Pentagrams and Pomegranates
Part I: An Ideal Husband
Magical Diary
Heroine x Hieronymous Grabiner; Damien Ramsey
By Gabihime at gmail dot com
Chapter Ten: Hostages to Fortune
They were both quiet as they returned to his (their?) rooms on the second floor of the main building. Amoretta said nothing, but she was grateful of the fact that when she had asked, he had taken her hand firmly, as if she were a little girl who required help crossing the street. He did not let go of her until they were safe in the familiar, bare comfort of the room that was walled by books.
He locked and warded the door, sprinkled his salt, and then briefly looked over his shoulder at her, where she stood behind him, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked lost.
"Sit," Grabiner said. "And show me your shoulder."
She sat mutely and pushed back her capelet, her eyes unfocused, but trained on her feet. She pulled away the dressings from her shoulder almost mechanically, although she could not help but wince as she did so.
He frowned.
"I told you to come to me when you're in pain," he said, his voice very low.
Amoretta nodded, pressing her lips together until they were white. "I'm sorry," she said and she meant it. She was the sort of girl who apologizes when she has been hurt. "It's just been so much. I haven't really been able to think. I feel a little sick."
The wound was angry and red, and still looked fresh, although by now it was days old. The dressings were wet. It had bled again.
Grabiner patiently set his fingertips against her skin, arraying them around the wound like the points on a star. He struggled with himself over whether or not to speak before he began the spell.
He spoke.
"It's his way of exercising control over you," he said, and his voice was so tight it was like cloth twisted so many times it gives the appearance of steel. "The mark, the dreams, the pain, and now this letter. He's certain that if he assaults you relentlessly, that eventually you will accept him. He doesn't care if your mind and your will are broken in the process. Perhaps he even expects them to be. He wants you docile, so you won't be able to resist what he wants from you. He's been cultivating this image in your mind of Damien Ramsey the devoted protector since the moment he met you. You are," here Grabiner sighed and finished perhaps differently than he had intended, "Who you are, so you never once suspected that he was the one creating the torments he protected you from."
"What do you mean?" Amoretta asked, her brow knitting together.
Grabiner brushed his left hand across his forehead briefly and laughed. It was a hard laugh, a little frantic, a little exasperated. He kept his right hand on her shoulder.
"You still don't realize it, even now," he said, and his voice wasn't bitter so much as it was resigned. "The letter you wrote for him during freshman initiation, that dreadful letter that turned up delivered to me instead, did it never occur to you that he was the one who left it among my things?"
"But he said - " Amoretta interrupted, distressed.
"And we have established that he is a liar and a scoundrel," Grabiner interrupted grimly. "I know what story he gave to you, because he told a similar thing to me. I didn't really consider it at the time. The story seemed reasonable enough, but of course, the third party, the one who stole the letter and gave it to me, that figure was entirely fabricated. That boy created a situation where you would be distressed, and then he 'rescued' you from it."
"Oh," Amoretta said weakly. "I suppose that makes sense."
"I don't have my hands on any other circumstances that fit into this pattern, other than the most glaringly obvious," he gently pressed his fingertips into her shoulder. "But I am sure there were others."
It was impossible to miss the fact that Amoretta went pink and ducked her head.
"What is it?" he prompted, feeling a little worn around the edges.
"Oh," she began haltingly. "It's just that, earlier, I guess in February some time, some of my underthings turned up," she swallowed so hard it was more like a gulp, "Well, in the quad. Some sophomore boys were playing catch with them."
Grabiner's tone was stiff and terrifying when he demanded, "Would you care to repeat that, please?"
Amoretta covered her face with her hands in embarrassment, "No, I would not!" she cried with certainty. "It wasn't even cute underwear. It was kitten underwear, like what a little kid would wear. I only have one pair." She shook her head, as if determined to be truthful, "Well, two pairs. I just like them because they're cute, but not like, underwear cute. They're kitten cute," she was sniffling and rambling somewhat incoherently now. "Anyway, after that happened, Damien came up to me, all concerned that I was being bullied," she sniffled again as she sobered a little. "But, how did he know? I hadn't told anyone, and it had just happened. Even if he saw boys throwing kitten panties around, he couldn't have known they were mine." She paused and then one of her pale hands gripped his elbow tightly. "Do you think it's that obvious that I wear kitten panties? I mean, that you could tell just by looking at me?"
"Amoretta," Grabiner broke through her distress with a single clear, cool word. When he had the full attention of her large, dark eyes, he continued. "This was another situation that the boy concocted so as to provide you comfort. He wanted to shame and embarrass you. Is that not obvious?" His tone turned dark and slightly accusatory as he demanded, "Why was this not brought to my attention?"
Amoretta ducked her head again, embarrassed. "I talked to Professor Potsdam about it. She's the one who, well, returned my panties. She cast a spirit echoes spell on them, and it turned up a lot of responses. Too many, really," Amoretta shook her head. "They were all muddled up, so we couldn't really tell anything about the person who might have taken them in the first place. I guess it was like a crime drama, when the murder weapon has got too many fingerprints on it." Amoretta folded her hands in her lap. "Professor Potsdam and I talked about it and we decided it was best not to tell you about it, since, well, sometimes you have a temper - "
Grabiner snorted, but not in good humor.
"Very well, Amoretta," he cut her off. "I understand." He frowned. "Lacking evidence, it would be difficult to know whom to punish. Of course, it is possible to simply punish everyone," he pointed out.
"That's why we didn't tell you," Amoretta lamented, but Grabiner waved her off with his free hand.
"I imagine it hasn't occurred to you," he began seriously, his eyes on her heavily, "That Mr. Ramsey's flight from Iris Academy was rather well-timed."
Amoretta bit her lip.
"What do you mean?" she asked uncertainly. Everything had happened so quickly -
"Since Miss Cochran came forward and admitted outing the secret of our marriage to the public at large, I do not intend to lay that transgression at Mr. Ramsey's door," Grabiner said. "But please keep in mind that he did not move to act upon the possession of that girl's soul until the morning that the news of our marriage was the prime item of student gossip. He knew that you would be facing public ridicule. He knew that you would be upset and vulnerable," here Grabiner looked away, and his voice was thick with shame and anger, "And he counted upon the fact that I would blame you for everything." He closed his eyes before continuing. "It is clear based on what you have told me that Mr. Ramsey was aware that you were married from the time of late January, but he was not sure who had married you. At first he was angry, because he thought he had missed his chance at you, but then," Grabiner continued haltingly, "But then when it became clear that your marriage was not consummated, he knew he still had a chance - a better one, perhaps. So he came to you with apologies and platitudes, and you took him back. He was waiting, Amoretta," Grabiner said coldly, opening his eyes to look at her again. "He was waiting for the information he needed so he could twist the knife. When the news began to break, the night previous to his flight I suppose, he knew he had to act. There were quite a few embroidered rumors about our relationship floating around the academy that day, Amoretta. I am sure you heard some of them yourself," his voice was very carefully controlled. "I cannot swear to it as truth, but I would not be surprised if Mr. Damien Ramsey had not authored one or two of them himself."
Amoretta trembled.
