An Unkindness of Magicians

by Kat Howard

  “To pay a debt, he said. I don’t know anything more than that.”

  “That helps,” Sydney said. “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lara was making eggs Benedict. At least, that’s what she was doing in the kitchen. In her head she was working through the steps of a new spell—a nastier version of the booby traps she’d loved as a child. Something she could use in a challenge if she needed to.

  And so it was an annoyance, but not a surprise, to check the water she was going to poach the eggs in and realize she’d neglected to turn the burner on.

  She muttered the spell to cook the eggs under her breath and snapped her fingers.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again, enunciating clearly and making the gesture as sharp and precise as if she were in school.

  Still nothing.

  She didn’t let herself think, just pulled open drawers, searched through cabinets. There had to be candles here somewhere, left over from a dinner party, or a birthday, or something. “Shit,” she said, and reached for the toaster where her English muffins were turning into charcoal discs.

  She burned her forearm on the toaster while yanking the cord from the wall. “Damn it!”

  “Lara, what is going on in here?” Miles paused in the doorway, taking in the mess.

  “Nothing!” She slammed a drawer shut, a purple taper in her hand. She spoke the word that should light the candle.

  It hesitated, sparked, caught. Lara was so surprised, she fumbled it. Another fast spell, and its fall stopped—paused in midair. She picked it up with her hand rather than risking another spell, and then blew it out.

  “I thought my magic was gone,” she said.

  “What happened?” Miles asked.

  She explained. “I guess it was just another failure, like in the challenges.” She watched his face carefully, looking for any hints of what Ian suspected.

  “I—” He paused. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m sorry—I’ve just remembered that I have a meeting.” He hurried from the room.

  Lara looked around at the mess and wondered what it meant that he was lying. And considered the fact that it was probably time to try out the other spell she’d been working through, the one that would bypass the biometrics on her father’s locked cabinet.

  • • •

  Shara walked the ruined halls of Shadows. They didn’t move; they didn’t change. She was used to the House holding its shape for her, but this was different. This felt like walking through a dead place, not a living House. There was no life in these halls. The breath of the House was ragged, irregular, its heartbeat slow.

  Shadows was fading, dying. Sydney—Shara’s hands clenched into fists, her nails cutting into her palms—had broken too much of it. She had unraveled its threads, left poison in its foundations. The corruption, the weakness was spreading. Shara could barely hold things together as they were, much less even dream of healing them.

  And as for the magic, the magic that was the very purpose of Shadows, that was flowing out like water. A trickle at first, but now she could feel the cracks in the dam. Things were close to breaking. Her footsteps echoed off floors that had held their same shape for days.

  Standing inside the doors was Miles Merlin.

  Anger rose, hovered just beneath Shara’s skin. “I was wondering when you’d bother to show up.”

  Merlin gestured at the scars on the walls where light leaked in, at the great doors, only barely rehung. “What exactly happened here? I thought there were systems in place to prevent this sort of thing.”

  “Systems that require the support of the Unseen World,” Shara said.

  “The Unseen World has always supported Shadows—our House has seen to that since Shadows was created. It’s why you’re here, and why I have my own responsibilities. We make sure there are rules in place so that the sacrifices are provided. We take their magic and bind it to the statue and make sure that it reaches the Unseen World safely.”

  “Your House,” Shara said, “not mine.”

  “House Merlin is proud of your service,” he said.

  “Cut the bullshit, Miles, and tell me what you want.”

  “Magic is failing—” he began.

  “And that is not the fault of Shadows. Tell me, how long has it been since you successfully cast a spell, Miles?”

  His face went blank.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t know?” she asked. “That you could stand in front of me here, of all places, and I wouldn’t know that you held no more magic than a mundane?”

  “I hardly expected you to be criticizing me for lack of power after you let this happen. How can I possibly support your desire to hold power in the Unseen World when you don’t even have enough power to maintain your own House here?” he sneered.

  “I really think we’re beyond the point of whether or not you’ll support me mattering. After all, if you can’t hold magic, you can’t hold a House. So it seems like we both want the same thing, big brother.” She stepped closer to him, magic held in her hands, visibly enough to remind him which of the two of them held the sort of power that mattered.

  “I don’t see how.”

  Even now, like this, he couldn’t keep his distaste from showing. She knew very well what he thought of Shadows, what he thought of her. A necessary evil at best. She knew better—he had nothing she didn’t give him. “You want your House. I want mine. Get me enough magic to rebuild Shadows, restart the spells, and then the Unseen World will have enough magic to never question yours.”

  “Done,” he said, and turned to go.

  “Don’t wait. I hear your daughter still has some big challenges to fight. I’d hate for there to be another failure of magic at a time when she requires it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The car glided to a stop outside of House Prospero. “You grew up here?” Harper asked.

  Madison scanned her card, added a tip for the driver. “What? No—only immediate family live in these places. I’m like a second cousin once removed. I grew up in a normal house.”

  Sydney had asked them to come. There was someone they needed to meet, she said. Someone who couldn’t go to the Wellington & Ketchum offices. “Or at least, not right now. She’s been through a lot. I’ll let her tell you.”

