The Untangled Cassie Black

by Tammie Painter

  I like to think she was only speaking to me so harshly because she was upset, but I’d already had a rough day and was sick of being treated like I was a moron.

  "Then why do you only have one witch — who is already busting her butt to care for two very ill patients — searching the portal information for any sign of where he went? Olivia’s getting in touch with other communities over what the Mauvais’s doing, so why don’t they band together to fight him? Why are you waiting for some prophecy to be fulfilled? You could have wiped him out long ago, but you’ve wasted your time expecting some half-trained witch to take on a man who seems to be the wickedest Magic in all of magical history. I’m the one you expect to save you all, but yet you act like I can’t hold a concept in my head for more than ten seconds. You can’t have it both ways."

  Fiona’s lips had tightened to a thin, white line of anger during my rant, but on my final sentence her eyes showed a hint of self-reproach. She glanced down at her tea cup. "You’re right. We’ve put a lot on you. We should be more supportive."

  "You should be, but instead you throw stupid tests and inconsistent lessons at me when you should have been showing me how to fight, how to defend myself, how to find the Mauvais. You want me to destroy him, but you also want me to stay away from him. You expect me to be able to thwart a wizard with no reservations for fighting dirty, while also expecting me to control my magic like some debutante taking etiquette lessons. As I said, you can’t have it both ways. You can either teach me how to be nasty with my magic or you can produce a prim and proper witch. But I’ll tell you which one is going to win in a fight against the Mauvais."

  Fiona’s lips were now curling into a sly grin, and a hint of her chalky aroma drifted over to me.

  "You have won in a fight against the Mauvais," she said, toasting me with a chocolate chip cookie.

  "Twice. No thanks to you guys," I said sourly, but I softened it with a grin and toasted her back.

  "Let’s go talk to Busby, shall we?"

  * * *

  Fiona’s assumption was that Mr. Tenpenny would be more than willing to share his knowledge on the Mauvais’s whereabouts if she argued in favor of the three of us working together. After all, wouldn’t you want to see justice served to the person who killed you? Mr. T had firsthand information on where the Mauvais used to operate from and where his boltholes had been. It was Mr. T who had run the surveillance team on the Mauvais. And he was the one who sent my parents in at the head of Operation Winston.

  But only a few minutes after Fiona and I had entered Busby’s suite-sized room, I was receiving a stern lesson in just how stubborn Magics could be. No wonder I’d been beginning to feel such a connection with them.

  "I know you want me to tell you, but I can’t," Mr. T insisted.

  "Can’t?" I asked skeptically. "Maybe a month ago you couldn’t, but you’re stringing pretty long sentences together now."

  "Not can’t as in physically incapable," he said in a withering tone. "Can’t as in, I don’t think it’s the wisest course of action."

  "There are probably potions I could mix up to make you tell me the truth."

  "There are, but you have no skill at potions and I’d be more at risk of being poisoned by one of your concoctions than of divulging any secrets to you."

  "Busby," said Fiona evenly, "every minute you delay sharing what you know, every minute you think you’re protecting Cassie, you’re killing Alastair. You know she’s capable, and she wouldn’t have to face him alone this time if you assembled a team to go with her. You sent her parents in after the Mauvais. Why are you being so resistant to doing whatever it takes to let her go after him?"

  "Precisely because I did send her parents after him." Mr. Tenpenny jerked up out of his seat and marched over to the window. After a few shaky breaths, he turned back to us. His eyes shining with restrained tears. "I thought I had gotten one step ahead of the Mauvais, but I was wrong. He knew of our plan and he was waiting for them."

  "Because of the traitor?" I asked.

  "Traitor?" asked Fiona. "Is that still a possibility? I thought it was only a rumor."

  "It’s not a rumor. Not only is someone within HQ passing him information, possibly alerting him to our every move, but they’ve also been delivering small packets of Cassie’s magic to Kilbride. It’s how he’s gained enough power to do what he’s doing."

