The Fire Rose

CHAPTER EIGHT

From the moment that she had accepted Magick as a reality, Rose had leapt out of bed every morning with anticipation that was not in the least hampered by her knowledge that Jason Cameron was a dangerous and possibly unbalanced man, and that this situation might turn hazardous at any moment. That didn't matter—perhaps it even put a frisson of exhilaration into the arrangement, for there was nothing quite like skirting the edge of danger to put a certain zest in living. But this morning Rose awoke with her sense of excitement and adventure dimmed, and for a good reason. Today, so Jason had informed her last night, Paul du Mond would return to the mansion. Cameron had reiterated his request that she not reveal her new-won knowledge of Magick, and she had been quick to repeat her agreement. Paul represented danger too, but not of the sort she preferred to court. She was suspicious of his motives and his morals, and he was altogether too sly for her liking.

I know too much about men like du Mond, and yet I don't know enough to protect myself. I would prefer not to learn anything more the hard way. She sighed. No, it isn't precisely danger that he represents, it's corruption, it's veniality. I can't imagine him doing anything magnificent, only petty—or anything really horrifying, only tawdry.

She pulled aside the bedcurtains, which was the signal for the ever-attentive Salamander to levitate her glasses into her outstretched hand. Oh, what an improvement that was over her former fumbling!

I wish there was a way to keep this Salamander with me when all this is over...

As her fiery servant moved to the windows and the window-curtains pulled apart to let in the daylight, the thin, gray light from outside was an ample reflection of her own dampened spirits, for she knew, as surely as she did not want to encounter du Mond, she assuredly would. It had always happened that way; the people she most wanted to avoid were always the first to greet her and the hardest to get rid of. With only the two of them in the house, it would be difficult to avoid him, for he could always find her by listening for her footsteps.

Ah well. At least if the weather has gone all grey and grim, I shall have the excuse to retire to my own rooms. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, slipped into a dressing-gown and sought the bathroom. It's too bad that I was never the properly fragile type so I could plead some infirmity and get rid of him that way—

—on the other hand, Paul du Mond doesn't know that.

She stepped out of her night-things and into the hot bath—which was, as usual, at the absolutely perfect temperature, just short of painful and hot enough to forcibly relax every muscle in her body and open every pore in her skin. Yet another advantage of having a Salamander as a servant....

He saw me going out for a walk, but he cannot have any notion of how far I went. I could have gone for a genteel little stroll, rather than a healthy hike. That's the solution; I can be polite to him for a few minutes, then develop a headache and have to go off somewhere quiet! If I'm inside, I can either come back here or be in desperate need of fresh air. If I'm outside, I can manage a similar excuse! Just having a "polite" way to rid herself of du Mond's unwelcome company made her feel a fraction better. Her thoughts began to move a little more freely.

I wonder if I could discourage him in some other way? I didn't say very much the last few times I spoke with him. I could continue that; I could pretend I'm shy. But he might take that as a challenge; some men would. Can I also pretend to be rather stupid, I wonder? She thought that over, as the steam from her bath rose about her face and curled the loose hair into little ringlets.

Stupidity might disgust him, but then again, it might encourage him. Men generally didn't seem to mind stupidity in a woman, and besides, how could she be stupid and claim to have all the expertise in languages she did? Not stupid, but silly. I knew plenty of girls at the University who were amazing linguists, and hadn't the least sense. That might be a better ploy. She'd noticed that men with silly fiancees or wives didn't spend much time in their company. If he won't leave me alone, I could babble endlessly. I never saw a man who could tolerate babbling for more than a few minutes at best.

That should be a last resort, however. She didn't think she'd be able to keep up the pretense of being silly for very long.

She took a deep breath, and further relaxed. Now that she had a plan, she felt much better able to face the day and whatever it held. If only it didn't hold du Mond! She wasn't exactly afraid of him—but whenever she saw him, she was somehow acutely intimidated. He might not be all that prepossessing physically, but he was bigger and stronger than she was, and she had the feeling he was not averse to using that strength against a woman.

I wonder if it would be possible to convince Jason to send du Mond into the city more frequently—or perhaps to keep him there instead of here, and only summon him back if he truly needs the man. It was a nice idea, but she didn't entertain it for very long. Probably not. He is Cameron's secretary, and I'm not going to attempt to take on that task as well as my own.

