Renegade Magic

by Burgis, Stephanie

  “Indeed,” Stepmama said, and her voice was sharp with meaning beyond what any of the Wingates could have understood.

  But she might have known better than to expect Angeline to be cowed by the unspoken reference to her witchcraft. Angeline’s voice sounded like rich cream as she replied.

  “So, in other words,” she said, “Viscount Scarwood, as a wealthy and well-bred gentleman of unscathed position in the world, is still an eligible suitor.”

  “Oh!” Stepmama let out a muffled shriek. “That is not—!”

  “Should he ever choose to marry, that will undoubtedly be the case,” said Mrs. Wingate. “However, we cannot hope for him to make such a choice.”

  “And particularly not—” Maria Wingate’s voice cut off abruptly. Perhaps her mother had stopped her from finishing. But it was clear as light what she’d meant to say: not for a country nobody like you.

  My fingers curled into fists. I couldn’t blame Angeline for the poison-laced sugar in her voice. “Thank you all for explaining matters to me so clearly,” she said. “I understand perfectly now.”

  Stepmama didn’t speak. I wished I could have seen her face as she battled to hold back her temper. She knew that tone of Angeline’s voice as well as I did, and she must have known what Angeline’s words meant, too … but she could hardly let herself explode in front of Mrs. Wingate.

  Mrs. Wingate herself was clearly taken in. “I am glad to hear it, my dear,” she said. “No one could blame you for your ignorance, after such a sheltered upbringing.”

  Sheltered, my foot, I thought, and snorted. I would have wagered anything that Mrs. Wingate’s own daughters had never fought any magical battles. But no one spoke up to disagree, and Mrs. Wingate sailed on uncontested.

  “Tonight, when we visit the Assembly Rooms for your first Society ball, you will meet a number of truly eligible prospects. I am certain we shall soon find …”

  I sighed and sat up, pushing my glass aside. There was no point in listening any longer.

  Lucy sat up beside me, her cheeks flushed and eyes glowing. “How utterly thrilling!” she whispered. “Why—Viscount Scarwood! They say he is as handsome as a Greek god but as dangerous as the devil himself, and no woman can resist him, no matter how hard she tries.”

  “Ha,” I said, and didn’t bother to whisper it. “I managed to resist him perfectly well.”

  “Yes, well …” She shook the objection away. “Do you think your sister is truly in love with him?”

  “No,” I said. “She most certainly is not.” I saw Papa’s shoulders hunch in his armchair. He pulled his book closer to his face, and I took pity on him. “We should talk about this in private,” I whispered to Lucy, and she gasped and nodded.

  Forgive me! she mouthed. The look she shot at Papa was filled with dread.

  It was completely misplaced, as I could have told her. There was nothing poor Papa wanted less than to overhear shocking secrets—especially any that would have outraged Stepmama and forced him into unpleasant scenes. The only secrets he was interested in were hundreds of years old, and most of them were related to ancient Greece and Rome.

  But not all of them.

  I paused halfway to the door. The circulating library had been no help at all to me, just as Lucy had predicted. But there was another source of historical information close at hand, and I hadn’t even thought of it before.

  “Papa,” I said. “Do you know anything about the Baths?”

  He lowered his book, but only a few inches. “Baths, my dear? Yes, I’m sure Mrs. Wingate must have bathing facilities available.” The book was already creeping back up toward his face. “Perhaps if you ask a footman, or—”

  “No, not that kind of bath. The King’s and Queen’s Baths. You know!” I spoke loudly and slowly, to cut through the book haze that surrounded him. “The Baths on Stall Street, near the Pump Room. There are sphinxes above the entryway, and—”

  “Ah, the Roman Baths, you mean!” His face lit up. He set the book down on the brass leopard’s head at the end of his chair arm, one finger marking his place. “A fascinating phenomenon, indeed. You know, of course, that they are built upon a natural hot spring?”

  “Um …”

  “The Romans thought the spring sacred—a shrine to the goddess Sulis Minerva, who was goddess of wisdom, as, of course, you must already know.”

