by Crook, Amy
“Yeah, I messed up his pattern by smashing through the pots, I figured it might delay his plans long enough for you guys to find me,” said Julian, not at all repentant. “There was definitely something around there, I kept getting little jolts of magic off it, really, I dunno, pure ones?”
“Maybe you were connecting to the magic source that used to be around there somewhere,” said Alex. “They closed it off when they put in the Underground station, it was too unstable, but nothing like that is ever completely closed.” He looked terribly put out as he added, “I was a bit upset, I used to like the fairy gardens that were fed by it, but everyone else was happier to get more transit.”
“Not everyone can afford cabs all the time,” said Lapointe, looking amused at Alex’s pout. “Maybe Fenway agreed with you that the source should be open, would a sacrifice have done that?”
Alex shrugged. “It’s not really my area, but I don’t honestly think that Fenway uses magic the same way we do, anyway.”
“What d’you mean?” asked Julian, slurring a little as the narcotic started its work. He leaned more into Alex and let his eyes close for a moment, just listening and feeling the people around him, familiar and safe.
“Well, most people are taught magic according to the same system, or one of a few systems that are all,” Alex made a gesture, “you know, from the same school of thought. I mean, Duckworth and I were literally taught by the same person, so it wasn’t hard to know what he might be up to. But Fenway is the kind of crazy that sees the world from a different angle than the rest of us, I think, and that translates to using magic in ways that would just never occur to a traditionally educated mage.”
“That’s why he’s so hard to Guard against,” said James, sounding disgusted. “He’s always doing things we can’t anticipate, because we don’t understand them.”
“It’s really annoying,” said Jacques with a harrumph.
Julian giggled.
“And your meds are working,” said Alex, kissing the tip of his nose. “D’you want to nap awhile?”
“Only if I can actually nap on you this time. Don’t think I didn’t notice you got out of being my pillow in Geoff’s infirmary,” said Julian.
“I promise to stay,” said Alex, helping Julian get snuggled down under the covers more, but still very pointedly draped over Alex. “We’ll wake you for the doctor,” he said, kissing Julian’s hair.
“If you don’t,” said Julian with a big yawn, feeling the world going all fuzzy around him, “I’m sure he will.” Then he slept.
CHAPTER 22
Julian was allowed to check out and rest at home after his healing session, since his knee, though strained with some damaged tissue, wasn’t actually broken. Alex tucked him into bed and then went to the crime scene, not returning until late in the night when he snuggled up to Julian, exhausted and chilled.
The next morning Julian was feeling much restored by several meals and the hours and hours of blissful sleep he’d been allowed between those meals, not to mention the poultices, potions, and pain pills. He’d refused, along with Alex, to wear anything but pyjamas, and the two of them were cuddled up while Lapointe made a kind of murder board over the fireplace, after the painting that usually hung there was safely stowed away by the brownies.
“So, that’s the doll Fenway was using to control you,” said Alex, while Murielle tacked up a picture of the hateful little thing. “He force-grew the witch grass and bindweed seeds, and then sprouted the wormwood and used that as the heart of the poppet. There’s also a lock of Julian’s hair in there, as well as some earth and a dead bee.”
“Oh, no, I like bees,” said Julian sadly. “I wonder where he got it?”
“Alex turned those bits over, and forensics says probably the St. Albans estate,” said Lapointe. “Emmy’s been very helpful, and it’s the right species and has the expected assortment of pollen and other trace evidence on it. The soil’s from the greenhouse, we think, that’s still going through the,” she waved her hands, “you know. Machines.”
“It’s still a lot of effort to go through,” said Julian. He stood up and limped over to the little map she’d tacked up, with the locations of the three murders Xed in and the parking lot and their apartment circled. “We’re awfully close to that site, I must not’ve been gone long when Horace found me.”
“We sent him after you right away,” said Alex, proud. “And then got the police on the case while we got dressed to head out and find you.”
“Julian has personal connections to two out of the three murder sites, too,” said Murielle thoughtfully.
“Three,” said Julian. “I won an Easter egg hunt in the maze when I was six, it was in the papers and everything.”
“And the old source was in the parking lot somewhere?” asked Jacques, going over to stare out the window as if he could see it from there.
“Right where all the smashed pots were,” said Alex. “He definitely wanted to do something with it, probably re-open it, though I still have no idea why.” He sounded frustrated and tired about it, and Julian curled back up in the chair with him and soothed him with a kiss, glad to be off his sore knee.
“I’ll have someone ask him about it,” said Lapointe. “That might get him talking on the right track, anyway. Usually his sort loves to go on about whatever their obsession is, but so far he’s just been babbling about nothing.”
“Where does he live, did they figure that out?” asked Alex. Lapointe read the address off her notepad, and it was nearby, right near where Alex recalled the magical source had been. “Practically next door to the old fairy gardens, maybe his property value’s gone down.”
They talked more about their theory, but research showed that property values actually went up — the magical source had been small, erratic, and prone to flaring up with wild magic. The Underground was considered much more valuable to the buildings around it than a weak, unpredictable magical source, fairy gardens or no. More theories were bandied about, but it seemed strange to everyone that he’d want to reopen the source that wasn’t actually on his property, and would therefore not be under his control, legally or magically.
