An Unkindness of Magicians

by Kat Howard

  “You’ve just lost your magic and your House. You’ve found your daughter, who probably wants very little to do with you and is currently risking her life on a regular basis. Tea is not the appropriate beverage for the occasion.” Verenice sipped at her porcelain cup of whiskey.

  Miranda sat down, eyes blank. Then she picked up her cup and tossed back its contents.

  Verenice refilled it.

  “Why did you come to visit me?” Miranda asked.

  “Because I remembered a conversation we had, years ago, at your husband’s funeral. You asked me about Shadows, which seemed an odd topic of conversation given the setting, but then you asked if I thought anyone else could make it out. People do tend to find things when they go through papers, and as you had just taken over as Head of Prospero, well, I wondered. And now I know, so I wanted to see how you were.

  “How are you, Miranda?”

  Miranda cut the whiskey in her teacup with tea, then sipped, each movement pulling the veil of control back over her. “I was happy to learn that Sydney’s alive, of course. I am happy that she continues to be so. The rest of everything will sort itself out.”

  Verenice was certain there was more—how could there not be, as this was not at all a situation that would simply sort itself out—but she recognized the words of a woman who had shared all she was going to at that moment. “Also, I’m here because if I know the Unseen World, no one else will have visited.”

  “Oh, a couple have tried.” Miranda straightened the edges of her sandwich and centered it on her plate. “Miles Merlin, to gloat. The Dees, for the same reason. All the fun of a funeral, except with a living subject. I wouldn’t see any of them.

  “I suppose that’s the good thing about all of this. I never need to be polite to some sycophantic ass again.” The corners of her mouth approximated a smile.

  “If you’re through being polite, why did you let me come up unannounced?” Verenice asked.

  “Because of Sydney.” And here the carefully crafted facade began to break. “Because I want you to tell me that Sydney will be all right. That what happened to her, in there, that it won’t matter.”

  Verenice set her cup down. “I suppose that depends on what you mean by all right. I still have nightmares, for example. It took me almost a year after I got out before I stopped hearing the screaming every time I closed my eyes. There is a great deal of screaming inside Shadows.” Her voice was distant, meditative. “And, of course, she’s not free yet. Not all the way. She’s still bound to the service of the House until she’s used enough magic under its direction that it agrees she’s paid off the debt incurred by living there.”

  “The debt?” Miranda asked. “But she didn’t have a choice.”

  “That doesn’t matter. We were taught. Trained. Housed. And so we owe. I assume the end of the Turning will see her free—her service to Shadows in the course of it involves a lot of big magic in a short time. That’s providing that she survives. Which is not a given—aside from the risks inherent in a Turning, the House may order her to lose.”

  “To lose?” Miranda, horrified. “That would kill her. Why would they want that?”

  “Because it would serve the House.” Steady, implacable. “And until we are truly free, we can do nothing that does not serve the House.”

  Tears gathered in Miranda’s eyes.

  “You asked because you knew I wouldn’t lie,” Verenice said. “And it’s unlikely that Shara would waste her in that fashion. But not impossible.

  “To return to your original question, I survived everything I was asked to do, and most days, I like my life, so I suppose I am ‘all right.’ You can decide for yourself if that’s enough to assuage your guilt.”

  “Do you think Sydney will like her life?” Miranda said, her teacup forgotten in her trembling hand.

  “I think,” Verenice said gently, “that I’m not the one you need to ask that question.”

  “She won’t talk to me. Not really. She’s like a stranger.”

  “Miranda. Can you blame her?”

  Miranda pressed her lips together until they went white. The teacup rattled as she set it down. “If you’ll forgive me, I find I need to be alone. But I am deeply grateful to you for visiting.”

  “If you like,” Verenice said, “I could come by again.”

  “I would like that,” Miranda said. “Very much.”

  • • •

  Sydney agreed to meet, but only if she could choose the location. “The Met. The Temple of Dendur.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Any particular reason?” Ian asked.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  As he walked in, he was struck again by the fact that it was—the quality of the light through the glass, the calming stillness of the reflecting pond, the grace and antiquity of the Temple. He joined Sydney on a corner at the water’s edge, leaving careful space between them.

  “I’m prepared to release you from your obligations to House Prospero,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to look at the contract specifically, but I will obviously make good on any financial debts the House owes to you for your service thus far in the Turning.”

  “I have no desire to be released from any obligations I might owe you,” he said. “And it wasn’t a financial contract. I serve as champion of House Prospero in the hopes that doing so will put the House is a position of enough power at the end of the Turning to break the Unseen World’s relationship with the House of Shadows.”

  A flicker of expression crossed her face, the subtlest thing. On anyone else, it would have been the equivalent of jaw-dropped shock. “I see.”

  “You know, I’m sure, that House Merlin helped found the House of Shadows,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “It is not something my family is only passively involved in. It would have been bad enough, if that were everything. But Shara—Shara is my aunt.” His hands went to the scars on Sydney’s hands and arms. She left them uncovered now, as everyone knew who she was and where she came from, but his shame would have given him a lens to see them even through makeup.

