Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Allies

by Lydia Sherrer

  “If one were sensible, one would avoid such situations,” Allen argued back.

  “I see. So we should just forget about John Faust and let him do whatever he wants?”

  Allen’s face flushed. “Well…not exactly…not what I was…that is, alternative methods could be sought. Brains are mightier than, ahem, brawn.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, there’s nothing useful you can teach me to help us stop John Faust,” Lily prodded.

  “I—that is—not—”Allen spluttered.

  “Alright, so if not that, what can you teach me?”

  He pursed his lips, making the hairs of his mustache bristle out at odd angles. “Discipline. Control. Finesse.”

  Lily didn’t even try to mask her incredulity. How could this awkward, stuttering man teach her control and finesse?

  Yet he didn’t seem offended, simply gave her a knowing look. “Appearances can be, er, deceiving.” Without a word, look, or glance from Allen, all the light globes above suddenly shone with brilliant light, blinding Lily. She fell back into the chair, shielding her eyes with a cry of surprise.

  The light faded as quickly as it had come and Allen hurried over, attempting to help her up as he muttered apologies. “Ah, a bit too vigorous. Do pardon me.”

  Straightening from her undignified sprawl, Lily blinked rapidly, clearing her vision so she could stare at Allen again, mouth open. “How did you do that? You didn’t say the renewing spell. And so many at once?”

  Seeing she was alright, Allen returned to his chair as he replied. “Why should I, hm, say anything? Does the Source have ears? Do sound waves trigger its power? Magic is controlled by, well, the will. Speech is simply training wheels. A crutch to the mind.”

  Lily shut her mouth, considering. It made sense, to some degree, yet it went against everything she’d been taught. “But words are precise. They help guide and control the magic to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Words are quite crucial. Magic follows, well, rules just like the rest of nature. But speaking words versus thinking them”—he raised a finger, tapping the side of his nose as he winked at her—“only a crutch.”

  “But Madam Barrington—”

  “An estimable wizard,” he said, cutting her off. “And no doubt capable. But modern wizards have become, hmm, complacent. No longer threatened by superstitious mundanes…or older brothers, in my, ahem, case. Must you talk in order to think?”

  “You do.” Lily pointed out, a bit mulish.

  Allen flushed. “Ah, hmm…a result, perhaps, of my isolation. My point remains. The Source responds to the, ah, mind of wizards, not their mouths.”

  “Alright…so how do I do it?” Lily asked, curious and willing, if a bit skeptical.

  In response, he led her over to the casting circle and—again without a word—activated the outermost ring’s containment shield spell. Then he activated the three interlocked ones in the center and had her stand in one as he stood in another, placing an unlit candle in the space shared between herself and the third, empty circle. “These,” he explained, pointing to the three central circles, “are highly customizable wards. Your personal ward, of course, is your, ahem, first line of defense, and will protect from most failed spells. But I can tweak these wards’, hm, sensitivity levels, based on the object, or, er, direction. Your circle will allow energy to leave, but not enter. The candle’s circle will allow energy to enter, but not leave. Thus you are doubly protected from any possible, well, mishap while still being able to affect the item in question.”

  Lily nodded, understanding. It was simple, but ingenious. They definitely needed one of these in the Basement. She’d have to remember to ask for a blueprint of the runes involved so she could make one herself.

  “Now, light it.” Allen pointed at the candle.

  It was a simple enough casting, though that didn’t translate into easy. Like all magic, the spell didn’t defy science, simply manipulated energy to raise the wick's temperature until it reached its kindling point and caught flame, the same thing that happened when you held it in a lit match. Minus the match, of course.

  Forgetting and opening her mouth to speak, she was immediately shushed by Allen, who gave her a stern glare so reminiscent of Madam Barrington that she giggled, more from the image of her mentor with a mustache than anything else. Suppressing her mirth, she concentrated on the wick, tapped her link to the Source, and thought the necessary words of power, imagining the candle catching flame.

  Nothing happened.

  “Again,” Allen said, seemingly unconcerned.

