by Juliet Dark
“It was very productive, thank you. I worked in the admissions office, sorting through applications. You would be amazed at how many students want to come here to Fairwick. And such interesting, accomplished young people! It made me feel very lucky to be here.”
I’d thought waking up in an empty hotel room on Christmas morning was pathetic, but Mara’s holiday sounded even more bereft. “I hope you didn’t work the whole vacation.”
“Oh no! Dean Book was very kind and invited me to her house for … what did she call it? Wassailing?”
“Really? What did that entail?”
“We drank eggnog and decorated her Christmas tree and then sang Christmas carols. It was fun. Dean Book is very kind and Miss Hart makes the most delicious cakes and cookies.” Mara rubbed her stomach. “I am afraid that I gained weight over the holiday.”
“That’s okay, Mara, you needed it. You look good.”
Mara did, in fact, look a little plump, bloated even, her skin a shiny pink as if it had been stretched a little too far, too fast. The poor girl had probably never had enough to eat in her whole life. It was little wonder that Diana’s cooking had been an invitation to splurge.
“You, too, are looking well, Professor McFay,” Mara said, leaning in closer as if trying to get a better look at me. Perhaps the girl needed glasses; she often stood a little too close. Or perhaps the people in her country had a different sense of personal space. “You are glowing. You must have had a very satisfying holiday.”
I blushed thinking of just how satisfying my holiday had been and where that well-rested glow came from—and also because something in the way Mara was staring at me made me think that she knew, too. Could word have already gotten around campus that Liam and I were seeing each other? Was Mara deliberately teasing me? But then I dismissed the idea as paranoid. It was just Mara’s awkward English that made her comments sound suggestive. I took a step back. “Well, I have to get something from my office …”
“Do you need help?” Mara asked, stepping forward and closing the space between us again. “It won’t be easy for you to carry anything with your injury. Dean Book won’t mind if I’m a little late for work …”
“No, Mara,” I said firmly and perhaps a bit too brusquely. “I’m not picking up anything heavy. I’ll be fine. Go to work. I’m sure the dean needs you more than I do.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. She hasn’t been feeling very well. But if you ever do need anything …”
“Thank you, Mara. I’ll remember that.”
I turned and continued on my way to Fraser Hall, disturbed to hear that Liz still wasn’t feeling well. I should drop by later to see if there was anything I could do for her—or for Diana, who must be worried sick about her. Right after I saw Soheila and Frank.
Although I’d planned to go to Soheila first, I changed my mind when I got to Fraser. If I saw Soheila first I’d be tempted to tell her what I’d learned about Frank and then I would lose the only bargaining tool I had: the advantage of being the only person who knew his secret.
I would have liked the advantage of surprise as well, but my limping progress up the four flights of stairs announced me way before I got to Frank’s office.
“What’d you do, McFay?” I heard him yell as I limped into his office. “Get into a fight down in the mean old city?”
I stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at him. He had his feet up on his desk, a Jets cap pulled low over his eyes, and a New York Times opened in front of his face so I couldn’t make out his expression. “No,” I answered, “but I was attacked by a lacuna while doing some genealogy research at the public library.”
Frank lowered the paper and looked up, eyes narrowed. He might have been calculating whether he could get away with pretending not to know what I was talking about, but after a moment he asked, “Are you okay? Those things are nasty.”
I sank down in a chair, my knees suddenly weak. Part of me had been hoping that he’d deny being part of this world. After all the shocks I’d absorbed this fall learning that witches and fairies existed, I had counted on this brusque but utterly familiar man being simply what he appeared to be.
“I survived,” I said, “and learned that you’re a descendant of one Abigail Fisk.”
“My nonna,” he said fondly. “Abbie Fortino.”
“She was a witch.”
“Among other things—a superb cook, a loving mother and grandmother, a wicked bridge player.” He grinned, but sobered when I didn’t return his smile. “But yes, she was a witch.”
