Authors: Tim Pratt
“I’m just trying to do my job, Mr. Grace,” Trey said. “My grandfather told me we were supposed to tell you if your instructions seemed unclear or incomplete. That you were worried about leaving out essential information—”
“I didn’t leave anything out.” Grace drummed his fingers on the glass desktop, an idle “I’m thinking” motion, but the glass under one of his hands cracked and splintered. Grace held up that hand, stared at it, then pulled off the chunky wristwatch—the one that turned me into Iron Fist—and dropped it on top of a folder. He massaged his hand, and then just stared off into space, clearly blank and faraway, his mind wandering who knows where.
“Ah. Sir?” Trey said.
My father’s eyes refocused. “Hmm?”
“I’ll ask her the questions, of course,” Trey said. I moved around the room to get a better view of him, and he was younger, a little, than the Trey I knew. “And I’ll make sure the answers make sense before I give her the keys to the house, so there’s no doubt it’s her, and not that imposter you worried about. My grandfather explained the instructions to me, and I’m honored that you’d trust me with something so important. But is there anything else you want me to give Rebekah when the time comes? Some personal message, or another letter that explains things more clearly, or—”
“That’s all taken care of, Trey. My daughter will have everything she needs. Just perform your duties, as I have outlined them.”
“I just worry—it’s all going to be pretty confusing for her. The, ah. The magic. And there’s the matter of the other heirs to consider. Some of them are dangerous, you’ve said so yourself.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, as the snowball in my gut became a vast and icy comet. He’d known. Trey had
known
, about the magic, about my siblings, and he hadn’t told me. He could have helped me, warned me, and he hadn’t.
Trey went on. “At the very least I could tell her what to watch out for—”
Grace’s whole demeanor shifted, from addled and fuzzy to focused and furious. “What could
you
tell her? You know nothing, your head is an empty hole. Just do as you’re told. It won’t be long, not as I reckon time, not even as
you
reckon it. I’ll be dead soon enough—not that my death will help your situation.”
“Oh, sir, I hope—”
“Shut up, Stacy. You stole from me, you thieving shit, you don’t have the right to—”
“That was my grandfather, sir,” Trey said gently. “I’m Stacy Howard the Third. Trey.”
Grace just stared at him for a long moment, then snarled, “I know that, you think I don’t
know
that? I’m the greatest sorcerer who ever lived. I strode across this world when the seas were molten fire. When the first fish crawled onto land I was already
ancient
. You think there’s anything you know that I
don’t
know?”
I ran back to the kitchen. I think I was crying. The spoon clattered wildly against the edges of the cup as I lowered it in. I stirred…
And nothing happened.
I whimpered, because I could still hear Grace shouting from his tower. I stopped, took a breath, and tried to think. That morning I’d spun the spoon the way I always did, counterclockwise, and I turned back time. So maybe, to get back—
I stirred clockwise. (Sunwise. Deiseal, as the Celts called it, as I came to understand.)
Color flowed back into the world, and I was back in the kitchen,
my
kitchen, and I could smell the coffee again. The mug was still hot. I looked at one of the clocks and realized not a second of my excursion had passed in real time.
Trey walked in, wearing a borrowed robe. “Hey there, darlin’,” he said, all sleepy southern drawl, his hair mussed, his smile crooked.
I thought I knew him, as well as you can know anyone after such a short time, but the man before me was a stranger, a keeper of secrets, and a liar.
“Your grandfather’s a reptile.” My voice was a hoarse croak, like I was the one who’d been shouting, and not my father. Trey froze, eyes widening. “Your father’s a worm. What are
you
, Trey?”
“Bekah…I don’t know what happened, what you heard, but—”
“You
knew
.” I slumped against the counter, shaking my head. “You knew Archibald Grace was my father. That he was a sorcerer. You knew about the other heirs, the Firstborn. You
knew
, and you didn’t tell me, you let me be scared and confused—”
“Your father—he assured me everything would be explained—”
I talked over him. “But it wasn’t explained! Why the hell didn’t you help me? What
is
this? Is it some family revenge thing, a feud, Hatfield and McCoy shit, the Graces versus the Howards? Getting revenge on me for what my father did to your grandfather?”
