Hello, everyone!
Did you really think I would leave you on that awful cliffhanger? *cough* I totally would do that... *cough, cough*
*** P.S. In case you did not guess by the titles of the chapters, I plan to alternate between a 'present' and 'past-tense' arc of the story for the first few chapters - so you WILL eventually find out what happens between Flashback 1 and where Chapter 1 picks up in the present tense, in case you were wondering. :)
P.S.S. As I said in the Flashback 1 chapter, if you have not done so, please read the three beginning chapters of Morgenstern Girl before reading this story, so you don't get confused. :) Again, thanks for all your support and have fun reading the story! ***
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments. Sorry. :P
CHAPTER 1: WHOSO LIST TO HUNT
"You took longer than expected," he heard her murmur. "Should I be worried, Atrean?"
Lilting his shoulders, Atrean lazily meandered through the length of the portal, following the lovely sound of her words.
Her voice had always been unique - a smooth, cultured purr, laced with the slightest hint of an accent from her native Italian tongue. A sound as fluid and elegant as wine pouring into a crystal glass.
"Not at all, My Lady," he replied, blinded by the shimmering air. Atrean squinted his acid-green eyes, his slitted cat's pupils contracting at the light. "I was just tying up some loose ends with one of your clients. I apologize for any inconvenience."
"I'm glad to hear that," she answered - with a measure of humor. "I've had my share of hiccups, for today. I was hoping to avoid any more."
Finally, he past through the portal entrance like breaking through the sheet of a cascading waterfall. Suddenly, the distortion was gone and his vision of the room became instantly clear. They were in a library now - the rows of gilded books and the opulent furniture gave that away - and judging by the stunning mountain view from the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, they must have been in Idris.
Warlocks were typically not welcomed by Shadowhunter kind - nor were any Downworlders, for that matter - but he didn't need to be accepted by them to appreciate the splendor of their country. There had always been something ethereal about this place, something sacred in the purity of its beauty, that was captivating to behold.
The next thing his eyes caught sight of was the body of an unconscious man, sprawled like an abandoned ragdoll on the wooden floor.
Atrean's pale eyebrows darted upward in dull interest.
The man was old, Atrean supposed. Likely over the age of fifty in mortal years, with peppered black hair and blue eyes the color of bottle glass. Another glance told him that while this man was not particularly handsome, he was particularly wealthy - or at least enjoyed pretending to be so. His fingers were stacked with a half-dozen expensive rings, their jewels catching the dim light like multicolored stars. A few Rune-scars scrawled over the back of his hands - disappearing underneath the white cuffs of his formal shirt.
So he was a Shadowhunter, Atrean recognized with a start. Were they in a Nephilim home, then? A manor in the countryside, perhaps?
Suddenly, the room darkened and he glanced up to see Lady Orsa dragging the heavy curtains across the window, snuffing out the afternoon sunlight.
She strode to the man as soon as the curtain was closed, her motions as smooth as water flowing in a riverbed, and, if it weren't for her high heels, nearly as silent. Her flashing brown eyes had narrowed, her full mouth curled into her usual arrogant smirk, her poise as regal as a queen's…
From where he stood, all he could see of her was the line of her long, jacket, the hem of it swirling around her feet like midnight smoke, and her dark hair loosely pinned up like a curling, obsidian crown.
She was exceptionally beautiful, he knew, especially for a mortal, and the fact only seemed to cause her endless trouble.
It was a small wonder, he supposed, why she rarely took on any intel-collecting missions by herself. Regardless of her skill, it was difficult to stay inconspicuous when every eye was hopelessly drawn to you.
Dropping to her knees, she reached inside the man's grey suit-vest and sifted through until she had pulled out a single, crisp square of paper - a letter. Once in hand, she turned the envelope over thoughtfully in her fingers, studying it like a particularly interesting lab specimen. In all black, she looked more like a panther crouched over a kill than a human woman.
"What happened to this one?" Atrean wondered, jutting his chin at the unmoving figure on the floor.
