“No, Miss Edwards.” Stanton’s voice was firm. “My father is a … blunt instrument. Contacting him wouldn’t make things better. It would very likely make things worse. Trust me.”
Emily pondered this. Then she let out a breath.
“All right. We sell your horses. We take the money and catch the train. We can board at one of the smaller stops above New Bethel—the Maelstroms can’t watch them all.”
Stanton nodded. It was clear that he was thinking hard. His green eyes were lustrous with concentration. His long forefinger tapped a rhythm on the tabletop as he whistled softly to himself. He stopped abruptly, looking up.
“Yes, it seems a reasonable plan,” he said. “Which leaves only my immediate concerns to be addressed.”
“Immediate concerns?”
“After I pay for the shoeing and stabling of the horses, we’ll have less than five dollars. That’s hardly enough to feed us past Walnut Creek, much less all the way back to New Bethel.”
“We’re running for our lives, and you’re worrying about whether you’ll get your regular breakfast?” Emily was incredulous. “Going without a few meals will hardly kill you.”
“No, I’m afraid you’re wrong there,” Stanton said. He pushed his coffee cup around on the saucer. He opened his mouth to say something then closed it. When he opened it again, he spoke in a quick, clipped tone.
“You recall that Mrs. Quincy made a disparaging remark at the casino—she referred to me as burned. That is the crude colloquial term for an impairment, a defect from which I suffer. Exussum cruorsis.” He paused, centering the cup on the saucer with more precision than the action really required. “You see, practitioners are supposed to be like Swiss cheese—full of holes through which mantic energy can be funneled and directed. Much of a Warlock’s formal training consists of manipulating these pathways, the viae manticum. While the viae manticum are open, they represent a great drain on the physical system. In most cases, they are only opened while a Warlock is actively working a spell and can be closed at will.” He paused again. “In my case, however, I am unable to close them. They remain constantly open, and I am like a lamp that is always kept lit. It’s quite draining. If I don’t keep well fed, I’ll be worse than useless to you.”
Emily absorbed this strange flood of information, blinking.
“Are there many Warlocks with this … condition?”
“It is extremely uncommon,” Stanton said.
“And there’s nothing you can do? There’s no cure, or …”
“No,” Stanton said. “There’s no cure.”
Emily leaned back, crossed her arms, and looked at him.
“Well, I must say I feel sorry for whoever it is decides to marry you. You’ll have her cooking all hours of the day and night.” She paused. “It’s not catching, is it?”
“It’s a defect, not chicken pox.” Stanton frowned. “Training as a Warlock aggravates it substantially. In most cases, the burned relinquish all aspirations to a magical career. If training is discontinued swiftly enough after the discovery of the defect, the opening of the viae manticum can be reversed, and the individual can return to his original state of health.”
“But you continued your training,” Emily said.
“Most mantic institutions refuse to train students who are burned, citing a mealymouthed concern with the ethics of it.” Stanton lifted his chin proudly. “But Professor Mirabilis perceived profound advantages in having me attend the Institute. And so I did.”
She shook her head. “But there other perfectly acceptable professions in the world. Why on earth did you go on with magic?”
He looked at her as if he could not fathom the source of such a question. “Because it was what I wanted to do,” he said.
Emily picked up her cup of tea. She placed it on the table. Then she pushed the plate with the little almond cookie on it toward him.
“My pap has a word for men like you, Mr. Stanton,” she said. “Mulish.”
To her surprise, he smiled at her. To her even greater surprise, she realized that he had quite a nice smile.
“Let’s hope that’s the worst word your pap can ever apply to me.” He took the cookie and ate it in one bite. “I’ll go retrieve the horses. You wait here.”
“Wait here?”
“For once, Miss Edwards, please do as I ask.” He dusted almond crumbs from his hands. “It is safer for you here than on the streets. I doubt even the Maelstroms have the manpower