  Madison and Harper had just gotten to the top step when the door swung open. Sydney waited, barefoot and wearing snug black pants and a loose black shirt.

  “Very assassin-casual, Sydney. I like it,” Madison said.

  “Ha ha. She’s waiting in the back. Do you want anything?”

  “Coffee.” Harper nodded agreement.

  A chime rang. Sydney glanced at a mirror, the old-fashioned brass frame a pattern of thorned roses. “The House will bring it when it’s ready.”

  “The House?” Harper asked as they followed Sydney down a hall vined with ivy. “Is that what you guys call butlers or whatever?”

  “No, I mean the actual House,” Sydney said. “It’s tied to my magic.”

  Harper’s eyes widened.

  “Like I said, I grew up somewhere normal,” Madison said.

  “It likes to be helpful,” Sydney said. “The House. I’m still getting used to it myself.” She led them to a room with bright sun flooding the windows. A young woman stood, her back to the door, looking out. A hair too thin, shoulders braced, her left hand fidgeting at her side.

  “I’d forgotten how much I loved watching the birds,” Grace said. Harper’s eyes dropped to her hands. They were covered in a pattern of thin silver scars.

  “Madison, Harper, this is Grace Valentine. She’s—” Sydney looked at Grace.

  “I’m the woman Grey Prospero tried to kill three years ago,” she said.

  “We know,” Madison said. “Well, we didn’t know it was you we were meeting, but Harper found the file. The disinheritance. So you’re not totally unexpected. But—where have you been?”

  Coffee appeared on a side table, and Sydney poured while Grace t
old the other women her story.

  Harper listened unmoving, her coffee untouched at her side.

  “So I guess this means the binding on the disinheritance is officially broken. Or at least so loosened as to not matter,” Madison said. “However—Harper, what is wrong with you?”

  Harper shifted in her seat. “So, I did something, and, Madison, I think you might fire me for it. I took these two nights ago.” Harper took her phone out of her bag, opened the screen, and passed it to Madison.

  Madison looked at the first screen. “Is that what I think it is? Is that where I think it is?”

  “Scroll back further.”

  Madison did, and came to the picture of Grey naked in the bed. “Oh God.” She handed the phone to Sydney.

  “You’re not fired, but what were you thinking?” Madison asked.

  “That women were dying and no one cared because they didn’t have a lot of magic. If he’d killed Sydney—no offense, Sydney—but if he had, it would have been a big deal. Even killing her in a challenge would have been a big deal. But this? I read the description of what he did to you, Grace. I found Rose. No one cares, and even in Grace’s case, his disinheritance was supposed to be enough. I mean, fuck that—you got sent to what is basically hell for three years, and you’d still be there if it weren’t for Sydney. Meanwhile, he’s out picking up girls in bars. Sorry,” she said to Grace.

  “No, you’re right.” Grace nodded.

  “But economic consequences are enough in most cases. And besides, Wellington & Ketchum doesn’t have a criminal division in Special Projects,” Sydney said softly.

  Madison shot her a sideways glance.

  Sydney scrolled through the rest of the pictures, held out the phone. “Grace?”

  “No. I can guess what’s on there well enough.” She flexed her fingers.

  “You took these yourself ?” Sydney asked Harper. “I didn’t know you were a magician.”

  “I’m not. A friend—Alanna Valentine—made me a self-activating spell. It made him really . . . affectionate, and then really unconscious.”

  Grace laughed. “Alanna’s my cousin. She had a version of that spell in high school. She used it on the guys who liked to lie about the girls, or get pushy with them. She’d leave them naked on the lacrosse field.”

  Harper smiled. “I can totally see that.”

  “Still,” Madison said, “that was a big risk. If the spell had gone wrong—”

  “He killed my best friend,” Harper said.

  “Good fucking reason to take a risk,” Sydney said. “And I’m so sorry. Forward the pictures to me.”

  “Sydney?” Madison asked.

  “I am a special project. I have no problem being the entire criminal division besides. And as you pointed out before, we’re in the middle of a Turning. Things happen. Fortune’s Wheel does turn. I’m just going to help Fortune out a bit.”

  • • •

  Miles Merlin sat at his customary table at the Mages’ Club, watching as Sydney crossed the floor toward him, the doorman trailing like jetsam in her wake.

  “Miss! Miss! You can’t just—I’m sorry, sir. She wouldn’t listen.”

  “Mind if I join you?” Sydney slid into the chair across from him. “I hear you’ve been talking to a lot of people about me. Making up stories about me stealing magic, telling people that I shouldn’t be allowed to hold my House because of where I grew up. It’s almost like you think I’m not as good as you, which is so weird, considering how close your House is to Shadows. How much help you get from there.” She spoke clearly enough that interested ears from all over the club turned their way.

  Merlin waved off the doorman. “It’s fine. She can stay.”

  “Smart choice,” Sydney said, setting her phone on the table.

  “Obviously you have something that’s so important to say to me that you didn’t have time to be polite.” Merlin smiled, an indulgent parent looking at a misbehaving child. “I didn’t see the need to make you wait any longer.”