  “Mmm …” Actually, I’d never even heard of the goddess Sulis Minerva, but I didn’t want to distress him by admitting that.

  “Yes, it was over seventeen hundred years ago that the Romans built the first baths there, beneath the medieval baths which we still use now. They considered the steam that rises from the baths, and from the hot spring itself, to be truly mystical, a sign of the goddess’s divine presence. Not only did they bathe in the baths, as we do, but they also brought offerings and requests for the goddess on their visits—I’m sure you know the sort, my dear. Advancement in their careers, curses against their enemies … Of course, it all came about because of the health-giving properties of the water. It was attributed then to Sulis Minerva’s sacred grace, whereas now we understand it has a natural explanation.”

  I thought of Mama’s mirror waking up at the water’s touch. “Mmm …,” I repeated even more doubtfully.

  Lucy was fidgeting beside me. Her eyes were modestly lowered, and her hands clasped in a ladylike manner—Mrs. Wingate had obviously trained her half to death in propriety—but she kept sliding me sidelong glances, and I could see the toe of her closest slipper tapping against the ground. Papa could have gone on for another hour, easily, now that I’d started him off, but I knew his lecture wouldn’t stay useful for long. Inevitably, it would go the way of all his historical lectures and end in a half-hour description of all the tangled debates over unimportant side matters that were being carried on by German scholars with too much time on their hands.

  His next words proved my point exactly. “Of course, Sulis Minerva was hardly the first goddess to be associated with that spring,” he said. “Most scholars agree that the goddess the Celts worshipped at that shrine, long before the Romans’ arrival—”

  “Thank you!” I said hastily. “That’s very useful, Papa. Thank you. We have to go now.”

  “Very well, my dear, very well. Do have a good time doing … ah, whatever it is you are doing. You needn’t tell me.” He reopened his book. His gaze fell back down to its pages even as he continued, his voice drifting into near inaudibility. “If you do have any other questions, though … the issue of the original genius loci has certainly never been entirely pinned down, although some scholars argue …”

  I gestured to Lucy, and we hurried out of the room.

  Twelve

  The obvious next step was to visit the Baths myself. But what with Lucy filling my ears with speculation about Viscount Scarwood and pestering me with questions about Charles’s every tedious habit, there was no chance of leaving the house undetected that afternoon.

  Luckily, the perfect opportunity was only a few hours away.

  As I helped Angeline arrange her hair that evening, she watched me in the mirror of our dressing table.

  “You look very pleased with yourself,” she said. “What are you planning?”

  “Planning?” I said, and tried to look innocent.

  “Planning,” Angeline repeated. “As in, looking smug and scheming to do something foolish.”

  “Ha,” I said. “You would know all about that.”

  “Is this about the letter you wrote this afternoon? If you’ve summoned Elissa back from her wedding journey—”

  “No!” I said. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Her eyebrows rose. I scowled at her reflection.

  Well, I hadn’t done that. Although I had considered it.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Angeline said. “But if that isn’t it—”

  “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t concern ourselves with each other’s plans,” I reminded her, and yanked her hai
r as I pinned it into place.

  She set her teeth and glared at me. “The fact that you paid attention is what worries me.”

  I smiled dazzlingly. It was Angeline’s own most dangerous smile; I’d practiced until I could imitate it perfectly. “I would never interfere with your brilliant schemes,” I said. “Not when they always succeed so perfectly on their own. Why, I can hardly wait for you to marry Viscount Scarwood. Such a charming brother-in-law to have—and so much more appealing than boring old Mr. Carlyle, who’s never ravished anyone in his life. Should I start referring to you as Lady Scarwood from now on, in all my correspondence?”

  Angeline hissed between her teeth. My smile widened.

  She left for the Assembly Rooms an hour later with Stepmama, Charles, Papa, Mrs. Wingate, and Maria. Lucy and I waved them all off.

