Of course, one of the most important questions was just what the future held for this lovely man. With his magic, was it even safe that he return to the null world? Had his undiagnosed abilities somehow sent the train off-track? Technology and magic were not always happy bedfellows—even if 19th-century engineering could barely be defined as “technology.”
Leaving this question for now and rising to join him, she pointed toward the door. Her grandfather simply raised an eyebrow before retreating, clearly seeing her plans.
“There’s someone we need to go see together. We’ll talk on the way.”
Frederick nodded but put off her plans when Nat joined them, staring at her uncertainly. “We haven’t actually been introduced.”
Emma let out a sigh. She suspected the informalities of their acquaintance so far were a true strain on his nature. Being from his era must be a ridiculous pain.
“This is Natalie Wetherby, Frederick.”
She was calling him by his first name, and he could like it. She didn’t enjoy being distanced from him, a little proprietorial—which was a disturbing sensation. She had to wonder whether there weren’t some remnants from the lume-noir still in her system.
Realizing something else, she added. “And I’m Emma Goodwinter. I suppose I’m your host, if you’ll have me.”
There were many different meanings to her words, but she was trying to ignore their most inappropriate ones.
Thankfully, he simply nodded at her. “Thank you.” He seemed as though he were going to formally introduce himself and had to visibly pull himself back from it, and she decided he was learning quickly. “Where do we need to go?”
Sighing, she pointed toward the door. Afraid it might prove too much of a shock, she didn’t want to tell him. Before they got there, she could ease him in with some of the rest of his current reality.
Or maybe, she realized, she was just being a coward.
“A relative.” She didn’t say whose.
Staring curiously, he seemed to catch this omission but did join her, as she walked away.
Leading him down the road which they had previously taken to the house, he again seemed fascinated by the topiary which dominated the front yard. She couldn’t entirely blame him.
It was nine feet tall and 20 feet wide—a depiction of Hecate walking seven panthers. A traditional symbol in the magical part of Salem, the seven cats represented the seven, most-established branches of magic.
Moving slightly, the yew figures had been given their sort of half-life by the talented arbor witch who had created them. She wouldn’t be surprised if it disturbed him. She assumed it was the sort of thing which would give the mundane world nightmares.
It was a comforting symbol to her, though, and she would have liked to explain it to him—but she thought it a bit much for a first conversational foray. Especially if he were from the mundane side of Salem, he would have very bad associations with the word “witch.”
Of course, this was a problem, since she was one. Even if she were well on her way to becoming a sorcerer, she didn’t think him any more likely to be soothed by that fact.
She kept trying to think of somewhere to begin but was interrupted by his question. “You say I’m your guest, Miss Goodwinter, but won’t your father mind the intrusion?”
Her confusion clearly showed.
“Or will he simply take it as a way of helping out after the accident?”
This left so many twisted conversational threads that she wasn’t certain where to begin to straighten them out.
“I think there are a few basic questions I need answered, before I can try to address any of that.”
Walking on, she wanted to talk to Natalie silently but was a little afraid he might hear. She only had legend and rumor to guess what such a formidable, untrained power could do.
“Can you tell me what year you come from?”
Seeming slightly amazed, he shook his head as if to clear it, and she knew this was hard for him. She wanted to put her hand on his arm but was too aware that her main motives weren’t entirely pure.
“1884.” He paused, looking out on the lawn, gaze worried. “I’ve come quite a way, haven’t I?”
Nodding, she took his arm—telling herself it was merely sympathy and a need to soothe, which was partly true. “Well over a hundred years and to the other side of the magical barrier, yes.”
By several decades, really, but she decided not to get too specific, taking things slowly. Even finding out that he was in the twentieth century might have blown his mind. The 21st was probably the stuff of . . . did they have science fiction in the 19th century?
Trying to deal with the basics, she chose one at random. “We don’t refer to women by ‘miss’ or . . .” She was at a loss for a moment. “What is it you call them if they’re partnered?”
Natalie brightened up. “Ms.!”
But Frederick looked at her, obviously confused.
“Oh—oh! Mrs.!”
The poor man was staring at her as though she were mad.
But we’re all quite mad here, Emma thought.
Lewis Carroll—now there was a mundane with some true understanding of the magical world.
He answered cautiously. “If she’s married, yes.”
Married. She let out another long sigh at the term. This would be like trying to teach a null two-year-old Higher Disapparation.
“We don’t quite have marriage, in the way you think of it.”
Lost, he stared at her, and she folded his arm closer to her, trying to give him strength.
“We may partner with someone, although there are different schools of thought . . .”
Stopping, she stared at her friend. “Oh, Nat.”
“I know,” she answered, taking the man’s other arm. “I’m afraid there’s going to be quite a bit of culture shock for you today.”
He just stared at her. “Culture . . . shock?”