They were in the middle of a huge lunch when Officer Tiny knocked to be let in. “An Armistead is asking for you,” he said, gesturing to the irritated-looking forensics man standing a good step back from the warded doorway.
“I want to know if Benedict and St. Albans would come look at something at the residence,” said Armistead irritably. “Ms. Eberly would like a second opinion.”
“Is that a good idea?” said Julian. “I thought I was supposed to stay in here until you were sure of how he’s controlling people. Are you under control?”
Armistead rolled his eyes. “As if I’d be so easily overtaken. Fenway’s undergoing magical questioning all afternoon, anyway. If you’re not too busy?” His tone was dismissive and grating, and Julian was reminded of why no one liked the man.
“It’s up to our Guardians,” said Alex, nudging at Julian to resume eating. Julian did, knowing they wouldn’t let him out until his plate was cleaned, at the very least. “If they okay it, we’ll dress once we’re done eating and come down.”
Armistead made and irritated noise. “Fine, but do hurry. Some of us are still working.”
Alex cheerfully flipped off the back of him as he stomped off. “I bet that hurt,” he said gleefully.
Officer Tiny laughed. “It did seem to pain him a bit,” he said, after checking that Armistead was out of earshot and safely in the elevator. “See you in a few, Julian.” He closed the door on Julian’s wave, mouth too full for comment.
They ate quickly and quietly after that, and soon enough everyone but the brownies was crammed into the elevator together, even the police officers, with Julian leaning on Alex’s borrowed cane. “No use guarding a door with no one behind it,” Tiny had reasoned.
Although the house was technically within walking distance, Jones crowded all of them into the car with Tiny up f
ront and drove. “At least it gives me something to do,” he said, pulling out of the garage. “My poor car’s probably been pining.”
At that Julian felt a little thread of longing that he traced back to Alex’s amulet. “Oh, I think it has,” he said, grinning to think that at least some of their magic was working as intended. Horace, too, was doing very well, and proud as anything to have facilitated Julian’s rescue. He was tucked in Alex’s shirt pocket, having insisted in his own way on coming along.
Julian wasn’t about to argue.
The drive was quite short, and the police cars had to make space for Jones to park the big limo. Several thermoses of Alys’ good black tea were enough to keep anyone from minding too much. They headed inside in a pack, though Jones stayed with the car, and Julian felt more than a little crowded. He was pointedly kept in the middle of Guardians, policemen, and Alex’s protection, so he only managed glimpses as they made their way to the back garden. Julian was very glad for both his potions and the cane, and grateful that they kept to his slow pace through the winding hallways.
Fenway’s house was narrow and cramped, made doubly so by the clutter adorning every nook, cranny and surface including the floor in many places. It reminded Julian a little of Alex’s work room, if Alex had been mad as a hatter and more interested in plants. Everywhere he looked, Julian would spot some bit or bob of something that he remembered seeing in Alex’s work room, hiding in amongst seed packets, flower pots empty and full, piles of papers, magazines and books, broken toys, old dolls and hundreds of other strange, inexplicable items.
“A disordered mind can find cracks in magic that no logical man can hope to see,” said Alex, sounding worried rather than reassured. “We may never know what he was doing unless he tells us.”
“He’s in custody,” said Lapointe, sounding annoyed in a way that Julian was learning to recognise only covered her concern.
“And now his intended victim is being brought to his house,” said Jacques, purely worried. “I’m really not sure this is a good idea.”
Then, before anyone else could object, they hit the back of the house and fanned out into the garden. The area was small but full of plant life, as neatly cared for as the house was messy. There were herbs and flowers in intricate beds with paths of white stone between them, and at the very back of the garden was the last thing Julian expected to see — a wish tree.
“Oh, how beautiful,” said Julian, stepping forward ahead of the group. He followed one white path around, worry for his own injury secondary to his concern for the tree. Its leaves were sparse and none too green, though there were few coins driven into its bark, and the wishes fluttering in its branches disguised the state of it at first glance. “It’s ailing,” said Julian, stepping forward and reaching for the tree.
“Are you sure that’s a good-” said someone behind him, and then Julian’s hand touched the bark, and something reached out snatched him away.
CHAPTER 23
Julian floated, a tiny ball of himself in a great sea of not-himself, and the very first thing he did was build a wall all around to keep the not-himself from dissolving him the way he’d slowly integrated his friends’ magic. He made himself like a bubble of oil in water, and it wasn’t difficult because the magic around him felt as different from him as oil was from water. It was wild and strange, and somewhere deep there seemed to be a personality of sorts.
Next he got a sense of space. If deep was the direction of the personality, then away must be shallow, and something urged him to go that way. Still, he was curious why he was in this trap at all, and he sent a little tendril of himself, thin as a new root, down toward the other that he sensed.
“Hello?” Julian thought as much as said. “Are you the wish tree?”
“You’re not my wisher,” said the tree, sounding old and weak and peevish. “He never lets anyone else wish on me.”
