"Look, Black, we need to talk. That thing Rafi said about you and Alastair. You need to know some things."
"If I had known Rafi was going to read my mind and blurt out what he found—"
"Ah hell." Morelli had his hand on his right butt cheek, and cursing when you’re in that position means you’ve either messed your pants or your wallet has been stolen. Or that you’ve just discovered a pouch in your back pocket, which Morelli apparently had. He held it out to me. "Look, can you take this to Runa? I collected a few things she asked for and forgot to give them to her."
"Why wouldn’t she just get the things herself?"
"Some things require going to special sources." He jutted the wallet closer to me. "Go on. Nothing in there will kill you. Not quickly, anyway."
I warily took the packet. It was a trifold leather pouch, slightly larger than your average-sized romance novel and held shut with a leather thong that wrapped around a button on the front flap.
"What’s in here?"
"Just stuff."
"What? Is there eye of newt in here or something?" I was only teasing, but Morelli’s lips tightened and I caught a whiff of his magic’s gingery scent. "Black market eye of newt?" I teased.
"There’s also frog saliva, bat claw, and chameleon skin, so leave off about the eye of newt. It’s an overrated ingredient anyway, more for flavoring than anything." His phone chimed again. "I really gotta go. We’re talking later, Black."
"Looking forward to it."
As Morelli jogged down the hall, I entered my room and set the pouch on the suitcase rack in the recessed closet alcove located just past the entryway. The bed was indeed unmade, but thankfully, I didn’t see any hint of dirty underwear. I also didn’t see any hint of Banna and wondered where she’d disappeared to.
"Okay, so the watch," I said as I plopped down on the edge of my bed and pulled my legs up to sit cross-legged. "By its absence, do you mean destroying it?"
"In a manner of speaking, but—" Mr. T started to say.
"I don’t think there’s any room for buts here," Olivia said, cutting Mr. Tenpenny off and making me smirk since there were clearly three butts in the room.
"But," I said, drawing out the word to get the conversation rolling, "if we destroy the watch, we destroy him, right?" Olivia nodded. "Then we just figure out where the portal led to, jump in, and get Alastair and Tobey. If we do it right now, we can have them back by lunchtime."
Yeah, I don’t know what breed of optimistic fairy invaded my brain, but to be fair I had been under a lot of strain over the past forty-eight hours, so I suppose a little personality lapse shouldn’t have been a surprise.
"Cassie," said Busby, "please understand I’m in as much of a hurry to get Tobey out of the Mauvais’s clutches as I believe deep down you are to get Alastair, but it’s not that simple."
"Of course it’s not. It never is with you people." Forgetting I wasn’t sitting in a chair, I slumped back, teetered a moment with my legs kicking out for counterbalance, then righted myself. I know, I really am the Queen of Cool, aren’t I?
"This is very complex magic we’re talking about," said Olivia. "But we’re fairly certain destroying the watch’s essence would also destroy the essence of — that is, the magic within — the Mauvais. It would be like an instant extraction. You know of the plan Alastair developed, and of the three-strand problem we now face?"
I did. When Alastair built the watch, he put his magic into it to get the motor running, so to speak. When the Mauvais took possession of the timepiece, he also put his magic into it. These two strands wound together, binding in a way that meant they were nearly one. Nearly, but not quite. Alastair’s idea had been to unwind his strand of magic from that of the Mauvais’s. But before he could do so, the watch ended up in my coat closet, my magic got swirled into the mix, and our three strands made a braid that would only become more tightly bound if anyone tried to force them apart.
"But even braids can be undone if the ends are loosened." I said.
Mr. Tenpenny grimaced in that way people do when having to deliver bad news. "Matters have been further complicated."
"I don’t understand."
But on some level, I did. From the very beginning, from the moment I pedaled away from Corrigan’s Courier with the fateful package that contained the watch, I’d messed up any chance of easily destroying the damn thing. Then, when I pulled the watch’s magic into me, that attempt to solve one problem only created another: my unmanageable magic levels. And in my most recent smackdown with the Mauvais, I’d hurled a hunk magic back into the watch, turning the strands into a tangled clump. As was a habit of mine, I’d turned a small mess into a toxic waste dump by reacting hastily out of anger, frustration, and stubbornness.
"We have the matter of Alastair’s, Devin’s, and your magic coming together in the watch," said Mr. Tenpenny. "But we also have the issue that during your interaction with Alastair after your first test—" shoop shoop "—you would have exchanged some magic. That means some of your magic, which is also the watch’s magic, which is also the Mauvais’s magic is in Alastair."
I didn’t have the heart to confess I’d also given Alastair doses of my magic without his knowing it when I’d notice him flagging during our lessons.
"So you’re saying if we destroy the watch, we might take down the Mauvais, but we’d also risk hurting Alastair. Extract him, if not kill him." I paused as the full consequences crept into my notoriously thick skull. "And me as well."