“And you? Are you a witch?”
He shrugged. “ ‘Magical Professional’ is the politically correct term in fashion currently, but I think ‘wizard’ has more panache. Just please don’t ever call me a Wiccan.”
“Does Dean Book know you’re a witch?” I asked.
“Nope. I was hired on my academic standing alone—just as you were. I bet the dean was surprised to learn you were a doorkeeper.”
“I have a feeling she’d be more surprised to learn that you’re a witch,” I snapped back, not wanting to give Frank the satisfaction of showing surprise that he knew what I was. “But she hasn’t, has she? You’ve kept your identity secret. Was that so you could secretly watch Nicky Ballard succumb to your grandmother’s curse?”
“My grandmother’s curse?” Frank’s voice boomed through the empty building. He got up and closed the office door and turned to face me, leaning against the closed door, his face red. Although he had often yelled at me I’d never seen him look this angry before. “You think my nonna cursed the Ballards? She wouldn’t have cursed a fly. Not that she didn’t have cause. Did you get far enough in your research to find out who she was?”
“No, I had to go …”
“Well, if you had you would have learned that she was married to the foreman of the safety crew. My grandfather, Ernesto Fortino, told Bertram Ballard that the tracks were unsafe because the iron that had been used—the iron made by Ballard and Scudder Ironworks—was inferior. But Ballard let the trains run on it anyway. The day of the crash my grandfather was trying to warn the conductor of the Kingston train to stop. When the trains crashed, he died trying to rescue the victims.”
“I read about that,” I said. “He went into a train car suspended over the bridge and rescued everyone in it before dying when it finally fell. He was a hero. It sounds like your grandmother had every reason to curse the family.”
Frank smiled. “Except for the fact that Ballard’s wife was my grandmother’s sister. It would have been cursing her own family.”
“Oh,” I said, sitting down. “Then why are you here?”
He crossed the room and yanked open a filing cabinet drawer, took out a thick file, and flung it on the desk in front of me. “These are complaints lodged against Fairwick with IMP. They range from unauthorized tampering with the weather to harassment of civilians by supernatural creatures. For instance, I noticed you in a rather close clinch with Anton Volkov during the holiday party. If he asked you to give blood in exchange for information, or if he’s glamouring you, he’s violated your rights and should be brought up on charges.”
“I didn’t know …”
“But you should have known. Once you became aware of the true nature of Fairwick, Elizabeth Book should have debriefed you and informed you of your rights.”
“She did give me some forms and brochures a few weeks ago,” I lied. In truth she hadn’t been able to find them and I’d told her not to bother. I didn’t mention the spellbook because given my recent experiences with using it I was beginning to suspect I shouldn’t have been given it without more guidance. All my spells seemed to backfire. “I just didn’t get around to reading them.”
“It was her responsibility to review the material with you.”
“She hasn’t been feeling well,” I countered. Somehow my showdown with Frank Delmarco had turned into an interrogation—of me. I had to think of a way to turn things
around. “Which is probably why she didn’t realize you’re a witch. Awfully convenient for you …”
“Not feeling well is the understatement of the year. She’s fading. For a witch who has used her magic to augment her lifespan that’s fatal. Somebody—or something—is sucking the life out of her. I thought at first that it was the vampires, but she doesn’t have any bite marks. I’m looking into other possibilities now, but it’s crucial for my investigation that I remain undercover.”
“Investigation? Undercover?”
Frank sighed and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. It was made of old worn leather and had acquired a curve that no doubt matched the curve of his butt. He took out a laminated card and handed it to me. I recognized the insignia of IMP—two crescent moons flanking an orb—but under the logo were printed the initials IMPIA.
“IMPIA?” I asked.
“Institute of Magical Professionals Internal Affairs,” he said.
“You mean you’re a …”
“Undercover investigator. And one of the matters I’m investigating is the Ballard curse. I’m trying to track down the descendants of Hiram Scudder, Ballard’s partner. My grandmother said he was an extremely powerful wizard.”
