Argentum (P.A.W.S. Book 2)

by Debbie Manber Kupfer

  They walked towards Miri’s old building. Anticipation was building inside Miri as she approached. Maybe soon she’d have an answer. When she reached the building, she gasped. It was completely boarded up; the windows and doors all closed up, and everywhere signs were posted, “Scheduled for Demolition.” How could that be? She had just been here a few days ago. Miri looked at Danny.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. She realized she would likely never be able to talk to the old crone now, and certainly would never see Jenny. They took the subway back to Central Park in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

  “I think I want to go home,” said Miri, once they were back in Central Park. “Back to St. Louis. There’s nothing more I can do here.”

  Danny reluctantly agreed. He was enjoying being in New York, and not looking forward to going back and having to face Quentin and his mother, but still he could see it meant a lot to Miri.

  So the next day after breakfast, they packed up and returned to Port Authority for their Greyhound trip back to St. Louis.

  For most of the journey back, Miri slept. Her dreams were full of discordant images. She saw the old crone giving her the book, but then she would turn into the mangy calico street cat. She would follow the cat around a maze of streets, calling out to her, but the cat would never look back.

  Finally, Miri would be lost and alone in a strange place. It grew dark, and all around her she could see the glow of eyes watching her. Then the scene would change. She would be on the steps of her old apartment building playing fairies with Jenny, but as they played, Jenny slowly began to change. Her skin took on a green tone and tiny wings appeared on her back.

  “Fly away with me,” she said.

  “I cannot fly,” said Miri. The fairy laughed and began to twirl and dance and suddenly she was gone, and Miri was left alone on the steps and the building was boarded up and awaiting demolition. In the distance, she could see the bulldozers getting nearer and nearer. She touched her charm, desperately trying to change and flee, but nothing happened. Miri screamed.

  She woke abruptly. Danny’s fingers were soothing her, stroking her hair.

  “It’s okay, Miri,” he said. “It’s only a dream.”

  After that, she tried to keep herself awake and her thoughts away from the images that had filled her dream. She stared out the window, watching the cars on the highway. Danny seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Miri wondered if he was thinking about Demonica. She knew he hadn’t really wanted to leave New York, but since Miri’s second trip to the Lower East Side, she’d desperately needed to get out of there. The answer to her puzzle was no longer there; maybe it would be in St. Louis.

  Chapter 36

  The years spent at the P.A.W.S. Institute in New York were the happiest of Jessamyn’s life. She leapt into her studies, both magical and mundane, her appetite for knowledge insatiable. Her teachers loved her, and for the first time in her life her illusions were not looked upon with distaste, but encouraged and admired. She overheard staff marvel between themselves over what she could do. And she was proud.

  One day for the hell of it, she bought a picture postcard of New York and sent it to Cleona. On the back, she signed it “Jessamyn” and added a tiny image of an eagle. She imagined her mother getting the card; at least she would know she had survived. She wanted her mother to watch her in her scrying bowl, to see what her daughter had accomplished. Jessamyn knew she would never go back to Ireland.

  In her later life, when Jessamyn herself had become adept with the scrying bowl, she often watched Cleona. Watched her skin wrinkle and her hair whiten. Watched her sicken, and a young healer from the mainland come to her side and help with her passing.

  “Goodbye,” whispered Jessamyn.

  At eighteen, Jessamyn graduated from P.A.W.S. During the years of her studies, Quentin remained her mentor and her friend, but now as she became a woman, their relationship finally progressed beyond friendship. They found a small apartment overlooking the park. During the day, Quentin would go out into the city. He’d found some kind of work, he said. Jessamyn realized later that she should have been suspicious, but at the time she was young and so much in love that she trusted him, believed completely in his sincerity.

  Did it ever occur to her that he still didn’t age, that by now he must have depleted his supply of potion? She rarely considered it, enjoying her own life so much. Enjoying the freedom that the city of New York and her magical powers gave her. The two of them talked occasionally of marriage and children, but that felt a long way in the future and first there was so much to explore.

