"There is no reason why I cannot do both," he pointed out. "I can send out inquiries, while you and I continue to research. We can take whatever means presents itself first."
She nodded, feeling a great deal more comfortable with that solution. "I can't help thinking that in concentrating on this manuscript, we might be chasing a wild goose," she confessed. "When you think that it might be in the hands of some antiquarian you know, someone who has no idea of the significance of what he has—someone who would just laugh at you if you even suggested the possibility of Magick—"
"That's all too possible," he agreed. "And now we know the most important part of any such secret."
"Such as?" she asked, stifling a yawn.
"We know the answer exists. We did not know that for certain before." He seemed very cheerful of a sudden, and his cheer infected her.
"That's true." she wondered if this was the right time to present him with her Christmas gift to him, and decided that it couldn't hurt. Better to give it to him now, while he still felt cheerful! That way, if he didn't like it, he would at least feel constrained to pretend that he did. If she gave it to him while he was in a bad mood, he might hurl it across the room in a fit of temper. He'd hurled other objects in her presence before—his temper could be as black and stormy as the worst tornado-weather, and she suspected the if he ever gave free rein to it, that temper could wreak just as much damage.
She beckoned to one of the Salamanders while his back was turned for a moment, putting a few logs on the fire, and whispered her request to it. It vanished, and came back in through the door a moment later with her wrapped package, just in time for him to see it as he turned back around.
"What's this?" he asked, puzzled, as the Salamander brought the package directly to him.
"I took the liberty of getting you a Christmas gift, Jason," she said, and surprised herself by blushing. "I hope you don't think me presumptuous. It isn't much—I don't know if you'll like it—but I thought of you when I saw it—"
He continued to stand beside the fire, staring at her, the package cradled carefully in both paws. "But I didn't get anything for you, Rose—" he stammered, as taken aback as if no one had ever brought him a present before. "How can I possibly accept this?"
"Gifts aren't given with the intent that the giver expects a gift in return, Jason," she replied, astonished that he would think that she expected a gift from him. "They're given because the giver thinks they might please the recipient—if you like it, I'll be quite rewarded enough by that. You don't have to get me anything. Everything I own now is something you gave me! I just thought this might grant you a little pleasure. Please," she prompted. "Open it."
He walked slowly to his seat, sat down carefully, and began, hesitantly, to open the package. She had taken special care to wrap it so that it would be easy for him to extract the box from the brightly colored paper and ribbons—no mean feat, so far as that went. She was rather proud of her wrapping job.
At length the box sat on the table, in its nest of shredded wrapping. He looked up at her, as if he had never seen her before, then slowly opened the box itself.
He stared down into it, then with trembling paws, reached inside and brought out the carved stone Phoenix.
The carnelian from which it had been made caught the firelight beautifully, seeming to glow from deep within. It could have been poured from liquid embers. She was altogether pleased with the effect—and with the statue itself. She had been afraid that in his study here, surrounded by all his expensive art objects, it would look shabby. In fact, it looked very much as if it belonged here.
He stared at it, and touched its carved surface gently. "This—this is magnificent," he stammered. "It's wonderful! Rose, you couldn't have chosen anything likely to please me more, and I haven't a single notion how you managed to deduce what I would like so accurately. What—what can I possibly say?"
"You might try, 'Thank you, Rose,'" one of the Salamanders said, impudently.
He shot a glare at it, but his expression softened as he turned back to her. "Thank you, Rose," he said softly. "Thank you very much."
"You're welcome, Jason," she replied demurely, not even trying to hide her smile of pleasure. "You are very welcome. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to have pleased you. Merry Christmas."
"And it is," he said, with a touch of surprise and delight. "It really is! The first time I have truly been able to say that in a very long time."
"Despite everything?" she asked, sipping her cider.
"Because of everything." He looked away from her for a moment, into the fire, and when he spoke, it was with the sense that he was revealing something he had not told to anyone else, ever. "Since I became an adult, my holidays have been spent either in the company of people I cared very little about, or alone. This is the first time that is not the case. It is the first time I have ever been given a gift without strings attached to it. I have hope now, which is something I have done without since the accident. There is literally nothing I would change about this moment, and that is not something I have ever been able to say."
"'Remain, for thou art fair?"' she said, quoting Faust with awry smile and a faint laugh. "You should be glad that I am not Mephistopheles, or your soul would be mine."
He opened his mouth, as if to reply to that, then shut it again. She wondered what he had been about to say, for his face bore a very peculiar expression, one that she could not begin to decipher.
"Let me tell you what it was that you missed, being without your spectacles," he said, abruptly, and began to describe the events of the Summoning so vividly that she forgot that odd, yearning expression completely.
At least, she forgot it until she protested, laughingly, that she was too weary to stay up any longer, and he accompanied her to her very door, as if he was a gallant swain escorting his lady home. Then, as she turned back to bid him good-night, she surprised that expression on his face again.
And if she had not been as exhausted as she claimed, she would very likely have remained awake for hours, trying to decide what, precisely, it had meant. But tonight she had no choice in the matter; sleep claimed her the moment her head touched the pillow, and in the morning, she could not remember what had puzzled her so.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
February was not Paul du Mond's favorite month, not even in San Francisco, where the winter was mild by most standards. But this February was proving to be a very good month indeed; one that marked a whole new high point in satisfaction.
As he left the front door of his small, rented dwelling, he waved a negligent hand at the handyman Beltaire had provided for him—a hardened man with double virtues. He did not seem at all surprised or disturbed by anything that went on around du Mond's rented bungalow, nor did he make any objections when he was required to dispose of the remains when du Mond entertained Beltaire, or indulged in a little private amusement of his own.
"I'm afraid this one didn't last very long, Smith," he said lazily as he took the reins of his horse from the fellow. "Do take care of it, will you?"
The latest Chinese slave had been surprisingly fragile—but that may have been due to the supplier's foresight. After all, if the slaves proved too sturdy, du Mond would not need one as often. The supplier didn't care what he did with them; there were always a dozen more where the last came from. And du Mond didn't care if his playthings didn't hold up through too many sessions; Beltaire was providing the money to buy them.