Page 47 of Crossroads Magic
“He shared his money-making skills,” I pointed out.
“That doesn’t involve speaking,” Broch said.
“Oh.” I grimaced.
“Best we can guess, from what he’s let slip here and there,” Trevalyan said, “Is that his family feels he has shamed them by not marrying and producing many sons.”
Everyone nodded, looking grim.
“They send him money, you know,” Trevalyan added. “He says it’s the same allowance from the inheritance his siblings all get. He’s told them not to bother, but they keep sending it, every month.”
“Guilt money,” Broch intoned.
I frowned, not following.
“They’d rather he stay here than appear among them, where others will see him and remember how he has let the family down,” Trevalyan said.
“Wow,” I breathed, almost silently.
But in the back of mind, I glommed onto a fact they’d let drop. If Juda had been here for fifteen years, how old was he? How old had he been when he got here?
I started worrying all over again about the way Ghaliya had seemed to light up when she looked at him. Perhaps Broch had been right to warn me.
“Does anyone know where Juda was, the night of the solstice?” I asked.
No one looked at the others to check. No one looked down at the ground, or away from me.
“He was home just after midnight,” Broch said. “We chatted on Discord.”
“Which he doesn’t have on his phone?” I asked.
“He doesn’t have a phone,” Broch said. “Neither do I. I see everyone I care to speak to during the day, and at night, I chat with those who are still up.”
“Light sleeper?” I teased.
“Yes.”
His flat answer reminded me of Olivia’s conversation-killers.
“Anyway,” Broch said. “I promised Wim I would stop by.” He nodded at everyone, smiled at me and lifted a hand toward Hirom, then left the bar.
Trevalyan finished the last tiny fraction of whisky and put the glass down reluctantly. “I have a crockpot that has probably burned out the brownies in it.” He pushed away from the bar and touched my forearm through the long sleeve of my tunic. “We’ll talk again, Anna Crackstone.”
“Yes, please.”
He smiled, which transformed his mournful, long face into that of a much younger man, one that matched his youthful eyes. He winked at me, then turned and headed for the side door.
The daylight was dazzling when he pulled it open and I winced. “It didn’t look bright at all when I was out there a while ago.”
“Bar’s pretty low lighting,” Hirom said. “‘scuse me, that barrel is dripping again.” He moved down his platform toward the four barrels at the end of the bar.
That left Benedict Marcus standing three feet away from me, one long-fingered hand resting on the counter, his empty whisky glass next to it.
He gave me a small smile. “I was hoping to catch you alone. I learned what Harper told you. I wanted to apologize.”
“For Harper?” I was astounded.
“For any discomfort she imparted,” Benedict said. “Harper has odd ideas about loyalty.”
