An Unkindness of Magicians

by Kat Howard

  “See if you can find out if there’s anything I should know about Verenice Tenebrae.” Sydney wanted to trust her, but she also didn’t want any nasty surprises. Lawyers always knew where to find the nasty surprises.

  “Did you meet her?” Madison asked. “She’s like something out of a myth, escaping Shadows.”

  Sydney looked at her over the rim of her glass.

  “Okay, fair enough. I guess you are too. But what is she like?”

  “Strong. Maybe even mythic. But check her out for me anyway.” Sydney tucked money under her coaster and got up. “Breakfast next week?”

  “I’ll let you know if I can’t. And, Sydney, take care.”

  • • •

  In the early part of the Turning, things progressed in about the fashion Sydney had expected: Houses fought challenges meant to settle thirteen years’ worth of grudges, of slights over dinner and bad breakups. Informal alliances of Houses—both candidate and established—formed and broke apart and re-formed as the first hints of where power might shift to when the Turning was ended appeared. The Unseen World was full of secret meetings, shadowed negotiations, veiled threats, and contingent promises. It was an exercise in intrigue as blood sport, with remarkably little actual blood.

  And then, things didn’t go as expected.

  It might have been ignored, except one of the magicians involved was Ian. He was, as Madison had said, good gossip. Some foolish candidate House that under normal circumstances would have passed in and out of the Turning like fallen leaves challenged House Prospero. The duel was expected to be so unimportant that Miranda wasn’t even in attendance. Ian was casting first.

  “What’s the choice of magic?” Sydney asked. This evening’s challenge had far fewer formal trappings than most of the previous ones, even with House Prospero being involved. No champagne and canapés, no uniformed staff. Just a large open room in an apartment so devoid of personality it seemed staged.

  “Time,” Ian said.

  It was a complicated, ambitious choice. Sydney glanced at the candidate magician, who waited, blank-faced and collected. “I think I’m impressed. His choice or yours?”

  “His, actually. But I hope you won’t be too disappointed by what I do with it.”

  “Please,” Sydney said, “feel free to fully impress me.”

  Ian grinned.

  The challenge began.

  Ian reached into his pocket and removed a small brown kernel. A seed, it looked like. He set it on the table and began counting backward from midnight, naming the hours and all their fractions. As he spoke, the seed sprouted green, the green stretched into shoots, and then into canes. He continued to count. The canes burst into thorn and leaf and then into bud and bloom. The scent of roses filled the room.

  Ian stopped counting. He said another word, and the ticking of clocks rattled the air. The rose unbloomed. Faster and faster it happened, neither petal nor leaf falling, just the plant pulling back in on itself.

  The clocks stopped. Only the seed remained.

  As the watching magicians applauded, Ian handed the seed to Sydney. “It will grow if you plant it.”

  “I’ll buy a container.”

  The other magician, Hawkins, began his casting.

  Perhaps thirty seconds had passed when Ian’s attention sharpened. He walked over to Hawkins. Stopped. Walked one full circle around him, staring at his hands, watching them jerk and reshape themselves. One of Hawkins’ fingers dislocated with an audible pop.

  “Are you able to halt the progression of the spell?” Ian asked.

  Hawkins shook his head wildly, his hands still moving, the words of the spell still pouring from his mouth. Blood dripped like sweat from his temples, leaked from his eyes and ears. Another finger dislocated.

  Ian spoke clearly, addressing the waiting crowd. “There has been an error of magic. House Prospero forfeits this challenge until such time as it can be proved that the error was in the magic, and not in the magician, and a null result declared.

  “The rest of you, unless you want to watch this man bleed out, go home.”

  Had it been anyone other than Ian, the assembled crowd probably would have ignored him and stayed to watch, as Hawkins, caught in the grip of a horrifically misfiring spell, died. But it was Ian, and it was House Prospero that had just forfeited, and if the error in magic wasn’t proved, that would count against their rankings, and there was such gossip to be had. And so they left.

  Sydney stayed. “With your permission, I’d like to see if I can help.”