I nodded. “I was looking up Scudder’s genealogy when I was attacked by the lacuna.”
“Figures. His descendants have been very clever in hiding themselves. I suggest you leave the investigation to me. If the Scudders planted a lacuna to hide their identity—which is strictly against IMP regulations—there’s no telling what else they might do to someone getting too close to finding them out.”
“I can take care of myself,” I snapped, resenting his paternalistic tone.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just promise not to blow my cover. If you do, I can’t keep looking for the Scudder witch or trying to find out what’s making Liz Book sick.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “As long as you promise to let me know what you find out.”
“Sure,” he said, sticking out his hand. “You’ll be the first to know.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, but I shook his hand anyway. As deals went it wasn’t as bad as the one I’d made with Anton Volkov.
As I walked downstairs to Soheila’s office I wondered if it was naïve to trust Frank. I had no real way of knowing whether he was telling the truth—especially since I couldn’t talk to anyone about his real identity—but my gut told me to trust him. Frank was brusque, opinionated, and sometimes downright obnoxious, but I instinctively felt that he was a good man. Of course, my instincts had been wrong before.
Soheila greeted me warmly with a kiss on the cheek and an offer of tea and almond cookies. “From my grandmother on Long Island. I visited her over the vacation.”
“That must have been nice.”
Soheila shrugged, pulling her bright red cardigan across her chest. “I love seeing my grandmother, but my aunts spent the whole time asking me when I was going to get married. My cousins spend all their days getting their hair done and shopping. I was ready to come back.”
“I had a rather surprising visit with my grandmother, too.” I told her about my visit to the Grove.
“Oh my, they are rather intolerant there. One of my cousins was exorcised by one of their members in the 1890s.”
“You’d think that after all the persecution witches have suffered they would be more tolerant.”
Soheila shook her head. “Often it is just the opposite. Once a persecuted group finds its own place in a culture, their members draw a line around themselves to keep their own places secure. Witches were persecuted in the Middle Ages for their connection with nature spirits and old divinities such as myself—what the Church called demons. While the witches who founded Fairwick continued to embrace their connection to the Old Gods, the witches of the Grove chose to distance themselves and repudiate demons and fairies. The rift goes very deep. There was a battle in the 1600s called ‘The Great Division’ that divided the witches into two opposing groups. Many faded and died. I imagine your grandmother was upset to learn you were teaching here.”
“I think in a way she always expected something like this from me. Apparently it was a big disappointment that my mother married a man with fairy blood. She said it might have compromised my power as a witch.”
Soheila frowned. “I’ve heard that theory before, but I’m not sure if there’s any truth in it. It might be an apocryphal tale meant to discourage such unions. A witch and a fairy marrying always causes quite a stir. Even outside of the Grove. My aunts, for instance, would be appalled if I dated a witch. They were upset enough when I fell in love with a mortal.”
“Angus Fraser?” I asked.
“Yes, Angus.” Her voice softened when she said his name and her toffee-colored eyes gleamed like polished amber. “Mind you they often marry mortals, but to fall in love with one … Well, they said that was foolish for one of our kind.”
“Our kind? I’m sorry, Soheila, I don’t mean to pry, but I’m not actually sure what your kind is. I remember Elizabeth said something about you being a Babylonian wind spirit …”
Soheila smiled. “That was rather a euphemism, I’m afraid, although it’s true that my kind are descended from Babylonian wind spirits. Under the circumstances, Elizabeth and I agreed that it might be best if you didn’t know my more common name. You see, I am a descendant of Lilith, one of the lilitu, or as we are more commonly known, a succubus.”