  “She’s the one who required the challenge to House Prospero,” Sydney said. “She knew that you were its champion. What she wants—what she’s always wanted—is power. And not just the sort of power she has now, over life and death and pain and suffering. She wants power where she’s seen. She thinks that as the Unseen World would not function as it does without the House of Shadows, Shadows should lead it. She sees this Turning as a way to make that happen.”

  “There’s something else you should know,” he said, ignoring that his aunt had ordered his probable death. It was among the least of the things she was guilty of. “Lara and I both strongly suspect that Miles is in the process of losing his magic, if it’s not already gone. And she knows that he was at least part of the interference in our duel.” He explained what Lara had told him.

  “I suspected it might be Grey,” Sydney said. “He’s made it quite clear that he thinks Prospero should be his. He might’ve thought Miranda was the only thing in his way.”

  “But why would Miles help him?”

  “Shara would find that useful. She’d trade him,” Sydney said. “Magic for power. With neither of them knowing who I was, Miles could have pretended to promise Prospero to Grey, and meant it to go to Shara in exchange for access to more magic.”

  “Is that even possible?” Ian asked. “Giving him more magic, I mean.”

  “Of course. It’s only a variation on the spell that already exists. Make that stronger, increase the number of sacrifices, pull more magic from them—there are ways. There’s always a way. The only limit is what people are willing to trade to get what they want.”

  “I want Shadows ended,” Ian said.

  “House Prospero is pleased to accept your ongoing service.” Sydney rested her hand on top of his for just a moment. Three breaths, no more. Just long enough to acknowledge all that was said and unsaid, in
this room full of history.

  • • •

  Shara sang as her knife scratched across Grace’s radius. No lyrics, just Shara’s voice, rising and falling in counterpoint to the scratch of the knife, to the blood that dripped to the ground, that sank into the floor of Shadows and disappeared. It was not a particularly soothing melody.

  The song paused. The knife continued its work.

  “I could train you,” Shara said.

  “If the House wills.” The expected answer, so little choice in giving it that it meant the same as Shara’s wordless singing.

  “I’ll need help.” Shara dropped Grace’s left arm and picked up her right. The knife slid in just before the cluster of small bones in the wrist. “There will be more sacrifices, a stronger House.”

  Grace’s gorge rose, and she bit hard at the inside of her mouth, forcing her lips together. She could not speak, could not react, did not have the option of screaming her rejection, of vomiting her sickness at the thought.

  “There is power to be found here.” Shara finished her work and cleaned Grace’s blood from her knife. “Consider what I offer. That will be all.”

  On her way back to her room, Grace stopped before the House’s doors. She held her hands up—almost, almost touching them. Soon, she promised herself. Soon.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sydney sat next to Laurent at his kitchen table. “Like I told you before, when you first started doing magic, before you were part of the Unseen World, before they got you in school and changed what you did, you were relying only on your own power, not what came from Shadows. Which means you can learn to go back to that.”

  Laurent drummed his fingers on the table. “Good. I mean, I’d miss having magic, you know? I don’t know if I’d even remember how to be a person without it. But I won’t use something that comes from hurting people. I can’t, not and live with myself.”

  She nodded. “The first thing I’m going to teach you to do is break yourself of the habits that the Unseen World taught you. Think back—what’s the first thing you do when you’re setting up a spell?”

  “It depends on the spell, really. Sometimes it’s knowing the words, and sometimes you build in gestures, or there are pieces that you can set up in advance—”

  She cut him off. “I don’t mean that. I mean the very first thing, the thing that’s no different from spell to spell.”

  “Oh, you mean the focus,” Laurent said. “I don’t even think about that anymore. It’s like breathing.”

  “Then yes,” Sydney said. “That’s exactly what I mean. That’s what you need to get rid of. How did they teach it to you?”

  Laurent tipped back in his chair, eyes half-closed. “This takes me back. Freshman year. Ms. Elizabeth Dee’s Elements of Magic class. I was in there with a bunch of really little kids—I was an outsider, so I had to learn the basics way after I would have if I’d been born here. It was annoying because I was with these, like, kindergarteners, but it was also kind of cool because Ms. Dee was cute, and she let me borrow her comics. There was this whole series about magic keys. . . .” He trailed off.

  Sydney looked deeply amused.

  “Moving back from that tangent down memory lane before I fully embarrass myself, she said that it should feel like reaching for a connection. I was supposed to imagine that I was stretching out my hand, and then someone else, someone strong, holds it. I could pull as much strength as I want through that other hand as long as I was holding it.

  “Grey used to give me such shit about it, because when I was first learning, my left hand would do this straight-fingered jazz-hands sort of deal at my side whenever I was starting a spell.”

  “Okay.” Sydney nodded. “That’s good. We can work with that. We’ll start with relearning some spells that don’t require any hand gestures. Stand up and put your hands in your pockets.”

  Laurent did.

  “Pick a spell that’s easy for you and not likely to burn down your apartment if you do it wrong.”

