Of course, the government could not ban relations with a colleague, and. they couldn’t say that, especially not in those words. They’d step on peoples’ toes, for one thing, so the drafters had phrased it as ‘ill-advised’. Alexander Regale, Gideon’s boss, had been dropping hints that things needed to be discussed and he expected to see Gideon the following Monday morning. No excuses. Gideon read between the lines and got the message. So, after spending the weekend in Devon, he found himself stepping into the Ministry Atrium with Emmeline at his side.
“Did you know?”
After the incident with Molly, Emmeline had hardly spoken with him. She’d spent time with Arthur and the boys, and they’d enjoyed her company. Molly, for once, held her tongue and chose her words carefully. Aunt Muriel had taken free reign with her comments, so, all in all, it was an uneventful birthday, as he ignored his aunt’s commentary . Emmeline didn’t hadn’t shed a tear which scared him more than anything. Was that it? Did women usually sweep these things under the rug and go about their day?
They waited for the next available lift and stepped in once its golden grilles clanged open. There was a crowd inside and plenty of flying memos zoomed around their heads. Gideon, who hated tight spaces, closed his eyes and focused on something else other than the walls closing in.
He hurried out when they had reached Level Two. He thought the sooner he caught Arthur, the better. He needed his brother-in-law’s full attention before he got caught up in some project, but Gideon had been down here before. The place reminded him of a broom shed. If he’d been asked to work down here, Gideon felt sure that he’d fall into a panic before lunchtime. A man sat behind a desk and Arthur examined a broomstick, twirling the thing in his hands. The old man, Perkins, invited them inside and Emmeline took Arthur’s squeaky chair and Gideon stayed in the corridor and stood in the doorway.
“What’re you doing?” Gideon knew it was safer not to ask, sometimes, but curiosity got the best of him.
“Oh, hello. This,” said Arthur, glancing down at the broomstick and stuffing a slip of parchment in his pocket. “Well, it’s an interesting tale.”
“They always are,” said Gideon, grinning.
“Well, this one,” said Arthur, putting on his glasses for a better look and wiping the broomstick off with a rag, “involves pumbles and things. Anyway, when they go to mend things, they use this long stick with a, bowl on the other end. And when the thing touches water, it transfigures itself into a broomstick, and flips over, you know, covers them in ...”
“We’re working on it,” said Perkins, pulling a folder out of one of the filing cabinets. The broomstick turned back into the Muggle contraption once it was dry. He gave Gideon a look. Gideon supposed that the man took pride in his work, too, but he wasn’t as swept up into it as his partner. He touched his ear and flipped on his hearing trumpet. “And they’re called plumbers and plungers, Arthur. Muggles call ‘em all the time to patch up their pipes and fix renovations.”
“Exactly,” said Arthur, taking note of the correction. “Rick, here, knows it all. He’s Muggle-born, so he keeps me in line with all of this stuff. At this time of the year, pranksters are probably enjoying their schemes and games, and we get requests for raids and inspections. You reckon I should alert Broom Regulatory Control, Rick?”
Perkins shrugged and said something that Gideon didn’t catch. He raised his voice, perhaps to compensate for the fact that he couldn’t hear well. Emmeline got up, too, said good-bye to Perkins, and followed Gideon and Arthur back down the corridor. Arthur leaned on the broomstick like a walking stick to make room in the lift.
“Where are you headed?” he asked, shuffling over to make room for a wizened witch.
“Fifth floor,” Gideon muttered, nudging Emmeline. “Are we not talking now?”
She said nothing.
“I suppose Molly’s not speaking with me either,” Gideon muttered under his breath. He glanced at Arthur, who shook his head. Gideon hadn’t got an answer to that question for two days now, and there was no use springing it on her. “Did you know or not? Answer me.”
“No.” Emmeline stared at the wall.
“All right.” Gideon nodded, thinking they were getting somewhere. “You want to talk about this?”
“No.”
“Are you going to say anything else?” Gideon clenched his teeth, annoyed with her.