"Precisely," Olivia said. "And in much the same way, extracting you would remove your magic from the watch, leaving us back to the more easily solved two-strand situation. But I don’t like the idea of leaving large packets of your magic lying around for anyone to take to the Mauvais." Oh, okay, so she had no problem turning me into a mindless imbecile? "Which is why, for now, I’m advising we set aside any gambles with the watch and go after the Mauvais directly."
"Even though you have no idea where he is," I said.
"There is that minor problem, yes. However, regardless of what happens with the Mauvais, at some point, the watch must be disarmed. If it continues to function, those who would use it to their advantage will continue to seek it out. You are responsible for the end of evil according to the prophecy and we assume that must mean destroying both the watch and the Mauvais."
I wasn’t against getting rid of the watch, but the prophecy struck me as a load of whatever Jake had been trying to feed my dad. I didn’t say anything, but I’m sure my disbelieving eye roll spoke volumes.
"Which is why," Olivia continued, "if we cannot find Devin Kilbride, you may be asked to assist willingly with the watch’s destruction. And if you don’t—"
"This was not discussed last night," Mr. Tenpenny protested.
"But she has to. Don’t you see? Extracting her allows us to destroy the watch. And destroying the watch will destroy the Mauvais. Problem solved."
"But it also risks destroying Alastair," said Mr. T.
"Um, and me as well," I said, seeing the need to remind them I was still there and in no mood to have my brain turned into mush just yet. "So, can we keep ‘destroy watch’ a little lower on the list of things to do. And what do you mean ‘problem solved’ if we destroy the Mauvais?"
"Olivia, I don’t think we should—"
"Mr. T, my life has been torn to shreds by this man. I think I deserve to hear what I want to know."
"You have a bad track record of running amok with information once you have it," Mr. T said matter-of-factly.
"As if not having the information has ever stopped me."
Mr. Tenpenny shrugged. "True." He took a deep breath, then continued. "‘Problem solved’ refers to the reversal of D-spells once a person dies."
"D-spells?" I didn’t know magic had bra sizes.
"There are three kinds of spells: destructive, constructive, and neutral. Known as D, C, and N," Olivia exp
lained.
Busby cut in. "You worked at a funeral home." Wait a minute. Worked? As in past tense? Did Busby know something I didn’t? "You’ve seen how, for the most part, mourners hold fond memories of the deceased. Even bad memories can be made light of unless the person was truly awful." I nodded in agreement. "Magic is like that, but only to an extent. The last several destructive spells a Magic has cast are reversed when that person dies."
"By destructive spells, you mean killing someone with magic?"
"Killing," he said, "or extracting. Which means his death would cancel out your parents’ extraction. It’s the easiest solution to return them to normal, but it’s also the hardest as we have no idea where he’s disappeared to." He shook his head, his face tight with annoyance and self-recrimination. "To think we had him right at our fingertips in Rosaria. We just have to hope your parents are still in range for the reversal to work."
"In range?"
"The rules allow the last thirteen of a Magic’s destructive spells to be reversed," Olivia answered, the Rs rolling along with her underlying hint of a Scottish accent. "If fourteen or more are conjured, only the thirteen most recent spells, the ones in range, get undone. We refer to any spells older than those thirteen as being out of range."
"But my parents could already be out of range. I mean, how can we know how many spells he’s cast since extracting them? And just how destructive is destructive?"
"Destructive means vastly affecting someone’s life, or property if the damage is extensive enough. Magically breaking a teapot isn’t considered destructive, but setting someone’s home on fire is. D-spell magic is also called D.E.A.D. Magic. An abbreviation for death, extraction, annihilation, and damage." Olivia counted the words off on her fingers. "For example, his shifting to become Vivian was used for bad purposes, but it wasn’t directly destructive. However, when he killed Busby, that was definitely destructive."
"Olivia, can you check the database of spells to get the exact number."
"I checked last night," Olivia said. "He’s done eight D-spells since his last Extraction Hex, so the Starlings are well within range."
"Wait, there’s a magic database?" I asked.
"No, a database of magic. It sounds like a computer program, but it’s actually just a large book. Whenever a negative spell is cast, it gets registered."
"By magic?" I said, imagining the book writing itself, not unlike a certain diary in a certain series that I am careful to never mention around Mr. Tenpenny.
"No, by the gnomes," said Olivia. "They sense negativity, which also adds to their usefulness as spies. When they sense D.E.A.D. Magic, they add it to the database under the person’s name. Anyway, from what they noted, they sensed only one extraction performed by the Mauvais, which confirms that Chloe and Simon must have been in pretty bad shape if they could both be extracted with only one spell."
"Can they sense where a spell is performed?" I asked, hoping if the Mauvais, wherever he was, got up to some D-spell mischief, the gnomes could track him down.
"No," stomped Olivia’s steel-toed boot on my hopeful thoughts. "The gnomes sense the nature of the spell, who performs it, but not who it’s done to or where it’s done."
