The laugh that burst from him was unlike any he had ever made before. Or perhaps for as long as he could remember. It was full of happiness. And the kind of bliss he felt in his heart he knew was unique to his life. He stepped toward her, and before she could react, he cradled her head in his hand and kissed her.
He had promised not to force himself upon her. And to that, he would always keep his vow. But he had to kiss her. He had to. When he broke away, her eyes were lidded, and the perfect emerald orbs that dwelled there were dark with shy desire. Her chest rose and fell quicker than before.
He watched as her cheeks turned red, and he forced himself not to smile in pride once more. How he wished to lay her down on the sofa by the wall and take her, then and there. But no. He made a promise he intended to keep. Yet with each passing day, he was convinced she would come to him in time.
Focus, you old fool. You are nigh over nine centuries and yet you are acting as though you are but fourteen. “What would you have me do for you, my considerate magi? What is the one power you could possibly wish for?”
“There is no way you control the world, Johann. Do you mean to say you command all the magical forces of the universe?”
“No. I merely dabble in them.” He smirked. “Name it. If you could have such power—any power at all—for what would you wish? To fly? To speak with the birds? Name it, and I shall not only demonstrate the gift, I shall teach it to you.”
She considered his offer in half seriousness. He knew there was a part of her that was merely playing along with him. She did not believe him—but she would. She would before the night was out. If his little magi wished to command the forces of the unseen world, it was time for her to believe in it.
When she seemed to settle on a decision, the words that left her mouth stopped his heart for a moment. Everything in him ran cold as ice. He learned, right in that moment, a valuable lesson he would never, ever forget.
Never underestimate Marguerite Valard.
With unwavering determination, she spoke seven words that unraveled all his careful plans.
“I wish to speak to the dead.”
* * *
One would have thoughtshe had stabbed Johann in the stomach aside Leopold’s still-bandaged gift. He flinched and recoiled, turning his back to her as he walked away half a dozen paces. “Marguerite, you do not know for what you ask.”
“Can you do it or not, oh mighty sorcerer?” Her strange numbness seemed to have snapped and given way to a kind of cold, steely anger. She did not know for what reason she was mad, but it was there. I am angry at the world for having done this to me. And I want to say goodbye to my friend. I wish to ask my father for his advice.
“Necromancy is a dark art, princess. It is not to be practiced lightly.” His hand twitched and clenched into a fist briefly before releasing. “It unsettles the soul to perform it.”
“Will it harm you to do such a deed? To summon someone from the beyond?”
He hesitated for a long moment before nearly imperceptibly shaking his head. His words were a dire whisper. “Choose again, I beg you.”
“Will you pay some terrible price? Will you be lessened in any way for doing as I ask?” She stepped toward him. “Tell me why you dread this act so, and I will relent.”
An even longer stretch of silence followed. When he finally broke it, his words landed with the weight of boulders. “What you will learn from those you wish for me to call will only cause you grief and pain.”
“But you can do it?”
The quiet rush of the fire in the hearth of the library was the only thing that stretched between them for what seemed like minutes. “Yes.”
“Johann…do not lie to me, I beg you. Are you a necromancer? Do you command the dead?”
Silence. He turned to look at her, and the expression on his face made her take a step back. It was not angry, it was not threatening, but the intensity of it was like finding herself standing unexpectedly next to a blaze. “I can do many things, my princess.”
Reaching out, she gripped the back of a chair that sat at the table in the center of the room. She needed something to steady herself with. “Can you command the dead, Johann Faust?”
His jaw twitched. Lifting his head, those liquid silver eyes of his bore into hers. Finally, like a gavel, the word fell. “Yes.”
“You denied it before. You lied.”
Something in him snapped. He growled in anger and whirled from her, beginning to pace. It seemed out of pace with their conversation, and she did not know what had upset him so. “What I study is forbidden. The magic I work would have me hanged or burned. As it is, I am chased from one corner of the globe to the other, forced to change my name, give up all that I know, and slip into hiding! Kings and queens are happy to have my services as an alchemist, but the moment they learn my true nature, I am a foul demon and a fiend. Think on the life I live, my love, I beg you, and take some modicum of pity upon me.”
She paused. “Change your name?”
“Of all of what I just said, that is what you focus upon?” Running a hand over his face, he sighed. “Yes, Marguerite. I have had many names. Many lives.”
“Johann Faust is not your real name…?”