“They put that in?” said Monk, surprised. “Huh.”
“Something else you were playing at?”
“Ah…” Monk’s face coloured. “Yeah. The hex Lional used to lock Mel in her palace apartments. Remember? I kind of… borrowed it, and gave it the old Markham touch.”
He swallowed from the bottle a second time then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Speaking of Lional, he and I had an interesting conversation-courtesy of your delerioso incant. Congratulations. Your souping up efforts are a spectacular success.”
“Hell’s bells,” said Monk, and dropped his head into his hands. “Gerald, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know what Sir Alec had planned.”
With exacting precision Gerald put down the brandy bottle, temper bubbling beneath the warm apple glow. “And when I finished chatting with Lional I tortured someone to make them talk,” he added, feeling ruthless. The horror of those moments still hadn’t receded. “At least I thought I did.”
“ What?” said Monk, his head snapping up. “Gerald, I never — ”
“His name was William. Sir Alec told me people were going to die if he didn’t tell us what we needed to know. And because I thought it was real, I started to dismantle the shadbolt that was keeping him quiet. But he screamed and I couldn’t finish. I walked out. And instead of failing me, Sir Alec offered me tea and sent me to Wycliffe’s.”
The fire crackled merrily into the silence.
“It must’ve been the only test they could think of,” Monk murmured. “Using your own strength, your own memories, against you. I mean, if you could break those gate-hexes… you did break them, didn’t you?”
Gerald nodded, remembering the delight he’d felt at outwitting the great Monk Markham. “Oh, yes. I broke them.”
“No-one at the Department could crack them, you know. The best First Graders in the country couldn’t make a dent. Bloody hell, Gerald. You’re good.” And then Monk shook his head. “I can’t believe they used my delerioso against you. That’s-that’s bloody wrong, that is. They know we’re friends. We’re on the same side. You don’t use team mates against each other.”
He felt his lips tug in a small, sardonic smile. “Don’t look now but the game’s changed, Monk-and we’d better keep up. And don’t forget… it’s all for the greater good.”
“Yeah, well, to hell with the greater good!” said Monk, bouncing to his feet. “First thing in the morning, first bloody thing, I’m going to-”
“No, you’re not,” he said tiredly, his bubble of temper abruptly burst by Monk’s genuine distress. “You’re not saying a word about this to anyone. I’m not even supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to breathe a syllable of what happened in Finkley Meadows. It’s janitor business.” Picking up the brandy bottle again, this time he splashed a little into his glass. “I just… I didn’t know… I wasn’t sure…” He sighed. “Well. At least I know it wasn’t real. I didn’t actually — ”
“Gerald, you’re not the villain here,” Monk insisted. “Like you said, that wasn’t real. It was a hypothetical situation. And nobody got hurt.”
“This time,” he whispered, and drained his glass. “But what about next time, Monk? What happens when there really is a William, and a shadbolt, and innocent lives on the line? What do I do then?”
Before Monk could answer they heard a loud banging on the front door-just as the clock on the mantel struck nine.
Gerald pulled a face. “That’ll be the girls. We’d better let them in before they kick down the door.”
Monk, his expression still deeply troubled, didn’t move. “Hey, Gerald. You believe me, don’t you? That I didn’t know what Sir Alec wanted that incant for? That I had no idea he was going to-”
“Don’t be stupid, Monk,” he said, and put aside his empty glass. “Come on. They really are going to kick their way in.”
But Monk just stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, his frowning gaze fixed on the past.
“Well, it’s about time, Gerald!” grumbled Melissande, marching into the vestibule with Reg perched piratically on her right shoulder. She’d changed out of the hideous black blouse and skirt into her familiar tweed trousers and a pale yellow blouse with a sensible coat on top. Not hideous, but not terribly flattering either. Just quintessentially Melissande. Her rust-red hair hung down her back in a plait. “Bibbie was about to blast the door into matchsticks.”
Bibbie. Emmerabiblia. Closing her brother’s front door behind her, Gerald felt his heart stutter. Lord, she was so incredibly, blindingly beautiful. Every time he saw her it was like being struck with a hammer.
She gave him a cheeky, dimpled smile. “Hello, Gerald.”
“Yes, hello again,” said Melissande, looking him up and down. “I have to say I’m a bit surprised you came. You didn’t look at all a sure thing when I left you in the employee garden.”
He couldn’t help smiling. She was so tart, like the best lemons. “It’d take a braver man than me to refuse your gracious royal command,” he said, then shifted his gaze. “Hello, Reg.”
Reg looked at the ceiling. “I’m not speaking to you.”
“ Reg…”
Monk stuck his head through the open parlour door. “In here, everyone. If you two are going to fight you might as well do it in comfort.”
They trooped into the parlour, and Monk closed the door to keep the heat in. Melissande twitched her shoulder so Reg could flap to the back of the sofa, then graciously allowed Monk to slip off her coat and hang it on the door hook. Bibbie tossed her own coat on the floor then collapsed in one armchair, swivelling till she could dangle both legs over its arm. Very unladylike, and totally Bibbie. Melissande joined Reg on the sofa and Monk sat beside her, gently taking her hand in his. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other but the look they exchanged was eloquent.
Gerald, hiding a smile, stood with his back to the fire. So. Monk’s really smitten, eh? I think this time he might be in trouble…
“ I hope you appreciate all the effort we’re going to, Gerald,” said Melissande. “Meeting late so no-one will see you. I start at Wycliffe’s at the crack of dawn, practically. I’m giving up precious sleep to be here.”
“You didn’t have to,” he pointed out. “You could’ve told me at lunch what you’re doing at Wycliffe’s.”
“With all those people around?” she retorted. “Nonsense. We have to thrash this out properly, Gerald. For all I know we’re working on the same case and I’m not going to have Witches Inc. shoved aside by the Ottish government.”
“The same case, Mel?” said Bibbie, sounding amused. “Oh, I don’t think-”
Melissande tilted her chin. “It’s possible! Stranger things have happened-and frequently to me.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” he said dryly. “I very much doubt Witches Inc. would be retained to investigate my case.”
“Oy!” said Reg. “That’s enough patriarchal superiority from you, sunshine. Witches are perfectly capable of solving mysteries of international significance, just like any common-or-garden, backstabbing, inconsiderate, selfish wizard you care to think of.”
Ouch. “I thought you weren’t speaking to me?”
“I’m not,” she snapped. “I’m making a general observation to the room at large.”
Oh, Reg. “You knew I’d be gone for a while,” he said quietly. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to contact you.”
“While you were off training, yes,” she retorted. “But you’re not training now, are you? You’re janitoring. You’re back in town and you never told us.”
“Because I wasn’t allowed to, Reg.” He looked at all of them, his three dearest friends and Bibbie. Whom he knew a bit, through Monk… and would very much like to know better. “Strict instructions from Sir Alec. If he finds out I’ve spoken to you he won’t be happy.” Which is putting it mildly. “ And he really won’t be happy when he finds out you three are investigating at Wycliffe’s. What in the name of Saint Snodgrass are you doing there?”
“We could ask you the same question,” said Melissande. “In fact, I think I will.”
“I asked first.”
She looked at him over the top of her glasses. “ That is a particularly childish answer, Gerald.”