Page 32

I was appalled. “Magicians, you—you turn into—that?”

“Not always. Many of the spectres of the Rivenwood are ancient, remnants of the people who once lived there. But the longer a magician spends in the Rivenwood, and the deeper they go, the more its magic gets inside them. Eventually, some lose their ability to take human form entirely. They remain in the woods and prey upon other magicians.” He gestured at his leg. “One took me by surprise.”

“Then magic is—some sort of poison?” I said.

“Not exactly. Magic is a living thing.”

“So are rattlesnakes,” I said, still unable to believe it. “Sensible people stay away from them.”

“And devote their time to collecting city pests?”

I didn’t see that there was much to joke about, given what we had been discussing. I rose and seated myself warily on the edge of the couch. Havelock’s frame wasn’t intimidating, at least; he was only a few inches taller than me, and was lean rather than muscular, in a way that was less suggestive of deprivation than a tendency to forget about food. “And yet you keep going back there,” I said. “Despite what it’s doing to you.”

“You sound like Yannick. The shop had to be moved back—I couldn’t very well leave a crater in the heart of the city. There wasn’t time to barter for the magic I needed. You and those beasts made it essential that I act with haste, so that I could place new wards upon both my shops.”

I frowned, not understanding. “What do the cats have to do with anything?”

“Don’t you—” He pushed himself up, and his expression changed. He glanced down at his leg and moved it experimentally. “That—that feels better.”

“I imagine it would. You’re not bleeding out anymore.”

“I wasn’t going to bleed out. But wounds suffered in the Rivenwood take time to close, and—I suppose the dressing has sped the process.”

He had stiffened, as if now that the pain had lessened he was aware of the intimacy of what I’d done, and of my presence there, in his private chambers, sitting on what I realized was probably his bed. He began to redden, which was unfortunate, for I’ve often found others’ discomfort contagious, and my own face flushed.

He reached down to adjust the scarf, and I snatched his hand away with a cry, thinking he meant to remove it. He stared at me and my face heated yet again—not because I’d touched him, but because my reaction proved I cared more than I’d let on whether he bled to death, which was frankly as much of a surprise to me.

“You dropped your book,” I said, desperate for a distraction. I picked it up—another novel, though the cover was too worn for me to make out anything other than the words House of. “Looks like you lost your page.”

“No matter.” He took it from me and laid it on the table. “I’ve read that one a dozen times.”

I puzzled over this. He’d been sitting here, injured and alone, and he’d decided to read an old book?

“Well?” I said into the dreadfully awkward silence. “I asked what the cats have to do with any of this.”

“The cats,” he repeated. His accent made the word sound clipped, or perhaps that was just his dislike. “Well, they have the tracking spell on them too. Didn’t Yannick tell you?”

“The tracking spell?” It came out almost as a shout.

Havelock started and drew back from me. “You didn’t—?”

“Of course I didn’t!” I was definitely shouting now. “You put a tracking spell on me?”

“Why on earth would I do that? You think I care about the whereabouts of a load of mangy ferals and their painfully earnest minder? Valérie cast it—that’s why she was able to find me, and eventually undo my old wards. You led her to my shop.”

“We did not!” I exclaimed. “Why would Valérie enchant a cat shelter?”

Havelock looked as if he were about to make one of his sarcastic remarks—I was beginning to learn the signs, that sardonic glint in his eye and slight head tilt. But then he seemed to deflate, as if realizing the situation was too ridiculous to be ridiculed. “I have no idea.”

“Thank you!” I said. “She would have had to cast it on us when we were in the old shop, wouldn’t she? How would she have known—” I froze as a thought struck me like an Arctic wave.

“It may have been accidental,” Havelock said. “I’m told she started a duel with another magician a month or two ago—a man I’ve had dealings with in the past. When he wouldn’t tell her my whereabouts, she tried to put a tracking spell on him, so she would know if he visited me. He was able to shake it off, but perhaps it rebounded on you somehow.”

I forced myself to ask my next question. “Would this spell have compelled the magician to visit your shop?”

“No. That sort of magic isn’t possible.” He paused, his gaze growing distant. “Unless the spell was old, but that—”

“Old?”