The Sunken Tower

by J A Campbell

  Another nod. Melanie could barely swallow to speak.

  “Lilibet has agreed to join us on occasion, to make sure you have a systematic knowledge of the language. Your grandfather will also aid as his time and the Faery Court permit.”

  “Where will this be?” Melanie asked. She had belongings spread out over too many places. She’d need to go to Elise’s, at least, and clean out her guest room.

  “Where would be the most convenient for you?”

  Melanie let out a breath. “Convenient would be Austin, where I’d like to live at least part-time. I want to continue working.”

  Marcus’ brow rose, but he smiled. “You will be the first lady of any magical clan who has worked outside of the discipline, but as we have all said, times are changing. I enjoy your music, and it would be delightful to hear what you can do next.”

  “I can get work in the movie industry scoring films. I don’t know about performing. I have to get past missing Rusty.” She swallowed hard and peered at him through tears. Marcus wrapped his arms around her and hugged her gently. When they broke apart, he offered her a silk handkerchief that was too beautiful to wipe her eyes on. She swallowed hard and continued. “But first, I have to clean up the mess Andrew Dirkson left of Grayson Security. You’ve seen the files when you were interviewing the agents who possess magical talents. I’m having to work my music around that—and I’m tired of it.”

  “Then, Dallas? I would be glad to help you straighten out Grayson. I still have a few agents to speak with, and I want to review some of the incidents where Dirkson used magic in what we consider unorthodox ways. There would be no charges filed, but they could be instructive for us in the future.”

  Melanie nodded. “I’d be grateful for the help at this point.”

  “Very well. I stayed at an apartment across the hall from the one you’re renting. It was convenient and comfortable enough.”

  “You could just stay with me?” Melanie smiled at him. “I have a spare bedroom… I’ll even clean out the guitars and books and…”

  “We must be careful.” Marcus wrapped his arm around her and laid his head against hers. “We need to keep up the lie that our relationship is strictly political—Valonna still wants to kill you. It’s safer for you if you’re angry at me—at least in public.”

  Melanie recalled the picture with the knives in it and shuddered. “Why?”

  “Because she would destroy anything that I cared for, including her own child.”

  “Why?” Melanie’s voice rose. “I don’t understand.”

  “One of the many reasons that I love you is because you cannot understand her motivations,” Marcus whispered. “Valonna was Oberon’s lover. I stopped her from scoring a coup in Faery, and she’s hated me ever since.”

  “Ulllllp,” Melanie backed up, feeling her stomach turn. “She couldn’t be my grandmother...?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Their relationship was over long before you were born. Oberon has never once given the identity of your grandmother—and I have asked. I suppose some of Valonna’s resentment could be that I am with a descendent of his now. You clearly favor him. But there’s more…”

  Melanie’s eyebrows rose.

  “You’re powerful,” Marcus said. “More so than a fae should be. Oberon himself has been watching your progress, and he is astounded and proud of what you can do. I wanted to understand why.”

  “Do you?” Melanie dreaded his answer. Like every kid who’d serially devoured fantasy novels and participated in Ren Faires, she’d wished for powers. Now she had them, and they were terrifying.

  “Yes, in part,” he responded and directed them both to chairs.

  This isn’t good. Melanie looked down at her hands, at the ornate pattern on the carpeted floor in the JM sitting room.

  “You were born premature,” Marcus said, “which you already knew from your parents. What your father never told you was that you nearly died in the NICU. Lilibet came to him in the hospital to comfort him. She told him he could have three wishes. He told her he’d combine all three wishes and give every ounce of power he had to you so you’d live.”

  Tears streamed out of Melanie’s eyes. “I never knew. Da never…”

  “He told me,” Marcus said, laying his hands on hers. “I’m not sure whether your father would want you to know. He confessed he’d had a few drinks and believed the encounter was a hallucination, but he spoke from his heart. He wanted more than anything for you to live.”

  Melanie shook her head. “Da would not want me to know. I’m not sure he’s even told Doc—or for that matter, that she’d believe him if he did. In some ways, this explains why she thought she was carrying an alien when she was pregnant. She just didn’t realize she was married to one—or maybe it didn’t matter…”

  Marcus nodded.