  Laurent nodded. “Levitation. I’ll use the oranges in the bowl.”

  “Good. Now, think only about that spell. Not the focus. Don’t reach your hands for anything. And cast.”

  She could see him tremble, see him fight to keep his hands in his pockets, not to reach out for magic that should never have been his.

  Laurent spoke the words of the spell, and one orange rolled from the bowl and landed on the table. He watched it in silence until it stopped moving. “Wow. I mean, really, wow. With power like that, I can’t believe I didn’t try to represent myself. Float cars—hell no. I can roll oranges.”

  “I know,” she said. “Everything is weak and awkward right now, but those things will both improve—it’s not an indication of weakness inherent in your magic; it’s just part of the process of relearning. And you did it. You cast your own magic without reaching out for what comes from Shadows. How do you feel?”

  “Like I have a headache coming on, but nothing bad.” He rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, shook out his hands.

  “Okay. Let’s keep trying.”

  By the end of an hour sweat dampened Laurent’s hairline and his shirt. By the end of two hours he was shaking. “And the headache is full-blown.”

  But also, by the end of those two hours he could reliably levitate an orange out of the bowl. He could control the height it rose to and set it gently back down again. He could do all of these things without reaching for the magic from Shadows.

  Sydney filled a glass with water, handed it to him. “I know it seems frustrating. Like you’ve taken a huge step back and only baby steps forward. But you are doing great. And it will get easier every time.

  “It means a lot to me, the most, that you’re doing this. Thank you.”

  “I’ll keep practicing on my own. Now that I know it’s about not reaching for the focus, I can keep this up. Try different spells,” Laurent said. “It’s kind of a good feeling, headache aside, to know that I’m doing this completely under my own power.”

  “Talk to Ian, maybe,” Sydney said. “He relearned his magic too—he might have better advice than I do, since he knows what both versions feel like.”

  “Thanks. I will.” He picked up his phone to enter the note in his calendar, then clicked his other notifications. He stared at the email he’d just opened. Refreshed the screen. Read it again, because surely it had to be a joke, or at the least a mistake. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Oh, I bet I will,” she said. “There’s been a challenge. I’m surprised it took this long.”

  “You’re right, but how is that even possible? I mean, honestly, if it were me, I’d want to stay as far away from you as possible. Before all that shit happened, it was clear Ian was toast, and it’s not like anyone sees him as a pushover,” he said.

  “Fortune’s Wheel keeps turning.” She paused. “If anything, you’re likely to get more challenges than otherwise, now that I’ve stepped into things at Prospero. Word is out that I came from Shadows, which makes exactly no one comfortable. The people who didn’t like Miranda will consider whether they can hurt her by coming after me, which may mean that they come after me through you. I won’t hold you to the contract, if you want to terminate it.” It would be tricky, this late in the process, but there were circumstances—misrepresentation, malfeasance—that would allow Laurent to get out of his contract with her and maintain his status in the Turning.

  “Is there a magician who can beat you?” Laurent asked. “Because as far as I can tell, there isn’t.”

  “In the right circumstances, anything is possible. Under expected conditions, no.”

  “Not even Ian?”

  “I thought you said he was clearly toast.” She raised a brow.

  “Sure, but the desire for vengeance can do funny things to a guy.”

  “I appreciate the concern, but I forfeited to Prospero after Miranda was injured, which means House Prospero officially won. Even if I wanted a rematch, completed
challenges can’t be refought. So I think I’m in the clear there.”

  “Then no. I’ll let you out of the contract if you think working for me is too risky, but I’m not terminating it.”

  “You’re stuck with me, then,” she said. “There’s no one else I trust to keep you safe. And I’m not done yet.”

  He wasn’t at all sure she was only talking about the Turning. “Okay. I’ll send the challenge over. Deal with it however you want. That includes forfeiting, if you’re sick of all this bullshit.

  “And speaking of challenges, I know this might not matter since you have a House now and can make them yourself, but if you ever need to challenge anyone—you know, because you have some sort of plan or something going on with all of this—just let me know. I’ve got your back.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Sydney said. “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The great Houses of the Unseen World, the buildings that bore the names of the families who lived in them, were more than just constructions of wood and stone, brick and mortar. Suffused with magic, they were themselves ongoing spells. The doors that opened only for blood members of the House were just the beginning. The older Houses, the ones that had seen generation upon generation, developed further magical links with their families. It was rumored they could even reshape themselves according to the desires of the people who lived within them. House Prospero was one such House.

  Sydney had wanted no part of that. “I have an apartment,” she had told Madison. “It’s nice. You know it’s nice because you helped me find it. Here are some of the things I like about it: Except for you and Verenice, no one knows where it is. It doesn’t talk to me, or fetch my food, or fucking redesign itself when I’m not looking—I had more than enough of that in Shadows. Also, did I mention that no one knows where it is?”

  “Look, I’m not the best person to explain this to you, but from what I’ve been given to understand, ‘holding the House’ is one of those things with hidden layers. You must formally introduce yourself to the House, and you must visit on a semi-regular schedule. Or it stops being yours.”