  Hawkins nodded frantically. He was no longer able to speak. His teeth were clenched so hard Sydney could hear them breaking. She raised her hands on either side of Hawkins’ face, and the shadows in the room drew closer. She hummed a low note. Cut it off. “This is . . . What is happening to you, it’s not because of magic. It’s an absence.” And beneath that absence, the same clawing hunger she’d felt in the magic in the Angel of the Waters. It settled on her like dread. “It’s an absence that is acting like a . . . I don’t know, a black hole. It’s pulling your magic through. It will . . . it will pull until there is nothing left. Until it uses you up. I am so sorry.”

  Ian swore and looked away.

  “I can ease your passing,” she told Hawkins, her voice kind.

  Hawkins nodded.

  Sydney’s words were soft and low, a lullaby.

  Hawkins’ eyes closed, his body still fracturing itself, but his face was at peace. He shuddered out a breath, then coughed up a gout of blood. His flesh dissolved, rising up in a hissing, foul-smelling smoke, leaving only his bones behind, a fallen heap on the floor.

  Ian punched the wall hard enough to split the skin on his knuckles. Pain flared through his hand and into his wrist. “What a fucking waste.”

  “Is there any part of this that isn’t?” Sydney asked. “Never mind. Rhetorical.”

  “If he had cast first—” Ian began.

  Sydney shrugged. “Probably still the same result. You don’t use the same magic. Which, if I hadn’t known before, I’d be sure of now.”

  Ian’s face went blank.

  “Your nose is bleeding.”

  Ian dug into his pocket for a handkerchief. When he looked up, cloth pressed to his nose to stanch the bleeding, Sydney was gone.

  • • •

  Sydney sank down into the bath, the water—as hot as she could bear it—flushing her skin. It hadn’t been a shock that the Turning involved death. There would be a time when death was the entire point. But the sensation of Hawkins just stopping beneath her hand . . . There was a wrongness there that was offensive. It was, as Ian had said, a waste.

  Water sluiced from her fingers, down her arm, as she reached for the glass of wine she’d left on the edge of the tub.

  She hadn’t known Hawkins. Wouldn’t in other circumstances have cared about his death. Had she faced him on the opposite side of a mortal challenge, she would have killed him without thinking twice. But she couldn’t rinse the bitterness of what had happened to him from her mouth.

  The spell that had killed him was a horror, one that went beyond the horror already woven into the magic that came from Shadows. It wasn’t a failure of magic, not really, though surely that’s what it would be ruled for purposes of the Turning. It was a gorging on it.

  Whatever she had felt was hungry, and she was certain it was not done feeding.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Madison looked at the résumé on her tablet and then again at the woman sitting across from her. Late twenties, maybe thirty, she thought. Neat, professional dress. Shoes that were interesting enough to suggest personal style, but not so much as to give the senior partners the vapors. Dark hair worn fashionably short, just on the office-appropriate side of punk.

  All of which mattered much less than a strong résumé to go with the person, which there was—NYU Law with honors, a Seventh Circuit clerkship, currently employed at a solid mundane firm. But still. Sometimes her department attracted unusual candidates.
The last guy she’d interviewed had no red flags in his CV, and yet had shown up in “wizard’s robes.” Said robes had resembled nothing so much a purple satin quilted bathrobe. True wizards, he had explained into the silence of her shock, only wore robes, and also wore nothing but their robes. He offered her proof.

  He had not gotten a callback.

  Today’s interviewee, thankfully, appeared much more promising. “Ms. Douglas. Madison Prospero—nice to meet you. This says you’re applying for our Special Projects Division.”

  “I’ve been in Trusts and Estates at Alexander, Harad, and Hill for a little over two years now. It was time to let the wheel turn,” Harper said. The cadence of her voice changed as she spoke, overemphasizing the last four words.

  “There really needs to be a better identifying phrase,” Madison said, and laughed. “I always feel like I’m in the parody of a spy movie instead of interviewing someone. But since you knew it, I assume you’re also able to demonstrate some ability.”