  Still, eventually, Jessamyn became restless and took to visiting P.A.W.S. each day while Quentin was out at work. She started helping the librarian, Maybelline Ainsworth, and at the same time continued her studies, exploring the vast magical library at P.A.W.S.

  When the illusions teacher, Gemma Mims, retired, Maybelline recommended Jessamyn for the job. Jessamyn was in her mid-twenties by that time and a formidable magician. She loved teaching, and students flocked to her classes. Each week she would change the look of the classroom, and students were never sure on Monday morning when they walked into Jessamyn’s class, whether they’d be walking into a desert, a snowy wasteland, or a rich green and brown forest.

  Jessamyn would have her class dissect her illusions and learn to recreate them themselves. True, there was never a student that possessed her level of mastery, but many learned to fashion butterflies out of napkins in the dining room that would flutter restlessly among the tables, much to the annoyance of the kitchen staff who had to use butterfly nets to clean them up.

  When Jessamyn turned thirty, she revisited with Quentin the idea of marriage and children. Quentin seemed nervous when she mentioned this.

  “Just a little more time,” he said, “a few more years.”

  Disappointed, Jessamyn didn’t push it. He loved her after all, and in any case, she thought, how would she balance taking care of a child with her teaching duties at P.A.W.S?

  Over the years, the library in their small New York apartment had grown. At the back of one of the high shelves, they still kept the book, the one that contained the Teg. These days, Jessamyn thought more and more about that book. She was getting older, yet Quentin still did not seem to age. If she could stop the clock, or at least slow it down for herself, then maybe they would truly have a lifetime to have children. She’d been very young and foolish when she had first succumbed to the Teg. Her magic had not yet fully developed. Today, she was a formidable force. Surely now she could control the fairy.

  Carefully, she opened the book. It fell open at the page with the picture of the Green Fairy staring back at her. It seemed to be inviting her. She remembered there had to be a potion and a spell to invoke the fairy, and this time she would lay defenses in the form of protective wards. Maybe she could capture the fairy in a ring and contain her. She’d read about such spells. No, she wouldn’t be rash this time. She would take her time and study what she needed to know in the library at P.A.W.S.

  There were a couple of flaws in her plan, though. Quentin had selected her initially for her innocence. This she had lost many years ago. Also, the original spell was cast at the site of the ancestral home of the Teg. Jessamyn was unsure if it was possible to invoke Stella in a place that was not already connected to the Teg.

  But Jessamyn was the mistress of illusion, and over the months, her plan came into fruition. She would recreate the castle ruins in her classroom at P.A.W.S. She would disguise her essence with those of her young students. The spell itself would have to take place on a weekend, when the classroom would be empty. It was a simple matter to place “do not disturb” wards on the classroom door to prevent anyone entering. One day would probably be sufficient for her spell, but just in case, she told Quentin that she was going away for the weekend, with some of the other faculty. Quentin looked at a little sad when she told him she was to be away, and she realized that actually they hadn’t been apart even o
ne night since they flew away from Ireland together so many years before.

  She tried to convince herself she was doing this for both of them, that if they were both immortal they would at last be equals. She felt her biological clock ticking; if only she could slow down that clock. She didn’t understand why Quentin, so many years after he had left Alistair, still didn’t age. Maybe he’d consumed so much potion in the early years that he was truly immortal?

  She had to be very careful when constructing this spell. She did not want Stella to take over her body this time. Rather, her plan was to capture the Teg in a fairy ring, to bargain her freedom in exchange for a spell to slow down the clock.

  That night after she bid her last student goodbye, she carefully prepared her wards and sealed the classroom door shut. Then she began crafting her illusion. She closed her eyes and visualized the island on which she had spent her childhood. Saw the jagged coastline, the fields of purple flowers, and the village where her mother still lived.

