Page 13 of Salt Magic, Skin Magic
A hush descended, laden with the excruciating awkwardness of the English during a scene. John tried to keep his face absolutely blank. He could hear Thornby’s breathing, harsh as if he’d been running. Thornby’s fists were on the table; his trembling made the cutlery shake.
“Soren—” Lady Amelia began, but Lord Dalton cut her off.
“Love? You don’t know anything aboutlove, you degenerate little whelp. I loved her truly. You understand?Truly. More than anything. You’ve never had a woman in your life, have you? You damned little mary-ann! My whole life has been for love. Mywhole life. You’re all fools.” He turned and walked away from the table, regal and calm.
John sat perfectly still. Whatever he’d been expecting Lord Dalton to say to his son’s outburst, it was not that. As Dalton left the room, Lady Dalton burst into tears.
“Well! Family dinners. Good cheer and happy banter. Wearetreating you to some lovely Yorkshire hospitality, aren’t we, Mr Blake?” Thornby had been aiming for a careless tone, but his voice shook again. He turned and walked out by the opposite door to that taken by his father.
John left the weeping Lady Dalton with Lady Amelia and followed Thornby. Of course, it was not really his place, but there had been a note of desperation in the younger man’s voice that worried him. And besides, he had things to tell him.
He didn’t have to look far. Thornby was slumped in a window seat in the blue saloon, only a couple of rooms away. The saloon was dimly lit by half a dozen cheap candles that were filling the air with smoke. As John approached, Thornby jerked to his feet and slammed a decanter of brandy down on a small table.
“Well? What the devil do you want?” Thornby said in tones of open hostility.
“To apologise properly for my behaviour yesterday.”
“All right, you’ve done the decent thing. Now you can fuck off.”
“You said you knew nothing of magic. So, I—” John took a deep breath. “I went to your rooms and looked about. And you were telling the truth. I’m sorry for doubting you, but the thing is—”
“What?! You ‘went to my rooms’? You ‘looked about’? You damned swine!” Thornby lunged for him. John dodged, but Thornby caught him a glancing blow on the jaw. Thornby pulled back for another swing, but this time John caught his fist and held it.
“Stop it, will you? I’m sorry. You think Ienjoyedsneaking around? I had to be sure.” He dropped Thornby’s fist. “Hell, I’m not cut out for this sort of thing. Go on then, have a free hit if you like. I suppose I’d want to, if anyone went through my things.”
Thornby glared at him, nursing his knuckles. “So, I’m not casting hexes at her ladyship? Such a relief to hear you say so. You can bugger off then, can’t you? And tell her cousin the lady’s been making up Banbury stories. Because she’d rather believe those than that her husband’s a vile old bastard who only married her for her money.”
“But I’m not—”
“Because you couldneversay a lady’s been a social-climbing fool, and certainly not to the lady’s own cousin.” Suddenly the fight seemed to go out of him, and he leant against the wall in a pose of utter defeat. “Tell him whatever you like, then, but leave me alone.”
“I wish you’d hear me out. It wouldn’t be right to go back to London, because there’s something damned odd happening. To her, yes, and to your father, but mainly toyou.”
“Yes, I’m a degenerate coward who can’t leave the estate.” Thornby spoke to the faded old carpet.
John winced. “It’s true you can’t leave. But also, my magic doesn’t work on you—that’s never happened to me before.”
“Professional challenge, am I?” Thornby said sullenly. He reached for the brandy and took a swig straight from the decanter.
“But surely you can see the two things must be related? And to compound it all, well, you know that feeling when you see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you look, there’s nothing there?”
“Maybe.” Thornby said. Then he seemed to consider, and added, in a more civil tone, “Yes, actually. I have it all the time.” He gave John a long look. Interest was beginning to kindle in his expression.
“Do you? Well, that’s how I feel around you. There’s—something. There’s something about you that I can’t quite—” John broke off, casting about for a way to express the fleeting strangeness he sometimes felt around Thornby. The English language did not have words for it. “There’s just something about you.”
To John’s surprise, Thornby’s mouth twitched, and curved into a slow smile. “Something about me, is there? A certainje ne sais quoi?"
John found himself gazing at Thornby’s smile. His pulse, which had just started to slow down after that blow to the jaw, now sped back up. Damn, of course that had sounded—
He cleared his throat and forced himself to answer honestly.
“I keep nearly sensing it, then it goes. I don’t know if it’s magic, though I don’t see how it could be anything else. But in any case, it’s not like anything I’ve ever come across before.”
“You’re sure it’s not my winning ways and ever-present charm?” Thornby held the decanter out to him. “Sorry for hitting you.”
John put one hand to his jaw and took the decanter in the other. “It’s all right. I’d have hit me, too.” He took a swig. It was French brandy. Smooth as silk. Whatever economies Dalton might be making, they weren’t with his wine merchant. He could feel Thornby’s eyes on him, considering.
“You’re quite a singular individual yourself, Mr Blake, if I may say so. It’s not everyone who claims to know about magic, is it? That’s very unusual. Forgive me, did that sound offensive? Perhaps that’s the wrong word. Maybe I mean—remarkable.”
