Vicious Grace

GOING BACK to London felt strange. It didn’t seem like going home so much as going back to a friend’s place. There wasn’t the sense of exploration, of discovering something new. I’d been in these rooms before, slept in this bed, woken up to the same neighbor with a kink for bhangra music. The weather was gray and cool. The leaves had already changed color. Living with just Ex was strange too. I kept expecting him to be Aubrey or Chogyi Jake. But he drank coffee instead of green tea, and none of his stories were about exotic wasp larvae. It wasn’t unfamiliar, just strangely small.



We were sitting on the couch watching TV. The rain pattered against the back windows. A British police car with its two-tones siren passed by like something out of a BBC murder mystery. I wondered what Helen Mirren was doing these days. And between one breath and the next, I knew I was going to tell him.



“I shouldn’t have won,” I said.



Ex looked over at me. He frowned. He always frowned.



“The fight with the haugsvarmr. I shouldn’t have won.”



“The guilt’s hard. I know that, but—”



“Ex. The circle broke. I didn’t have you three to help me. Even with Aubrey pulling the Oath of the Abyss. I shouldn’t have been able to win.”



“The wards that Eric put on you—”



“You mean the ones we can’t find? The ones we haven’t reinforced in the last year and who knows how long before that? Those wards?”



Ex crossed his arms.



“Those wards,” he said.



“Spells are magic,” I said. “And magic fades. You told me that. Magic fades, and I’m getting stronger.”



“All right,” Ex said.



There should have been a flash of lightning, a crack of thunder. The rain just kept dripping. The TV show went to commercial. I felt Ex’s gaze on me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite fathom. I took a deep breath, sighing it out slowly. When I spoke, my voice sounded weirdly calm and matter-of-fact. You know. All things considered.



“I think I have a rider.”