Even though her back was to him, could sense that she was smiling.
"Ah," she sighed, rising to her feet. "Mr. Ashguard, here, asked me to provide some 'services' that fall outside of my normal tutoring contract…" A flicker of disdain passed over her features like a shadow and Atrean finally registered the broken bookshelf beside the man - its snapped shelves spilling forth a number of untidy volumes and loose pages, as if something had been shoved against it with savage force. "Unfortunately," she added with a dark glower, "I had to politely decline his offer."
Atrean had a good idea of what 'services' she was referring to and had a mind to turn this Ashguard bastard into a leech for sport.
Knowing this would displease her, he took a deep breath and curled his fingers into tight fists.
"He must have caused you some trouble, to end up like this," he growled through his sharp, gritted teeth. "I wish you would have summoned me earlier, My Lady. I would have been more than happy to take care of him for you."
Airily, she waved his protest away.
"It wasn't anything I couldn't handle - nothing to get worked up about." There was something dreamy about her expression, as if she were recalling a memory with warm fondness. Coming back into focus, her brown eyes scanned him once, as if taking his measure. "You still seem displeased, Atrean… Why is that?"
Crossing his arms, he frowned and slid to stand beside her.
It had been a number of years, since he had first met Jada Buonavento, and her ability to read others' emotions never ceased to amaze him. Part of the reason, he supposed, why it had been such an easy decision to follow her. As far as Downworld informants went, she was the most powerful this world had ever seen – and he had never been the type to settle for second best.
Even though his leader's current motives were more than a little unclear…
"I can't understand why you would lower yourself to this menial task, Lady Orsa…" he growled, nudging his booted toe savagely into Thaddeus' unresponsive shoulder. "Playing 'babysitter' for this rat's benefit –" Irritation got the better of him and his voice cut off. He shook his head to dispel the emotion and carried on, "You have been doing this for over a year now, posing as a tutor to infiltrate the homes of these Circle vermin…"
Jada carelessly examined her fingernails. "And?" she prompted delicately.
"And," he raged on, "you have any number of contacts who could have done this in your place… Why not send them?"
There was a nearly imperceptible pause before her smirk widened.
"It was less a matter of resources than a matter of trust – or lack thereof," she replied in silken precision. With a sway of her hips, she strode across the room and offered him the piece of paper, her expression guarded. "Although this Ashguard fellow did offer an interesting prize… Tell me, what do you see?"
Unhesitatingly, he took the envelope from her and flipped it over. It was unimpressive, in and of itself, he supposed – that was, until he saw the seal.
The letter was branded with the letter 'M', surrounded by a cluster of falling stars, stamped neatly in a circle of black wax. His acid-green eyes widened – in realization. Infiltrating the Circle had been Orsa's primary objective for almost two years now, and there was only one name that this seal could have belonged to.
"So, you were right…" Atrean murmured warily. "He is alive, after all."
When he glanced over at her, he saw her narrowed brown eyes were blazing with a glorious light."Yes…" she confirmed. "It would appear so." She sauntered over to his side, a slight grin curling her lips. "Someone has been delivering these letters to the highest members of the Circle - a mundane servant with the Sight named Martha. She only makes her rounds every few months, so it was difficult to get my hands on one."
Something didn't add up.
Atrean shook his head, rustling his long, straw-colored hair.
"Isn't it a bit foolish, sending out letters with his family's wax seal? I thought he was trying to stay hidden."
"I would not presume to call Valentine Morgenstern a fool, Atrean…" she amended, casting a sly glance in his direction. "A narcissist, perhaps – but not a fool." She plucked the letter out of his hand and broke the wax seal with single a flick of her finger, as if she intended to read it. All at once, the letter disintegrated like a puff of smoke in her hand and crumbled into a cloud of pale ash.
She smiled as if she had expected it and milled the remnants of the paper thoughtfully between her fingers, watching as the white dust fell to her feet like salt.
"He is a surprisingly thorough narcissist, though," she murmured. "I will give him that…"
As if in warning, Atrean's shoulders stiffened at her tone.
