Spells and Sensibility Page 2

  He’d thought he could. He’d imagined he could.

  And now he’d met a librarian. Not just any librarian. The College’s new head librarian, evidently. Short and young and green-eyed and glaring at him while offering quite extraordinary compassion. Henry was having some difficulty reconciling all these pieces.

  To be fair, he’d been expecting Sir Roderick, the silver-haired librarian who’d been here when he’d been a student. Theodore Burnett was decidedly not Sir Roderick, but was a rather lovely man. And one Henry’d first nearly blinded and then annoyed with mud. Or maybe the other way around. Either way, he needed to get this…problem with his magic under control. He needed to fix it. Himself. Everything.

  Unfortunately, he’d fallen asleep before getting very far into Johnson’s Complete History of English Magic. He could try to blame the writing, and would if asked, but that was only partially the history’s fault.

  He’d had a terrible headache all day. His neck and shoulders hurt as well. So did his back and his legs, which weren’t quite up to the task of holding his weight at the moment.

  The ache was bone-deep. Deeper, if that was at all possible, and although it dulled at times, he’d grown used to the pain. Exhaustion clawed its way through his body, but he hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the library, and he’d certainly never expected the librarian to offer him the use of his bed for the night.

  It did sound very nice though, and while Henry remained fairly convinced that Mr Theodore Burnett didn’t like him much—he had tracked in all that mud, after all—the offer sounded sincere.

  Plus, the librarian had mint for tea. Proper tea. Not brewed in a tent, in an army camp, or desperately magically reheated from thrice-used leaves.

  “Ah…” Henry, not used to someone, least of all persons he’d narrowly avoided injuring, trying to take care of him, scratched the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to put you out in any way. The guest rooms…I’m sure they’re just fine.”

  Although he did recall, during his days here as a student, going to the College green after a few drinks or just reveling in newfound freedom, and being quite noisy. Shooting spells into the air and laughing and ultimately ignoring the complaints of the guests staying in the rooms that faced them. It was late enough for the library to be closed, but not so late that students wouldn’t still be out and about.

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  Henry considered this phrasing. Tilted his head. Asked, “Why do you need to do anything?”

  “I did startle you awake and you look…” Mr Burnett paused. Contemplated, probably, how to say what he wanted without insults. “Tired.”

  Henry had a laugh at that and tried not to wince at the discomfort a single laugh brought him. Tired, he presumed, was the polite way of telling him that he looked horrible. He wasn’t oblivious, and he was well aware of his current disheveled state.

  Disheveled was one word. Haunted might be better. He repressed a shiver.

  “I am,” he said, and didn’t give away anything more than that. “Yes, then.” A night in a warm bed might do him some good. He could sort things out in the morning. “Thank you, Mr Burnett. Only for tonight; I’ll be on my way tomorrow.”

  “As I said.” The young man waved a hand through the air, murmured a word, and the flames dancing on all the candles scattered about the room went out. “And you can call me Theo, if you’d like,” he added as he made his way to the door and when he noticed that Henry hadn’t followed, paused. “Have you changed your mind? Or is the prospect of calling me Theo a bit too much?”

  This was said with a pinch of humor and a lift of neatly groomed eyebrows. Everything about the man was neat. Not a dark hair out of place of the thick locks on his head. His cravat was perfectly tied in a complicated knot. There wasn’t even a tiny scuff mark on his beautifully polished boots. Theo probably had every aspect of his life planned and in as perfect order as he could possibly make it.

  Henry, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. The mud was bad enough. He also had at least three days’ worth of stubble on his face and no matter how he tried to tame his hair, it always stuck up all over the place. His shirttail was untucked and he might’ve missed a button. The knot in his cravat was not only loose but lopsided. He even had dried blood on his sleeve—a result of today’s earlier attempts of fixing himself on his own. At least he’d managed to stop the bleeding.

  The army had given him a sense of structure and order, but Henry had always enjoyed life taking him where it might.

