Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Revelations

by Lydia Sherrer

  She heard a sigh behind her, and the rustle of cloth. Her back grew warm as he came to stand behind her, his presence palpable. A hand rested gently on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off angrily.

  “Don’t do this, daughter. Don’t turn away from me like your mother did. You are precious to me, my beloved child. Won’t you give me a chance? A chance to show you how much I love you?”

  Desperate, yet dreading what might come next, Lily turned, looking up into a face filled with concern, even love. But she knew it could turn cold and hard in a moment’s notice. “I’ll give you a chance,” she told him quietly. “Let me go home. Give me space and respect, let me be me. Then I’ll know you actually care, and I’ll do my best to see your point of view. We can learn together...be a family...” she trailed off, begging him silently in her head to say yes.

  But something in her words must have been wrong, because his face darkened, making her heart sink. “That’s what your mother said, right before she ran away, taking herself and our daughter out of my life forever. She had no right to do that, and neither do you.” His face grew even darker, anger and hurt showing plainly in a moment of vulnerability. “What she never seemed to have grasped, and neither have you, is that you are part of this family. A LeFay. As such you are bound to obey. There is no choice, there is only my will. And you will obey me.”

  He stepped closer, looming over her as his body radiated power, battering her senses.

  Lily stood on a precipice. She could almost feel the ground plunging away before and behind. Whatever she did in this moment, it would change her life forever. Her father was correct, she was a LeFay, and there was so much they could do together. Was he right to demand obedience? But what about her? What about Lily Singer and all she had become? Was it right to forsake herself and the principles she’d been raised to hold dear—respect, honor, truth, compassion? Were those principles worth losing her father’s love forever?

  In that moment of indecision, something her stepfather had said long ago came back to her. “Well, honey, if you don’t stand fer something, you’ll like as not fall fer anything.”

  If she submitted now, what would John Faust ask of her in the coming days? Months? Years? Where would she draw the line? Her mother and stepfather had loved her unconditionally, whether she obeyed them, agreed with them, or even liked them.

  The balance tipped and she made her decision, even as the knowledge of its consequences tormented her.

  “No,” she whispered through numb lips, barely able to meet her father’s gaze. At her words, something inside him broke, she could see it in his eyes. The door he’d opened slammed shut and his face became an emotionless mask. Something else shattered, then, but this time it was her heart.

  Stepping back, he regarded her, eyes coldly calculating. “You leave me no choice. The fate of wizardkind is more important than either of us, or our feelings.” His voice caught briefly, but then he continued, words as hard as steel. “If you will not help me willingly, then you will help me unwillingly. I tried to spare you this, but you’ve brought it on yourself.” With that he whirled, opening the door with a wrench and closing it with such force that the walls seemed to shake. She heard the rattle of bolts and felt a dim touch of magic closing in, securing her prison.

  A sob caught in her throat as the awful reality spread through her quivering body: she’d just lost the family she’d spent her whole life searching for. Stumbling back against the cell’s wall, she slid down to curl in a huddle on the floor, sobbing over the fragments of her broken heart.

  * * *

  She didn’t know how long she lay there, but, judging by the dimming light, evening was coming. She’d pushed herself up to lean, listless, against the grey wall. Whatever painkiller John Faust had given her was wearing off, and her extremities throbbed again with a fiery ache. She was considering pounding on the door to call for help when she heard a soft tapping and a quiet voice.

  “Miss? Miss, are you alright?” It sounded like Fletcher.

  Scrambling on all fours, she crawled to the door, putting her ear to the keyhole. “I’m here. No, I’m not alright. Please, let me out, I beg you.”

  There was a long pause. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I couldn’t even if...there are powerful enchantments. I’m sorry,” he repeated, really sounding it. “It was much more simple all those years ago when I helped your mother.”

  “Wha—what do you mean?” Lily asked, voice quavering. “If you helped her escape, why didn’t you warn me when I first came? If you knew what kind of man my father is...why?”