Seeing that they were getting nowhere, Emma moved in front of him, putting her hands on his arms. “Frederick, may I do something which will help you understand? I won’t mess with any of your thoughts, but I can at least help you comprehend what we’re saying more clearly.”
Predictably, he looked uncertain, and her gaze deepened.
“I would never tamper with your mind.”
The uncertainty reigned, but he did nod.
Smiling at him, her hand rose. “Think of it like a translation progra—. . . never mind.” She touched his forehead.
Blinking, he seemed lost in thought for several long seconds, but he did finally make little sounds of understanding. Then, he looked at her. “What on earth is a computer?”
Patting his arm, she didn’t answer but decided they might be getting somewhere—even if, apparently, there was only so far her mental dictionary of 21st-century English would go. It would have been easier, if she could just magically transfer all the knowledge of their world to him—but that was pretty much the exact definition of “tampering with his mind.”
Taking his arm once more, she led him along. “I think there are more pressing matters, just now.” Starting with what she had wanted to tell him before but in a new way, she hoped he understood. “As I’m certain you’ve come to understand, Frederick, we are witches. Not only have you made a vast leap in time, but you’re among a different type of people entirely.” She glanced at him. “And it’s a little difficult to know where to start.”
He gazed at her, and she wanted to believe there was something tender there. “What were you saying about . . . partners?”
Smiling, she knew she might like to tell him quite a lot but settled herself down to the essentials.
“There are two schools of thought on that in Salem.”
He looked around himself just slightly, uncertain, and she amended.
“Well, our Salem, anyway. The more conservative view is that people should be partnered on their status.”
Apparently, he comprehended this too thoroughly, and sh
e corrected him.
“Our magical status, you understand. That’s what determines your place in society here.”
Seeming to take this in, as much as he could, he nodded.
“That’s what our yearly balls are for. Those of partnerable age who wish to participate will go and show off their magic. Then, those of similar status will be placed together. They or their families can decide whether to continue the partnering after that.”
He nodded, and she supposed this wasn’t all that different from the world he had come from—although, there, it probably didn’t all come down to one ball. She had often wondered whether that tradition in the null world had been influenced by their own.
Looking worried, he pressed her on. “And the less conservative view?”
Trying to trace back to where to begin, she smiled. “That started a few hundred years ago when some people noticed that those partners who disliked each other often had more trouble with their magic. Take my grandmother and grandfather, for instance. You wouldn’t know it from seeing them now, but they both apparently had a great deal of magical potential once.” She sighed. “Now, as you’ve probably seen, most of it’s gone. Gloria and Benjamin can’t even stand to be in the same room together.”
He paused for a second, stopping both of them, as well. “Benjamin is . . .?”
Her own blank stare returned to him. “My grandfather.” Witnessing his incomprehension, she shook her head. “Who did you think he was?”
“A butler,” he answered honestly, clearly bemused—and she realized for the first time that not all the culture shock was going to be his.
Letting this go, she moved him on. Her grandparents’ tale was too long to go into just now.
“Anyway, some witches believe there’s sort of a magical drain which happens when people don’t partner for love. They even believe that love can enhance magical prowess.” She shrugged. “Of course, Salem’s a very conservative place, but much of the magical world outside it has already embraced the idea.”
Looking to him, making certain he was following—as much as he could be expected to—she blushed slightly at the way he gazed at her. Refocusing on the street, she tried to rein in her various inclinations.
“Even the Magical Council has made it official policy.”
She liked the idea, personally, but changed the subject when she suspected he was about to ask further, as she didn’t feel like making a flow chart of the entire magical world.
“Anyway, that’s one of the reasons we don’t use terms like Miss and Mrs.—or Ms. or Mr., either.”
He looked confused.
“They don’t convey the important information.”
Apparently, her explanation had cleared up very little, her guest seeming lost. She decided to press on with what he really needed to know. If he cared to, he could ask about the rest later.
He already did, though, his uncertainty obvious. “What do I call someone, then?”
She shrugged. “Well, I’m Emma, and she’s Natalie, so there’s that solved. If it’s a normal person you don’t know well, and you’re feeling uncertain, you can just use their last name, although almost everyone’s comfortable with just the first. If it’s a woman who’s the head of a family, you can refer to her as Distaff. If it’s a man who is, call him Spear.”
Of course, this left aside a huge debate about gender neutral and trans terms, but, Salem being what it was, most of that had gone nowhere yet. Besides, she really didn’t think someone from a time as gender-stratified as the 19th century was in any way ready to deal with that.
Not following her mental dogleg, he was still back on what she’d last said, his baffled gaze continuing. “Like your grandfather?”
She returned her own. “He’s not the head of the family.” She started to open her mouth to elaborate and gave up, patting his hand. She hadn’t realized before just how much there would be to explain.
They were getting closer to their destination, thankfully, all of this becoming a bit much. Unfortunately, he had another question. “Why did he call you Maitre?”
