"Are you taking me to the ark?" Valeda asked bluntly.
Elsie smiled some more, careful not to show her surprise. Regardless of her good nature, Miss Quinlan was a reporter. The last thing Elsie needed was another news report about Delgora matters. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Miss Quinlan."
"I saw it last night. From my window." Valeda's soft gray eyes narrowed at her. "On the southern ridgeline."
Elsie chuckled and turned away, resuming their hike before she answered. "First of all, Miss Quinlan, you'll notice the position of the mid-morning sun is directly to our right. You, being an educated woman, are well aware of the sun's rotation from east to west, which would make our current trajectory due north of Delgora Manor."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Valeda look to the sky and frown. "That doesn't deny what I saw last night."
"Secondly," Elsie continued without acknowledging the comment, "even if I were inclined to divulge Delgora House matters to you, Miss Quinlan, my better sense knows that your profession cannot be trusted."
"I'm a reporter, not an idiot. If you required my silence, you would have it. I'd never cross a Witch."
"A person's sense of self-preservation can only keep them quiet for so long, Miss Quinlan. It has been my experience that the only thing you can fully rely on in this life is the greed of the people around you." Elsie crested the hill and stopped again, waiting for Valeda to catch up.
"His Lordship . . ." Valeda panted as she reached the top of the hill, "His Lordship might take offense at that viewpoint."
Grinning, Elsie winked at the woman. "Dorian would be an exception to that rule. But I applaud you on your growing sense of confidence around me. There are few Untalented who would risk such a comment."
Valeda blushed and squirmed, glancing away from her. "It's the miserable heat. It brings out the testy side of me, My Lady."
"I thought it might." With an easy gesture, Elsie directed Valeda's attention to the clearing before them.
Valeda opened her mouth as though to protest, but suddenly stopped. Sharp peaks and hundreds of waterfalls stole her attention. Elsie stood back and watched, all too familiar with the deceptive beauty surrounding them. Witch-Eater Lake commanded the center of the clearing, churning its depths with many waterfalls that scattered about the cliff face. Each mountain peak was dark with greenery, looking as though in constant shadow, defiantly tall and treacherously steep. The Warding Pillars were several miles to the north, but the presence of the Wild raged through the landscape.
Elsie felt when it started to lure Valeda in. It was a distinctly welcoming feeling; a warmth that promised safety to the subconscious levels of Valeda's mind. The reporter took a step forward and Elsie grabbed her shoulder. Valeda blinked up at her, confusion clear on her face.
"This is Witch-Eater Lake, Miss Quinlan. It will happily drown you."
"It's Wild?"
Elsie nodded.
"But that's impossible." Valeda looked back at the lake and froze.
It's here.
The ominous announcement from Magic felt like a growl over her skin and Elsie was acutely aware of the tattoos on her arm. Under the long sleeves and gloves she could feel them, a constant prickle, like someone was stabbing her with a sewing needle over and over again. Magic never liked it when she visited the lake, but at least this time she'd known what to expect.
Elsie knew what she would find when she looked back at the lake, but his nearness still startled her. Standing just four steps away from them was the ghost-boy Baldemor Delgora.
He looked solid, though Elsie knew him not to be, and his movements were all jerky. She watched as he tilted his head to one side, which only amplified the sense of wretchedness about him.
"Who are you?" Valeda asked the boy.
Elsie heard the nervousness in her voice, but didn't try to support her. It had been three years since Baldemor had spoken to anybody and she wanted to see what might happen. Because Valeda was Untalented, the outcome might be different. His last reported words were by far the most alarming. Dorian said he'd paused to see the ghost, just checking on a hunch. Baldemor was normally seen playing at the shores of the lake, but this time the boy had stopped. Dorian described it as though the child had suddenly been struck by something unseen, and then he stood straight-rigidly straight-and moved to the edge of the clearing.
"It's time." Those were the last words.
But time for what? Elsie wondered, gazing at the blue-tinged apparition.