In fact, she probably couldn't. Du Mond obviously had very exact orders from Jason Cameron, and a routine he accomplished without thinking. She would not be able to follow that routine as smoothly and invisibly. Cameron clearly expected and rewarded competence, and was just as clearly impatient of incompetence. If she tried to replace du Mond, she was doomed to failure, and she did not want to lose the respect she had so far gained.

Her own job had now spilled over into the daylight hours, for as of today, she would be busy reading the books Cameron suggested for her own education when she wasn't reading aloud to him. She had suggested that to him yesterday, pointing out that she was fully qualified to do research, and if he was not utilizing that skill as well as her translation abilities, he was not making the best use of her.

I'm doing quite enough as it is. It will be much easier to keep du Mond from finding out I know the truth about Jason that it would be to try to become, not only translator, student, and researcher, but private secretary as well. There are not enough hours in the day and night together to accomplish all four.

The grey light reminded her of winter skies back in Chicago, although she knew that once she actually looked out the window, the scene would bear no resemblance to winter as she had always known it. It was now nearly Thanksgiving, not that she expected that particular holiday to be celebrated in this household. The nearness of the holiday was just a measure of how long she had been here.

Only a week to Thanksgiving! It hardly seems possible.... Since each day was the same, with nothing to mark one day as different from another, they all tended to blur together.

It is so hard to keep track of what day of the week it is, much less what day of the month. They were not even near enough to the small hamlet of Pacifica to hear the church bells marking Sunday mornings, as she had heard every Sunday of her life in Chicago. And of course there was no question of actually attending church on Sunday, so she lost even that "event" to mark the beginning of a week.

She reflected on that as she dressed—warmly. It was too chilly for silk; the radiators in her rooms were operating and the Salamander kept a fire tended in each fireplace. Odd. I suppose if I were a properly brought up person I would feel very badly about skipping Sunday service, but I don't particularly miss not attending church. Was I bored? I must have been; the Reverend wasn't an entertaining speaker, and the music wasn't ever what I would call outstanding. I don't remember Father ever being very fervent about religion either. We always attended University Chapel because faculty was expected to, I suppose.

Once she had passed childhood, Rose could not remember ever turning to religion for comfort or for aid—quite probably because she had become too practical to expect either. There had never been any evidence that the religious leaders she knew were prepared to offer anything but lip-service to the concept of "feeding the hungry and comforting the oppressed." As for the Deity Himself, she could not imagine that God was so idle he had time to listen to each and every voice rising plaintively and pleadingly from the Earth, anyway. I don't think I'd want to, if I was God. Half of the people are begging like spoiled children for another sweet, and the rest are wailing about the unfairness of life. Perhaps a small fraction are pompously pretending to thank Him when they are really gloating over their own good fortune. If I were God, I think I'd send them all a nice plague or barbarian invaders just to shut them up and teach them what real suffering means!

Yesterday must have been Sunday, the last Sunday before Thanksgiving. November. So strange!

She finished buttoning her shoes and went out to the sittingroom where her breakfast was waiting for her as usual. If the Salamander had been there, she would have thanked it, but it had gone off to wherever the little creatures did go when they weren't needed. She sipped her coffee and buttered a roll, while she reckoned up the passage of time in her mind. I left Chicago in late October and I must have been on trains for a good week or more before I arrived here; in fact, didn't one of the conductors mention something about Halloween? Then I was just doing the translations for Jason for about a week or so before I read the Dee book. Paul has been gone for a bit more than a week and a half. Yes, it is nearly Thanksgiving; I haven't reckoned wrongly. She shook her head. I would not have thought time could get away from me so easily.

So strange, how much her life had changed in the course of a few weeks! Magick, Salamanders—good heavens, a few weeks ago I was trying to think of some way to keep a roof over my head and food in my mouth, and now look at me! Silk and wool-plush gowns, the finest of food, a palatial set of living-quarters, and work I not only am good at, but which I enjoy above all else! And the opportunity to complete my degree! All this, and I am being paid handsomely for my time! She shook her head. I should be thanking Providence, not fretting because I am trying to avoid the company of a single unpleasant man!

Yes, that was true—but Jason Cameron must have some reason to mistrust the man himself, or he would not have asked her to keep her new knowledge of Magick a secret. So perhaps it was not inappropriate to fret about possible meetings with him. With that in mind, the question before her now, as she finished her breakfast, was whether to go down into the house and grounds and chance meeting du Mond, or to stay up here in her rooms and avoid him altogether.