He glanced at Arthur, who stood between them and looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else. Emmeline stepped out first and Gideon was at her heels, cursing under his breath. They walked to the end of a narrow corridor. One office door stood ajar, and a black man sat at his desk dictating a report to his quill. Gideon didn’t recognise the tongue. A few doors down, three women carried on a conference in Spanish. When Gideon and Emmeline opened the heavy oak doors, they stood in a circular room where a sea of colourful flags floated above their heads. They sat at a polished mahogany table.
Gideon recognised all of them, which was surprising, seeing as he’d imagined being interrogated by a panel of strangers. He was taken aback to see both Albus Dumbledore and Alexander Regale present; they both held British seats in the International Confederation of Wizards, but they had other obligations, too. Regale’s long hair was tied back in a ponytail and he fingered something in his pocket. Cornelius Fudge, the Junior Minister, was present, as well, yet Gideon failed to make heads or tails of this appointment. Auguste Marceau, a French delegate and Gideon’s mentor, and François Vance, Emmeline’s father, sat at the far end. In certain circles, Vance was known as Le Guillotine. They were both of slender build, though François donned a grey beard and moustache. Auguste smoked his pipe and the two broke off their whispered conversation rather abruptly.
“Bonjour.” Emmeline and Gideon bowed (Why would they bow? They’re not royalty) and greeted them in unison.
“Sit,” François said, waving his hand at the remaining seats.
They held on to these old traditions as a nod to the past. These days, they meant nothing, but they showed a mark of honour. Gideon thought it odd that neither Monsieur Marceau nor Professor Dumbledore took the high seat, but he said nothing against it. He held out a chair for his wife,before he sat down.
“Tell me. Why are you here?”
François took this approach often. Honestly, Gideon found this reflective thought thing to be useless, unless it was to throw fault on the table. Dumbledore stared at Emmeline and put his fingertips together. Fudge, who acted as the scribe, dipped a quill into an ink bottle and scribbled away. Emmeline answered in French first in a rushed response. Gideon, who swore he’d misheard her, jerked his head round so fast, he thought he’d gotten whiplash.
“En anglais,” François demanded, jerking his head at a confused Fudge.
“We are here, monsieur, because you are married to ancient texts,” she said, her words biting, “but, if I may, you’ve a personal stake here -”
“That doesn’t hold,” Regale reminded her quietly.
“Oh, monsieur, but it does. It does.” Emmeline jumped in before Professor Dumbledore had time to say anything because Emmelie had cut across him. She rose slowly out of her chair. “Everything matters, does it not, monsieurs? Let’s just save ourselves time and say it, shall we? Monsieur Vance elected me as Monsieur Prewett’s translator to weave through treaties, which are, of course, unconstitutional, but why not turn a deaf ear to our laws as long as we get signatures? Like the good old days, yes? Negotiate on our own time with whores and wine, because it seals the deal.”
“Emmeline.” Gideon stared at her and took her hand. Fudge had knocked over his ink bottle and splattered ink down the front of his robes. “Sit down.”
“You think I don’t know your game?” Emmeline snatched her hand away from Gideon and went for her father. “Whatever you do is fine,Papa, but when I decide to marry a man, everyone’s in an uproar. Your plan, your scheme backfired, and you’re reaping the reward.”
“Mademoiselle,” said Auguste, speaking in a rush because François was quick to anger. He conjured an ashtray out of midair and tapped his cigarette in it after brushing the spent ashes off his own notes. “Et states in Article ...”
“I care not for your legislation,” she said shortly, nodding at Regale.
“Oui, but et’s ze law,” Auguste insisted, scratching his trimmed salt and pepper beard with his quill feather.
Emmeline overrode him,for she’d heard that excuse a hundred times. “And if you doubt my competence, we can stand here and play out your little contest whilst I recite your eighteenth century nonsense in French, English, or Spanish. Which would you prefer?”
“Sit,” hissed François, slamming his fist on the table. Emmeline slid down into her chair and crossed her ankles. Francois rounded on Regale. “I never signed ‘er off as your liaison!”
Gideon could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile on Auguste’s lips, but it disappeared quite as fast as he imagined it. Auguste took out his lighter and started burning through another one.“I did.”
