Shattered by Magic

by Rebecca Danese

  “Permission to search the house, Miss Banks,” I ask, looking at Jer and pointing to the floors above.

  “As you’ve got the button camera, that’ll be fine, Curtis, but wait for Crossley to take the butler first. And take Jer with you if you’re going to go off galavanting.”

  I smile at him before wandering to the back of the building to let Crossley in, who’s stubbing out his cigarette as I do.

  “Well, what do you know? A successful field trip. We’ll make an agent out of you yet, kid,” he says, grinning and giving me a high-five.

  “Bloody hell, what’d you do to him?” he says when he sees Mulberry’s face, which is already starting to darken with bruises under his papery skin.

  “I, er, lost my temper,” I reply, rubbing my knuckles.

  “I see. And what has Buxton been training you to do these past three weeks?” he says, narrowing his eyes. I know he’s only asking because he already knows the answer.

  “Not lose my temper,” I mutter.

  “Well, I’ll have to tell him you need to go back to school. Anyway, well done, lad. Not every agent can say they bagged their first target after only two months on the job. Banks, I hope you’re sending the ambulance car,” he says into his earpiece.

  “Of course. Be with you in 90 seconds,” she says flatly. The ambulance car, as I’ve discovered lately, is just another ATU car disguised as ambulance transport. It helps when you are pulling injured people out of buildings to at least look like you’re taking them to the hospital and not, in fact, to a secret government facility. I smile mirthlessly at how much my life has changed in a matter of months. This time last year I wouldn’t have had a clue about any of this stuff.

  “I’ll take it from here, boys. You go and see what you can find upstairs, and I’ll get Lou to pick you up in fifteen,” Crossley says, before dragging the limp form of Mulberry back towards the alleyway.

  “Lou’s going to be pissed that she missed out on the action,” Jer jokes. His girlfriend isn’t usually one to skip out on a mission, but Miss Banks is wary of her using her power in public spaces. Her temper comes a close second to mine, and as she can push forcefields out of her fingertips, it makes sense that she’s on chauffeur duty today. None of my Augur friends have one of these new licenses that allows them to legally use their abilities, so we have to be careful.

  We take the stairs up to the first landing and hope that the Duke hasn’t been letting out his town house to make some income on the side. Somehow I doubt it, but we knock politely anyway. When there’s no reply, I gesture for Jer to pick the lock, and he obliges this time, pulling out the tiny set of lock picks he keeps handy. The door opens inwards and reveals a dark corridor beyond.

  I turn on my phone’s torch and shine it into the darkness, illuminating a single door at the end.

  “Smells like magic,” Jer whispers to me. It’s helpful that he can sense other Augurs when they’ve been using their abilities, although he can’t always tell who it is unless he’s familiar with them.

  “Any idea whose?” I whisper back.

  “Not sure yet. Let’s see what’s through there.”

  He takes the lead and turns the door handle slowly. The room beyond is dusty and very un-Duke-like in that, rather than antique furniture and opulent décor, it’s filled with dusty computer equipment. The low hum of electricity resonates through the room, and I reposition the button camera on my jacket to make sure it’s taking it all in. I run a hand over the computer towers and screens, tapping a button on a keyboard and finding one of the screens wakes up at my touch.

  PASSWORD: _ _ _ _ _ _

  The word blinks on an old MS_DOS computer system that is probably older than I am.

  “You getting this?” I ask my earpiece.

  “Yep. I’ll send a team to pick it all up and bring it back to the IT lab at HQ,” Miss Banks replies in our ears. “Maybe it will have some clue to unraveling what the Duke is up to,” she adds.

  “This seems to be the only room on this floor,” Jer says, looking back down the empty corridor. “Want to check out upstairs?”

  I nod in reply, quashing any thoughts that Ella might be here. The house feels empty and dead, much as I hate to admit it.

  The second floor has far more doors than the lower level, and we find a bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom before reaching the last room. There’s been no signs of life or anyone living in the house so far, and I wonder what was so important that Mulberry would take the risk to come all the way here. I ask as much aloud, and Jer shrugs.

