“Let?”
“I do not trust my colleagues in this matter.” Stephen’s voice was thin. “That’s the size of it, Lucien. I think that too many people would want a piece of you, for what they can do through you, and I couldn’t protect you from the best of them, let alone the worst.”
Crane ran his fingers through Stephen’s hair. “But would this bloody magpie business have to get out? Couldn’t your partner explain for you without discussing the specifics?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know. It would be a lot to put on her. It would be her duty to pass it on the Council, of course, but she makes her own judgements. She might cover for me if I told her everything. It’s just…” A long pause. “I don’t want to do that.”
“I thought you trusted her.”
“I do,” Stephen said. “We trust each other with our lives. Literally. If I were to tell anyone, it would be her. But she still has me on a watch list, because she has to accept that I might turn. And I still don’t want to tell her, because it’s safer if nobody knows but me.” His lips curved into something the same shape as a smile. “One can’t be sentimental about practitioners, you see. Anyone can fall.”
Crane shut his eyes against the misery in Stephen’s face. “I don’t want you sacrificing yourself to protect me. I’m not subject to your bloody Council.”
“Let’s keep it that way. And I’m not sacrificing myself. I’m not abusing my powers, I’m not a warlock, and I won’t be caught, because I’m not doing anything wrong. This watch-list business is a stupid misunderstanding, nothing more. It’s just that it limits my options if I should run into trouble. That’s all I’m worried about.”
It clearly wasn’t all. Crane sighed. “I can’t stop you from being arrested, I suppose, but if you are, you do know that I will apply the entire resources of my wealth to dealing with it. Including the services of a firm of lawyers who are more like moray eels than human beings.”
“Yes.”
Crane frowned at the flat tone. “Stephen, I mean it. I won’t let you go to trial, let alone prison. I can prevent that and I will.”
“I know.” Stephen wasn’t looking at him.
“I’ll give my lawyers your name,” Crane went on. “They’re entirely discreet. Then you can use them at will, without going through me.”
“Though still dependent on you.”
“Welcome to life for everyone else,” Crane snapped, somewhat offended by Stephen’s unappreciative response. “At least I’ve got money. There are plenty of people with neither money nor power who have to deal with this shit, so—”
“I know. Sorry. Thank you.”
“I don’t want your thanks. Just stop trying to stand alone when you don’t have to. Accept some damned help, now and again. The rest of us do.”
Stephen smiled tiredly at him and curled up under his arm, into his chest, but he didn’t reply, and within a few moments, he was asleep.
Chapter Five
Crane woke the next morning to the sound of Merrick bringing him a cup of coffee. He opened an eye and registered that there was only one cup on the tray at the same time as he became conscious of the empty bed around him. He muttered a curse.
“Problem?” enquired his henchman.
“No. Nothing.”
“Mr. Day didn’t turn up, then?” said Merrick, homing in on his thoughts as ever.
“Been and gone.”
“Came and went?”
“Oh, shut up.” Crane sat up and sipped his coffee. God knew when Stephen had left, he hadn’t even stirred, but the little sod had ways of moving around silently. There would, he knew, be no note. There never was.
And that was perfectly reasonable, because they were both free men who could do as they pleased. He would rather have found Stephen’s small form curled under his arm, would definitely rather be having a slow, leisurely morning in bed with him, watching the laughter and the lust warm his tawny eyes to gold, but doubtless he was busy. Crane had learned not even to ask about his work, counting it only as “busy” or “not busy”.
They really had needed to talk more about bloody Rackham. That was the only problem. Otherwise Stephen could come and go—thank you, Merrick—as he pleased, and it was absurd of Crane to feel hurt, let alone this sliver of fear that this time he wouldn’t come back, that the whole damned magpie business and Rackham’s blackmail might make Stephen decide that life would be safer lived alone.
Rackham. Crane’s eyes narrowed as he watched Merrick move round the room. “Any luck yesterday?”
“Not a dicky bird.” Merrick picked up a discarded sock. “No gambling, no junk debts. Nothing nobody’s talking about. If Mr. Rackham’s got himself in trouble, I reckon it’s a shaman thing.”