  Fletcher sighed loudly enough for Lily to hear it even with a solid door between them. “We’d hoped he’d changed.”

  “We?” Lily asked, confused.

  “I am in the service of Master Henry LeFay, Miss, not his son.”

  “So you all knew? You all just let him do this to my mother? To me?” Lily felt the indignation and betrayal only faintly, as if she no longer had the ability to feel.

  There was more silence and an even deeper sigh. “I cannot speak for Madam LeFay. I suspect she would ignore a genocide in her own bedroom if it threatened to upset her social status. Mr. Henry LeFay is a quiet man, concerned with maintaining the family honor. John is powerful, more powerful than both his parents put together. He acquiesces to his father in matters of business and keeps his...endeavors quiet. In return, my Master does not inquire into the nature of his son’s work. But family matters, what with us all under the same roof, well...when things grew to be too much with your mother, he...encouraged me to help her. But there is nothing I can do for you now, Miss. I am no wizard.”

  “Yes. Yes, there is something,” Lily breathed through the keyhole, suddenly remembering the scratching sound she’d heard the night before. “I have a familiar, a cat named Sir Kipling. He can take word to my friends. They’ll help me.”

  “A...cat?” Fletcher asked, dubious.

  “Yes, he’s special. He’ll understand everything you tell him.”

  “Very well,” he agreed slowly. “Where would I find this...cat?”

  “I heard him last night scratching at the door. I’m sure he’s hanging around the grounds. If you just call his name softly and tell him I sent you, he should show himself. Tell him I’m a prisoner, and to go get Sebastian and Madam Barrington. He’ll know what to do.”

  “I’ll do my best, Miss Singer.” And with that, he was gone.

  * * *

  Lily sat in the chair she’d glimpsed on the landing the first time she’d visited her father’s workroom. Her arms, legs, and forehead were strapped to it, immobilizing her. Not that the straps were necessary. She was already weak as a kitten. It had been two days since she’d sent Fletcher to find Sir Kipling, and in that time John Faust had been busy. True to his word, he used her for his experiments whether she liked it or not. The iron bands on her wrists, ankles, and neck had drained her of strength, making her barely able to walk, though regular doses of the purple liquid kept the pain in check. John Faust recorded her reactions carefully in his notes, having an eduba of his own that followed him around, floating as if on an invisible pedestal. He seemed to find the weakening effect fascinating but wouldn’t tell her why the bands affected her so. Of course, the copious amounts of blood he was extracting for his tests didn’t help, either. She could do nothing but sit and watch. At least he answered her other questions, saying that just because she’d decided to be stubborn didn’t mean he couldn’t still educate her.

  Eyes closed, she was half dozing in the chair as John Faust examined another blood sample. Though Oculus—the raven construct—was silent as a whisper, she knew it was perched above her on the odd-looking frame that arched over the chair. The frame was solid metal, curving up in two vertical rings set at right angles to one another, forming a sort of globe around the chair that was suspended in the middle. Each circle was intricately etched with dimmu runes, half of which Lily didn’t even recognize. She’d given up trying to puzzle out their meaning or purpo
se. As of yet John Faust had declined to explain.

  “Yes! At last...” John Faust’s triumphant cry roused her and she opened one eye, ignoring Oculus’s beady stare.

  “What is it?” she asked, voice toneless and expression wooden. Ever since her father had rejected her, she’d felt as empty and barren as a desert. It seemed every drop of anger and hurt she possessed had already been cried out on the floor of her cell. Now she simply felt detached.

  “I found the match needed to confirm my theory,” he said, voice clinically professional. Whereas Lily felt dead inside, John Faust appeared to have become a machine. He stood from the strange device he’d been peering into, walking to an adjacent table to notate his findings in several notebooks. Then he grasped his eduba—a larger volume than Lily’s own and bound in black leather with little adornment—taking it from its hovering place beside him and propping it on one arm as he wrote in it. He wandered over to her chair, scribbling absently, before looking up to examine her. There was no emotion in his eyes. They were as flat and calculating as if he gazed at a set of mathematical calculations, not his own daughter.

