“Do I look like I’m having a laugh?” he replied in the kind of deliberate, overloud voice reserved for particularly slow children.
“But these aren’t just two random nobodies who came in off the street,” I said, trying my best to explain the situation. “Hana and Torn used to work for your grandparents! They’re really looking forward to seeing you again. . . .”
He gave an incredulous laugh, as if I’d just said the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “Why would I want to interact with my grandfather’s old servants? Perhaps you’d like me to spend time with a discarded coat and a bent paper clip as well?”
“I—I just thought you might want to say hello—” I stammered.
“You just ‘thought’; is that it?” he jeered mockingly. “See, that’s the problem with you, Tate—you’re human. You can’t think like me, and you never will.” Hexe lurched to his feet, swaying unsteadily. I knew he had been drinking, but up until that point I had no idea just how drunk he truly was. “Either you get some money out of them or I show them the door—it’s as simple as that. I don’t need another pair of mouths to feed under my roof. And I certainly don’t need a couple of doddering antiques getting in my way, yammering on about the ‘good old days.’ I don’t care who they are—they could be my chuffing grandparents for all it means to me! Either they pony up some rent, or they’re out on the curb!” With that, he staggered into his office, slamming the door behind him loud enough for it to be heard throughout the house.
I stood in the kitchen, trembling like a tuning fork, my cheeks burning with shame, as I struggled to try to understand what I had done to trigger such a flood of venom. He had never spoken to me in such an insulting, dismissive tone before, even when I’d done things to deserve it. I kept telling myself he was drunk and upset about being mugged, but that didn’t keep the words from hurting any less. I wiped the tears from my eyes and then went to the sink and threw some water on my face before going upstairs to bed.
As I crested the second floor landing, I was startled to see Hana and Torn standing in the doorway of their room. I could tell from the looks on their faces that they had heard more than enough of Hexe’s harangue. I opened my mouth to try to apologize, but before I could say anything they closed the door.
When I got up the next morning to go to work, they were already gone.
Chapter 19
To be honest, it would not have surprised me if I never saw Hana and Torn again. But, to my relief, they showed back up at Fetlock Mews later that day. Torn explained that they had decided it would be better “for everyone involved” if they stayed elsewhere until the loft space was ready, and had taken a room at the Sabbat Inn, the only hotel located within Golgotham. A couple of days later, they moved into the refurbished loft and set about making it their new home. Neither of them ever said a word to me about what had transpired that night, but I could see the shadow of it in their eyes whenever they stopped by the shop, which was quite often, as Hana seemed determined to stuff both Canterbury and myself as if we were taxidermy with a seemingly never-ending supply of freshly baked breads, pastries, and cookies.
A couple of weeks after they moved in, Canterbury’s attorney came by with a sheaf of legal documents requiring my signature. While my salary as junior partner wasn’t large enough to completely offset the loss of Hexe’s income, it did provide me with the stability and peace of mind that comes with job security. And for the first time since learning I was pregnant, I was finally able to focus on truly getting things ready for the baby.
Outside of the boneknitters and psychic surgeons found at Golgotham General, the majority of health care in Golgotham was provided by hedgewitches such as Hexe. Although I knew from personal experience their healing arts were effective, I still wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of trusting the health of my unborn child to someone dangling a crystal pendulum over my rapidly swelling belly. Magic was all well and good for Kymerans in my situation, but I was human and I needed the comfort afforded by my people’s own unique arts—science and technology.
There was a clinic just across the river, in Brooklyn, just off the F, that offered a low-cost prenatal service. It was eight hundred dollars up front, which was a hefty chunk of change for our household, but it would pay for monthly office visits for the first twenty-four weeks, as well as blood tests and one ultrasound. I’d been squirreling away a percentage of my paycheck, plus whatever money was left over after paying the bills, in the cookie tin. So far I had just over six hundred dollars saved up.
Upon finding myself with a spare thirty dollars after settling the grocer’s bill, I opened the lid on the tin, only to find the kitty considerably lighter than before. My heart somehow managed to both sink and speed up as I counted out the bills, then tallied them up twice more, telling myself I must have miscounted. But each time it came up short the exact same amount: one hundred and fifty dollars.
Surely some nefarious burglar had managed to sneak into the house, somehow managed to make it past Scratch, and then made a beeline to the cookie tin on my dresser without touching anything else at all. I really, really wanted to believe that was the case, because, otherwise, I would have to suspect the only other person in the world—well, the only one with thumbs, anyway—who knew where I was stashing money.
“Do you know anything about this?” I asked, shaking the cookie tin at Scratch.
“I ain’t no snitch,” the familiar replied and quickly ran out of the room.
I glanced in the direction of the four-poster, only to find the carved owls perched atop the bedposts had turned their backs to me.
Maybe it was the hormones, but that’s when I lost it. I had put up with his increasing moodiness and going out drinking every night because I felt bad about him losing his magic, but I had finally had enough of being treated like a clueless fool simply because I had five fingers instead of six.
“Where are you going?” Scratch asked as I yanked my peacoat out of the downstairs closet.
“I’m going to go and get my money back,” I snapped. It didn’t help my mood that I now discovered my coat would no longer button thanks to my baby bump.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist! So he took some money without telling you . . .”
“You don’t understand, Scratch!” I snapped. “He didn’t do this to me; he did it to the baby!”
I managed to keep a pretty good mad-on all the way to the Two-Headed Calf. Over the last month or so, Hexe had put Lafo’s promise of free eats and drink to the test. Up until recently we had been eating at the Calf twice a week, but now that I had stopped drinking because of the baby, Hexe had been hitting the pub every night on his own, coming back later and later each time. I was usually asleep by the time he would stagger home, reeking of artichoke schnapps. Half the time he didn’t even bother to come to bed, passing out instead on the couch in his office.
Since it was a weeknight, the Calf was relatively quiet when I arrived. Bruno nodded in welcome as I entered, but I brushed by without responding. I was too busy scanning the booths and tables for some sign of Hexe. I then hurried upstairs, but he wasn’t among the diners, either.
As I went back downstairs, I caught sight of Lafo, who was manning the taps behind the bar. He smiled in welcome as I approached. “Evening, Tate. Looking for someone?”
“Has Hexe been here tonight?” I asked.
“No, he hasn’t,” he replied as he pulled a pint for one of his customers. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him in a couple of weeks.”