Broken by Magic

by Rebecca Danese

  We reach the bus stop on the main road, and the timetable shows a ten-minute wait, so we stare into a nearby shop window to pass the time.

  It’s a sweet shop, the old-fashioned kind with glass jars lining the shelves and a large weighing scale on the dark wooden counter. Although there aren’t any customers at this time of day, I can see the shopkeeper reading a magazine at the counter while the shelves stack themselves. He flicks his hand occasionally, and a box opens itself, and the contents sail up onto a high shelf. I wonder where he’s siphoning the energy from to do such an amazing job, and I see that he has one hand on a small battery pack, which takes me by surprise for a moment. Of course, it’s more practical to use something that wouldn’t cause the lights to flicker and affect the surrounding neighbourhood if powers can be used with a mere rechargeable battery pack.

  “Wow,” I say aloud.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” Jer smiles and watches coloured jars of sweets levitate around the shop interior.

  “I wish it could be like that everywhere,” I sigh.

  “Me too, mate. Me too.”

  The bus appears, and the ride is only twenty minutes before we are dropped off at a solitary stop in the small village of Benington. The pub in question sits neatly amongst the rows of country houses, a Post Office and a school.

  It looks like there are only a few hundred people living here at the most, and the pub is probably the only social gathering place for miles.

  It’s just before 11 AM, and The Bell Public House is just opening its doors. I half expect Avers to be waiting outside with us to come in, along with the two locals who look like the morning pint is a regular part of their daily routine, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

  “Morning chaps,” says the barmaid, greeting her regulars cheerily and giving Jer and me a brief look of surprise before plastering a smile across her face. The inside of the place is dingy but quaint, with ancient stools and hardwood tables, glossy with decades of varnish, that have probably seen more than their fair share of spilt beers, village gossip and possibly even a few bar fights. On the walls are the usual trinkets and paintings, yellowed from a time when people could still smoke inside. Black and white photographs from an earlier era with village people who have grown the ‘largest marrow’ or the ‘heaviest pig’ adorn one side of the stale wallpaper. And there, in the darkest corner, is the clean-cut and out-of-place Matthew Avers with a cappuccino on a saucer in front of him. If I weren’t so nervous about the meeting, I’d laugh. I can just imagine him asking for a cappuccino in this, a village that should be untouched by time and by London, all these miles away.

  He looks up over his thick-rimmed glasses and smiles, until he sees Jer.

  “Curtis, good to see you,” he says, shaking my hand briefly. “I didn’t expect... company.” What he means to say, I can tell, is that he wanted to meet alone, but is too polite to make a scene.

  “Sorry, Matthew, this is Jer, my friend. I trust him completely, and he’s possibly of more use in terms of information than I am, to be honest.”

  Jer leans past me to shake Avers’ hand, and he gestures for us to sit. The barmaid brings over two cappuccinos for us, and I thank her, wondering briefly where the coffees are coming from.

  “Well, how are you feeling, Curtis?”

  “Er, okay, I guess. Physically I’m fine. Never better,” I say, not meeting his gaze. I can tell he’s studying me from here, ever the reporter, always looking for angles, weaknesses and tells.

  “And otherwise?”

  Otherwise. Meaning how am I doing mentally. I try not to sigh.

  “Fine, fine. I mean, as good as to be expected.” I shrug and take a huge gulp of hot coffee to try and mask my expression. “What did you want to talk about?” I change the subject.

  “Straight to business. I like it.” He smiles and claps his hands together before pulling out a folder from a messenger bag that sits on the floor next to him. His eyes dart over to the bar where the two early beer drinkers sit chatting to the barmaid.

  “You’ve probably heard the news about Munday being locked up?” I nod, as does Jer. “Well, the police and government officials are working to question everyone that has had some connection with Munday to try and piece his puzzle together.”

  By government officials I assume he means the Anti-Terror Unit, or ATU.

  “Why don’t they just ask Munday himself?” Jer asks.

  “They would if they could get any sense out of him. But apparently, the only thing he seems to say has led them to a dead end.”

  Jer and I look at each other. I picture Munday sitting in some cell screaming out nonsense and driving everyone mad.

  “Do you know what he says?” I ask.

  “Well, thanks to my reporter skills and a contact, I actually do,” he says proudly. “He recites a name on repeat - Jonathan Clarence.”

  I hear a sharp intake of breath from Jer at the mention of the Duke’s name.

  “So Munday just says the Duke’s name over and over again, because they’re arch-enemies or something and go back a few years,” I say, coming to some kind of conclusion.

  “Yes, pretty much. But the problem is that the Duke has been missing since the night Munday was put away two months ago, and I think you might be able to help track him down.”

  “We were already questioned and told them everything we know,” Jer interjects.

  After that horrible night, Miss Banks and her ATU agents questioned us within an inch of our lives and allowed us to hide away at David’s mother’s house. As far as I know, they’re also the only people who know where we all actually are, so if they needed our help, surely they’d come to us first.

  “I realise that, chaps,” Matthew says. “But bear in mind that they aren’t exactly going to release an official statement, and I need to get the story out of what really happened that night from the people that were actually there,” he says quietly, as if someone might overhear.

