I Wanna Take You For a Ride

“Okay, fine. If you won’t explain, can you at least tell me who this ‘Ms. Proctor’ is?” John asked, after several failed attempts to get Moira to divulge the identity of Damocles and why his sword was hanging over his head. He had since stood up, and the two were on their way back to the entrance hall.

“Lillian Proctor, High Arcanist,” Moira replied. “She is peerless in her understanding of the arcane. I’m not surprised she was responsible for uncovering what happened.”

“So if she knows, should I expect a hard time if we ever meet?” John asked. What little he knew of the woman drew an image of someone he’d likely find at a Wentworth family reunion.

“Likely not,” Moira replied. “Lillian doesn’t much care for the faith of our Order, which includes reverence of me. Also, she’s a bit… strange.”

John quirked a brow.

“What kind of strange?” he asked. “Kind of a weirdo strange, or scary strange?”

“The former,” Moira said, adding, “mostly.”

“Great.” John rolled his eyes. “Well, hopefully we’ll never meet.”

Whoever Lillian Proctor was, she had to have some serious talent to be the High Anything of the Order without actually adhering to worshiping the Lady. John wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. Either way, the odds of crossing her path were pretty low.

“John?” Moira asked. They had arrived at the double door to the entrance hall. Her hand had reached for one of the doorknobs, but she had stopped short of opening it.

“Yeah?” he replied. She had pulled his mind back from wandering away from the events of the day.

“For what it’s worth, I…” she trailed off, never turning to look at John as she spoke. Even looking at her from a rear angle, John could see a forlorn expression on her face. It swiftly stiffened as her eyes rose. “Nevermind.”

John would have voiced protest, but Moira punctuated the moment by swinging open both doors with enough **** to generate a breeze, ending the conversation.

Two familiar faces stood at attention on the other side. The first, most dreadfully recognizable, was Reginald, pleasant faced as always. The second was the pretty brunette maid he’d seen every now and then, Anwyn. It seemed like she was pretty high up on the chain of command as far as servants went, but he wasn’t sure of her exact role. What he did know was that she was always courteous, and dotingly sweet to Moira. She was also the first member of the staff since coming through the gate to make eye contact with John and offer him a polite smile. She offered a graceful curtsy, partnered with a bow from the Head Butler beside her.

“My lady,” she said, then gasped in a surprisingly dainty fashion. “My lady, your hair!”

Anwyn rushed over to Moira and immediately began to fuss with the ragged ends on Moira’s freshly shorn locks. The frown on her face suggested that she was witnessing a tragedy for the ages, periodically finding something new to be distraught about.

“It’s fine, Anwyn,” Moira said, seemingly sharper than she’d intended. She self-consciously pulled the ragged ends out of her maid’s fingers and shielded herself from further probing. “It was a necessary sacrifice. It will grow back.”

Anwyn still frowned, more of a pout, really, but stopped her preening.

“If you insist, my lady, but you must come with me, regardless,” she said, wrapping an arm around the Warden’s, holding her in place with the other. John noticed, with guilty pleasure, the way her shapely bust squished against Moira’s shoulder. “I’ve drawn a hot bath for you, and then we’ll see to relieving you of your stresses.”

If the slight lilt to Anwyn’s last word wasn’t enough to clue John in, the way Moira’s face turned redder than her hair was. She looked towards John, mortified. He did his absolute best to play dumb, but there was no way to hide the way his cheeks were swiftly matching hers in hue. Anwyn caught his eye and, if he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn there was a devious amusement in her smile.

“Anwyn!” Moira shouted, utterly aghast. She attempted to wrench herself free, but Anwyn wasn’t having it. “P-please, I can take care of myself! This is hardly necessary!”

“Nonsense, my lady,” she said, all but dragging Moira towards the stairs. “I’ll not have you in such a state, not on my watch. Now, let’s hurry before the water cools.”

Moira continued her stammered protests, but allowed herself to be whisked away without so much as a ‘Bye.’ John was certain she was strong enough to get away if she really wanted to, but he couldn’t imagine Moira resorting to such **** on her own servants. All John could do was watch her go, taking care not to let his jaw drop.

That was… something.

“Mr. Newman,” Reginald said, shattering the bewildered silence. John’s head swiveled in alarm. For a moment, he had forgotten the Butler was still there.

“Yes, sir! Wait,” John fumbled. Reginald was clearly a very important member of the household, but he was still a servant. He had no clue what level of authority the Butler carried. “Yes… mister? Just regular yes?”

“You will report back here tomorrow at 4pm for a consultation with High Arcanist Proctor, followed by your usual instruction under Dame Carpenter,” Reginald said, not so much as twitching an eyebrow in response to John’s inarticulate stammering. “I will accompany you, as directed by the Lord Protector. For the nonce, you will find a guardsman waiting in the main drive to chauffeur you home. This way, if you would.”

Reginald gestured towards the gargantuan front doors and ushered John to them, opening one with minimal effort. John, as if there was one final trap waiting to catch him, followed with tentative footsteps. He only relaxed after finally crossing the threshold to meet the chilly twilight air.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, pausing to add, “...Reginald,” with an experimental tone, as if he had never heard the name before and was using it for the first time. “Good night?”

“Good evening, Mr. Newman,” Reginald replied, voice as flat as his expression. The door swung shut and, with a solid kachunk, locked tight. John exhaled all of the stress of having been under such constant, intense scrutiny and turned to face the long flight of stairs down to the driveway.