  “But there is still the matter of your grandmother,” Marcus said. “Oberon won’t divulge her identity, even to an old friend. If she were a fae of little consequence, it would not be a problem. If she were powerful, she would not need his protection. Your father and your Aunt Jocelyn were intended to be the Oberon and Titania of this world, and that plan failed. Your aunt’s parentage is commonly known. Yours is not.”

  Melanie swallowed. “So be prepared for more shocks in the future?”

  “Indeed, I suppose so,” Marcus said.

  “I’m a threat to Valonna?”

  “You are powerful, and you could harm her, but you could not do her in,” Marcus said. “The JM’s issued death sentences on her several times and cannot carry them out.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s an ancient blessing—or curse, depending on how you take it. Only her own power can kill her.”

  “She—she has to decide to die?”

  Marcus nodded. “Or someone has to figure out how to use her own power against her.”

  “We’ll figure something out,” Melanie said. She had no idea what. Life is like jazz. Sometimes you just have to make things up as you go.

  “We will figure something out,” Marcus agreed. “And in the meantime, I think my faery princess should ready herself to attend the ball.”

  Melanie grinned and spun around him several times in a circle. “I am always ready for music and dancing, milord. We’re going to dance the night away!”

  Hagatha reluctantly handed over the strands of her mother’s hair to Elise. She’d stored them next to her heart, tucked in her garments. Of all the things she’d lost and found on this trip, the few shining locks were most precious, more so than any of the stones. She knew she’d get them back after Agatha Macrow’s spirit was summoned from them, but knew, too, they would not quite be the same. The life force that clung to them, which Valonna Macrow had used to set the enchantment to ruin Marcus, would be gone. They’d be cleansed of Valonna’s evil, but that would also remove her mother’s goodness.

  Her cousin took a steadying breath and stepped to the witness stand before the nine Lords of the Justicariate Magus. Normally Marcus would have done the honors, but he was lord. Considering his past relationship with her mother, Hagatha expected he would recuse himself from passing judgment in the case and act solely in an advisory capacity.

  He sat in his accustomed place, hands on the curved table, handsome face set in calm lines. At that moment, she wished she possessed the man’s composure. Likely it came from centuries of trials such as these. He still looked very much the same as the first time she’d met him, when she was a sixteen-year-old runaway from magic school. He had let his amber hair grow out just a bit, to be more fashionable or perhaps to appeal to his fiancée, who expressed a preference for longer hair.

  Beside her, Melanie was almost a mirror of her betrothed. They’d kitted her out like a member of the Faery Royal Court, in a blue and silver embroidered gown with a gleaming circlet at her brow. Hagatha noted the crown made her future kindred’s head ache from the moment she put it on. When Hagatha had asked why the shift from her accurately describ
ed “choir robe” set of the Macrow House robes, Melanie simply smiled briefly and said, “Politics.” Melanie had acquired more allies among the lords now, with Mataraci an outspoken fan, much to Hagatha’s silent ire. Ladies Ledgister and Nightingale were practically embracing her as a sister.

  Moments like these, it was good to be the “crazy cousin.” She filled a necessary role. Every House had to have one. Thankfully, expectations were low. Right now, she kept her head down, unsure whether she could maintain any level of calm when her mother’s spirit testified.

  She started when Melanie reached out a slim, long-fingered hand to her. Hagatha took it, realizing the girl’s hand was near as cold as hers. Both Melanie and Marcus had to face the ghosts of their partner’s lost loves. Cousin didn’t have it easy, either. One of Melanie’s exes still got radio play, particularly in the UK. Marcus actually possessed an extensive vinyl collection, and Hagatha was tempted to check to see if he had any of the man’s records.

  The black-robed Justiciar stepped forward. Following the formalities, he established Elise’s credentials and swore her in.

  “I summon the spirit of Agatha Macrow.” Elise’s voice resonated in the abruptly silent room. Every seat was taken, and the overflow stood in the back and along the sides.

