"If you’re going to be one of my teachers here, couldn’t we have just done this in Portland?" I asked, stepping over to the window to see what view he had. It looked to be nearly the same as mine, even though I would have sworn his room was on the opposite side of the hallway.
"I’m able to build strength here since we’re near the source of all magic."
I turned away from the window to face him. "What exactly does that mean?"
"It means you won’t be so exhausting to be around," he said with a grin as he wound a tiger-shaped timer and set it stalking across the table.
"Don’t be too sure of that. So what exactly are you teaching me?"
"In addition to working on how to control your absorbing and your giving, we’re continuing on with the defensive lessons we’ve already started. You’ll also be working with Busby and doing some classes with Rafi."
"Isn’t he just Olivia’s assistant?" I asked, remembering Olivia calling him earlier.
"He is, but he also serves as troll liaison and research coordinator. You’ll meet him soon. He’s a great guy. Anyway, they’ve decided to have you start with me today since I have special knowledge in this area." I gave him a questioning look. "I’m one of the few people who understands the Mauvais’s fighting tactics. Or, at least, I used to."
"What do you mean ‘his fighting tactics’?" I asked, glancing over to the small counter beside the mini-fridge. Even though I’d eaten less than an hour ago, a lesson with Alastair without snacks didn’t seem right.
Seeing no cake, I opened the twin packet of cookies that had been left beside the electric kettle and offered one of the wafers to Alastair. He refused it. A Magic denying sugar? He really was feeling good. I slipped the second cookie back into its plastic sleeve, taking it with me as I sat down at the table near the window.
"Because I used to work for him. With him," he added meaningfully.
"What?" I blurted through a mouthful of chocolate-hazelnut biscuit.
I’d known Alastair had interacted the Mauvais on some level, but to have worked with him? And I was pretty sure work didn’t refer to secretarial duties. Which meant I was sitting in the same room as someone who had been in league with the person who may have killed my parents. My jaw clenched so tightly my teeth ached. At the sight of my glower, Alastair quickly fumbled to explain his despicable actions.
"I’m not proud of it, but I don’t know, I was so young and felt so out of place when my teachers advanced me in school. My own parents had no time for me and I craved an adult to look up to, to tell me I was doing well. I think it made me a bit clingy when someone did pay me attention."
"Clingy? That’s your excuse for, for whatever it is you’ve done?"
"It’s no excuse, but I wasn’t even twelve years old at the time. I idolized your mom, Simon too. I had a crush on Chloe. I knew she was too old for me, but that didn’t stop me from latching onto them for some form of adult connection. Maybe I saw them as surrogate parents, or perhaps older siblings." He watched the tiger timer a moment, nudging it with his index finger as the beast neared the edge of the table. "Still, they didn’t always want some kid hanging around, and I felt left behind by their pairing up.
"When your parents had less time for me, I transferred my need for an adult in my life to the Mauvais. He had such bravado, such profound ideas — or so they seemed at the time. I was impressionable and didn’t have the reasoning skills to question if he was what a real leader should be." Alastair paced over to stare out the window. His chocolate-raspberry scent radiated from him. When he continued, he spoke like someone trying to explain why they once liked canned sardines with strawberry jam. "The Mauvais, he had this swaggering charm, he made you feel like you were important to him, and I gravitated right to that."
"But how did you not recognize him as Kilbride?"
"When he was on the streets of Rosaria, he was Devin Kilbride. Big and bold, but not the type of guy you’d think would amount to much. When he was operating as the Mauvais, he had either been using a Morphing Spell to hide his face, or he kept his followers under a Confounding Charm to keep us from recognizing him. I’m guessing it was the latter, or perhaps some sort of potion he wore that worked like a Confounding Charm because I swear none of us could describe his features when we were interrogated later."
"But you just went along with him?" I scooted forward in the chair. It was the same style as the ones in my room and I’d been right in guessing they’d be uncomfortable. Spots in my back were already going numb from the rigid, poorly-positioned backrest.
"No," Alastair said without conviction. He shifted away from the window, then plunked down on the edge of the bed. "I mean, yes. I kind of thought what he was saying was wrong, but I wanted to fit in, so I didn’t argue. And the more I was around him, the more I liked being part of his crowd, and the more the idea of Magics being the highest form of humanity started to seem spot-on.
"I wanted to impress him, I didn’t want to be sent drifting alone again, and so I joined him even though a voice in the back of my head kept telling me he was wrong. A voice echoed by warnings from your mother who begged me to stop hanging out with the Mauvais. By then, I was angry with her for always being busy, either with Simon or with her police training. So I ignored her pleas, told her she was one of the backwards thinking sheep."
"Did you…" My words trailed off, my throat too tight to speak. I swallowed hard. "Did you kill people just to hang out with the cool kids?"
