by M. J. Putney
“This is a very cold building,” Tory said gloomily. “I’m not looking forward to January. The wind off the North Sea must freeze people solid. I wish I had enough hearth-witch magic to really warm myself up, but inside the abbey, I can barely manage to take the worst of the chill off.”
“That must hurt like blazes. I hope I can draw enough power to help.” Elspeth closed her eyes and concentrated. White heat surged through Tory’s hand, warming her fingers as well as smoothing away the pain.
“That’s wonderful!” Tory removed her left hand from Elspeth’s grasp and examined it. Apart from fading red marks, there was no sign of the vicious blow, and all the pain was gone. “I’m surprised you could do so much within the abbey.”
Elspeth’s brow furrowed. “So am I. Give me your other hand.”
“It’s not as bad,” Tory said as she complied. “I really think she broke some bones in my left hand. The right is just badly bruised. You don’t need to tire yourself out with more magic.”
Ignoring that, Elspeth clasped Tory’s right hand and sent another long wave of healing energy. When she was done, she asked, “How’s that?”
Tory flexed her fingers in surprise. “As good as new. I’m impressed!”
“So am I,” Elspeth said thoughtfully. “Try hearth magic to warm yourself up.”
Tory closed her eyes and visualized warmth sweeping through her. So much heat surged that she felt feverish. Startled, she released the magic. “Good heavens, I’ve never been able to create so much warmth inside the abbey!”
Elspeth examined her own hands as if they belonged to a stranger. “Remarkable. I can draw major power in spite of the suppression spell.”
Tory used the hearth-witch magic again, more carefully this time, and found she could make herself comfortably warm with little effort. “So can I.”
“This must be a result of working so furiously for days on end,” Elspeth said. “I used more magic during the evacuation than everything I’d done in the previous five years put together.”
“I suppose it’s like playing the pianoforte. The more we practice, the stronger our skills become.” Tory cocked her head. “Now that I think of it, I’m not feeling as crushed by the Lackland magical suppression spells as before. I’m still aware of them, but the feeling is nowhere near as smothering.”
“This is worth all the grueling work we did!” Elspeth said. “Now it’s time to get along to the next class. I’ll leave first.”
She peeked out the door, then left. Tory sighed, wishing they could leave together. Elspeth said she didn’t mind being publicly ignored.
But Tory minded.
CHAPTER 3
Three nights a week study sessions were held in the Labyrinth, and there was one that night. Despite her fatigue, Tory looked forward to seeing the other Irregulars. Especially Allarde. She and Cynthia went together, quietly slipping through the concealed entrance in the cellar of the classroom building.
As they closed the door behind them, Tory was stropped on the ankles by a tabby she’d befriended. She bent to scratch the cat’s neck. “Yes, puss, I brought you a bit of ham from dinner.” The tabby daintily took the tidbit from her fingers.
“Why do you spoil that cat?” Cynthia asked.
“Cats keep the tunnels free of rats and mice,” Tory said as she straightened and created a mage light to guide them through the Labyrinth. “Besides, I like cats.”
“I’d rather have a horse.”
Cynthia set off and Tory fell in beside her. The ancient chalk tunnels were centuries old, and the floors were worn by the passage of countless feet. First nuns, now students. The passage was just wide enough for two girls to walk abreast, if one of them wasn’t very large. “Have you found that your magic is stronger since you returned?”
“I don’t use magic in the abbey because the suppression spell is so irritating. Let’s see what happens.” Cynthia held out a hand and created a ball of light on her palm. It flared blindingly. She squeaked and let go of the light. The globe hovered in front her, dimming as she reduced her power. “Good heavens! Usually I have to concentrate to make a mage light, but that was easy.”
“Elspeth and I have both noticed that we have more power,” Tory said thoughtfully. “I was able to use enough hearth witchery to warm myself in the abbey, and I’ve never managed that before.”