I probably ought to try to avoid him. But Sunset is probably looking forward to seeing me. She had begun visiting the stallion daily; he was as gentle with her as a pet dog, and her contempt for du Mond and his dislike of the horse only intensified with each visit. Poor Sunset seemed very lonely, despite the companionship in the next paddock of the two carriage-horses and an aged pony. She had gathered from Jason's conversations that he had spent at least an hour or two every day riding his stallion before his accident, and she had a vague idea that for a horse, running in the paddock was not a substitute for being ridden. At some point she must have been told that a riding horse needed human companionship to be happy; certainly Sunset's behavior with her bore that out.

However, she was not going to be the one to ride him, though she had no objection to going and petting him and talking to him. He might be gentle with her, but she doubted he would be forgiving of a rank beginner on his back. She'd taken some thought to learning to ride on the old pony until she realized what a prime dunce she would look, a grown woman trying to bestride a pony meant for a child, with both feet dragging on the ground and her skirts hiked halfway up to her waist. It would definitely not be dignified, and she did not want Paul du Mond to have the advantage over her if he caught her in such an undignified state. Besides, she would have to learn to ride astride; she doubted that Sunset was used to a side-saddle.

The Salamander appeared to take her tray away. "Is it going to rain today?" she asked it.

"Not until just before dark," it told her with authority, and neatly levitated the tray towards the door.

That decided her. First of all, she was not going to let Paul du Mond intimidate her into keeping to her rooms. And secondly, that poor horse needed company. She took an apple from the basket of fruit she now kept in her room, and slipped it into her pocket, then pulled on the warm walking-coat she had asked for when she found the lovely cloak Jason had supplied with her wardrobe to be dramatic, but entirely impractical for strolls through the woods.

There was no mistaking the fact that Sunset was looking for her; she caught sight of him before he spotted her, for the stallion was hanging about the house-end of the paddock, occasionally draping his head over the top of the fence to stare longingly at the house. And when he saw her, his ears went straight up, his tail flagged, and he actually whickered a welcome, pawing the ground and tossing his head a little as she neared.

She found herself smiling as she walked up to the fence. He put his nose into her hand immediately, and whuffed into it, without any hint of wanting to use his teeth on her. Stupid man. Poor Sunset probably just wants to bite him because he senses du Mond is not to be trusted. She scratched his brow-ridges, then moved her hand to scratch under his chin as he sighed in pleasure and tried to rest the weight of his head in her hands.

"You only love me for my apples," she told him. "It's pure cupboard-love, and don't think I don't know it."

He whickered, as if agreeing with her, and she chuckled. "It's all right," she told him. "You're so beautiful that it doesn't matter. That's what happens when you're beautiful, you know, you can do anything and people will forgive you because they don't want to believe that anything so pretty could be bad." She sighed. "But of course, when you're as plain as I am, they're perfectly willing to think you'd do quite vicious things out of pure mean-spiritedness. And every pretty girl is quite certain you are ragingly jealous of her, and envious of her good looks." She reached into her skirt pocket for the apple. "That was why they hung women as witches, you know", she told him. "They were probably all plain and hadn't a chance in the world of getting a husband so they could be proper ladies, so of course they must have turned to the Devil for consolation."

She fed him his apple, but he didn't seem disposed to leave when he'd finished it, so she lingered with him, scratching him and saying baby-nonsense into his ears.

"You're spoiling the brute," said du Mond, startling her so that she jumped. That startled Sunset as well; the stallion jerked his head up, his eyes rolling wildly as he danced in place. Then he caught sight of du Mond, set his ears back and bared his teeth for a moment, then shot off across the paddock to the opposite side. There he trotted in a small circle, watching du Mond as if he expected the man to jump over the fence and beat him.

"You frightened him!" she said, taking care to put a little whine into it, and when she turned to face the man, she managed a little pout as well.

"Not I. That beast isn't afraid of anything or anyone." Du Mond stared sourly after the trotting stallion. "He just doesn't like me, and it's mutual. Animals should be made to earn their keep—people certainly are. I think he's a waste of money; if Jason isn't going to ride him, he should at least be sent off to stand at stud somewhere. With his lines, Jason could command enough fees to at least pay back what he's costing to keep."

