Dead Magic

by A. J. Maguire

  Winslow squirmed under her scrutiny and cast his gaze to the floor. "I was sincerely hoping you would know," he said.

  "Know what?" Dorian asked from behind her.

  Elsie took Winslow's hand and lifted it, running her fingers over his tanned skin, but seeing only the woven patterns of green and gold in him.

  "Part Wild?" she said aloud, too shocked to hold it in.

  "What?" Bartholomew exclaimed. She heard him get to his feet, but she kept her focus on Winslow. "You said the verue plant subdued your Talent for a time. You didn't say it had become a part of you!"

  "Why do you think I didn't want you to heal me?" Winslow shot back. "I had no idea what was going to happen. For all I knew, it could have spread to you."

  Elsie looked to Bartholomew and checked, but there was no green in Lord Feverrette. "It didn't," she said.

  Winslow relaxed and she let go of his hand. "Fates be praised," he said.

  "But it didn't because it wasn't meant for him." Elsie turned to frown at Winslow. "Magic would not have allowed this combination unless it was meant for something. You're Fated, Winslow. You weren't when you left us, but you are now."

  Winslow tensed again at this news and she immediately pitied the conflict in his face. For a long minute he just stared at her, pain and panic in his eyes. She wanted to comfort him, but didn't know how. It wasn't like she knew Magic's plans; she just knew the part she had to play. And then he looked past her, in Valeda's direction.

  Elsie turned again and was surprised to find that Valeda Quinlan had identical markings to Winslow in her. She blinked twice and looked at Dorian, who shrugged.

  "I suppose," Valeda said awkwardly, "that means I am meant for something as well."

  "No," Winslow said. "She doesn't know how to use her Talent. She can't help."

  "And whose fault is that?" Valeda asked heatedly. "You were the one who was supposed to train me."

  "Elsie." Winslow grabbed Elsie by the shoulder and squeezed hard. "I won't let her near a battlefield. Please."

  Elsie glanced between Winslow and Valeda. She didn't know what to do. Winslow was pleading with her, asking her in his silence to forbid Valeda from fighting. Valeda was just as confused and angry of her current situation-and who wouldn't be? To be thrust from her calm life and into an end-of-the-world scenario where no one could tell her what was going on? Elsie would have hurt someone by now.

  Carefully, Elsie covered Winslow's hand with her own. "When all of it comes down, there will be no place she can hide. The battlefield will be everywhere."

  "Send her to the ark," he said.

  "Very well," Elsie said. "She will accompany us to the ark, then."

  She felt her tattoos needle in her skin and knew Magic did not approve. But Magic did not speak to her, which was a relief, and she honestly didn't know what else to say to poor Winslow.

  "Hold on just a minute," Valeda said. "I'm not going anywhere until I have some answers."

  "I would expect nothing less from you, Miss Quinlan," Elsie said and turned away from Winslow. "With that in mind, I have news from an unexpected source."

  There's no helping it, she thought. They have to know what they're up against and they have to know now. So she told them Fayree's story. She knew Winslow was privy to most of it, but when she spoke of Voruke and the origins of the Pillars, even he showed surprise.

  "So the Wild is angry about Magic. They want him back," Bartholomew said.

  "And they think the only way to get him back is by killing all of us?" Caresse asked.

  "For the most part, yes," Elsie said. "But . . . they do seem to be led by a single man. Perhaps they are Timeless, but that doesn't mean they can't think on their own. It's possible some could be persuaded toward peace."

  "That hardly seems to matter at this point," Winslow said. "Even if there were people who wanted peace, those who don't would overrun them. Look at where Fayree is."

  "He's right," Valeda said. "The peace lovers are not the ones who will invade Magnellum when the Pillars fall."

  "However," Bartholomew said before Valeda could speak again. "As we have a limited amount of time today, I suggest we relocate as quickly as possible."

  "Relocate?" Elsie asked.

  "Yes." Dorian moved to her side again. "It's too dangerous for us to stay here. I received a pointed warning and we must heed it."

  Dorian would only take a warning from his father, Elsie knew. So she nodded. "Where shall we stay, then?" she asked.

