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“Have Anna bring a growler of the new ale up to my rooms.”
“Your rooms?” Werner looked surprised. “You want her to go to your rooms?”
James glared up at him. “Did I stutter?”
“No.” Werner shook his head. “No, Nib—James. Sorry, it’s just that I—”
“You what?” James asked, glancing up over the rim of his spectacles. He could almost imagine what Werner was thinking, comparing James to the poor, sainted Dolph Saunders, who never took a woman to his room, not even after Leena died.
But James wasn’t Dolph, thank god. He was a hell of a lot smarter. And soon he’d be stronger, as well.
“Well?” he pressed. “Did you have something to say?”
Werner frowned as though he wanted to say more, but coward that he was, he kept his mouth shut. “No. I’ll have her come right up.”
“Give me five minutes,” he said. “Then send her.”
He didn’t wait to see Werner’s reaction. It took longer than he liked to climb the steps to the set of rooms above. He honestly didn’t understand how Dolph could have stood it for so long, limping along through the city with such a weakness visible to anyone who might count themselves as an enemy. But then, Dolph Saunders hadn’t had the benefit of the Delphi’s Tear.
The ring was heavy on his finger, and its potent energy was a constant reminder of its potential. James had only to concentrate on his connection to the old magic and he could sense the answering power within the glasslike stone. But he couldn’t quite join with that power, at least not as he’d hoped to.
Perhaps he should have known. The notebook from his future self had already told him that the stones worked best when they were aligned with affinities closest to the elements the stones were infused with. He could tap into some of the ring’s power, but not all of it. Not truly. It hadn’t given him any clearer view of the future, not like he’d hoped, but it would give him a more certain future… as long as Anna was as willing as he expected her to be.
By the time he reached his rooms, he was exhausted from the climb, hopefully for the last time. He had barely sunk into the worn cushions of the low couch when a knock came at the door.
“Come!” he called. “It’s open.”
Anna entered without any shyness at all. She was young, maybe a year older than himself, but the years without her family for protection had left their mark. Or perhaps that was simply the hunger she’d been born with to have more, to be more. It was a hunger he identified with and understood. It was one he could use.
“Where would you like this?” she asked, lifting the growler of ale she’d perched on her hip.
“In a glass,” he told her, nodding toward the far corner of the room, where a cast-iron stove anchored the kitchen area. “Pour one for yourself as well and join me.”
He didn’t miss the flash of satisfaction in her eyes. Blue. Like my sister Janie’s.
But he brushed away that thought and the sentimentality that came along with it. Janie was gone, along with his mother and father and everyone else. All he had now was himself and the future he could create.
“Oh, I shouldn’t,” Anna said, giving him a small smile that told him she knew already that she would.
“You definitely should,” he encouraged. “Anna, isn’t it?” Of course he knew it was.
She nodded, her bow-shaped mouth curving with the pleasure of being known, of being seen. It was almost too easy. She was almost too predictable. It would have been boring if he weren’t so tired and in so much pain.
“Well… maybe just a wee nip,” she said softly, pretending a sudden shyness he didn’t buy for one instant. But the sound of her words brushed against memories. She was new enough, fresh enough, that she still sounded like the land of his childhood. His mother had said that—a wee nip. It was a reminder of all he’d lost. Of what he must become.
After she poured the ale, she took the seat he offered close to him on the couch without protest. The Aether trembled in response, and he knew that his plan would work.
They talked for a while, or rather she did. She chattered on about how grateful she was to have a place at the Strega, about her family and how they’d been taken by a bout of influenza the previous winter. As they drank one cup of ale after another, she prattled on, becoming bolder with each drink. When he placed his hand upon her knee, she didn’t stop him. She only moved closer, practically onto his lap, but the pressure of her body made him wince.
“What is it?” She backed away, wide-eyed. “Oh, lord. It’s your hip, isn’t it? That injury—” Her hands came up over her mouth. “Oh, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine,” he told her. “It’s not your fault that it hasn’t healed properly. You know what happened, I’m sure… when Viola attacked me back in March on the bridge.”
“I did hear a bit of something about that,” she said. “But I can’t imagine it. After all you’ve done, for her to attack you like that? And to leave you hurting so?” A combination of pity and hope flickered in her expression. “You know, James, after all you’ve done for me… maybe I can help?”
He feigned confusion. “What do you mean? Help how?”
Her mouth quirked. “I’ve done a fair bit of healing in my days,” she said. “Perhaps I could have a go of it? Try to make things a little better for you?”