No one in Magnellum had ventured past the Warding Pillars in any of their recorded history. They left the Wild alone, unless it somehow got through the Pillars like the Dellidus had. She couldn't understand where this animosity came from.
***
Valeda had the disturbing sensation of something very cold sliding down her spine. The only sound came from the waterfalls crashing into the lake just beyond, though Valeda could swear she heard a low, deep humming from the boy in front of her. He hadn't answered her yet and the House Witch had given no explanation, so Valeda kept quiet. If she was being honest, she was terrified.
There was something malicious about the boy, something intense and powerful that clung to him.
"In truth, Miss Quinlan, I'm not sure how to introduce you," Elsie said at last. "The form before you is that of Baldemor Delgora. Baldemor, however, has been dead for centuries."
Valeda swallowed down her fear. "Centuries?"
"Until recently he talked. Sometimes he would warn people away from the Lake. But he's changed now. He's more Wild than anything else." The Witch tugged at her earlobe and frowned. "The Wild is coming, Miss Quinlan. Very soon, I'm afraid."
Turning to look at her, Valeda rallied herself for her questions. It was the best opening she would have to confront the Witch and she had to take it. She found the boy's constant stare to be more than disturbing and had to concentrate to formulate the right words. In the end, the right words failed her and she reverted to bluntness.
"Magic is gone, isn't he," she stated.
For a Witch who had gone through as much as Elsie Delgora, Valeda was surprised at the lack of theatrics. Elsie didn't try to pretend not to know, she didn't hide the flash of pain in her eyes or the haunted way she looked at her gloved arm. The glove, peculiar as it was, caught Valeda's attention again and she wondered if the woman had been disfigured in some way.
"I am not permitted to speak on such things," Elsie said.
"Why not? If he's gone, then people need to know. We're all in danger."
"The people can be a danger to themselves at times."
"Poppycock!"
Elsie sent her a chilling glare that stopped Valeda from further argument. "Attempt not to insult me, Miss Quinlan. I of all people have seen the Untalented do great and terrible things for their own prestige."
Valeda flinched, remembering the horrid tale of how Vicaress Reonne had smuggled a Dellidus into Magnellum. It wasn't just murder that the serpentine creature had delivered, it was an ongoing torture for its victim. Valeda had thought the creature a thing of myth, until Elsie had disclosed how she'd had to garrote her father in order to get the Dellidus to detach from him. Only after her father's physical body was dead, was Elsie able to destroy the creature itself. Her matter-of-fact way of describing the death of her own father had the gravity of truth behind it.
Then her mind hooked onto the one important thing Elsie wasn't saying.
"Magic really is gone."
"Oh, no. I didn't say that. Magic is here. He's just . . . preoccupied."
"Why hasn't he blessed anyone with Talent in eight years?" Valeda pressed, glancing at the still staring form of Baldemor Delgora.
"Has it been that long?"
Valeda sensed the story here, all her instincts as a reporter throwing caution and propriety aside in the pursuit of the truth. "The last time he was seen was here in Delgora, eight years ago. On the day of your ascension to House Witch. You know more than you're telling me, Elsie
Delgora."
"Of course I do, I'm a House Witch. Really now, Miss Quinlan, you've got to have a better argument than that."
Valeda stammered and flushed, feeling altogether overwhelmed by her own boldness and the Witch's frustrating evasiveness. Beside her, the creepy ghost continued to glare and she wondered for a moment why Elsie had brought her here. Of all the places in Delgora, the Witch had taken her to a murderous lake where a ghost could silently hate her. The seething, angry boy didn't even blink, he stood so still.
Valeda wasn't certain what she'd meant to do, she just wanted the boy to stop looking at her, so she raised her hand. It moved so fast it blurred and an icy grip clamped tightly around her wrist. A sudden, forceful tug nearly took her into the clearing, but Elsie moved just as fast.
"Fellata!" the Witch commanded, and just as fast as it had grabbed her, the ghost let go. The form of Baldemor Delgora flew away from them, pushed back by whatever spell Elsie had cast. He was swallowed up by the lake a moment later, the water eerily undisturbed by his passage.
