He seemed relieved that I’d provided the answer. ‘Right.’
I hate it when I know stuff like this.
‘I knew I should have gone for that Tarquin fellow,’ Winter muttered. I stiffened immediately and he glanced towards me. ‘I selected Ms Harrington because she is at the top of her game. I require a trainee who is astute, hard working and prepared to go above and beyond the call of duty. My work is not frivolous and not to be taken lightly.’
Ooooh. Big words. I ignored him and addressed Biggins. ‘What are the precise terms of the binding?’ I asked.
He swallowed. ‘It’s for 588 days.’
‘Yes,’ I said impatiently. ‘I got that part. It’s an important magical number. What else?’
‘You have to remain within five miles of each other.’
I winced. Well, that would make driving a taxi complicated. Perhaps I could petition the Order for compensation, though, and take the next two years off. ‘Anything else?’ I demanded.
Biggins cleared his throat. ‘All assignments have to be completed in tandem. You have to be together and work together when you are investigating.’
I closed my eyes; this was even worse than I thought. I inhaled deeply. ‘It’s simple then. Winter, you take a sabbatical until the binding is removed. We both stay in Oxford to avoid anything untoward happening.’ I nodded to myself. ‘Job done.’
Winter glared at me. ‘First of all, you will address me as Adeptus Exemptus Winter.’
I raised my eyebrows. He was at the very top of the Second Level. I wondered whether he ran his own Department; it was certainly possible. He seemed rather young to have such power but what did I know?
‘Secondly,’ he continued, ‘I am not taking a sabbatical. You obviously know something about how the Order works and it appears you have a working knowledge of magic. We will work together and,’ his lip curled in distaste, ‘somehow get through this.’
‘Nope. Not happening.’
‘Now, listen—’
I pulled myself up. ‘No, Adeptus Exemptus Winter, you listen. I have a life. I don’t want to be in the Order. You can’t make me work with you. Plus,’ I added, pulling out my trump card, ‘you can bet your life-savings that the Order doesn’t want me.’
Biggins undid his cloak as if it were starting to constrict him. ‘What did you say your name was?’ he asked.
I smiled. ‘Ivy Wilde.’
He flinched. ‘Oh.’
My smile grew. ‘Oh indeed.’
Chapter Three
Biggins skittered off to make his report to the Order and to find out if there was a way to undo the binding spell; boy, I’d like to have been a fly on that wall. Meanwhile I put down some food for Harold and took Winter to my own flat. As I opened the door and realised that it was colder inside than it was out in the draughty corridor, I remembered that I still hadn’t called a damned plumber. That sucked – but at least it was a problem I had a chance of fixing.
Winter’s gaze swept across my living room. No prizes for guessing what he was thinking. There might be an absence of bee pollen but this wasn’t the gleaming place that Eve’s was. I picked up my bra from the back of the sofa and absently twirled it on one finger. He stared at me. Screw him. I wasn’t going to apologise for my clothes lying around my home.
‘So,’ he said, averting his eyes from my offending underwear, ‘I’m going to assume that you’re not in the Order because you couldn’t pass beyond Neophyte. You have the intelligence but not the magic.’
‘Guess again.’
He pointed at my thumb. ‘You’ve recently been bitten by a rodent of some kind,’ he said smugly. ‘That means you’ve not even mastered Myomancy.’
I held up the offending digit. ‘This is proof that I’m a Myomancy expert,’ I told him serenely. ‘It’s a bad omen. And look, here you are: the living embodiment of bad luck.’
‘A bite isn’t an omen.’
‘It is if you’re as adept as I am.’
He snorted. ‘Yeah, right. What can you actually do?’
I might have told him if the tone of his voice hadn’t been so incredulous but I didn’t need to prove myself to him. He needed me a hell of a lot more than I needed him. ‘What can you do?’ I returned.
‘I’m an Adeptus Exemptus. I should have thought my capabilities were obvious.’
The fact that I didn’t answer was answer enough.
Winter half-shrugged as if my silence was evidence that I was useless and changed the subject. ‘Why are you wearing wellington boots? Are you expecting a flood?’
‘I’m wearing them to guard against the pathetic tears of Order geeks like you.’
Anger flared in his eyes. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, Ms Wilde. I’m in charge here. Until we get this mess straightened out, you will follow my lead and do as I say. You will stop the insults and watch that smart mouth of yours. You will not test my patience.’
‘Was that one thing?’ I asked, cocking my head. ‘Or about five things? Do they not teach arithmetic at the Order these days?’
It was probably fortunate for both of us that Brutus chose that moment to saunter in and flop at my opponent’s feet. ‘At least you have a familiar,’ Winter grunted, avoiding my eyes in an apparent bid to reduce the antagonism between us.
‘This is Brutus,’ I told him.
My cat rolled onto his back and gazed upwards. ‘Pet,’ he demanded.
Winter leapt about three feet backwards. ‘Your familiar just spoke.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Pet,’ Brutus hissed again.
‘He wants you to stroke him,’ I said. Winter stared at me. He really did have the most intense blue eyes. I shrugged. ‘I’ve had him for a long time. Back when I was younger and more enthusiastic, I had the brilliant idea that I could develop and market a way for people to talk to their pets and have them talk back. After a lot of trial and error, I came up with the right series of runes and, hey presto. Bruno can talk.’
‘It worked?’ Winter gazed from me to the cat. He seemed to still think I was throwing my voice à la street magician.
‘In a manner of speaking. Yes, he can talk but he only has a vocabulary of about twenty words and most of them aren’t very nice. I abandoned the plan to make millions from the spell when I realised that people would finally realise their cats are selfish little bastards who only care about themselves. There would have been mass feline abandonment if they heard what their pets really have to say. It seemed prudent to keep the magic to myself.’
Winter blinked. ‘I see.’
‘Pet,’ Brutus repeated. ‘Bitch.’
‘Don’t be offended,’ I said. ‘He calls everyone that.’ I winked at Brutus and turned on my heel. Clothes would probably be a good option right about now.
***
I took my time getting ready. Winter could wait. Plus, my hair was pointing in all directions, sticking up like I’d been electrocuted; smoothing it down into something more manageable wasn’t easy.
I debated whether to wear my one and only suit, then figured that the Order probably wouldn’t give a flying shit what I was wearing. I’d still be me underneath the clothes. Instead I sniffed the crotch of yesterday’s jeans, decided they smelled okay and pulled them on, along with a faded white T-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘Monkey Magic’ from that old television show. Ha! Let them make of that what they would. I completed the ensemble with my neon-green bomber jacket. At least my nemesis wouldn’t lose me in a crowd.
When I strolled out, Winter was perched on one end of the sofa while Brutus was on the other with his hackles raised. They appeared to be having some kind of standoff. ‘I don’t think your familiar likes me,’ Winter commented.
I bit back a retort about my cat’s good taste in favour of keeping the peace. I could be restrained if the situation called for it. ‘Brutus,’ I said, ‘go and check out Mrs Burridge for me.’
Brutus gave me a look that suggested his plans for the day involved curling up in a corner and snoozing; spying on the old lady upstairs, who insisted on dabbling in runes and herbs even though she didn’t have a whisper of power inside her, was a waste of his time. Fortunately, on this occasion he elected not to show me up. He got up, stretched and wandered off.