  She tried several more times, but the candle remained cool. Finally, she gave up, wiping a thin film of sweat from her forehead. “I can’t do it. Saying the words in my head distracts me from shaping the magic with my will. Either the magic responds but does nothing, or I get the right command but my magic ignores me.” She puffed out a breath, discouraged.

  “You, ahem, meditate?” Allen asked, still unfazed.

  Lily nodded. “Before and after my weekly yoga sessions.”

  “Ah. Not enough. You need, I should think, daily practice. Just like any skill. Wizardry is an art and, well, science. Of the highest order. Mental casting requires, hm, complete and minute control of the mind and body.”

  Well, at least Sir Kipling would be happy, she thought with a sigh. He liked to sit in her lap while she meditated, which wasn’t strictly proper, but his purring helped her relax.

  “Your mental voice is, ahem, weak,” Allen continued. “If you spent your whole life whispering, well, you can imagine. Weak lungs. What you need is brain training. Your brain is a, hm, muscle. You must strengthen it.”

  Lily felt like she was a beginning student again, having been exposed to a whole new level of wizardry. Allen took her through several exercises and made her promise to practice every single day, morning and evening, along with regular meditation.

  As they discussed magic, Allen’s speech became more fluid, with fewer ahems, hms, and wells. She wondered how long it had been since he’d carried on a conversation of more than a few sentences. They became quite comfortable with each other, and her lesson devolved into many eye-opening discussions of magical theory and a few experimental castings. He showed her more efficient ways to combine Enkinim in spell casting, and how a few simple word choices could make her spells that much safer. He was a bottomless pit of knowledge, and she grew to admire and respect him more and more with each passing minute.

  Most of all, she felt safe with him. He didn’t look at her as if she were something to be used or manipulated. He didn’t show disappointment or condescension upon learning the gaps in her knowledge. She was not a project to him, like she’d been to John Faust. To Allen, she was simply herself, and he delighted in their shared love of knowledge.

  The sound of a clearing throat came from the doorway, interrupting their argument over the relative advantages of various aluminum alloys in crafting. Lily looked up and was astonished to see that it was dark outside. Where had the day gone?

  Turning, she saw Madam Barrington in the doorway, surveying them with a ghost of a smile. Sitting at her feet was Sir Kipling, looking around curiously. Despite having no respect for rules or boundaries, he was smart enough to proceed with caution when it came to wizards’ domains.

  “I hope your time together has been profitable?” Madam Barrington asked with raised eyebrows.

  Lily nodded vigorously, noticing Morgan’s journal and a neatly organized sheaf of papers in her hand. She must have finally finished making copies.

  “It is past ten and I, at least, should like to retire for the night. We hesitate to impose on you, Allen, but I suspect you would rather we stay here than be seen coming and going?”

  He blinked for a moment, then seemed to recall himself. “Of course! Of course, Madam. Let me see. Yes, yes. There are two spare bedrooms on this floor. Never, ahem, been used, of course. May be a bit cluttered. But I shall have them cleaned at once.�
��

  He hurried from the room, no doubt sending silent commands to his constructs. The hands made short work of preparing the rooms, seeming glad to have something to do. Lily was just getting ready for bed when she realized she hadn’t seen Sir Kipling since she left the workroom. Uh-oh, she thought.

  Just then she heard a rapid clicking sound, growing louder and louder. Looking up from the bed where she was brushing her hair, she watched in astonishment as Egbert scuttled past her open doorway, racing down the hall, pincers clicking madly. Seconds later, Sir Kipling raced past in hot pursuit.

  As she stared, torn between mirth and concern, she heard a hiss, a yowl, and the rapid patter of feet coming back the other way. Her ferocious hunter raced past the doorway once more, hair standing on end, followed closely by a furiously clicking Egbert.

  Lily smiled and decided to leave Sir Kipling to his own devices. As he had pointed out to her on multiple occasions, he could take care of himself.

  Sir Kipling’s frantic pawing woke her. For a moment she thought she was back home in bed, and her cat was demanding she refill his food bowl.