“If I may, François, Mademoiselle,” said Professor Dumbledore, holding up a hand to silence the French delegate. Regale, apparently, had decided to let them hash this out whilst he sat back and watched the match. It was the smartest move he’d made in a long time. “Emmeline brings up an interesting point. As I’ve told you before, the constitution, as an agreement between the Confederation and the Department of International Cooperation, needs new life breathed into it. There are other problems with it, too, not just the loyalty clause.”
“She’s my daughter.” François threw Gideon an icy glare, seeing that he had nothing else to fuel his fiery mood. “I’m watching you.”
“You watch the world, my dear François,” said Professor Dumbledore, smiling, “and we all know that well. I think Mr. Regale wanted to propose a trade, an exchange to keep both sides happy. Alex?”
“I like that,” said Regale simply. Gideon had always liked this man because nothing seemed to incense him, and he basked in his laidback lifestyle. Regale was the youngest delegate there and carried his weight well, despite the fact that he lacked the experience of the others. Gideon had a feeling they’d discussed the finer details before he and Emmeline had arrived. “Shall I add that to the summer conference agenda? What say you?”
The three other men and the Junior Minister nodded and grunted their approval.
“Good, good.” The Professor got to his feet and headed towards the door. He smiled at Emmeline as she passed and put his hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “May I have a word?”
Except for Emmeline, everyone else gathered their things and filed from the room. Cornelius Fudge walked slowly and glanced over at the Professor. Emmeline muttered that she would wait outside, but Dumbledore, who pretended to read a letter over Gideon’s shoulder, shook his head and took her by the hand. She opened her mouth, but Professor Dumbledore silenced her with a look and did not speak until Fudge’s footsteps died down the corridor.
“How goes France?” he asked, surveying Gideon over his spectacles.
Gideon looked up at the old man, confused. He thought about it for a moment until comprehension dawned on him; the professor had switched the discussion to the Order.
“Oh, yes, that. I’m sorry. Auguste, he’s in, but, on second thought, maybe that’s not a good idea because he’s in line with Monsieur Vance. He’s the one who smokes like a chimney. I can fetch him, if you’d like.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” said Dumbledore, glanced at the Frenchman standing in the corridor. “Auguste and I are close family friends. I daresay he has already caught word of our secret.”
“Really?” Gideon was surprised. Before he could string a question together, the professor bid them both a good day and disappeared around the corner.
Gideon matched Auguste’s step once he caught up with him, and Emmeline wasn’t far behind. “How am I supposed to hate you, you prick, if you keep doing favours for me?”
“Ze feelings are mutual, I assure you,” said Auguste. He kissed Emmeline’s hand. “Bravo, Madame.”
Gideon stopped in his tracks, lost. Why was Auguste congratulating her as if she’d walked through a worthy performance? He played the conference through his mind and laughed it off. “You set me up?”
“Moi?” Auguste replaced his innocent look with a mischievous grin. “Oui.”
“Papa listens to Auguste and nobody else,” said Emmeline, linking her arm through the Frenchman’s, “and his third wife, of course, because she owns his purse.”
“No, mademoiselle, that’s you.” Auguste shook his head. “And zey wonder why ‘e ‘as only one daughter. You’re a ‘andful.”
Auguste had been by François Vance’s side since the day he’d signed onto the post. Like his teacher, he dedicated his life to his work. Gideon considered himself extremely fortunate to have this man, the second in French command, as his mentor. Well, most of the time, anyway, because it was no easy ride.
“Once a grandchild comes,” Auguste said lightly, snapping his fingers. “All is forgiven.”
Gideon could tell by his tone that it was a joke, but his words still stung. He glanced at Emmeline. She merely stepped into the lift for the third time and closed her eyes.
There was a knock on the door. When he didn’t answer, the knocks grew louder. Gideon had taken the boys off Molly’s hands for the weekend, a goodwill gesture towards an anniversary gift. She didn’t feel right sticking him with all of her boys, so the twins stayed with Arthur’s mother. It turned out to be a good plan because Fabian skipped out with Marlene and they never said when they’d be home. He was dating her for the fifth or sixth time since they’d left school. Granted, that was a few years ago, but Gideon had lost count. Since the Order had formed, they’d called it quits over and over again.
