Renegade Magic

by Burgis, Stephanie

  My bad luck wasn’t yet over for the evening.

  “Kat?” Papa spoke from above me in a puzzled tone. “Where are you going?”

  I took a deep breath and turned, holding onto the banister. He was standing ten steps above me, one finger tucked into a book, frowning in confusion. I knew I should feel lucky that it was he, rather than Stepmama, who had caught me, but impatience sizzled through me. If the rites of Minerva had already begun …

  “Don’t worry, Papa,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “But …” He took a few more steps toward me, frowning harder. “You’re dressed to go outside. Your pelisse—”

  “I know,” I said through gritted teeth. He blinked, and I softened my tone. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’m just going on an evening walk. I’ll be perfectly careful, and you can just—”

  “This is a large city, my dear.” Papa took the last few steps faster than I’d expected. “It would not be wise for you to venture out alone. Even with your sister as company, it still wouldn’t be safe at this time of night. And on your own—”

  “Charles will be my escort,” I said. “I’m to meet him in the taproom, and then—”

  “But Charles is not in the taproom,” Papa said. “He left the inn some time ago. He was going to meet some friends of his from Oxford. He borrowed a book from me on his way out, nearly half an hour ago.”

  Blast. Why did Papa have to choose tonight of all nights to suddenly become observant?

  It took a moment for the second part of his statement to hit me. Then I said, “Charles? Borrowed a book?”

  “Indeed.” Papa’s lips curved into a pleased smile. “I believe it was some sort of classical study group he was going to attend. I belonged to a few such groups in my own time. I hadn’t realized that Charles was taking an interest in such matters, but—”

  “I wish he weren’t,” I muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “The thing is …”

  I searched for inspiration, a convincing story to spin. But my skin was crackling with impatience, and my mind was swirling with the beginnings of true panic. Charles had left the inn nearly half an hour ago. Who knew how much could have happened in that time? At least Angeline had her witchcraft to protect her from violence, and she had Mr. Carlyle galloping after her to try to rescue her from her own stupidity. Charles had no defense but me.

  If the Guardians caught him with the rest of his group of Minerva-worshippers, none of Mr. Gregson’s arguments would be enough to persuade Lord Ravenscroft that Charles wasn’t involved in whatever monstrous scheme he thought I had developed for the wild magic of the Baths. Charles was my brother, and he had witch blood, just like I did. That meant he could be pacified.

  The thought of Charles with even less brain than he currently had was the stuff of nightmares.

  “I have to go,” I said. “I’m sorry. Please don’t tell Stepmama.”

  “But—”

  “Good-bye!” I said, and flung myself down the steps.

  I pushed my way through the inn’s crowded front hallway, out into the night. The inn yard was even more crowded now than it had been in broad daylight. The people were different, though. Some of the women were even more brightly dressed than I was, in garish oranges and pinks that would have given Stepmama a spasm. They didn’t pay any attention to me, though, and the men were mostly watching them, so I managed to slip past more easily than I’d expected. I was out on the open street in moments, sliding through groups of gentlemen, heading toward the Baths by the flickering lights of the passing carriages. I estimated that it would take approximately twenty minutes to walk there if I was very, very fast. Once I was there …

  I was trying so hard to come up with a plan, I didn’t even realize that I was being followed—until a hand closed around my shoulder from behind.

  “Ah!” I clenched my other hand into a fist and began to swing even as I spun around. I caught myself only an instant before my fist could land on my own father’s chin. “Papa!”

  “Kat,” he said, and released me. “I called out to you, but you didn’t hear me.”

  I stared up at him through the darkness. Other people walked past us, casting more shadows across his worried face. “What are you doing here?” I said.

