Marked by Death (Necromancer #1) - Kaje Harper Page 0,40
Grim yawned and curled back up at Darien’s feet. “Call me when you have my cream and tuna ready.”
Silas slid out of bed, tugging his clothes straight as he headed down the stairs. His shirt was probably wrinkled and his hair was no doubt a mess, and he hated being seen at a disadvantage by Ferngold. But antagonizing the local head of the Guild wasn’t a wise choice. He ran a hand over his head, checked through the door to make sure Grim was right about his visitor, and pulled it open.
Ferngold’s next blow missed the door and landed on Silas’s protective wards. Ferngold yelped and yanked his hand back, then glowered. “You! Thornwood! What’s the meaning of all this?”
“Meaning of what? I was sleeping.”
“Let me in! We have matters to discuss.” Ferngold thumped his cane on the stoop for emphasis, but without any use of power.
Silas didn’t want to get in a pissing contest with the man, no matter how satisfying it’d been to prickle his hand with the ward. Silas drew a finger down the door frame and released the barrier. “Come on in, sir.”
Ferngold huffed and stepped inside. Silas felt his wards absorb the weight and heft of the man’s power. He might look and act like a fussy old man, but one didn’t master a Guild hall with just a rule-book. Ferngold was still a force to be reckoned with.
“My study’s this way.” He gestured, locking the door and reactivating the wards with a touch.
Ferngold stood back, leaning on his cane, and let Silas lead the way. Opening the study door lifted a little puff of dust and Ferngold waved a hand in front of his face. Silas stayed impassive with an effort. He’d inherited the house from its previous occupant, dust and all, and if he’d been a bit lazy with cleanup, well, he’d had more important things to do.
He pulled out the more comfortable of the two chairs in front of the desk. “Have a seat, sir. Can I get you anything? Scotch?” He kept a bottle of the good stuff for schmoozing purposes.
“At seven in the morning?” Ferngold pushed the other chair around to face his, before removing his coat and seating himself stiffly. “Sit down here, Thornwood. I have some questions for you.”
“Oh?” He’d meant to sit at the desk, for the position of power, but folded himself into the smaller chair, keeping a bland expression. What in the hells kind of questions? Was the power surge of that battle so big he felt it?
Ferngold raised an eyebrow as if inviting Silas to unburden himself, but Silas wasn’t going to do his work for him. Eventually the sorcerer said, “I heard you have a boy here teeming with ghosts. And that you’re not sure how to remove them. That you might need assistance designing an appropriate spell.”
Silas blinked. Heard from where? Anya was no snitch. He said, “Your information is out of date. There is no problem.”
“Now, young man, it’s no time to get cocky when someone’s life is at stake. Niven told Clicks he’d never seen anyone so riddled through.”
Ferngold’s shirt pocket writhed, then the lidless eyes of his familiar peeped up above the edge. In its thin, gecko-dry voice, it said, “Yes, he was quite worried that Anya promised to help.”
Ah, familiar to familiar grapevine. Anya’s weasel, Niven, had never been a fan of Silas’s. Neither was Ferngold’s Clicks for that matter.
Silas leaned back, and folded his arms. “Well, we managed to solve the problem without her so you can tell Niven he doesn’t need to worry about her safety.”
“Solved?” Ferngold leaned forward, looking avid as only an elderly academic with a lust for useful data can. “How? What happened? What did you use—”
Time to go on the offensive. “Why didn’t you tell me Crosby had acquired a demon? Didn’t you think that was something I needed to know?”
It was satisfying to see Ferngold stopped in mid-question, his mouth hanging open. “He’s what?”
“Well, he’s dead, now. But before that.”
Ferngold thumped his cane on the floor hard. “Explain yourself, Thornwood.”
“He showed up at my back door, ridden by a six-syllable demon. No doubt the source I warned you about.” It was satisfying to see Ferngold’s red face pale at that information. “Managed to get through my wards by trickery—” and Silas was kicking himself up, down, and sideways for not explaining the wards properly to Darien, or shielding him against subtle influence. “—and came after me.”
“And you defeated a six-syllable demon