“A succubus! You mean like a female version of the incubus who invaded my house? But I thought they were always …”
“Selfish? Destructive? Evil? Yes, certainly that’s how they have been characterized in myth and Western religion and, to tell you the truth, most of my sisters and cousins are rather … shall we say, opportunistic? A bit mercenary, even? It’s not entirely their fault. When my kind first came into contact with mankind we were barely conscious and certainly not flesh. We rode the wind … We were the wind. Sometimes we briefly possessed a winged creature. The owls were our favorite hosts, hence our identification with them.” She nodded toward the poster on her office door. “But when we encountered men our interaction with them caused us to incarnate. We took on the shape they dreamed for us. And as we became flesh so we craved flesh … needed it in order to sustain ourselves.” She shivered and drew her sweater around herself. I recalled what Dory had told me about how the fairies had traded their magic for sex, but what Soheila had described sounded like a different sort of bargain—sex in exchange for fleshly existence. And yet it was hard for me to imagine someone of Soheila’s refinement engaging in that sort of sordid deal.
“So in order to stay … like you are … you have to …”
She smiled at my embarrassment. “I no longer have to feed on men that way. But that is only because I was loved.”
“Angus?”
“Yes, even after he learned what I was … learned that I was of the same race that had devoured his sister, he loved me. And I loved him. I thought that because I didn’t have to feed on him we could be together. I didn’t realize he was growing weak from our … contact … until it was too late. He hid his sickness from me until he was too far gone … and then when he went up against the Ganconer he was too weak to fight properly. He died in my arms. Since then I have sworn never to take a human lover.” She shivered again. “No matter how much I might crave the warmth of a human touch, I could never take that risk again.”
No wonder she always looked like she was freezing.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling how inadequate the phrase was. “That must be very hard. Especially if you like someone …”
“I can’t afford to give in to those feelings,” she said so quickly that I knew at once that she must, in fact, like someone very much. “But enough about me. You came to ask me something, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, relieved in spite of myself to change the subject. I put my hand in my coat pocket and brought out Ralph. I hel
d him out to Soheila. “He attacked some kind of shadow creature on New Year’s Eve and he’s been in a sort of coma ever since. Can you do anything to help him?”
Soheila held out both hands and I passed Ralph to her. She cupped him gently in her hands and tilted her head to angle her ear above his chest. Then she laid him on her desk and angled her desk lamp so that it shone directly on him. “See,” she said, tapping the wood next to Ralph. “No shadow. That means he’s travelling in the shadows in the Borderlands. Do you have your spellbook with you?”
“Yes,” I said, taking the book out of my bag. I’d started taking it with me everywhere. “But I’m afraid I haven’t had a lot of luck using it.”
“It takes practice—and guidance. I’ll talk to Liz about finding you a tutor this summer. But for now, look up ‘Shadow Travel—how to call a traveler back from.’ ”
I thumbed through the S’s, past Sand Shifting, Séance Summoning, and Shadow Repelling (which would have been useful on New Year’s Eve) until I found the spell Soheila had asked for. “It says that to keep him safe on his travels I should draw his shadow on a piece of paper and then burn it while repeating the words, intra scath hiw—”
“Hiwcuolic,” Soheila pronounced the difficult word. “Old Icelandic for ‘familiar.’ You see, that’s why you had to look up the spell in your spellbook. The book intuited that the creature you’re trying to help is your familiar.”
“You mean the book changes the spell depending on who is using it?”
“Yes, and the more you use your spellbook the better it gets to know you and the more useful it becomes. I bet you didn’t even realize that Ralph was your familiar.”
“No,” I admitted, stroking Ralph with my hand. “I just thought he was my friend. The book says that to bring him back I have to catch the shadow that dragged him into the Borderlands. But how? That creature probably went back through the door New Year’s Eve.”
“I doubt it. It’s probably lurking around your house waiting for a chance to get the rest of the spark out of your little friend. Take it from someone who fed on the human life force for centuries: once you get a taste of it, it’s hard to do without. You’ll have to keep an eye out for it and when you see it … Well, here, I’d better give you something to catch it with. You can draw his shadow while I’m doing that.”