  There were three basic spells used for testing. Lighting a candle, levitating a small object—usually a pen in an interview setting—or casting a blooming flower illusion. Most mundanes who were willing to work very, very hard could learn to cast one of them adequately—something to do with will and focus rather than true magical ability. But the tests weren’t there to screen out non-magical people—they were there for the same reason the awkward pass phrase was: to know it, you had to have been taught by a member of the Unseen World. It was proof you knew enough to belong, at least on the periphery.

  “I can light a candle,” Harper said, sitting straighter in her chair.

  Madison placed a white votive on her desk and moved a stack of papers to the floor. “Nothing personal. But I had a candidate miss the candle and send an entire file up in flames once.”

  “Did they get the job?” Harper asked.

  “We never finished the interview—it scared him so badly that he left. He does securities work for a fully mundane firm now. Nice guy.

  “Are you ready?” Madison asked.

  Harper nodded and stared at the candle. Drew breath in and out of her lungs. Placed her hands on the desk and carefully spoke the words of the spell.

  The flame sparked once, twice, then caught. Harper reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, pressing against the headache that was already beginning to bloom. “I promise, I’m a much better lawyer than I am magician.”

  “The test is just to confirm that you really do know what you’re getting into and that I can be confident letting you get into it. Trust me, if I need magic, I’ll call a magician. Normally, I’d ask you to come back for a second interview, but it’s a Turning—basically a mandatory and sometimes fatal magical status competition—and so nothing is normal right now. Everyone is redoing wills and switching their financials, and there have been three divorce filings just this week, and I’m pretty sure two are going to stick. We’re absolutely swamped with extra work. Your résumé is stellar, and you seem like someone I could work with, so the job is yours if you want it.”

  Harper clenched her fists in her lap. “I do. Very much.”

  “Great,” Madison said. “It’ll be boring at first—basically, the first thing I need is someone who can deal with all of the mundane stuff I’ve had to push to the side.”

  “I understand,” Harper said. “I have to close out a couple of files, but I can be here on Monday.”

  “You’re a lifesaver.” Madison stood up from her desk and held out her hand. “Welcome to the Unseen World, Wellington & Ketchum branch.”

  “Thanks,” Harper said, and shook.

  It was still early, not yet noon, so instead of going home, Harper made two stops. The first, at a florist’s, for a bunch of sunflowers. Then she took the train far past her usual stop, out to Woodlawn Cemetery, to Rose’s grave. She laid the flowers against the headstone. “I wanted to tell you that I miss you and that I got one step closer today. A real step. I’ll find him, Rose. I promise.”

  • • •

  Laurent pushed open the heavy door of the Art Deco building on the Upper East Side. A white-gloved attendant waited inside. “Are you a member, sir?”

  “I’m not, but I’m the guest of one. Laurent Beauchamps to see Miles Merlin.” The atrium’s ceiling was three stories high, an embossed pattern of geometric shapes decorating it. The walls were dark green, and all the fixtures were rubbed brass. Everything designed to imply prosperity and power by a decorator with no imagination. Or a decorator who realized their clients had no imagination.

  The attendant scanned the screen of a tablet, then gave a short nod. “Very good, sir. Mr. Merlin has already arrived. Please follow me.”

  Laurent was mildly disappointed as he was led over the black-and-white marble chessboard floor of the Mages’ Club. He’d thought a private club for magicians would be more interesting than a private club for Fortune 500 types. So far, the two seemed indistinguishable.

  “Mr. Beauchamps. So pleased you were able to join me.” Here, again, the impression was of a prosperous businessman, albeit one in a suit that showed more style than the surroundings. Merlin’s tie and pocket square were almost the same shade of silver as the lion’s mane of his hair.

  “Thank you for the invitation. And please, call me Laurent.” Laurent offered a smile and a polite handshake. He hadn’t been surprised by the invitation. Sydney had said this was what would happen, this open door into the back halls of the Unseen World, and he owed it to Grey—and to himself—to take it. If Miles was the person who held the most power, it was important to take his measure in person.