Stunned, Valeda glanced from the lake to the Witch and back again. "I. . ."
"I have several jobs for you, Miss Quinlan, which you will do without question." Elsie continued to stare at the lake, frowning deeply.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The first of which is to go to Master Walter at Walter's School for Unfortunates in Lorant. You have to travel through Lorant to get home to Tormey, so this should pose no problem."
"Except that I already have an employer and don't wish to work for you." Valeda wasn't certain why she was being so obstinate, but there was something infuriating in the smile on the Witch's face.
"Oh, you want to work for me, Miss Quinlan. Because I'm going to give you what you want." Elsie finally turned from the lake. "Do these few things for me, and I will give you the location of Magic."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Winslow adjusted his hold on Mirabella's legs, amused by the way she propped her chin on his right shoulder. He'd been carrying the girl on his back for the better part of the day as a means of expediency. Fayree, Mirabella's mother, managed to keep pace with him, understanding that there were dangers present that she couldn't see. He hadn't gotten a chance to speak with her on the matter of the Pillars, but when they'd passed the front of the train it had been evident.
The crash hadn't been a matter of technical malfunction or even a sudden jumping of tracks. Their train had been yanked off the railway by a twelve-foot vine. The giant, slimy green tentacle originated in the Wild and somehow crossed the Warding Pillars long enough to attack. It was apparent that the thing hadn't been finished, either. The engine and half of the first train car had been dragged through the Pillars and into the Wild before Magic won the battle.
Grimacing, Winslow fought back the images of mangled train, dead conductors and passengers, and continued the trek toward Three Points. His mind, however, kept returning to the distressing scene. The long, glistening vine stretched across their path, severed at the Pillar point. They'd had to step over it to move forward.
The Wild is coming, he thought grimly. It's really coming, just like Elsie predicted. When she'd first sent him on his quest Winslow assumed she just wanted to keep him busy. In the years since Bryva's death, he'd been restless and discontented. Even now, his heart ached at the thought of her. Bryva Gelgova, his vivacious, beautiful, perfectly Untalented lover, felt just as near to him as the day he'd met her. There were moments he swore he could hear her laugh, and dreams where he could still touch and taste her.
Perhaps it was predictable of him, but Winslow welcomed her haunting. He wanted nothing more to do with noble society, so he was more than pleased to take Elsie's assignment.
"Check the boundaries," she'd said. "All of them."
Since she paid all the expenses, Winslow hadn't balked at the enormity of the task. Honestly, he wouldn't have balked if she needed him to pay for it, either. He just wanted to move, to have something to do . . . to matter.
And now I do matter, he thought. Because a vine breaking through the Pillars to attack a train was exactly what Elsie needed to know. She needed to know that she was right, the Wild was coming, and hopefully they wouldn't be too late to act against it.
"It's too bad you can't fly, Mr. Winslow," Mirabella said. "If I were a witch, I think I'd fly everywhere."
"Oh?" Winslow said. "And where would you go, if you could fly anywhere?"
From beside him, he could see Fayree smile at her daughter, but the woman stayed quiet. She did look a trifle flush, now that he really looked at her, but he thought that had more to do with the exertion of walking than anything else. At first he'd been afraid the woman would need more rest, what with the head injury still so fresh, but then they'd come upon the front of the train and pushed ahead. By silent agreement, they tried to put as much distance between themselves and it as they possibly could.
"They say the Kelemen mountains are so tall they touch the sky," Mirabella said after a moment. "I think I would like to see them first."
Winslow smiled. "You'd best go in the summer, then. It gets terribly cold that high up."
"You've been there?" Mirabella squealed in delight, making him flinch.
He covered the pain of having his ear blasted with a peal of laughter. "My dearest friend was a Kelemen before he wed House Witch Caresse Feverrette. Perhaps you've heard of Bartholomew Feverrette-Kelemen?"
