Dangerous Domesticity

Blackwood Manor was a fortress disguised as a home. The hallways were lined with marble busts of Julian’s ancestors, all stern men who had upheld the law.

Elara sat at her vanity, removing her jewelry. It was two in the morning.

The door to the bedroom opened. Julian walked in. He had removed his coat, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked exhausted.

"You were quiet on the ride home," Julian said, walking to the side table to pour a whiskey.

"I have a headache," Elara replied, watching him through the mirror.

She noticed something. Julian moved stiffly. When he reached for the decanter, he favored his left side. A grimace of pain flickered across his face so quickly that if she hadn't been studying him for three years, she would have missed it.

"Rough night at the office?" she asked, turning on the stool.

"Standard bureaucratic nonsense," Julian said, taking a long drink. "Reports of unauthorized magic in the Market District. I had to investigate."

"Did you catch them?"

"They were gone before I arrived." He swirled the amber liquid. "They’re getting bolder. The Scales."

"Perhaps they have a point," Elara tested, keeping her voice light. "The taxes on the Undercity are rising. People are desperate."

Julian’s eyes snapped to hers. They were cold, analytical. "Desperation excuses survival, Elara. It does not excuse chaos. The law is the only thing keeping Ouroboros from eating itself."

"Spoken like a true believer."

"I speak like a man who knows what happens when the order breaks." He finished his drink in one swallow and set the glass down with a sharp *clack*. "I’ll be working late tomorrow night. Security detail for the Masquerade at the Ledger."

Elara’s heart skipped a beat. Of course. He would be there.

"Don't work too hard," she said, standing up. She walked past him to the bathroom. As she passed, she smelled it—not expensive cologne, and not whiskey. Beneath those scents was the copper tang of blood and the distinct, sulfurous smell of blast-powder.

He hadn't been investigating magic in the market. He had been in a firefight.

She closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. Julian was hunting "The Scales" aggressively now. If he was taking personal command of the Ledger’s security, her mission had just gone from difficult to suicidal.

But she had no choice. She touched the silver ring on her finger—a focus for her magic.

* I’m sorry, Julian,* she thought. *But if you stand in front of that Siphon tomorrow, I will go through you.*