  She opened the phone to Harper’s pictures, angled the screen toward him.

  “Well, that’s certainly macabre.” He curled his lip in distaste.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Sydney left the picture up. “And rude—murdering people for their magic.”

  “Is that where those are from? Those poor women?” Exaggerated shock and horror.

  “Those pictures were taken in your good friend Grey Prospero’s apartment.” Her eyes were sharp as knives as she watched him.

  Merlin shook his head. “Grey would never—”

  “Cut the crap. He tried before. It’s what got him disinherited.” She paused. “Of course, you’d know that, since as the Head of the Unseen World, you would have signed off on the disinheritance.”

  “Did you come here to discuss the finer points of legal procedures?” Miles asked.

  “Not at all. I just wanted to let you know that I was aware of those fine points. Of all of the fine points of that case.” She waited for him to react, to show some regret over what he had done to Grace, or at least some fear at being found out, but the only thing on his face was annoyance.

  “Is there anything else you’re aware of, or can I go back to my day?”

  “Fine. I am also aware of the fact that there was outside interference in the Beauchamps-Prospero duel. You remember that one, Miles, the one where Miranda’s magic was stripped? And not just magical interference, but physical as well. Did Grey know you were going to push her, or did you just decide to help things along?”

  “Lower your voice,” Merlin said.

  “Yeah, I figured that would be the one that upset you. You people will allow just about anything, but outside interference in an active challenge is right out. If people learn you helped Grey, you could have your House unmade.”

  “I don’t control his actions.”

  Sydney leaned back in her chair. “I believe you. At least, I believe the precise truth you think you’re telling, because for all your faults, you’re too smart to say anything that would get you in that kind of trouble. So we’ll call Miranda water under the bridge. But what I would like to know is what you’re planning to do about this.” She tapped her finger on the screen of her phone.

  “Do about it? An action he’s already been punished for—rather severely—and some rather weakly supported accusations?” Merlin sat back, steepled his fingers. “Even assuming he’s done something that necessitates any action being taken, this is the Turning. Fortune’s Wheel will do what it must. I wouldn’t want to interfere in that.”

  “So nothing,” Sydney said. “That’s about what I expected. I just wanted to be sure before I do what I must.”

  “And what is that?” Merlin demanded.

  “I’m going to give Fortune’s Wheel a fucking push. You might want to consider getting out of the way. Or don’t—I wouldn’t want you to interfere.”

  • • •

  They met this time at the Alice in Wonderland statue. It had been Lara’s favorite place in the park when she was younger. “Do you remember when you made all of the caterpillars in the park crawl their way over here and have a tea party with you?” Ian asked.

  “I remember being grounded for a week after and forbidden from magic for two because I had drawn undue attention from the mundane world,” she said. “Dad was furious. Which—nothing’s changed there.”

  “What is it this time?” Ian asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “He’s mostly stopped talking to me, except to tell me what challenge is next. I’m fairly certain he’ll go after Sydney, though—he’s just trying to decide if he’s best served by going after her directly, in the hopes that I can actually beat her, or if he’ll challenge Prospero and try to knock her House out of play.

  “The smarter thing would be to challenge her House—I don’t have a good chance of beating you, but I have a much better chance of beating you than I do her—but he’s still thick as thieves with Grey, and I think he’s insi
nuated to Grey that if Sydney dies, he can make sure that Grey inherits.”

  “Can he?” Ian asked, letting go of the hypothetical in which their father forced them to try to kill each other.

  “I don’t think that’s really the point. I think right now he sees Grey as obvious and expendable, and a good way to deflect attention from people talking about whether Dad still has his magic. Grey’s out there telling everyone who will listen that the failures of magic are due to Sydney getting out of Shadows. It’s patently untrue, as nothing like that happened when Verenice did, but if Grey says it loud enough, it won’t matter if it’s true. People will believe it because it’s the easier story. I think Dad’s hoping Grey will be stupid enough to challenge Laurent and try to kill Sydney himself, and get lucky.”

  “He’d have to get very lucky to beat her, but Grey would be exactly stupid enough to think he could,” Ian said.

  “There’s one other thing.” She drew in a breath and looked at Ian. “Can you teach me to use magic the way you do?”

  “Sure. Of course. But—why now?” He had offered before, and she had never seemed interested. What she did worked, and Shadows was a necessary evil. He hadn’t agreed, but he hadn’t pushed the issue.

  “Because I lost my magic the other day.”

  “Oh, Lara, no.”

  She shrugged. “It was a temporary thing, and I got it back, but I think something’s seriously wrong. Maybe with Dad, maybe with the spell. I don’t know what. But he won’t tell me anything, and I still can’t get through that lock of his. I don’t need to worry that my magic’s going to cut out in the middle of a challenge. Or disappear altogether. And you and Sydney are among the few people who haven’t had magic fail.”

  “Of course I’ll help,” he said again. “Absolutely.”

  “I remember one other thing,” she said. “I remember you bought me Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland while I was grounded, so that I could pretend I was here, having tea parties. You’re a good brother, Ian.”

  “What else am I supposed to be?” He slung his arm around her shoulders, and they stood there, together.