Page 24 of The Mage on the Hill
“Elias Butler.” Elias reached across to shake Toby’s hand. “One of his over fifteen years ago. He saved me, so I’m willing to forgive him a lot. I feel like there’s a lot of story I’m missing.”
Toby filled in the pieces he could. While Elias had heard rumors of Pittsburgh, he didn’t know any more than Toby did, but Toby could tell his own story a little better, from sneaking out of the guild infirmary to escaping the hunting guildmasters at Arden’s place.
“Arden MacEvoy,” Elias said on a low whistle. “There’s a name I haven’t heard in forever. They tossed him out just before they shoved me after him.”
“Were you doing, um, unapproved research too?”
Elias gave him a slow conspiratorial smile. “Worse. They couldn’t explain me.”
A low rumble came from Darius, hunched over his beer and staring at the artwork on the label. “Steadman.” Then he glanced up, blinking, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “No major Arcanum.”
“Non-sequitur much?” Elias said gently. “Yes, Ralph Steadman does the artwork for that brewery. And I think what our dear professor is trying to say is that I don’t have any major Arcanum channel. Only minor ones.”
Toby gaped at him. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Neither did the guilds.” Elias’s laugh had a sharp, brittle edge. Not as dangerously bitter as Arden’s, but enough to show the cracks of old wounds. “I have three minor—Metal, Alkaline, Crystallogen—and I do fine, thanks. But they didn’t believe it could be so. Accused me of purposefully mischanneling magic. Like that’s a thing. So, there’s the door, they said. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”
“Because you didn’t fit. That’s not right. Was is Montchanin?”
Elias shook his head. “No. Allegheny. The professor taught wherever someone needed him. Darius? You sure that’s where you want to sleep?”
“Maybe.” The answer came from the floor where Darius had curled up across a couple of cushions.
“Maybe?” Elias arm-walked over and leaned forward, brushing a stray bit of hair from Darius’s face in a tender gesture that left a strange ball of lead in Toby’s stomach. “We can do better than that. You look beat. Like someone took a stick to you.”
“He’s been driving most of the day.” Toby hoped he managed not to sound defensive, though it sounded lame when he finished with “I don’t think he sleeps much.”
Elias arm-walked swiftly over to the living area and started pulling and pushing at one of the sofas that revealed itself as a futon. “I’m not prying and I’m not meaning any disrespect, but do you sleep together?”
“We, ah, we’ve napped together?”
“Hey, close enough. If you’re that comfortable with each other, makes it easier.”
Toby watched the efficient tugging and adjusting. “Can I help you with that?”
“I got this. See if you can bully him into getting up and dragging his butt over here.”
Toby scooted over to where he could see Darius’s face. The urge to touch his hair was almost overwhelming, but Toby settled for shaking his shoulder. “Come on, you can’t sleep here. You’ll get all stiff and stuff, and then you won’t be able to get up in the morning. And that soundedreallybad. Sorry. I just mean, this isn’t good for you. Can we just get you to bed? Okay, um, that wasn’t much better.”
Darius let out a soft, amused snort. Definitely amused. Carefully, he levered himself up on one elbow and followed Toby’s pointing finger until he caught sight of the futon. “Bed substitute.”
“No dissing the futon. It’s better than pretending you’re a cat and sleeping on pillows.”
“Cats know sleep.”
“You’re not one, though. Pretty sure your spine doesn’t bend that way.” Toby tugged at Darius’s arm until he stood and shuffled toward the futon. “I should probably shut up now, huh?”
“Hmm.”
Darius managed to toe off his shoes and peel out of his sweater before he went facedown on the futon. Returning from the back hallway with blankets draped over his shoulders, Elias stopped by the scene of the collapse with a frown.
“Couldn’t even wait for a pillow. Has he been sick?”
“Not, um, physically,” Toby admitted, though he didn’t feel he had the right or enough information to say much more.
“Fucking guild,” Elias muttered as he spread first a cotton blanket, then an orange-and-blue bird-patterned quilt over Darius. “There were people who would’ve come to help you. But no. They couldn’t even let us know. I would’ve come, Valstad. You know that, right? And not left you on your own all those years?”
Maybe some sort of acknowledging sound accompanied Darius curling into a ball under the blankets, or maybe it was just the futon creaking under his weight. Either way, Toby had to turn away from the tears threatening in Elias’s eyes. Toby knew, of course, that Darius had been a different man, had led an active, outgoing life, but it was easy to forget when all he had was the current Darius. He could only share the grief at the loss of that previous man in a limited way—full of sorrow over Darius’s suffering.