  "And you think this same Magic was helping him before?" I asked.

  "Yes, I believe so. I hope so, in fact. The only other option is that he was somehow getting into my head and reading my thoughts, but that idea is no more appealing than the idea of one of my own colleagues betraying me, betraying us."

  "So you’re really going to tell Cassie nothing."

  "There’s nothing I can share at the moment that could help."

  "You know I’ll just go blundering my way ahead with this." I spoke kindly, reasonably, hoping he’d see he was being foolish by withholding what he did or didn’t know. Even eliminating where the Mauvais wouldn’t go would be a start. "I will find the way to him with or without your help."

  "Please don’t do that," said Mr. T. "Swear you won’t. Be patient with Runa. She’s clever and she knows what to look for with the portals. When the time is right I’ll tell you more, but for now we can only hope Alastair will be okay. He is a powerful magic. He knows the Mauvais." I think this was supposed to be reassuring, but his voice carried more than a hint of doubt.

  "Wait," said Fiona. Her face had tightened as her eyes squinted with criticism. "Do you think Alastair is the one who betrayed you? Is that why you’re not rushing in to save him? Because you think he and the Mauvais are working together? Do you even—" She bit back her words as if knowing they’d do irreparable damage. Mr. T was smart enough to look shamefaced.

  "All this time you told me to trust him," I said flatly.

  "I don’t know what to think. Maybe you’ve been right all along, Cassie. There’s so many things pointing to Alastair’s involvement. He’s placed himself too often in the same location as the Mauvais for it to be coincidence. I promise you I want Alastair back, but I worry I only want him back to question him. Because of what Chloe told him, he’s one of the few people who knew about the Starlings’ raid that night. And he did once work with the Mauvais. It’s hard not to doubt him."

  "Is that why the tribunal…?" Fiona began, but trailed off as if rethinking the question. She and Busby exchanged a glance.

  "Why the tribunal what?" Had they moved up their timeline? Had they already decided to extract me? Was I out of time? If so, then why was Mr. T being so dogged about not telling me anything? It’s not as if I could do much rescuing without a functioning brain.

  "The tribunal isn’t just about you, Cassie. It’s weighing the options with Alastair as well. From what Banna has been willing to share about the proceedings, they’re leaning in favor of extracting you by destroying the watch. It would solve," and here Mr. T’s chin shook as he choked on his words, "so many problems."

  "We have to get Alastair," I insisted. Busby’s words had tried to kick up the dirt of my suspicion again. I mean, if Busby Raven Tenpenny, a guy who’d known Alastair for years, couldn’t trust him, what was I supposed to do with that?

  But the kick just wouldn’t swing through.

  Up until that very moment, I might have held my own doubts about Alastair, but it was like I held those doubts out of habit, out of fear. Now a different fear took over. A fear I might never see him again. A fear I might never get the answers from him I craved. I couldn’t fool myself any longer about Alastair’s sincerity. My lips still tingled at the memory of that kiss after my first test. The Shoop Shoop Song was not lying: that kiss told me everything I needed to know about Alastair’s true feelings for me. And yes, if I’d been forced to admit it, mine for him. Now, can we get over my sappy confessions and get back to my rousing speech?

  "Even if you think I’m too much of a
risk, even if you think he’s done something wrong, you can’t just let them execute him. It’s barbaric."

  "It’s a sacrifice, Cassie," Mr. Tenpenny said cooly, "not an execution. Give the tribunal time. They still have a couple days to deliberate, and we can hope they’ll take arguments. They might see reason."

  "Time? The Mauvais is on a rampage of D.E.A.D. Magic. We need to get him. If nothing else, we need to stop him before the Extraction Hex on my parents can’t be undone."