  “We weren’t, so we can’t help you,” Jer interjects. I glance at him, wondering what his problem is.

  “Even if that were true,” Matthew says, sounding unconvinced, “Don’t you want the world to hear what actual Augurs have to say about this mess? Surely you want them to take the stand and defend themselves, considering everything that you’ve all been through?” The subtle change from ‘them’ to ‘you’ isn’t lost on me. I know that getting Augurs to tell their side of the story is what I want, but when I look at Jer for some sign that he’s on board, his expression is unreadable.

  My head is buzzing with thoughts. The Duke is missing, which means that he’s guilty in my mind. Guilty of what, I’m not sure, but the fact that he won’t come clean and give a statement means he has something to hide, as far as I’m concerned.

  “I was half hoping that you might be able to point me in the Duke’s direction if nothing else, but I can see that perhaps I’ve wasted my time,” Matthew says flatly.

  “Look, I can only tell you what I’ve heard, but it’s not going to help you much, I don’t think,” I say, feeling bad for Matthew coming this entire way to meet a dead end.

  “What are you doing, Curtis?” Jer puts a hand on my arm.

  “Just telling him what I know,” I say, willing him to trust me. I would never give Ella away, or the members of the Society, but I can tell him what I overheard on Parliament Green last year without admitting we were there.

  “Look, I don’t want to come between friends. I just want to find the Duke, and I thought that Curtis might be able to help, but if you have information that might aid me to put Augurs in a better light, I’d very much like to hear it,” Matthew says, sipping his coffee.

  Jer scowls and looks away, but I push on.

  “All I can tell you is that the Duke knew Munday from years back. I overheard him say something about Munday taking his Augur power, but that’s about it. You know from those files that Munday used to work at FADE,” I say.

  “Wait, the Facility?” Jer says incredulou
sly. “You mean Munday was working at that hell hole?”

  “Yes, Jer, he was head of research there or something,” I say, surprised that he didn’t know it already. But then I realise, with everything else that’s been going on, I’ve never mentioned it to any of them. I kept what I found on that USB stick a secret, to protect their pride more than anything else.

  “It’s interesting that you say the Duke knew Munday from way back though,” Matthew strokes his chin thoughtfully, “Maybe there’s some deeper connection there, particularly if you heard that they knew each other from a while ago.”

  “Can I talk to you for a second, Curtis?” Jer says, tugging on my sleeve. I shoot an apologetic look at Matthew and step outside with him.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” he says angrily, something I’ve never seen in him before.

  “What do you mean?” I ask defensively. Our breath mists up around us, and I shiver at the sudden change of temperature. His Irish accent comes out thick when he’s pissed off.

  “You are playing a very fine line, mate, and I don’t think you realise it. Telling this reporter these things that only someone from the Society could know, and then telling me you aren’t going to expose us? It’s askin’ for trouble.” Jer puts a hand on my shoulder, but it doesn’t feel friendly.

  “I’d never do anything to put any of you in danger,” I say, uncertain as to why he’s so angry.

  “What happens when he asks where you got your information from, eh?”

  “I’ll tell him I can’t disclose that information.”

  “Oh, right. And a reporter with years of experience is just going to let it go, is he? No, Curtis. You’re being naïve, and it’s going to get us in deep crap.”

  “And what about the Duke, Jer? He gave me a USB stick full of information on the Facility with your picture in it and set up a meeting with Matthew for me to hand that information over.”

  “What?” Jer lets go of me and takes a step back.

  “The USB stick that I gave to Matthew. I told you it had information on putting Munday away. I didn’t mention that he had been part of FADE because I didn’t want to upset you, but it had files on every person that had been incarcerated there, including you, Lou, and Ella.”

  Jer runs his hands through his hair and turns away from me.

  “Why didn’t you say anything before? After all these months we’ve been living together?”

  “Are you kidding me? I didn’t want to embarrass you or bring up the pain of the past. You all act like you’ve seen a ghost whenever I talk about it. What good would it have done to tell you what I saw?”

  “I’d have known before we met with your reporter that he already knew about our past. I would have told you to keep a hundred miles away from him, that’s what good it would have done,” Jer shouts. I feel way out of my depth, not least because I’ve never actually pissed him off firsthand before.

  “I think you’re overreacting,” I say, holding my hands up placatingly.

  Jer scoffs. “No, Curtis. I think you don’t realise what you’re getting into, and you want to use our pasts to be some kind of hero.”

  Now it’s my turn to scoff. “I’m not trying to be a hero!”

  “You’ve taken every possible opportunity to slag the Duke off. But he gave us homes and a purpose when the Facility shut down, and for some reason, you just can’t have that,” Jer fumes.

  “But he’s the one who betrayed you, Jer, not me! He gave me the information and told me to give it to Avers. If I hadn’t been there to see what was on that USB stick, you wouldn’t even know about his betrayal!” We’re both shouting now, and the sound is out of place in the quiet village where there’s no other sound than that of birdsong.

  “He had his reasons, I’m sure,” he replies through gritted teeth.

