"My studies are, well, they’re going. That’s about all I can say."
"That sounds splendid. Now let’s get ourselves to Olivia’s office. Need to let her know you’re in safe hands. You can run this little errand with me," she held up her package, "before we zip back to Rosaria. Although I would have liked to pop in somewhere for an afternoon tea. Well, maybe next time. It is hard to beat Gwendolyn’s baking."
Once Olivia had seen I was in safe, albeit talkative, hands, she gave me a warning look that left no doubt I was to try no funny business while away from the Tower. I was certain every single gnome in the Portland area would be on Cassie Watch. Corrine and I then made our way through the labyrinthine passageways to get to the portal that would put us out near the Museum of London where she could hand off her delivery.
As we merged into the bustle of the City’s business men and women, Corrine’s unending stream of words slowed down only when her attention was pulled aside by a tea shop, a cookie store, then a bakery advertising a buy-one-get-one-free sale to clear up items before closing for the day. But Corrine was a woman on a mission and wouldn’t be distracted by carbohydrates and caffeine. Well, not much, anyway.
At the Museum of London, Corrine used a Voice Modulation Charm to convince the stick thin guy at the front desk that Alvin Dodding was expecting us. With an arm that looked as if it might break if he waved it too vigorously, he made a languid gesture toward the stairs.
"Ah, Ms. Corrigan. You’ve brought me my goodies," said Professor Dodding as he leapt up from his desk chair to greet us. He must have forgotten to undo some of the effects of his Floating Charm because the leap sent him floating up five feet in the air. He grabbed the rungs of his bookshelf ladder and pulled himself back down. "Silly me. Always forgetting to dial that back. And Miss Black, still looking to steal that kiss from me?"
I smiled at his teasing and told him I’d try to control myself as Corrine handed over the package. I was dying to know what was inside, but curiosity be damned, the elderly curator merely set the box on a side table piled high with papers.
"Working on anything good lately, Alvin?" Corrine asked, pointing the teetering stack of documents.
"Ah yes, it’s what distracted me from undoing that Floating Charm. I’ve been considering revising a few sections of The Making of the English Magics. Who knows, I may need to update How the Irish Saved Magic Civilization as well."
"What? Turns out they didn’t save it?" Corrine laughed at her own quip.
"Well, in fact, they did, but perhaps only for themselves. We always assumed they gave up meekly when we invaded their shores, but I’ve been finding records of a great battle and an underground system to thwart the English Magics."
"And no one knew about this?" asked Corrine, her voice now showing she was truly interested.
"Oh, I’m sure someone knew. It’s all very fascinating. See, there was quite the skirmish led by the— Now here I am a little unsure of the translation, but I believe the name of the leader means snow. Anyway, this Snow Warrior led the final skirmish, and then we— Well, I hate to think of how we behaved then. Of course, many of the Tuatha died in that fight, as did the Snow Warrior. Or so we thought. Because according to these sources," he indicated a tattered collection of parchment held in plastic sleeves, "the warrior’s body was never found and this raised the Tuatha’s belief that the Snow Warrior would rise up and reclaim their power once more. As I said, very fascinating, and it’s up to me to verify whether the historical documents can prove any of this or if it’s all a far-fetched fable."
"Well, it is a good story." Corrine then pointed to the box, "So is that part of your research?"
"No, no. Those are for me. I absolutely adore the American Hershey chocolate bars, so I order them by the case. Don’t tell the Queen I said this, but the ones you get here simply don’t taste quite right."
After we bid him goodbye, Corrine jabbered the entire way out of the museum, along the City’s streets, and through the myriad of passageways that led from the Museum-Tower portal to the London-Portland portal. Her chatter helped distract me from some of the misery at the memory that when I had last passed through a long-distance portal, I had been with Alastair and had gotten a good laugh at seeing Tobey taped to Mr. Tenpenny.
"I hear your new boss is doing well under Eugene’s care. It must be so handy to have one of the Medi-Unit workers living right under you. Will he be helping you find where the Mauvais went? Eugene, I mean, not your new boss."
My "new" boss was Mr. Wood, who I’d been working for for about seven months. But since Corrine had been my previous employer, I guess she still thought of him as the new guy in town.
"Why would Morelli help me with the Mauvais?"
"He did some portal work in the past. He’s been known to build a few, although they aren’t regulated. But sometimes, well, we need to get certain packages to certain locations even when the official portals aren’t open."
This was a whole aspect of magic culture I’d never considered. Covert postal operations? What next? Bootleg potions? Black market wing of bat? Which reminded me I still hadn’t gotten Morelli’s packet to Runa.
"Runa is supposed to be working on the portal side of things."
"Oh yes, I forgot. We do miss her being around all the time. I really need her to open up shop again so I can get my skin cream. I’m nearly out, you know. Ah good, Chester’s on duty. Chester, how much longer?"
"Hello, Sir Corrigan, Mr. Cassie," he said in his dimwitted drawl. "Portal’s opening in just a few minutes."
"I thought the portal was fully open now," I asked.