  Up until a few months ago, that had served him well. Now, it was going to take all his strength and willpower just to get out of this chair and follow the head librarian of the Royal College of Wizardry to his rooms so he could sleep in a warm bed tonight. After spending most of the day in a raspberry bush—which he did not faint into, thank you very much, and anyone who said otherwise was a liar—the comfort would be very much appreciated.

  “Have you changed your mind, Captain?”

  No, he hadn’t. He just needed to figure out how to get out of this chair without staggering. Not an easy task when the room had only now stopped spinning.

  “Henry,” he replied. “Just Henry. And, no, not at all, I just need a—I’m coming,” he said, and braced his weight on the arms of the chair, pushing up with all the strength he currently possessed. Somehow, he made it to his feet. He grinned at this accomplishment. “Lead the way, Theo.”

  Theo watched at him with a complicated emotion running through his bright eyes before turning toward the doors. Henry sighed, though only internally, and followed him out of the library, across cobblestone walkways toward one of the smaller towers at the back of the grounds.

  At one time, Henry’s smile had been thought of as charming. Not that long ago, it was that very smile that helped him carry out his missions. People often underestimated how much they let slip over pillow talk. He gathered a great deal of useful information—munitions lists, maps and codes, schedules for troop movements—for his commanding officers by following French soldiers into seedy pubs and, after sharing a few rounds, offering a smile, a quick bat of his eyes, and a good time in a nice bed at the inn.

  Seemed he had lost his touch. Or maybe he was just losing everything, at the moment.

  Not that Henry was, in any way, trying to charm his way into Theo’s bed. Even if, out here in the moonlight, he was even lovelier than Henry had thought. Pocket-sized, just like one of those portable printed novels, if the man would be so inclined to appreciate Henry’s sense of adjectival humor, and shapely, with soft, sultry curves. Intriguing, with an upper-class accent as polished as his boots, but no mention of a title or a family connection. And clearly powerful, given how casually Theo’d sealed the library and also batted away Henry’s reflexive outburst of magic, earlier.

  Of course Henry’s magic was extremely weak, at the moment. But Theo Burnett hadn’t been bothered by it at all.

  A sudden gust of wind pushed some dark locks across Theo’s brow, which he promptly brushed away. Henry’s own hair danced in the breeze, but he didn’t bother trying to fix it.

  They weren’t at all far from the library when Henry started coughing. Soft enough, at first, that he doubted Theo even noticed. Or, if he did, it didn’t give him cause for concern. But they were walking at quite a rapid pace and Henry’s lungs began to burn. Then again, they may have been walking at a perfectly normal pace. Henry’s body currently wasn’t all that pleased with him. Proved even further by the coughing fit that came on so hard Henry had to stop.

  Theo stopped as well and took a step closer to him. “Are you sure you’re all right, Captain?”

  Henry, still coughing, held a hand out and tried to nod. Tried to tell him he was fine. Because he was. This was just a tickle in his throat. An itch. Nothing more.

  “I’m…yes, I’m…” He coughed into his hand and shuddered upon seeing the spots of blood on his palm. Henry rolled in his fingers. “I’m fine.”

  “You certai
nly don’t look fine,” Theo said. “Perhaps I should call our resident physician; Dominic will complain about being summoned at this time of night, but he certainly could handle—”

  “No!” Henry interrupted well-meaning offers with harsh objections. Too harsh. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out like that. In a way that made Theo blink and shift his weight. “I’m…that is—my apologies. I just, er, I just need sleep. That’s all.”

  Theo didn’t look overly convinced. His lips formed a slight purse and a little crease appeared between his eyes. Maybe Henry ought to apologize again. After all, this man had offered him tea and a bed and a warm place for the night.

  “Then at least allow me to assist you as we walk,” Theo said before Henry could give any other apology. “It isn’t very far, but you do seem like you might fall over if you have to walk any farther on your own.” He came closer again, but did not touch, for which Henry was grateful. Still, he didn’t move. Theo glanced his way. “You’ve already muddied up my floors and books, Captain, you needn’t be shy now.”