She blinked, and tried to think of an appropriately silly answer. "I suppose so," she said vaguely, "But he's very pretty. I like seeing him here; he makes me think of all kinds of things that are wild and free. It wouldn't be the same if he was gone. Is having him here any sillier than having those birds in the conservatory?"

Du Mond simply shrugged. "The birds eat the insects that get into the greenhouses, not that it matters. What you or I like does not matter, dear lady. It is what Jason Cameron likes that is important, and he does not want his precious horse out of his sight."

Suddenly he was all charm, turning it on as if he were lighting one of the new electrical lamps. "But I did not come down here to talk about Sunset; I came to find out how you were faring. Is Jason treating you decently? Don't be afraid to tell me if he isn't; he is inclined to run rough-shod over his employees unless I remind him that this is not a medieval castle and he is not a feudal overlord."

She was startled to hear an echo of her own words to Cameron coming out of du Mond's mouth. It was positively uncanny; she'd have suspected he had been spying upon them had she not known he was in the city at the time. But she managed a weak laugh, and waved her hand. "Oh, how could I not like this job? It is much better than having to teach two children! I have everything I want, and all the time I wish in which to read!"

Quick. Now is the time to say something that will make him disregard you. "There's a lovely lot of books in the first case in the library," she continued hurriedly. "I didn't get much chance to read that kind of book when I lived at home, I—Father made me spend so much of my time studying."

Du Mond gave her a peculiar look. "You were going to the University to please your father?" he asked carefully.

She nodded, making things up glibly as she went along. "It was what he wanted—I always did what Father wanted. He said if I was going to be a spinster I might as well be a scholar so he would have someone to talk to."

She watched du Mond's eyes flicker as thoughts passed behind them, and tried very hard to read his expressions. He was making no attempt to guard himself with her, which argued that he already was underestimating her.

He's looking at my face—evaluating how plain I am, and thinking that I'm very obedient, very pliant, and don't have much in the way of a will of my own, I expect.

Perhaps that was a better ploy than playing stupid.

"Father always had my best interests in mind, and I was very glad to be able to help him," she continued softly, knowing that this, at least, was the truth. "For some reason I have always been good with languages, so I was able to serve him in the same capacity that I am serving Mr. Cameron."

Du Mond smirked. "Indeed. Well, don't let him bully or frighten you, my dear. You're too pretty a girl to have to languish in a room, ruining your eyes to read to him for days at a time."

She almost laughed, and held it back only with a great effort. He really is spreading the flattery on a bit too thickly! I suppose I'll have to play up to it, though.

She fluttered her eyelashes and dropped her gaze modestly. "It's really not at all bad," she murmured. "I could be cooped up in a stuffy old office or library somewhere, working from dawn to dusk. At least here I get to go outside every day for a little."

He moved forward as if he was going to try to touch her; she managed to move away from him without she hoped—making it obvious that she was avoiding his touch.

"What if I found another option for you?" he asked, and frowned, his concern so patently feigned that she wondered how he ever thought he fooled anybody. "I don't want to alarm you, but Cameron's not entirely sane, you know."

"The—accident?" she faltered.

He shrugged, scarcely wrinkling his suit. "It might have been. He has always been ruthless, but since the accident he's become quite callous about anyone and anything other than himself. I think he's dangerous, frankly. I don't worry about myself, but I'm not sure a woman is safe around him."

She made her eyes go wide and put her hand up to her mouth, hiding the grimace of distaste. "Surely you don't think he would—that I—"

"I think he would not trouble himself to keep you safe, although I doubt that he himself is any danger to you," du Mond told her, with false sincerity. "He never comes out of his own apartments, after all. But I have several friends in the city, and I might be able to obtain an alternate position for you if you wished to find other employment. The circumstances would not be as pleasant as these, perhaps, but at least your employer would be sane."

She dropped her eyes again and shook her head. "I cannot imagine leaving this position," she said. "I gave my word."

"At least keep it in mind if you feel Cameron is growing unpredictable," he urged.

She nodded, and put her hand to her temple, making a face. "This is all so—unpleasant. I believe one of my headaches is coming on, Mr. du Mond—"

"Paul—" he said, warmly, once again attempting to touch her.

