Disclaimer from Chapter one still applies. I would also like to note that in my opinion keeping big cats as pets is a bad idea. Don't try this at home.
"No, no, no," Drake struggled not to laugh. "He's not talking to himself. Look at his ear. You see the little thing there? Voices come through it. He's talking to them."
Abigail, seated on a bench in Central Park next to him, squinted against the sunlight, eyeing the businessman nearby. He did indeed have a small gray appliance in one ear, but she shook her head, still mystified. "So instead of speaking to the air, he is speaking to voices in his head. I fail to see how this makes him less insane."
"It's a communication device," Drake rolled his eyes. "Look, I have one." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open.
Abigail eyed it with suspicion. "It carries the voice across a distance?"
"Not just that," he nodded. "Text and pictures, too. Look here, I've got a message…"
He opened the photograph, thinking he recognized the sender. Unfortunately, he failed to remember her as a rather infatuated fan. The photo he had received was a snapshot of a pair of substantial breasts.
"Dear God!" Abigail sputtered, shielding her own eyes with her hand. Though he had talked her into changing into clothes more appropriate for the time period (loose jeans and a simple white blouse), she was still very much a Puritan.
"Sorry! Sorry!" He fumbled with the phone, closing the image hurriedly. "They're not all like that, I swear!"
"I am sincerely glad to hear that. If women in this time and place are expected to shamelessly throw themselves at any man who meets their fancy, I will most certainly stand out." She seemed reluctant to look back at the phone, face flushed and turned in the direction opposite him.
He closed the phone and put it away. "Well, she was probably a little drunk…"
Her head whipped around and she gave him an appalled look.
"Er…" he had the grace to look embarrassed. "We can talk about advances in technology later."
"As long as I'm not required to view any more portraits of your whores."
"That's a little harsh, Abby," he placed emphasis on the nickname she had already grown to dislike. "I said sorry."
She grunted in acknowledgement, but remained peevishly silent for several minutes. Drake allowed himself to consider the predicament he was in, head tilted back against the bench to savor the sun on his face. He was powerless, unable to practice the tricks upon which his career depended. If Abigail's assessment were correct, and he had no reason to doubt it was, he was dying. And on top of that, he had been recruited to babysit a fifteen-year-old from the 17th century, a girl who, however clever she might be, had no idea how to react to the cultural standards of the day. The salacious snapshot he had inadvertently flashed at her was just the most recent in a series of mishaps that had begun as soon as they had left his penthouse. The street noises stressed her, the cars were viewed with suspicion, billboards and advertisements were met with tirades about lewdness and indecency. Even shopping for clothing had proved awkward; she was horrified at the way the undergarments had been displayed on the mannequins, in full view of both sexes. She disapproved of bright colors, lace, sequins, glitter. Heaven only knew what she thought of what he was wearing.
Part of him wanted to be rid of her, and fast. He needed her expertise to find Horvath, to survive the Parasite Spell. But he didn't need the constant irritation of her disapproval, that was for damn sure. Horvath had managed to hide his disgust with Drake most of the time, had acted reasonably civil, had even shared a few laughs with him. Abigail was like a block of ice.
But, whether it was his prescription-grade abandonment issues acting up, or whether it was something intrinsic to the young Morganian's personality, he couldn't stand giving up on her quite yet. Couldn't accept there was no way to make her like him.
"Idiot boy," he could hear his long-absent master's voice. "You don't need people. You use them."
But Drake had always courted the admiration of those around him. Abandoned before birth by his father, he had lived with a series of stepfathers and would-be boyfriends who saw him as little more than a roadblock to his mother's bed. He learned quickly that he could get things from these men. Money, candy, toys and ice cream. Anything to get him out of their way and please his mother, who, being as poor as a church-mouse, had little to offer him beyond a roof over his head and the clothes on his back. He played the part most advantageous to him, the good-natured, slightly cheeky little boy, clever but not too clever. Friendly, but never demanding. By getting along with her boyfriends, he earned favor with his mother. By never being too heartbroken when one left, he kept it.