  She imagined the beach where she had first met Quentin. She opened her eyes and inhaled deeply. The coastal air smelled exactly as she remembered it. Her illusion was perfect, a masterpiece, the best she had ever created. And suddenly she was sad. She would likely never see this beautiful land again in her lifetime.

  Jessamyn began to sing a song she remembered her mother singing to her when she was young. Years later, she would sing the same lullaby to Danny.

  “Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,

  Which I gaze on so fondly today,

  Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,

  Like fairy wings fading away.

  “Though wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,

  Let thy loveliness fade as it will;

  And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart

  Would entwine itself verdantly still.”

  Her song enhanced the magic. Every part of her was now ready to perform the spell to bring forth the Teg. Yet she lingered, unsure that she wanted to continue. She clearly remembered the strength of the Teg, trying to take over her young body. Was she really strong enough to fight it? Or worse, would the Teg laugh at her, think her damaged property that she had no interest in being part of.

  To her left was a pool of clear crystal water. Cleona, she remembered, had sometimes used it to perform spells when she had been far away from her scrying bowl. If you peered into its depths, you could see that it appeared to be lined with a silver layer, a layer of argentum. Jessamyn knew she shouldn’t do this, but the urge was too strong. She took out her wand, passed it over the pool, and whispered Quentin’s name.

  He was sitting at their kitchen table eating a sandwich and drinking a can of beer. He had a book open on the table and was reading. He looked up briefly, as if he could sense he was being watched. Jessamyn wanted to call out to him, or else abandon this foolhardy spell and return to him, but no, she had worked so hard to get to this point. She stirred the waters in the pool and banished the vision of Quentin.

  There was one more illusion she needed to put into place before she could begin her spell. Now she used the waters of the pool as a looking glass and carefully used her wand to adjust her own appearance, so that after many minutes the reflection gazing up her was of the childhood Jessamyn that had summoned the Teg so many years before.

  But she knew from her reading that changing her physical appearance alone would be unlikely to fool Stella. Now, with her silver scepter, she gathered the essence of the young girls who, just a few hours before, had been sitting in this classroom. Some she rejected, they had already lost their innocence, but a few were still pure enough for the Teg. These essences she incorporated into herself, or at least into the illusion of herself she was creating.

  She climbed the hill, following the same path that she and Quentin had taken that day. At the summit, she sat in the ruins of the ancient castle. She took two items out of her inside pocket. One was the book and the other was a small bottle of green liquid sealed with a cork. The potion was important to the spell. It had to be brewed slowly over a number of months and stirred only during the full moon. It had been hard hiding it from Quentin. He was, after all, an alchemist and may have recognized the potion.

  Carefully she uncorked it; inside the liquid bubbled. Steeling herself, she gulped down the potion. It tasted sweet and sickly, but she kept it down. The potion would bind her temporarily with the Teg, but only for the time it was in her system. It was one of the reasons she had insisted on a whole weekend here, to make sure the potion had exited her body.

  She opened the book and began to recite the words on the page beneath the picture of the Teg. She had practiced the spell and the ancient language flowed easily from her lips.

  “Yr wyf i, sydd yn ddiniwed, galw enw’r Gwyrdd Tylwyth Teg fel y gall hi ddangos i mi ei chyfrinachau.”

  As she completed the spell, a strange warmth started to fill her body and all around her a mist began to rise, and within the mist the Teg began to take form. She looked as Jessamyn remembered her: a vision of green, an expression of glee on her face.

  She smiled when she saw Jessamyn. “Ah, my new host, welcome, welcome. Stella is so happy to meet you.” Jessamyn gripped her silver scepter as the Teg came closer and peered at her with its beady eyes. “But, haven’t we met before young lady? This cannot be. I feel the essence of the innocent, but you do not appear to be innocent.”

  “How so, Mistress Stella?” asked Jessamyn. “You must be mistaken. I am indeed innocent.”