  "Feverrette House has opened its hospitality to us."

  Ah, she thought. That explains Caresse's presence.

  "Let's be off, then," Elsie said. She nodded her appreciation to Caresse.

  The younger Witch smiled and nodded back.

  ***

  They left Delgora House in pairs. Bartholomew and Caresse left through the front door, Dorian and Elsie through the back, and Winslow kept Valeda waiting to leave for at least a quarter of an hour after the others. It was, he had said sensibly, a tactic to keep people from realizing where they were going.

  He took her on a seemingly aimless walk, weaving through merchant vendors and the tournament grounds, but his focus was always on the people. The mess of tournament swarmed around them, people chatting and laughing as they passed by. Several heated braziers peppered the streets-a gift from the House Witch of Lorant. Engineers could make pot-bellied stoves and warm a house, but out on the street there was little to prevent people from freezing while the tournament went on.

  She wondered if Winslow saw something other than a gaggle of people. Perhaps they were being followed.

  She remembered how she'd known that Monty was being watched at the train station. If she asked her Talent it might tell her if there was danger. She glanced up at Winslow, who smiled vaguely at her. His eyes reflected more worry than good humor.

  Valeda wondered whose idea it was to move in broad daylight. She would have thought the shadows of nightfall would have been better.

  "Winslow!" a voice squealed suddenly.

  They both tensed, scanning the crowd again for danger. A moment later, a scrawny, blonde-haired girl fairly tackled Winslow. Valeda was forced to release his elbow and step back, but there didn't appear to be any immediate danger. Winslow huffed a surprised laugh.

  "Jemima," he chuckled, embracing the girl. "You gave me a fright."

  "I gave you a fright?" Jemima pushed back from him and socked him in the arm. "I'm not the one getting into train accidents, you sod!"

  "Jemima!" A new, more refined voice scolded the girl. Valeda looked up as this newest interruption emerged from the crowd, her oval face scrunched into a severe frown. "You are a gentle lady of noble birth. You do not strike people on the street and you most certainly do not call them a 'sod'."

  Valeda recognized at once the family resemblance. These, she knew, were Winslow's sisters. The elder was due to become House Witch of Agoston next year. The younger, Jemima, was second born and destined only for a political marriage in her lifetime. Of the two, Valeda found that she preferred the exuberant Jemima over her elder.

  "Collata," Winslow greeted. He cleared his throat and looked supremely uncomfortable for a moment.

  This might have amused Valeda, but Collata's attention swerved to her and she immediately wanted to hide. Collata Agoston portrayed an icy sort of beauty. She had round features that could have been charming if she permitted herself to smile, and a nose that looked too small for her face. Her lips set into a thin, unhappy line as her dark eyes inspected Valeda from head to toe.

  When Collata's attention lingered on her riding pants and boots, Valeda saw a flash of contempt in the woman's gaze. It wasn't unnatural for select women to wear pants, but even Valeda knew that most Witch-Born females did not. Except, of course, for Elsie Delgora. But Elsie had lived half her life in the guise of an Untalented, and her sense of what was proper might be skewed.

  "Mother wants to see you," Collata said, turning back to Winslow. "Now."

 
"What?" Winslow asked, clearly startled. "You mean she's here?"

  "Yes, of course she's here. She's been trying to reach you since you lost your Talent." Collata gave them both an ugly smile. "I'm sure she'll welcome your commoner friend, considering the circumstances."

  "Will she?" Winslow said flatly.

  Valeda couldn't decide what bothered her more: the snarky comment on commoners from Collata, the idea of visiting House Witch Agoston, or the very feral look on Winslow's face as he stared his sister down. She wasn't the only one nervous, either. Jemima shifted from foot to foot, creeping closer to her brother as the seconds ticked by.

  Finally, Collata looked away, feigning boredom. "Come along then, little brother. I'm sure this will liven the day," she said. She made several disparaging remarks about the commoners crowding the street and began to lead them away.

  "We could always run for it," Valeda said under her breath.