“Bed,” Gideon sighed, knowing this wouldn’t work. He could see the tiny fingers creeping underneath the door.
Emmeline whispered as she did something with his ear. , “What’s the time?”
“One-thirty,” said Emmeline, reading his wristwatch. The boys went to bed around nine. Gideon and Emmeline left the bed hours ago and time slipped through their fingers. “He’ll go to sleep. You want to lie in the bed?”
“No,” he sighed. “You’re not tired yet?”
She shook her head and kissed him softly. “Again?”
“You’re killing me.” He couldn’t remember falling out of bed and two empty wine bottles lay on the floor. “Oh. Give me a rest, my love.”
“You’re drunk.” Emmeline laughed. “You haven’t been this relaxed since Dijon. Can you get up?”
“No.” Gideon doubted he could sit up either. He looked up when a woman’s voice called his name. He could tell by the pitch that, thankfully, it wasn’t Molly. “Who’s that?”
“Shhhh.”
Emmeline put a finger to her lips and draped a chocolate coloured sheet over her frame before she went to get the door. Gideon pulled the tangled sheet and bedspread over his body, though he was sure he did a poor job of it. Light leaked in through the corridor. Gideon strained his tired eyes and listened to the deep voices outside the door.
“What’re you doing?” piped up Fabian. He could pick that voice out of any crowd. “Babysitting? Does Molly get to hear about this?”
“No.” Gideon pulled the covers over his head and added a muffled, “Go away.”
“He’s a little ...” Emmeline gave a weak defence.
“Really? You think?” Fabian’s tone leaked with sarcasm. Far from sounding angry, he burst out laughing. “What’d you do? Drown him in it?”
Emmeline closed the door in his face. She tossed Gideon his wrinkled clothes and turned round to tell him something, before she bolted for the bathroom. He lay there for a moment and listened to her retching. When he finally pulled on his clothes, he used the bedpost to stand upright. Emmeline had pulled on his house coat over her silk nightgown and offered him an arm. He felt as though he was learning to walk again when they headed down the corridor; Gideon guided himself along with one hand.
“How much did you drink?” he asked.
“None.”
She looked up at him, expectant, and her face fell when he said nothing. They walked into the sitting room. The Potters had arrived with their friend, Peter. Gideon wondered why they had come along with Fabian, but it hurt to think, so he didn’t trouble himself for too long. The plump woman with the curly locks and big eyes was Marlene. She had a key to the place, so she got to step in whenever it pleased her fancy. Emmeline said hello and led Gideon into the small kitchenette. She took her wand out of the house coat pocket and tapped the coffee pot. The scent of an instant brew filled the air.
Gideon walked round and guided himself with his hands. He sat with his back turned to the others and accepted a warm mug. “Thanks.”
After she gathered a few breakfast things like eggs, bacon, cheese and fruit, Emmeline poured herself a cup and added milk. Her face went blank and she brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I slept with Auguste.”
“Scrambled, please,” he said. He drew a hand over his face, feeling the twinge of a headache and regretting the wine. “Wait. WHAT?”
Smelling an early free meal, Fabian drifted into the kitchenette with his girlfriend and the rest of the company. Peter asked what had happened and looked around to see if anything was broken. Emmeline fired up two skillets. Making orders gave her a perfect distraction and kept her hands busy, so Gideon held his tongue, not wanting to share his business with a pack of strangers. He felt as though he had to bite it, though, and he imagined things he felt sure he’d never wipe from his memory.
“I don’t know French,” said Fabian, passing Lily a plate and helping himself to a slice of bacon and toast, “but I’m pretty sure you just swore. A lot.”
Gideon stabbed his eggs and glared at his wife. “Why?”
“Curiosity,” she said nonchalantly, shrugging it off. “Papa was in Morocco, and I was staying with Auguste.”
“Listen, you-” Gideon jabbed his fork at her. “I ... I vouched for you. My wife. And you ... he’s old!”
“Oh, yeah, that,” said Fabian, in a bored voice. He held up a hand when Gideon gaped at him. “Tell him how old you were.”
“Seventeen,” she said quietly. She sighed, relieved. “There. I said it. I think he found the cigarettes and wine more pleasurable. He’d just signed the divorce papers.”
