“She’s not exactly reliable, is she?”
Nigel shrugged. “Garden is too great a secret to be made known. So Debbie and I will keep it.”
“And what about that shop girl of yours?”
Nigel’s eyes flared.
“Is she in on your secret too?”
“Leave her out of this.”
Fabian chuckled again and took another, larger bite of cake and cream. “Of course,” he said, around his mouthful. “Of course, you’d share Garden with that chit, even as you keep it from your own brother. What? She do you some littlefavors?In the back of the shop, maybe, or upstairs in your moldering apartment? A little slap and tickle and, in exchange, you reveal the Great Magical Secret of the Moden Age.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Why not?” Fabian took another bite, then pointed his ganache-smeared fork at Nigel’s nose. “Are you going to pretend shemeansanything to you? Will you try to convince me you’ve gone and developed feelings for a whisp of a tea witch and her pathetic scrying talent?” He barked a laugh, loud enough that patrons at nearby tables cast him sidelong glances.
“I’m warning you, Fabian,” Nigel growled, “not another word.”
But his brother leaned forward on the table, anti-glitter sparking around his eyes. “You’re pathetic, Nigel. The Grimshade Lord one minute, chosen lover of the greatest sorceress of our time. Now look at you! Proprietor of a little tea shop, shagging the shop girl in the hall closet while the kettle boils over—”
A black film descended over Nigel’s vision. The thunder of diabolic realities roared in his head, whorling in a storm of fury as he rose suddenly and loomed over his brother. His eyes flashed, transforming to glassy orbs of onyx.
“It’s a flower shop,”he snarled.
Then he picked up the cake and smashed it into Fabian’s face.
Gasps erupted across the room. Wait staff and the dignified host all rushed in, exclamations of horror and protest on their lips. Many hands reached for Nigel, but he brushed them off brusquely. “No! No, don’t touch me. I’m just leaving.” He withdrew his wallet and dropped a wad of bills on the table. “My treat, Minister Supreme,” he said. “And good night to you!”
With that, he turned and marched from the dining room, out into the grand and glittering foyer. So dark was the cloud oppressing him, he passed by the coat-check without a thought. The doorman was only just fast enough to open the door for him, or he might have broken right through the glass without noticing. Only the sudden blast of freezing air on his face brought him to a startled stop at the top of the front steps.
“Mister!” a voice called behind him. A coat-check girl in a crisp black uniform darted out, Nigel’s hat, coat, gloves, and scarf in hand. “Wait up!” He turned to receive the items, shoved hastily into his arms. “Merry Green Yule,” the girl said through chattering teeth and darted back inside.
Nigel paused to pull his coat on. He was just shrugging it onto his shoulders when Fabian burst through the doors. Bits of cake dripped from his cheeks and jaw. The mousse and cream had done its work, smooshing the disguise spell and throwing it wildly askew. Nigel could see glimpses of his brother’s own face appearing through veils of anti-glitter, even as Ebenezar Prodigimus’s features struggled to reassert themselves. “Nigel!” he roared.
Nigel faced him, buttoning his coat with frozen fingers. “You’d better duck up to your rooms before some wardsman strolls by and sees you,” he said coldly. “Even dolts like the SSSD can’t fail to notice a malfunctioning spell like that.”
Fabian cursed and closed the distance between them with a quick stride. “You’ve got to help me,” he said, dropping his voice. “It’s not just about Garden, you know.”
“I thought as much.” Nigel sneered and drew his gloves on, one after the other. “The Brotherhood has got its claws into you. Hasn’t it.”
Fabian breathed heavily, air panting through his lips in white clouds. “They want her back, Nigel,” he said. “They want her back and whole and in power. They’ve got hold of her spells. One of them, in any case. But they need a power source.”
“They need Garden,” Nigel growled.
Fabian nodded. “If they don’t get it, they’re going to murder me.”
“Not my problem.”
“How is it not your problem? You brought this about, Nigel! You killed her in the first place!”
“Oh, I thought you didn’t believe her dead? Coming round to my way of thinking, are you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think! What matters is what the Brotherhood thinks! And they think their queen—their empress, their goddess—is just on the far side of the Veil, waiting to besummoned home and restore them all to power. They’ll stop at nothing to get her back.”
“Well,” Nigel shrugged, “they’ll need more than Garden, in that case. If I remember those spells correctly, they require a blood relative. Afemaleblood relative. But, as you pointed out, all the Thorpewillow females have been done away with, either by the Authorities or rival sorcerers.”
“Not all.”