  “Maybe the computers are more important than we realise?” he replies.

  “Or maybe there’s something in this last room that will answer that question for us,” I muse. Suddenly I feel uneasy and hope that whatever it is will pass, gripping the door handle in a sweaty palm and slowly turning it.

  The door opens into a large living room with dark leather armchairs and a flat screen TV on one wall, but it’s bereft of any signs of life. That is, until someone grabs me from behind and rips the front of my jacket open. I swing round, ready to punch first and ask questions later, but am caught off guard by the sight of two piercing blue eyes and a determined expression behind thick-rimmed glasses.

  “Agnes?” I say breathlessly.

  She holds a finger up to her lips and dangles the button camera that she ripped off my jacket in front of my face. She places the disconnected lens in my hand and gestures for me to turn off my earpiece. Ella’s sister isn’t to be trifled with, and I cooperate, glancing at Jer, who mirrors my confused look.

  She gestures for Jer to leave the room and makes a few confusing signs with her hands before ushering him out the door, but I can hear him on the other side.

  “Sorry Miss Banks, we seem to have run into some interference up here. Curtis’s equipment isn’t working,” he lies smoothly.

  “What do you want, Agnes?” I whisper fiercely when I’m sure we won’t be overheard.

  “Charming,” she replies, glaring at me between her furrowed brow. She’s dressed the same as always, with a long skirt and cardigan, a raincoat hanging over the back of the door to dry. Her ash blonde hair, duller than Ella’s, is scraped back in its usual bun with flyaway strands sticking up out of it. The only thing that really reminds me of her sister are the blue eyes they share. They’re a little different in shade, but the shape and sharpness behind them is the same. Tightness spreads over my chest as she examines me from across the room. She’s the closest reminder I’ve had to Ella since she was taken from me, and the pain of her being gone is suddenly as fresh as though it were yesterday.

  “Well?” she asks, while I struggle to regain composure.

  “Well, what? What do you want me to say?” I keep my voice level in spite of the emotions coursing through me.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she sighs, pulling at the bobbles on her cardigan, “how about, ‘nice to see you, Agnes. Sorry about that time I ran away and took Ella with me, putting her in direct harm and in the sights of the Magic Circle. Sorry I didn’t listen to what you said. How have you been?’ Something like that.” She gazes intently at me, waiting for my temper to flare, no doubt. But now I remember my training. I couldn’t keep it together in front of Mulberry, but somehow I can manage in front of Agnes. Maybe because I know she’s always had Ella’s best interests at heart. We’re not on opposite sides, really. I mean, apart from the time when she tried to have me separated from Ella right before she was kidnapped.

  “Excuse my manners,” I reply coolly. “How have you been?”

  “God, Curtis. I think I liked you more when you were a nervous wreck fawning over my sister. What have they done to you?”

  I shrug. She doesn’t realise it’s taking all of my willpower not to shout at her or punch something.

  “You cut your hair,” she states more than asks. I nod and rub a hand over my scalp absentmindedly. “You grew some muscles, too.”

  “I’ve been training, learning to fight, trying to keep my cool.�
� I almost smirk. “What have you been doing? I mean, you haven’t spoken to me since that day at Lorenzo’s club,” I say, recalling how she’d shared her apocalyptic vision of London in flames with the Gregorio boys, before having me carted off, in an attempt to keep me away from Ella.

  “I’ve been busy trying to help Lorenzo. Things are...complicated out there. Besides, you’ll need backup soon enough, so I’m just paving the way to save you the trouble later.” Typical Agnes. She sees the future and then puts five different plans into place to try and counteract her visions. I never can tell if what she does makes any difference to the outcome, because she never tells anyone.

  “Have you seen Ella? In your visions, I mean?” I ask, and the thought crosses my mind that she might know where Ella is, or at least where she’s going to be.

  She shakes her head sadly. “The only vision I’ve had of Ella is the same one you’ve already seen. It changes a little from time to time, but the outcome is always the same,” she says sadly.