  “As I’ve explained,” he began, talking at her instead of to her, “I’ve long sought to find the gene that makes us wizards. Since the gift is hereditary, it must exist. Once found, it could be studied to learn what exactly gives us our powers, and possibly be replicated through cloning. If we were to develop a way to introduce this gene into a mundane embryo, it might be the key to saving us from extinction. The technology to do such a thing might take years, even decades, to develop. But I believe we will find it. Today, your blood has enabled me to isolate such a gene. This is the first step toward a greater good that outweighs any cost we might pay to achieve it. It is unfortunate you lacked the vision to participate willingly in such a historic venture.” He turned away, back to his worktable.

  “But would we want to make mundanes into wizards? Without the proper upbringing or training, giving such dangerous gifts to the general population could be disastrous to all of us. Do you truly believe humanity is ready for such power?”

  “Of course not,” he replied, not turning to her. “Candidates would be carefully selected from current wizard families and other, reputable households within high society. Mundane society is not capable of bearing such a burden. The average mundane is barely worthy of life, much less being responsible for such a gift.”

  “So your plan is to simply maintain our existence, not to change the status quo?”

  “Hardly, daughter.” He did turn toward her then, a tiny spark of amusement in his eyes. “Multiplying in number is only the first step, merely a process of preservation to stave off extinction. We were meant for so much more than simply existing.” He came forward, going behind the chair and fiddling with something on the frame. “Have you ever read translations of the Uruk tablets? Of course not,” he continued without letting her answer, “you wouldn’t have access. In any case, they speak of the gods giving Gilgamesh magic so that he and his descendants could rule mankind. Wizards were meant to guide humanity in a glorious history of enlightenment, scientific advancement, and learning. Instead, they dwindled in power and allowed mundanes to rule, eventually succumbing to the fearful superstitions of the people they attempted to help. They were ostracized, hunted, and slaughtered.”

  He came back around to the front of the chair, facing her squarely. “I do not intend to make the same mistake. Once wizards are strong again in both number and power, we can reveal ourselves to the world and fulfill our duty to guide society into a more enlightened age. If we are not powerful enough, they will strike out in fear or try to enslave us. Wizards cannot and will not bow to the whims of mundanes, nor serve as their mercenaries. They must fear, respect, and love us.”

  Lily blinked slowly, considering her father’s words. They were compelling, in a way, and his goal of enlightenment a worthy one. Yet who would decide right from wrong in this new age? The world existed in a balance: hot and cold, day and night, life and death. Governments had internal balances, countries balanced each other. What would balance wizards’ power if not their small numbers and need for secrecy? Her mentor’s words just weeks ago came back to her: The saying that absolute power corrupts absolutely is no empty aphorism. Where magic is concerned, it is a deadly reality. Lily didn’t want wizards to die out any more than her father wanted them to, but his methods were reprehensible, and his ultimate goal could destroy humanity just as easily as save it. He had to be stopped. There was nothing she could do physically to oppose him, but if she knew his plans, perhaps she could get the information to someone who could.

  “So, you’ve found the gene. Congratulations,” she said without emotion. “But we are far from being powerful enough to control humanity.”

  “A correct observation,” John Faust acknowledged, turning to one of his worktables to collect a handful of something Lily couldn’t see. When he turned back, she saw they were small disks of engraved metal the size of quarters, with one side covered in a white film. He began to stick the disks onto her—the white must have been some sort of adhesive. They went on her temples, at her neck, over her heart, and on her wrists. “That is where you come in.”

  “Me?” she asked, feeling a twinge of unease. It was the first emotion to stir in her for several days.

  “Yes. As your DNA was the key to finding the gene, so it is key to finding the source of the power we need, possibly even the key to immortality. Just think of all the good we could do if we no longer had to worry about growing feeble, our minds failing with the passage of time?”