  Hagatha’s breath caught as a woman’s form materialized right in front of her. The only images she’d ever seen of her mother were the formal portraits hanging in Macrow Manor and one vision in a mirror, early in her years at the Manor. The ancients, like her mother and Marcus, tended to be shy of photographs, likely for good reason—particularly with today’s technology and facial identification software programs.

  Standing by her statuesque cousin, Agatha Macrow was nearly as petite as Melanie. Her ashen blonde curls, tied in a ponytail, sparkled in the overhead lights. Her eyes, the clear blue of a spring sky, appraised the crowd. She wore jeans and a loose, blue maternity shirt and white sneakers.

  “Agatha Macrow.” Elise spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “I am Elise Macrow, daughter of Lord Marcus, and I have summoned you on behalf of the Justicariate Magus Council of Lords, gathered here to testify regarding the fire at the Macrow House nursery and your death”

  “Understood.” Agatha’s response came in a clear soprano. She smiled gently, but did not speak more. Above all else, Hagatha knew as a necromancer herself, her mother would understand she could have limited time and energy in this space and should not waste any.

  Her hand involuntarily tightened on Melanie’s, who returned the squeeze. Hagatha blinked, trying to stop herself from crying. The JM wasn’t the kind of place you wanted to show weakness. While the mages were gathered together to protect their society from the outside world, Houses often waged bitter rivalries that necessitated forceful interference from the Justicariate Magus before innocent civilians got hurt.

  “What was your first observation?” Elise asked.

  “I was coming to the nursery to claim my daughter, Victoria, and you, to nurse the two of you,” Agatha said. “I hurried downstairs when I smelled smoke and sensed the heat. I heard Valonna’s laugh and saw her throw a fire spell, then run out of the nursery full of babes, accompanied by a man I did not know who was carrying two of the boy children.”

  Victoria! Hagatha’s heart thrilled at the name. Had they named me for the Queen? Her father, Alistair, had known her and been quite fond. She bit her lip and stopped herself from asking. This was too important to interrupt.

  “I grabbed Victoria and you, Elisabeth, and fled,” Agatha continued, her voice trembling. “I handed you both over to Moira, my maidservant, with every bit of jewelry I could quickly pull from my person and told her to run and not stop. I wanted her to hide the two of you away. I believed I could come and find you as soon as we settled whatever madness Valonna had wrought.”

  Hagatha’s breath caught.

  “Then I returned to the nursery intending to save more of the remaining babies, who were crying in alarm by then. Valonna and the stranger were back,” Agatha whispered. “I realized they had more children in their arms, and they were going to leave with them. I screamed at Valonna to halt.”

  “‘Bart, take them and get out of here!’ Valonna yelled.”

  Hagatha dimly heard the commotion. Her accomplice had to be Professor Bartholomew Thompson, hers and Elise’s old teacher and tormentor at the Justicariate Magus school. This proved the man got many of the gifted children he’d imprisoned on his “ranch” in Oregon from Magical Houses—and, better yet, he’d conspired with Valonna to do so. This would hang Thompson and no doubt add another death sentence to what Valonna had already racked up. She nearly jumped when Melanie withdrew her hand and realized she’d almost crushed the smaller woman’s fingers in her excitement.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed.

  Melanie nodded understanding and lightly squeezed her hand back. She’d had her own battles with Bartholomew Thompson. The man was in JM custody now, on a life sentence. Thompson had mind gifts, and he’d refused to crack under interrogation, but with additional witness, he might just testify and further incriminate Valonna in the vain hopes of saving his own worthless hide. Melanie had been instrumental in bringing Thompson in—she had a huge stake in this as well.

  Her mother continued. “I summoned magic I hoped would put out the fire. Then I yelled for help—and chased after the man, but Valonna was fast on my heels. I wasn’t fast enough. Valonna jumped me and dragged me into my bedroom, which was just down from the nursery. We fought. I got free of her and heard the sound of an engine outside. I thought to get some description of the car the man was leaving in and raced to the balcony. Valonna came right after me. Just as I saw the headlights, she struck me in the back, and I fell to the flags below.”

  Silence.