"What does he want from me?" Amoretta whimpered. It was terrifying to know that someone she had trusted had taken such great pains to torment her. It was a betrayal that left her feeling even sicker than she had been before, because Grabiner was correct in all that he had said: Damien had never played one false note from the very beginning of their relationship, because all he had played were false notes.
"He wants you to fear him, and to love him," Grabiner said grimly. "If such a thing as blind worship and dependence can be called love." He briefly raised his fingertips from her wounded shoulder and let his hand rest on her head. "Do not worry," he said quietly. "I will allow neither."
Amoretta nodded slowly, as his words sunk into her skin. Then she raised her hands to pull his from the top of her head down to the line of her cheek, and she leaned against it.
"I don't love him," she said quietly. "I never did. I guess it scares me to think that I might have, that I might have if I hadn't already been in love with you."
When he spoke, his voice was equally quiet. "I'd like to sound virile and triumphant and declare that I would never let you do such a thing, never let you love such a beast as that wretch of a boy, but I know that I have no power in the world to stop you from doing what you've set yourself on doing." He paused, and when he spoke again it was with bare, honest emotion. "So I am glad that I am the one you chose."
Grabiner kept her nose to the grindstone every free moment of the day. If it was not drilling in Latin then it was lessons in how to emulate Harry Houdini taught in the dungeons after regular classes had ended. She was grateful for his care and attention, because she knew that one of the reasons he worked her so hard was so she would have no time to dwell on the elements of her situation that she could not help. It was a strategy that worked well enough. Every night she went to bed so tired that she did not stew about her problems.
But of course, there were times when she had to dwell on them.
On Sunday night she visited the girls in their dorm room and shared the secret of the letter with Virginia and Ellen, after swearing them to discretion on the matter. It would come out eventually. She knew it would. It was impossible that it would not. The fact remained that she was not ready for it to come out now.
Virginia was unhappy, but notably silent. Ellen had quite a lot of things to say, but she no longer suggested that the police ought to be called on either Grabiner or Damien Ramsey. She was not even terribly surprised by the news that Amoretta had two husbands, one of whom was a bad penny: unwanted, but determined to keep turning up.
She did say that she thought that Amoretta ought to have some recourse to protest a union that she wanted no part of.
Amoretta bit her lip. "Professor Potsdam did say that we could call for an inquiry," she said. "But Professor Grabiner said that he thought that it would cause more problems than it solved."
Ellen had nodded slowly at that, thinking.
"I think he's probably right," she said. "I did some reading over the break," she said. "About custom and marriage and law," she flushed a little at Amoretta's inquiring look, "For my own curiosity," she said defensively, then ducked her head, admitting, "I've been worried about you." She shook her head briefly. "So far as I can tell, you only call for an inquiry if there are no other options. Even if you're the victim, if the Magistrates are involved, who knows what they'll turn up. They're keen on doling out punishments too."
It was Virginia who spoke up. "It's the rule of fear," she said. "That's the core of the law. You're both wildseeds, so you can't be expected to know about law and government and all that stuff, and I'm not gonna claim that I'm some kind of expert, but there's one thing you learn when you're a little kid, and that's that you do as you're told so far as the law is concerned, or you disappear. That's the rule of fear." She shook her head. "It's not like a lot of people are put to death or anything. It's that their magic is sealed and their minds are wiped. They disappear from the witch world. Even if you see them again, they're not the person you knew before. They say that if you do something awful enough, they don't just wipe your mind, they do something to it, so you can't think properly any more."
"That sounds like a lobotomy," Ellen said quietly. When Virginia looked confused, Ellen explained. "They take a long needle and they go in through your eye," she touched the corner of her eye with an index finger. "They use a mallet to drive it through the bone, because the bone is thin there, and then they drive the needle into your frontal lobe. They cut it away from the thallus. It's like," she frowned, thinking. "It's like they want to cut you away from your self. They used to do it to all sorts of people who were inconvenient to society: criminals, the poor, mentally handicapped children, young women, minorities, whoever people in positions of power and control wanted to be rid of. It was considered humane," she frowned, clearly angry and disgusted. "They don't really do it any more, thankfully, not in the mundane world, but they were still doing it, even up through the seventies."
Virginia had become excessively uncomfortable during Ellen's calm explanation of transorbital lobotomies, and squirmed in place. When Ellen finally finished speaking, Virginia went on.
"I dunno how they do it, I just know that afterwards you're left to get along on your own, as best you can. We're really lucky that we live in the Free Nations," she said, leaning back to study the plain white ceiling. "Here there isn't any central government to tell magical folks what to do, outside the wishes of the tribal councils. I mean, there are laws of conduct, but they're based on tradition."
"They're socially enforced," Ellen interjected.
Virginia nodded, "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. There're still the international laws, you know, the five abominations, the codes of behavior, the velvet curtain - "
She paused to explain but Ellen was already shaking her head, "We know. That's what they call the oath of secrecy, that the witch world never be revealed to the mundane world: the velvet curtain. We read books."
Virginia shrugged with a brief grin. "Yeah," she said, "I'd heard." She shook her head. "Anyway, those international laws, they're enforced by the Council of Magistrates. That's who Grabby didn't want to get involved, and who ran the trials that Ellen read about. You really don't want to attract their attention unless you absolutely have to. Otherwise you might end up, well - "
"With a lobotomy?" Ellen asked directly, and Virginia looked grim as she nodded.
"Probably not as bad as that," she admitted, "But they might have wiped her mind or sealed her magic. They do that if the person is considered 'a danger to themselves or others.' The Magistrates don't kill people or anything, not really," she said, "I mean, I dunno that I've ever heard of anybody killed on account of anything they've done. One of their tenets is supposed to be that life is held sacred, which is why they don't really kill people."
"They alter their memories," Ellen said. "Or they wipe them entirely. Or they give them lobotomies."
Virginia nodded again. "That's pretty much it. The Council of Magistrates is also responsible for the world spell that keeps the velvet curtain in place. It makes mundane people forget specifics about witch folk. Their minds get confused about it. They really don't remember anything magical for any amount of time, and that's including us," she said. "That's why we can go to the mall in robes and all. People see us, and if they remember us later, they just think that we're weird kids, not magical kids."
Ellen had looked away during this explanation and Amoretta watched her with concern. She knew that things had not been going well between Ellen and her family. Their relationship had been strained before the velvet curtain had fallen between them.
"Anyway," Virginia said with another shrug, "The Free Nations don't have any sort of national ministry or congress or council or anything, so most laws are a lot looser here. You don't need anybody's approval for anything. You can study what you want, I mean, so far as you're not researching the five abominations, and mostly people do whatever they like without worrying much about what people think. Of course, that means life's a little woolly. You hear about duels and stuff, sometimes even fights and brawls, but we have traditional rules for most everything. If you don't abide by tradition, then you're ostracized. That's how things work here." She made a waving motion with one hand. "Some parts of the world, they think of the Free Nations as the wild frontier, like we're all lawless savages. The people who do live here, well, we like it," she said proudly, puffing out her chest a little, as if she had thought of the idea of the Free Nations her very own self. "Together the Free Nations have enough clout that nobody from the old countries can really push us around. A lot of witches live here - a lot of famous ones too, some that have run off from other places, because outlaws and vagabonds can live here fine, so long as they live by our traditions." She stopped her gleeful patriotic tirade to seriously remark, "But the Council of Magistrates? They rule with an iron fist. The only good thing is that the Council isn't headquartered in the Free Nations. They're over in Europe somewhere, Bern or Rome or Prague or some place. I dunno. We've got some Magistrates tasked to us," she said with a nod, "But there're only a few of them and a lot of people in the Free Nations, not counting all the mundanes in North America. As far as I understand it, the Council of Magistrates doesn't really try that hard to keep the witches of the Free Nations at heel. We're a bunch of lawless savages right?" Virginia said with a laugh. "So long as we uphold the velvet curtain, they don't push us very hard. But it's still bad to attract their attention," she warned. "They like to make examples out of people."
