Marquis quieted. Mads wasn’t sure if it was right to bring up his sleeping arrangement or he wanted to know more. So, he kept talking. “Damien swore in Welsh in his sleep. Often. I assume it was swearing, at any rate. Everything in Welsh sounds like a swear word. We tried sharing a bed once or twice, but I always ended up on the floor. It’s so good to have a bed again.”
“I’d never make you sleep on the floor.” Marquis’s voice cracked.
“No, because to you, I’m an actual person. Not something he could take away from you. Not a tool or an experiment or something to entertain Damien.” Mads let the tears flow. “Every lucid moment I got, I begged for you.”
Marquis pulled a pocket square from his jacket and dabbed at his eyes before clearing his throat. “Thank you. I know it’s not what you wish to hear, but I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m so sorry I didn’t come for you.”
“You were so used to Baron taking everything you held dear and never fighting for it. Do you fight now?” Mads leaned on the chair arm and snagged the last pastry.
“To the death.” Marquis turned his head as a knock shook the door to the suite.
Dr. Vans popped in with a wave. “Visiting hour is over.”
“Same time tomorrow?” Mads asked.
“Yes. I think so.” And Marquis was always punctual.
Chapter Five
Marquis
Every day for a week, he’d showed up at the center, had breakfast or lunch with Mads, and left after an hour. It’d gone well, and Dr. Vans had called it a success, as Mads hadn’t had an episode once and was improving. In his opinion, the mate bond helped stabilize the mental fortitude of its partners. It certainly amplified healing capabilities.
“Professional opinion?” Marquis sat in his office, drumming his fingers on the doctor’s desk.
“My professional opinion is that he’s fit to go on timed, controlled excursions. I would hazard to say adateisn’t out of order. You want to resolidify your bonds, correct?” Vans stared him down, and Marquis sighed heavily.
“My heart pines for him in ways I never knew it would. I wanted to be rid of his betrayal, but the only betrayal was my lack of action. I’m torn immensely.” Marquis didn’t look at Dr. Vans. He was well aware his discussions with the male were a type of therapy for himself. After all, Marquis may very well have been addled by Doris, too.
“That’s a mate bond for you. And he’s supposedly a familiar.” Dr. Vans stood and pulled an old leather tome from one of his small shelves and flipped through a few pages. “I came across this in the archives. It says that a familiar’s choice in form is what inspires them. It’s something they form a connection with. Likely, you’ll find all the familiars you know had some affinity for the animals.”
“I understand.” Marquis nodded.
“Mads is of yet unmanifested. Do you know any animals he had an affinity with?” Vans pulled out a notebook and tapped a pen on a blank page.
He thought back to all those years ago, sneaking in windows, the jokes that weren’t jokes about thievery and penny witchery. Mads had lived a hard life. “I have an idea…”
“It’s not a tiger or something we’ll have trouble corralling?” Vans tapped his pen again before clicking it and writing down a few things.
“No. He was an American born and bred coven. Some Native American, some white. They’re a real amalgam.” Marquis cleared his throat. “Poor.”
“Pennywitches?” Dr. Vans said the word quietly and Marquis nodded. Despite being an ugly word, it was still the accepted term for covens that operated outside of the accords and councils, beholden only to the laws of mages and nothing more, no protections or resources. Very few of the groups existed anymore. Fortunately. Any time the council got called in on exposure to mundanes, nine times out of ten, it was pennywitches. All the power of the world at their fingertips and still they lived in poverty. It went to show, one could have everything and nothing at all.
“So, what is it? What would someone like him connect with?” Vans spun the pen on his fingers, a spark of magic flicking as he did so. Wandless magic, likely involuntary, kept it spinning unaided.
“I feel horrible saying it aloud, but I had to stop him from adopting an orphaned one when we were first together—a raccoon.” Marquis laughed.
“Ah, nature’s little thieves.” He made a note in his book and nodded. “He doesn’t have a wand anymore. Do you still make wands?”
Marquis nodded. “It’s been a long time and since Baron no longer holds a monopoly, I can.”
“Do so. Also, mine is looking poorly.” Dr. Vans handed his to Marquis, handle first, and grinned the grin of someone well-compensated but unfathomably cheap.
Marquis turned it in his hands and let his magic flow through the wood. It was not the wand that was poorly. Marquis had, over the years, perfected an ambivalent expression. “What are you experimenting with?”
Dr. Vans shrugged. “Some simple transfiguration experiments with—”
“Stop doing it. You’re killing yourself. Your wand is merely warning you.” Marquis handed it back. “See a physician.”
