It was still dark when I entered Portland. That pre-dawn hour in summer when the sky is still painted an inky blue, but crawling up from the horizon is a splash of color signaling the warm day to come.
Crikey, don’t I sound poetic? Basically, the streets were empty and everyone was still snoring in their beds (although a sweet and yeasty scent on the air told me the day had already begun at Spellbound).
Since MagicLand doesn’t use street lamps, I had to pull in some photons to avoid tripping over anything as I strode down the Caribbean-themed street the London-Portland portal opened on. I felt a strong pull to peer into Lola’s windows to see what Pablo was up to, but I couldn’t risk wasting the time. I needed to act. I needed help or I’d lose everything — my mental faculties, my parents’ recovery, Alastair. It just really sucked that that help had to come from Morelli. If I survived this, he would never let me live it down.
I slipped through the door in the building beside Fiona’s house and into the familiar mess of my coat closet. I nearly hugged my winter jacket for the joy of being home, but again, this was no time for nostalgic nonsense. Stepping carefully over a couple pairs of knock-off Keds, I turned the knob and entered my apartment. The smell, the sight, the feel of my junky little place all hit me at once. Like a kid who wants to show off her room, I suddenly wanted to bring my parents here. I’d never felt any sense of pride over this place. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. Okay, yes, technically it was Morelli’s. Just shut up and allow me my moment.
I tiptoed downstairs. I don’t know why since I planned to wake up my landlord anyway. But when I got to the door, I could already hear someone inside rustling around and humming the theme song to I Dream of Jeannie. It could only be Morelli.
I tapped on the door, loud enough to be heard, but hopefully not so loud it would wake Mr. Wood if he was still asleep. The humming stopped, followed by the distinctive whisper of a blade being pulled from a knife block.
Careful footsteps approached the door and I said as quietly as possible, "It’s me. Don’t come out stabbing."
The door opened a crack, the chain of the interior lock still in place. Morelli’s nose appeared first. He sniffed, then his dark eyes peered at me. Once he realized it really was me and not some clever Cassie impersonator, he slid back the chain and let me in, gesturing me to the kitchen. He put his index finger to his lips and pointed toward the hall where, if his apartment was of the same layout as mine, the bedrooms would be. Like any sane person at this time of day, Mr. Wood was still asleep.
"What are you doing here?" Morelli asked.
"I live here."
"At this hour, I mean." He held up the knife in mock threat before putting it away.
"I’m probably going to regret admitting this, but I need your help."
"Oh, that is good," Morelli said as he stifled a chortle. "What? Need a tax document altered or something? Maybe a fake will that leaves you a million dollars from some mysterious aunt."
"No," I said, fully serious. Something in my eyes stopped his teasing. "I need you to build me a portal."
"No way. We already discussed this. First, you don’t even know where you need to go. Second, I’m a trusted member of the community, and building portals without first registering them is a huge no-no."
"Part of why you’re a trusted member of this community is because you know how to detect underhanded things. You’re telling me you didn’t gain that knowledge without some firsthand experience?"
"Those days are long behind me," he said, the slight hesitation in his voice making it clear that not every dealing he’d had in recent years was on the up and up.
"And as to your first point," I continued, "there’s a different kind of portal, isn’t there? Not to a place, but to a person."
"Where’d you learn that?" He glanced around as if the walls might be listening.
"A little birdie told me."
"It’s arcane knowledge. Alastair and I discussed person-to-person portals on a few occasions, just hypothetically," he emphasized when I was about to ask what this portal was going to be used for. "I was surprised he knew about them. They fell out of favor over a hundred years ago, mainly because of their limitations."
"Limitations?" I asked, worried they couldn’t span long distances, worried what I’d thought was a brilliant idea was just another dead end.
"Yeah, limitations. They don’t last all that long, a few hours at most. It reduces the chance of them getting noticed by the authorities. These days, not many people even know about person-to-person portals, let alone how to make them."
"Exactly, or how to detect them I’d bet." I fixed a goading stare on him.
"You know, I am trying to live my life by the book." I looked to the direction of Mr. Wood’s room and back to Morelli with an eyebrow arched. Giving Norms magic wasn’t exactly keeping your nose clean. "It’s only a little and he needed the magic to heal," he said defensively. "It’s nothing like making the type of portal you’re talking about."
"Do you know what’s happening out there because of the Mauvais?" I grabbed the remote before he could answer and clicked on the TV, quickly hitting the mute button to keep the sound down. I flipped channels until I found a news station. On screen was a reporter with dark hair that looked like it had been styled after a comic book pane of Clark Kent. I turned the volume up just enough for us to hear him speaking in the lightest of Irish accents.