"—this is all very upsetting, and if I do not go and lie down, my head will be splitting shortly," she continued, turning, as if oblivious to his outstretched hand. "You really must forgive me."

And with one hand pressed to her temple, she gathered up her skirts in the other, and hurried back into the house before he could offer to escort or assist her.

She felt altogether unclean, as if she had brushed up against something slimy. The nerve of that man! Ugh! I would rather have the company of a hundred frogs than his!

She was just glad that Cameron could not possibly have overheard this conversation. He might not have put the best interpretation on her responses.

I think I will spend the rest of the day right here, she decided, opening the door to her room, and closing it firmly behind her. I have had more than enough fresh air for one day. Or rather—given that I had to deal with du Mond, perhaps the air was not so fresh after all.

Cameron stared deeply into the mirror, his jaws clenched so tightly he expected to hear some of his teeth snap at any moment. Just what is he up to? he snarled savagely and silently. Who does he think he is, lording it as if he is the master here! That interloper—I'll tear his heart from his body—I'll rip his treacherous little head from his shoulders—

His thoughts dissolved into pure and incoherent rage; the scent of musk and blood filled his nostrils, and bile rose, acrid and sour, in the back of his throat. He began to pant and his vision darkened, narrowed to the mirror before him. He wanted blood, blood and the death of this would-be Master who dared to undermine him within his own territory—

The splintering of wood shocked him out of his madness.

He looked down at the desk, stunned, to see that he had rent the wood in four long parallel gouges on either side of the blotter, where his claws had dug furrows into the maple in his rage.

That brought him to his senses. Icy calm flooded over him, replacing the hot anger.

Du Mond is just being himself—I know his pattern, I saw it often enough with the pretty maidservants. He's no fool, he can see how attractive Rose is for himself. His "friends" don't exist; he just wants to ingratiate himself with her and get her to trust him, get her to leave my protection and put herself into his hands—

That made du Mond a bounder and a cad—which Cameron already knew—but nothing more sinister than that.

What was sinister was Cameron's own instant reaction, immediate rage in response to a perception that a rival was trying—trying—

Trying to what?

Trying to take over my "property," trying to challenge my authority on my own ground. I reacted, not as a man and a Firemaster, but as an animal, an animal being challenged for his territory and his females.

To be precise, I reacted as a wolf. A shudder convulsed him, as he realized just how close he had come to going over the edge. Is the wolf taking over the man?

Shaken, he dropped back into his chair and stared at the eight furrows in the top of his desk. For many long minutes he was unable to move or even think, sunk in a paralysis of shock.

Then he shook his head—Like a dog shaking himself dry—

No! That way lay madness! Wake up! he told himself angrily. There is no point in looking for more signs of something you might well be able to control with a little exertion of will! He sneered at himself. You do remember using your will, don't you? You were ready enough to boast to Rose about it!

No, the important thing now was to exert his self-control and that so-vaunted Will. He must immediately bring things back to normal. He must immediately begin to analyze matters as he would have in the past. Think, man! What else about that conversation was important?

He felt anger begin to rise again as he recollected du Mond's impertinence, but he throttled it down successfully.

What was important?

Then he had it. Rose's reaction. She didn't act as if she believed him. She didn't act as if she was coming under the spell of his rather dubious charm. In fact, unless I miss my guess, she fled him as soon as she could.

Suddenly he felt much, much better; felt tension simply draining out of him. Rose Hawkins was too clever for du Mond; she saw through his blandishments, and she did not trust him. That meant he need not look for treachery on her part. Whether or not she believed du Mond's claim that his Master was mad—which, unfortunately, I cannot honestly ignore—at least she had the sense to see why du Mond was attempting to charm her.

He spent several minutes in a deep-breathing exercise, calming himself, regaining complete control of himself, and only when he was certain of his own inner state did he call up Rose's image in the mirror.

She was reading; to his pleasure and gratification, she was reading one of the Apprentice-texts he had recommended. So, her suggestion that she at least engage in the theoretical side of an Apprenticeship so that she could help with research had not been a ruse. She really did intend to follow through on the idea, at least for now.

We will see what happens when she encounters some of the more difficult books. Then again... they couldn't be any more abstruse than some of the medieval texts she had already mastered.