"No," Alastair said so quickly it seemed like a lie, or at least like a half-truth. He glanced down at his fingers, drumming them nervously on his thigh. With a sigh, he admitted, "He used some of my knowledge to kill non-magics and even some Magics who didn’t agree with him. It was right after I turned thirteen that something clicked in me, something told me I was on the wrong path. I began distancing myself from the Mauvais and worked to reforge my friendship with your parents."
"So noble of you," I said bitterly. I was now glad I’d stolen his cookies. He didn’t deserve them.
"Like I said, I don’t consider that time a high point in my life. And it wasn’t without danger. You don’t just walk away from the Mauvais without him noticing. I had to stay in for a time, and during that time your parents were invaluable in keeping me on the right path. They had already worked their way up in the police force and advised me to play the fool. I hated it. I was a cocky teenager who wanted to be thought of as this young genius, but I slowly swallowed their advice. So, whenever the Mauvais called on me to do something bad, to kill or hurt people, I made excuses that I didn’t know the proper spell or would purposely fumble the charm, that sort of thing.
"It worked. He already had what he’d wanted from me, so he began shunning me. Eventually, when I stopped showing up to his gatherings, he didn’t question my absence. I witnessed some terrible things, things I could have probably prevented with one twist of my hand, but what I’ve seen, what I’ve experienced does make me useful. No one can really know the Mauvais, but I know how he fights and how he can use others and his own power to manipulate people, to get into their heads. Now, if you’ll stop slapping me with that judgmental look, we should get started."
I handed him the second cookie in a show of truce. And even though Team Brain was insisting on more evidence of Alastair’s innocence, Team Heart was clearly willing to forgive him because it gave a little jump when our fingers touched as he took the treat.
19 - GREAT BALLS OF FIRE
ALASTAIR FINALLY BEGAN the lesson by explaining that HQ had decided one of the skills I should master was to form a wall around myself that would act as a barrier to prevent me from accidentally giving away my magic (or from having it stolen), and to reduce my chances of accidentally absorbing someone else’s magic.
A nice idea, but it didn’t work.
The wall I conjured blocked all my magic and kept me from performing even the most basic spells. Alastair admitted it was a
complex concept, but seemed to have no problem doing the trick himself. Seeing my dismay and frustration at his easily-formed wall, he decided to change tack and appeal to my science-loving side.
"Think of it as more of a membrane to contain larger particles of your power and prevent them from escaping."
"Isn’t that just the same thing as a wall?" I asked sarcastically.
"No," he said, raising his eyebrows and smiling as if he was about to clue me in on a wonderful secret. "Because this is a semi-permeable membrane. It will hold back the larger particles while still allowing smaller bits of your magic through."
I’ll admit, I was skeptical, but having this visual in my head did help. A little. It was a challenging task since it required doing two things at once: holding the membrane, while also executing a Shoving Charm or whatever magical stunt Alastair tested me with. It was far harder than anything I’d tried before, and my frustration with myself was being made worse by jet lag — or rather, portal lag. By noon it already felt like it had been a long day, and I called it quits well before the timer went off.
"You’ve done well," Alastair said.
"You’re a really good liar."
"No, I mean it, which means you get a reward."
"Does it involve cake?"
"Sorry, no, just information. Last night I had a little chat with Chester."
"He chats?"
"Eventually. It does take a bit of patience to wait for him to get around to what you’re asking, but apparently Rafi has been working with him to be a sort of messenger, which means Chester gets news that doesn’t always make it to the rest of the magical communities. He said that before we arrived, Olivia had indeed gotten information about your parents not being dead. She seemed to think it wasn’t just a hoax."
"That’s good news, right? We can go looking for them. I’m sure there’s got to be more information—"
"Cassie," Alastair said sharply enough to interrupt the verbal lava flow spewing from my mouth. "I’m not telling you this for you to go after them. It’s too dangerous for you to do that. You promised we would do this my way, and Olivia has given me the perfect opportunity to do just that."
"What opportunity?"
"The historical research she mentioned? It gives me every excuse to sift through the old files. If I go through HQ’s papers on your parents’ disappearance, you and I can compile what I find. We can then take it to Busby who’ll help us argue the case to rescue your parents."
"Wait. Compiling? Consulting? My parents are in danger and you don’t think we should hurry up the process of finding them?"
"That’s not what I mean. I just—" He caught himself, his cheeks flaring red. He fiddled with the crinkling plastic wrapper left over from the cookies, then glanced up at me through his lashes. "I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. I’ve only ever wanted to protect you," he said quietly. "No matter how clumsily I’ve gone about it."
I stared at him, touched by the sentiment. The really intense sentiment, if I’m being honest. But I was also annoyed by his lackadaisical attitude toward the main reason I’d come to London.
