbie. Her chin trembled. “But you mustn’t tell him I said so. He’s got this ridiculous notion he can’t be happy because he’s a rogue wizard. And a janitor. That he’s too dangerous for me to love. All nonsense, of course, but there’s no point in me trying to convince him. I just have to wait for him to work it out on his own.”
“Wait for how long?” she said, after a moment.
“Well-as long as it takes, of course,” said Bibbie, surprised. “What a silly question.”
Yes. Of course. Very silly.
“Ah hah! ” said Bibbie, and pulled a book from the shelf. “Here we go. Shadbolts Through The Ages. Technically it’s a restricted text but I’ll say this for Great-Uncle Throgmorton-he didn’t give a toss about silly rules.” She tossed it onto the library’s deep, wingback reading chair. “I’m sure there’s at least one more, so come on, Mel. Keep searching. Sir Alec could come back any tick of the clock and I want to be ready for him. I don’t think I could stand one more of his withering looks.” She pulled a face. “I’m a girl, not an amoeba, but I don’t think he’s noticed.”
She had to smile. “Don’t be so sure. I mean, he’s middle-aged, Bibs. Not blind.”
“Oh, you,” said Bibbie, shifting to the next bookcase. “You’re as bad as Reg, you are.”
“Now, now,” she said, still smiling. “I’m sure there’s no need to get nasty, Emmerabiblia.”
Bibbie pouted. “Spoilsport.”
“Well, you know. I try my best.”
A cheerful fire crackled in the library’s small fireplace, throwing warm light and dancing shadows. Its four walls were lined ceiling to carpet with bookcases, and the bookcases were crammed tight with books. It was her favorite room in Monk’s house. Most of the collection he’d inherited from his rule-breaking great-uncle Throgmorton, a noted thaumaturgical bibliophile. His own books he’d jammed in around the edges, which was making the search for shadbolt texts something of a challenge.
The library door opened as she moved on to the next row, and Monk came in carrying a tray with a teapot, and four mugs. Reg flapped in behind him and landed on the back of the nearest chair.
“Did you remember biscuits?” said Bibbie, turning.
“No,” said Monk, and scowled at Reg. “Why didn’t you remind me?”
The bird rolled her eyes. “Because, sunshine, and I quote: ‘Offer me one more piece of advice about how to make a bloody cup of tea, Reg, and I swear I’ll transmog you into a boot.’ ”
“Never mind,” said Bibbie. “I’ll fetch some.”
“Not without me, you won’t,” said Reg. “You always pick the ones I don’t like.”
She and Bibbie left the library, bickering. Monk held out the tray. “The red mug. Milk and three sugars.”
Taking her tea, Melissande perched on the edge of the wingback chair. “Tell me the truth, Monk. Do you really think we can get Gerald back?”
He put the tray on the library’s low table, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “If he is where we think he is… I think there’s a chance.”