“He smoked while he...? Oh, this is priceless,” Gideon chuckled, walking over to refill his mug. His anger evaporated. He stroked her cheek, playing with her. “I wasn’t in the equation yet, so it doesn’t count ... much. Which wife? He’s got a lot of experience under his belt, Monsieur Marceau. Was he good?”
Emmeline goggled at him, speechless.
“You’ve got secrets.” Fabian spoke with his mouth full and cracked open his yolk with his fork. “Tell all.”
“Don’t do that,” said Gideon. “You’ll make her feel ill, and she’s going to deliver my proposal at conference. I’d rather she not be locked inside a bathroom.”
“Shitty audience?” asked Fabian. Gideon spit out his coffee and roared with laughter.
“Oh, ha, ha,” she scoffed dryly. The others, though they didn’t know the finite details, laughed, too. “You two are hopeless, honestly! I hate you. I hate both of you. Just so you know. Gideon Prewett, if this comes up in conference, I swear ....”
“Would I do that? Come on!” He rolled his eyes. “You father would keel over.”
“Thank you. If I’d known you were going to take it so well, I would’ve told you ages ago. Would you like more milk, Peter?”
“So, what does your father do?” Peter leaned against the counter, handed her his glass and worked on his second helping of eggs.
“I‘d ask the same of Marceau,” muttered Fabian darkly.
He choked on his egg sandwich when Marlene slapped him in the back of the head. Gideon toasted him and promised to stop when Emmeline raised an eyebrow. Honestly, he felt a bit jealous. Ever since he’d signed his life over to get an apprenticeship overseas to sharpen his skills, he’d had to share literally everything with his teacher. Auguste made no fuss over Gideon’s personal affairs, though, now that Gideon thought about it, Emmeline and he should have covered their tracks. Offhand comments suddenly fell into place, too.
“He’s the head of our “ the French branch “ of the Department of International Cooperation and holds a powerful seat in the Confederation,” said Emmeline, crossing her fingers. “England and France are like this. Well, not in the past, for that’s a bloody history, but that’s beside the point. We’re good friends. As Dumbledore says, we play in this never-ending chess match.”
“Le Guillotine sees it differently,” said Gideon, shaking his fist.
“Don’t call him that,” Emmeline snapped. “Anyway, Peter, that’s what he does, and Papa drafts regular reports for the Muggle French President and Prime Minister to keep them informed of affairs.”
“Oh.” Peter chewed that over. “So, that’s why you sound educated. You picked up more things outside of school, I guess.”
“And had a boring childhood,” added James, nodding at her. Emmeline gave him a small smile. “Did he feed you books for breakfast and lock you into a summer programme? Because you don’t sound like you’re ...”
“Twenty-seven, no,” agreed Emmeline. “What can I say? François demanded a protégé. It drove my headmistress mad. Madame Maxime isn’t too fond of him, and many others carry the same opinion. It’s his way or the highway. No grey area exists.”
“So, if he knew you were in the Order...” said James.
Gideon drew a finger across his throat in answer. Peter stared at Emmeline, shocked, and Gideon amended his death sentence. “No, no, it’s a figure of speech. He probably wouldn’t hesitate to cut her from the inheritance if she stepped too far out of line.”
“Ah, monsieur, is that why you married me?” Emmeline left the dishes and led them into the sitting room. “It’ll be a sad day when his wives and mistresses find out I’m his sole heir.”
“Wow.” Lily whistled. She sat beside her husband. “He’s a Frenchman through and through.”
“You’ve no idea,” said Emmeline, sipping her coffee. “He may be a thorn in my side, but he’s no fool. And, as for me being in the Order, James, he has no say. I’m the good wife.”
Gideon and Fabian shared a glance and burst out laughing.
For all her play, she was a good woman. She, like Gideon, hated walking within the lines of a dead respect with these old loyalities. It carried no meaning.
“I’d no idea, actually.” Gideon took last night’s paper off the coffee table and flipped through it. “You lot disappointed about not returning to school next month? Not to study, no, but to raise hell in the castle?”
“You know about that?” James raised his eyebrows and glanced at Gideon’s brother. “Right, yeah, we’ve swapped stories and he probably shares everything.”
