I settled for the baby—much less prone to get into everything. With Marie strapped to my chest, I transported to London.
These days, magical libraries were few and far between. I'd heard rumor of one in Boston, but it had long since closed. The Separation had shattered the usual magical communication channels. Before, there had been more traditional guilds like those in New Salem, which had been collections of magicals of different specialties. Guildmasters would choose the best and brightest to be included, and they would stake their claim on villages and towns. But now, with everyone having more or less the same magic, clans had become the magical grouping of choice. But in that transition, they'd lost the need to collaborate across family lines.
That, in a nutshell, was the problem with my research on the tear. Guilds tended to pride themselves on things like history and conquests; clans focused mainly on the here and now. Much of the information about the Separation had been lost or destroyed as the clans separated. Magicals now had everything at their fingertips without their special powers. So a lot of the old knowledge had been lost.
I'd visited this particular archive a few times now. There was no card catalog, no librarian. It was a room simply filled with information, and those privileged enough to see inside were expected to keep it tidy. Therefore, it was a haphazard collection of papers, books, and journals.
I sat down at the table and put the baby on the ground with a toy to keep her occupied (and a charm to keep her out of trouble). Normal summoning was an easy task—barely worth a second thought. But in this case, I would have to think very specifically about what I wanted to find.
"Marie," I said to the quiet room. "The key to summoning something you don't know is to phrase it correctly in your mind."
The baby stared at me with her big blue eyes and summoned another toy from her bedroom.
"Well, see, that's easy," I said with a laugh. "But it's harder still to find something unknown. The first step is to clear your mind. Concentrate on the nebulous idea of what the thing might be. Your magic is smarter than you are, you know. Then you let it fly."
In my mind's eye, I could feel the books in the library, their crinkly pages, the darkness of the ink. My magic read them too quickly for me to process, but it knew what I was looking for. And when I next opened my eyes, the previously empty table was filled with boxes, stacks of papers, and books.
"And that, my love, is how we do that," I said with a grin.
It faltered as I got a whiff of something foul and grimaced at the telltale grin on my child's face.
After dealing with a messy diaper, I worked through what I'd assembled. Most of what had been stashed here were letters between magicals in Salem and the new world and magicals back in Europe. The letters were charmed to resist aging, but still delicate in my hands. They ranged from the mundane (crop harvest numbers, births, weddings) to the horrific, especially after the magical war broke out between Chase and the Separatists. I'd grown up on the stories, but it was always jarring to think about the numbers of magicals killed during that time. There had to be some middle ground between shutting off New Salem completely and letting my people walk freely in this world.
Among the documents and boxes, I found a small leather-bound notebook with a very familiar name inscribed on the front page. Johanna Chase, daughter of John. She'd been the brains behind the Separation in the first place, devising the plan to create a magical pocket that would become New Salem. Most of what I knew about her came from her father's journals, and the general accounting I'd found in Ashley's archives. Based on the first entry, this journal had been started years before the Separation took place.
September 12, 1686
This journal contains the thoughts, tests, and results of Johanna Chase, daughter of John and Bridget. The intended result will be to resolve the conflict between the factions of magicals in Salem.
1686—five years before the Two Years' War would begin. The first few pages were verbose with theories, ideas, predictions, and experimentations. Like me, Johanna methodically perfected her potions through slow trial and error, changing a piece of the puzzle a little at a time.
I skipped ahead a few pages.
Nov 14. My sister Abigail, a Potion-maker, has a penchant for uncovering the issues I cannot see. She has recommended we try to use the frankincense in our next brew. She believes it has regenerative effects, which will be essential to building the world where we plan to imprison the Separatists.
I skipped ahead more pages, minding the dates as they aligned with what I knew about when certain events had happened in the Separation, then I stopped on a page.
May 1. They have killed Abigail. I am inconsolable. My work becomes even more important so no one else dies in this slaughter.
I should've assumed that had happened. During the two years of war, thousands had died—many of those Potion-makers and nonmagicals. The bloodshed had been the primary reason for the Separation in the first place.
Aug 3. I believe I have discovered a potion that will work. Made in my cauldron with my magic, it is a living organism. Abigail once theorized that adding additional magic, perhaps using the old coven count, might increase the potency. I wish she were here to help me test it.
The potion listed was a complex one with ingredients I'd never even heard of. But the dates aligned—this must've been the final potion. And knowing it had taken a coven squared of magicals to complete, killing several in the process, Abigail the potion-maker had been right in her assumptions. It was incredible that a simple potion had that much power.
But what could I have done to break that? For the thousandth time, I returned to that day. I'd been so distraught over Alexandra telling me I couldn't be inducted, I'd been so desperate to create something that would work. I suppose I'd done the same as Johanna—adding magic to the potion to create the desired outcome.
Did that mean healing the tear would require the same sort of activity?
I flipped to the last page, where an intricate potion list was written out. Some of the ingredients I recognized, many I didn't. In the absence of any other leads, I could always just recreate Johanna's potion and see what answers it gave. But would it be enough to prove to Irene that I wasn't screwing around?