Amoretta leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hands. "I wish they taught us some of this stuff in school," she said.
Ellen said, "They do, starting next year. I guess they don't teach freshman because they don't expect us to get in trouble with the law right off." She paused, "Maybe they should reconsider."
"Well," Amoretta said slowly, "When I started at Iris Academy in September, I never imagined that before my first year of school was finished I'd be married," she grimaced, "Twice."
Grabiner was in a growly mood as March came to an end and April began, and so Amoretta resolved to spend her days studying green magic, both to give him some space, and in hopes of broadening her own understanding of the healing magic that was being used to tend her wound. She liked green magic. It was both a calming and exciting thing to study. It was wonderful to be able to bring tangible comfort with her hands, although she still lacked the experience and discipline to control advanced healing spells.
Her own traumatic experience the night Damien had fled the campus had made her acutely aware of how vital an understanding of green magic was. There were times when the thin threads of green woven by skillful fingers were the only things that held a person back from death, and she wanted very much to hold back the hands of death. She had come so close to the terrible void it was as if the smell of it still clung to her skin. She wanted to keep others from it, if she could.
So she studied hard from her books, and carefully tended the little plant that had begun to grow in her own clay pot, one of the projects undertaken by Petunia Potsdam's green magic students.
Although Amoretta was not under his feet during the day, Grabiner regularly checked in on her, to make sure that she was holding up, and was not in pain. She knew Kavus was with her, even when he did not show himself, but somehow it was very steadying to hear Grabiner's voice.
Of course she really didn't hear his voice, because it wasn't as if he left his classrooms and stalked down the hall to find her, to the horrified amazement of all the students in her green magic class and the delighted glee of Petunia Potsdam. Instead, once or twice a day she felt him gently push against her mind, a request for Farspeak.
All right? he would ask.
All right, she would reassure him, and that would be that.
He did not push and he did not pry, but he was true to his word. He was always there.
Although Amoretta had been much troubled by the revelations that Grabiner had shared with her about Damien's behavior, his steady presence in her life was very calming, so much so that when the first of April turned up she had the heart to play a trick.
It wasn't a very wicked trick, but the fact that she was willing to play a trick at all said much about how close they had become. The Amoretta of January could not have imagined playing a practical joke on Hieronymous Grabiner. She had lived in something like fearful, worshipful awe of him.
Now he was someone upon whom she was willing to play jokes. She was also in a unique position among the students of Iris Academy in that she thought she might play a joke on him and live to tell the tale.
With this in mind, she very carefully switched the contents of two of the bottles in the bathroom, so that Grabiner's conditioner was replaced with her own. Since he took his showers first thing in the morning, and she took her baths at night, it was an easy thing to accomplish without suspicion.
On Tuesday morning he emerged from the bathroom with beautifully glossy hair that smelled of strawberry yogurt.
Amoretta complimented him on it immediately, sitting on the bed as she slowly pulled on her socks, lingering over them so she had more time to watch him. She savored the triumph with some glee, looking both pleased and smug at once.
"I suppose you're impressed with yourself," he said grimly, pulling on his cloak.
"Very," she admitted with a delighted giggle. She was the sort of girl who serves one strawberry jam instead of raspberry jam, and the crows over the joke she's played.
"You ought to have learned by now that I'm a not a man to cross," he said seriously, advancing on her while she sat giggling helplessly. He laid a heavy hand on her left shoulder and she shivered.
Then he had turned away from her abruptly and seized his hat from the bedside table.
"Enjoy your day, Miss Eye Strain," he said with some amusement.
Amoretta looked down at her lap to find that he had changed the color of her robes from their mellow gray color to a retina punishing neon green. Looking at her own lap, she saw stars and had to avert her eyes.
"Hieronymous," she wailed, "You've got to change it back! I won't be able to get anything done today! I'll get headaches just being near this color."
But he had already gone.
Amoretta tried unsuccessfully to return her robes to their rightful color before class began, but all she managed to do was cause them to begin to play rickety-sounding music that might have come from a very decrepit organ-grinder's box. She sat huddled in her desk as her robes ground out "The Old Grey Mare" disturbingly, in minor key.
When Petunia Potsdam came to class, plant in tow, and discovered Amoretta's predicament, she spent some time attempting dispel Amoretta's robes, because otherwise she was a walking class disruption. Between the two of them, they did manage to get the robes to stop playing upsetting music, but their attempts to either remove the color-changing enchantment or to cover it over with another enchantment failed utterly. In the end, Amoretta's robes were flashing like a strobe light at a rave and Petunia Potsdam had to cover her with one of the green magic lab's clean drop cloths to keep her from causing seizures among her classmates. So distressed was everyone by the unrelenting onslaught of color that Professor Potsdam didn't even feel particularly like springing her own April Fool's joke on the class and instead spent the day teaching as normal, after dejectedly explaining her own prank. It was all very tragic.
The color of Amoretta's flashing robes was so violent that it was still partially visible even through the drop cloth, but having a sheet thrown over her reduced their heinousness enough that the headmistress and the other students could actually progress with their work, instead of staring at Amoretta in horrified revulsion.
Grabiner finally dispelled her robes when she returned to their rooms that evening after class, because he certainly did not want to inflict their unwholesome color on himself. After he had dispelled her so easily that it was laughable, she laid down face first on the bed, feeling exhausted. The flashing robes had wrought a great strain on her nerves.
"Remind me never to play a prank on you again," she muttered into the blankets.
"You may find it hard to believe, but I was a schoolboy at one point," he reminded her as he took off his hat and tossed it on the bedside table. "No one survives schooling without learning how to play a few tricks."
The thought of Grabiner as a schoolboy was overwhelmingly charming to her, particularly the idea of him as an elementary school student in short pants, (short robes? did young wizards wear short pants? she was going to pretend they did, even if they did not) perhaps with Button attached to his leg. Amoretta sat up, her emotional distress instantly eased by the thought of her husband in an upsettingly embarrassing situation.
He saw her sit up and put both hands on her flushed cheeks and giggle, and warned, "Do not tell me what you are thinking. I have absolutely no desire to know."
She kept giggling to herself, although she did not volunteer what she was thinking about, as per his request.
At last she asked, "Did you receive any compliments on your fantastic hair?"
Grabiner grimaced briefly, so Amoretta knew that he had. "Only one," he said shortly. "A glowing remark from Miss Darkstar."
Amoretta dissolved into giggles again.