  “Leavemelone.” She moaned, rolling over. “Feedyou ina mornin…”

  Sir Kipling added claws into the mix.

  “Ouch!” Lily yelped and sat up, rubbing her arm.

  “Shut up!” he hissed, ears flat against his skull as he crouched low, pressing his quivering body against hers.

  Lily was instantly on the alert. Something was wrong. Casting about in a panic, she tried to orient herself. This wasn’t home. Where was she? Oh wait, of course. Allen’s house. Her pulse slowed slightly but still pounded in her ears as she slipped her feet out from under the covers and crouched on the floor, putting her mouth next to her cat’s ear.

  “What is it, Kip?” she breathed, voice barely a whisper.

  “Intruders,” he hissed back.

  She could feel him vibrating, a subvocal growl rumbling through his body.

  “How many?”

  “Not sure. At least two, coming down the stairs from the third floor. I didn’t see them myself, a little voice warned me.”

  Lily’s heart rate picked up again, thumping so loudly she was sure it was audible out in the hall. What did he mean, little voice? No, that didn’t matter now. What should she do? Scream? Hide? Her mind raced. She was no good at this. All she could think was how much she wished Sebastian were there.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, she tried to slow her heart. What would Sebastian do? Not scream, of that she was sure. Perhaps try to surprise the intruders? But what would she do to them? She’d never learned hand-to-hand combat, nothing but a two-hour self-defense class all the girls at Agnes Scott were required to attend their freshman year. No, she had to hope she’d be able to hold them off with magic.

  Running through spells in her mind, she began to rise, but froze. Was that the creak of floorboards in the hall? Bending back to Sir Kipling’s ear, she whispered, “Go warn Allen and Madam Barrington.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” he growled, digging his claws into the covers as she attempted to push him toward the doorway.

  “You have to,” she hissed, tone fierce. “They’ll be able to protect me better than you can. Now go! Go!” She dared not raise her voice, but she put every ounce of will and authority she possessed into her command.

  Reluctantly, he slithered down off the bed and toward the doorway, a shadow in the night. But before he could reach the door, he was no longer the only shadow in the room.

  She only saw it because she was looking right at the door. The darkness from the hallway was briefly blotted out by a deeper darkness, and she heard the faintest rustle of cloth on skin.

  Her whole body froze in panic. She couldn’t breathe, even as her mind screamed at her to do something, anything.

  With an earsplitting yowl, Sir Kipling launched himself at the intruder, latching onto them with all four sets of claws as he tore into them with a vengeance. His frenzied attack kicked Lily into action and she let loose her own bloodcurdling scream, hoping that would wake everyone in the house if her cat’s yowl hadn’t already.

  As the shadow cursed and struggled with Sir Kipling, Lily finally gathered herself enough to remember the illumination spell, and the room was flooded with light. The sudden brightness was blinding, and she covered her eyes, backing into a corner. She could make out a dark shape whirling in the center of the room, grunting and punching Sir Kipling who was making bloody mincemeat of their side. She saw a glint of metal and screamed “Kip, jump!” just before the knife descended.

  Her cat twisted away from the blade, flinging himself off of his victim and landing between them and her. He arched his back, hissing, spitting, and yowling ferociously. Lily had never seen him so angry. It was as if hell itself had been let loose in the form of her cat.

  With her vision finally adjusted, Lily assessed the situation. Her attacker was clad all in black, his loose garments wrapped tightly at the wrists, waist, and ankles, with soft-soled shoes and a black mask completing the menacing ensemble. His now-mangled shirt revealed pale skin, torn and bleeding from Sir Kipling’s attack. Even as Lily took this in, shouts and sounds of battle filtered in from other parts of the house. She wondered desperately if her friends were alright.

  Her attacker slowly drew twin curved blades from sheaths on his back, and Lily realized she couldn’t afford to think about anything but her own survival. She threw up a shield wall between them and charged it with energy. It would shock her assailant should he try to pass through. Maybe not enough to knock him out, but enough to deter him. Then she prepared to throw energy bolts should he approach. She’d never had much practice fighting with magic before, but at this point it was fight or die.