That, too, I had no answers for.
Recreating the potion, it seemed, was easier said than done. My potion-making skills were mostly self-taught, and it seemed the concoction I was to make was…well, more complex than merely adding ingredients. I'd made more than a few potions that hadn't turned out right because of improper mixing, and with this sort of power, I didn't want to play around.
What I needed was a Potion-maker, but since the only one I had was just getting the hang of potty training, I had to work through the ingredients piece by piece.
"I'm afraid I'm no help either," Ashley said, squinting through thick glasses at the journal when I showed him what I'd found. "I've never seen a potion like this before."
"I'd suppose it needed to be difficult in order to do what it did," I said, looking through the journal. "There's mention of a set of Potion-makers from Clan Vargas. Is that clan still around today? Maybe they have some information?"
"Hm," Ashley said, thumping his fingers on his desk. He rose slowly and walked to the table next to the window, where he had stacks of books and papers. After searching a moment, he procured a large, thick binder and walked it back to his desk.
"What's that?" I asked as he examined the pages.
"It's something of a compendium of Clanmasters around the world," he said. "I'm not quite sure how accurate it is, as it's all from memory. Many of these names I've never seen in person."
"It's pretty thick," I said, guessing it at three inches.
"Magicals are quite splintered now," he said, turning the page. "And not every magical belongs to a true clan anymore, which makes it tricky to keep track of them all." He smiled and turned the book toward me. "Lucky for us, Clan Vargas has kept themselves pretty robust in Spain. You shoul
d be able to contact the Clanmaster. I don't know if she'd be more helpful, as they're bound by the same accords as we are, but they may have some knowledge."
I'd sent a letter to the Clanmaster of the Vargas clan in Seville, Spain and, three days later, received an invitation to come for dinner and a chat. This time, I decided to take Nicole—knowing that they weren't Potion-makers exactly, but it was still good to expose Nicole to other magicals like her. The toddler, of course, was just happy to be going with me on another excursion.
We arrived just as the sun was setting. Like Clan Carrigan, the family had purchased a large swath of land on the outside of the main city, surrounded by desert-like conditions. Because the clan had isolated themselves from the nonmagicals, and because I had an invitation, I was able to transport right into the center of their little village.
"Ah, you must be Gavon!" Josefa, the Clanmaster, greeted me almost immediately. I pegged her in her mid-fifties, thick-set and short, with wiry gray hair balled on top of her head. She kissed both my cheeks and turned her attention to Nicole, who'd hidden herself behind my legs. "And who is this?"
"This is my daughter, Nicole," I said, placing a hand on her head. "She's a Potion-maker."
"It is very nice to meet you," Josefa said, holding out her hand.
"Sorry, she's shy," I said, as Nicole hid herself further.
"She's quite a special girl, isn't she?" Josefa said. "Curious magic. Yours, as well."
"I would be happy to tell you the story," I said. "Shall we?"
Josefa was a marvelous hostess, providing an excellent rioja and a cheese plate, as I told her the story how I came to this world while Nicole hid her face in my shirt.
"So perhaps recreating Johanna's potion would close the tear," I said, pressing my hand to Nicole's head. "I hope, anyway."
"It's possible," Josefa said, reading through the potion with thick bifocals. "This is quite possibly the most difficult potion I've ever seen."
"Yes, I know," I said. "I'm sure I could work through it, given enough time, but neither Ashley nor I have ever heard of these ingredients before."
"Some of these may be older names for plants," Josefa said, summoning a few books and using magic to sort through them. "Ah, like this one, Sanguinaria? That's really just bloodroot."
She summoned the ingredient, a delicate white flower. Nicole, who'd been hesitantly getting more comfortable, poked her head up as more plants appeared.
"Oh, you like these?" Josefa said with a grandmotherly smile as she held up a long stem covered in lilac flowers. "Do you know what this is?"
She shook her head, casting me a wary glance before climbing down from the chair.
"This is called hyssop. It's said to be used for protection, but really, it's great for colds," she said, handing the beautiful flower to Nicole before turning back to me. "To be honest, Gavon, this potion is quite brilliant. It appears to be a combination of a magical pocket plus a touch of limb regrowth potion and a smattering of barrier spells. How Johanna Chase figured it all out, I have no idea."
"It was her sister, mostly," I said, smiling as Nicole climbed up on the empty seat next to Josefa and poked at the plants. "She was a Potion-maker. They killed her, though."
"You know, our clan lost a great deal of family members in the Two Years' War," Josefa said. "We had a strong line of Potion-makers. Some of the best in the world. We were one of the last hold-outs for the Danvers Accord, because it meant an end to our family's pride." She smiled sadly at Nicole. "It's wonderful to see the magic reappear in the world."
"You're the only person to say that," I said with a sad sigh. "My wife's clan thinks they're an abomination, to put it lightly."
Josefa tutted and shook her head. "She's just precious. How could anyone say that?"
