An Unkindness of Magicians

by Kat Howard

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sydney had invited Miranda to meet at House Prospero, but Miranda had declined. “I’m still—I’m sure you think I’m foolish, but I’m still not ready to be back in that House. Even as a visitor. Perhaps especially as a visitor.”

  Considering the changes the House had made in its appearance since becoming Sydney’s, Miranda’s decision was probably a blessing. The difference between the two versions of the House was enormous enough to be a distraction, and not one that was likely to be useful. “Of course. We can go out somewhere—you choose.”

  “The restaurant at my hotel is a good one, and they’ll seat us somewhere discreet.”

  The restaurant reminded Sydney a bit of how House Prospero had been when she had first seen it. It was decorated to give the same impressions: that this was a place that was refined, that there were important traditions that took place within its walls, that the people who were there were special and would be treated like it. Everything was hushed and warm as she followed the server back to Miranda’s table. Even the air felt expensive.

  Sydney hadn’t seen Miranda since the night she had lost her magic. She’d expected Miranda to look different, now that her magic was gone, that the sudden absence of something that had been that much a part of her should leave a mark. But if there was a difference, it was hidden. Miranda’s facade was as smooth and unreadable as marble.

  Miranda stood, partway out of her chair—as if she might offer an embrace—then sat back down when Sydney made no move to reciprocate.

  “You should know that Grace Valentine is staying with me,” Sydney said. She watched as the color drained from Miranda’s face, replaced by absolute blankness.

  “Grace . . . Valentine.” Miranda’s voice was as thin as tissue paper.

  “Which means I also know why Grey was disinherited. What I don’t know is if you gave Grace to Miles to take to Shadows so you could forget about her and ignore what your son was, or if he came up with that little wrinkle in events all on his own.”

  The facade cracked then. “He did what?”

  “Took her to Shadows. Gave her to Shara as a sacrifice. To pay a debt, apparently.”

  “He told everyone she had died. Sydney, I believed him. I went to her funeral.”

  “It’s probably what he hoped would happen. I mean, if she dies in there, no one finds out what he did, and the last person officially connected with her is Grey.”

  “I would have tried to help her, had I known.”

  “Would you? Like you tried to help me, when you learned I was in there?”

  Miranda looked away. In a harsh whisper she asked, “What else have you brought me here to tell me?”

  “You should know that it seems very likely that Grey’s gotten better at what he does in the past three years. Or worse. I’m not really sure what the precise phrasing should be.” Sydney sipped from her glass of wine. “Women are being killed, and their finger bones are being taken.

  “Some of those bones were found in his apartment.”

  Miranda closed her eyes, her lips pressed together, white. “I wish I could say I was surprised. But he never did think he had enough, no matter what he had. He wanted things to be easy. The sort of easy where you don’t have to work, where it just comes to you, and you’re not just adequate, you’re brilliant. He never understood why he didn’t have that, or that hard work might bring him closer to it.

  “He also never understood why he shouldn’t try to take it from someone else who did, especially if he thought they were less than he was. I very much wish that I didn’t, but I know what my son is.”

  “Well, so does Miles Merlin,” Sydney said. “Though he believes the solution is to let Grey continue to compete in the Turning and for Fortune’s Wheel to sort things out. I have a more direct approach. I’m going to challenge him.”

  Miranda’s face went whiter then, but there was no other change in her carefully controlled expression. “I understand. Thank you for telling me in person.”

  “I’m glad you appreciate that it’s necessary.” Sydney pushed back her chair.

  “Do you have to go?” Miranda asked. “I thought we could at least eat, that for one meal we could be a normal mother and daughter.”

  “Normal,” Sydney said. “Because the conversation we just had was exactly normal.”

  “You know what I mean,” Miranda said.

  “The thing is, I don’t. I don’t know what normal is. I don’t know how to have a mother. I mean, yes, Shara oversees things at Shadows, but the point of Shadows is not raising children. Shadows doesn’t particularly care if the sacrifices even survive, much less whether or not they feel like they have a relationship with a parent while they’re there.”

  “I don’t know why you feel like you need to say these things to me,” Miranda said. “I feel guilty enough already.”

  “Do you?” Sydney asked. “Be honest: If your magic hadn’t been stripped from you, would you ever have even considered using magic that didn’t come from Shadows? Or would you have kept telling yourself that’s just the way things are?”

  “I had agreed to support Ian if House Prospero won.”

  “And I certainly appreciate the gesture. But your magic—the House’s magic—all of that still came from Shadows. Even after you knew I was alive, you used that magic to make sure you’d have tea when you wanted it, because it was easier. Because the consequences of its use had already been cut out of people like Grace and me.” She shoved back her sleeves, showing her scars.

  Miranda’s calm did break then, the sob that escaped from her loud enough to send heads turning in their direction.

  “Exactly. So no, I don’t think we can ever spend time together like a normal mother and daughter. There is nothing about our relationship that is normal.” Sydney stood up and left. There were other people she needed to tell.

  • • •

  Laurent set his fork and knife on his plate. “By the way, I have something to show you.”