"Watch out, Hieronymous," she warned, rolling on the bed as her silliness consumed her. "I think she's really set her cap for you."
"Your sense of humor is overwhelmingly sophisticated," Grabiner commented dryly. "But I am not altogether concerned. I already have one shockingly awful girl in my life. I have no room for another."
Amoretta was well-pleased to have been awarded such an impressive accolade.
"I ought to remind Raven that you're a married man," Amoretta teased.
Grabiner rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as he shrugged. "Given her flair for the dramatic," he said, "I am sure the fact that I am married makes me more appealing rather than less." He paused as if suddenly struck by a bolt of awareness from a higher power. "Good lord," he said, "I hope that girl never meets my father. He'd court her just to make my life as unpleasant as possible."
"Oh, Hieronymous," Amoretta laughed weakly. "I'm sure he wouldn't. You haven't talked to him in years, have you? He's probably become a little exaggerated in your head."
Grabiner's eyes were narrow when he spoke.
"You don't know Aloysius Grabiner."
Amoretta was standing at the edge of a gorge, the stones painted pink and red with the fading light of day. The lip of the gorge was as tattered as the hem of a very old skirt, ragged and uneven and worn out. Far below her she could hear the rush of unseen waters as they pounded against old stone. Although she stood very close to the edge, she could not see the silvery waters below even when she leaned dangerously forward. The gorge was wide and deep, so deep that the interior was lost in shadows although the sun still hung low above the horizon.
She shivered.
Before her was a bridge, a covered wooden bridge from earlier times. Amoretta had seen such bridges often enough, due to her New England childhood, but this covered bridge was impossibly long, stretching from the lip in front of her to the far distant cliff on the other side of the gorge. She could not understand how the bridge could support its own weight, since it had no girders or suspension that she could see. It ought to have folded up on itself and fallen into the dark abyss below.
Peering into the tunnel of the covered bridge, Amoretta could see a small square of light at the other end, a promise of warmth and safety after a perilous crossing.
Grabiner stood at her back and urged her forward.
"I'll be right behind you," he said. "You go on ahead."
Amoretta bit her lip because she did not want to disappoint him. The old wood of the bridge was dark and worn, decaying in some places. It groaned and creaked in the wind, and Amoretta could see narrow chasms in the floor where pieces of wood had simply fallen away.
He urged her forward again and so she took a deep breath and set foot on the bridge.
She tried to go forward bravely, although the bridge groaned and swayed with the wind, and the timbers of the floor were moist and slimy under her bare feet. She made it all of a dozen steps when could bear no more and she looked behind her, for reassurance.
Somehow, in the space of twelve steps she had gone an incalculable distance. When she looked behind her, the solid ground she had left seemed as far off as a dying star, and when she looked forward, she could no longer see the square of light at the other end of the bridge, as if night had fallen while she labored forward.
Grabiner was nowhere to be seen, as if he had been a ghost or a mirage. She suddenly had the terrible thought that he had never existed at all in this world, only been a desperate and beloved figment of her imagination.
The wind moaned and the timbers of the bridge cried out as they began to crack and pop from the strain. Amoretta tried to go forward, but found her feet stuck to the spongy, moldering ground, as if they had rooted themselves there. All around her was the wet smell of rot, the familiar charnel smell of decay.
She had nowhere to go. She had nowhere to be. She had no one to be.
All she could do was sink down on her knees and cry, shuddering with every sob that shook her body, her bones feeling as dry and old as the limbs of a dead tree.
But then she was being shaken, shaken even as she cried, and as she came to herself she realized it was Grabiner who was shaking her, since his hand on her arm was by now so familiar.
Did he come back? she wondered, confused. But this isn't a safe place. He shouldn't be here. Not here, never here -
"Amoretta," Grabiner's voice was firm but insistent, "It's all right now. You're awake. You're awake. You're safe."
Still on the edge between dreams and waking, Amoretta huddled closer to him and tried to stop crying, as it was obviously making him upset. She felt his arm come around her and he squeezed her once, tightly.
"It's all right," he repeated steadily. "You're safe."
Amoretta sniffled as she came more fully awake, her head against Grabiner's chest, their bound arms pressed against her chest out of the necessity of their closeness.
"I had a nightmare," she confessed weakly.
"I gathered that," he answered, his voice quiet and even in the darkness. She could not see him, but he was there. She could feel him. She could hear him. He existed.
"I thought that," Amoretta began uncertainly, sniffling, "I thought that it wasn't supposed to happen any more, not with you here with me. I thought that they would stay away - "
Grabiner did not let her go immediately, but held her still. It was one of the small comforts he could provide.
"I don't think you were haggarded," he said quietly. "I think what you had was a regular nightmare, which is not particularly surprising, given the stress you've been under lately. A dream warden can keep away the enemies that come from outside, but not the ones that come from inside." He paused thoughtfully before adding, "You can tell me about it if you like. It might possibly make you feel better. Talking about nightmares often lessens their terror because you can begin to understand why you dreamed what you dreamed."
Amoretta chewed on her thumb pensively for a moment. The tangible feeling that he was there with her, the physical, material evidence of his commitment gave her troubled heart the courage it needed to relate the nightmare.
She did so haltingly, and although she was afraid at first, she found that he was correct. The longer she talked about what she had dreamed, the less power the dream seemed to have over her.
In the end, he said, "I would never send you ahead on a dangerous path. I would go first, and you would follow after. If you insisted on going first, then I would let you, but I would never let go of you, not for a moment." He went on, and his voice was heavy with the burden of his sins, both real and imagined. "I have learned a hard lesson," he said haltingly. "I will not let you walk alone, Amoretta."
Somehow, the way he said her name during difficult times like these was sweeter than a thousand diminutives and endearments. It was gentler. It was more sincere. She trembled and clung to him as hard as she could, gripping the front of his pajamas and pressing the side of her face against his chest.
"Sometimes, I'm afraid of the future," she confessed, trembling.
"Everyone is," Grabiner answered her, his voice still quiet. He squeezed her one last time, as if reassuring himself that she existed, before easing her back onto her own pillow. "But you shouldn't be. The future is a transient thing. It's always on its way to becoming the past." He was silent for a moment before continuing. "I don't want you to be hurt any more," he said. "I am not really a very wise man, or a practical one, or a brave one, but if fate is the thing that stands in our path with intentions to harm you, then I will put my shoulder to fate and turn it aside."
"You are a brave man," Amoretta argued, pulling their hands to her chest again. "The bravest I've ever met," she insisted, "And the kindest." She heard a low noise in his throat as he prepared to deny her, but she insisted. "I don't care what you say about it. Call me a fool. I know what I know. I would trust you with anything," she let herself linger over the final word before she added wistfully, "I did."
"You are a little fool," he admitted and she heard the bed linens rustle as he shook his head. His fingers, bound to hers, pressed against them briefly and she felt the warmth of sustained contact. "But it seems I will never have enough of you, you terrible little fool." He sighed, and although the sound was tired, it was not heavy. "Go back to sleep," he advised. "Perhaps you will dream of better things."
She settled against her pillow and endeavored to do as she was told, listening to the quiet, even rhythm of his breathing.