“Did you pull me in here, or was that him?” asked Julian, finding it easier to ‘talk’ as a little tendril of the tree connected with his own. He could feel a little of the same personality as the old wish tree in the Temple, but sad and weak and strange.
“This silly trap is his, my greedy wisher. He thinks I’m dying because the magic source went away.”
Julian felt a tug in the other direction, and he guessed that they were trying to free him from the outside. “How can I help you? I think they’re going to get me out of the trap, if I can stay me long enough.”
“Make a wish,” said the tree. “Let them all wish their paper wishes, that’s what a wish tree lives on, you know. Sunshine and rain and wishes.”
A flash of something went through the space they were in, like a school of silver fish, there and gone again. “I don’t think he could talk to you the way I can,” said Julian. “I’ll ask everyone to make a wish on you, and if we can disarm the trap I’ll give you some energy, too.”
“I could just take it, the trap lets me,” said the tree, the voice a cackle like bark cracking and creaking in a high wind.
Julian shivered. “If you do that, I can’t ask them to wish on you.” He paused and then chuckled to himself. “I wish you would just let me go, so we can all help you.”
A little pulse of his himself-ness went down the thread between them, root to root, but it didn’t feel like it was being stolen — instead it reminded him of the magic he’d given to the other wish-tree, and the magic he’d put in everyone’s wishes as he’d folded them for Horace. The space around him gave a great sigh and he felt himself washed toward the shallowness, their thread breaking as he emerged into a bright light, blinking, held in Alex’s arms and looking up at his worried face.
“How,” said Julian, and he had to clear his throat and accept a sip of tea before he could actually ask. “How long?”
“Only a few minutes,” said Alex, “but you were white as a sheet, and hardly breathing at all.”
“Soul-trap,” said Julian, after another sip of tea. “The tree — make wishes.” Alex kissed his forehead and a wash of warmth went through Julian. “The tree needs wishes to survive,” he said, and saw comprehension dawn on Alex’s face.
“Of course, it fed off the wish-magic, not the source,” said Alex. He turned to the people crowding around them and found Lapointe. “Get everyone here to make a wish on the tree, that’s why it’s dying, no one wishes on it anymore except Fenway.”
“I wonder who used to wish on it,” said Julian, snuggled up with Alex and his mug of tea and feeling, if not restored, then quite a bit better. “It’s been fenced off here for years.”
“It was in the fairy garden,” said Alex. “I remember it, at the very back. They only let people do paper wishes and sometimes flowers, but not coins after it got damaged by some idiot.”
“I wonder how that got started, the trees don’t like it,” said Julian. “The coins, I mean. Neither tree liked them, that I talked to.”
“It’s a sacrifice,” said James. “You have to give up something for the wish to work, usually. That’s why everyone pays, at the Temple.”
Jacques looked up. “That’s probably also why it was dying, if he wasn’t paying. We’ll have to figure out what to sacrifice, since it won’t be coins.”
“What if we folded the coins into little paper pouches with the wishes?” said Julian. “A pound apiece, I can make them,” he saw the faces start to look a bit worried and chuckled, “or Alex knows how, and Horace can take them up to the top of the tree for us, where they won’t fall down until the paper wears away. They just need a big loop of string.”
“I thought the Crown owned the land from that fairy garden?” said Lapointe, but she was already digging through her pockets for a pound coin.
“Maybe they sold off the land,” said one of the officers with a shrug.
They handed around blank evidence slips for paper, and then each one was given off to Alex to be folded around the coin and tied with string someone dug up out of their trunk. Julian was grudgingly allowed to talk to the
tree once they determined that the trap had not reset once sprung, and it promised to be kind to Horace while the wishes were delivered. Horace took each folded wish to its owner for a last moment of real wishing, and then flew them up into the high, thin branches of the tree, spreading them out wherever there was a sign of life among the deadwood.
Julian checked it after everyone was done; even Jones sent a wish out from where he was staying with the car, along with the officers guarding the perimeter, so all told almost two dozen new wishes adorned the old tree. A hand against the bark gave him a pulse of new life, and gratitude from the tree.
“You should look into the property lines,” said Julian, as they were being bundled back into the car. “He might have bought the land, or he might have conveniently rebuilt the fence when no one was looking to put the tree in his own garden.”
Lapointe promised to do so, and also promised to keep officers on the apartment until they found a way to deal with Fenway’s strange brand of magic.
The ride back was quieter, with Julian curled up between Alex and James, petting Horace and thinking about the wish tree. “We can keep wishing on the tree while they work things out,” said Julian. “If people come by the flat, we can send the wishes with Horace.”
“We certainly have enough people in and out for that,” said Alex, amused. “I’ll dig up some paper and string, and we’ll keep using your idea of coins in the wishes for now.”
“You could collect the coins,” said Jacques thoughtfully. “Donate them to a charity, or save them up if the land has to be bought at auction.”
“Later,” said Julian with a nod. “For now, this works. We’ll figure out what sort of donation works with the magic later.”
They all agreed that later sounded just about perfect.
CHAPTER 24