“And if it doesn’t work?”
Then I’m screwed, I thought, but didn’t say. I’d shocked her enough for one day. “Then I start looking for another heir. But that’s a long process, and I don’t have a lot of time—”
“No. It’s the irony of our existence, that even we never seem to have enough.” We shared a look of mutual understanding, and brief though it was, it warmed me more than the tea. There were very few people who truly understood what this job was like, and what it required of you. But Gertie did.
Which I guessed was why, after a brief pause, she nodded. “Very well. Leave her here with me when you return, and we shall see what she’s made of.”
I felt a weight lift off my shoulders that I hadn’t even realized was there.
And then slam straight back into place with her next words. “And now that that’s settled, you may give me your version of what happened last night.”
I groaned inwardly, and almost outwardly. There were very few things I wanted to discuss less than last night. But I’d come here for advice, which she couldn’t provide if she didn’t know what was going on.
I womaned up and told her, with a few exceptions—like the exact details of the attack in the tub. By the time I finished, I was hoarse and feeling crappy again, sitting on the bed and nursing a cup of by-now lukewarm tea. And Gertie was looking as unhappy as I’d ever seen her.
Which was saying a lot.
“Let me see if I understand,” she began heavily. “You’ve been in this house less than twelve hours and you have been attacked three times?”
“Maybe attacked. I’m not completely sure about the second one.”
“You were sure enough to go down to the basement in the middle of the night, without telling anyone!”
“It’s a library, and I did tell—"
“Not that you were going last night!” Gertie looked disgruntled. “I should have assigned a you a keeper!”
“Wouldn’t have helped. Rhea was with me, and she only made it worse.”
“Yes, which is interesting.”
That was one word for it, I thought grimly, and drank tea.
Gertie kept talking, and I tried to listen, I really did. But my head hurt and my stomach wasn’t much happier. The tea had settled the queasiness, but now it was busy reminding me that I hadn’t had breakfast—or dinner, either, since I’d skipped it, or lunch since I’d lost most of it.
To make matters worse, some guy was down in the street, yelling at people about pies. I would like a pie, I thought longingly. Especially how they made them here, with pork and savory jelly, or a nice beef one, with tender chunks of meat in a rich gravy. I didn’t see how it could be called progress when, once upon a time, you had people who brought pies to your house, and society somehow decided people didn’t need that anymore? I mean, what the hell?
But, yeah, a pie would be perfect right about—
“Cassandra!”
I blinked, and tore my eyes away from the window. “Yes?”
“Are you listening to me?”
I can’t help it when you yell, I didn’t say, because things were bad enough. “Yes, of course.”
“Good. Then we are agreed.”
“Um. Yes?”
Gertie narrowed her eyes at me. “We are agreed,” she said ponderously, “that there is a chance that at least two—the first and the third—of your attacks are directly attributable to the spell you are under, and possibly the second as well, for all I know. That’s the problem with old enchantments. If you don’t have a grimoire to tell you what they do, you can end up in a world of trouble!”
“There’s no grimoire.”
“I am aware. We shall therefore have to sort this out for ourselves. In fact, I think it shall serve admirably as your next lesson—”
Shit.