The warm glow of the lamps illuminating the path contrasted the reality of how cold it was. John shivered and tucked his arms closer to his chest. He realized that he had still been wearing his combat gear the entire time, having never considered changing amidst the storm that followed his and Moira’s return. He took the opportunity to re-equip his school uniform while he descended the stairs. It didn’t actually help with the chill at all, but it was markedly more comfortable than layers of leather stiffened by the frosty air. Eager to get out of the cold, John quickened his pace.

There was a slight hitch in that plan, considering there was no car waiting for him at the bottom. With the sun well below the horizon, John didn’t enjoy the thought of waiting for his ride as the sky grew increasingly frigid and dark.

There’s probably a car right around the corner, waiting just long enough for me to start walking back up the stairs before pulling up. I’m sure they’re enjoying making me sweat it out. Or, uh, the opposite of that. Whatever.

Fortunately, John’s assumptions were proven false as a black coup swung into view and cruised down the driveway, faster than John would have thought professional. He recognized the hood emblem as one of the fancy brands, but not which one it was. His dad would probably know, but he never managed to impress his love of automobiles onto his son. Regardless, the car rolled to a stop with the passenger window wide open. Inside, a familiar blonde leaned into view.

“Get in, loser, we’re going to Applebee’s,” Erica said.

“...Seriously?” John asked.

“No. I’m taking you home, dumbass,” she replied, smirking.

“What happened to the guy who was supposed to get me?” John asked while reaching for the door.

“I took over. I thought you’d prefer me over some random guardsman,” she answered. “Unless you want me to go get him?”

“No, thank you,” John said, clambering into the car. He all but melted the moment he sank into the plush seat and relished the warm, climate controlled interior of the car. For the first time in several days, John was comfortable. Lazily, he tilted his head towards Erica. “How do you know where I live?”

“It’s on file,” she said. Erica shifted the car into gear and was about to go before her eyes flicked over to John and she added, “Seatbelt.”

“Yes, ma’am.” John dutifully reached back to buckle himself in. It wasn’t that he was the sort who normally ignored seatbelts, but that he had temporarily forgotten they existed. A sharp breeze reminded him to close the window while he was at it.

The locks clicked shut and Erica eased the car forward. Overhead, the last dregs of twilight yielded the sky to the deep blue of night.

Neither of them spoke for the first few minutes. John didn’t know what to say, and Erica was clearly willing to give him some time to figure it out. In the meantime, he leaned his head against the cold glass and stared out the window. Stars peeked between the trees that lined the private road leading to the Brighton manor, greater in number than John had expected. Looking up, he could see that, in this brief stretch of emptiness, the lack of synthetic light gave the smaller and weaker stars a chance to shine. There were countless more than he could usually see from his quiet little suburb, let alone in the city proper. For a moment, he experienced a fleeting trace of childlike wonder. It was, in a word, nice.

“I’m glad you got out okay,” Erica said, breaking the silence. John pulled his gaze from the sky and sat up, turning to face her. “What’s the verdict?”

“Reginald is going to be stalking me any time I’m anywhere near the manor,” John said with a sigh, “and I have to meet with some kind of High Arcanist lady tomorrow.”

“That’s… not all that bad, actually,” Erica said, surprise evident in her voice. “It could have been worse. Way worse.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” John said. “I was expecting to be drawn and quartered. Maybe exiled and plugged with mana suppressors or something at best.”

“The Order doesn’t **** people to ****, but otherwise you’re not that far off.” Erica grimaced. John shivered in his seat.

“I think I’d rather not know the details,” he said.

“I don’t blame you, dude,” Erica replied. The moment hung heavily in the air and Erica’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Look, just forget about it. You’re alive and you get to go home. You still have the option of dropping everything and living a normal life. That’s something not many mages have, and something a lot of them wish they did,” she said. John could hear the leather on the wheel whine in complaint between Erica’s fingers before she relaxed her grip.

“People keep bringing that up,” John said. “Why would anyone be so eager to throw away crazy magical powers? Like, I get it’s a dangerous life, trust me, but my magic isn’t even all that impressive and I can’t imagine wanting to throw it away, let alone someone as badass as you or Moira, or even Adelle.”

Erica’s eyes remained fixed on the road, but her gaze turned stony and frigid. There was a faint chill in the air, as if the heat had been lowered a notch, but the dial hadn’t changed.

“Having a home, having a family,” she said, “having somewhere you feel safe, where you can drop everything and just exist without anyone expecting anything from you. The kind of things you don’t think about day to day. Most people don’t realize how much they need them until they’re taken away. Don’t take what you have for granted.”

John swallowed. Erica was rarely this serious, which made her stone faced visage all the more imposing. John had to admit that he’d thought about going home and seeing his mom a few times now while he was in danger, but wasn’t it natural for a rookie like him to want to run, crying for mommy every time things got too difficult? He wouldn’t. Maybe last month he would have, but John felt it was long past time he stopped relying on his mother for-

“FUCK!!”

Erica nearly leapt out of her seat, sending the car both swerving to the left and into a powerful jolt as she simultaneously lost control and hit the brakes. She was quick to course correct, but not quick enough to satisfy the driver behind them, who voiced his discontent with a long, loud honk.

“Holy hell!” she exclaimed. “What happened?”

“I was so scared shitless the entire time I forgot to ask about my mom,” John said. He was so stunningly disappointed in himself that the near accident didn’t even register.

“Son of a…”