Page 80 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
“The father drowned,” I said.
“Because Glass didn’t care about him. He didn’t care about the lad, either. Both were strangers to him. I’m sure Glass would have saved the father if he could. He likes to be the hero. But hecouldn’tsave him. Once the boy was saved and Glass returned to the net, it was too late for the father. Mrs. Hobson concluded that time only altered becauseGlasshimselfwas in danger of drowning if he spent too long underwater. The boy and his father were irrelevant.”
He was right about it all. I would never admit it to him, however. “If that’s the case, and Gabe can’t control the magic, why are you trying to capture him and use it for yourself? By your own theory, you can’t harness it to use at will.”
“I didn’t say it was my theory. I said it was Mrs. Hobson’s. It’s why she gave up on our idea to lure Glass. But I haven’t given up. I want to test it myself, before I make a decision.” He adjusted his grip on the gun handle. “Imagine if shooting Ivy doesn’t trigger his magic and she dies. It would prove her mother’s theory wrong. I rather like the poetic justice of it, don’t you, Ivy?”
I couldn’t see her face, but Ivy sounded like she stifled a sob. “He doesn’t love me,” she choked out. “He lovesher. Shoother!”
“Oh, Iwillrepeat the experiment with Sylvia, although it would be a gross pity if she died. I do like her better than you, which is why you’re first. You may be pretty, too, but you’re a snob and a cold bitch. Imagine, though, if I shoot you first and hesavesyou. What an unexpected twist in the plot that would be!”
Thurlow must know he’d not get away with it. He would become the most hunted man in the city.
Yet Hendry had proved that hiding for decades was possible. All he had to do was lay low until everyone had forgotten him, then live a life that didn’t attract attention. With his underworld contacts, Thurlow could easily disappear.
Ivy sniffed. “You say I’m a bitch, but I’m not the one who stole another woman’s fiancé.” Her voice was a guttural growl, coming from the very depths of her. “I am not the one whobewitchedhim. Kill her first, so I can watch his face when she dies.”
Thurlow smacked his lips together. Then he turned the gun on me. “Your idea has a certain appeal to it. I owe Glass for sending my girl away. It would be fitting to take his girl away from him.”
Now that the gun was no longer aimed at her, Ivy turned in the seat to look at me. A gash on her forehead and another on her jaw from the paper I’d wielded with my magic didn’t look too bad. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but there was a gleam of pure hatred in them as she glared at me. The polished façade had fallen away completely, revealing the rotten foundations underneath.
I didn’t care about Ivy’s reaction. She was trying to save her own life. What I cared about now was that Melville couldn’t use his magic on the paper handkerchief in his pocket to attack Thurlow before he fired. With the gun already in Thurlow’s hand, cocked and ready, the paper simply wouldn’t reach him in time, no matter how fast Melville managed to work. Thurlow would shoot the moment he realized he was under attack.
Melville stood beside me again. In a moment, Gabe would emerge from the house. When he did, Thurlow would shoot. Either Gabe’s magic would activate as it had done in the past, taxing his strength, perhaps even to the point where his weakened body couldn’t cope. Or it wouldn’t activate at all because the magic knew it would draw on more energy than Gabe could afford to spend.
“Don’t,” I told Thurlow. “Gabe has been very ill these last few days.”
Ivy gasped. “What’s wrong with him? How bad is it?”
“He lost a lot of blood and is very weak. His magic won’t work.”
Thurlow huffed a laugh. “You don’t know that, my dearest little pet.”
“Don’t call her that,” Melville spat. “She is no man’s pet, and certainly not yours.”
Thurlow frowned. “Whatisshe to you? No, don’t bother to explain. I don’t care. Ah. The door opens. Get ready for the show.”
“No!” Gabe’s voice was louder than I expected, stronger. It was a good sign and filled me with hope.
My hope dashed when I glanced at him. He wore only pajama pants. His chest and feet were bare. He’d not taken the time to throw even a dressing gown on. It was his physical weakness that worried me, however. He clung to the rail alongside the steps as he descended. The frail, aged butler behind him looked like a man in his prime by comparison.
“No, Gabe,” I said. “Stay there. You can’t do anything to help.”
He was close enough that I could see the panic in his eyes. He didn’t trust his magic to work either.
“Please,” I begged Thurlow. “Don’t do this. Whatever is in my power to give you, I will.”
Ivy barked a laugh. “My God, did you hear that, Gabe? It seems my mother was right after all and the librarian is a whore.”
“I meant?—”
I cut myself off as Melville spoke the words of the paper moving spell. He spoke them loudly and clearly, not even whispered. Why? Why attract Thurlow’s attention like that? Even more confounding, the handkerchief didn’t fly out of his pocket. It simply lifted up, slowly, as if peeping out of the pocket to tentatively look about.
Melville’s magic was strong. He didn’t need to hesitate. At such a slow pace, the paper wouldn’t strike Thurlow before he fired the gun. So why did Melville do it at all?
Then the reason became horribly, sickeningly clear.
He managed a tender smile for me before Thurlow turned the gun on him and fired.