  Winslow chuckled and proffered his elbow. When she'd taken it, he crooked the opposite elbow for Jemima, who beamed up at him. They took up pace behind Collata, who led them toward Agoston House. There were no side trips, no pauses to chat with another passing noble, and Valeda found herself suddenly climbing the steps of a tall manor house.

  The door opened for them and Winslow drew her inside. Jemima and Collata dumped their coats with the front doorman and proceeded into the drawing room. Valeda almost reached for the buttons on her coat, but Winslow stopped her.

  "We won't be here long enough to warrant that," he whispered to her. "Keep silent if you can and follow my lead."

  His words immediately alarmed her. She nodded, which seemed to please him because he smiled and winked at her. She smiled back, albeit tremulously, and allowed him to escort her into the front drawing room.

  Agoston House was very different from Delgora House. Where Delgora had many flowery patterns gracing the walls and furniture, Agoston was clean white. The only colors in the room were the deep mahogany of the furniture and the flickering red of the fireplace. The House Witch herself wore a creamy white gown with lacey sleeves. Her blonde hair did little to dispel the image of frost in the room, and her eyes were so dark a blue that they bordered on black.

  Collata and Jemima wore gold and blue, which made their every movement more pronounced against the plain backdrop. Valeda tried to shrink behind Winslow and out of view, but his grip was steadfast and she couldn't.

  "So," Lady Morgana Agoston said from her seat beside the fire, "my son is still alive."

  "It would seem so, my Lady," Winslow replied.

  What sort of family required the mother to be addressed so formally? What sort of childhood would that bring? Valeda felt her heart break for the man beside her.

  Morgana did not smile. She did not appear relieved or happy that Winslow was alive. In fact, Valeda thought as she watched the two, the House Witch seemed more annoyed than anything else.

  Without warning, Valeda felt her magic react to the situation. It's quite angry at the way Winslow is being treated, she surmised. And in his own home, too! Any mother would have worried for their son's health and safety, but this one can't be bothered so much as to embrace him.

  Winslow's hand covered her own, squeezing until she looked at him instead. His focus remained on his mother, but Valeda felt his magic calm her down, reassuring her that all was well. Though how all could be well, she didn't know. Someone needed to smack Morgana Agoston into a reaction.

  His mouth twitched into a faint smile and Valeda had the horrible idea that he could read her thoughts.

  "I've heard two conflicting rumors about you," Morgana said at last. "They say you strained yourself out of Talent rescuing some commoners. But then they say you rescued Lord Delgora from his would-be abductors. A feat that required considerable magical aid."

  "Are those the only two rumors about me, my Lady? I've done so many other things that I would have thought the rumor mill would be overflowing by now."

  "Do not be impertinent."

  "But we get along so much better this way."

  Morgana stood suddenly and her face twisted into a scowl. Valeda swallowed her fear, suppressing the urge to run far, far away from this domestic dispute. Winslow remained calm beside her, smirking over at his mother with all the reverence of a toad to a fly.

  "You are my son and you will answer me," Morgana said. "Have you lost your Talent?"

  Winslow tilted his head to the side and considered her for a moment. "Yes," he said smoothly. "I have lost my Talent."

  For a fraction of a moment, Valeda thought she read dismay in the House Witch's face. But then Morgana collected herself and sat back down, smoothing her skirts as she did so.

  "Lord Feverrette is the one who rescued Delgora that night. Not me. I was . . ." Winslow turned to Valeda now. With a cheeky smile, he lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles before finishing his sentence. ". . . otherwise engaged."

  Collata made an unladylike snort of disgust. "Yes," she said. "You must be so happy. We all know your tastes run toward the Untalented."

  Valeda glanced at Collata, distracted by this news. What exactly did that mean?

  "Oh, I'm afraid it's true," Collata said with a taunting smile. "Or did you think you were the first Untalented he's ever brought home?"

  Valeda felt Winslow's reaction before she saw it. His anger pulsed through his magic, which in turn fed her own. She met his blue-green gaze and held it, ignoring the rest of the room. He's mourning someone, she realized. But who or why were too complicated for her magic to answer.