There was something startling coloring her voice now.
Something almost… warm.
But he did not get much time to dwell on the fact.
Moments later, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the library entrance, and Atrean's gaze snapped up, just in time to see two new figures appearing in the dark wooden doorway. He relaxed when we finally recognized them as Lady Orsa's other Downworld representatives - more members in her intel network.
The tall one was the werewolf woman, Atrean knew. She was amazonian and muscular – all contrasts, with thick, snowy dreadlocks, dark, ebony skin, and pale blue eyes the precise color of ice. By mortal standards, he supposed that she would have been considered middle-aged, even old, but of course, she was not an average mortal. She walked toward them, dragging Orsa's hip-high leather suitcase behind her,seemingly unaware of the weight.
A young boy darted out from behind her hips in a flurry of dark golden ringlets, seemingly her complete opposite. Between his pale, child's skin and wide brown eyes, he looked like a tiny cherub, the kind that flitted on the clouds in the ceiling-paintings of old Christian churches. In his arms, he clutched a tattered brown teddy bear that was missing an eye and looked like it had seen better days.
"We collected your belongings, My Lady," the little boy sang, flouncing into the room. "Just as you requested!"
After suspiciously eyeing the closed curtain on the far wall, he skipped over to where Thaddeus was sprawled on the floor and smiled gleefully, baring incisor teeth as long and sharp as needles. Dark veins spidered from his temples – and Atrean knew his kind well enough to recognize it as the tell-tale signs of hunger.
Wistfully, he beamed up at Jada, his bright eyes dancing like pools of chocolate.
"What would you like us to do with this one, Miss Orsa?" he inquired expectantly, bouncing on his heels. "Are you finished with him yet?"
"Leave him, Oliver," came her short response. She was at the other end of the room, examining a stack papers on Thaddeus' desk and seemed to be only half paying attention. Thoughtfully, she eyed a thick, shimmering decanter on the table next to her and poured some of its honey-colored contents into its matching crystal glass. "He's served his purpose. It would only cause suspicion if we killed him now."
All at once, the vampire boy's sunny energy looked deflated.
He sulked back to the werewolf's side like a tiny thundercloud, pouting at the prospect of missing a meal. Deep wrinkles rayed from the werewolf woman's pale eyes as she glanced at him - perhaps in concern, Atrean guessed - but she, as always, said nothing.
An odd pair, those two, Atrean thought with a suspicious glare. Werewolves and vampires were supposed to despise each other. Why those two seemed to get along so swimmingly had always been a mystery to him…
Before he had a chance to say so, Orsa turned back towards the group with a shadowy eyebrow arched.
"Unfortunately, this operation didn't go as smoothly as I would have liked…" she explained, still perched against the desk. "As a result, this is going to require a bit more cleanup than usual." Absently, she raised her ornate glass to her red-painted lips - and her nose wrinkled in a grimace before she could take a sip. "Ugh," she scoffed, instantly dropping the glass to the table. "Scotch."
Hiding a smile, Atrean dipped to a low bow.
"Right away, Lady Orsa…" the warlock replied, catching her attention. "As you know, cleanup is my specialty."
Not sparing any theatricality, he straightened to his full, willowy height and raised a splayed hand to his side, watching at the other members of the group stared on in wonder.
When he next swiped his hand through the air, he felt the energy flow through his body - the crackle of electricity in his veins, igniting emerald sparks from his fingertips - and he knew he had never felt more alive.
Reality itself seemed to move and shift with every delicate motion. The bookshelves mending to their original shape, the books rebound and stacked neatly once more, the ash of the letter erased from existence… He even took care to straighten the carpet underneath the still man, as if he had fallen into a pleasant nap rather than being thrown there by force. Not a single page or mite of dust was out of place.
After it was done, he turned to Jada with a sly grin, knowing his work was impeccable.
"Have I pleased you, My Lady?" he inquired, inclining his head to her.
"Almost." Lady Orsa looked on with entertained fascination. "Although it seems you may have missed a small detail."