He had gone over this aspect of his past with his therapist repeatedly, and by now he recognized the pattern in his relationships with people. Hold them in a death-grip, but at arm's length.
Arm's length would be easy enough with Abby, anyway. He sighed and straightened, opening his eyes. "I need to check on Inky. You coming or do you want to go back to the flat?"
"Inky?" She raised an eyebrow at him.
He shrugged and stood, smiling mysteriously. "You'll have to get in a car. Inky lives in Jersey."
She got up and rolled her eyes, annoyed by his beating about the bush. "Will we get food on the way? It's after noon."
He glanced at his watch. "Sure, why not? I'll buy you an ice cream."
As it turned out, she forgot all about food as soon as he started the car, clinging to the upholstery and closing her eyes desperately. She didn't utter a word of complaint, however, so he just turned on the radio to the classical station and drove as slowly as he dared. She seemed to relax as they got out of the city and the traffic thinned a little.
"This…is Jersey?" she opened one eye and looked around warily as the suburbs flashed by.
"Not as bad as you were afraid of?" He smirked.
"So many houses…" she murmured. "Salem? Is it still standing?"
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Probably looks different from what you remember, but it's there."
She looked like she wasn't sure whether or not to be pleased, and it occurred to him for the first time how lost she must be.
"Everyone I ever knew is dead," she said thoughtfully.
"…sorry." He glanced at her briefly, trying to decide what kind of emotion he heard in her voice. "You…miss your family or…?"
She snorted. "Don't be absurd. They were nothing to me."
But she rested her forehead against the glass of the window, and her expression grew distant. He found he didn't quite believe her.
At last they pulled up through a tree-lined gravel driveway. They house they approached was small, but it sat on several acres of land, and several buildings and fenced in enclosures surrounded it. Abigail was silent as they parked, but as they got out she frowned intently at a large, tawny shape just visible in one of the closer enclosures.
"…is that a lion?" she asked softly.
Drake beamed at her innocently and led the way around the back as if he owned the place. "They call him Goliath. Haven't worked with him yet. They just got him a few months ago. Inky's this way."
She seemed reluctant to move away from the large enclosure where the sleeping male lion lay, but followed him after a moment of staring.
Drake walked up a gently sloping hill, pausing in front of another enclosure. It looked empty, but he whistled, and after a moment a shadow stirred in a covered area to the back. Lazily, it moved toward them, and Abigail caught her breath softly. It was a black panther, nearly eight feet long from nose to tail-tip, with pale yellow eyes. The fur shimmered in the sunlight, muscles churning visibly beneath.
"This is Inky," Drake said cheerfully. "Short for 'Incubus'. He's mine."
Abigail hooked her fingers through the chain links and stared. "He's magnificent!"
He grinned, pleased to have finally come up with something that got a positive reaction out of the girl. "I have to have one for my show," he explained as the panther paced back and forth in front of the fence. "But it's against the law to keep them as pets, at least in New York. A business can own one, but you have to prove you're feeding him enough, giving him enough space, letting him see a vet."
"So you can't have him in your home," she nodded. "Do you own this place, then?"
"Part-owner," he shrugged. "I don't have to do much of anything but sign off on receipts and come to the Christmas party. But I like to check up on Inky, so he doesn't forget the sound of my voice."
"He thinks you have something for him," she observed, as the panther sprawled on the ground near Drake, only the chain links separating them.
Drake crouched and stuck his fingers through the wire, just barely able to touch the sleek fur. "No treats today, sorry," he told the cat. "Next week."
Abigail knelt and imitated him, pushing her hand against the wire. The fur was coarser than it looked, but smooth, and hot from the sun. The panther's skin twitched at the light touch, but it didn't move otherwise.
"He's never bitten you?" she drew back and looked over at Drake, whose expression had taken on a kind of childlike contentment. It took a hell of a lot of money to be rich, but when you got perks like this, it was worth the effort.
"Didn't say that," he smirked. "Notice how I'm not going in there without my ring? He's never attacked me seriously, but they play rough."
