Page 50 of Salt Magic, Skin Magic
“Can I wait with you?”
“Better not.”
“If she screams, aren’t two better than one?”
“Damn it, Soren, do I have to say it? It nearly went wrong because you were here. Because you look like your mother.”
“But he wouldn’t have. Not really. Would he?”
“I hope not.” John glanced at him, and added, “No, of course not. But I still think it’d be better if you weren’t around.”
“What an absolutely ghastly business.”
“Yes, well, that’s magic, I suppose. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll look in on you first thing. Yes?”
“All right.” He couldn’t stop shivering. Going to his cold bed alone was the last thing he wanted. Not that he wanted sex just now, either. But he wanted John’s arms around him. Wanted some evidence of kindness or tenderness in the world, not just manipulation and horror.
John was already walking silently back down the passage to the spare room opposite Father’s. Thornby turned and began to walk slowly in the opposite direction to his own bedchamber, wondering suddenly if John had ever tried to incite lust in him. Then he remembered that, of course, John’s magic didn’t work on him. So, everything he’d felt with John was quite natural—or at least divinely unnatural.
He’d almost managed to make himself smile, when he remembered that he was doing everything he could to encourage John to discover certain old sigils that might work on him.
To free him, of course.
But what if, when it came to it, John didn’t choose to free him?
Only, he would, of course.
All the same, Raskelf felt lonelier and colder than usual, and when he got to his room he was almost relieved John wouldn’t be coming tonight. He got into bed, and lay awake for a long, long time.
***
John sat on the floorin the dark just inside the door of the spare room and waited for Lady Dalton to scream. Or not.
When Dalton had grabbed Soren like that—
He breathed out hard, trying to get rid of the tension. So easily it could have gone wrong. He wished he could have gone with Soren. Perhaps not for sex; the knowledge that Lord Dalton was in with Lady Dalton was somehow the biggest passion-killer imaginable—but just to be with him. Just to hold him and feel his warmth. How good it would be to look into those beautiful grey eyes and see them smile.
He had waited several hours, and almost dozed off, when he heard the door open, and Lady Dalton whisper, “Mr Blake? Lord Thornby?”
He scrambled up and pulled the door open.
She stood in the doorway of Lord Dalton’s room, a candle in her hand. He was so relieved to see her without bruises or tears that, at first, he couldn’t speak.
“I knew you’d wait,” she whispered. “You must read this.”
She was pushing a piece of paper at him.
“What is it? Are you all right?” He took it but didn’t look at it.
“Yes,yes, I’m quite well.” She sounded impatient. “Read it. It was in his pocket.”
“Is he—?”
“Asleep.”
He listened and could indeed hear faint snores. “The charm lasts until daybreak,” he reminded her.
“For goodness sake, Mr Blake,” she hissed. “Will you read the letter!”
