King of Swords [ Regulus Black ]

Chapter 12

Maslin still isn't answering his door when I return to the flat block. I don't care; I have given him enough privacy today.

The sun has begun to set over the horizon, casting tangerine light over the rolling roofs and spires.
I watch my shadow as I climb the fire escape, in my black cloak, it looks like a spitting image. It always amazes me how little the general public look upward. I swiftly pull myself onto the balcony with little thought to any gazes below. What are they going to do? Call the police? Compared to my current situation, I would almost relish in a jail cell.

The door to Maslin's balcony has been left cracked, and I shimmy through into the sitting room. A vinyl still croons on a record player, wafting the melodic sounds over the cluttered space.

Maslin is the one desperately in need of a house elf. The empty wine bottle on my coffee table is nothing compared to the debauchery that has happened here. Bottles of liquor lay bare on the persian rugs. A stack of books has been knocked over and splayed over mahogany boards. This place looks on the outside as he does on the inside. An academic with a will to drink.

It doesn't take me long to find him. He is passed out on a brown leather sofa with his arm hanging down. Bruises cover his bare torso. My heart jolts. Then I realize these are not the type of marks that come from fighting but something else entirely. It makes me a little sick to think about.

I sit next to him on what little edge of the couch he is not taking up. At the realization that someone is here, his eyes crack open but quickly close again. He rubs his temple with a weary hand and shifts his head into my lap.

"Callan," he muses, sloppy and slow, "what are you doing here?"

There is a bit of lipstick left on his puffy red lips from whoever he was kissing. I never witnessed Maslin as a boy but he looks like one now with sleepy eyes and stained cheeks. It is as if he has spent the summer day running through sprinklers and eating cherry ice lollies. Something hurts in my torso as I imagine it. An adolescence he never had.

I smile and run a hand through his soft hair, combing out any knots with my fingers.
"I just came to check on you," I tell him.

"Stay," he says, "do you want a drink?"

"No," I quip, "and you need some sleep."

Maslin smiles up at me, drunk and thoughtless. "Yeah, I do."

I stand and replace my lap with a decorative pillow for him to rest on. There is a throw blanket on the floor and I use it to tuck him in. Maslin is snoring before my feet hit the hallway.

There is a rotary landline in the second bedroom. It is heavily neglected and only has two phone numbers scrawled on a note next to it. One of them calls into my flat, and the other rings into the second kitchen at Pembridge.

I sit on the edge of the large canopy bed and dial. The mattress is soft beneath my frame so I kick my shoes off and lay on my back while it rings. It doesn't take long; I hear the voice of a house elf on the other end screaming for silence in the kitchen.

"One moment, Master Maslin," the elf says. I don't bother to correct him.

It is much longer than a moment. The clinking of pots, running water, and scurrying feet play on a loop. Finally, I hear Haro's voice.

"What?" He snaps. He is not in the mood for chatting.

"I have something that needs attending to," I tell him. Haro doesn't trust muggle communication. He will want to apparate here and speak face to face.

"Oh, Callan," He replies, temper cooled, "I thought you were Maslin refusing to send an owl. I can't come right now, you're gonna have to tell me over the phone."

This shocks me; he must be tied up. "Minchum emptied his bank vault."

"Why?" He barks.

I tell him my assumptions based on what I saw at the Leaky Cauldron, leaving out the part regarding my kidnapping by Regulus Black. He hmmphs as I speak, and though I can't see him, I know he is nodding along to every word.

"That's interesting," he says cooly. I was expecting a bit more enthusiasm than that considering this information could force Minchum out of the race, but Haro's mind seems to be elsewhere.

"There's something else. They closed the vaults of the Rosiers and Dolohovs," I say this in a whisper with my hand blocking my mouth. It is a pointless gesture, as even if Maslin were listening, he is too inebriated to understand any of it.

I purposefully leave out the reason why the vaults were closed. Haro should come to his conclusions on this, and I need time to warn Maslin adequately. If Haro commands his son to not speak to the group, it will only cause a rift.

Honestly, I don't give much of a shit regarding their father-son dramatics. However, Maslin is still the closest thing I have to family, and I am decent enough to deliver the news softly.

Haro goes to speak once more, probably to ask why, but something grabs his attention. I can hear the muffled sounds of someone approaching, followed by hushed tones.
"We need to talk more thoroughly, Callan." He says, "Right now, I have to go. Come to Pembridge tomorrow."

I nod, a gesture he cannot hear, but it doesn't matter anyway; the line has gone dead.
With my back on the soft duvet and tapestries looming above my head, I form a list.

1. There were three candidates for Minister. Michum, who is now paying for his crimes. Haro Fawley, who must win the race regardless of the cost, and Demetrius Connoway, who is currently, well, dead. This is good.

2. Regulus Black killed Demetrius Connoway. I owe the former information.

3. Lucius Malfoy will eventually announce his candidacy. This is not ideal, but it can be managed.

Forming my thoughts in this way helps relieve the pressure from my skull. The road to success is still within my reach. I have to pull up my bootstraps and play Kingmaker more enthusiastically.

I toy with the emerald around my neck. It is entirely unlike Barty to purchase me a gift, let alone something in the form of an apology. The boy has been off lately, and I think it has something to do with Maslin. Barty can't possibly hope that Maslin would go his entire life without a girlfriend and only pay attention to his friends.

It's an interesting behavior, but I push it out of my head. All of them are interesting in some way, and if I start dissecting their psyche, I am afraid of what I might find. Probably nothing useful. Likely, something scarring.

I lift myself from the bed and squeeze back into my boots. However, I would really prefer not to do so. Despite the sun having sunk below the horizon, it is still sweltering outside, and I have to walk home in it or take a cramped bus. Barty's vision of me as a witch flying over Eastern England makes me bite my cheek. Joke or not, I could use that at the moment.

Passing by Maslin's bedroom, I notice that the door is open. That was not the case before. Ideally, he has taken himself to bed to sleep off a raging hangover.

I scan the space and find there is, indeed, a form tucked under the covers. Though, this one has curly dark hair and miles of ochre skin. I can't see her face from this angle, but she looks small and lovely.

My stomach twists at the possibility that she got up to use the restroom and heard me speaking on the phone. It would have been quite the feat for her to place her ear to the door and listen in on my whispers. It annoys me that my first thought upon seeing a new person is that I immediately assume they are a shadow lurker as I am.

Maslin is still asleep on the sofa when I return to the living room. I pat him on the head and head toward the fire escape. Using the actual door and elevator would be easier, but where is the excitement in that? Before I descend, I stare into the clouds, blanketing the stars. From between two of the white pillows, I can see Leo. I trace my fingers over the summer triangle.

The light of Regulus burns in the heavens. I quickly look away.