  As he took his first step forward, however, a shouted command from the hallway made him pause. Then he turned and rushed from the room, sheathing one sword and holding the other down at his side as he ran. More shouts, crashes, and the crackling of magic echoed through the house and Lily hesitated, unsure if she should try and help. Would she be in the way? But she couldn’t sit there while her friends were in danger.

  Dropping the energy shield, she moved cautiously forward.

  “Don’t!” Sir Kipling hissed, trying to block her progress. He wanted her to stay where she was safe.

  “I’m not staying here. We have to help. Come on!”

  He didn’t look happy, yet still turned and raced to the doorway, slowing to peer carefully around it before twitching his tail at her to follow. She crept after him, heart pounding in her throat and spell at the ready.

  Lily poked her head around the doorway and saw that the hall was empty. But flashes of light came from the room two doors down where Madam Barrington had been sleeping.

  Lily jumped as something thumped into the ceiling above her head. She’d forgotten that the townhouse had three floors and, in growing horror, she remembered that Allen’s bedroom was on the third floor. Even as she thought this she heard his frightened cry of pain that was suddenly cut off.

  Torn, she paused in the doorway. What should she do? Who should she help? Her mind scrambled and she cursed. Where was Sebastian when she needed him? Madam Barrington’s cry from the bedroom down the hall made up her mind. She hoped Allen was alright, feeling guilty as she ran toward the second bedroom.

  Skidding to a halt in the doorway, she saw her mentor locked in a furious battle with another wizard, a young man she’d never seen before. Not giving herself time to think, she shouted her spell, pulling on the Source with all her might and pushing it out of her in a massive bolt that crashed into the young man’s back. Crackling energy flared all around him, a personal ward, no doubt, taking the brunt of the blast. Yet the force of it still made him stumble forward, his singed shirt smoking.

  Lily sagged as the magic left her, catching hold of the doorway for support as Sir Kipling raced between her legs and leapt onto the man’s back, clawing and biting. The wizard screamed in pain and fury, whirling to grab t
he cat as Madam Barrington took him out with one well-aimed shot to the head. The spell knocked him unconscious and his eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed.

  Sir Kipling jumped free of the man’s inert form and trotted over to Lily, nuzzling her drooping form in concern.

  Panting, Madam Barrington hurried forward as well, grabbing Lily under the arm and helping her up as they headed down the hall toward the stairs to the third floor. Lily hoped briefly that all the light and commotion would attract the city’s finest, but then realized that Allen had obviously spelled the whole building to be sound and lightproof. No one outside would know what was going on, even if they’d happened by at this time of night. Or morning, she had no idea which.

  By the time they reached the stairs, Lily had gotten her feet back under her, though they felt like jelly. She definitely needed to practice casting battle magic, whether she liked it or not. “Kip,” she whispered, “stay behind and warn us if anyone comes up the stairs. That man might wake up.”

  Sir Kipling mewed a soft reply and took up a post on the first step, keeping an eye on both the second-floor hall and the first-floor stairs.

  The two women crept cautiously up the stairs to the third floor. Lily wished they had light, but that would make them a target. As they crested the stairs, they saw two dark shapes silhouetted against the window at the end of the hall, one of them dragging a third, limp form.

  Knowing they couldn’t sneak up on the intruders, Lily started swiftly towards them, activating the light globes as she went, Madam Barrington close behind. But what she saw at the end of the hall stopped her in her tracks. John Faust stood holding open the door to what she supposed was the attic as the fighter in black dragged Allen’s limp, unconscious form toward it. The shock of seeing her father again sent her reeling, his patrician features and ice-blue eyes so familiar and yet deeply disturbing. She stumbled back into her mentor’s arms, feeling the ghost of iron bands on her wrists, tasting the foul potion in her mouth. The helplessness, the hurt crept out of dark holes, filling her limbs, freezing her heart…No! She wouldn’t let him do that to her again. She was not helpless.