I smiled, casting Nicole a long look. "You don't know the half of it."
"You know, I don't know what these last two ingredients are. The way it's written, it seems to be a plant of some kind." She handed the journal back to me. "I'm sorry, that's all I have for you, Gavon."
"Well, you've been incredibly helpful otherwise," I said. "I'll keep looking. Are there any other families out there who might have the Potion-making line?"
"None as good as the Vargas clan," she said with a proud smirk. "But perhaps I'll send a few letters."
"And…" I eyed the bookcase behind her. "I'm afraid my entire library of potion-making books is comprised of one book. Do you have any you wouldn't mind letting us borrow?"
"Absolutely," she said. "After all, if Nicole will be the only Potion-maker, we must make sure she knows what she's doing."
Twenty-Six
Josefa sent me the names of a few other clans in Singapore and Zambia, but when I visited them, they didn't know the ingredients either. Still, I was showing progress, and Mora was pleased to report that Irene's complaints had died down. Which I considered to be victory in and of itself.
At the end of March, I came to New Salem for a Council meeting only to find no one in the council room. I walked out into the village square to a bustle of activity—men and women spilling into the streets and drinking beer, openly clapping me on the back, and wearing smiling faces I hadn't seen since…ever.
"What's going on?" I asked Mary, one of the onlookers. She had two of her children hanging off her dress in curious anticipation.
"The new Warrior is being born," she replied with a smile. "It's a most wonderful day!"
Curious to see the new Warrior baby, I made my way toward Agatha's house. Her family was inside, plus the Warrior's father, who boasted to everyone with an ear that it was his input that had resulted in the miracle. I was sure he'd be using that line for years to come, as my father had. Even Cyrus had lowered himself to be present. He stood off in the corner, away from the rest of the villagers and councilmen. My mother was presumably inside the room.
"It's stifling," Cyrus said with a scowl. "Why are all these vermin in here?"
"Then perhaps you should wait outside," I offered lightly. "I know how it pains you to be amongst the rabble."
He glared at me then winced as another loud scream echoed through the house. "How much longer is this going to last?"
"How long has she been laboring?" I asked.
"I haven't the faintest…"
"Six hours," a woman nearby replied.
"Is she close?"
"What do you know of childbearing?" Cyrus asked. "You've never even fathered one."
I shrugged rather than let him goad me into divulging that I'd been the best student at the birthing classes Mora and I had taken.
The screaming from inside the room ended, and a short while later, Alexandra walked out with a squalling child in her arms. A shock of black hair on his head, a pink face. And power—so much power in such a little body. A hush descended over the room as the little pair of lungs wailed and wailed. I smiled, thinking about my own little Warrior coming in a few months.
"It's a boy," she announced. "James Malcolm Riley is his name."
I looked up. A bit presumptuous to name her child after the leader who'd had us all banished. But it wouldn't be the first James Riley in the village.
"He will make a fine Guildmaster," I said.
"Who will be training him?" Cyrus asked, with something of a disgusted look.
"Still to be decided," Alexandra said, smiling down at the boy with motherly affection. Had she worn the same look when I'd been born?
"Are we done fawning over him?" Cyrus drawled.
Alexandra's soft gaze grew hard. "Be careful. He might just take my position from me instead of from you."
Cyrus's eyes narrowed and he turned on his heel, marching out of the small room. Alexandra loosened a breath, returning to the baby and cooing at him quietly.
"And you want Cyrus to raise him?" she said, turning to walk back into the birthing room.
With everyone busy at Agatha's house, I could slip fresh ingredients into the Enchanters' stores and bring fresh hay and grass to the Charm
ers' cows. All the while, I thought about how I might broach the subject of the boy with Alexandra. If I let it linger too much longer, she might solidify her decision and I would have a fourth child. So I waited until she was finished with the new babe—which meant I was in the village until well after nightfall.
Alexandra wearily left the house, continuing to receive congratulations and handshakes even until she reached her house. She turned to find me there on her doorstep and offered me a tired look.
"It's unlike you to hover on my doorstep like this," she said, exhaustion evident in her voice. "You must really want to speak with me about something."
"I thought we might share a drink," I said. "To celebrate."
She nodded, seeing right through my ruse. "Very well."
I followed her into the library, where she procured the same bottle of red wine we'd had the night I'd been inducted. I thought of the hundreds of bottles I'd sampled since, the vintages from Chile, Spain, California, even as far as Australia and New Zealand.
"To our future," she said, raising her glass to me.
"To the future," I replied then took a sip. It was surprisingly good. "Which brings me to what I wanted to talk about."
She sighed heavily. "The boy's apprenticeship can wait. Tonight, we should just celebrate."
"I don't want to train the boy," I said firmly. "I don't think I would be the best for it. I think you should do it."
"And why is that?"
Because my wife would kill me. "Because you're a better Warrior. You said yourself that Jones had been lax in my tutelage. How am I supposed to create a strong Warrior when I'm not one myself…" The amused smile on her face ended my self-depreciation. "What?"
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