She had arranged herself in a pose which would have driven a teacher of deportment to distraction; sitting sideways on the upholstered, high-backed divan, her back against one arm, with both feet braced against the opposite arm-cushion, knees bent, and skirts modestly tucked around her legs. No properly-bred young lady would ever have taken a seat on a divan like that! And no properly-bred young lady would ever slouch the way she was now. She frowned a little as she read, rubbed her eyes now and again, and adjusted her eyeglasses from time to time as if her eyes were bothering her. While this was a printed book, the print was very fine; he hoped she was not having too much trouble with it.

Perhaps I should suggest she visit an occulist in San Francisco at my expense? I doubt that she had the wherewithal to have glasses properly fitted these past several years—not with the state her wardrobe was in. That was probably one more economy she was forced to bear with.

Then he snorted at his own naivete. Of course she hasn't seen an occulist; everything else in her wardrobe came out of the Sears, Roebuck catalog, so her eyeglasses probably did, too. He clearly remembered his amazement at the pages devoted to eyeglasses and spectacles, complete with a so-called "test" to determine which of the eighteen available strengths one should order. She tested herself, no doubt, with that same exact care she uses for everything else. The only problem is, the test itself is hardly exact, and what they offer even less so.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and made some mental calculations. Useless to send her there before Thanksgiving; no one will be able to fit her in, even with me as her patron. Besides, if she's going into the city, I want her to have some time to enjoy herself a little. If I have her read some of the more important works this week and next, I can send her in for three days in the second week of December—and that will give me three days in which to put some of that to the test. Hmm. Thursday through Sunday, I believe. There should be something playing at the Opera House, and I'll arrange for something on whichever weekend night the Opera isn't. Is she frivolous enough for an operetta at the Columbia Theater? Perhaps a recital, instead...

He started to summon his secretary, then realized his agent in the city could take care of everything. Somehow, he did not want du Mond to know precisely what his arrangements were going to be for her... I could use a Salamander to write the letter for me. No, wait, I have a better notion.

So he reached instead for the telegraphy machine, and began tapping out his orders to his agent at the railhead. Have the apartment opened for her... notify the servants... appointment with an occulist... tickets... She didn't know her way around the city; he added another order. Snyder to have a carriage or cab and experienced driver for her. While she might well enjoy the cable cars, he had better warn her to either take Snyder or the maid with her on any excursions, and confine herself to the paid conveyance after dark.

He felt altogether like an indulgent uncle arranging a holiday treat by the time he was finished. And he couldn't wait to until after dinner to tell her; he had to see her reaction now.

He reached for the speaking-tube, and cleared his throat, remembering to act as if he did not know she was there. "Ah... Rose? Do you happen to be there?"

She jerked her head up at the first sound of his voice, and with a look of guilt, swung her feet to the floor, put the book down, and moved to the speaking-tube in her room. "Jason? Yes, actually, the weather is not as pleasant as I would like, and I stayed here. Can I help you?"

"Actually," he responded, his jaw dropping open in the lupine equivalent of a grin, although she could not see it, "I thought I might help you. You're going to be working very hard for the next few days, and I had promised you periodic rewards for hard work. What would you say to an excursion into the city in about a fortnight?"

Her face lit up with pleasure and an emotion he did not recognize. "Oh, that would be absolutely splendid!" she exclaimed. "There are some things I did not like to ask anyone else to get—"

She blushes so very prettily.

"It occurred to me that you were working very diligently and deserved one of those treats I mentioned to you." The telegraph was tapping a reply to his message, and he translated it effortlessly. "The Opera will have a Friday night performance of La Giaconda, the Columbia Theater is presenting Babes in Toyland, on Saturday, or if you are so inclined, you can go see that ham, young Barrymore, overact his way through Shakespeare. I am aware that you wear eyeglasses—"

She self-consciously pushed her eyeglasses firmly up onto the bridge of her nose.

"—and I thought that with all the reading I am asking you to do, it would be beneficial to both of us if I had you go to my occulist to be certain your lenses are strong enough."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, then shut it again. Good girl. You know you need them; don't look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.

"No harm done if they are fine, but you have been faltering a bit and I would like to be certain that your eyes are not being strained," he continued. "I certainly need them to be in top order. At any rate, you may use my flat in town, I'm arranging for a conveyance, and you can use the rest of your time to shop."

"Thank you, Jason," she said warmly. "That will be considerably more than I expected." Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure, and her eyes behind those thick lenses sparkled brightly.