"I had a bird once," she said. "A canary. When I was in Barbados. I wanted a dog."
He glanced at her curiously. "You're a bit of an animal person, yeah?"
"I like them better than people, but that's not saying much." She stood, but seemed reluctant to move away.
"Mr. Stone! Drake!" A middle-aged woman was hurrying up the hill toward them, beaming. "I'm so glad you're here. We have a chance to get a white tiger cub, finally. Someone was keeping her in a dog kennel in Queens, if you can believe it, and I know you've been wanting one for your show, so I thought—oh, hello." She broke off, finally noticing Abigail.
Drake slung an arm around Abigail's shoulder in a way she clearly found too familiar. "Afternoon, Sue," he greeted the older woman. "This is my…cousin, Abby."
"Abigail," she corrected sepulchrally, but she didn't object to being labeled a relative.
"Oh! I'm so pleased to meet you," Sue shook the girl's hand enthusiastically.
"White tiger, you said? How old?" Drake prompted.
"Seven months," she said. "I have photos. Come inside!"
They followed her down the hill to the house, but Abigail stared over her shoulder at the reclining panther in its cage as they went.
She was calmer on the drive home, sitting primly in the passenger seat with her hands folded in her lap. Eyes closed, she said, "That woman was absolutely besotted with you. It was embarrassing."
"Who, Sue?" Drake chuckled. "Maybe. Must be my charisma."
"I thought perhaps it was your money," she said.
"That never hurts," he conceded.
"Are you very rich?" her voice was quiet.
"At the moment," he shrugged. "It hasn't always been that way. And it won't stay that way if I can't do my shows."
"It disturbs me that you use the elemental powers of the universe to entertain plebian crowds for your own selfish gain," she smirked faintly.
He frowned. "Horvath said about the same thing, you know. I don't see the problem. Money makes the world go round nowadays, not magic. Why not use one to get the other?"
"It just seems beneath you," she shrugged.
He sighed, feeling like he'd been over this recently. "My master vanished when I was fifteen. I could have used a little more training, but I've made do with what I had."
She tilted her head to look at him. "I lost mine when I was ten."
"That Felicia woman?" he asked slowly. "The one who knew the Parasite Spell?"
"That's right." She nodded. "I met her in Barbados, when I was only six. My father was courting her at the time, but I think she only went along with it because of me."
"Where was your mum?" he asked, almost gently.
"She died when I was two. In childbirth. My little brother," she explained calmly. "But he didn't survive either."
"So Felicia was like a surrogate mother…thing?" he asked awkwardly. He had come to realize he had thought of his own master as a father substitute. It didn't seem far-fetched.
Abigail gave him an odd look. "She was my master. It's not the same thing. I suppose if she'd been willing to marry my father it might have been." She sighed. "It would have been nicer, anyway. Instead, my father got tired of waiting for her and went chasing after some other woman. When she accepted him, he sent me away."
"Sent you away? What for?" Drake frowned.
"I suppose I was in the way," her tone was suspiciously emotionless.
He was silent a long moment, sympathetic but suspecting she wouldn't take kindly to pity. "Well…you must be a quicker learner than I was," he said cheerfully at last. "If you're as good as you seem to be with only four years of lessons."
"I'm reasonably good at teaching myself," she said, then frowned. "Still, it doesn't bode well that we're both half-trained, does it? Not against Horvath."
"I was trying not to think about that," he admitted. "We need a plan."
"We need an ally," she corrected. "What happened to that Sun-Lok you mentioned?"
He was startled by the leap her mind had made. "…According to Horvath, the Prime Merlinian crushed him under his own dragon."
"That's unfortunate," she sighed.
"…well, wait a moment," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Like I said before, Sun-Lok was supposed to have a bunch of crazy invincibility enchantments on him. There's a chance he survived. Especially since the Merlinians were in a rush at the time."
"And the Prime Merlinian can't have been well-trained yet," she perked up a little. "It's worth a try."
Drake smiled at her. "I guess we're going to Chinatown."