Ben stopped in front of one particular orchid vine that sat at the center of the conservatory. It was huge. At its base it was as thick as a man’s waist, and its long curling tendrils easily overtopped the hundred-foot pillar of cork that was the vine’s support. It sported hundreds of deliciously fragrant blossoms that were a somewhat bilious shade of chartreuse veined with chocolate brown.
“This is the one everyone comes to see.” Ben reached out a finger to almost touch one of the nodding blooms. “The Dragon’s Eye Orchid. The largest in the world. Its roots go well underground into the limestone gravel underneath the conservatory.”
Emily nodded appreciatively, fanning herself with her hand.
“I hope it’s not too warm for you, Miss Edwards?” Ben murmured.
“Hot as Hades,” Emily said. Having grown up in the mountains, Emily had never experienced such a humid place. Sweat beaded on her brow; she wiped it away with three fingers. “Now I know how Mr. Stanton must have felt!”
Was it her imagination, or did she see a shadow of a smile pass over Ben’s face?
“Huh?” Miss Pendennis had stopped by a bed of vegetables and was looking at a purple cabbage that was the size of an ottoman. “What’s that?”
“Mr. Stanton. He is always so warm. You never noticed?” Emily said. “The first time he ever gave me his arm, I thought he was ill with a fever. But he said it was some kind of an impairment.”
“Impairment?” Miss Pendennis’ brow furrowed. “Nonsense. Dreadnought is healthy as a horse. Has a fantastic appetite.”
“Well, the appetite is part of it,” Emily said. “It’s why he has to eat all the time. He called it something in Latin … Exussum cruorsis …”
“Burned?” Miss Pendennis’ voice dropped to a murmur. Her eyes went wide, and she stared at Emily with sudden horror.
“Well … yes. Burned. He said that was a rude way of putting it.”
Miss Pendennis put a hand over her mouth.
“Hortense never told me,” she said. “Oh, my. I never knew. That’s … tragic.”
“Tragic?” Emily drew her brows together. “I don’t see what’s so tragic about it, unless you have to pay his grocery bills.”
Miss Pendennis stared at Emily.
“You don’t know what being burned is, do you?” She paused. “He didn’t tell you?”
Emily felt suddenly apprehensive. “Tell me what?”
“Calling someone ‘burned’ is imprecise. What they are is ‘burning,’ as in ‘burning up.’ What is he, almost thirty?” Miss Pendennis did a swift calculation. “Oh, mercy. The poor boy can’t have more than ten years left. At most.”
A sudden chill danced over Emily’s skin, as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. But the day remained as clear and blue as before and the conservatory remained just as sweltering.
“Ten years? You mean ten years to … practice magic?”
“Ten years to live,” Ben broke in softly. His words were formed with delicacy and precision. “Exussum cruorsis is a degenerative magical blight. Within a few years, Mr. Stanton won’t be able to keep weight on at all, no matter how much he eats. He will starve to death.”
Emily’s head spun. The words rattled around in her head like lead shot dropped in a silver bowl.
Burning up.
She remembered the conversation she’d had with him in the chophouse in San Francisco … Training as a Warlock aggravates it substantially … he’d made it sound like such a little thing!
Sudden fury made all her muscles tense and shake.
Emily was suddenly aware of the fact that Ben was watching her closely. She brushed past him toward the door.
… Professor Mirabilis perceived profound advantages in having me attend the Institute …
Oh, the stupidity! Emily clenched her fists tightly. How could he have done it? And how … how could he not have told her?
“Miss Edwards … hold on!” Miss Pendennis called after her.
But Emily didn’t hear the rest of what Miss Pendennis said, for she was running back toward the Institute, as quickly as her silk-shod feet would carry her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Cupid’s Bludgeon
Emily raced through the gardens, stormed up the stairs, slammed a door behind her as she entered the cool darkness of the Institute. Stalking toward the broad marble stairs in the main hall, she did not notice Professor Mirabilis until she had torn past him, wisping rage.
“Miss Edwards.”
The words were low and not spoken with any particular urgency, but Professor Mirabilis’ voice stopped her as surely as if the old man had seized her arm. Clearly, one did not ignore the Sophos of the Mirabilis Institute.