“Oh, no,” said Fabian, pulling his girlfriend onto his lap. “Not everything. We like to keep it interesting.”
He nodded at Emmeline and winked at her. He had been walking down the street with Marlene after they’d shared a few drinks on their night out and had invited James and Peter over after they finished their first watch. As the conversation went on, Gideon heard less and less. He caught something about Remus caring for his grandfather and Sirius making repairs to his flying motorbike. When Fabian started talking about their nephews, Gideon rested his head on Emmeline’s shoulder and greeted sleep like an old friend.
The too many kids rule didn’t hold for long. Molly could never land the same sitter twice; Bill complained until he got to spend the day with his uncles. Gideon hadn’t yet figured out why this didn’t work out with other relatives. Bilius, one of their uncles on Arthur Weasley’s side, was a weird one, for one thing. This fell into place and confirmed Gideon’s suspicion: Arthur was strange and there was nothing he could do about it. Earlier that morning, he had got caught doing Merlin knows what in the shed, and some spell hit him in the face; branches sprouted out of his nose and ears. Charlie, who was nearby, got a blast of it, too, so Molly carted them off to the hospital to get it sorted.
Gideon took time off work, taking the boys to the park. October had arrived and the boys enjoyed the colourful leaves and chilly air. Gideon had kicked round the football for a while with Percy, but the boy soon wandered over to more interesting things like the sandbox and the swing set. Bill chased after him and got into a mess. The twins stayed by Gideon, of course, and he’d laid out a blanket and tossed colourful toys around for them to play whilst he drafted a report and deciphered long rolls of parchment. Emmeline and Fabian had, thankfully, come along with him for the day.
“Where’s Marlene?” asked Emmeline, getting comfortable.
Fabian acted as though he could care less. “Marlene who?”
“So, you’ve broken up again,” said Emmeline softly. She took the hint, knowing it was best simply not to ask questions and suffer through a melodramatic story.
“Don’t folks usually bring their dogs to parks? What’s she doing to him?” asked Fabian, glancing at an old lady and tossing George in the air. Gideon held a quill between his teeth. “Got to love that hairnet.”
Gideon glanced at the old woman and noticed she dragged Percy by the arm. She held her cat underneath the other. This didn’t look good. “Great.”
“Sir,” said the old lady, standing so close she almost touched Gideon’s nose. “Is this your boy?”
“Yes, he is,” said Emmeline, marking a page in her book and holding out her hand. “Percy, dear, come here. Where’s your brother?”
“In the swing,” said Percy, running to her, pleased to be free from the old woman.
“You mean you have four,” said the woman, stowing her bag away in her pocket. She looked Emmeline up and down and jerked her head towards Fred and George. “And you’re expecting another? Lord!”
“Oh, no. No. God, no. ” Emmeline laughed softly and picked Percy up as she got to her feet. She leaned back a little and shifted Percy’s weight in her arms. “They’re our nephews.”
“Well, I’m Arabella Figg,” the woman introduced herself haughtily and glared at Percy, “and your boy was chasing my cat. Now, I make no fuss, but this is crossing the line. It’s uncalled for, Madam, and you and your children are not the only ones entitled to a peaceful evening.”
“Yes, Mrs. Figg,” said Emmeline quietly.
“Put a leash on him,” Mrs. Figg advised, “and learn proper discipline. You’ll need it with your army.”
“Mrs. Figg,” said Fabian, stepping in between them. “We’re sorry and it won’t happen again. There’s no need for you to get in her face. Good night.”
Mrs. Figg nodded and walked off, muttering to her cat as she left.
“Mad bat.” Fabian sat back down. He glanced at Gideon, who scanned his notes again. “Are you making head or tail of that contract?”
“This mess?” Gideon asked, waving it round and lighting a cigarette. “Well, it’s double translated, if that suits you. It’s idiot proof, I suppose.”
“Colour coordinated!” Fabian picked up the sealed French copy, which was sealed with an elaborate blue insignia. “God forbid you were colour blind.”
“Yeah. Totally.” Gideon nodded, chuckling. “Emma, darling, what was your starting position? And your current station?”