Eventually she slept, but in the morning she could not remember any of her dreams.
Early Friday evening Grabiner found himself face to face with a strange delegation.
It was Luke Phifer and Donald Danson who appeared at his door like unwanted trick-or-treaters. Although neither of them were strangers to his Saturday detentions, it was the first time either of them had done something so audacious as to knock on his door.
He frowned very severely at them, but while Luke took half a step backward, Donald was entirely unruffled, as if he feared nothing under heaven.
"Hey," Donald said nonchalantly, as if he always addressed Grabiner so casually. "We're here to see Amoretta. Would you get her?"
I was right, Grabiner thought testily to himself. Now I will never be rid of them.
"Very well," he said with a parting glower and retired to fetch his wife, who sat studying at his desk. He gave her a look as he passed, a look that said more eloquently than words, Do not dare invite them in.
Accustomed by now to his moods, Amoretta only rolled her eyes as she gave a little shake of her head.
At the door, Donald grinned at her, offering her a hearty thumbs up and Luke overcame his wariness of the departed Grabiner to crowd in behind Donald.
"Hey Fiddler," Donald said. "What's the rumpus?"
She gave him her own grin and a return thumbs up. "Same old same old," she replied.
"Logan was thinking that you needed some cheering up," he continued easily, "Since things have been a little rough, lately."
The way Donald said it it was as if she had suffered through a lot of detentions, or failed to pass an exam. He was easy and casual and familiar, as if calling for her at Grabiner's door wasn't anything remarkable at all. Somehow his sunny, devil-may-care disposition made her troubles seem trivial, as if they would pass away as easily as the rain.
"So he was thinking maybe we'd have another round of bingo," Donald went on, "And you could call the numbers."
Amoretta brightened at the invitation, but put the question to Donald, just to be sure. "I won't play, all right? He knows that, right? It just isn't fair, you know? But I don't mind calling. I'd like that very much."
Donald nodded, wrinkling his nose as he grinned, "I know, I know. Nobody wants to play against the Fiddler anyway," he laughed, then leaned forward to poke his head into Grabiner's room. "Logan specifically wanted me to invite you too, big man. Said he had 'some vital information that you might find valuable,' or something."
Upon hearing this, Grabiner appeared behind Amoretta more quickly than a horror is summoned from a mirror in a dark bathroom. He ignored Donald's less-than-formal request and instead fixed his eyes steadily on Amoretta.
"Where exactly are you going?" he demanded, as if he feared these delinquents were ready to carry her off to an unwholesome place for unwholesome activities.
"To Falcon Hall for bingo," Amoretta volunteered, tilting her head lightly to the side. "I'll have to cut out on grammar lessons just for tonight - " She pressed her fingers together under her chin and did her best to look penitent and winsome.
Grabiner frowned. "You are progressing adequately enough," he said, then his eyes shifted to Donald Danson and Luke Phifer. "And you have every right to do as you please on your own time, so long as you do not violate school rules," he said.
"Would you like to come?" she asked hopefully. "Logan's invited you already, and you might enjoy seeing how the other half lives," she laughed.
"I am very busy with preparations for final examinations," he let his eyes fall heavily on Donald and Luke as he spoke. "Which certain students had best prepare themselves for, should they wish to be invited back to Iris Academy as sophomores," he said. "Although no amount of cramming will make up for months of wasted time and lackadaisical efforts, if 'efforts' they may be called."
"Good thing for me that I am an ace student," Donald replied easily with a cheeky wink. "Too bad you're busy," he said to Grabiner. "I know a lot of people are going to be really disappointed that you can't make it."
Although he had already decided on a course of absolute denial, Grabiner abruptly changed his mind when the boy taunted him. Perversely he took a half step forward and gave Donald a grim smile. "Given that I was expressly invited, I am sure that I can make at least a little time this evening, Mr. Danson."
Luke looked a little queasy, but Donald shrugged.
"Whatever you like, sir," he said with a wicked grin. "I'm sure Logan'll even let you play a card if you pay into the kitty, even with Amoretta calling the numbers."
And so Grabiner found himself on his way to Falcon Hall in the company of Donald Danson, Luke Phifer, and the evening's guest of honor. It was really a strange and unaccountable happening. He couldn't say he was really excited about the evening's promise, but he was far too perversely stubborn to retreat now that he had committed himself to prove a point. He had never been to a casual student gathering at Iris Academy of his own volition, and had certainly never been to something as singular as a student-organized bingo game. She was always dragging him into situations he had never before entertained. He supposed Petunia Potsdam would say it was good for him. His mouth turned down at the corner.
Amoretta walked slightly ahead, chatting with Luke, who ran into a door facing and tripped twice on their way to the bingo game, rubbing his head ruefully at each mild injury. He flushed when Amoretta expressed her concern for him, and stammered out a thanks when she cast a green magic spell in hopes that a knot would not swell up on his forehead. Donald Danson sauntered along by Grabiner, apparently entirely unworried, his hands folded behind his head as he leaned back.
When the four of them entered Falcon Hall they found themselves welcomed cordially by Logan Phifer, who escorted Amoretta to a stool that had been brought into the hall expressly for her benefit, so she would not have to sit on the ground as she called numbers. A chair at the stool's right held the mechanical number sorter as well as a pile of cards. As she settled herself on the stool, the evening's players crowded around her, ruffling her hair and asking her to touch their cards.
"Look," she laughed, "I'll settle it by touching everybody's so it's all fair," she said, letting her fingertips brush over the piled up cards. "Now pay into the kitty and come and get 'em and we'll start the first round!"
The prospective bingo players needed no further invitation, and soon the box top in Luke's hands held a veritable pile of petty cash, which was quickly divided up into jackpots for the six rounds. Cards were distributed, and all the players sat hunched over their cards, as if waiting for the sound of a starting pistol. The mechanical sorter rattled strangely and spat out a little tab, and Amoretta called the first number.
While the players labored over their cards, Grabiner stood back and watched Amoretta perched on her little stool, blissfully calling out numbers. The evening's organizer, who never participated in the games he arranged, merely extracted a fee from off the top, like skimming cream from milk, casually leaned against the wall at Grabiner's left, as if to prevent him from easily escaping.
"Welcome to the Cards and Dice Club, Professor Grabiner," Logan said easily, his eyes sweeping slowly over the players and their cards.
"The what?" Grabiner asked, one eyebrow raised, because he had never heard of such a club being on the books at Iris Academy. "Are you telling me that you are running a gambling club, Mr. Phifer?"
While the bingo evenings had been approved by Petunia Potsdam, Grabiner was somewhat unsettled to hear tell that it was perhaps better organized that he had suspected.
"It's not a gambling club," Logan said with a quirk of his mouth. "It's a parlor games club. It's all very innocent. Sometimes we play for petty cash, but usually we just play for pennies or counters. We're not an official club yet, since I didn't have the idea until after the deadline for club applications had passed for the year, but we hope to be recognized next year. We've got a lot of regulars, you know. Amoretta is one of them." He paused thoughtfully. "She brought Damien Ramsey with her a few times, but he was never really a regular."
Grabiner frowned, not taking his eyes off Amoretta, who was still calling numbers with a great deal of spirit and enjoyment.