  Shyness wasn’t the problem. In fact, Henry had never been shy, not even as a boy. The problem came from distrust and the fear that touch would equal pain. Something Henry hated. He liked to touch and to be touched. It felt nice. Made him feel wanted. Desired.

  It’d been so very long since he’d actually felt that way. He could try to say it’d only been these past few months, but really, it’d been years. Hard to enjoy intimacy when he used it to do his job. Even harder to believe in it.

  “I, um, I don’t think—”

  “I insist, Captain,” Theo interrupted, and though his voice was low and soothing, it also held a hint of command. Not the way Henry’s former captain would have said it. Not just a clear and cut order. This had compassion in it. Henry didn’t expect that. “I assure you, I’m much sturdier than I look.”

  His shoulders, straightened and squared and ready to welcome the weight of the man who’d fallen asleep in his library, did look rather sturdy. And comfortable. And Henry was just so tired. And he liked both the concern and command that swirled together in Theo’s voice.

  “Thank you.” Henry eased his weight against Theo’s body, and found that Theo Burnett was quite right in saying he was sturdier than he looked. Some of the tension that sang through his body melted away. “And it’s Henry, if you don’t mind.”

  Theo chuckled. “Yes, right. Well, come along, Henry, it’s not far.”

  It only took about fifteen minutes to reach the tower, and when they got there, Theo plucked an iron key out of his pocket. He opened the thick red wooden door and pushed it wide.

  The fireplace came to life the moment they walked through the door together. Probably a spell set to spark the flames when he came home.

  Henry was immediately hit with a rush of warmth and the sweet scents of crumpets and tea and cheese. It was wonderful and domestic, and smelled nothing like home. Looked nothing like home either.

  Like Theo himself, this place was perfectly kept. Every item in place. Everything in order. Lots of books, each in their own spots on the bookshelves. Except one which was instead placed neatly on the arm of the chair next to the fireplace. Not a speck of dust. No cobwebs. Not even a bit of soot in front of the hearth.

  Nothing like Henry’s family’s house. While far from messy, it didn’t have this sense of immaculate tidiness. Eight people, along with two servants and a cook, lived there and it showed. One of Anne’s needlepoints would be left on the windowsill. Their father’s gardening tools piled in a corner. Art supplies bought for Jack strewn in front of the fireplace. Countless books that Henry tended to put down and then forget about when he picked up another. Always something happening. Always people talking.

  The Tourmalines didn’t have a fortune and they had no ties to nobility, but despite being country farmers, they owned the land their manor house stood on, and had for generations; they did well enough to also hire smaller farmers to work and live on certain plots, at fair wages. They were well-known and well-liked in the village, local gentry with a touch of earth-magic and generous about sharing, though nothing like Theo’s immaculate soft hands.

  His parents had sent all their children to good schools and taught Henry and his five siblings the value of hard work. Of rolling their sleeves up and getting their hands dirty. Henry might not’ve been a titled sort of gentleman by blood, and he knew what it meant having to work from sunup to sundown, but they were a happy family. Loud and boisterous and always there for one another.

  Which was why Henry couldn’t go back to them now. Not like this. Broken and exhausted and useless.

  He shook these unpleasant thoughts away and instead concentrated, for a moment, on trying to picture Theo stepping foot into his family’s home. He decided that Theo would likely try to neaten the place for them and he had to smile at that.

  “What is it?” Theo walked him to the sofa across from the fire, and deposited Henry there, and hovered as if unsure of the next move. “You’ve started smiling.”

  “Oh. Nothing, really.” Henry leaned his weight back—the sofa looked stiffer than it was, in truth surprisingly comfortable—and allowed himself a contented sigh. “I was only picturing you at my family’s manor.”

  One eyebrow quirked up at this honesty and Theo crossed both arms over his chest again. “You find something amusing about that?”

  “Ah. I suppose not. It’s just…rather different. Not as…clean.”

  “I don’t suppose you track dirt everywhere you go, do you?” Theo looked back at the path they’d taken from the door to here. “No. You don’t appear to. Are you hungry?”

