Chapter Three
“Good evening, Father,” Draco said, standing.
“Good evening, indeed!” His father bit off the words and glared at him. Mr. Malfoy pushed Draco back down into the chair, and he began snarling and biting out his words, his face rigid with fury. He was quite frightening. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I knew I just couldn’t leave Draco there without saying anything. I walked over to the waiter who carried the trays of coffee. I couldn’t hear what Draco had to say, but I could hear a few of Mr. Malfoy’s words over the chattering of the customers such as, “Disgrace to the Malfoy name,” and “Wasting my time,” and “Little Muggle whore.”
I was almost to the table with the coffee before I realized he had been talking about me. My face flushed with embarrassment and anger.
“How nice to know that Draco found someone to attend to his needs.” Draco’s father sneered at me. His tone made it clear that he was not referring to food or shelter.
I was so shocked that my mouth fell open and I gasped for breath. Draco’s eyes widened slightly. I remembered his earlier warning, but the words felt like they were being ripped from my throat. “Who the hell do you-“
“Father,” Draco said quickly, no doubt trying to placate his father’s anger. “This is Miriel Laveau. Weren’t you looking for someone named Laveau?”
His father’s manner changed instantly. “Miss Laveau, I’m terribly sorry that I’ve offended you. I’m afraid I can say distasteful thing when I’m angry. My fear for my son’s safety has upset me terribly. I’ve been sick with worry about him, and I haven’t slept. Please sit and let me thank you properly for looking after him.”
I hesitated and shifted uneasily. I could feel the heat slowly drain away from my face. “No thanks are necessary, Mr. Malfoy.”
“But you’ve been so kind as to befriend my son.” He indicated the chair next to him with an elegant wave of his hand.
I sat down nervously.
Against his chair Mr. Malfoy had propped up a black and silver walking stick. A curious thing, but one can find such items all over the little shops and markets in New Orleans. The French market, particularly, was a market filled with booths of interesting things that you probably wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else. I studied the walking stick more closely, and realized the handle was in the form of a silver viper’s head. Its mouth was open, and its fangs were bared. It was very detailed and even its eyes glittered realistically.
Mr. Malfoy gripped the staff in his hand. “I see you’ve noticed my staff. It’s excellent workmanship, isn’t it? I enjoy collecting interesting antiques and artwork. It’s partially what brought me here to your beautiful city.” He moved the staff over to the other side of him, as though he didn’t want me touching it.
“Miss Laveau, I’m looking for an old friend of mine. Perhaps you know her? Miranda Laveau. She dealt sometimes with antique mirrors. Her true name of course, is Silverthorn, but she’s evidently used this alias for years. Are you all right, my dear? You look rather pale.” He sipped his coffee, as though it was no big deal to just tell me that my last name for the last nineteen years had been a false one.
“She, um, was my mother,” I managed to choke out. “But maybe you’re confusing her with someone else. My mother’s name was Laveau. Why would she have used a different one?”
I glanced over at Draco, and he looked surprised. His leg startled, and it caught the ebony staff, knocking it over to the concrete floor.
Mr. Malfoy glanced at him with annoyance.
“Sorry, Father,” Draco muttered, picking it up and handing it to him.
Mr. Malfoy returned his attention to me. “Was?”
To my horror, my eyes filled with tears. “Excuse me,” I whispered, and bolted for the restroom. It was amazing how grief still snuck up on me at the most unfortunate times. Once inside, I splashed cold water on my face. “Get a grip,” I hissed to myself. This man was unnerving me. I just wanted to leave out the back door of the café and not come back, but I had to admit that by this time I was too curious to do so.
When I returned to the table, Mr. Malfoy’s eyes were filled with warmth and concern. “How clumsy of me to bring up something that is so obviously painful for you. I’m afraid I’ve upset you quite badly. I wouldn’t be asking about her, however, if it wasn’t important. I’ve gotten you some fresh coffee, as the other had grown cold. Please tell me, how did poor Miranda die?”