“I’m glad to hear that we might get some benefit from going through the mirror!” Cynthia exclaimed as they resumed walking. When they turned a corner, the sounds of many voices echoed down the corner. She frowned. “Do you think it’s another raid?”
“I certainly hope not!” Tory had been fleeing a raid by the school authorities when she discovered Merlin’s mirror. Not a pleasant experience, even though it had worked out well. She cocked her head. “They’re happy voices. Celebrating?”
A slow smile spread over Cynthia’s face. “Return of the heroes! That’s us.”
They reached the main hall where groups of people were laughing and talking and eating. They seemed to be the last to arrive. Tory was used to being last when she waited for Cynthia to ready herself.
Jack Rainford approached them, a grin on his face and a tankard in his hands. “About time you two appeared! We’ve been telling the other Irregulars about our adventures. I brought in a cask of cider so we could celebrate.”
“Is this the kind of cider that can flatten an ox in its tracks?” Tory asked warily.
“Have a taste.” He handed her the tankard. “It’s fresh made a few weeks ago from our own apples and hasn’t aged long enough to have much kick. My mother wouldn’t let me bring the ox-flattening cider.”
She sipped and found that the cider had just a light alcoholic tingle amidst fizzing apple flavors. “Very nice!” She handed the tankard back. “Has everyone heard the story of Dunkirk?”
“Indeed they have.” Allarde approached them, his gaze warm when it met Tory’s. “We’ve been telling everyone what a wonderful job the two of you did.”
“We all worked together,” Tory said uncomfortably. “Those of us who traveled through the mirror couldn’t have done what we did without all the study sessions here.”
Cynthia elbowed her in the ribs. “Relax and enjoy the appreciation, Tory. We did something quite wonderful, and it wasn’t easy!”
“True, but Tory’s right, too,” Allarde said thoughtfully. “When we joined the Irregulars, we swore an oath to use our abilities to protect Britain. Now we’ve proved that magelings can make a difference. Our success is everyone’s success. That’s particularly important for those of us who were raised to be ashamed of our magic.”
“Not like us lucky locals, whose families celebrated when we showed talent,” Jack said cheerfully. “But enough theory. Come along, your ladyship. Time to collect your applause.”
He set a light hand at the back of Cynthia’s waist and guided her into the middle of the celebrating students. Despite Cynthia’s snobbery, she had become more relaxed with Jack, Tory noticed. As the two most talented weather mages, they’d worked closely during the evacuation. Perhaps Cynthia was beginning to realize that one could be a good person without aristocratic bloodlines.
Now it was just Tory and Allarde. Not really private with so many people across the room, but a private moment. She gave him a wry smile. “In 1940, it was easy to joke about me ruining my reputation. Here the subject is serious.”
He nodded. “That wasn’t where we belonged, so we didn’t have reputations. Here, our actions have real consequences.”
She was relieved that he felt as she did. Before returning through the mirror, they’d done some kissing that was rather beyond what was acceptable for a young lady in 1803, though well short of ruination. “Here holding hands is rather bold.”
“But acceptable.” Eyes alight, he extended his hand.
She clasped it, interlacing her fingers as warmth and connection flowed through her. With a quiet sigh, she moved close and leaned against him. The top of her head barel
y cleared his shoulder. With Allarde, she felt … safe. And justly so. When they’d been under fire, he had twice protected her with his own body.
He caressed her with his other hand, skimming lightly from the back of her neck down to her waist, where his warm palm rested for a moment. Exhaling roughly, he moved away a step. “I’ve just moved a bit beyond the bounds of propriety.”
“I started it.” Her smile was crooked. “I’d like more, but—being with you is enough.”
“Indeed it is,” he said huskily. “Ever since we returned, I’ve been aware of you all the time, but it’s a distant shadow. Not like when we’re down here.” He squeezed her hand. “Not at all as strong as when we touch.”
“I always feel a thread of connection with you, too,” she said slowly. “Elspeth and Cynthia and I have all found that our magic is stronger now. Have you noticed that?”