"…the cause is still unknown for the collapse of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, adding to the mystery of why this building has gone down. The tragedy only made worse by it being a Sunday. Some people suggest the formation of a new tectonic plate may be to blame, others are stating the Irish government is at fault for too much cost cutting. The only thing for certain is today we all mourn for the great city of Dublin. Jim, do you have the footage? Okay, folks, this was just sent to us from a survivor. I warn you, what you are about to see may be upsetting to some viewers."
The shot changed to a cell phone video of the great cathedral not so much collapsing as being swallowed by the ground underneath. One second the building was standing. The next it was a pile of rubble.
The camera turned back on the reporter who was picking something from his teeth. He hurriedly brushed his hand over his hair to hide what he’d been doing, then cleared his throat and shook his head remorsefully.
"I’ve been told rescue dogs are searching for survivors, but officials worry about the ground’s stability after—"
I clicked off the TV.
"That was the Mauvais."
"You’re sure it’s him? He wasn’t supposed to do another one until—"
"Yes, I’m sure. And the next hit is not going to be a building or a bridge. It’s going to be me. Olivia wants to extract me to make me worth nothing to the Mauvais."
"Not Olivia." Morelli spoke the name as if shocked. "But she—"
"Yes, Olivia. Tomorrow, at dawn. Bye bye Cassie brain. So I don’t have a lot of time here. My guess is the Mauvais’s in Portland somewhere, but that doesn’t narrow it down much. A person-to-person portal is the only way to get to him."
Morelli scratched the back of his head in thought.
"I promised to keep you safe."
"The only way you can keep me safe is to get me to the Mauvais. Once he’s taken care of, I’ll be super safe." And still, Morelli hesitated. "If I don’t do this, my brain will be turned to mush. I’ve beat the Mauvais twice before. I have a far better chance of surviving a showdown with him again than surviving an extraction. You swore to do whatever it took to keep me safe. You’ve never been released from that obligation, have you?"
"Damn you, girl. You’re too smart for your own good. And too stupid at the same time."
"So you’ll do it?"
Morelli gave a heavy sigh of defeat, then his face brightened in a way that told me he’d figured out a possible loophole.
"The only way I can build it
is if you have an object that once belonged to the person." He crossed his arms over his chest and put on a smug grin. "Somehow I doubt you’ve got anything of the Mauvais’s in that mess you call an apartment."
Well, doesn’t that figure? Six months the Mauvais’s damn watch had been in my coat closet, but when I needed it most, it was locked away somewhere in the Tower of London. I toyed with the chain around my neck, trying to think of anything in MagicLand that had belonged to the Mauvais. Vivian’s shop likely still had its winter display of clothing in the window, but had any of that really belonged to the Mauvais? Probably not.
The locket shifted under my shirt. The feel of it stirred up the memory of Alastair on the night he’d given it to me. The memory soon shifted to my first lesson with Alastair. The shy glances, my first taste of Sacher Torte, the beetle timer trundling across the table—
The timer!
"Hold on," I blurted, then dashed out of Morelli’s apartment, up the stairs, and to my front room. I scrambled through a pile of books on the coffee table that sat in front of the couch. Nothing. Damn it. Maybe Alastair had taken it with him. I didn’t think he had, but with my luck you never knew. I scanned the room, eyeing the bookshelf, an end table, then the wingback chair. A flash of Pablo perched on the back of that chair, of him jumping down, and of him—
I dropped to my knees and pulled my phone out of my back pocket. About a hundred messages had pinged through when I’d stepped from MagicLand into my apartment. I ignored them, turned on the flashlight function, then pressed my cheek to the floor and peered under the couch.
It took several passes back and forth with the phone. It was hard to believe how many scraps of paper, cat toys, battered paperbacks, and fur clumps had migrated underneath a single piece of furniture. I was about to get up and shift the couch out of the way when the light of the phone glinted off a metal surface.
I couldn’t help it, I let out a cry of triumph. Well, I also cursed Pablo for being such a rascal. And then, because I was on quite the roller coaster of emotions for one day, I suddenly wanted to cry at the memory of the day Alastair had brought this little trinket, of him sharing HQ’s letter with me, of him telling me why I should go to London. It seemed like a dozen years ago.
I stretched my arm out under the couch, my fingers dancing across the shag carpet. I shifted my shoulder to get just a slightly longer reach. My hand touched something cool, metallic. I latched onto it and pulled out Alastair’s timer. Joy and heartache filled me as I held the small penguin who was designed to flap his wings and clack his beak when time was up.
I ran back down to Morelli, practically jumping from the top step to the bottom landing in my excitement.
"Here." I shoved the timer at him.
"This is Devin Kilbride’s?" he asked, turning it over and admiring the handiwork.
"No, Alastair’s. He builds them."
"But you need to get to the Mauvais."
"Who I’m sure still has Alastair."
"Kind of gamble there."
"Can you do it?"
"Yeah, I can," he said reluctantly. "But you can’t tell anyone I’m doing this."
"Despite what you think, I’m not that big of an idiot."