Atrean's jaw tightened as Jada raised her scotch glass once more - the rim of it still tinged with lipstick like a smear of fresh blood.
"As far as Mr. Ashguard should remember," she explained clearly. "I was never in the library. I politely tendered my resignation with him due to an unforeseeable personal emergency and I left quickly… None of our previous confrontation ever happened. You cannot leave a trace."
"Of course, My Lady." With a quick snap of his fingers, the lipstick was gone from the glass and he sauntered over to the man on the floor.
Frowning, Atrean tried to remember every detail Jada had mentioned - fabricating the memory she had wanted in the way that one might thread an intricate tapestry. Each moment had to be a perfect representation of reality, completely believable as to not cause suspicion with the recipient. Once he was fully satisfied with the image, he passed his hand over 'Mr. Ashugard's' forehead, feeling the old memories dissipate and the new ones sink in - separating like oil and water in his mind.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jada smile with an expression close to pride. Oliver, on the other hand, emphatically rolled his eyes.
"Show off," the vampire hissed under his breath.
"The spell is completed, Atrean?" she inquired, casting an amused glance at Oliver. "Mr. Ashguard will remember nothing of the last few minutes?"
Atrean scoffed and crossed his long arms petulantly over his chest. "I have never failed you before, milady… And I don't intend to start now."
"Very well, then." With another quick smile, she scanned each of their faces with slow purpose. "Come along, everyone. It appears that our work here is done."
Decisively, Jada reached for her left hand, twisting the silver band around her finger in a single, perfect rotation.
There was the oddest sound that accompanied it – he would have called it a click, but that was not quite right. It was the sound of a key turning in a lock, the sound of an opening. All at once, the air in front of Jada seemed to dance, framing her with a curtain of air that shimmered like a patch of moonlight reflecting off ocean waves.
A portal.
The air beckoned like the glittering reflection of a pond, suspended, impossibly, in midair. After receiving the obedient nod from the vampire, werewolf, and warlock in turn, Jada detached from the desk and stepped through the wall of air first.
Seconds later, she had disappeared - not waiting for the others to follow after her.
Martha stared at the black carriage leaving the Ashguard Manor just as hers turned to enter the long driveway, and she silently prayed that Thaddeus was not in it.
Valentine had requested that she deliver a letter to Thaddeus Ashguard in person, earlier this morning, and the later realization that she had delivered the wrong letter to him filled her with an exhausted sense of annoyance.
The letters were enchanted, of course - only visible to the intended recipient - so she supposed the security of the Circle was not at risk if someone were to try reading what was inside… But it did mean that the letter would dissipate as soon as Thaddeus tried to open it, rendering it completely useless for Valentine's purposes.
Martha had been delivering similar letters across Idris all day – travelling from house to house, acreage to acreage… and having to repeat a trip for one man made her head ache.
She was getting too old for this, she realized, staring down at her weathered hands.
Not, she added internally, that Valentine Morgenstern seemed to care.
Ever since the Uprising, he had barely been around – travelling back and forth between their glamoured manor and the Wayland home close by. There was another boy, she had discovered later on, who Valentine was raising in the other house, and the realization was blisteringly infuriating.
This other boy, at the very least, had been given caretakers: servants of various kinds, tutors even… while Valentine had found it reasonable to leave Martha to take care of
his estate – and his brute of a son – mostly alone.
Martha shivered at the thought of Jonathan Morgenstern, in spite of the oppressive afternoon heat burning against her skin.
Valentine's son was a menace - which, she knew, was a horrific understatement if there ever was one.
If Jonathan Morgenstern wasn't running around, trying to demolish anything he could get his sinister little hands on, he was wearing that devilish grin of his and scheming of ways to do it. Between chasing him around, trying to manage a castle-sized manor to Valentine's standard of order, and running around like an errand-boy at her master's every whim, she had to admit that she was on the verge of running herself ragged.
Although, things had gotten better, she supposed, since Eve had been brought to the Manor two years ago – and Valentine had seemed to sense it as well.
