Page 9 of The Grip of Death
It was easy enough to make light conversation, Xander and his mother leading with a friendly discussion about wedding preparations. Edric didn’t seem much interested, focusing on finishing his own salad. But Wilhelmina squealed and clapped in all the right places, first when Xander talked about the floral arrangements, and again when he described the wedding cake.
“That AI is simply a work of genius,” Edric said, which nearly made me raise an eyebrow. The Prydes and the Wrights had never really gotten along, even as neighbors, and here he was paying my parents a posthumous compliment. “An artificer’s intelligence, is that correct? Marvelous. You Prydes truly are masters of your art.”
“Um. Thank you.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the slice of lemon in my water. Why was this so awkward for me?
“It runs in the family,” Xander said, swooping in to my rescue, chuckling as he elbowed me good-naturedly. I gave him a meek, appreciative smile, stuffing a cherry tomato in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore.
“Oh, I’m sure it does,” Wilhelmina said, beaming at the both of us. “But back to the wedding, Xander. The Garland, you say? What a delightful venue indeed.”
I couldn’t say why all of this felt so difficult, going through the motions, or maybe part of it was my own guilt in thinking ill of the Wrights all these years. In any case, the breakfast nook felt so stifling, even more so than when there were five of us crammed into that table, back when Archibald Fletcher was so organically introduced into our mix.
My gaze fell longingly on Harlock’s back as he stepped away from the table, a tray with a bowl of lemon slices and a pair of tongs in his hands. At times I’d thought of him as a zombie, what with his gaunt features, but now he reminded me of a ghost, gliding so elegantly across the floor, out the doorway, and — huh.
I’d never noticed that before. He’d stepped through the narrowest sliver of space in the far wall. I must have missed it, how the wood paneling could slide open like that. Didn’t the Wright house have its share of secret passages? This must have been a way for Harlock to travel quickly between the nook and the kitchens.
Somewhere else to be. Somewhere else I could be.
“Pardon me, excuse me, I just need to — I’ll be right back.”
Xander hardly seemed to notice, still deep in discussion with Wilhelmina, who only gave me a quick, polite nod. Edric grunted under his breath. All good enough for me. I rose from the table, left the breakfast nook, and slipped into the little passage.
The sweet smell of something cooking filled the Wright kitchens, what I found to be an astounding mix of arcanetradition and modern convenience, much like the Black Market itself. You had your regular iron cauldrons and curious little bottles of unusual ingredients, what anyone might expect to see in a witch or wizard’s home.
But the Wrights had also invested in state-of-the-art stainless kitchenware. A massive refrigerator, gleaming stoves, a dishwasher. Though no servants in sight, mysteriously enough, apart from Harlock. He had his back turned to the entrance, fiddling with something on the kitchen counter. I stepped up to him carefully, not intending to surprise him, except he already knew I was there.
“In need of a little breather, Master Jackson?”
My hand reached for the back of my neck, an awkward reflex. “I told you not to call me that, Harlock. It’s so formal.”
He looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Old habits die hard, perhaps. Call it tradition. You should embrace it, Jackson. You’ll be hearing it much more often in your capacity as a guild master.”
“Ugh. I swear, I’ll never get used to it.” I sauntered up to join him at the counter. “What are you doing over here, exactly? Where’s everybody — oh. Oh my.”
I mustn’t have noticed the steady chop-chop of a half-dozen knives over a half-dozen chopping boards, most of them dicing vegetables, a few expertly trimming fresh cuts of meat. No one to handle the knives, either, unless you counted Harlock, who appeared to be commanding the knives with the power of his mind. He smiled proudly.
“Ancient butler secret,” he said, tapping the side of his nose with one hand, effortlessly manipulating the knives with the other. And other utensils too, apparently, wooden spoons stirring, pots bubbling over open flames. I watched in fascination as a bowl of peeled and sliced fruit floated its way to a patiently waiting food processor.
“This is incredible. Are you telling me that you manage the household entirely on your own?”
Harlock laughed. “Nonsense. On a normal day, these kitchens would be overflowing with the regular staff. But the Wrights have a soft spot for my cooking. When the masters of the household make a special request, I am more than happy to accommodate.”
I opened my mouth to protest again, but he seemed to read my mind.
“And don’t you fret, Jackson. The Wrights compensate me quite well for my services.” He glanced to either side, finally checking the doorway to make sure we were alone. “Contrary to what you might believe, Edric and Wilhelmina truly aren’t as terrible as you think.”
Hot flame traveled up my chest and shot straight up to my ears. I knew I was blushing. I had to be.
“Why would you think that I think they’re so terrible?” I leaned one hand on the counter and cocked my hip, trying to play it casual. “Harlock, you’re being so silly. I never said they were terrifying.”
The butler smirked. We stared each other down, him waggling his fingers to the music of knives and pots and pans, me stewing over my own stupidity.
“Okay, fine! Yes. I’m freaking out a little. They didn’t like me or my family for a very long part of my life, and I have to say that the feeling was very much mutual. But that has to change now, and I don’t know if I’m changing fast enough.”
I didn’t tell him about how part of me still suspected that the Wrights were both arcane assassins for hire. Also, watching Harlock magically manipulate knives and tools with barely any attention totally supported my long-held theory that he was secretly an assassin, too. Just a nicer one.
“All things take time, Jackson. I find that there’s no sense in fretting over problems that don’t even exist yet. Take things as they come.”
I almost jumped out of my skin when a face appeared in the kitchen doorway. Normally so sallow and stony, Edric Wright suddenly had the look of a curious schoolboy. He hardly seemed to notice me as he crept up to the counter.