Morelli did nothing.
"What?" he asked in response to my impatient stare.
"So make it." I made a flapping, go-ahead gesture with my hands.
"Making a black market portal is not just a snap-your-fingers thing. To keep it hidden from the detectors, I’ll need a few hours."
"So what time should I come back? You’ll get on it straight away, right?"
"You’ve sure gotten pushy. You used to be so quiet."
"I guess having the fate of the world on my shoulders has its side effects."
"Don’t worry. I’ll get it to you. Now get going and let me concentrate."
"You really can do it?"
"Yeah, and I’ll add the fee for it to your rent. Which is due in two weeks, six days, and ten hours," he added, with a slight catch to his voice.
I nodded, afraid to speak through the lump in my own throat. We both knew that if he made this portal, he risked never getting to harass me for rent again.
35 - CAUGHT IN THE ACT
KNOWING GUILDENSTERN (OR was Rosencrantz currently on duty?) would be on high alert, I couldn’t risk waiting around the building for Morelli to build my portal.
I went back up to my apartment, waded through my closet, and returned to the streets of MagicLand. It was early morning, prime time for a patisserie to be baking their wares for the day and I can’t tell you how tempting the smells wafting from the Spellbound kitchens were. Actually, I can tell you exactly how tempting they were: tempting enough, despite my intention to head straight for the London portal, to pull me in and force me to order two lemon-ginger scones.
I had just paid for my order and was eyeing some fresh apple chaussons when Gwendolyn emerged from the kitchen. At the sight of me, her face — already rosy red from the heat of the ovens — lit up.
"If it isn’t my star Potions student."
And yeah, she said that without any hint of sarcasm or irony. I nearly dropped my sack of scones.
"No, it’s me. Cassie Black." Maybe the hot kitchen and early hours had finally gotten to her.
"But you saved Runa with a potion. You’re my first student this year to use potion knowledge in a life-saving capacity. I’m so proud."
This from the woman who had been in existential doubt over her ability to teach because of my inability to mix even the most basic potion without destroying life and property? It was like I’d stepped into an alternate universe’s version of Spellbound Patisserie.
"It really wasn’t a potion. Just a bit of chameleon skin. You told me about what it could do in my first lesson."
"And you remembered," she gushed, clapping her hands together and gripping them with glee.
The bell of the shop door chimed. Gwendolyn’s bright gaze lifted from my face to greet her customer.
"Fiona, it’s not often we see you. Some orange-cranberry tea bread just came out of the oven." She indicated several small, golden loaves on a cooling rack behind her.
My heart sank like an overcooked dumpling. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I’d come on a whim and hadn’t given a single thought to the possibility of Fiona coming home, or of Busby or any of the others from the Tower popping by MagicLand for a visit at this time of day.
"Thank you, Gwendolyn, but I really shouldn’t," Fiona said, patting her hips. "I came here because I noticed Cassie stopping by." And believe me, these words were delivered very meaningfully.
"Through the hole?" I asked with true curiosity even though my delightful moment of pastry procurement had just gone tits up. Oh, and that hole would be the one I made when my magic (and a book) got away from me a few weeks previous.
"Yes, through the hole," Fiona said testily. "Why are you here, Cassie?"
I held up my bag. Obviously, I couldn’t tell her I’d been hiring Morelli to create an illegal portal. "Scones. I had a craving."
Fiona arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Yes, I know how they’ve been experiencing a scone shortage in London. You’re heading back soon." This was not a question.
Gwendolyn, ignoring Fiona’s denial, wrapped one of the breads in wax paper, sealed it with a Spellbound sticker, and popped the loaf into a paper sack. Fiona grudgingly accepted the bag, whose contents smelled of tart berries and fragrant orange zest. I wouldn’t have minded waiting around for whatever might be rolling out of the oven next, then stopping in to see what Pablo was wearing these days, but with Fiona’s eagle eye fixed on me, I merely said I was indeed on my way back to London.
"Then I’ll join you."
Understanding, or maybe just hoping, that Fiona wasn’t going to rat me out, I said goodbye to a glowing Gwendolyn and left the shop with Fiona.
"It’s kind of early in the day for
a trip home, isn’t it?" I asked.
"It is. Luckily, it’s a Sunday because something occurred to me after Olivia’s judgement," she said in a tone that made it clear she did not agree with Olivia’s decision. "The library at the Tower of London, it’s well-stocked, but that librarian..." She shuddered. I wanted to tell her I knew exactly what she meant, but then she might ask why I’d gone to the library, and I didn’t want to dig the hole I’d found myself in any deeper. "Anyway, I looked through my books and came across some information that might help with this Mauvais problem. It’s not really a concrete idea, but I think if I can talk it out with the others, we might be able to come up with a clue of how to use it. And hopefully we can keep you from being extracted."
The Untangled Cassie Black Page 23