  He stared back, his wavy gray hair disordered by the breeze. He wasn’t even wearing a hat for propriety’s sake, or a greatcoat against the chill in the evening air. “My dear girl. You went running out of the inn in the middle of our discussion. I could hardly let you go alone, could I? I told you, it is quite unsafe for a girl your age to be out in the city at night. If you only understood the dangers—”

  “I do,” I said. “Believe me, I do. But it’s important.” I could hardly believe I was even having this conversation with Papa, of all people. I cast a longing look back over my shoulder. “I told you there was nothing to worry about, so—”

  “Katherine.” Papa’s voice was as mild as ever, but it held a note of reproach that stopped me more effectively than Stepmama’s most irate shriek could have done. “I may not always be as observant as I should be, but do you really think you ought to treat me like a simpleton?”

  Something twisted painfully in my chest as I met his eyes. “I don’t think you’re a simpleton,” I said. “Of course I don’t.”

  “I am glad. Then perhaps …” He studied me gravely. “Would you care to amend your story?”

  The truth came out in a half whisper. “I didn’t think you would even notice.”

  “Not notice?” He shook his head. “Angeline has still not arrived at the inn, and it is now well after dark. Your stepmother and I are both deeply concerned. And now you wish to go rushing out too, without any word of explanation?”

  “I …” I looked into his kindly concerned face—Papa, for once, giving me his full attention—and I felt my voice dry up in my throat.

  I couldn’t talk to Papa about magic. Not after the ruination of his career by Mama’s blatant witchcraft. Not after the public revelation of Angeline’s own witchcraft, less than two weeks ago. He knew—he must know—that I could do magic, because Stepmama had seen me do it in the past. But I’d never had to see him acknowledge that truth, or seen his reaction to it.

  “I have to do this,” I said. “Please trust me.”

  He studied me as closely as he might have studied one of his old books. Then he sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”

  “You do?”

  “Indeed,” he said. “I had better come with you.”

  “What?” I stepped back instinctively.

  A carriage rattled past, casting a flare of light across his resigned expression. “What else could I possibly do?” he said. “I could hardly let you go off on your own into danger, could I?”

  “But …” I fidgeted, feeling time slip away from me. I couldn’t let him come. But if I wasted any more time arguing, I might be too late for Charles.

  “Well, Kat?”

  If it had been Stepmama, I would have turned and run, sliding and ducking through the passersby until she could never find me, and accepting that I would be punished for it later. Somehow, though, I couldn’t do that with Papa.

  Papa never raised his voice to any of us. I couldn’t even remember the last time he had ordered any punishment. But the knowledge of his disappointment always felt far worse than any of Stepmama’s rages.

  “I don’t think you’ll be happy about what you’ll see,” I said at last.

  “Probably not,” Papa agreed. “But if you cannot be persuaded to come back safely to the inn …” He held out his arm courteously. “Shall we?”

  My head spun as I accepted his arm, like any proper young lady accepting gentlemanly escort. This wasn’t the way I’d imagined charging in to save Charles.

  “Where exactly are we going, may I ask?”

  “The Baths,” I said, and started forward. Papa’s long legs moved quickly enough that I had to hurry
to keep up. “That’s where Charles will be,” I added, “but he’s made a terrible mistake.”

  “Oh, dear.” Papa sounded pained. “Not more gambling? Your stepmother will—”

  “No,” I said. “Nothing like that. But those friends of his, from Oxford …” I paused as we made way for a group of men to pass. They looked half-intoxicated already, but their gazes went from me to Papa and slid right past us. There were some advantages to having a proper escort, after all.

  “His friends?” Papa prompted, as we reached an open section of pavement.

  “They’ve talked him into something that”—I hesitated, searching for the right explanation—“well, it isn’t a good idea. He thinks it’s just a game, but …”

  “Ah.” Papa sighed. “Poor Charles is rather susceptible to persuasion, I fear.”

  “Yes,” I said grimly.

  “And is Angeline a part of this?”

  I blinked. “No. No! Don’t worry about that.”