Allarde looked surprised, then thoughtful. “Let’s see. My strongest talent is moving objects…” He turned and gazed at one of the worn sofas scattered about the hall. It was set near a wall and currently unoccupied.
The sofa shot up in the air. “Good God!” He stopped the sofa just short of bashing into the ceiling. A few people glanced at the floating piece of furniture, then returned to their socializing. Such sights weren’t uncommon in the Labyrinth.
“A good thing I picked a sofa no one was sitting on,” he said as he lowered it to the floor. “Now that I’m aware, I can feel the difference in my magic.”
“Our theory is that we used our magic so intensely that we strengthened it,” Tory said. “Even up in the school under the suppression spell, I have more power.”
“Miss Wheaton and Mr. Stephens will be interested to know that.” Allarde’s warm hand tightened over hers as they walked deeper into the hall. Tory was very aware of his clasp. Holding hands was an open declaration that they were a couple.
Allarde was handsome, admired, and, as the heir to a duke, the highest-ranking student in the school. In short, he was what a matchmaking mama would call a great catch. Before Tory, he’d never become involved with a Lackland girl, never even flirted.
No wonder other girls looked envious. Tory suspected they wondered what he saw in her. Though she was passably pretty, she was no beauty. Not like Cynthia. But after their adventures on the other side of the mirror, she and Allarde knew each other far better than if they’d been normal young people meeting in London ballrooms.
As they moved across the room, Allarde said, “I’m going to miss you over the Christmas holiday, but I’m sure you’ll be glad to return home. I always look forward to being there despite the complications of … what I am.”
She bit her lip. “I won’t be going to Fairmount Hall. My father won’t allow it. I … I’ll miss my sister’s wedding.”
“You can’t go home?” He hesitated, his gray eyes dismayed. “I can stay, too. We’ll be able to spend more time together since there won’t be any classes.”
Though it was a tempting offer, she shook her head. “You’re very generous, but I don’t want you to miss your visit home. I’ll manage here very nicely.”
He looked unconvinced. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Since he could sense her emotions as she could sense his, she projected conviction and contentment. His expression smoothed out.
She could indeed manage without him. But it would be a long three weeks.
* * *
The days leading up to the Christmas holidays quickly fell back into the usual Lackland pattern of classes and meals and walks on the walled grounds. Tory liked peering through the holes in the stone lattice fence that divided the girls’ school gardens from the boys’ playing fields.
The fence carried a spell that made it impossible to brick up the holes. The spell also made it impossible to climb over the fence, but boys and girls could talk through it, and even touch. When the boys were playing the endless ball games that occupied much of the time they weren’t in classes, the girls watched.
The first time Tory had seen Allarde had been through the fence. She’d noticed him instantly. Even then, his height and strength and swiftness had mesmerized her. She and Allarde tried to meet at the fence every day. Just touching their fingers through the lattice made any problems melt away. When she wasn’t with him—the cold stone buildings made her grateful that her magic was strong enough to keep her warm.
In her regular classes, Tory managed to avoid being struck by Miss Macklin again. The teacher had enough targets among students who were so excited to be going home that they didn’t pay attention to their lessons.
Study sessions in the Labyrinth were serious work, so she and Allarde didn’t spend much time together. But at least they were breathing the same air.
Before the sessions began, the two of them would walk to the tunnel containing Merlin’s mirror. Tory tried not to block her awareness of the portal. If the blasted thing appeared, it might decide to sweep them to a different time. Best to let it sleep.
Once or twice a week, there would be messages from Nick or Polly Rainford. Their father had been given a fortnight’s home leave after being rescued from Dunkirk. To his family’s delight, he was then assigned to British intelligence based near London rather than sent back into combat.
Britain had adjusted to the prospect of a long and difficult war that they were determined to win. The American president was making good on his promise to send military aid. Tory read the newspaper clippings of the future somberly, and gave thanks that the current war against Napoleon was much more distant than what the Rainfords were experiencing. She tried not to think of a high dark place with bullets flying.