"Do you know all of the witches in Magnellum?" Mirabella wiggled on his back and Winslow had to struggle to keep his footing before they both fell over.
"I know of them," he said with amusement, "but I certainly haven't met them all. Magnellum is a very large place, Miss Mirabella."
"Father says all Witch-Born are lazy and ineffectual. That you all enjoy tea and ignore the rest of us."
"Mirabella!" Fayree scolded her daughter, unable to hide the distinct pitch of dismay in her voice.
"Well, he does."
He stopped them at the base of a hill, his mind torn between the promise of another long climb, Fayree's waning strength-he could sense that from the woman-and Mirabella's accusation. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that sentiment from an Untalented and he doubted it would be the last. The Great Houses were, in fact, too busy squabbling over power and trade to focus on the dangers becoming apparent in Magnellum. A few more "accidents" like the train wreck and the Wild might not have to bother attacking because the people would riot and their whole society would be torn apart.
"I can't say that I like your statement, Miss Mirabella," Winslow lowered the girl from his back and knelt before her. "But I won't deny it, either. There are too many Witch-Born who can't see beyond their own pocketbooks. Your father is right about some, but not all of us."
Mirabella smiled at him. "You're a good man, Mr. Winslow."
From beside them, Fayree let out a sudden and terrified scream. Startled, Winslow looked at her and then at what had caught her attention. Just to his right, the striped, feline creature prowled out of the forests. It looked defiant and imperial and huge, soft fur vibrant in the daylight. He saw it hunch, all of its muscles coiling, and knew it was about to leap.
"Mother, Maiden and Crone," he cursed, shocked.
Fayree grabbed Mirabella and yanked her back at the same moment that the great cat attacked. It let out a horrifying, primal roar and for a dumbfounded moment Winslow couldn't react. The teeth alone were shocking; sharp, pearly and big enough that one bite would go straight through his forearm. It was the claws, however, that snapped him into reality. The creature wasn't aiming for him, it was aiming for Mirabella, and that, he thought with frightened clarity, would not do.
Letting out a yell of his own, Winslow launched himself at the cat. He summoned his Talent to move his body faster, crashing into the feline before it could hit the girl. The impact jarred his body and they both, cat and man, fell to the side in a jumble of limbs.
They rolled together, away from Mirabella and her mother, wrestling awkwar
dly. Winslow had never fought such a thing before. He tried to think of weaknesses, growling as he felt claws rake over his back. Then its teeth clamped onto his left shoulder, powerful jaws locking closed and Winslow shouted in pain.
With a sudden jerk, the cat yanked Winslow's body leftward, tearing muscle and sinew through his shoulder. Blinding pain shot through him as the cat slammed him to the ground. He felt more claws from its back legs, digging past pants and into skin, successfully pinning him down. The creature shook its head, refusing to release its grip on his shoulder and he heard, more than felt, bones snap.
Dazed, Winslow thought he could hear the damn thing purring. It was a deep, almost guttural sound that seemed to vibrate from the heavy, powerful beast on top of him. Any moment now it was going to yank upward and tear his arm off. And there wasn't much he could do to stop it. The feline was just as strong as he was, possibly stronger, and Winslow was already using his magic. Talent could enhance his natural abilities, making him faster, stealthier, more agile than the average man, but it had limitations.
He had only one weapon left to him. Well, two if he counted his boot knife, but he couldn't reach it at present so his options narrowed to one. Winslow summoned his Talent and bent time. The world around him slowed, taking on a sheen-like, reflective quality. Slow ripples of light ebbed outward, pushing away from him as he held the moment still.
At first, he'd been afraid that the cat wouldn't be affected by the time-bend, but the furious shaking stopped and he knew his gamble had worked. It was a strain on his magic to hold Time so slow and he had to battle past the wretched agony in his shoulder to think clearly.
Boot knife,he thought, and with a growl of effort, pulled his right leg free of the creature's back paws. He felt its claws rip open the flesh just above his knee, but was too focused on grabbing the knife to care. His hold on Time was slipping, he could feel it.
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