  “I am all anticipation. And French toast. That was good,” Sydney said.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and three oranges rose from the wooden bowl in the center of the table. They spun slowly in the air, then faster, and then two more rose up to join them, crossing and looping in a juggling pattern. After a minute they paused in their pattern and dropped—one at a time, controlled—back into the bowl.

  Sydney applauded. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks. I tried for seven, and it was a disaster. Hence the mimosas.” He nodded at the pitcher.

  “Hence,” she said, smiling.

  “But I’m getting better. It’s almost natural to cast like this now, even with things that are useful magic and not just showing off with oranges, and the headaches aren’t as awful.”

  “I’m glad.” She finished her mimosa. “So, to completely change the subject, I need to tell you something, and you’re not going to like it,” Sydney said.

  “That sounds serious,” said Laurent. “Is it something else horrible about how magic works?”

  “In a roundabout way, yes.”

  He shook his head. “I should know better than to ask by now.”

  “You’ve heard about the women who are being killed,” she said.

  “And the bones removed from their fingers, which is creepy as fuck.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “It’s also one of the places in the body most likely to retain residual magic—we use our hands in almost all castings.”

  His gaze dropped to her hands.

  “Still have all mine,” she said.

  “But what you’re saying is that someone is killing them for their magic.”

  “I am. And I am pretty sure I know who.” Sydney opened the camera app on her phone, pulled up the pictures Harper had taken.

  “That . . . that is someone’s bones.” Laurent flipped through the pictures. When he got to the final one, the one that pulled back for the wide shot that included Grey in bed, he
turned ashen. “That is someone’s bones in a jar in Grey’s apartment.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “And you think—” He swallowed, hard. “You think he put them there. That he cut them out of some poor woman’s hand. After he killed her.”

  “I do think that. I think that because these bones aren’t the first time he’s done this.” She told him—Grace, Rose, everything.

  “I need a minute.” Laurent slid open the door to his balcony, went outside. Sydney watched him but didn’t follow.

  After a few minutes he came back in. “The thing is, I can believe it. I mean, I don’t want to. It hadn’t occurred to me. But—he’s said things, about magic and how to get it, and what he deserves, and, Sydney, he hates you. With a terrifying amount of hate. So I can believe it.”

  “I know you said you wanted him kept out of things, but I’d like to challenge him. Either as your champion, or through House Prospero,” she said.

  Laurent nodded. “I get that. And I’m not going to fight about it. But can you—can you do it as House Prospero? Maybe I’m a coward, whatever. I just—I’m not saying he’s not a bad guy. I’m not saying I think you’re wrong. But there’s still a part of him that was my first friend in this world.”

  “I understand,” she said. “And I am sorry.”

  “Me too.” Laurent dropped his head into his hands. “Me fucking too.”

  • • •

  In the end none of it mattered. The carefully negotiated permissions, the face-to-face discussions. Grey forced the issue, and challenged Laurent.

  “Are you fucking kidding me with this?” Laurent asked.

  “You’ll be fine.” Grey shrugged it away. “There isn’t a House here that wouldn’t let you join—hell, I’m willing to put all this behind us and let you buy membership in my House at the end of this. But Sydney has caused nothing but problems since she showed up. This is the way to stop her.”

  “Sydney has caused problems,” Laurent said. “Sydney.”

  “She has. Laurent, I know you feel like you need to be loyal to her since you hired her, but if she’s out of the picture, it will fix things. I’ll get my House back. All the problems with magic will stop. Miles says she’s the one—”

  “Stop. Just stop,” Laurent said. “Miles Merlin says a lot, and most of it is shit.”

  “What, because he talks to me now and not you, you don’t think he’s worth listening to?”

  “No. I think he’s not worth listening to because all he’s doing is telling you what you want to hear to get you to do his dirty work for him. And as soon as you do, he’s going to hang you out to dry. I mean, has anything—anything—that he promised you actually happened?” Laurent asked.

  “Just because we see things similarly doesn’t mean he’s making me do anything. And all those things he’s promised will happen once she’s gone. Things can be normal again, like they were supposed to be. I’m trying to help you here too.” His voice was calm and even, everything a reasonable explanation.

  “I really don’t see how you trying to kill Sydney is helping me.”

  “Her leaving Shadows stole magic that should have belonged to all of us. If she falls in the course of a challenge, the natural balance of magic will be restored.”

  “You don’t even sound like yourself anymore—you sound like Miles Merlin’s parrot. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” Laurent walked to his windows, hands clenched in frustration. “Actually, you know what? I can’t talk to you anymore at all.”

  “Come on, Laurent. Be serious. If you pick her side, you’re giving up your chance to be part of the Unseen World when this is over.”

  “That’s not what this is about. I wasn’t going to say anything to you, because how do you look at the guy you thought of as your best friend—as your brother—and tell him you know he’s a murderer. That is the end of things, when that happens. And the thing is, I was a coward. I didn’t want to say it, because you were my friend, my best friend, and what is wrong with me that I didn’t see that?”

  “It wasn’t—” Grey started.