"Oh, it is," Corrine replied, "but it takes a few minutes to reset itself if someone’s just gone through. It’s far better than when we were having to wait for the temporary portal’s two or three openings a day, I’ll tell you that. You wouldn’t believe the how terribly the packages backed up…"
13 - ALONE AT THE PORTAL
MINUTES HAVE A habit of ticking by way too fast when you’re taking a timed test, but when you’re impatiently waiting for something like a bus or a traffic light, or say, the opening of a magic portal, a few minutes can feel like a lifetime.
That time stretches even longer when you’re listening to a woman rambling on about packages and pastries, and a troll chiming in with random small talk. And given that Chester didn’t have a wide range of interests, mostly focused on what he’d recently eaten. And trust me, you don’t want to know about the things trolls will put in their mouths.
A rat scuttled by in mid-conversation. Chester didn’t miss a beat in his recitation of what he’d had for breakfast. His heavy foot came down on the poor thing and its ratty little vertebrae cracked under Chester’s boot. The carcass then vanished in a puff of dust, which I have to admit was intriguing.
Finally, the portal clicked and Chester pulled it open. Not wanting to miss my chance, I grabbed hold of Corrine’s arm and hurried her through. Since this was a regular portal, not one for mail delivery, it was far smoother than my first time through a long-distance portal. But thanks to Chester, my stomach was queasy with thoughts of deep-fried slugs served with pickle-flavored ice cream and garnished with a pinch of powdered rat.
We emerged at the end of a vibrant street lined with brightly painted houses that ranged from flamingo pink to emerald green. From the house to our left came the sound of a radio playing Caribbean-style music complete with the tinging of steel drums. Even at this early hour of the morning, the air was filled with the spicy scent of cooking.
"Are we on Lola’s street?" I asked, my fingers itching to stroke Pablo’s fur. A message from Lola had pinged its way through when we’d been on our way to see Professor Dodding. For her latest fashion shoot, Lola had dressed Pablo in a white and purple kimono and placed him in front of a Japanese tea set with the caption: I just love sushi night.
"Sure are. There’s her house. Oh, you’ll be wanting to stop by and s
ee your kitty. He’s become quite the celebrity in Rosaria."
We headed toward the familiar house I’d been made to clean for two weeks straight. Supposedly this had been part of my training, but I had a sneaking suspicion it had more to do with Lola’s preference for doing crosswords and word searches over pushing a broom, magically or otherwise.
Pablo was sitting in the front window. When he saw me, he stood up on his hind legs and began pawing at the glass with his front feet as if he were on some sort of feline treadmill. And people say cats aren’t loyal. I waggled my fingers at him as Corrine knocked on the door.
Lola answered, and before I could defend myself against it, I was being swaddled in another pair of arms and squeezed half to death. Seriously, I think I’d almost prefer going up against the Mauvais again over enduring all these invasions of my personal space.
Still, this was Lola LeMieux we’re talking about. Before I’d gone missing as a child, she’d been my babysitter, and along with the cumin scent of her magic, she oozed a sense of comfort from her pores. Which makes it sound far grosser than it actually is. It’s like if you could bottle the scent of freshly baked cookies, the feel of your own bed after a long day, and the pure contented warmth of a candlelit soak in the tub, you’d have whatever it is that makes up Lola’s aura. Probably pretty handy when you’re someone who deals with fussy babies.
Lola gushed over me, asked about my parents, and attempted to kick a blanket over a pile of cat-sized costumes. I also noticed her eyeing the vacuum and forcing herself to snap back to attention, clearly deciding that now was not the time to rope me into chores. Pablo, meanwhile, was purring so loudly and deeply I worried he might hyperventilate as he nudged his cheeks against my chin.
"Are you taking him with you?" Lola asked, trying to put on a brave face.
"No, you can keep your fashionista for a little longer. I’m only allowed to visit."
"Back to HQ?" Lola said, a hint of worry in her voice. "You’re being careful there, aren’t you? The Mauvais isn’t your only threat, you know."
"You mean the traitor?"
"I mean exactly that. They don’t know who it is and a few of them once even suspected me for my, well, you know." Lola was supposed to have been watching me the day I disappeared. "It just seems odd that after all these years, they haven’t sorted out who it is."
"You mean there was a traitor all the way back then?" Pablo flopped over so I could stroke his belly, and I got down on the floor to obey his demands.
"Of course. Devin Kilbride was a strong wizard, but nothing extraordinary. And sure the watch enhanced that power, but as the Mauvais he had an unnatural strength from the very start, even before he had the watch. I don’t think he could have performed or gotten away with half of what he did if he hadn’t had help from inside. It’s hard to say how much your parents knew, but I think they’d come close to figuring it out. Maybe they did figure it out and that’s why he did what he did. You know, wipe their memory, keep them from testifying. If only they’d snap to we might get the answers locked inside their heads."
"Busby told me if the Mauvais dies, they will snap to."
"Don’t you go after him, Cassie. Pablo doesn’t look good in black and he will not appreciate attending your funeral."