“Page.” She let him find the holes because the very thought of a liaison request being questioned for this long angered her and she’d stopped reading the damn things. “Sept: Négociation Civile.”
Gideon filled out the first stage of the application for the second time. “You make me look like a fool because you’re so far up there. I? I translate and whine over wording. Of course, you are Le Guillotine’s daughter.”
“So, who do you work for?” asked Fabian.
This question was up in the air because they’d made no decision.
Gideon muttered something under his breath and cried out, surprised, when she hit him with a toy block. “Sorry.”
“My father doesn’t own me,” she said, glaring at him. This was a topic of sore debate that reared its head too often these days. “Can we stop talking about François for a moment, please? François this, François that! He’s stonewalling to anger you, so that he can control your proposals, and you’re playing into his hand.”
“Yeah. Right.” Gideon rolled his eyes.
“The man raised me.” Emmeline snapped her head around. She and Gideon had debated with each other since they’d met in a conference, so it was difficult not to fall into this pattern. They argued all the time. “Tell me what I don’t know.”
“Okay, stop,” said Fabian. Bill walked over, worn out. “Merlin, Emma, I’m waiting for the day Molly pushes you to your breaking point. Damn.”
“Why?” Bill asked, curious. Bill, the eldest, listened to the adults’ conversation all the time, even though he didn’t catch everything.
“No reason.” Gideon resealed the document and stuffed it in his backpack. He zipped it and tossed to Bill. He packed the babies’ things, cleaned up the mess, and put them the pram. “You ready to go?”
“Who’s that man?” Bill asked, pulling the backpack over his shoulders; its straps needed tightening.
“What man, Bill?” Gideon wasn’t really listening. Perhaps the boy had spotted Mrs. Figg from a distance and mistaken her, but that didn’t make sense, either. Gideon thought that he caught something colourful out the corner of his eye. The woman ran towards them, stumbling along in dirt-stained slippers and waving a small bag. Gideon wouldn’t have thought about her had she not crossed their path again. The fat white cat bolted after her. “Oh, no, Bill, that’s nobody.”
“Mean cat lady,” said Percy, mumbling into Emmeline’s hair.
“Yes,” Emmeline agreed, kissing his curly head. “Are you tired? I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Fabian pointed out. “You’re kind of cute fat. Not fat. I meant plump.”
“I am your sister-in-law,” said Emmeline slowly, blushing when he complimented her.
“She’s my ...” Gideon spun round to tell him off, but he never got that far. He spotted the dark-haired man standing at the fence and set the babies on the damp grass. Emmeline set Percy down, too, and pushed him towards his Uncle Fabian. They both drew out their wands and Gideon called over his shoulder, “Get the boys and go!”
Fabian pushed the boys in front of him and ran as fast as he could with the pram. Gideon could hear Bill call out for him. Mrs. Figg started screaming when the man grabbed her. Gideon muttered a spell under his breath and the man jumped back and released her as if his hands had been burned. The man slammed his head on the fence, but he didn’t lose his balance and cast a curse. Emmeline seized the lady’s arm and pulled her to the ground, protecting her. The man twitched as he stood there; his features were changing and he made strange noises.
“Regale?” Gideon stepped back, shocked. The man kind of resembled his delegate, but this wasn’t Regale at all. His hair was lighter and he instantly put on more muscle and height. “Alex? Oh, shit. Selwyn?”
It took a few moments for the stinging sensation to creep up. Gideon felt as though the humours drained from his eyes. His foot slipped, and Gideon tripped over a tree branch. His dry eyes drove him mad and he clawed at them, rolling in the damp grass and screaming at the top of his lungs. He floundered round like a fish on the deck. Gideon heard the man coming near him; Selwyn took heavy footsteps.
“No!” Emmeline spun round and hit the man in the chest with quick spellwork.
Next second, the man crashed to the ground, paralysed.
“Emma.” Gideon felt a furry creature brush against him.
For Mrs. Figg’s sake, he tried not to panic. It didn’t work too well. Emmeline asked Mrs. Figg if she was all right and crawled over to him on her hands and knees. He blinked his eyes furiously. “Emma, I can’t see! I can’t see a damn thing!”