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“Allowed?”
“You know, working together and all that…”
Tom chuckled. “Emory’s not a conventional boss. You’ll find that out pretty quickly.”
Jesse had a hundred questions in response to that but couldn’t find a way to ask any of them.
That evening he was still running tests on the sensors in Magnusson’s study when the fire bursting to life made him jump. He turned. The baron stood in the door with his hand on the room controls and a quiet smile on his face.
For a frozen moment they just stood, staring at each other. Finally, he spoke.
“Tom said I’d find you here.”
“Sorry,” Jesse fumbled, embarrassed at how he’d let time slip away from him. “I was just checking the new stuff was working.”
“Why are you sorry?” Magnusson said smoothly, taking a step forward. Jesse fought the urge to back away.
“Tom said these were private rooms. I guessed—”
“You’re welcome in any part of Oswald House you care to be in,” Magnusson said, halting a foot away. “I’m relying on you to make it safe, after all. Tom says it’s going well?”
“Got a way to go yet,” Jesse said, “but getting there.”
“Glad to hear it. Actually,” Magnusson added as he drifted past Jesse, heading for a drinks counter in the corner, “I have something I’d like to discuss with you. Discreetly. Whiskey or brandy?” he asked as he poured amber liquid from one of the heavy decanters into a tumbler.
Jesse blinked, struggling to process. “Uh…brandy, I guess.”
Magnusson picked up a different decanter, poured a measure and held out the glass. It smelled warm and strong, but Jesse’s stomach was bunching, and he didn’t drink.
“What’s this about?”
“I have a task for you,” Magnusson said after a pause. “A very specialized job.”
Jesse narrowed his eyes. “That sounds ominous.”
“Please.” Magnusson gestured to the sofa. Jesse hesitated, suddenly aware he was alone with the Undying Baron in a room without cameras. The frisson of excitement that chased his fear through his body made his cheeks color as he blinked stupidly at the sofa.
“Mr. Truelove, if you please.”
The command in Magnusson’s tone was unquestionable. Jesse downed a mouthful of the brandy, willing the burning alcohol to help him think straight, and took a seat. When he could focus again, Magnusson had sat at the other end, his long legs crossed, whiskey untouched in his hand.
“I do hope you’re not afraid of me,” the haemophile said after a long silence. “I will not hurt you.”
Jesse gripped his glass so hard his knuckles ached. “I know that,” he said, hoping he sounded more sure than he felt.
Magnusson was no longer smiling but something like dark amusement lit the back of his eyes. “Could I tell you more about this task?”
“Uh…sure.”
Magnusson sipped his drink, set it aside then drew an envelope out of his jacket. He handed it over. Jesse downed the rest of his brandy. Suppressing a cough, he set the empty glass on the floor and opened the envelope. Inside was a slip of paper with a printed address.
Ivor, Harrison & Associates
7 Stonehead
York
Underneath was a hand-written series of letters and numbers—M-E76-890-DH.
