Page 104 of Her Dreadful Will
“Not from my home in London. But from here—if I can get physical access to his computer, I can get in and check his files. We can find out what he’s up to.”
“But that’s—” A breach of trust, and of privacy. Questionable at the very least, and probably illegal.
Tarek noted her hesitation and frowned. “I already know where he lives, and I’m going anyway, if only to satisfy my own curiosity—and to ensure that you’re safe here, of course. There’s something strange going on, and I plan to find out what it is. You can come along, or not, but I’d like you to join me. I’d hate to think I misplaced my trust in you, Soleil. I vouched for you, you know, when you applied to the Institute. Some on the admissions board objected to you being trained at all. With your abilities, you could be—dangerous. Some of them wanted to—” He lifted his thick brows significantly and his lips tightened. “But I put in a good word for you. I told them you were sweet, innocent, harmless—not a trouble-maker. Don’t prove me wrong, chickadee.”
The way he smiled at her, so warm and gentle, so generous and kind—it sickened her soul. It was true, then. She’d only been allowed at the Institute because of him. Because he had told them she was a meek little foundling, sweet and soft and harmless. Like a declawed kitten.
But her inner self had claws, and fangs too. She would wait until the right moment, and then she would unsheathe them.
“I’ll come with you,” she said. “I want to know the truth. About everything.”
35
The fact that Tarek, an emissary of the Convocation, would think nothing of invading another witch’s home unnerved Soleil. He picked the lock on the back door of Achan’s clinic easily, as if he’d done similar things a thousand times. She recalled what she used to think of Tarek—how he’d make the perfect secret agent because he could so seamlessly hide his second life as a witch. Now she wondered what more he’d been hiding, and how much he knew of the Convocation’s enforcers and their methods. At least Achan had made no secret of his secrets; he’d admitted to concealing things from her. Tarek, on the other hand, shone his disarming grin and treated everyone like his best friend. No one with his big laugh and warm brown eyes could be a persistent liar, could they?
“Wait,” said Soleil, as the door swung open. “Let me go in first.”
It was only right that she be the first to invade Achan’s private space—she, who had kissed him, and carried his energy, and shared power with him. She who had been hurt when he left her at the very moment when she was about to give him everything.
She climbed the narrow, squeaky staircase to the second floor. The dark confines of the space reminded her of the Rabbit Hole at Hatter’s Fall. She envisioned that moment of decision, when she had decided to walk forward and take Achan’s hand, rather than turning back. That same night, she had gripped his throat and threatened his very life; and he, brimming with power, hadn’t twitched a finger to stop her. Not because he didn’t fear her—he did. He’d said as much. She had asked him to let her in, and he was too terrified to do it. So terrified that he ran away.
Another door barred the top of the stairs. Soleil stood aside, crushing herself against the wall so no part of her would touch Tarek while he picked the double locks. The door swung open with the silence of smoothly oiled hinges.
The scent of Achan burst over her—woodsmoke and citrus and honey. For a thrilling, panicked moment she wondered if she’d been mistaken. Maybe he hadn’t gone to the conference. Maybe he was here, after all.
Then her gaze fell on the row of candles shoved onto a narrow table by the front door. Huge fat candles in glass jars, each dimpled around a central singed wick. Clearly Achan loved scents and used them with abandon. It was those candles, and not his presence, that suffused this apartment.
Two pairs of his shoes were neatly arranged under the table—battered sneakers and a pair of long, narrow leather flip-flops. The sight of them hurt Soleil, with a sweet gnawing pain that made her long to prod those flip-flops with her toes, maybe even slip her feet into them.
Soleil entered slowly, eyeing the pictures on the walls. There were old portraits in the style of the Middle Ages, their subjects dough-faced and lashless, with stiff collars and beringed hands; black-and-white photos of stern-faced men in top hats, holding tarot cards; and women in rustling gowns with crystal balls at their elbows. Between the odd portraits hung prints from Sunday comics and graphic novels. There were several vivid abstracts and a few impressionistic landscapes, all hung haphazardly with no sense of spacing or grouping.
“What if he took his laptop with him?” Soleil asked.
“Then we’ll look for physical records,” said Tarek. “Notes, journals. I’ll check the rooms on this side of the hall, and you look on that side.”
Soleil opened a door near her—nothing but a tankless water heater and a climate control unit. She closed it and opened the next door.
Achan’s bedroom.
More candles clustered along his dresser, an antique piece that Soleil gauged with a practiced eye. She shook her head at the wax drops speckling its surface. Achan could have cleaned those up easily with a little magic, but he hadn’t bothered.
The bed was clumsily made, as if he’d yanked the covers into place without taking the trouble to smooth them. Again, he could have used magic to fix it, but he hadn’t. Either he enjoyed the bit of chaos, or he’d been in a raging hurry to leave.
Soleil smoothed her palm over the indentation in the pillow. The stab of pain in her heart twisted together with anger, and she began to hunt for a laptop, a computer, a tablet—anything. After a few minutes of searching, she fished a laptop out of a shallow drawer, brushing aside the electric bills and junk mail that covered it.
A half-sheet of paper floated down to the floor by her feet.
It was a green and gold flyer with swirling black font, advertising “Soleil’s Secondhand.” She spotted a half dozen sigils woven into the curlicues around the edge of the design. Tears clouded her vision as she crouched and reached for the paper.
“You found the laptop!” said Tarek triumphantly from the doorway.
Startled, Soleil straightened and nudged the flyer under the dresser with her foot. “Yes.”
“Good.” He snatched the laptop and sat down, settling it across his knees. “Give me a few minutes to get in.”
“So you’re a lockpickanda hacker?” Soleil asked.
“Lexical witchcraft lends itself to many disciplines, as you know,” he said. “I can understand the language of computers and cells as easily as I comprehend human dialects. Now hush, chickadee, while I work.”