That entered into embarrassing territory, her eyes not leave the ground. “I’m . . . well . . . I’m a sorcerer, you see, or I will be one soon. I’m well on my way to converting.”
She could feel his confusion.
“To finding my full power,” she clarified. Her gaze drifted further away. “I think he’s just proud to have one in the family.”
Her blush wasn’t necessary, as it became clear a second later that Frederick had no idea what this meant. “Sorcerer?”
It was Nat’s turn to pat his hand. “It means she’s hella powerful, much more than your average witch.”
He looked blank for a second, clearly trying to decipher her slang, and then blushed.
“Oh, sorry.” She patted him again. “I forget your time is so damn . . . er, darn formal.”
This made Emma laugh slightly, even as she knew they had discomforted their guest. Being a man, even a 19th century one, he had undoubtedly heard worse but probably not from a woman.
“I begin to see why you thought we were prostitutes.” She looked back to him, a little sternly. “Which I assure you, we’re not.”
He just smiled at her, a great deal of warmth in it. “No,” he agreed. But then their destination came within sight.
The house they were heading toward was huge, much larger than her own—which made some sense. There were far more people living in it. There were many large, moving topiaries all around, as well. Just near the path were ones in the shape of a unicorn, Hecate, and a panther-shaped Melius, head of all empathic magics.
She wasn’t certain exactly where to guide Frederick, until she saw a small puff of black smoke escape the side. That answered that.
Pulling her guest gently along, she tried to smile. “I hope you’re ready for this, Frederick. I’m afraid it may be something of a shock, but we do need some answers.”
A few moments later, they were outside the large, glass doors to the house’s conservatory, where a robust, white-haired, hundred-and-fifty-something sorcerer was coughing over a huge black cauldron.
Sighing, she wiped some of the smoke from her eyes. The fact that the man still used such ridiculous methods of witchery was one reason everyone tended to be a bit dismissive of him.
However, such a fact was not reflected in their guest, his eyes wide, and she pressed her hands to his arm, worried for him. Maybe she should have prepared him a bit more.
Voice barely audible, Frederick stared. “Grandfather.” His eyes were misty, his pause showing his shock. “I thought you were dead.”
Chapter 4
Frederick
When he had boarded a train that morning, Frederick had never imagined that his life would suddenly decide to stick its tongue out at him and stand on its head, but the sight of the man he had seen lowered into a grave hale and hearty before him made such a conclusion inevitable.
He had already accepted so much of the impossible in the last few hours: that he had become displaced by a century or more, that there was another hidden world beyond his, that beautiful, intriguing women would fondle his naked body without shame, monetary motive, or an intention of forcing him to an altar, that magic existed in the world.
Still, to see his grandfather—whose supposed passing had been the removal of the lynchpin holding together the last of his family—perfectly fine and seemingly oblivious that his presence might cause any sort of shock was the proverbial last straw. He was now officially a camel with many, severely-displaced vertebrae.
The man only barely gazed up from whatever he was doing—with a cauldron, for God’s sake!—registering him as though he were a pleasant, distant acquaintance he saw on a regular basis.
“Frederick, my boy—nice to see you again!” Looking immediately back down, he was clearly only being polite. “How’s the rest of the family?”
For the first time, Frederick began to sympathize much more fully with his hysterical p
atients. A little shrieking and wailing seemed more than called for.
To his disgust, he heard his father’s old, disapproving tone come out of him—although he now began to understand it. Imagine having this man as a father-in-law!
“Penelope is apparently running a school for the insane. Sarah, Philip, and Great-Aunt Hester seem to be terrorizing much of Connecticut. Father died last year, and Jenny is married and squirreled away somewhere in the wilds of Maine.”
Waiting for some sort of reaction, he watched the man. Actually, he could now see that Aunt Penelope was teaching magic in Salem, but the thought made him start to totter. He didn’t think he was going to survive much more of this day.
Thankfully, Emma held out a hand to steady him. He thought she was going to speak, until his grandfather half-responded. “Mm?” He sprinkled something into his pot. “No, no—Jenny’s upstairs with the baby, saw her this morning. And I think Philip’s out somewhere doing a hedge.”
This was the last insult Frederick could stand.
Propriety be damned.
He was about to throw a very definite fit.
To his relief, Emma interrupted it, her hands warm and strong on his arm. “Everly!” she demanded, which got the man’s attention at last.
Frederick wondered, following the insights she had so recently given him, why she didn’t add the “Spear” and guessed it might be a sign that she was equally annoyed. He mentally thanked her for it and almost thought he heard her say in return, Don’t thank me yet.
“Your grandson has been in a train accident, traveled through time, and helped work some very strong protective magic. He’s had a hard day.”
Darn the man. His grandfather looked as though he had no idea what he had to do with any of these facts.
She went on, winning Frederick’s admiration yet further.
“If you do not cease behaving like such a complete, callous moron and come sit down and explain yourself to him, I will implode your latest experiment from here to the aching void.”
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