  “Something is not right. Stella smells magic. Stella doesn’t like trickery. Come, let me touch you my dear, so we may merge.” Jessamyn mouthed the words she had prepared. The words to activate the potion she’d imbibed. The potion would allow Stella to enter her for a short while, for just enough time for Jessamyn to obtain Stella’s secrets.

  But the Teg only entered for a moment and then withdrew. Anger was written on her face.

  “You try to trick Stella, the greatest of all the Tegs? Shame on you, magician! You will pay for your deception. Stella doesn’t like tricksters. Oh, no! Stella always gets her revenge. But not yet; Stella has an eternity to find a new host—a young and innocent host. Stella can wait, but you can’t, can you? Your body is ticking. Tick, tick, tick. So what if I give you a present? A little potion of Stella’s own creation. Go on, take it! Just a few drops for you and a few drops for him, and a baby will come. Oh, I do hope it’s a girl! Stella can wait . . . but not for too long.”

  Suddenly the air in the room became electrically charged and Jessamyn found herself falling. And then everything went black.

  When she came to, the illusion was gone and so was the Teg. But lying on the ground was a small vial holding a green liquid that shimmered with silver. Jessamyn picked it up and placed it in her pocket and went home to Quentin.

  She was surprised to discover, when she made it back to the apartment she shared with Quentin, that it was now early Sunday morning. She had blacked out for over twenty-four hours. Quentin was still snoring loudly in their bed, and after storing away the vial in the very back of the medicine cabinet, Jessamyn undressed, snuggled up to Quentin, and fell asleep.

  She dreamed about the Teg.

  “Stella hasn’t left you,” she said. “Oh, no! Stella will wait. One day you’ll use the potion, and if you have a daughter, she will be mine.”

  Jessamyn woke up in a cold sweat. Quentin was still asleep by her side.

  “Just a dream,” she whispered to herself.

  The vial of potion stayed in the very back of the medicine cabinet. Jessamyn tried to forget about it. She stopped asking Quentin when they could begin a family. She still desperately wanted a child, but saw that he did not and thought that maybe, considering her encounter with the Teg, that was for the best.

  A week before her fortieth birthday, Jessamyn looked in the mirror. Without her illusory makeup, she looked older than Quentin now. Her body ached for a child. Was it worth the risk? Maybe she
would ask Quentin one last time.

  “I thought we talked about this,” he said. “We are both too busy for children. Who would take care of a baby?”

  “I could take leave from the Institute,” replied Jessamyn, “then maybe later we could get a babysitter.”

  “But, you’re nearly forty . . .”

  Jessamyn burst into tears and ran from the room.

  On the eve of her fortieth birthday Quentin took Jessamyn out to a fancy Italian restaurant. The food was wonderful and the wine kept flowing, but Jessamyn was sad. By the end of the meal she had made her decision. She’d analyzed the Teg’s potion once and knew what it did. The potion would nullify the contraceptive spell that Quentin so carefully put in place every time they made love.

  They walked home slowly, hand-in-hand. The evening air was chilly and Jessamyn offered to make hot chocolate when they reached their apartment. With shaking hands, she added a few drops of Stella’s potion to each of the cups.

  The steaming chocolate was intoxicating and their lovemaking after it, long and luxurious, and Jessamyn knew that they had made a child.

  She expected Quentin to be angry when she told him, but he looked at her with sad eyes, and muttered that he hoped it would be okay.

  Jessamyn enjoyed her pregnancy. She sang to the baby stirring inside her womb. She continued teaching her classes, but set up a replacement for after the baby was born. She would take a year off to care of their child. Quentin’s alchemy brought in enough money. She tried not to think of the Teg, and in any case she felt sure she was having a boy. She already had a name for him—Danny, her father’s name.

  The doorbell rang. Jessamyn waddled to the front door. She was almost eight months pregnant now and in the last couple of weeks had morphed into a hippopotamus.

  The man at the front door was tall, with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes.

  “You must be Jessamyn,” he said. He spoke with a slightly European accent. “I am an old friend of Quentin’s. May I come in?”