Something about that lovely little girl had levelled Jonathan in a way. Perhaps not softened him – not so much as Martha would have liked. But at the very least, he was tolerable to be around, now. Eve herself was a saint, requiring almost no energy to take care of, on Martha's part, so the last couple of years had gotten much easier, indeed.
And, as an added benefit, since Jonathan's behavior had marginally improved, Valentine had also started to mention hiring a tutor for the children. The suggestion had come as an overwhelming relief to Martha – though she knew that a tutor would be more for Eve's sake than for Jonathan's…
Much like his father before him, Martha knew Valentine had wanted to train Jonathan himself, with as little outside influence as possible.
Martha thought it should have been irrational, Valentine being as protective as he was… But then, she supposed that the last person he had let that close to his family was his wife - and she had run off with his best friend and single-handedly thwarted the Uprising... so perhaps the suspicion wasn't so irrational, after all.
With abrupt force, the carriage halted in front of the giant home.
She was mildly shocked to see Thaddeus rush outside to the expansive terrace, his jewel-blue eyes staring wildly into the distance, his thinning dark hair frazzled. At the sight
of Martha, his mouth had sagged open, dumbly, and it was all she could do not to laugh. Even though her carriage now stood in front of him, she knew he was not seeing it. He looked like a modern-day Icarus. One that had just flown too close to the sun.
"Thaddeus –" She opened the carriage door and peeked her head out. "Thaddeus, are you alright?"
That seemed to break his trance.
He turned his head slowly, almost mechanically, as if his body had been replaced with an animated puppet. "Oh, Martha… I thought you might be someone else –" his voice was tight, not very
like his normal self. She could tell he was trying to collect himself – and failing. "What a pleasure to see you again."
Fascination and confusion chased each other across her aging features.
Thaddeus had never been a particularly elegant man, but she had never seen him this rattled either. She considered telling the driver to turn around, certain that it was a bad time to be seeing him, but her travelling had wearied her.
And she had always found Thaddeus somewhat good-looking, so she assumed it was best to stay.
He quickly descended the steps to the carriage, then politely extended his hand to her, as if to help her down. She saw the rune scars on his hand, scrawling like spider-web thread underneath the cuff of his white button-down shirt. It gave her a slight measure of satisfaction to put her un-scarred hand on his as she closed the gap between the carriage's folding step and the mismatched cobblestone.
Not that she was a fool, obviously: she knew the idea of her being with a Shadowhunter in that way was scandalous.
The whole thing was forbidden, of course. She was a mundane, after all, albeit one with the Sight. The only reason she had been so involved in this world of theirs was the fact that her family had spent generations as servants to the Morgensterns. Which, of course, had been where she too had spent the last four decades of her life. Naturally, no one outside the Morgenstern family even vaguely knew who she was, which was why, she assumed, she was so valuable to Valentine. No one cared about a Mundane in this country, so she could move about freely, without any threat of suspicion. And for all the Circle members knew, she had no real purpose, other than to deliver their letters once every few months…
But a girl could certainly dream.
With an awkward hand gesture, Thaddeus ushered her into the giant home, muttering something under his breath about the summer heat. Like hers, his hair had started to turn gray with age and Martha decided quickly that she liked it, as she followed him into the house.
Once inside the front door, she instantly noticed that the foyer was cool, with only a few windows to bring in the harsh afternoon sunlight. But while, the Ashguard home was certainly luxurious, it was still a far cry from her normal place of residence. This house, by comparison, was likely half the size, and half as ornate, as the manor Valentine had built for himself after the Uprising.
Not that she was complaining, of course: the smaller the house, the more it felt like a home, as far as she was concerned. But Valentine had never been the kind of man to spare any expense. Especially on his personal pride.
"Can I get you something to drink, Martha?" offered Thaddeus politely. When he turned to glance at her, his smile was almost as weary as she felt.
She returned the grin, lightly smoothing her rigidly pulled back brown hair. "Unfortunately, not today. I just came to give you this," she replied, rummaging for the envelope. "It appears I may have given you the wrong letter this morning. I apologize for any inconvenience."
