Nigel grimaced. “And what have you done with the real Minister Supreme of Sorcery Suppression?”
Fabian shook his arm, trying to liberate himself from Nigel’s hold. “I didn’t unalive him or anything so distasteful, ifthat’swhat’s worrying you. The real Ebenezar Prodigimus has taken an extended vacation to the Phrigidos Isles.”
“The Phrigidos Isles?”
“Yes. A once in a lifetime experience. They say the local diet is made up almost exclusively of whale blubber. No doubt he’ll return a changed man. Broadened horizons and all that.”
“And in the meantime, you’ve just stepped into his shoes?”
“Oh, it’s been easy enough. He’s something of a social pariah, so it’s not as though he’s invited places much. No one would miss him were I not around to play the part. In fact, I think he’s rather more liked undermytender care.”
Nigel shook his head. “What could you possibly intend by this lunacy?”
“Lunacy?I’mthe lunatic?” the stranger’s mouth blustered in Fabian’s voice. “You’re the one who’s lost his marbles! I’ve beensearching for you up and down both Plym and Brython for the better part of three years! They told me the Authorities had released you, but I couldn’t get word of you anywhere. I thought they’d disposed of you permanently and lied about it to the public. Only now I find you here. In Ballycastle. With a shop. A shop, Nigey? Really?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“You were aforceto be reckoned with. Now look at you: not a force but a farce! Heh heh.”
Ugh.Fabian always fancied himself such a wit. “If the SSSD catches you with that face cream, you’ll be locked away for the better part of the next decade,” Nigel warned.
“Oh, they won’t catch me. They’ve been too wrapped up chasing down old Montesquieu Fairfax. Remember him?”
Nigel did remember him. Monte Fairfax was in his year at Belfany University, where he and Fabian both did their undergrad studies. Monte, like Fabian, also had pretenses of joining the Nocturnus Institute—but only Nigel was accepted. His memory of poor Monte consisted of a rodent-faced individual, who always smelled faintly of cheese, and wrote rather gruesome papers on topics like“How to Summon Your Undead Thrall,”or“Practical Applications of the Blood of Nemesis in the Pursuit of Higher Necromantic Ascendancy”or“Skeleton Army: Pros and Cons.”
In retrospect, he would have been just Jastira’s type. Were he basically anyone other than Montesquieu Fairfax, that is.
“You know him,” Fabian said. “Well, he set up shop in an old granary up in northern Brython. Made a bit of a fortune for himself concocting these face-swapping creams. But the wardsmen got a tip and tracked him. They think they’ve cut off the supply forever, but . . .” Fabian touched a finger to the side of his nose.
Nigel cursed softly. “You turned in poor old Monte, didn’t you?”
“Wow. Jump to conclusions much, Nigey-boy?”
“You bastard.”
“I’mthe bastard?” Fabian puffed out his chest, drawing his stolen frame up to an indignant height. “Last I checked, I’m not the one who killed Dad.”
Blood drained from Nigel’s face. “I didn’t . . . I wasn’t . . .” A harsh wind blew down Addle Street, nearly knocking him over in a blast of snow and ice. “I wasn’t there. I didn’t . . . I tried to stop her.”
Fabian waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, I’ve heard various versions of the story. All I can say is, it’sconvenient,your showing up when you did. Just in time to takeherdown while she was vulnerable, but too late to save the old man—”
Nigel caught his brother by the lapels of his coat and, despite the disparity of their heights, threw him against the brick wall. His breath puffed like white smoke through his clenched teeth. “I will live with my guilt to my dying day. I don’t need you rubbing it in my face!”
“Guilt over what?” Fabian scoffed. “How you failed Dad? Or what you did to Jastira?”
“Don’t speak her name. Not to me. Not ever.”
Fabian blew a huff of air through his stolen lips. “All right, all right.” He pushed ineffectually at Nigel’s grasp until Nigel finally released him. Then they stood on the wintry street, both breathing rather hard and glaring at one another. “So . . .” Fabian said at last, “did you ever manage to find Garden?”
If it were possible for Nigel’s blood to go any colder, it would have dropped by a few degrees. Even with a steady application of both bribery and blackmail, Fabian had not been able to wrest the secret of Garden’s location out of him while he was stillimprisoned in Plym. Now he was free, he wasn’t about to let anything slip. “No,” he said.
Fabian shot him a wry look. “The lush display of flowers inside would imply otherwise.”
Damn.
“We can’t talk here on the street, Fabian. And no, you may not come back in! I won’t have this sorcery of yours on the premises. We are a sorcery-free environment.”
“Oh, really?”