  “Whatever it is you’re going to say, I don’t want to hear it. I know what you did, Grey. I know. And I thought I could know that and look at you and still see the guy who was my friend, but I can’t. I need you to leave. Now. And don’t come back again. You’re not welcome here.”

  Grey shook his head. “It’s a good thing you won’t make it through the Turning. You never did understand how this world works.” He walked to the door, then stopped. “I did consider you a friend, so I’ll give you one more chance. Apologize at the duel, and I’ll put in a good word with Merlin.”

  “Not a chance,” Laurent said. “Goodbye, Grey.”

  • • •

  Ian came back to his apartment to find Sydney perched on his balcony. “How long have you been out here?”

  She climbed down from the barrier wall, stretched, and rolled the stiffness from her muscles. “How long have you been gone? I like being up there. It’s quiet. I can think.”

  “You know, you could have been conventional, met me at the restaurant and walked back with me. Or even waited for me in the lobby,” he said, unpacking the takeout.

  “But you don’t mind when I borrow your balcony, and if I were conventional, you’d be disappointed, and if I met you at the restaurant, dinner wouldn’t be a surprise,” she said.

  “All valid points.” He smiled. “I got Indian. Enough to share if you come inside.”

  “Perfect. I love aloo gobi.” She followed him in.

  “Is Miranda coming tomorrow?” he asked.

  The challenge. “I didn’t ask. I don’t even know if she can—she’s technically a mundane now.”

  Ian passed over a plate piled with garlic naan. “I’d hate to be the person who tried to keep her out. She’d call her magic back through sheer will just so she could smite them.”

  “I’d almost like to see that,” Sydney said.

  “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

  She shook her head, puzzled.

  “About the challenge, I mean. Because he’s your brother.”

  “It’s not like you and Lara, you know,” she said. “I mean, if there’s anyone I might love like you’re supposed to love family, it’s Madison. And the thing is, she likes Harper, and Harper doesn’t have a best friend anymore because my brother killed her.

  “The only thing I know about Grey is that he’s a murderer who hates me.”

  “So you’re going to be fine,” he said.

  “As fine as any of us who survive this are.”

  “Will you stay tonight?” he asked, and stroked his hand down her arm.

  “No, I need to keep my head clear. But I’ll stay tomorrow. I’ll even come in through the front door.”

  “It will be a wonder I greatly look forward to.”

  “Excellent.” She grinned. “Now please pass the samosas.”

  • • •

  Madison was, as she had been since the cursed Turning started, leaving work late again. There was just something wrong about walking out of a building at ten thirty at night, especially when she’d be walking back in the door by eight thirty the next morning. Actually, more like seven thirty, or maybe even seven o’clock—she’d forgotten about the Goldblatt file. And of course there were no cabs, because everyone else had gone home at a reasonable time. Sushi. She deserved sushi—she’d walk to Bluefin and get takeout.

  She was reaching into her tote for her phone when the spell hit her. It flung her forward, laptop and files flying from her bag, one stiletto heal cracking and breaking off.

  Her heart beat so hard she felt it in her ears. But her phone was in her hand, and even in her panic and pain, she scrambled to hit the emergency button.

  Hands yanked her from the ground. “I’m going to kill you.”

  Grey’s voice. He muttered the words of a spell, and the phone in her hand grew white-hot. She dropped it, and he slammed his foot down on its surface
.

  Madison scratched at his hands, tried to shift her weight back and get her feet under her.

  His hands tightened around her neck. Hands, or magic, she couldn’t tell, only that it was harder and harder to pull in a breath, that white sparks were bursting behind her eyes.

  “Kill you, and take your bones, and use them to kill her tomorrow. Just think of that. You’re going to help me beat her.” His breath, hot on her neck. She reached up, yanked at her necklace, breaking the chain.

  Then she hit the ground again, hard. But she could breathe and there were no more hands clutching at her. Madison scrambled to her feet and away, grabbing at her bag and belongings.

  She turned back to look. Grey stood, frozen like a statue. The spell had worked.

  She drew in a breath, and then another, and looked straight at him. “So, you’re not, actually, going to kill me tonight. And my bones are staying in my hands, and I am going to drink an entire fucking bottle of champagne when Sydney kills you tomorrow, and I hope a dog pisses on you like you’re a hydrant before her spell unlocks. Because she knew you were enough of a coward to try something like this, and that was her magic in the necklace, and if she can hold you like this when she’s not even here, just imagine what’s going to happen to you in person. You fucking miserable excuse for a human.”

  • • •

  Madison walked—limped, really, with that broken-heeled shoe, and she’d liked that pair, damn it—to the sushi bar she’d been heading to.

  “Madison! What happened?”

  “Bad day at work, Hideo.” She sank into the chair he offered her. “Can I break your cell phone rule, and also get the world’s biggest bowl of miso soup?”

  “Of course. Are you sure you don’t want me to call the police?”

  “I am, thanks.” She dug through her tote until she found her personal cell. The one Grey had smashed had been her work one. Sydney had put emergency spells on both—if something happened to either and Madison didn’t check in within a certain time, another version of the necklace spell would be triggered. “Sydney. You were right. He came after me.”