  Worry about something else, I added silently. If there was ever someone who could have used a bit more susceptibility to persuasion, it was Angeline. But I couldn’t betray her trust by telling him that. All I could do was pray that Mr. Carlyle was riding in the right direction, and that he would be fast enough to save her.

  Even thinking about Angeline, and about the stupid, terrible risk she was running, made me want to break down into sheer panic. So I wrenched my thoughts away from her.

  Two blocks from the Baths, every thought in my head cut off abruptly. Wild magic slapped against my skin like a cloud of stinging insects.

  “Kat?” Papa stopped walking as I stumbled back. “What’s amiss? Has something—”

  “It’s nothing,” I said. Fighting for breath, I moved forward. The air was charged with painful, prickling sparks.

  Last night, I’d sensed the magic just outside the Baths, but not like this. It hadn’t been nearly this powerful, nor this far-reaching.

  The courtyard of the Pump Room was dark and empty, like the Baths beyond it. I couldn’t see any flickering lights this time, or any last incoming groups of students. If it hadn’t been for the sizzling wild magic all around me, I would never have known that they were there.

  Papa said, “Are you quite certain that Charles is here? I don’t see anything. …”

  “Perhaps he isn’t after all,” I said. I let go of Papa’s arm and filled my voice with as much innocence and sincerity as I could. “Why don’t you wait here for me? I’ll just take a quick look inside the Baths, and if he isn’t there, I’ll come directly back. It’ll only take me a few minutes to look around.”

  I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but I heard his sigh. “You needn’t try to protect me, Kat. Whatever Charles may be up to, I daresay I shall face the sight of it without too much shock. I was a young man once too, you know.”

  Not like this, you weren’t, I thought.

  But I knew I’d failed. “All right,” I said. “Follow me.”

  Twenty-Five

  The side door was unlocked, as it had been before. We felt our way down the steps in total darkness. I could hear Papa’s breathing behind me, but unlike my last companion, he didn’t try to chat.

  At the bottom of the steps, I paused, listening. The air was warm and damp, filled with the sulfurous smell of the Baths. There were no lights illuminating the corridor this time, but I didn’t need them. The wild magic was so strong here, I could feel it pushing against every inch of my skin. I took Papa’s arm to guide him, and started down the darkened corridor.

  Halfway down, the voices reached us. But they sounded very different from last time.

  Last time, I’d heard shouts of laughter and singing and splashing water, all the noises you’d expect from a group of young fools having a raucous night of play, even in the very middle of the rites of Minerva. It had said everything I needed to know about how foolish young men were—most definitely including Charles—that they had had to be intoxicated to enjoy it.

  This time, I heard no laughter or splashing coming from the King’s Bath, only low-voiced chanting. All the male voices spoke as one, rumbling words I couldn’t quite make out.

  I didn’t like it at all.

  “Hurry,” I whispered to Papa, and sped up. By the time we reached the door that led to the fork in the corridors, I was nearly running.

  Flickering torchlight lit the turning where the first wooden doors led onto the baths. I could see Papa frowning beside me, his head cocked as he listened to the rumbling chant through the closed doors.

  “Latin,” he murmured. “Dea divina …”

  “Papa, please!” I hissed. “Don’t you join in too. It’s dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” He shook his head. “My dear, if this is meant to be a classical study group, someone really ought to speak to them about their sources. The form they’re using—”

  “You can explain it to them later.” I pulled him past the lit torches to nudge open the closest door. I pressed myself against the wall, only daring to peek around the corner of the door frame. “Right now, all that matters is … oh, Lord.”

  The bath was full of young men, under the star-specked night sky. They stood in a circle in the water, thick steam swirling around their bare shoulders. More torches were set in sconces around the bath, sending flickers of light into the darkness above them. Wild magic hung so thick in the air, I could barely breathe against the pressure in my chest. The men’s heads were all tipped back, their eyes closed.

  One young man stood in the center of the circle. Wild magic poured into him, illuminating him brighter than any torch.