  As soon as they were gone, Lucy let out a squeal of excitement and grabbed both my hands. “Isn’t it heavenly to have the house all to ourselves? Maria quarreled with my governess a week ago, and Mama hasn’t hired a new one yet, so we are free to do anything we like! Shall we listen to the barrel organ in the parlor? It plays some of the most delightful new tunes. Or I could read to you from The Witch’s Revenge—it’s so thrilling! Or we could arrange each other’s hair. I know yours is awfully short, but I’ve learned a marvelous new style that—”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” I said, and tried not to sound as horrified as I felt. I disengaged my hands as gently as possible. “Tonight I’m too tired for any of that.”

  “Oh.” She drooped. “Perhaps we could just read together in the drawing room, then, or—”

  I forced a yawn, patting my mouth with one hand. “The exhaustion of travel, and so much excitement today—it’s all been much too much for me. I’d better just retire to bed.”

  “But …” Lucy’s lower lip pouched out. She sighed. “Have a good night’s rest, then.”

  “You, too.” I watched her turn away, her shoulders sagging, and I felt a moment of guilt. But no matter how good-hearted and lonely Lucy Wingate might be, I would never select her as a companion for tonight’s expedition.

  I hurried up the stairs to the bedroom I was sharing with Angeline and waited there for half an hour, just in case. To while away the time, I searched through Angeline’s valises, but with no luck. I couldn’t find Mama’s magic books anywhere, and even when I concentrated with all my might, I couldn’t sense any spells in the room to hide them.

  I might have been the only one to inherit Mama’s powers as a Guardian, but Angeline was bound and determined not to let me share Mama’s other magical inheritance. There was only one spell from Mama’s books of witchcraft that I had ever had the chance to learn: the spell to disguise oneself as someone else. Tonight was definitely the night to use it.

  I’d already brought my pelisse up to the bedroom and slipped Mama’s mirror into its secret inner pocket—the only thing I’d ever voluntarily sewn in my life. Now I wrapped the pelisse around me and whispered the words of Mama’s spell as I closed my eyes and concentrated with all my might. The smell of fresh, juicy raspberries filled the air. I had to become someone indisputably proper, someone nobody would think to question, even if they saw me leaving the house. …

  I opened my eyes, looked at myself in the mirror, and grinned. Maria Wingate grinned back at me with a friendlier smile than I’d ever seen on her pursed face. That would have to change. I tucked up my features into a haughty scowl.

  There. Much more convincing. My pelisse had even turned into Maria’s fashionable black gauze cloak, which I fingered with satisfaction. According to both Stepmama and Elissa, no lady would ever walk out in public without a companion, or at least a maid, for propriety’s sake—and no lady would ever walk out at night at all, no matter what the circumstances—but I couldn’t imagine any of the Wingates’ servants daring to question their employer’s oldest daughter, especially after she’d already seen one servant dismissed for quarreling with her. And it would give me infinite satisfaction to break the social rules using Maria’s face, after what she’d said to Angeline that afternoon.

  I pulled the hood over my head and crept down the stairs as quietly as I could.

  It wasn’t quietly enough. The drawing room door popped open. “Maria?” Lucy blinked out at me. “What are you doing back here? Are you ill? Or—”

  “I only forgot something,” I said. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  She frowned and started forward. “Are you sure you’re all right? Your voice sounds—”

  “I’m fine,” I snapped, and tried to make my voice as impatient and haughty as Maria’s own. “Now I have to go.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I just …” She bit her lip. She looked as if she wanted to say more, or move toward me, but she hung back as if she were actually nervous.

  No, it wasn’t as if she were nervous. She was nervous, of her own sister! I could hardly believe it—but of course I could, with such a prune as Maria for an older sister. I felt a flash of thankfulness for Angeline, annoying though she could be. Tomorrow, I promised myself. Tomorrow I would be kind to Lucy: I would listen to her gossip for hours and hours on end, and I would even let her play with my hair if she insisted. But for now I only said, “Have a good evening, Lucy. Perhaps I’ll see you tonight when we come back.”

  “There is something wrong,” she said. “I knew it! You never talk like this. Tell me—”

  Oh, curse it. “Good-bye!” I said, and almost ran down the grand staircase, away from her.