He winced. “I’m not sure where you’re getting your information, but there are things you don’t know—”
That ice in my gut spread to my brain, at last. “That’s the point. I needed to know things, and you didn’t tell me. I trusted you. You were the
only
one I trusted.” If Trey had kept this from me, his knowledge of my father’s sorcery, of my half siblings, what other secrets did he have? The Firstborn wasn’t the only person who wore masks around here. “You need to leave, Trey. I can’t be around you right now.”
“Bekah.” He stepped toward me, reaching out, and I recoiled. So many lies had come out of that mouth. That mouth, that had kissed me all over the night before. The one I’d kissed, feeling so safe and secure and protected.
“Don’t touch me. Just go.”
“Please—” he said.
The cookie jars on the counter began to rise up and bob toward him, and a drawer rattled open, a cloud of knives forming in the air. The house, defending me again. I didn’t want him to get hurt…but if the house could scare him away, that would be fine. Looking at him made me feel sick and broken inside.
Trey looked at the bobbing cookie jars, looked at me, and then ran for the door. The knives floated out after him like a swarm of patient wasps.
I slumped against the counter, hollowed and drained. I’d opened myself to him, and he’d held back so many things I’d needed to know. Couldn’t I trust
anyone
here?
I went to the living room and watched at the window as pottery smashed against Trey’s car as he drove away. I watched until he was gone, until even the cloud of dust he’d left behind was settled, and then I went into the kitchen, got a bottle of bourbon, and took it into the shower with me.
I stayed pretty drunk all day. I think the house kept me from falling down the stairs at one point—I’m almost certain the steps shifted under my feet, tilting me back when I’d been leaning forward—but it’s possible that was just general alcoholic lack of equilibrium talking.
Trey kept calling, but I wasn’t ready to talk to him. I turned off my phone and didn’t look at my laptop, sure there were lurking emails. I’d calmed down a little from my initial shocked betrayal, and even in my boozy haze I wondered if he had a side of the story worth hearing. Maybe in a day or two I’d sit down with him, somewhere public, with the bell of truth in my hand—he’d lost the right to trust without verification—and let him explain himself. But for now, I just wanted to disappear into a puddle of brown liquor.
I was tired of being the plaything of forces I couldn’t comprehend, and my one ally in that struggle had turned out to be more (or less) than he seemed. In that muddle of emotions, it turns out, there was a fair bit of anger.
So when someone knocked on the door, I was hoping for an excuse to cause some damage to the world. I hoped it was the Firstborn darkening my door again. I grabbed the wristwatch and strapped it on, ready to show her the error of turning up at my door today of all days. I took the broom from its place by the front door, too, so I could sweep up whatever was left.
The knocking was the house’s early-warning system, though, and I stood on the porch watching Ken Tenzil’s car approach for the second time. Well. Not the Firstborn, but another uninvited guest. One I had less reason to punch, true. But maybe I’d get lucky. Maybe he’d give me one.
Tenzil parked and got out of the car, raising his hand in a wave. “Miss Lull. I thought I’d stop by one more time before—”
“I know about you. You’re a rip-off artist. Steal from widows and orphans, right?” I might have been slurring. I was certainly taking out my frustrations on him.
He cocked his head. “Ah. You googled me. I always offer a fair price, Miss Lull. It’s not my fault if people have an unrealistic idea about the value of—”
I wasn’t in the mood for his shit, and—let me remind you—I was very drunk, so I swept the broom in his direction. I didn’t mean to swing hard, I just wanted to knock him back, freak him out, make him run away…but I misjudged, and hit him with a pretty strong wave instead. But he didn’t fly backward—he hunched down as the wind of the broom rippled around him, and even though his car behind him rocked on its shocks, he didn’t so much as lean back. When the wave subsided, he straightened up, and gave me a smile that was horrifying and, for the first time, genuine.
“Sorry, sister. When I want to be, I’m more or less an immovable object. Nice broom, though. Brooms are out of style, and it’s such a shame. The pink sweatpants aren’t doing much for you, either. If you’re going to be a witch, go all out, that’s what I say. “
“Who…you’re…” There was only one Grace boy-child I knew about, unless some of those three babies in the pictures were male. “The Belly. You were here, weren’t you, watching me? Couple weeks ago. I saw your car.”