  "And I need to think of the safest course for all of us." Busby shouted, startling Fiona who stared at him as if he’d just grown horns out of his ears. Mr. T took a breath to calm himself, apologized to Fiona, then continued. "As I said, there’s many things pointing to Alastair’s involvement with the Mauvais. From your going missing, to the Mauvais’s sudden show of power he should no longer have. Banna has shared with me troubling information about each aspect of it."

  Fiona had been shifting in her seat as Mr. T spoke his carefully chosen words, making a noise in her throat as if wanting to say something. When he paused, she seized the chance and said, "Busby, there’s something you should know about Alast—"

  But Busby, who didn’t appear to have heard what she’d been trying to say, spoke over her. "I don’t say this lightly. I would like to bring Alastair in for questioning, but if it comes down to it, I don’t know if I can justify risking so many lives for a possible traitor. Is that understood?"

  I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand how Busby could have defended Alastair whenever I’d had doubts, but now seemed more than willing to throw Alastair under a magic bus. I couldn’t speak. If I did, I was afraid of what might come out. I glared at Busby. Angry confusion, painful indecision, fear for my parents and myself, and doubts of my own ability to judge people all washed over me.

  I blamed Busby for that. I wished I had never met him, I wished my parents had never met him, I wished he had never existed. My thoughts must have been raging across my face because Mr. T could no longer meet my gaze. As soon as he looked away, I stormed out of the room.

  19 - A CHAT WITH MORELLI

  "OY, WHERE’S THE fire?"

  In my haste to get away from Busby’s room, I hadn’t been paying attention as I stormed my way down the hall. As seems to be my habit with half-trolls, I bounced off the barrel chest of my landlord so hard I staggered backwards and tripped over an uneven stone in the flooring. Morelli’s big hands reached out with surprising speed, grabbed my upper arms, and kept me from falling. Although I don’t know why he did so — I’m sure he would have found it amusing to watch me land on my butt.

  "What are you doing here?" I snapped. "You barely leave the building for six months, and now you’re jaunting off to London every other hour."

  "You know, maybe I’m here because of you. Ever think of that, you ungrateful brat?"

  "Because of me?" I glanced around to see if anyone was in the hall. "I don’t think Runa or the others should know I asked you about the whole portal thing."

  "Yeah, duh. What kind of halfwit do you think I am? Don’t answer that. I’m here because, as ever, I have to watch over you."

  "What’s ‘as ever’ supposed to mean?"

  "You have no clue, do you?"

  "Given that everyone speaks in half truths, half sentences, and half explanations, while expecting me to somehow know everything there is to know about magic spells, magic culture, and my magic-filled past, no, I don’t have a clue. I live in a constant state of not knowing who to trust or what to believe. And now, just when I think I can maybe, just maybe trust Alastair Zeller, Busby Freakin’ Tenpenny throws a big old monkey wrench into the works."

  It was more than I’d meant to say, but the words had erupted from my mouth like some sort of verbal Vesuvius. Morelli clearly didn’t know what to make of this. All totalled, it was probably more words than I’d spoken to him since I’d moved into his building. His face had gone slack as if stunned, but then his lips slowly tightened into a scowl and his eyes narrowed warningly. I stepped back a pace.

  "It’s time we talk."

  Apparently this wasn’t a request because Morelli snatched hold of my wrist and marched down the winding spiral stairs and out of the White Tower. We didn’t stop until we got to The Keys, a pub open only to Yeoman Warders, their guests, and anyone involved with HQ. Morelli nodded to the barman who pulled down two pint glasses and began filling them with a dark ale. As I tried to wrap my head around the fact that my landlord was such a regular here they knew his beverage of choice, he dragged me to the booth farthest from any other customers. He finally released me and ordered me to sit.

  The bartender brought our drinks, glancing between me and Morelli with a look of concern. I nodded to show all was well and the small man headed back to his station. Morelli swallowed a third of his beer in one gulp, then began speaking.

  "You owe your life to Alastair Zeller. Don’t you ever forget that."