  Lily’s blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

  “Why, Morgan le Fay, of course,” he said matter-of-factly. “Surely you realized we are her direct descendants? You’re named after her mother, after all, Igraine. I wanted to name you Morgan, but Freda wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Wh—what?” Lily spluttered, shocked. “You mean Morgan le Fay as in King Arthur? But she’s just a legend.”

  “Really, Lilith. I’m disappointed in you. Morgan was as historical as Merlin and Arthur, though, of course, mundane accounts have romanticized history and gotten the facts wildly wrong. One thing they did realize, however, was that Morgan’s powers were not entirely human. Have you never wondered why they named her le Fay, from the French la fée, meaning fairy? Somehow she acquired fae magic, most probably given. But there simply isn’t enough documentation on the fae to know for sure. That’s something I wish to discuss with your friend, the Blackwell boy.”

  “Sebastian?” Lily asked, now alarmed. What did he want with Sebastian?

  “Oh, yes. He knows quite a bit more than he lets on,” John Faust said. Her mind immediately went to Grimmold and the other odd things he’d let drop. John Faust misinterpreted her realization for surprise and chuckled. “He never told you, did he? Not surprising. If I knew of the fae I would also be reluctant to discuss it. Perhaps once he is my guest here we can ask him together.”

  “But what’s all this have to do with Morgan le Fay and making wizards more powerful?” Lily asked, trying to distract him while pushing the thought of a captive Sebastian out of her mind.

  “I’m trying to find her, of course. She is still alive, somewhere. There’s a reason her body has never been found, nor that of Arthur or Merlin. They’re all hidden somewhere, perhaps at Avalon, if it exists. Even if I’m wrong and she is dead, there will surely be clues, documents, perhaps artifacts with her that we can gain immense knowledge from. Wizards as a whole are rather reluctant to share their secrets. That is why we have lost so many of the powerful spells that made our ancestors great. Dead or alive, Morgan will give us the power we need.”

  This is ludicrous, Lily thought, struggling to even consider the possibility. Yet, she herself was a wizard. How much more ludicrous could it be that Morgan le Fay was a real person? Her ancestor, no less. “But how am I supposed to help you find her? I know nothing about her.”

  “Fortunately, you don’t need
to,” he explained, stepping back to examine his handiwork. “You have the strongest manifestation of her fae blood that I have found in any of our line. Using several advanced spells of my own invention, this device can use your unique blend of magic to search for other such instances. We are all connected, don’t you see? Every living thing is connected to the Source. It is what gives us life. Only the three races of magical creatures—wizards, fae, and angels—can use it, of course. But it touches even mundanes. I initially tried to use Vera—”

  “Who is Vera?” Lily asked.

  John Faust turned back to his worktables, still speaking. “Vera Haas, Ursula’s mother. The Haases are only distantly related to the LeFays through their maternal line, but I thought it would be enough. It wasn’t, unfortunately, and I’m afraid the magic drove her mad. You may have heard her at night, she rather enjoys raising a fuss when others are abed.”

  Horror-struck, Lily shrank away from John Faust as he returned to the chair. “You monster,” she whispered, unable to take her eyes from him. “How could you?”

  “Easily. She was quite eager to help make our family great again. She felt that, at her age, she had little else to contribute, especially after her husband was murdered by the Blackwells.”

  “What!” Lily exclaimed.

  “Never fear, I’ve improved the spells since then. It is unlikely you will suffer any harm.”

  Lily began to struggle weakly, each new revelation sending a shock of life and fire to her limbs, returning her will to fight. “What do you mean, ‘unlikely’? I could go mad; how can you do this?”

  “Well,” he said tightly, a flash of anger flickering across his face, “if you hadn’t destroyed that lugal-nam, I wouldn’t need to take such drastic measures. I had intended to use it to find Morgan. But you blundered in, ignorant of the facts, and destroyed one of the most priceless treasures ever entrusted to wizardkind. Then you had the temerity to interfere in my acquisition of the Tablet of Eridu, the power of which could have—”