“You’re too kind,” Laurence replied nobly, though he would happily have fought a bear for a decent cup of tea. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”
“Milk and sugar?” There was a definite twinkle in the other man’s eyes.
“Both,” Laurence admitted sheepishly. The room seemed to be getting lighter, and he wondered what could be causing it. He had seen no sign of electricity in the place yet, nor of gaslights.
Then one of the candles on the mantelpiece lit itself.
Laurence blinked, blaming the dim light and his imagination, but then it happened again, the next three candles in the row springing alight one after another.
“What the devil is that?” he asked, fascinated and delighted. As a boy, he’d had a passion for silly gadgets, and this was clearly some delightful trick of a Christmas decoration.
His host looked puzzled. “Why, ’tis magic, of course. What else could it be?”
Chapter Two
“MAGIC?” LAURENCE echoed, laughing. “Don’t spoil the fun. I won’t tell your secrets. Just show me how it works.”
His host frowned, brows drawing together. “I can teach you the incantation, and with time you too may learn to call a flame at will, though I would advise against it, good friend. True power requires an alliance with spirits of another sort—and their whims, as I well know, can prove perilous.”
But Laurence was already on his feet examining the candles on the mantelpiece. He could see no obvious fuses or wires, no hint of hidden flints to light a spark. It was simply a candle, burning in an old-fashioned candlestick. He lifted it up, examining the base for clues, and found nothing.
Well, that was the nature of a magic trick, he told himself uneasily. The secret wasn’t supposed to be obvious.
Behind him, his host laughed, warm and amused. “Why, sir, are you of the sort to come to the house of a wizard and claim all his spells are the result of mere tricks and devices? Fie on you for lack of imagination!”
“The house of a wizard?” Laurence put the candlestick down. He turned around warily. That had sounded quite sincere. Perhaps there was more wrong with this man than a little harmless eccentricity brought on by the war.
“Of course—was that not why you sought me out? I am Avery.”
“I took a wrong turn and couldn’t find my way back to the station, and now the train has gone without me. I’m not part of whatever….” He stopped for words, and a reassuring thought occurred to him. “I apologize if I have interrupted some private game or tradition, but I am quite simply lost. I should be on my way.” He stepped toward the door.
“No!” the stranger—Avery—snapped, and every candle in the room blazed up into a pillar of shining light. In the sudden flare, Avery too shone, his light brown hair golden, and gold too in his eyes. “Out of this house do not desire to go!”
Laurence jumped then clenched his fists. He wasn’t one to be scared by parlor tricks. “If you will excuse me, I would like to get back to London tonight.”
“To London?” Avery said. Suddenly the flames sank down to their previous levels. “Why, ’tis near twenty leagues, and night is upon us. You cannot—”
“I damn well can,” Laurence snapped back. Then he added more honestly, “If you’ll point me in the direction of the station, that is.”
Avery bowed his head, saying, “I had forgotten the trains—I am still not quite accustomed to their passing. Nonetheless, I will walk you to the station, if you so wish.”
“Thank you.” Laurence wasn’t sure what to say next. He didn’t quite know what was going on here.
“However, although I will not stay you if you truly wish to depart, are you certain there will be another train? I admit I do not understand the patterns and rules of their passing, but the hour grows late, and the snow is deep.”
He wasn’t wrong. Damn it.
Avery took a wary step closer. “I promise I mean you no harm. It has been so very long since I had company in this house, and I fear I have forgotten all I once knew about keeping company with my fellows.”
Laurence hesitated.
“Unless you have family waiting for you,” Avery said, looking dismayed. “I will not keep you from those you love.”
Laurence studied him. Strange and a little frightening he might be, but he had opened his home, rushed to make Laurence welcome. If he was mad, it seemed a benign enough form of madness.
“I have no one.” He held out his hand. “Laurence Payne.”
Avery’s grasp was warm and strong. “I am glad to meet you, sir. Avery Copland, forever of this parish.”
“And you are a wizard?” Laurence arched his brow to turn it into a shared joke.
“A herbalist by trade and a seeker after wisdom, though they called me a warlock at the end, before my reputation forced me to flee London for this place, with my kin, my books, and barely coin enough to purchase this land.” His expression shifted, suddenly sober. “Even I am not sure quite what I am now. ’Tis unwise to dabble in the affairs of fairies. They are not wrong to call us mortals fools.”
Laurence opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. The man was a harmless loon, by all appearances, and there was no point upsetting him with the application of logic to his madness. Instead he just said amicably, “I’ll remember that.”
Copland—no, it was easier to think of him as Avery—grinned, a quick flash of white teeth. Whatever he claimed, he had certainly had the benefit of modern dentistry.
Or magic.
But no, Laurence would not be drawn into this. He could keep the man company without losing touch with reality himself, perhaps even find out enough about him to offer some professional help. Relaxing, he sat down again.
Avery’s smile brightened, and he dropped back into his own chair, stretching out his legs and regarding Laurence with wide eyes, clearly contemplative.
Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Laurence said, “Don’t let me keep you from what you have planned for your evening.”
“Nothing of interest, I assure you. Will you stay, then?”
“If the offer still stands.”
“It does.” Avery tilted his head, blatantly curious. “But who are you, Laurence Payne, blown to my door by the storm? A soldier?”
“Navy medical,” Laurence said and then shrugged. “Or I was. War’s over.”
“God be thanked,” Avery said with sincerity. “And what are you now?”
Laurence’s heart sank. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m nothing now.” And wasn’t that a despondent thought? What was he going to do with the rest of his life? He could retrain, he supposed, but as what? There was no place in the world for a doctor with a broken brain.
Avery’s expression was sympathetic, but he didn’t ask any more questions, and Laurence was glad of it. It was pleasant just to sit and listen to the fire crackle without the knowing eyes of nurses or the vague ones of fellow patients upon him. It was what he’d hoped for from his club, but without the awkward stilted conversations of sailors on land.
And then, to his embarrassment, his stomach growled.
Avery laughed, not unkindly, and rose to his feet. “As good a sign as any. I can cook a meal for us if you wish to eat. It will be a simple meal, I fear.”
“What, no airy spirits to prepare your food?” Laurence asked drily.
Avery grinned at him. He had dimples, which made him all the more unthreatening. “Since my magic causes you such distress, friend, I will do without their aid.”
Laurence laughed, acknowledging the hit, and said, “Then let me help. I’m no chef, but I can boil water without burning it.”
Avery shook his head and clapped a hand to his chest. “You are my guest.”
“An uninvited and unexpected one,” Laurence pointed out. “Come on. Show me your kitchen and put me to work.”
A glimmer of moonlight shone in the kitchen window as Avery hung his lantern on a hook by the door. A candle on the windowsill sprung alight. Then the flame dwindled rather sheepishly and went out.