  “And that is how I died,” Agatha continued softly.

  Silence.

  Then the gathered audience roared in rage behind her.

  Lord Phoenix, the dark-haired Cajun head of the Pyromancy House, who was in charge of this meeting, smacked a gavel down on the table and commanded silence.

  “Lady Macrow,” Phoenix addressed her mother’s ghost personally, his Southern drawl particularly evident when he was under stress. “Do you have any notion why Valonna Macrow would steal away Macrow House babies?”

  “I do not, milord,” Agatha answered. “If Alistair or I had any notion that such a thing would happen, we would have placed guards on the nursery.”

  “Agatha,” Marcus’ voice sounded once the commotion of audience comments died down. “Both of the children you rescued live. Hagatha, please stand so your mother can see you.”

  Hagatha’s body trembled. She might not have been able to rise at all if Melanie hadn’t stood and practically pulled her to her feet.

  “Hello,” Hagatha managed to say as her mother turned her spectral face to her.

  She never realized a ghost could cry, but crystalline tears shone on Agatha Macrow’s face.

  “I–I am glad you are alive and well and reunited with the family,” Agatha’s voice trembled.

  Hagatha somehow managed to find her own voice, though her vision was so blurred with tears she could scarcely focus on the spectral image of her mother. “Cousin Marcus found both Elise and me when we were sixteen and brought us to Macrow Manor. I am well and happy.”

  Agatha Macrow nodded. “I loved you both well, and I am glad.”

  Her flickering image turned to Marcus, and she spoke in a language Hagatha had only heard Marcus use in spellcraft. Melanie had said it was a form of ancient Welsh Gaelic, the sounds a mixture of throaty Germanic and honeyed heather.

  Marcus replied in kind, his voice gentle.

  Agatha’s ghost wisped away like a dandelion puff in the wind.

  Hagatha sat down hard, scarcely aware of the commotion all around her.

  “When is Valonna Macrow coming to justice?” Those, and similar cries, rose from the gathered mages. It wasn’t just the woman’s own House who’d suffered
from her predations. Other children had been stolen. Other mages had died with no real punishment of Valonna. Every time the JM locked her up, she somehow managed to escape. She’d lie low for a while and then emerge, just when people believed they were safe, to wreak havoc once more.

  “She cannot be killed save by her own power,” Lord Phoenix repeated the oft-cited reason after he pounded the gathering once more to order with his gavel. “As soon as one of us is able to dispel the Myriddn’s blessing, we’ll end her.” He glanced down at a sheaf of papers on the table before him. “She’s facing six death sentences from the last two centuries. What, milords and miladies, is the verdict this time?”

  “Death,” every single one of the panel who answered said.

  “Death,” Marcus’ hoarse voice was the last to sound.

  “And Professor Thompson?” Lord Phoenix asked when the noise died down.

  “No! Valonna used me! I beg you!”

  Hagatha turned, hearing the man’s voice. He stood between two hefty bailiffs near Hagatha’s right. Her former teacher wore a helmet that did not permit him to use his mind-gifts to manipulate any of the gathered, and a sickly gray prisoner’s uniform hung on him. He’d only been in custody for a short while, and she knew he was fed and cared for, but clearly he’d not fared well. She didn’t feel any pity for the man. He’d held countless magically-gifted children under his spell for years.

  “Cast a truth spell on Professor Thompson, please,” Lord Phoenix commanded one of the Justiciars, who stood alongside the lords.

  The ebon-skinned woman stepped forward, speaking in a soft measured voice. She was one of the man’s own House of the mind-gifted. Thompson initially shook his head from side to side, trying to deny the magic, but soon he stopped, stared ahead, and commenced to speak.

  “I wanted to stop the purebred Houses. They had far too much control of the magical community, and my own would never consider me for a lord,” he said. “I knew Valonna was an outlaw, so I contacted her. She agreed to steal four of the best Macrow children for me, so I could start my own hybridization program on my ranch. I helped her set fire to the nursery. I took the babies away and didn’t know what happened to the girls I was supposed to have until they somehow showed up at the Justicariate Magus school for hybrids where I was teaching.”