He bowed. “I might have done a little reconnaissance. Due diligence. Had to sniff out the territory before I approached you directly, make sure there weren’t any nasty traps. There are
some
—our father believed in good defenses—but nothing I need to worry about.”
“The Belly. Belly Belly Belly.” I really wished I weren’t so drunk, but you go to war with the faculties you have, not the ones you wish for. “I saw pictures of you, when you were little. I thought you’d be fatter.”
He patted his stomach. “Oh, I used to be. I’ve got six pounds of enchanted tapeworm curled up in my gut now, keeping me trim and fit. I’m not especially vain, but hauling those pounds around got in the way of being swift and nimble.” As if to demonstrate, he launched himself at the porch with astonishing speed, until he was standing right in front of my face, startling my drunk ass into gasping and stumbling and crashing against the door. He leaned in and sniffed my face. “Mmm. Bourbon. Maker’s Mark? Save any for me?” He snapped his teeth together an inch from my nose.
The broom’s powers didn’t work on him, but it was still a blunt object, and I had plenty of booze-and-betrayal-fueled frustrations to burn off. So I kneed him in the groin—he felt
that
—and when he backed away I started hitting him in the face with the broom until he stumbled back down the steps.
He surprised me by laughing and falling back, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “All right, all right! I had no idea you were so ferocious, but you’re family, so I shouldn’t be surprised—apart from the Drips, we’re a formidable bunch. I just wanted a chance to meet you, the girl who got everything.”
“Stay off my porch.” I slurred more than I wanted to. “You…you were spying, stalking, for weeks—”
“Oh, well, I’m going to live a long time, a couple of weeks of cautious observation isn’t so much for me. It’s not like I’ve just been watching you, anyway—I really do trade in antiques, and there are lots of odd shops and recently dead people around here to keep me occupied. Calm down, sister. I just want to chat.” He sat down cross-legged in the grass, looking at me expectantly, and I dropped down until I was sitting on my top step, more because I could no longer hold myself entirely upright than because I felt like having a heart-to-heart.
“I guess big sister’s given you some trouble, huh?” The Belly was all sympathy, and I didn’t believe it. But then again, I was in a cynical, suspicious, and distrustful state of mind.
“She tried. I drove her away.”
“I heard a rumble of a rumor about that. She’s got daddy issues, that one. I mean, old Archie was in my life growing up, too—one summer he took me to the beach for a long weekend, and he swooped in from time to time to show me how to use my powers, how to hone them, and took me on the occasional…oh, let’s say ‘business trip.’ I think he had some idea of using me for a weapon, but then he figured out all his enemies were dead, so I was a loaded gun with nobody to shoot. By the end, the only person dear old Dad had left to fight was himself—and, what do you know, he conquered that guy, too. Archie was never a loser, I’ll say that for him.”
I thought of my father, demented and weeping, in my vision of the past, and didn’t offer any opinion.
“You can’t blame big sister for being cranky. She was being groomed as the heir apparent, until Dad realized she had even less empathy than
he
did, which is saying something. Archie didn’t think he was human, so humans mostly didn’t interest him, but it was just indifference on his part. Our big sis is
cruel
. The difference between Dad and his firstborn daughter is the same as the difference between someone who’ll see you dying in the street and just walk by without a second glance and someone who’ll point and laugh and maybe put a cigarette out on your eyeball, just to make sure you suffer a little more. Anyway, she would’ve despised you anyway, just on general principle. But because you inherited everything, she hates you
extra
. Why should the girl who knows nothing get dear old Archie’s treasures?”
I shook my head, scowling. “You all have magic. You and her and Hannah, too. You always did. I didn’t have
anything
.” Not entirely fair. I’d had loving adoptive parents and an education and support. But no magic, that’s for sure.
He shrugged. “You make a fair point. I didn’t say the Eldest had a
good
reason to hate you.”
“And you don’t? Hate me?”
The Belly waved that away. “I don’t want to put on Daddy’s wizard cloak or his magic cummerbund or One Ring, or whatever thing he used to hold his power-in-potentia. I wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of raw magic, honestly. My talents lie in other directions. But there
are
things I want, and I was thinking we could make a deal. Do you want to find the vessel of power, so big sis won’t bother you anymore—or so you can swat her like a bug when she does?”