Cold Burn of Magic
Page 27

But best of all, a door to the left opened onto a private bathroom—one with a sunken tub in the middle of the white marble floor. My own private bathtub with hot, running water. Heaven—absolute heaven.
I started grinning almost as big and wide as Mo was right now. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Except for the whole putting-my-life-on-the-line-for-a-complete-stranger thing. But my mom had done it countless times. I could manage it, too.
“I assume that you are pleased with the room?” Reginald asked in a bland tone.
“It’s all right,” I said in a nonchalant voice. “I suppose that it will do.”
“That’s my girl,” Mo whispered.
Reginald rolled his eyes, the most emotion I’d seen him show so far.
I strolled over to the far right side of the room, where a series of French doors opened onto a large balcony. Through the glass, I could see the whole of Cloudburst Falls spread out below. I would have gone outside and gaped at the view, but I was all too aware of Reginald and Mo watching me, so I forced myself to turn away.
My gaze caught on a long table next to the doors. A structure made of ebony wood that resembled an oversized doll’s house covered much of the table. Actually, it looked more like some ramshackle, rundown trailer in one of the neighborhoods on the poor side of town. Several windows were broken, the wood was splintered in places, and a couple of shingles had been ripped off the roof, even though they were no bigger than curls of sawdust. The trailer also featured a wraparound porch with several missing boards. The porch was sagging onto the stubby lawn that spread out around it. I squinted. Were those tiny honeybeer cans littering the fingernail-high grass?
“Is that a pixie house?” I asked.
“Yes, you’ll have your own personal pixie,” Reginald said. “Miss Claudia thought that it would be helpful to have someone around to see to your needs, day or night. His name is Oscar.”
I huffed. No doubt the pixie had orders to spy on me and report my every move back to Claudia. That’s what I would have done if I’d taken in a strange girl.
I bent down, trying to peer inside the windows, but all of the miniature black shades had been drawn. Either Oscar wasn’t home, or he didn’t want to talk to anyone.
“You don’t want to do that,” Reginald said, a warning note in his clipped voice. “Oscar doesn’t like people trying to peek in through his windows. He’s been known to stick his sword into anyone who tries.”
I drew back. Pixie swords were hardly bigger than needles, but the weapons were often dipped in poison, like copper crusher venom, since that was the only hope pixies had of defeating larger mortals, magicks, and monsters. Either way, I had no desire to get stabbed in the eye.
So I examined the rest of the table. Besides the trailer and yard, small wildflowers dotted another patch of grass that was cordoned off by an ebony fence that led over to a barn, as if it was part of a western dude ranch. Inside the corral, a small, green tortoise snoozed in a patch of sunlight streaming in through the windows. Many pixies kept small pets, like tortoises and spiders, the same way that mortals and magicks kept dogs and cats. A hand-painted sign on the front of the corral gate read TINY, which I assumed was the tortoise’s name. I’d have to remember to find some treats for Tiny. Oscar, too.
Once I’d seen everything in the bedroom itself, I walked over and opened the closet door, expecting it to be empty.
But it wasn’t.
Jeans, shirts, sweaters, and shoes crowded into the space, and a faint, floral perfume drifted over to me. A belt curled up on a table in the middle of the closet read ASHLEY in bright, shiny, bedazzled letters.
And just like that, I saw the room as the prison it truly was.
I blinked, and Reginald was there, expertly shouldering me out of the way and shutting the closet door.
“Sorry about that, miss. I had been told that Oscar had already boxed up all of Ashley’s things and put them into storage until they can be sent to one of the local charities. She didn’t have any relatives, you see. I will have to speak to him about this severe dereliction of duty.”
He shot a dark, angry glare at the pixie house. Looked like Reggie and Oscar weren’t the best of friends.
I considered making a snide comment about Claudia not wasting any time in replacing Ashley, but the tension and sorrow in Reginald’s face made me bite back my snarky words. Well, at least when I died, they wouldn’t have as much stuff to get rid of.
The idea was more chilling than I’d thought it would be.
Reginald cleared his throat. “If there’s nothing else . . .”
I shook my head.
“Breakfast is at nine in the dining hall,” Reginald said. “After that, you will accompany Mister Devon as he goes about his Family duties for the day. Grant will most likely go with you, along with Felix.”
“What sort of duties?” I asked.
His thin chest puffed up with pride. “Mister Devon is the Family bruiser. Mister Lawrence appointed him to the position late last year when Devon turned nineteen. Mister Devon oversees all of the guards and all of the protection services that the Family provides. He is second in command to Miss Claudia.”
No wonder someone wanted Devon dead. Taking out a Family bruiser would be a great way to make a name for yourself.
“After Mister Devon finishes with his duties for the day, you will return to the mansion,” Reginald said. “After that, you’ll have a few free hours to yourself until bedtime.”