"So," I said, pushing aside my irritation with all gnomes, "destroying the watch…tempting, but too risky. Are we agreed?" I breathed a sigh of relief that they both nodded their heads. "And if we destroy the Mauvais, that will reverse his Extraction Hex on my parents."
"Do not seek out the Mauvais, Cassie," Mr. T commanded flatly.
"I said ‘we.’ And," I said with sudden realization, "if we do knock him off, that would also mean you’d come back to life. Properly back, not just walking dead back."
"That would be nice. But this assumes we can stop him before he casts another six destructive spells."
I suspected Mr. T had the Mauvais murdering Tobey in mind when he said that, so I put on my very dusty cheerleader hat.
"The Mauvais’s in hiding, right? He’s not about to do anything that would draw attention to himself."
Mr. Tenpenny’s weak smile showed a hint of relief.
"But there’s still the issue of not knowing where he is," Olivia reminded us, just to make sure we didn’t get too optimistic.
5 - BAD COMPANY
MOST OF THE rest of that day was spent in a loop of Rafi and me trying to transfuse magic into my parents, me having my hand plunged into an ice bath, then spending an hour or so recuperating with hot tea and a magic-restoring pile of pastries, cakes, cookies, or other sugary treats from the ovens of Fortnum & Mason.
Everyone seemed hopeful that we were doing exactly the right thing. But the cycles of transfusions were exhausting me, and there were several times I had to bite back my grumpy comments that we didn’t seem to be achieving a damn thing. By the time the Tower closed to tourists for the day, my parents still couldn’t feed themselves, still couldn’t speak, and still couldn’t recognize me from a hole in the wall.
Once Runa had decided they’d had enough, she had me fill a couple dozen absorbing capsules that could then be steadily administered to them over the course of the evening. Exhausted and craving a five-pound bag of sugar, I headed to my room. I did want to get outside after being cooped up indoors all day, but flopping on the bed sounded far better than trudging down half a dozen stairwells to get to the lower level.
Actually, what sounded even better was dinner. Which happened to appear on my table the moment I stepped into the room. After a day full of junk food, the enormous green salad and steaming plate of gnocchi topped with fire-roasted tomato sauce sent my mouth watering. And I certainly wasn’t going to complain about the large glass of red wine that accompanied it.
The food re-energized me, but the wine meant a nice bit of lounging in bed still sounded like the best course of action. Or, rather, inaction. Once good and flopped, I reached under the bed to dig out my borrowed copy of The Principles of Physics and Magic I’d fallen asleep with a few days previous. Something tried to spark in my soggy mind as I re-read the section on the Light Capture Charm. I even reined in a few stray photons to make a study light, hoping the exercise would stir the embers in my brain.
The Light Capture Charm works by pulling in photons. Quantum theory says all particles are entangled, meaning Photon A has a matching Photon B buddy somewhere out there in the universe. Most quantum physicists believe that whatever action happens to one particle happens equally to the other. But there’s also the rogue few scientists who think the opposite action happens to the second particle. But no matter what, anything done to Particle A ends up breaking its entanglement with Particle B.
Regardless of how interesting I would normally have found all this, my concentration that night was about as hard to locate as the correct phone charger in a cluttered junk drawer.
In my distracted state, I ended up reading the same page about what might be happening to my photons’ entangled friends at least five times. The only thing that would stick in my head was that I might be causing a sort of photon divorce, so I closed the book, shoved it under my pillow for later reading, and gave in to the undeniable tug to visit the hospital ward.
My dad was asleep, and my mom was once again in her chair, looking like an emaciated doll. I wanted to see some spark of magic in her eyes, but there was nothing there. No recognition, no registering of the bustling activity around her, and no tune humming. I don't even recall her blinking.
When Runa came in and saw me sitting with them, she ordered her glasses back into the breast pocket of her lab coat. Apparently this was done so she could fix a scathing look on me without anything getting in the way. Her hands went to her hips, elbows jutting out. Never a good sign.
"You can't be in here. Not without Rafi."
"Why? I thought it was good for catatonics to have company."
"Not your kind of company. We need Rafi for his conductivity, but elves of his sort also provide a sor
t of buffer to absorbing. It's going to be hard enough to get any magic to stick to them without you sitting there sucking it all back up. Unless, that is, you’ve suddenly gained control over that little problem." She placed a hand on my shoulder and instantly jerked it away. "Nope, you haven't."
Dr. D pointed to the main ward. I sighed, got up and, reluctantly conceding, loped my way out.
"I am improving," I said over my shoulder to Runa who was following close behind.
"I'm glad to hear it, but you're still a danger to my patients."
"So, I can’t see them at all?"
Why exactly should it matter to me? I hadn’t seen these people in over twenty years. I had no conscious memory of them. There was no reason I should feel like something was being pulled from the roots of my hair at the thought of finally being so close to them, while also being unable to go anywhere near them.
The Untangled Cassie Black Page 4