  A perfectly reasonable question, especially at this hour, but Henry found it incredibly difficult to answer. He was quite sure he’d eaten sometime today…or was that yesterday?

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” he attempted, still unable to recall the last time he had a proper meal. “I really only wish to sleep.”

  “No trouble at all, actually. I was going to fix myself supper in any case. The kitchens will be closed, this time of night, and I refuse to patronize that rather suspicious meat pie shop in the square, where all the students inevitably end up after the pubs. Therefore, supper. At home.”

  He also looked at Henry expectantly. As if that would make Henry change his mind and ask to share a meal.

  Henry couldn’t bring himself to do so. Not because he didn’t trust Theo Burnett. If he could trust anyone, it’d likely be a fellow College graduate, someone with those ties of knowledge and the knowledge of magic and the sort of kind heart that’d offer supper and a bed.

  Henry could not trust anyone. That sort of trust got an invisible sword to the gut and a broken twisted draining sensation that never ceased. Even before that, trust and obedience and following orders had led to fire, and screams, and half the Magicians’ Corps vanishing in a single nightmare moment, the moment he saw in dreams and again when waking—

  “You have mint for tea, you said?” he said. “I’d love some.”

  He had the fleeting impression that Theo was disappointed by that answer. He couldn’t imagine why.

  “Very well,” Theo agreed, and headed for the next room. “You stay here and make yourself comfortable.”

  “I can help,” Henry said, “if you’d like.”

  To be honest, he wasn’t quite sure if he could or not, but he’d been raised with good manners and if necessary, he’d push himself back to his feet—pain be damned—and help his host. Only before he could truly consider it, Theo spun around and held a finger out as if to scold him.

  “You will do nothing of the sort,” he said, firm and unyielding. “You will do nothing but sit here and rest until I return. Understand, Henry?”

  As with his voice earlier, Theo left no room to be argued with, and that settled pleasantly next to the pain in Henry’s bones. They became somewhat softer, wanting to listen.

  And that was dangerous, but it was also warm and tempting, a sensation he’d n
ot felt in so very long.

  He answered, “Yes, Theo,” and caught himself smiling, which he hadn’t known he remembered how to do, when he received an approving nod from green eyes before they disappeared into the kitchen.

  Chapter 3

  Theo, in the tower’s small kitchen, found the mint infusion he generally used when he’d given himself a headache from glaring at hexed manuscripts or careless students, touched the stove and brought heat to life, and set about assembling tea. If he kept his hands moving he wouldn’t have to think about Captain Tourmaline’s evident frailty, or the man’s offer to come and assist despite that, or the sound of his voice saying yes, Theo with quite astonishing acquiescence.

  Captain Tourmaline—no, Henry; they’d established as much—looked as if getting up from the sofa might require herculean effort. Theo would never ask that of him. The man was a war hero, or something. A survivor, at least. When so many of England’s magicians hadn’t.

  He found and sliced some bread, and some cheese, and a few small sweet apples. Not fancy, but the College dining hours had ended some time ago, and he did not think Henry would mind.

  He leaned a hip against a shelf, and let himself think for a moment.

  The tower’s heavy walls and medieval history tucked itself around him. The kettle warmed in sympathy.

  His kitchen wasn’t much of one really, barely enough space for the shelves and a small stove and an enchanted icebox, but that was perfectly fine; Theo liked the history and the certainty of College rooms, despite the size and his own ability to in theory afford better. This tower had withstood the Clerks’ Riots of four centuries ago and the disastrous ley-line shifting attempts by the passionate wizards of Cromwell’s revolution; he imagined that between the walls and himself, they’d be all right.

  Henry was most assuredly not all right. For someone who’d served under Wellington, the man was dreadful at concealment. Theo had seen him coughing, had seen the distress, had taken Henry’s weight.

  He did not like the idea of someone so inherently kind being so injured. He did not mind in the slightest the sensation of Henry leaning on him; that had felt rather lovely, in fact.