  The vision of Ella standing over a London in flames, cradling my dead body, has been the subject of many of my nightmares, and I wince at the reminder of it. Everything we were doing was an attempt to stop that vision from coming true. In an effort to stop the Magic Circle from using Ella’s powers to bring the city to its knees, we played straight into the hands of the Duke.

  “I need her back, Aggie,” I say softly, not bothering to disguise the emotion in my voice.

  “And she needs you, you silly Normal,” she says, not unkindly.

  “She’s pregnant,” I say almost inaudibly. I’ve not told anyone else, and other than the good Dr. Lindhurst at the ATU, no one else knows. It seems surreal to say it aloud. I haven’t even told Jer and Lou yet, the fear of her losing the baby too great for me to even talk about. I know, from the little information I’ve gleaned from the internet when I’ve been alone at night, that the first few months of pregnancy are the riskiest. Ella being smuggled away and held prisoner certainly wouldn’t be a good start for our child. Our child. I shake my head. “She’s pregnant as far as I know, anyway.”

  Agnes looks surprised for a second, before masking any further reaction, and shakes her head. “I thought that might happen.” She sighs and takes a few steps towards me, her face only reaching my chest but managing to make me feel intimidated all the same.

  “You will get her back, Curtis. For better or for worse, we know that you’ll end up together. You have to believe that.” I’ve never managed to pierce Agnes’s impenetrable barrier that she puts up between herself and the rest of the world, but for a brief moment, I can see the woman that has helped to bring up the girl I love. I nod, momentarily overcome with emotion.

  “Have you had any visions about...about the baby?”

  Whether or not she’d tell me is another thing. Agnes doesn’t take kindly to being asked directly about her visions.

  Instead of replying, she shakes her head. I’m not sure how to feel about that, but the emotion that wins is sadness.

  “For your sake, Curtis, I ask that you try and forget about it for now. I’ve no illusions that you are key to the better outcome of what is about to happen, and the last thing you need is an added distraction,” she says mysteriously. “But, you silly goose, you must stop working for these ATU people. It’s no good, you running around like some kind of ridiculous James Bond wannabe.” Just like that, the moment is over.

  “I can’t just walk out of there. They’re helping me look for Ella and the Duke. Doing a better job of it than I would on my own,” I add, worried at how defensive I sound.

  “Did she tell you who this house belongs to?” Agnes interjects. She’s always done that—asking questions and picking up entirely new trains of thought mid-conversation. I would find it infuriating, but I think I catch her meaning this time.

  “Miss Banks? She said it was one of the Duke’s properties. That’s why it’s been under surveillance for the past few weeks.”

  Agnes shakes her head emphatically. “Nope. I mean, perhaps that’s what it says on paper, but the only person who has come and gone out of here other than Mulberry is Edward Clarence.”

  My stomach does a somersault at the mention of his name. The Duke and my aunt’s son, the product of an unhappy marriage. The first time I met him, he was double-agenting between his father’s Society of Augurs and the Magic Circle. He’d tried to warn Ella of the Duke’s hunger for power, but of course we walked right into his trap more than once anyway. The last time our paths crossed, he was posing as the new leader of the Magic Circle, looking as high as a kite, and more out of control than before, hunting for Ella himself. But that was over two months ago and all before I found out we shared a thin connection on my Dad’s side.

  “Did Marco tell you about that, too?” I ask, almost fearfully.

  “That you’re related? Yes. He explained that your aunt turned out to be Edward’s mother, and the whole sordid story of the love triangle between her, the Duke, and Munday. It’s certainly a shame she’s invisible, but it explained a few of the visions I’d been having,” she says, without further clarification. At least that particular skeleton is out of the closet. Being related to the Clarences, even if tenuously through my paternal grandmother, has been a bit of a revelation, and one I’m ashamed of more than anything.

  “If Mulberry was here, do you think he’s working with Edward?” I ask, suddenly worried that Ella is already in the Magic Circle’s hands.