"Oh, no trouble at all," he assured her with a shaky grin. For a second, he reached into his grey vest pocket, rummaging for something. When he came up with nothing, he quizzically scratched his head and accepted the new envelope with a look of confusion. "Honestly, I hadn't even tried to open it… I wonder where it went to, anyway…"
Thoughtfully, Martha took a few steps around the foyer, her long, charcoal-colored dress brushing against the ankles of her boots. She paused at a large painting of the Angel Raziel, admiring the craftsmanship. "How is your wife doing, by the way?" she asked lightly, trying to move along the conversation.
Thaddeus looked suddenly and momentarily gutted.
"Ah, they are doing well," he replied curtly. "She and the children, that is. In fact, they all left just a few days ago – I thought that a vacation would do them some good, so I sent them off to London… Cynthia has some family there, so…"
He let the sentence trail off and Martha nodded, recognizing the name of Thaddeus's wife. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "You chose not to join them?"
A thick silence followed her question. Thaddeus swallowed, and she could see small beads of sweat gathering anxiously at his temples.
"No – I chose not to." He laughed, as if to break the silence, but the noise did not have any humor; he sounded more like a violin with over-tightened strings. She couldn't help but notice the color flooding into his face. "I was pursuing a personal interest, you could say. If things had gone as planned, I had hoped to have a week or so to enjoy myself, without any… interruptions."
"Oh." Martha wondered what he may have meant by that but didn't pry. Perhaps, she noticed absently, it was a side effect of working for the Morgensterns for so long. For the most
part, any unnecessary questions she ever asked them were answered with searing glares, so she had learned better than to speak so loosely. "So, I take it that they did not work out, then: your other plans?"
He laughed – a bit shakily. "Not as well I had hoped."
"How unfortunate." She felt suddenly felt like she had stepped on a nerve. "I was happy I was able to deliver that, regardless," she added, gesturing to the neat envelope in his Thaddeus' hand. She caught a momentary glance of the small circle of black wax – an 'M' was pressed there, next to a familiar motif of stars. "I had worried that you wouldn't be here, when I saw the other carriage leaving…"
"Ah, no. I asked one of the staff to send out a letter, actually. Something happened with one of our employees, Jada Buonavento. I was hoping to pass on the news to Cynthia as soon as I could."
"Buonavento?" she echoed. Martha had worked in the Nephilim world her whole life – almost forty-five years. Naturally, she had gotten to know many names of the great Shadowhunter lineages, but this, she knew, was not one of them.
Thaddeus seemed to know it, though. His eyes lit up like a pair of blue rune-stones.
"Have you really not heard of her?" he exclaimed in fascination. "She is – well, was – the tutor we recently hired for the children."
Martha studied him with curious grey eyes. "Was?"
"Yes… Unfortunately, she tendered her resignation here, earlier this morning… It seemed that she had some personal matters to attend to - no fault of her own, of course…" Regardless of the bad news, she noticed that Thaddeus' face had grown unspeakably soft. "Which is a shame. I doubt we will ever find her equal in all of Idris, perhaps even beyond…"
A tutor?
Sudden interest pricked the back of Martha's mind.
An idea was forming, slowly, but resolutely.
Of course, there were more questions to be answered before she would try to proceed, but maybe…
"The best in all of Idris, you say?" Martha prompted in a light tone - the way, she knew, Valentine did, when he was gleaning for more information. "That is very high praise."
"But certainly well-deserved," he insisted, with a chuckle. Martha was glad to see the mood had lightened. "I am surprised you have not heard about her… She was the daughter of those infamous Buonavento doctors." Buonavento doctors? she wondered again. Judging from his tone, it must have been something of common knowledge – but Martha, on the other hand, had spent the last four years encased in a wall of glamour at Valentine's manor. It made it difficult to keep up-to-date with the latest societal gossip. "And if that was not interesting enough," he continued, "her own credentials are astounding as well. She graduated with honors from the Academy – best in her class. Even won a few of the highest academic awards, from what I hear… She is quite possibly one of the greatest young minds of our time… Of course," he added, staring at his shoes. "Genius does not come without its quirks… For the last two years she has only worked with the most venerable Shadowhunter families, and only those belonging to the Circle… And she can tend to be rather strict –"
He may as well have told her it was Christmas.