We chatted a while longer and Lola made sure I was well stocked with her signature coconut cookies before Corrine said we had to get going, that she had an appointment to get to. Given that, with the time difference, it was only just seven in the morning, I’d have bet a six-pack of Terminal Gravity that this "appointment" was with the day’s first batch of scones that would be coming out of the Spellbound ovens at any minute.
"I can take her," offered Lola. "It’ll give us more time to chat."
"You’ll get her to Eugene?" Corrine asked, suddenly serious. "You won’t…" Like an elephant dressed in a ballerina costume paraded the unspoken criticism that Lola, having lost me once, might slip up again. "Actually, thanks, but I’ve got the time and I should probably see to it. After all, I do have rules about not leaving packages laying around. Come along, Cassie."
Lola wore a hurt expression on her round face and her dark eyes brimmed with tears of frustration. The look was a stab to my heart. I gave her hand a quick squeeze before Corrine yanked me by the other hand to get me moving.
As he’d told me once before, Morelli’s portal that led from Rosaria into Real Portland was at the far end of Lola’s block. Corrine, sniffing the air as if trying to detect any freshly emerging scones, rushed me down a narrow alley and to a slim side door in what looked like a garden shed.
She knocked, and when the sound of footsteps came from inside, she said, "He’s on his way. I’ll be off."
Despite her rules about not leaving deliveries unattended, Corrine couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. After she had race-walked toward Main Street and turned in the direction of Spellbound Patisserie, I glanced around to see only rakes and empty terra cotta pots. I was completely alone. I could wander off wherever I chose. How soon before the gnome police were put on the alert? What was to stop me from going back to Lola’s and playing with Pablo and eating coconut cookies all day?
Or what if the traitor in HQ had relayed the message that Cassie Black was on her way? Whose footsteps were on the other side of the door? What if Corrine had delivered me right into the hands of the Mauvais?
I know, I really needed an off switch for my brain. But since one hadn’t been installed yet, when the knob began to rattle, my legs tensed, ready to flee.
14 - INTERLOPER!
"WHAT’S WRONG WITH your legs?" asked Morelli as he scrunched up his face in consternation.
"Nothing." I performed a quick squat then stood up straight, hoping that some fake calisthenics would cover up my fight-or-flight response.
As with my own portal, Morelli’s doorway to MagicLand opened onto his coat closet, which was obscenely tidy and had shelves stocked with various colors of yarn in plastic, shoebox-sized organizers.
"Cassie?" called a familiar voice from the kitchen.
"How is he?" I whispered. Mr. Wood was my employer who might soon be my former employer if Daisy kept wowing him with her work ethic. He’d been beaten and left for dead because of me. Or rather, because of the watch. When his live-in nurses had refused to remain in a funeral home in which the dead kept waking up, my landlord, who had a surprising number of handy life skills for a guy I assumed to be nothing more than a TV addict, offered to take him in.
"With the cast removed he’s been managing a few steps at a time, and his appetite’s impressive. I got tired of fetching him snacks, so I’ve given him a little extra boost to help him care for himself."
"A boost? What exactly did you give him?" I asked, barging past Morelli’s bulk and marching toward the kitchen.
Mr. Wood was sitting at the kitchen table. My heart jumped with relief at the sight of his cast-free leg. Although the joy was tempered by seeing he still relied on his wheelchair. For his breakfast, he’d put together a sandwich that had a fried egg and several strips of bacon poking out the sides. When I walked in, that sandwich was levitating above the plate as Mr. Wood stared intently at it.
"Look, Cassie. Isn’t that amazing?"
"Sure is. When did you learn how to do that?" I gave Morelli a look that was both questioning and accusatory.
"Oh, a few days ago. Eugene told me to give it a try with a medicine bottle I couldn’t reach. It took a few tries, but I’m getting quite good at it." He grabbed the hovering sandwich and took a bite.
"I’ll leave you to your breakfast." He waved his hand dismissively and chewed while the sandwich floated before him as if patiently waiting for the next bite to be taken from it. "Eugene, a word."
We went back into his front room with its sleek, modern furniture and hand-crafted, hand-crocheted embellishments.
"Before you say anything," said Morelli, "I only gave him a little bit. I
t’s not like he can do anything more than levitate light objects. Plus, he’s a Norm so it won’t stick."
"I didn’t know you could give magic to non-Magics."
"Well, we’re not really supposed to, but you know…. In the name of medicine…"
Morelli didn’t mind bending a few rules now and then. Which made him exactly the kind of guy I needed. And please don’t tell him I ever said that.
"Speaking of magic powers, I hear you build portals."
"A long time ago," he said. Which wasn’t a lie. He had worked on portals years ago, according to Corrine. What he didn’t add, what he didn’t know I knew, was that he’d continued this hobby into the present day.
"So you could make one now if I needed you to?"
"You got a gnome with you, or something?" Morelli whispered, glancing toward his front window outside of which I knew a gnome stood guard.
The Untangled Cassie Black Page 9