"I don’t need you to babysit me, okay," I said, trying to sound patient when all I wanted to do was run down to this file room and have a poke around. "I need you to be an ally, but it seems you’re still trying to fit in with the big kids. We don’t have time to wait for HQ to debate this. If you get information, we need to act on it. And if you won’t, I will."
"You can’t go hunting down the Mauvais on your own. Besides, you probably wouldn’t make it past the outer wall."
Alastair abruptly stopped speaking and jerked his head up to meet my eyes. He opened his mouth, the look on his face was that of someone who desperately wanted to hit rewind on their words.
"Wait, am I a prisoner here?"
"No. I mean, not exactly. I only found out this morning, but they don’t want you to leave. It’s not imprisonment. They just don’t want the Mauvais to get to you, so you’re not really allowed to leave the Tower on your own."
"This is ridiculous," I snapped, my irritation churning harder than an industrial washing machine. "They invited me here and now they’re treating me like a juvenile delinquent?"
I used an array of curse words that included what anatomically impossible things the Magics could all do to themselves. Then, as I made an emphatically rude hand gesture, something that looked like my orb from earlier in the day burst from my palm. Only this orb wasn’t green-gold. It was red. It was also flying across the room, directly toward the door.
Alastair flicked at the air with his fingers, sending a jet of ice after the fiery ball. But my orb had a head start. It hit the center of the door and burned a hole straight through before Alastair’s spell caught up, put out the flames, and coated the damage in ice.
"What was that?" he asked.
"Banna taught me the Solas Charm this morning," I said cautiously.
"She should not have taught you that spell. It’s not part your curriculum."
I glared at him. Not seeing the handsome face, not seeing the endearing demeanor, but instead seeing someone who was going along with people who seemed to want to do nothing but control me.
"I’m so glad everyone has decided everything already. Am I allowed to pick out what I wear tomorrow, or has that already been decided for me as well?"
"Cassie, please. It’s just—"
"I’m out of here," I said, throwing up my hands in defeat. "First, I don’t do magic and you get mad. Then I do do magic and you still get mad. I don’t know what you people expect from me."
I whipped open the door and slammed it behind me.
Or, well, I tried to slam it. As with any modern hotel room door, this one was equipped with hinges that eased the door shut to keep the hallways silent.
But I was a witch who knew her way around a Shoving Charm. I thrust out my hand and the door banged shut. When it did, the ice from Alastair’s spell cracked apart and thunked onto the carpeted floor.
20 - A STRANGE FRIENDSHIP
REFUSING TO PLAY the role of prisoner, and feeling more than a little paranoid that Olivia would unleash her fury on me for flinging a fireball through a door, I marched down many, many, many stairs and made my way out of the White Tower.
Not knowing exactly where to go, and with crowds of tourists already filling the grounds, I decided to continue my tour from the morning and headed toward the ravens’ enclosure. Winston was nowhere to be seen, but a couple of birds were busying themselves by playing with a set of house keys. I imagined someone would be going home that evening and finding themselves in need of a locksmith.
"They’re ravens," a voice said behind me. I grit my teeth. Why did it have to be him?
"Yes, very good, Tobey," I said as if he were four years old and had just recited the alphabet. "Maybe you ought to be a wildlife biologist."
"Don’t throw your attitude at me, Cassie. Come on, let’s walk, it’ll clear both our heads."
Walkies with Tobey? Hadn’t I already met my daily quota of odd behavior and strange news without adding Tobey Tenpenny to the mix? Still, walking with him would keep anyone from questioning what I might be up to, so I shrugged an assent and fell into step alongside him. We climbed the walls and joined the throngs of visitors strolling from tower to tower. I wondered if Nigel knew the names of any of the structures, or if he just made them up as he went along.
With the Thames to our left, Tobey and I said nothing to one another as we wandered toward Wakefield Tower. I found I enjoyed the silence, plus it allowed me to eavesdrop on the family ahead of us. Their pre-teen son kept asking where they tortured people, where they mounted the severed heads of traitors, where the weapons had been kept. I was just sizing up this serial killer in the making when Tobey finally spoke.
"You’ll probably be pissed at what I have to say, so promise me you won’t hurl me off this wall." He added a magical finger flou
rish to the word hurl.
"I can’t make guarantees like that."
Tobey rolled his eyes and instead of risking anything, he clammed up again. Eventually, we stepped back down to ground level. The pre-teen axe murderer was now asking when they could get something to eat, and his father’s weary sigh showed he’d had just about enough of his progeny.
Tobey and I passed St. Peter in Chains, the squat little chapel where I’d encountered Nigel and where a couple of garden gnomes had been situated at the base of one of the windows. We then strolled around to pass by the crenellated building where the crown jewels were kept. Once we pushed through the crowds waiting to get in to see the sparkly things, Tobey had worked up the gumption to say what was on his mind.
"You do know Alastair worked for the Mauvais at one time, right?"
The Uncanny Raven Winston Page 13