  “Charles!” The name that escaped my lips felt more like a curse.

  Of course it was Charles.

  None of them heard me. I wondered if they could hear anything at all. Their lips moved in perfect synchronism.

  “Dea divina, Sulis Minerva, tibi offerimus …”

  “What are they saying?” I whispered to Papa.

  “It is a very mangled form of the original chant,” he said, “but I believe … no, no, that makes no sense at all. It cannot be right.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, if what they intend to say—not that their usage is exactly correct, but—”

  If he hadn’t been my own father, I would have grabbed him by his cravat and shaken the meaning out of him. It was all I could do to keep from screaming. “Just tell me!”

  “Well … they seem to be offering the goddess Sulis Minerva some sort of sacrifice,” Papa said. A frown knit his eyebrows together. “But I can’t see anything there for them to sacrifice, can you?”

  I looked at the circle of men inside the bath. He was right. None of them held any trinkets to be tossed into the water. None of the young men even looked in any state to move outside the bath to find more sacrificial items. Inside the bath, and inside the circle, I could only see …

  “Charles!” I yelped, and started through the doorway. “Oh, you fool!”

  “Kat?” Papa’s voice sounded strained. “Were you aware—”

  A far-too-familiar voice spoke behind me, replete with satisfaction. “I might have known it.”

  I turned so quickly, my feet slipped on the damp tiles. I had to grab the wooden door frame for balance.

  Lady Fotherington stepped out from the shadows farther down the corridor. Her black hair was, as usual, perfectly coiffed and her muslin walking dress had been replaced by a shimmering, low-cut evening gown of emerald green silk that swished softly around her as she moved toward us.

  Reluctantly, I turned my back on Charles to face the more imminent danger. The low-voiced chanting continued unbroken from the bath, the wild magic growing stronger and stronger with every passing moment.

  “You’ve been watching this?” I said. I shifted so that I stood between Papa and her. “You knew what was happening, but you stood by and—”

  “Fine words,” said Lady Fotherington, “from the girl who engineered all of this.”

&nb
sp; “I beg your pardon?”

  “You needn’t attempt one of your deceptions on me.” She shook her head, not sparing a single glance for Papa. “Even I am astonished at your audacity. That you would come yourself to observe your work, when you must have known the Baths were being monitored? Lord Ravenscroft told us all of your perfidy, but even I had not expected you to be so reckless with it. And yet …” Her lips curved unpleasantly. “I must confess, I am rather pleased by the discovery.” She was only six feet away now, and I could see her green eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “It gives me such an unexceptionable excuse.”

  Oh, Lord. I knew what was coming next.

  Papa cleared his throat. “Lady Fotherington—”

  “This is none of your concern,” she snapped. “You should not even be here, in the middle of a magical crisis.” Her eyes focused on me, and narrowed.

  I braced myself. If I was very, very fast and strong …

  “Lydia, please,” said Papa, and I jerked around to stare at him, openmouthed.

  He was gazing at her, his expression weary. “Lydia,” he repeated. “I am certain there has been some misunderstanding. If you would simply take the time to listen to my daughter—”

  “A misunderstanding?” Lady Fotherington laughed harshly. It was an odd, broken sound, with a note in it like pain, and it made me turn to look at her. “You said that once before, didn’t you? When I tried to tell you the truth about her mother. I still remember every word you said: ‘There must be some misunderstanding. Everyone makes mistakes.’ But I was the one proven correct in the end, was I not? I would think, by now, you would have learned to listen to the warnings I gave you against the women in her family.”

  I froze, completely forgetting my strategy. Lady Fotherington had tried to warn Papa against Mama? I hadn’t realized they even knew each other. How could they have a whole history I didn’t know about?

  Papa sighed. “Everyone does make mistakes,” he said, “and any mistakes Olivia may have made, she certainly paid for in her life. I have never been able to understand what you found so unforgivably hateful in her.”