  The footman at the front door looked surprised, but he opened the door for me without a word, and I sailed through with my newly thin nose held high in the air.

  I’d only performed this spell once before. That time, I’d turned into Lady Fotherington, and I’d had the devil of a time managing her bosoms. This time, I didn’t have that problem to contend with, but Maria’s body felt awkwardly thin and angled, with far less strength than I was used to in my legs and arms. If I were a gamester like Charles, I would wager any sum that Maria Wingate had never walked farther than half a mile in her entire life. The sensible thing, now that I was out of the house, would be to transform back into my own self, if I could only find a quiet spot to make the change.

  But there didn’t seem to be any quiet spots in the whole city of Bath, even at night. The darkened streets were full of carriages and sedan chairs rattling up and down the cobblestones, with boys running ahead to light their way with flaming torches. The streetlamps themselves cast only a dim glow, but that was enough to show that the pavements were full of men: men on their own and red-uniformed soldiers in loud, swaggering groups. Rather too many men, in fact. My skin prickled with discomfort as I realized that all of them were taking a great deal of notice of me, despite my enveloping black cloak. I was the only lady walking on the pavement instead of riding in a carriage. The others were all following the rules of Society, which I’d so cavalierly dismissed.

  Curse it! Why hadn’t I thought to transform myself into Charles instead of Maria? He wouldn’t draw attention walking out on his own at night. And even if he did, he was strong enough for a proper bout of fisticuffs with any rascal who accosted him. I clenched my fists experimentally and felt how puny they were in Maria’s form. There was barely any muscle in the arms I flexed. Useless. If only I’d thought more carefully before performing Mama’s spell …

  But I’d never been to a real city before, and the danger hadn’t even occurred to me. There was nothing to do now but get through it as quickly as I could, and change to a safer shape as soon as I was alone in the Baths. I quickened my steps, weaving through the groups of men on the pavement before me.

  A feminine shriek stopped me in my tracks. I turned around, dread weighting my feet like lead. I knew that voice.

  In her bright white pelisse, Lucy Wingate shone like a star in the torchlight from the passing carriages. “Let me go!” she shrieked. She struggled against the two soldiers who held her arms, but she stood barely as tall as their chests,
and they held her easily.

  “Thought we were too foxed to notice you trying to pick our pockets, did you? Little sneak thief!” Both soldiers were officers, with dress swords strapped to their sides. The bigger one’s voice was rough with drink. Unfortunately, drunkenness didn’t seem to be weakening him. He yanked Lucy back by her hair and spat on the cobblestones in front of her. “I’ll see you transported to Australia for that, if you’re not hung outright for thievery.”

  “I wasn’t, I swear. My name is Lucy Wingate, I was only trying to find my sister—”

  “And that’s why you squeezed between us in such a rush?” The shorter officer laughed, and my spirits sank. He was foxed, too. “Come off it. There’s only one reason why street rats like you go out at night. You picked the wrong victims this time, and you’ll have to pay the price.”

  Other men were stopping to watch now, and carriages slowed to watch the confrontation. Two finely dressed ladies pressed their faces to the windows of the closest carriage in gleeful horror. They even opened the door an inch, to catch all the words.

  None of them, it was clear, were going to be any help at all.

  I clenched Maria Wingate’s useless, puny fists and marched forward. “Let her go!”

  The men on the outskirts of the circle stumbled back as I shoved through them.

  “Maria!” Lucy said. She was breathing fast, and I could see tears shining in her eyes. If I met her eyes, I might start to feel afraid too. So I didn’t. I just grabbed her shoulder and yanked her toward me.

  The officer on her right was so surprised, he let go. But the bigger officer only laughed.

  “The ‘sister,’ I see.”

  “Of course this is my sister,” I lied, and looked him straight in the eye. “Check your pockets—she hasn’t stolen anything. Neither of us is a thief. Now let her go!”

  At a look from the bigger one, the shorter officer grabbed my shoulder. I wrenched against him, but his grip was too strong. Panic clenched my chest. I said, “Would you let your own sisters be marched off to the magistrate just because they were out at night and walked too close to some drunken idiot?”