"If that is the 'valuable information' that Mr. Danson indicated you had for me, then I am afraid this evening will be a complete waste of time," Grabiner said with the air of a long-suffering disciplinarian. "Not that I expected anything less. You students rarely fail to disappoint when it comes to being disappointing."
Logan Phifer clicked his tongue once, apparently an indication that he appreciated Grabiner's joke, but then he shook his head. "Nope," he said, "That wasn't what I wanted to bring to your attention. I was just making polite conversation."
"I don't believe that any conversation about that brute could be considered 'polite,'" Grabiner fairly growled in response, but the cool Phifer twin only shrugged.
"Had no intentions of ruffling you up, sir," Logan said mildly. "What I thought you might like to know is that Amoretta never plays for money."
Logan Phifer's revelation was so casual and offhand that Grabiner was caught off guard. It was a very strange thing to bring to his attention, and he was beginning to think that the boy was a little out of his skull, or else just utterly determined to waste his time. But neither of these facts added up with Logan Phifer's personality, such as Grabiner knew it. As a student, he was quite decent, but by far the most striking thing about him was his canniness, his shrewd nature. Logan Phifer could get blood out of a turnip.
With this in mind, Grabiner looked at him sidelong and asked very carefully, "And why do you think that is?"
"Because she's lucky," was Logan's ready answer, and their conversation was briefly interrupted as 'Bingo' was called among the players. As the winner of the first round was paid his jackpot, Donald took over Luke's place at the kitty and the other Phifer twin drifted aimlessly toward his brother, never taking his eyes off the brunette girl on the stool, who began the second round with a snap and a flourish.
"Pardon me for saying so," Grabiner said dryly, "But that hardly seems to be a reason that would dissuade her from gambling."
Logan's smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "That's because you don't understand how lucky Amoretta is. She won't play for money because she says it's not fair. She always wins, and before you go thinking it's observational bias, I keep track of the outcome of every match played in the Cards and Dice Club," Logan said, rattling his fingers on the front of a neat black moleskine notebook. "The Fiddler's got a ninety-five percent win ratio, across all the different kinds of games we play. I guess I don't have to point out to you how extraordinary that is."
"The Fiddler," Grabiner echoed, his eyes shifting from the girl on the stool to Logan.
"That's what everybody calls her," Logan explained with amusement. "It started up the very first evening. It comes from the saying 'Those that dance must pay the fiddler.' If you play with Amoretta, you always end up paying her, so that's how she got the nickname. The first evening we played bingo together, Amoretta won the whole pot, and then tried to give it back. She said she had only played to see if she could win, and then felt pretty badly about it. She'd never played bingo before, you see. She knows how lucky she is. Usually she'll only play for counters, or a slice of cake or something. Of course, nobody was willing to let her give back the pot just because she felt guilty about it. When she told me that it wasn't fair, because she was born lucky, well, to put it kindly, I thought she thought a little too well of herself and that her head had been turned by it. I asked her to play a private game after the bingo was over, just my brother and I, Donald, and the Fiddler. I didn't want to fleece her, not exactly," he cast a sidelong look at Grabiner and offered his palms up, "But believing you've been born with some kind of special grace is pretty dangerous. I just wanted to educate her on how dangerous it was. So we played a friendly game of Black Maria."
"Yes," said Grabiner raising one eyebrow, "I'm sure it was very friendly. Did you play with the winnings from the pot?"
Logan laughed, "Well, naturally Amoretta had a lot to lose, and she wanted to lose it. I felt like I was providing a public service," he said. "Relieving her of her guilt. I had run the bingo game, so I had money to play with. I staked Luke and she staked Donald on the promise he would buy her a piece of pie next time she went out to the shopping mall."
"She's very generous," Grabiner said sourly, as if he did not find this a virtue so much as a target painted on her back.
"Isn't she ever," Logan agreed. "Well, I hardly need tell you that I was the one who was taught a lesson in humility. She won every single solitary nickel that was wagered. She shot the moon, she cleaned the slate, she played like some kind of savant, chatting like a little catbird the whole time. No matter how poorly her hand seemed to be doing, at the last possible moment she would play something outrageous and win everything on the table. Of course, after that night I found out who her father is, but you see, Amoretta doesn't play like a professional. She doesn't play anything like a sharp. She's as guileless and gullible as a novice from a convent, like she's ready to sing all about how the hills are alive with the sound of music. No, Amoretta plays like a happy amateur, but the cards and dice love her."
Grabiner glanced sidelong at Amoretta and admitted, "There are times when she seems not so much like a horse, but more like a carousel pony."
Luke Phifer, who had been loitering nearby as he listened idly to their conversation, suddenly went very red and covered his face with his hands, sinking to the floor in a sudden squat.
Grabiner caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at the afflicted Phifer twin, asking with equal parts astonishment and pique, "Does that boy have a nosebleed?"
Logan did not seem particularly interested in his brother's distress, and waved Grabiner off idly. "You'll have to forgive my brother, Professor Grabiner. He suffers from a mild mental illness when it comes to Amoretta." Logan gestured briefly to Amoretta again, who was by now beginning the third game. "You know Big Steve Kenyon the pinball wizard calls her his rabbit's foot? He says that he can get double the score on any arcade machine if she's standing anywhere near him. I can't see how he really notices, considering how high his scores are regularly, but he swears by her. She's got a lot of admirers in the Cards and Dice Club. A night with her calling the bingo numbers was sure to be a good draw, and it was." He paused thoughtfully. "She's got a pretty big following outside the Cards and Dice Club too, you know - probably in the top three most popular girls in the freshman class, along with Minnie and Pastel. People like her because she's cute and she's a goose. She's about as dangerous as a kitten in a paper bag. You'd never think a girl like that'd be luckier than a lightning strike, but she is."
Grabiner frowned at the blue haired mafia don of Falcon Hall, but the boy was calm and unabashed, clapping politely each time a winner was cashed out of the kitty.
"You will have to excuse my disbelief, but I think you may be exaggerating the girl's abilities a little," Grabiner said coolly. He did not like to think that there were astonishing things about Amoretta that he had yet to discover.
Logan looked at Grabiner sidelong and his mouth quirked up at the corner again.
"Would you care to make a bet?" he asked lightly.
"Excuse me?" Grabiner growled, because he now had the distinct impression that the boy was trying to play him for a fool. He readied himself to reply that he had no interest in betting on anything, certainly not with a student who had nothing of worth to wager, but Logan Phifer was already talking.
"I can propose a test that will prove to you exactly how lucky Amoretta is, beyond a shadow of a doubt," he said. "If you're still adamant that you won't take me at my word, if you'd care to make a wager, I can make it worth your while."
Grabiner was ready to openly scoff at the boy, because what on earth would he have that would interest a professor in the least, when the boy produced a beautifully leather bound volume from somewhere in his robes and held it casually before Grabiner, as if it were a delightful carrot.
Grabiner snatched up the book almost without thinking, his fingers moving of their own accord.
"This is the 1758 printing of The Nine Circles of Fire," he said in a low voice, quite astonished. It would be the gem of many a fine collection. For Grabiner, it was a pearl of great price. "Where did you get this?" he demanded.
