Page 47 of Twisted Magic

“Hmph.” Marah eyed Alise then held out her hand. “All right then. Open up a vein. Lucky for you I haven’t serviced anyone yet today, so I’m full to the brim.”

“Thank you,” Alise said, not allowing herself to recoil from the indecent-feeling suggestion, “but really I’m fine.”

“She’s not fine,” Cillian said from the cooking station.

Marah raised her brows at Alise. “He’s a stubborn one, but I have a fondness for him. Might as well drink up, wizardling. If you don’t, someone else will.”

Cillian glanced over his shoulder, giving her what passed for a fierce look from him. “If you don’t, I’ll report you to the healers.”

“All right, already,” Alise snarled in exasperation. Not that she disliked the healers, but the treatment would go on her record, and cost House Phel. They didn’t need to be paying out more for her upkeep out of their lean coffers than they already were. She clasped Marah around the wrist, as taking her hand felt too intimate, and sipped lightly of the magic she offered. It wasn’t bright and sweet, like Han and Iliana’s magic, but it pulsed strong, steady, even hearty.

“Take more than that, little wizard,” Marah said, not unkindly, her expression stoic. “Sounds like you’ll be needing it.”

Because Cillian added his stern glare, Alise took more—just enough to feel not so transparent. Not brittle, as Nic had put it. Taking her hand away, she nodded to Marah. “Thank you for the gift. I appreciate it.”

Marah cocked her head, looking quizzical. “Odd one you are. It’s no gift. That’s why they pay me.”

“And a bit extra for the trouble,” Cillian said, giving her a coin and a plate. “Your breakfast, madame.”

“Madame he calls me,” Marah said to Alise with a jovial wink, pocketing the coin. She plucked up her cinnamon roll with a coo of pleasure, uncoiled it entirely, tipped her head back, and fed the long strip into her mouth, chewing as she lowered it—soft end first. Cillian gave Alise a knowing smile and she rolled her eyes at him.

“So,” he said, after Marah left and he piled their dishes with the cooking implements, turning an earth elemental loose to clean them, “what’s your theory?”

“Theory?” She felt sharper, replenished with food, tea, and magic, but the warm weight in her belly allowed a drugging drowsiness to creep in around the edges.

Cillian tapped his temple. “I’m sure you have one. You’re working through the evidence, keeping an objective perspective to analyze your findings, but you have a theory about where the missing Phel archives went to.”

“I really don’t.” She shook her head to emphasize the fact. “I don’t even know where to begin on locating them, except…”

“Aha. Here we go.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Well, if I can figure out who had the motive to move the archives, along with the access to do so, then I might have a shot at discovering where they went to. Of course, answering that question loops back to why we want to see what’s in those archives to begin with.”

“Hmm.” Cillian gazed at her with solemn interest. “So this is more than Lady Phel wondering who designed the historic flatware.”

“While I can see Nic being interested in that under certain circumstances—mostly so she could most cost-effectively replace missing items—she has more pressing questions at the moment.”

“Such as?”

Alise contemplated him. This was treacherous territory. “I think I’ve said enough.”

Cillian leaned his elbows on the counter, knocked over a mug full of House Calliope styluses, which he quickly rescued, then put his chin on loose fists, regarding her closely. “You need help, Alise,” he said quietly. “More important, I think you need a friend.”

“I have friends,” she replied, a little too fast.

“Are any of them here?”

She opened her mouth and closed it, not willing to outright lie about it, especially when Cillian clearly knew the truth. “It’s House Phel business,” she said instead. “I’m not at liberty to share certain information.”

“How about I take an educated guess?” Cillian continued, not waiting for permission. “As previously noted, House Phel has a number of enemies. At last count, they—you—faced legal attacks from Elal, El-Adrel, Sammael, and—for some odd reason—Iblis. Some of these enmities are fairly well established and go back a considerable amount of time. Others—”

“Wait,” Alise interrupted, forcing her sagging spine straight. The cushy armchair was looking better and better all the time, which meant she’d likely pass out the moment she dared sit in it. “How do you know all of that?”

He gestured expansively at the room. “I read a lot.”

“Yes, but if the Phel archives are gone…”

“Ah, but the other house records remain.”

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