Marked by Death (Necromancer #1) - Kaje Harper Page 0,48
imagine they want to see you and gauge your power. They’ll want to hear how I managed to banish Crosby’s demon, because knowing I had that much power makes them nervous, and they’ll want to discuss your apprenticeship.”
“I thought I got to stay with you for now.”
“So did I.” Storms brewed in Silas’s eyes. “Ferngold has never liked me, or trusted me. I imagine he got home and started worrying about me somehow adding your power to my own.”
“You wouldn’t.” Darien trusted Silas, all the way down to his core. I had my hands in his heart. He kissed me first. He wasn’t sure which moment had sealed it, but he knew without doubts that Silas wouldn’t hurt him.
“No, but others might. It would behoove us to get you as much protection from the rest as we can manage, before tonight.”
Silas looked so serious, he couldn’t resist tweaking him. “Man, did you just say behoove?”
A faint flush ran up Silas’s neck to his cheekbones. “My mentor was elderly. His vocabulary sticks with me.”
“Well, as long as I don’t have to learn to talk like that to do magic.”
“I imagine your own vocabulary will suffice.”
“Now you’re doing it on purpose.”
Silas’s lips twitched. “I suggest a bath or shower for each of us, and after those ablutions we can retire again to my bibliotheca to engage in sorcerous pursuits.”
A giggle bubbled up in Darien and he smothered it with a hand to his lips. “Your bibowhat-a?”
“Library. And yes, I was doing it on purpose.”
“So a shower and then magic?”
“Right.” Silas sobered. “If we’re going to stand in front of the Guild council tonight, I want you armored as much as possible. I’d have given you more time to recover first, but they aren’t giving us that choice.”
“Aren’t they supposed to be on your side?”
“Our side, young sorcerer. And yes. But even righteous men with a purpose sometimes steamroller over individuals.”
Darien flinched, and hoped Silas would think it was about the council, not about being called young. Am I middle-aged now? Is age my body or my brain? Or did I pull chunks out of my brain too, feeding Silas? Irrational anger threatened to swamp him, and he shoved up out of his chair to hide it. “Last one to the bathroom is a rotten egg!”
Running up stairs in socks was no smarter than running down them, but Silas didn’t seem to have taken up the challenge. Darien managed not to break his neck and still reached the bathroom door first. And hesitated.
“I left the towel over the mirror,” Silas said behind him. “It’s fine that way. I’d take the mirror down, but I think it’s screwed into the wall.”
“You don’t need to unscrew it. Jesus, I’m not that fragile!” He took two steps inside, reaching for the towel, but Silas caught his hand.
“Leave it. You’ll have enough battles to fight, trying to pin down your magic. That one can wait another day.”
Darien wanted to argue, but fatigue washed over him. He slumped and Silas’s arm came around him, as he already trusted that it would. “This has been a shitty weekend,” he muttered. Silas said nothing, didn’t move, but Darien felt the way his muscles went hard and wary. “Except for you,” he added quickly, turning in Silas’s hold to give him a smacking kiss on the chin. “And losing the ghosts. That was amazing. And Grim’s not bad. Okay, it was one hell of a mixed weekend.”
“Get in the shower.” Silas gave him a little push, but seemed more relaxed. “I’ll bring you some more clean clothes.”
Darien waved at the shower rod. “My own stuff is dry. I’ll be fine.”
Silas muttered something that might’ve contained the word “rags.”
“Look, bud. I didn’t come here to sponge off you. Go. I’ll be out shortly.”
“All right. But you saved my life. There’s no sponging problem. And I have money.”
“We can talk about it later.” Darien flapped his hand. “Go.”
Silas backed out, pulling the door with him, and Darien focused on getting his clothes off the rod and himself into the shower. The warm, clean water was wonderful, and he found a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo that smelled like honey. It took three rounds before his nails were clean and the water from his hair ran clear.
Stepping out of the tub took more energy than it should’ve, like the shower had turned his muscles to rubber. He toweled off roughly, trying to rub some alertness back into himself. I have a