“I don’t wish to talk about it.”
“I understand. Please drink some coffee. You do look quite tired.”
“Why have you been looking for her?” I asked.
“She was an old friend of mine from school. She always had a charming habit of collecting antique mirrors. I heard she could even make them. I’m interested in such mirrors. An associate of mine found this at the French market, which I believe is very close by.” In his hand was a hand mirror, made of sterling silver. It was decorated in a style that was much like Art Nouveau, with flowing vines and flowers.
“I recognize it. But how did you know it belonged to her?”
“Would you have any more of these mirrors in your possession?” His smile was quite charming, but there was a predatory glint behind his eyes.
“I have a few of her belongings at my apartment, Mr. Malfoy, but I’m not interested in selling them. I’d like to keep them for sentimental reasons. Her lawyer had to sell most of her inventory of antiques to pay off the bills she and her, um, boyfriend left when she died.”
His smile faltered, and a pale eyebrow arched. “Her boyfriend, you say? How interesting. Please tell me more about this person.”
I squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t really want to talk about him, Mr. Malfoy. He’s not worth talking about.” I finally picked up my cup and sipped the thick, creamy coffee. Warmth spread through me, trailing hotly to my stomach. It set me at ease, and in a short time dulled the throbbing headache behind my eyes. I suddenly noticed how quiet it was compared to the usual rush of people at the café in the evening. For the first time I looked around, noticing that we were alone in the corner of the café. People actually appeared to be avoiding our table. Even the waiters began to make their way towards our table, only to change their minds for no apparent reason and walk away. Nobody was close enough to overhear us.
Puzzled, I looked at Mr. Malfoy, and found his eyes upon me intently. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Miss Silverthorn?”
I was about to tell him not to call me that, but something stopped me. I felt the unquenchable urge to tell him my true feelings, felt that I could in fact trust him. I considered his shirt buttons, which I suddenly realized were in the shape of tiny, silver snakes.
“I...yes. Yes you do. I think you’re quite dangerous,” I said. My voice sounded unfamiliar and vacant in my ears, and as soon as the words left me, I regretted them. I looked down into my cup. I glanced over at Draco, and he watched me with a kind of stunned fascination.
Mr. Malfoy continued. “And tell me, who is Miranda Laveau to you?”
“I’ve already told you that. She was my mother.” The words slipped out.
“And how exactly did she die?”
I fought, I clenched my fingers on the coffee cup, I tightened the muscles in my neck, but once again the desire to reveal the truth overwhelmed me. “She died of a drug overdose almost a year ago. I think her boyfriend gave them to her. He was a bastard, and he used to hit her. He became her partner in the antique shop, and then he ran it into the ground.”
“How dreadful for you.” Although his words were polite, Mr. Malfoy’s eyes were as cold and gray as ice in shadow. “Miss Silverthorn, please tell me, why did your mother become a traitor?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
He bit the question out harder. “Why did she leave the service of Tom Riddle? Why did she leave my brother?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His eyes narrowed as he sat there, as though considering what next he should ask. “Do you know that you are a witch, Miss Silverthorn?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Don’t you have any special... powers? Abilities? Do strange things happen when you become angry or frightened?”
“No,” I whispered. “I have a memory, of when I was little, of making mirrors break, but I think it might just have been dreams I’ve had.” I had never told anyone that before. I even tried to avoid thinking about it. Mr. Malfoy’s face wavered in front of me for a moment, blurring and then straightening once again. I tried to stand. “You drugged me,” I whispered. I briefly thought of the date rape drug. There was nothing he could do to me in the middle of a public cafe, was there?
I stumbled, and felt a fierce grip digging into my arm. “It’s only a form of Veritaserum,” Mr. Malfoy’s voice floated across to me, as from a far distance. “A truth potion. Unfortunately, it seems to be making you quite sleepy.”