After, she and Allarde would share a good-night kiss before heading back to their rooms. Tory memorized each and every kiss. She’d need them while Allarde was gone.
CHAPTER 4
On the day the holiday break began, the chapel service was longer than usual and particularly virulent because Mr. Hackett wouldn’t be able to vent his spleen to the whole girls’ school for three weeks. Already some students had left, including Allarde, and classes hadn’t accomplished much in several days.
After the midday meal, Tory returned to her room, trying not to feel sorry for herself because she would be spending her first Christmas without her family. Cynthia was sitting by the window for the best light as she beaded a small purse.
Tory was competent with a needle. Lessons had been mandatory since it was considered a ladylike “accomplishment.” But she didn’t particularly enjoy sewing and avoided it when possible. Cynthia actually liked needlework and did exquisite work.
“That purse is coming along well,” Tory said. “The gold thread sets off the design perfectly.”
Cynthia stretched complacently. “It is one of my best pieces.”
Tory looked out the window, which showed the English Channel in the distance beyond the abbey grounds. The sea was winter gray today. On the opposite side of the channel, Napoleon Bonaparte blustered and plotted to invade England.
She prayed that never happened. She’d seen enough of war in 1940. “I am so tired of girls talking about all the exciting things they’ll do over the holidays. It will be a relief when they’re all gone.”
“So much chatter!” Cynthia agreed. “I’ll be glad when we have quiet. With fewer students to feed, the meals are a bit better as well.”
Quiet sounded good, but three weeks of quiet would be excessive. Tory planned to leave the school via the Labyrinth tunnels so she could visit with some of the Irregulars who lived in Lackland village. Jack and Rachel Rainford had already invited her to come. If Cynthia didn’t choose to come with her, it would be her loss.
“I’m looking forward to sleeping late,” Tory remarked. “That will give the room more time to heat up after Peggy builds the fire.”
“If that lazy maid started at this end of the corridor, we’d be warm sooner every morning,” Cynthia grumbled.
True, but a girl at the other end of the corridor had
weak lungs and needed the heat more. Knowing better than to appeal to Cynthia’s better nature, Tory said, “I must work on my hearth-witch skills. Perhaps I can learn how to heat the whole room without using too much power.”
Cynthia frowned. “Hearth-witch magic is so vulgar.”
Tory grinned. “But very practical.”
A maid knocked on the door, calling, “A package for you, Miss Mansfield.”
“Maybe it’s the Christmas pudding I asked my mother to send,” Tory said hopefully. She opened the door and saw Peggy carrying a small latched wooden box. “Maybe it’s two Christmas puddings!”
“There’s a letter, too, miss,” the maid said. “Where would you like me to set this?”
“On my desk.” Tory rapidly stacked her books on the floor so there would be room for the box. “Thank you, Peggy.”
She accepted the letter, but set it down, more interested in what the box contained. As she removed the crushed newspapers and rags that were used as packing, Cynthia joined her, drawn by the delicious scents of exotic, expensive spices. “Surely we don’t have to wait until Christmas to sample?” she asked hopefully.
“We must wait,” Tory said firmly. She lifted out a dark bottle and pulled the cork. After sniffing, she said, “Here’s the brandy to flame the pudding when the time comes.” She tilted the bottle for her roommate to smell.
“Very nice French brandy,” Cynthia said approvingly.
“Here’s a pot of brandy butter to serve on top.” Tory pulled out a small crock. “And here’s the pudding!” She flourished the pudding high in the air, no small feat given its size. The pudding had been wrapped in layers of cheesecloth for steaming, and had the weight, shape, and density of a cannonball.
“That’s large enough to serve every girl still here with enough left for the next day,” Cynthia observed. “Perhaps we should have some now to reduce the size.”
Tory grinned. “It will taste better with more aging. But my mother would know we would be tempted.” She dug into the box again and brought up a tin box. “If this is what I think it is…”