  “Sure, sure. He also gave me this,” I pull out the switchblade I’ve been carrying around for months like a talisman and show him the ‘W’ etched into the steel. “Remember the symbol that Federico drew for us at the hospital? The guy that stabbed him had a knife just like this one,” I plead.

  “It was Edward, Curtis. I felt it when he came to help us defeat Munday. His magic was exactly the same as at the restaurant after the fire,” Jer says. I shake my head.

  “The Duke said Edward was double-agenting for him. Why would he set fire to the restaurant and stab Federico only to be an informant to his father?”

  Nothing makes sense, and I want to hit something in frustration.

  “You really want to place the blame on the people that helped you? You wouldn’t even be with Ella if it wasn’t for the Duke,” he says.

  “You don’t know that,” I say.

  “I can guarantee it. Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do. You’re a big boy now, and you’re free to make your own mistakes. But believe me, if you betray us, I will personally kick the crap out of you,” he says threateningly before turning away from me.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “Away from all this,” he waves his arm in my general direction. “You’re on your own… mate,” he says, and walks away in the direction of the bus stop.

  I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I don’t try to stop him from leaving, or that I’m secretly relieved.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Where’s your friend?” Avers asks as I step back into the pub.

  “Gone home,” I reply, not wanting to elaborate.

  “Well, let’s get to work then, shall we?” Matthew says almost cheerfully.

  The papers strewn across the table in front of me are mostly blanked out. Printed sheets of text with whole paragraphs blacked over, like someone was having a field day with a permanent marker.

  Matthew has already put together the Carlton Munday pages, along with the summary of ‘patients’ that had been experimented on during the Facility’s seven years of operation. The list is sickeningly long; men, women and a lot of children, many of them dead now, according to his newest research.

  He’s been busy over the past few weeks trying to find survivors that would be willing to talk to him about their experiences. But the few that are mentally capable of holding conversation are in the same boat as Jer - they only want to forget, unwilling to dredge up ghosts from their past.

  “You said in one of your messages that you’d found something but that there was a missing piece of the puzzle.”

  “Yes, look here.” He hands me over a document. The computer program used to put the information on that USB stick together was fairly basic. It seemed to have taken anything from FADE’s files that mentioned Munday and thrown it all together in one jumbled mess, but I can see now that Matthew has been busy combing through it all. Having left me a message just before Christmas about it, I was aware that he’d found one letter to Munday with the mention of funding. Rather than someone signing the letter, they’d put a crest at the bottom, and I stare at a print-out of it now.

  “This has got to be the Clarence crest,” I say, placing the switchblade, opened out, next to the letter. The similarities are there, although the two letter Ws aren’t exactly the same. The crest on the paper looks more like a series of up and down lines, perhaps two letters joined together. Maybe an N and a W, or two W’s smushed together. Now that I look at the blade again, I can see that the letter has been dulled and worn through wear and tear, and that they aren’t as identical as I’d hoped. I shake my head to myself though, as no matter which way I turn it they still both look like a ‘W’.

  “I want to agree with you, Curtis, but we have to observe all the facts before we start making accusations,” Matthew says, examining the knife.

  Great. Of all the reporters in the world that are happy to dish the dirt, I happened to pick up the scrupulous one. “I worry that there’s a personal vendetta here that may get in the way of us working together.” He looks at me over the top of his glasses.

  “What could I possibly have against the Duke?” I scoff. “The fact that he lur
ed my girlfriend into fighting a maniac for him? Or the fact that I was kidnapped by a bunch of agents running an errand only he knew about? Oh, wait, perhaps it’s the fact that I almost died eight weeks ago because of him.” My voice becomes louder, and I see the men at the bar look over at me. I drop to a low whisper. “Yes, Matthew, I have a grudge. But it’s not all in my head, and I know it. There are too many loose ends. Too many unanswered questions. I feel like I’ve been banging my head against a wall since last year trying to figure it out, and I’m hoping you, of all people, might be able to help.”

  I sound desperate, I know. But I’ve been bottling up so much since, well, since finding out Ella’s secret, that it’s a relief to say it out loud.

  “Okay, Curtis, I see where you’re coming from. You’ve been through a lot lately, and I understand how difficult it must be for you to look at it all so soon. I just want to find an angle that we can expose without it backfiring on us, so let’s take another look, shall we?”

  He orders us sandwiches from the bar and comes back to lay out the rest of his paperwork, pulling out a large notepad and handing it to me.

  “Realise that I haven’t pressed you as to how you got that USB stick yet,” he points out.

  “No, but you can guess,” I say quietly.

  “I can indeed. So, I assume you’ve met the man in person. Why don't you write down for me everything you can think of about the Duke. Anything that he actually did or said that was strange, anything that might lead us to a motive for any of this.” He gestures to the pile of paperwork that came from the Facility.

  Matthew already knows about the existence of the Society. Edward Clarence was due to meet him and betray his father’s trust just when I turned up in his office in December.

  So, although I can’t write down any names I do put ‘The Society’ on the piece of paper and feel immediately guilty for it. Creating an elite group of Augurs is just one of the weird things the Duke has done.