Now he felt even more like an indulgent uncle arranging a holiday treat. "Would you prefer Barrymore or Babes?" he asked. "I'll have my agent get tickets."

Her mischievous smile lit up her face. "I suppose I should say Barrymore, but I have to confess that I—oh, this is dreadful!—I adore Victor Herbert. His musical plays are like candy: terribly sweet, probably bad for you, but such fun!"

"And what better Christmas treat than Babes in Toyland?" He laughed, and tapped out his last order. "Sometimes a surfeit of sugar is just what one needs. I must admit that my opinion of John Barrymore is not shared by the general public, but—well, Shakespeare is not his forti. He is far too dissipated for Oberon, too bombastic for Hamlet, too shallow for Macbeth, too callow for Othello, too young for Lear and too old for Romeo."

"Prince Hal?" she suggested delicately.

He snorted. "Only the drunken Hal, bosom friend of Falstaff. Wait until he's appearing in something more suited to his style, then I can recommend seeing him." He shut the box on the telegraphy machine. "Well, that was all I needed to interrupt you for, if you are ready to resume reading at the usual time. Unless you had something?"

There. If she wishes to "betray" du Mond to me, there's an opportunity.

She hesitated, biting her lip. "I encountered Mr. du Mond today," she said slowly. "I said nothing about Magick, and he did not ask. However, he seemed quite friendly." Her tone said more than that, and he was pleased that he had not read her wrongly.

"I should have warned you that he is something of a rake," he replied solemnly. "I hope he did not become overly familiar?"

"Not precisely, no." She grimaced. "But I did guess—that if he had any encouragement, he might."

"He has his orders to treat you with respect," Cameron assured her, "but I would not believe anything he promised if I were you, nor anything he told you about himself. He once claimed to one of my maids that he was the rightful heir to the throne of Russia, and that if she would come away with him he would make her a czarina."

She burst into laughter at that, as he had hoped she would. "No! Not truly! Did she believe him?"

He chuckled. "She smacked his face and told him to take his fairy tales to children, who would find them entertaining. I do my best not to employ people with more hair than wit."

She was still laughing. "Good for her! Well then, if he is so easily put off, I shan't worry about him. Thank you again, Jason. My diligence will be all the greater for the promised treat, I promise you!"

"I counted on that," he said teasingly, and grinned again at her blush and wry smile.

She resumed her place and position on the couch, taking up in her book where she had left off. He watched her for a few moments more, then blanked the mirror.

He did not summon the Salamander, but it appeared anyway. "I assume you overheard?" he asked it.

It spun lazily, once, then came to rest on its obsidian plate. "Do you want du Mond to have free access to her?" it asked.

"He won't try anything physical—not here, at any rate," he replied. "Not while she is under my protection. And, quite frankly, if he intends to say anything more to her, I want to know about it, and I want to see if she says anything about it." He thought for a moment. "She didn't precisely report his conversation, after all."

"One does not tell one's employer that another in his employ called him mad," the Salamander pointed out. "Not only would that be rude, but it might reflect badly on her and her ambitions. It could be assumed that she was angling for his position, which is a permanent one, whereas hers is only temporary—and after all, it would be her word against his."

"True." That was an aspect that had not occurred to him, and he was glad the Salamander had pointed it out. "Making claims like that could actually get her dismissed if I believed him instead of her."

"And she is no fool; she would like to continue in this position as long as possible." The creature sounded smug. "She sometimes talks to herself in the bath."

Which was, of course, the one place where he would not spy upon her! Nor did he intend to start now, however relevant the information might be.

"You may continue to eavesdrop, and tell me if you hear anything interesting," he told the Salamander. "I would just as soon not hear girlish secrets, however."

The Salamander grinned. "As you wish." It acted as if it had something it was not going to tell him now, and however much his curiosity nagged at him, he was not going to counter his previous order!

"You might as well come with me since you're here," he told it instead. "I'm going to select more books. We are going to intensify the search tonight."

Because I dare not take the chance that the beast is overcoming the man, he thought, grimly, as he led the way to the bookcases. Nor can I take the chance that I can control what is happening. Perhaps this is the result of pain, perhaps the result of the narcotics I am forced to use—or perhaps it is not. I have no options.

By the time her holiday comes around, I fear that Rose will be in desperate need of it. But with luck—I may by then have found my key.