The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (29 page)

Chris felt himself swaying like a tree facing an axe. “No,” he heard himself say, a million miles away. “There were no relatives, and I wouldn’t let her go to a home. I’m sure the nuns would have done a wonderful job with her.”
Be charming,
something commanded,
act like you normally do,
and he tried to obey. “Probably better than I’ve done, myself.” He forced his practiced rueful laugh, but couldn’t tell whether or not it sounded real. “But they’re no replacement for family.”

“Was there
really
no legal objection? Fourteen, weren’t you? Isn’t that much too young?”

“My father’s financial adviser signed on as secondary guardian, and he vouched for my maturity,” Chris said. “He did everything in his power to ensure Rosemary and I weren’t separated.”

“How fortunate, indeed, yes. You must be so grateful for him.” Mister Combs was nodding again. “Still, I can’t imagine it’s been easy.”

“Well…” Chris helplessly searched for something witty and charming to say.
Why
did this have to happen
now
? “No one ever said it would be.”

Either that was more winsome than it sounded, or Mister Combs was even better than Chris, because he laughed warmly. A sudden burst of mistrust filled him, and he found himself possessed with the need to know why this well-known man was here. For Rosemary, obviously. For her abilities. But what
exactly
was it that he wanted? “What are you doing here?”
Too sharp,
the part of him that was still coherent realized.
Blunt it.
“I assume you haven’t just come for a taste of my famous biscuits.” He indicated the tray on the table.

“Did
you
make these?” Mister Combs asked with delight. “They’re delicious! Is this what comes of not being able to hire a cook? We should all be so unfortunate.”

This time, with his suspicion still running high, Chris recognized the attempt to disarm. “You said something about my sister?” he pressed, and felt a warmth of self-satisfaction at having seen through the clumsy ruse. Just because he wasn’t at his best at the moment didn’t make him an idiot. He knew all the rules to this game.

“Ah, yes, of course!” Mister Combs said.

“I was just telling Mister Combs,” Miss Albany interrupted so smoothly Chris almost didn’t notice she hadn’t been invited to the conversation. “We’re just now only realizing how young and fragile Miss Rosemary actually is. Her heroism at White Clover Farms has left her abed for days, now, and she is still slow to recover. We’re all glad it’ll be some time before she’s doing that sort of work daily.”

Chris’s eyes bulged against his better judgement. It was impeccably smooth politicking, far better than he’d have thought she was capable of. He sent her another stream of gratitude, and wished he was a heartreader himself so he could have some sense of what she felt back.

Not to mention, some sense of Avery Combs.

Mister Combs nodded attentively. He did a great deal of nodding—Chris knew enough about being an engaged listener to recognize it as a trick. “I’m glad, myself,” he said. “But I can’t help but be gladder for the three children and two bystanders who she saved from certain death at White Clover—not to mention Mister Buckley, here, and little Rosemary herself.” He shook his head in wonder. “It must be
amazing
, knowing someone like her. Wizards are rare enough, but ‘binding wizards? Of that sort of power? I can’t even bear to think of what would have happened if she hadn’t been there, or hadn’t been blessed with such a gift. The word may have fallen out of use, but as far as I’m concerned, that’s magic. The Gods don’t grant that sort of gift without good reason.”

They wanted Rosemary.

It was the worst of his fears come true, and he saw it all at once. Not just for spot work, not just as a figurehead. They wanted her, to take her, to remove her from his custody and put her into their own, where they could do whatever they pleased with her abilities and then discard her when she was empty.

Chris was proud when he didn’t immediately stand, wave his arms about, and scream. He wanted to howl at the top of his lungs, demand the man take his expert dissembly and leave them alone. He forced his panic down. It was illegal to make a child work any job not given to her by her family, wizard or no. If Lowry could just take her, they wouldn’t be sending their best flatterer to cast a glamour on him.

He considered what to do. He could sit here and talk circles around Avery Combs all evening. But the thought was horrifically exhausting, and even though he knew it was the wiser course, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not today. Not now.

He stood up. “Mister Combs,” he said, gentle but firm. “I am, of course, flattered and touched that Lowry or the Assembly or whoever else has sent you to check on my sister’s well-being. But she is still recovering from her ordeal right now, and isn’t seeing anyone.” He took a deep breath.
Not too much.
The guiding voice was almost external.
Don’t make him feel threatened. He’ll fight back. They always do.
“In addition, I want to make something very clear. Rosemary, whatever her remarkable abilities, is a little girl. When she is nineteen, she will be officially categorized, like any other Tarl. Until that day, she will not be doing any ‘binding other than what she chooses to do on her own time, for herself. I mean no disrespect, sir, but I do mean to make that clear.” He extended his hand for another shake, and he hoped it was plain he meant it to be a farewell. “Thank you very much for coming by.”

He expected some sort of fight from the man, but after only a breath’s hesitation, Avery Combs climbed to his feet and took Chris’s hand in his with a firm grip. “Of course,” he said with fierce agreement, so strongly Chris was disoriented. Had he misinterpreted, somehow? “I understand completely. You have to protect your family.” He released the hand and stepped back, and there was a moment of silence.

When Combs opened his mouth to say something more, Miss Albany climbed to her feet and extended a hand of her own. “It was very good to meet you, Mister Combs,” she said, and her voice was even more a dismissal than Chris’s had been. “How exciting to meet someone who’s appeared in the papers.”

Mister Combs took her hand, and, to Chris’s surprise, brought it to his lips rather than shaking it. It surprised Miss Albany, as well. Her eyes widened in shock, and a faint flush suffused her cheeks. Apparently, she wasn’t used to being treated as a gentlewoman.

The man looked up at her from over his hand. His eyes flickered over her face, and when he spoke, his voice was just only above a murmur. “What did you say your name was, again, miss?”