"From an associate," Logan Phifer said idly, and when Grabiner raised his eyes from the frontispiece of the book, it was with new respect for the boy in the navy robes with the easy, beguiling smile.
"How much do you want for it?" Grabiner demanded, but Logan simply laughed.
"Don't be silly, Professor Grabiner," he said with the flop of a lazy hand. "You couldn't buy that from me with ten years worth of savings. But you could win it," he suggested conspiratorially, "In a fair bet."
"How can I be assured that the bet will be fair?" Grabiner asked with narrowed eyes. "You do not strike me as one who makes losing bets."
Logan nodded unashamedly. "That's true enough. I only bet on a sure thing," he said. "The bet'll be fair, but I wouldn't make it if I didn't think I could win it."
"What do you want out of it?" Grabiner asked warily, because the boy clearly had an agenda.
"For you to be the sponsor of the Cards and Dice Club when we apply for recognition next year," Logan said with a grin. "Oh I know that we don't need a sponsor, but let's just say I'd appreciate having one. I'd also like permission to use your red magic classroom after hours for meetings of the club so we don't have to keep crowding up the hall." Logan gestured idly to Luke and Donald and said, "The boys will keep it very clean. We'll be like mice. You won't even know we're there."
"It would be unconscionable of me to support the breaking of school rules," Grabiner threatened the boy darkly. "I could never be in favor of such an organization."
"Oh, I'd never expect you to harbor us if we were criminals, Professor Grabiner," Logan said smoothly, "But the fact remains that I have a very clean record. Cards and Dice is a social club for the enjoyment of games, not unlike Miss Virginia Danson's Sports Club. So what do you say, sir? Do you want to take the bet? I'll even let you keep the book on good faith, until you're satisfied that you've lost the bet, fair and square. Of course if you win," he said temptingly, "You can keep it, with my compliments."
Grabiner curled his lip as he debated the offer. At last he said, "How am I to know that you are the rightful owner of that book, Mr. Phifer? How do I know that you are authorized to offer it as collateral for a bet?"
"You want me to produce a bill of sale or a certificate of authenticity, Professor?" Logan laughed with genuine amusement, and then from the pocket of his robe he produced a folded slip of paper that bore a wax seal and the signature of a very notable wizard. "You're just the kind of cat that the Fiddler needs to look after her," Logan said appreciatively, passing the note over to Grabiner for his inspection.
Grabiner scrutinized the note until he was satisfied that it was not a clever forgery and then passed it back into the hands of the boy.
As an even trade, The Nine Circles of Fire for the use of his red magic classroom for as long as this 'Cards and Dice Club' remained solvent was not bad. Grabiner had no desire to play Little Bo Peep to a herd of youthful delinquents, but it would give him an excuse to monitor their activities and make sure that Amoretta did not find herself used too poorly by her scapegrace friends.
Of course, he only got to keep the book if he won the bet, but to win the bet he merely had to remain skeptical of Amoretta's purported miraculous luck. As he was skeptical by nature, and firmly convinced that his wife had not been 'born under a lucky star' as a superstitious fool might have put it, he did not find this a particularly tall order.
"Very well," Grabiner said levelly. "Please explain to me how you can prove to me 'beyond a shadow of a doubt' that Amoretta is abnormally lucky."
"Does that mean you're taking the bet, sir?" Logan asked with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.
"It does," Grabiner answered coolly. Logan Phifer might be convinced that a sucker was born every minute, but Grabiner was determined to prove to him that sometimes it is the bet maker who is the chump.
"Have her buy a lottery ticket," Logan said simply. "Oh I know she's not twenty-one yet, but if you pay for the ticket, they'll let her pick the numbers. Pick whatever lottery you want: state, regional, or national. You could even just do a scratch off, but make sure she's the one who scratches it off. You can handle it all you want, but it's got to be her ticket."
"Do you expect me to believe that you think that Amoretta's luck is such that she could play the lottery one time and win a jackpot?" Grabiner asked with astonishment.
"That's what I expect you to believe, sir," Logan said agreeably. "Otherwise I'm just giving you that copy of The Nine Circles of Fire."
"And where should I buy this ticket?" Grabiner asked, ferreting about for the strings of Logan Phifer's scheme, although how the boy might manage to rig a national lottery he could not begin to guess.
Logan shrugged. "Wherever you like," he said. "Lots of places sell tickets, and I shouldn't have to remind you to be discreet when you buy your ticket. Amoretta isn't using any kind of magic to win the way she does, but you don't want to attract the attention of unwanted eyes."
Grabiner reflexively looked back at Amoretta, who was as merry as a little parakeet on her perch.
"Why did you feel the need to bring this to my attention, Mr. Phifer?" Grabiner demanded.
The boy smiled a secret smile, one that marked him older than his years.
"Let's just say," he said, "That it occurred to me that someone else might have taken notice of Amoretta's remarkable luck."
And that was all Logan Phifer had to say about it.
That evening, Amoretta and Grabiner returned to their rooms to find two envelopes sticking out from under the hallway door, as if someone had made a concerted effort to slide them into the room and failed. Grabiner raised an eyebrow, but Amoretta seemed to think it was very normal to receive personal correspondence in this fashion and picked the letters up happily. As Grabiner unlocked and unwarded the door, she turned the letters over in her hands and then gave one of them over to him.
"This one's for you," she announced.
Grabiner accepted the letter dubiously, even as he pushed open the door and motioned her into the room. She went immediately to his desk, where she sat down and slit the letter open with the ease of a girl who was very used to receiving letters. She seemed so pleased to receive the letter that he knew she recognized the penmanship on the envelopes and understood that the letter would contain good news, rather than bad.
"And who has written these letters?" he asked, turning his letter over in his hands. The envelope was plain and the handwriting small and cramped.
She had already begun to read her letter, a happy flush coming up on her cheeks. Her eyes flicked up to his briefly at the question and she answered, "Big Steve," immediately, then added, "But the letters aren't from him, he just writes them."
The mystery grew thicker and darker.
"Then who, pray tell, are they from?" Grabiner asked with growing ire. He had learned only this evening that Amoretta apparently had a fuller social calendar than he had at first supposed, and he found himself a little cross about it. It wasn't as if he was jealous. He was simply angry because it aggravated him to discover the utterly frivolous ways she invented to waste her time when she ought to have been studying, under his direction.
Having finished reading her missive, which was apparently quite brief, Amoretta immediately began rummaging in Grabiner's desk for some writing paper and a pen, quite without his consent. He opened his mouth to protest, but she had soon found what she was looking for and began busily scribbling away at a reply.
"Mr. Hoppity," Amoretta answered absently, her full attention apparently focused on the letter she was penning.
"Mr. Hoppity?" Grabiner repeated with incredulous horror. 'Mr. Hoppity' sounded like a name that could only belong to an imaginary friend, possible one who was seven feet tall and delivered eggs on certain Sundays. That Amoretta was so devoted to her reply to an imaginary party worried Grabiner immensely. "Now see here - " he began, but Amoretta waved him off distractedly.
"Not now Hieronymous," she insisted. "I'm trying to think of what to say. In a minute. Read your letter?" she suggested absently as she bent her head to work.