"She's a Circle member?" Martha echoed again, only hoping she was concealing the fluttering anticipation in her chest.
Quite frankly, the situation seemed just too good to be true.
A brilliant tutor, well-recommended and exceptionally gifted, recently unemployed, and a Circle member?
Martha had never really given much thought to god before - whether a deity did or did not exist in this world. She had always been taught that the master she served was the closest
thing a god, as far as she should be concerned.
But if there was ever a moment to convince her of one, this would be it.
"Naturally, I would not have hired any less…" Thaddeus rambled on. "But I am not sure how long she's been a member, though… There haven't been many official initiations since the Uprising, of course…" After a quick moment of pause, he turned to her with an inquisitive tilt to his head. "Why do you ask, Martha? Do you know someone who is looking for a tutor?"
She shrugged indifferently, as if he had been wrong.
It was not as if anyone knew she worked directly with Valentine – no one outside of Valentine's family, at least – but it was always better to err on the side of caution. "No one in particular, but I do know a number of families who may, in the future…"
His expression lit up again, with an idea. It made him look, momentarily, like he was ten years younger.
"Of course - what a wonderful notion!" exclaimed Thaddeus, leaving Martha even more confused than before. "Come with me," he told her, beckoning with one hand. There was
something in his face, something desperate hidden just beneath the surface…
She wasn't sure if it was pity or intrigue that caused her to follow him, but a moment later her feet were moving in step behind him, almost against her will.
Thaddeus led her to a large room next to the foyer - an office or a library, it seemed.
There was a bulky cherry-colored desk there, covered in random, disorganized stacks of paper and stationary. Without another word, he went to the desk and began rifling through the drawers, leaving Martha to linger in the doorway.
"When we first hired her on, prior to her employment, she gave us these…" Thaddeus explained. A moment later, he was standing in front of her, offering three or four creased pieces of paper that Martha eyed suspiciously.
She cautiously took the stack, recognizing a few of the more notable family names as she flipped through the thick, luxurious parchment.
"References?" she wondered aloud.
"Yes," he confirmed. "And I'd like to add one of my own as well, if you have a few minutes to wait…You'll probably also want to know her address, in case you ever need to contact her. She's currently living with her Aunt and Uncle in the countryside, but tends to be away as the job requires…"
Frowning, Martha silently wondered why Thaddeus Ashguard felt the need to write a glowing recommendation for the woman who had just left his employment less than thirty minutes earlier, but she did not argue. Especially not when he was practically building her case to Valentine for her… Unless it was possible, she thought in retrospect, that this 'Buonavento' woman was precisely as good at her job as Thaddeus had described; good enough that even in this kind of situation, her skills surpassed any hard feelings he may have had for her.
He sat in his desk and hesitated with his pen floating just above his paper. Suddenly, he glanced her way, his sapphire eyes oddly hopeful.
"Martha, can you do me a favor?" he inquired. "… If you ever get a chance to meet her, can you tell Jada that I recommended her to you?"
She inclined her head, politely. "As you wish, Mr. Ashguard."
The response seemed to be enough affirmation for Thaddeus.
Martha glanced his way a bit suspiciously as he attacked the parchment with single-minded vigor. She glued her eyes to the office wall, listening to the scratching of Thaddeus' pen against paper and trying to ignore the anticipated thundering of her own heartbeat.
Finally, it seemed, things were about to get easier for her.
WOOHOO! Two chapters posted so far! :D *does a happy dance in chair*
I am so excited to hear your thoughts and start getting your feedback! As always, feel free to review with your comments!
I will see all you lovely people next week for the next chapter! :D
Love, Fishie.