  I didn’t respond. I merely took a sip of my drink and waited for him to continue.

  "You know he was in the park that day you went missing?" I nodded. "He kidnapped you."

  Don’t worry, I didn’t pull the old comedy gag of spitting beer out of my mouth in shocked surprise, but I did choke on the sip I’d just been swallowing.

  "Sorry, he what? I thought he was cleared of those charges."

  "He explained to a few people. They pulled some strings, and there might have been a Confounding Charm or two involved. Anyway, he was cleared of the charges. But he did kidnap you."

  "And what does this have to do with me owing him my life? Because it sounds like he should be the person I stay the farthest from."

  "You had this curse on you. You know about that, right?" I did. Someone had cursed me on my third birthday. "If you were away from Rosaria, if you were unable to be found, the worst part of the curse would be avoided." That worst part being I would die. According to Banna the curse stated that if I stayed in MagicLand, I’d be loved but I’d die young. If I left, I’d be treated like crap but I’d survive. "Alastair couldn’t get enough of you. Ever since you were born, he— I don’t know, it was like the reverse of a baby duckling imprinting on its mother. He was very protective of you."

  A group of three men in their early fifties came into the pub, gave us a cursory glance, then sat at the bar where they began comparing who’d had the most obnoxious tourist that morning.

  "I don’t understand. If he was protective of me, why would he kidnap me? Lola would have watched over me."

  "She couldn’t have. If you had stayed in the community, besides the curse, with your parents gone you would have lost your familial protection."

  "What’s that?"

  Morelli, speaking like a teacher giving a favorite lesson said, "Familial protection means that if its parents are alive, a child can’t easily be touched. Their magic forms a sort of bubble around the kid until the kid reaches twelve years old and begins training. With your parents out of commission, that bubble burst. So the moment Alastair knew your parents had gone missing, presumed dead, he began plotting how to keep you safe."

  I thought of what Alastair had said once. That he’d only ever wanted to protect me. Was this what he meant?

  "And that plot involved kidnapping a four-year-old? Why not just tell Lola or Busby or Fiona that I needed to be hidden?"

  "It had to be a secret. The Mauvais— Well, not just him, any Magic who learns how to do it can get into the heads of other human Magics."

  "Human Magics?"

  "He can’t get into the heads of trolls, elves, or gnomes."

  "Your skull is too thick to get through, anyway," I said, and raised my glass to him to show the comment was only in jest. He rolled his eyes, but returned the toast.

  "You’re one to talk. Anyway, so he starts asking me about how to go about stealing a kid. Yeah, that didn’t sit well with me, so I asked him to explain. He does, and he was right. Yo
u couldn’t stay in Rosaria. So I tell him to just make it look like he’s talking to you, convince you to walk away with him, and to do it while other people might be distracted."

  "It is disturbing you know so much about child abduction."

  "I know so much because trolls have always been the magic world’s most reliable and most sought-after guards. Which means we, even those of us who are only halfsies, get trained in many aspects of security. And one of those aspects is child protection. Anyway, one day Alastair sees his chance, takes you, and brings your scrawny ass to me."

  "Why you?"

  "Because the Mauvais can’t get into my head and because Alastair’s a kid himself. What was he—?" Morelli stopped, muttering to himself as he calculated. "You were four, so he would have been thirteen. As an adult, I could get you through town and to the Norm authorities. And as a Magic, I could do a little," he waggled his fingers, "paperwork adjustment, and have you in the foster system in no time. Course, I didn’t know you’d end up in such terrible homes. I guess the part of the curse about you only being loved in Rosaria stuck, or maybe it was just your charming personality that got under people’s skins. Or it could be because Alastair kept your mother’s locket." Morelli took a large gulp of his beer, draining half the glass. "I told him he should keep it with you. I didn’t understand at the time, I thought he just didn’t want it stolen, but Alastair said it couldn’t be near you. Not then, anyway. He kept saying one day he’d give it back to you."