Page 77 of A Subtle Scar
Movement drew my eye. Across from us, at the very other end of the room, another patron sat, the only one here, sipping his coffee and reading a newspaper. He was older, so it was still paper rather than digital. If people randomly appearing was shocking to him, he gave no indication of that. He wasn’t even particularly interested in the immortals and me. I would bet good money he was a magic user.
“Yes, still Geneva,” Hermes said. “And yes, this is a Freemagi place. They are generally welcoming of divine guests and their companions so long as we follow the house rules. Uhm, Ronny, I’ll go order food.”
“I’ll be here,” Charon said.
“I’ll leave,” I said. I wasn’t feeling so shaky anymore. Still shaky, but not like I was going to either vomit or faint if I did anything too strenuous. However, the idea of sorting out the travel arrangements it would take to get back seemed daunting, and the urge to curl up hit me again, hard.
More magic engulfed me, even as Hermes poofed off.
“You’re upset,” Charon said.
He had no idea. I didn’t get upset, not in the way he thought. I had no idea what this was. It wasn’t me. I had my shit together. I’d had my shit together for a long time. I didn’t cry like a baby and complain about missing my brother. I didn’t let people get this close to me, and I didn’t waste anyone’s time by allowing them to go anywhere near where they felt the need to take care of me or explore my innermost thoughts. It just wasn’t something I did, period.
“This is the town’s Musée d’Histoire Magique,” Charon said in a pleasant small-talky voice. “The building was an old church once, the Temple de Saint-Pierre. They had to sell it to the town when the faiths increasingly failed. Mages—not court magicians as Geneva had no court but the independent Freemagi—were charged by the lords and ladies of the city to discern real magic from smoke and mirrors. They discovered the charlatans dedicated to robbing tradesmen and peasants alike and helped pull out their carpet of wealth and influence from right under their feet. And now there’s this restaurant here. It’s really nice.”
“I know. I didn’t need a history lesson. You’re not supposed to get into this restaurant. It’s only for dignitaries and those who have a standing invite from the city. But apparentlythatwas all smoke and mirrors, and it’s Freemagi run.”
It was exclusive to the point not even a rich mage like myself could easily get in, or so I’d thought. The Academy didn’t forbid but frowned on visiting the museum anyway, mostly because there was an ongoing debate about whether it was right that the city had ownership of many of the magical items on display here.
If the Freemagi were involved in running it, it made sense why the Academy hadn’t been making any progress in getting a single one of the exhibits moved to their collections. Freemagi were not really a secret society anymore like back in the day when their core mission had been to protect and remove magic users from the dangers of prosecution, but they were still selective about whom they invited to join, and apparently, most of the professors at my old school hadn’t been invited. Maybe that was the real reason why there’d never been an excursion to the Musée.
Charon shrugged. “We can get you into most places. And especially in Europe, the Freemagi ones are all really nice.”
“Don’t want you to get me into any places, I want you to leave me the fuck alone and mind your own business.”
“No. Darling, your brother’s name was Victor, wasn’t it? I saw how you reacted, back at the hotel. When the girl got your name wrong.”
“We’re not talking about my brother.”
Charon raised an eyebrow at me. He had an arm around my shoulder and pulled me toward him.
“All right. I talked to an EMT for a delightful flight through fourteen hours of night once. She said when someone is in shock, it’s important to keep them warm and make sure they get fluids. Are you warm enough, darling?”
His magic did something, warming me like an invisible blanket, I realized.
The urge to get out of this situation got stronger, unbearably strong. I wanted to run. No one had hugged me in order to give me comfort since…a very long time ago. My mother had said she couldn’t bear it, hugging me. She’d said I reminded her too much of Victor. I was like a ghost haunting her, she had said. And I scared her. That, she hadn’t said, but it had been so very clear she’d thought it, from the looks. The very few phone calls I’d gotten at school. The fact I had been sent to school an ocean away.
“Take your hand off me. I need to get out of here.”
I slapped my hands on the table.
“Darling, it’s fine,” Charon said.
Nothing was fine. The older man reading his paper looked over just when I summoned all my magic once again.
At the Academy, I’d attended the Aikido club. I’d never felt my magic be deflected and turned into useless energy so fully, and the only thing I could compare it to was attacking with full force only to find myself flat on my back and immobilized as happened in an Aikido move.
I’d lost a little time, I thought. My hands were still flat on the table, the palms hot and tingly, but Charon had his hands on the side of my head, holding me so I was forced to look into his onyx eyes. I felt his fingertips just brushing into my hair. His power was complete, and in that moment, I knew that I could do whatever I wanted, and it would achieve nothing. I truly understood what an immortal was in that moment. He could have squashed me, could have done anything to me.
He kissed me quite tenderly on my forehead.
“We’ll take care of you, for now. It occurs to me that while you are this upset, you’re not likely to make good decisions. For the next few hours, darling, you won’t make any. You’ll just be taken care of.”
It was tempting, so fucking tempting. Something reared inside me, and I was close to just trying again, trying even if I knew it was useless, trying until all the magic had gone out of me.
Before I could, Hermes peeled my left hand off the table. “Huh. Lucky you just burned the tablecloth and not yourself. I didn’t know what you liked, but I brought you herbal tea. Mint.”
He placed the mug in my hand. Victor had been good with all things growing. He’d grown herbs in the family garden. When I was sick and he wasn’t, he’d always make me mint tea, and when he inevitably caught the same bug, we’d share the tea. Mint had been one of his favorites.So easy to grow,he’d said.But gives you all the minty goodness. Plus, bees like the pink flowers. It’s as if the plant wants to please everyone.