  “Mulberry is a peculiar man, but he’s loyal to the Duke to a fault. More than likely there is something on those computers that he wanted, but I’m sure you’ll have the chance to ask him yourself now that you’ve arrested him.”

  Is it my imagination, or did she just sneer when she said that last bit?

  “Well, this has been nice,” she says curtly, knowing full well it hasn’t really been nice at all. “We haven’t much more time.” I hear a scuffle on the landing outside and look at her questioningly.

  “Oh damn, I thought he’d give us another few seconds,” she says, mildly irritated. I hear Jer shout something from behind the door and turn to grab the handle, but Agnes places a firm hand on my arm.

  “Don’t trust the ATU, Curtis. And watch out for Munday,” she warns.

  “Munday? But he’s in prison,” I reply, frowning. The former Civil Defence Minister almost responsible for my death last year has been put in a hole so deep I didn’t think he’d ever get out.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Curtis! Little help!” Jer calls from outside the room. The door bursts inwards, and a man dressed in what I can only think of as a chauffeur’s outfit barges in, holding Jer by the font of his shirt.

  Agnes gives us plenty of space while I aim a well-placed low kick to the back of his knee, forcing him to let my friend go. My elbow smashes into the side of his head, disorienting him long enough that Jer can recover and pull out another small syringe of tranquilliser. The driver lashes out, punching Jer in the throat and forcing him to drop the small dosage on the floor, the two of them diving over the back of one of the sofas. I’m torn between scrambling after the syringe and stopping Jer from being at the receiving end of another blow, but I take option two after only a moment’s hesitation, realising that if the driver is armed, then we’re screwed. I jump over the sofa to find the two of them tussling on the floor of the lounge, and only when I try to pull them off each other do I realise how strong Mulberry’s chauffeur really is. There are thick muscles hidden under his smart, black jacket, and he bats me away like I’m nothing more than an annoying mosquito.

  “This guy is as strong as a bloody wrestler,” Jer gasps as he narrowly dodges another punch to the face. I yank the man off him and attempt to hold him in a headlock, pulling his head back so that he loses his balance. “The syringe!” I shout as Jer leaps over the sofa to retrieve it. Too late. The chauffeur manages to shift his weight and bends over, throwing me over his shoulder to land painfully on the coffee table. The wind is knocked out of
me, and little black spots swim around my vision, followed by an enormous fist aimed straight for my nose. My reactions aren’t fast enough, and as I prepare to feel the crunch of knuckles against my face, instead I’m jolted off the coffee table by an unseen force. The brightly lit room goes dark for a moment as the lights flicker above my head, just as my assailant is thrown in the air and against the flat screen TV on the wall before thudding to the floor. In my dazed state, I can only think of one thing: we’ve got company.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Can I leave you two alone for more than five minutes without you getting into trouble?” I hear Lou complain from the other side of the couches. I stagger upright, groaning at the protests from my muscles. My back took quite a hit against the hard wood table, and I think I might be bleeding under the layers of clothing I’m wearing.

  “We managed a whole hour, babe,” Jer says apologetically, rushing over to give me a hand. Lou picks the abandoned syringe up off the floor and marches over to the unconscious chauffeur, injecting him in the neck.

  “Can’t be too careful,” she says to his motionless form before turning to us. “Agnes, it’s been a while. How’s things?” she says airily, as if she hasn’t just rescued us from a severe beating at the hands of the unnamed chauffeur-come-bodyguard.

  “It’s been eventful, Lou. But I’m afraid I have to go before I draw any attention to the fact that I’m missing.” She doesn’t elaborate, and I look to Lou to see her raise an eyebrow.

  “Lorenzo’s running a tight ship, is he?” She crosses her arms over her chest, and I notice Agnes shuffle uncomfortably. Lorenzo Gregorio owns an Augur-exclusive club in Northeast London and also happens to be Agnes’s old boyfriend, although I still find that hard to get my head around. The lean, tanned Italian with the chiselled jaw and the small, wiry woman in front of me, who dresses like an 80-year-old, don’t fit together in my head. But love is weird.