  “Then you must call me Miles. A drink?” Merlin settled back into the rich leather of his wing chair and signaled a discreetly waiting attendant.

  “Bourbon, neat.”

  “We do allow smoking here as well, if you’re a cigar man,” Merlin said.

  “I’m not, but don’t let me stop you from indulging. This seems like an excellent establishment.” This room, too, was high-ceilinged, dark wood and brass. Thick patterned carpets placed at precise intervals on the polished wood floor and leather-bound books shelved in the walls. Laurent wondered if they were actually read, or if they had been bought by the yard because the bindings matched the décor. He murmured a quick spell that would let him read the titles from this distance: Springtime for Poets; Boll-Weevil Eradication: Best Practices; The Proceedings of the Congress of Vienna. Definitely unread.

  Only a few other men sat in the club, mostly at their own tables, everyone maintaining a respectful enough distance to allow the illusion of privacy. There were no women to be seen, not even as staff. Hard to tell if it was an officially segregated establishment, or if the lack was because—even now—so few women held Houses. The Unseen World could be as small-minded in its conception of what power looked like as the mundane one it shadowed, and Houses still almost always passed from father to son.

  Those sons also seemed largely absent today. This was a room where “young” meant anyone under forty-five, and where the bulk of the men were sixty or older. Laurent saw only one other person he recognized from school. All of the besuited men were white.

  He’d asked Grey once: “So if this is the Unseen World, why is it so small?”

  “What?” Grey looked blank.

  “I mean, it’s just a bunch of people from the city. All of you live in the same few blocks, pretty much, and I’m the only new guy since I don’t know how long. Aren’t there other magicians anywhere?”

  “Sure. But this is how we do things here, and since we’re here, this is what matters.”

  It had been an unsatisfying answer at fifteen and had grown even more so in the years since.

  “My home away from home,” Merlin said. “I’d be delighted to put you up for membership at the end of the Turning.”

  “If I’m ranked high enough to be able to establish a House,” Laurent said. “There’s still a lot that could happen.”

  “Even this early, it seems an
outcome worth betting on. That girl you hired is quite something. I’ll bet she’s fun to work with.”

  “Sydney is an extremely gifted magician, yes.”

  “Of course, of course. I didn’t mean to imply anything untoward,” Merlin said, in a voice that suggested that was precisely what he had meant to imply and that he was a bit surprised Laurent had caught on. “Obviously, you’re to be commended for finding her. That’s the kind of strategic thinking I like to see, knowing who to hire to get things done. We could use more of that sort of thinking among the Houses. Too many traditionalists who think there’s only one way to go about things.”

  “I hadn’t realized hiring a champion was so novel. House Prospero does the same. Other Houses as well,” Laurent said.

  “Well, yes, but no one knows where your girl came from.” Merlin leaned forward just the slightest bit, in anticipation of being offered a secret. “There are so many rumors.”

  “No one knew where I came from either. It’s worked out okay for me so far,” Laurent said.

  Merlin smiled and nodded, a politician performing approval. “That’s certainly true. Though, really, where did you find her? Is she also an outsider? Did you know her in your mundane life?”

  “She answered an online posting.”

  Merlin barked out a laugh. “No. Really?”

  “As you pointed out, I’m new here. Not a traditionalist. I issued an open call, and I liked her response.”

  “Really. And you hired her just like that?” Merlin asked. “Without knowing anything else?”

  “I didn’t need to know anything else. What I did know is she did the most powerful piece of magic I’ve ever seen for her audition spell and didn’t even break a sweat doing it.”

  “Well, I’m just sorry I didn’t find her first. Another drink?”

  Laurent looked deliberately at his still-full glass and stood up. “I’m afraid I have a social engagement this evening. But thank you again. I do feel this was a very useful meeting.”

  “Likewise. We should do this again—maybe even with Sydney next time. If she’s going to be part of this world, I ought to get to know her.” Merlin’s practiced smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.