Miss Albany took a breath and schooled her features. Her shoulders went straight and her chin went up. “Rachel,” she said primly.

And Avery Combs released her hand with a low chuckle and swept a bow. “Of course,” he said, and when he straightened, he nodded to Chris as well. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Mister Buckley, Miss…Rachel. Do tell little Rosemary a great many people are holding their breaths in the hope that the little heroine recovers.” His smile was genuine and sincere as he said, “If we’d had ‘binders like her on the Floating Castle, that night would never have happened the way it did. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Chris held himself together until he heard the front door shut quietly, and then he crumpled down into the chair like a balloon losing all of its wind. The strength and clarity that had filled him when he’d clung to his mistrust of Avery Combs all rushed out in a torrent, leaving him shivering. He barely fought off the urge to cry by imagining what his father would have said if he did. Made of softer stuff, he may be, but he was
not
a woman.

After a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder and realized with surprise that it was Miss Albany. That lead him to realize she was seeing him like this, and
that
lead him to take a deep, shuddering breath, straighten his shoulders, and look up at her with as much false composure as he could muster.

The softness he’d seen the night before was back as she looked down at him with genuine concern plain on her face. They stared at each other, Chris trying to think of something to say and Miss Albany likely doing the same. It was she who managed first. “I thought you handled yourself very admirably,” she said, her rigid voice a clear contrast to her softened features. “That man is extremely good at what he does.”

“He wanted to take Rosemary,” Chris said. It scraped through his throat like a harsh whisper. “That’s why he was here.”

Miss Albany nodded, her mouth flattening into an unhappy line. “I’m afraid so.” She removed her hand from him and looked over her shoulder, as if she could still see Combs’ retreating back. “And that won’t be the last we see of him, either. Traditionalist bastards will stop at nothing to get what they want, and Rosemary…” She sighed. “Well, I’m quite frankly shocked it’s taken them this long.”

Chris closed his eyes, raising his fingers and pressing them against his sockets. “That’s because of me. You remember what I told you on that first day, when you’d realized what she was? That’s what I’ve been doing for six years. My father made a lot of noise when he was alive, but I’ve done everything to downplay how powerful she is.” He chuckled without mirth. “I thought I was cocking it up wonderfully. I suppose I should be proud I’d been managing after all.” A shiver wracked through his body and he gritted his teeth against it. He rubbed his face with his hands. This was so inappropriate. Rachel Albany was an employee.

But she was an employee who would be able to tell what he was feeling even if he did hide it, and they had already established she wouldn’t thank him for that. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice muffed by his hands.

“I hardly feel there is a need for apologies,” Miss Albany pronounced. “Rosemary is my responsibility now, and I―”

“My mother used to say strong enough emotions could sometimes rush into her like water going down her throat,” he interrupted, too—too
everything
to care about the lapse of courtesy. “She said it felt like drowning. I can’t imagine emotions any stronger than what I’m feeling right now.”

A pause, and then he felt her hand on his shoulder again, and her voice lost some of its characteristic coolness as she said, “Your mother sounds as if she was especially strong. I’m hardly weak, but I’ve never experienced anything like you describe.” She paused, then, softer. “Don’t worry, Mister Buckley. You aren’t causing me any undue distress.”

He nodded. Silly as it was, it was a relief. He was enough of a mess for himself; he would feel horrible sharing what he felt with someone else.

“That said,” Miss Albany continued, a touch of hesitation in her voice. “I have no wish to overstep my bounds, Mister Buckley. Already, our relationship has become more personal than I would like. I prefer to maintain professional distance with my clients. But it seems as though the Gods do not have that in mind for you and me, and so I will take the chance and ask…is there anything I could do for you, sir?” As Chris raised his head to look at her, surprised, she didn’t meet his gaze and pushed on with determination on her plain face. “I realize you’re upset over the thought of that
man
”―and she spat the word with thick venom―“taking your sister away, but I felt your misery all the way from the road. It was not caused by this, only accented. If…”

Chris thought he understood the offer.

“No,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I don’t think there’s anything, Miss Albany.” If there had been, he probably wouldn’t have allowed her to do it. She was right. Already, there was a miserable dearth of professionalism between them, and this wouldn’t improve it.

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Of course, I understand.” But she didn’t move, and after a long moment, she set her jaw and spoke again. “It’s only—I don’t feel
right
, sir, leaving you with Rosemary.”

He gaped up at her, and then a flash of incredulous irritation burst forth from him. “I’ve taken care of Rosemary since―”

She cut in with a rush of words. “I don’t feel right leaving you
alone
. Mister Buckley.”

Ah. Well. He imagined what he must look like, a miserable, quivering pile of anxiety, a soft man tortured by imagined memories of something that had taken place years ago.
Not all imagined…
a ghost of thought reminded him, and he remembered the rough shingles beneath his hands and knees as he vomited, and then he pushed it away. He pushed it
all
away, and he put it in a room, and he shut the door, and he locked that door, and then he walked away and he left it all in there, as he had for six years.

He climbed to his feet and found his legs mostly steady, and the polite smile he fixed down at Rachel Albany felt as natural as he could have hoped. “I’ll be fine, Miss Albany,” he said, pleased with how even his voice was. “I’ve been alone for a very long time.”

Rosemary barely stirred when he checked in on her, and only grumbled and shifted when he brushed her bangs back and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Still exhausted, the poor thing. He sighed as he looked down at her. He didn’t blame her, but he wanted to speak to her so much. He hadn’t since the night of the White Clover Incident, when she’d fallen asleep against his side and had to be carried home. He wanted to ask her how she was feeling, not just hear a report from her governess. He wanted to make sure she could still smile and laugh and tease him for being a baby. He wanted to see that she was still really Rosemary, and still really real.