  "You are quite mistaken, dear sister, if you think this is my home," Winslow said. "A home denotes a place of warmth and charm. Where someone might feel accepted and loved. Agoston House has never given me such an impression."

  "Winslow Fagen Agoston!" Morgana gasped. "One more word out of you and I shall banish you from House lands."

  "Do it." He turned to face his mother, his body vibrating with fury under Valeda's fingers. "I don't go there anyway. The only person remotely of interest to me is Jem, and she's always at school. Father is too busy hiding away in the liquor cabinet and Collata's just as frigid as you are, Mother. So please do it. Banish me and make my avoidance of your presence legally binding."

  Morgana leaned forward in her seat, gripping the armrests so tightly that Valeda swore she could hear them cracking under the strain. When the Witch spoke next, her voice was changed, deep and reverberating, echoing the rage of the woman.

  "You come into my house and speak thus to me?"

  "You knew when you summoned me here that this would be unpleasant," Winslow said. "Now banish me and make it official."

  Wind gusted through the room, swirling around Morgana in a sudden, malevolent tempest. Valeda felt the danger. Her Talent rose in warning as whatever spell had just been cast whipped toward them. Without thinking, she lifted her free hand and muttered a word she was quite certain she'd never heard before.

  "Tateuote," she said.

  A purple mist shielded them from the gust, dissipating as soon as the danger had passed. Valeda lowered her hand, every bit as startled as the rest of the room. Morgana's eyes widened in surprise and Collata made a choked sound. Jemima, on the other hand, whooped her joy and rushed over to stand beside her brother.

  "Who are you?" Morgana asked Valeda, her voice betraying just how shaken she was.

  "She's no one to you," Winslow said curtly. "Just like me."

  Then he turned and led her out of the drawing room. Jemima followed on his heels, giggling at the display she'd just seen. None of them actually spoke until they were out of the house and at least three blocks away.

  "Did you see her face?" Jemima asked with a laugh. "You'd have thought the Crone herself had spit one of her teeth on the carpet!"

  "Jem, don't be crass," Winslow said, but he was grinning.

  "Oh, Winslow, I am so sorry!" Valeda said. "I don't know what happened . . . I just . . ."

  "Sorry?" Winslow stopped walking to stare down at her.
"She was about to douse me with frost bite. You saved me from a whole lot of pain, Vee. Don't ever be sorry for that."

  "Frost bite? On her own son?"

  "Motherly affection is foreign to Lady Morgana," Winslow said with a rueful laugh. "It wouldn't be the first time she's done it."

  Valeda gaped at him and looked back down the street. Anger flinted deep inside her and she felt her magic urge her to go back, to challenge the horrible woman, or something. She couldn't really think past the intense desire to hit Morgana Agoston several times with a blunt object.

  Winslow cupped her face with a gloved hand and turned her to look at him. He was smiling at her, almost laughing. Then he bent down and kissed her. Some part of her protested that they were standing in broad daylight on the corner of the street with Fates knew how many people watching. But the bigger part of her just leaned into him, focused only on the warm press of his mouth to hers.

  Jemima cleared her throat. "I admit it was fairly amazing, brother, but could you leave the snogging for indoors?"

  He jerked away so fast, Valeda staggered on her feet. She was dizzy from the moment, but still caught the look of pained confusion in his face. Then he turned and left her, walking toward the house at the far end of the street.

  "Come along," he called brusquely over his shoulder.

  Jemima shot her a look of compassion and then ran to catch up with her brother. Valeda felt tears burn the backs of her eyes as she watched them go. She couldn't follow. She felt ashamed and exposed and vulnerable, and she would be damned if she let that man see her cry. So she turned down the closest alley and ran.

  No news report was worth this.

  ***

  Winslow had just stepped into Feverrette House and hadn't even managed to get his gloves off when he was accosted by Dorian.

  "What took you so long?" Dorian asked and then looked to Jemima. "And who is this?"

  "Hey!" Jemima said with a frown. "You know me! It's Jem!"

  Dorian blinked down at her. "Little Jem?"

  She grinned. "Not as little now."

  "Fates preserve me, you're huge." Dorian laughed and embraced the girl. "But does this mean what I think it does?"