With some trepidation, Grabiner slit his own letter open and proceeded to read it. It was the surest way to get at answers, in any case, since Amoretta was apparently unwilling to talk to him until after she had finished this duty of the greatest importance.
The letter, written in the same close hand as the envelope, was thankfully brief. It was littered with more rabbit-related puns than the candy aisle of a drugstore the weekend before Easter. It said in no uncertain terms, that while Mr. Steven Kenyon and Miss Amoretta (here the name Suzerain had been written and then scratched out) Grabiner were the sweetest of friends, that their relationship was purely platonic, founded in mutual self-interest and a fondness for those splendid creatures whom the wisest of men call 'the rabbit.' Therefore, the writer of the letter begged the patience of Miss Amoretta's husband in overlooking Steve's attachment to her. He was a gentleman and thought of her just like his sister, even though Amoretta was not a budding kickboxer.
The letter was signed, as Amoretta had indicated, 'Mr. Hoppity.'
Amoretta was busy blotting her letter when Grabiner demanded, "What exactly is this?"
Amoretta looked up, a smile curling up contentedly on her face. "I told you, it's a letter from Mr. Hoppity, or at least I assume it is. Big Steve never writes letters himself. He's too shy," she laughed pleasantly, "Not good with words, unless you're talking about something he really likes: bounders or coffee."
"And Mr. Hoppity is?" Grabiner prompted with growing dread.
"A stuffed rabbit," Amoretta volunteered naturally, as if it were very common for stuffed rabbits to carry on their own correspondence. "Last September, I think it was? I really wanted this stuffed rabbit out of the crane machine in the arcade, but I just couldn't seem to get it out. I mean, I won a lot of other things, all these weird looking stuffed things with googly eyes, but I just couldn't get the bunny. Finally, I asked Big Steve if he could get it for me and he did," she said, touching her face lightly with her fingertips at the happy memory. "But then I felt bad about it. I hadn't won the bunny myself, you know? So I gave it to Big Steve. He named it Mr. Hoppity, and Mr. Hoppity and Cotton-tail have been writing letters to one another ever since."
"Cotton-tail?" Grabiner asked despite himself, and then his eyes swept unbidden to the bed, where the bedraggled looking stuffed rabbit sat between the pillows. If Amoretta wasn't clinging to him while she slept, she was clinging to the rabbit. If she had had both hands free during the night he had no doubt that she would have tried to cling to both.
Amoretta nodded happily. "Cotton-tail has been my best friend since I was very little. She's named after Cotton-tail, from The Tale of Peter Rabbit," Amoretta confided, as if this were not obvious. "You know, Flopsy married cousin Benjamin and had an awful lot of babies, and Mopsy didn't marry anyone at all, or otherwise ran off scandalously, because you never hear of her, but Cotton-tail married the black rabbit and went to live up on the hill." She gave Grabiner a sly, sidelong glance, her chin tucked down, so that she looked up at him in amusement. "Cotton-tail and I have similar destinies," she laughed. "We both married the mysterious black rabbit and went to live up on the hill."
"I am hardly a 'black rabbit,'" Grabiner protested with some ire. This charade concerning stuffed rabbits was doing nothing for his temper.
"Well, you're certainly not a white one," Amoretta returned with some amusement. She placed a finger thoughtfully against her lips. "I think Mr. Hoppity is getting very fond of Cotton-tail," she said. "And that makes me so pleased. Perhaps they'll get married! Wouldn't that be nice?"
"I hardly think it would be," Grabiner said, honestly expressing his feelings on the matter.
Amoretta flushed and covered her mouth with alarm, "Well, if you don't like it, you know, I never thought about it, but I could get a stuffed bunny for you, and Cotton-tail could marry him, just so our family stays together," she said. "Of course Cotton-tail would rather marry your rabbit than Big Steve's," Amoretta was working herself up into something of a panic.
"Amoretta," Grabiner's voice cut through her panic like a knife, causing her to fall into respectful silence. "I have very little interest in the social lives of stuffed animals," he said coldly. "If this absurd game of pretend amuses you, then by all means, do keep at it."
At that, Amoretta stood up in astonishment, and observed with wonder, "Hieronymous, you are jealous. You're jealous of Big Steve and Mr. Hoppity."
"I am not jealous," Grabiner thundered. "I am perplexed, mystified, even confounded by your bizarre behavior and weird antics," he admitted, "But I am not jealous."
Amoretta advanced on him slowly. "You are. Hieronymous, it's so obvious that you are," she said, shaking her head with wonder.
Grabiner was by now fuming. "My wife writes letters to a stuffed rabbit, while she pretends to be a different stuffed rabbit," he nearly shouted. "That is strange."
"It would be more strange if I wrote letters to a stuffed rabbit while pretending to be the same stuffed rabbit," Amoretta pointed out easily. "Then I'd just be writing letters to myself," she paused, "As a bunny."
"I find it hard to imagine this circumstance becoming more strange than it already is," Grabiner growled and Amoretta caught hold of his arm, tugging on it gently.
"I really didn't think that it would make you cross," she said. "I just didn't think that it would. Is writing letters to someone's stuffed rabbit another courtship ritual that I just don't know anything about?" she asked worriedly.
Grabiner passed his hands in front of his eyes and resisted the mighty urge to burst out into frantic, hysterical laughter. His nerves were frayed from the evening's various entertainments.
"Only among the criminally insane," Grabiner hazarded, feeling harried out of his wits.
"I really will stop writing them if they make you unhappy," Amoretta said seriously. "I do like to write them, but it's not that important to me. I'll go tear up the letter I wrote right now if you want me to," she said with sudden inspiration, moving as if to act upon her instincts immediately.
Grabiner caught her by the arm. "Don't do that," he said, and he sounded quite exhausted. "If you like writing your silly little letters, then do so. Have rabbit tea parties. Go chat with one another in the carrot patch. I really don't mind," he said slowly. "It was never my intention that you should cease doing the things that give you pleasure to suit my whims. You are my wife, not my property," he said seriously. "You should do as you like."
Amoretta bit her lip and nodded, and she did not tear up the letter to her good friend Mr. Hoppity.
They did not speak of the incident again that night, and on Saturday morning, Amoretta got up early to deliver the mail, leaving Grabiner to sleep in. After she had delivered all the freshman mail, she slid the letter to Mr. Hoppity under Big Steve's door, and then she went out for the day.
Grabiner was out for most of the day as well. He had a detention to proctor, and things to set in order for the final exams. He spent much of the day inspecting the school dungeons carefully.
When he returned to his rooms that evening, he found that Amoretta was already enjoying her evening bath. He took off his hat and threw it on the bedside table, rubbing his temples. He had had a very tiring day.
Just as he was considering lying down in the bed with a book, he spied something on the bed.
Sitting very seriously between the pillows was a new inmate of the bedlam of his life. It was a stuffed black bunny rabbit with eyes like marbles and a pink 'x' for a nose and mouth. It was nestled between the pillows next to the well-loved ragged stuffed rabbit as if the two of them were on cozy terms.
Around the rabbit's neck was a pink ribbon and a small card, upon which was written in a very familiar hand,
"This is the thing that makes me the happiest."