Leif tapped on the glass, frowning while thinking. “Two weeks. That is when the ball is.”
I raised my eyebrows skeptically, “What, the princess ball where I meet Prince Charming and get swept off my feet?”
“The ball where social rituals are performed—you know, formal wedding announcements, engagements, betrothals, birth announcements, formations and modifications to families and circles. It’s no private affair, not if you want those around you to acknowledge it.”
“Magic doesn’t care.”
“No, but people do.”
I sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to budge. “Fine, two weeks. We will know by then.”
And I looked up at the sky, watching the clouds pass us by, wondering what was going to happen with this crazy life I’d started on.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The sunrise woke me in the morning, and I stretched, sitting up amid the fluff of a feather topper that flowed over the tops of my thighs and made getting up exceedingly difficult. I slung my legs through the sheets and soft bedspread, draped them over the edge of the bed, and gave a little leap to reach the ground. Cream carpet met my toes and I wriggled them through the silky strands. My heels sunk just a little into padding and I stretched again, the cotton sleep gown Lilly gave me raised over my knees. I looked around the room, admiring it. It had been wrong to call it a suite—it was a house all to itself. The bedroom held a queen bed with four spires featuring a swirl leading to a cone at the tip, and at the base of the bed nestled a blue loveseat with Victorian wood legs and armrests. Gauzy drapes shrouded large window on the opposing wall. I pulled on a chord and the drapes slid to either side, hooking themselves on an iron fleur de lis crook.
Outside, a valley curved below me, a creek babbling its way down the mountain, lined with columbines, indian paintbrushes and various other flowers. I took mental note of what the other flowers looked like, but I raised my eyebrow when I saw poppies, marigolds, and heather. My plan to locate the house based on indigenous plant species wasn’t going to work if someone had been planting their favorites on a whim. Sweet pea vines grew in front of my window. I unlatched the top of the window and opened it, inhaling crisp air tinged with honeysuckle. Squinting, I thought I could see a castle huddled against the next mountain, hiding behind mists. I should investigate it and see what turned up. First, though, I needed to be dressed.
I went in search of my clothes, hoping that Lilly had stolen them to give them a wash—not the burning she had jokingly promised in between spells yesterday. After skimming through my washroom, living room, kitchen, and dining hall, I gave up in my pursuit of clothes and checked the contents of my fridge. Nothing. The pantry at the end of the dining hall was similarly devoid of anything except organizational racks—it looked set up for potion ingredients, I noted, not food.
Sighing, I went through my living room door and entered the commons area, a room basking in sunlight, blush and white furniture, and chocolate carpet. Everyone was gone. I found a book on the table and riffled through it, finding it written in Latin and completely unreadable. My bet was that Leif had been doing some studying this morning.
A clatter came from the kitchen and I jumped in surprise. My magic rushed to investigate and found Mordon pouring himself a thick, dark drink. He came out from around the kitchen cabinets, brushing his hands at my magic as though to dissipate it.
“Forget where you were?” he teased, shining white teeth.
“Just didn’t know I had company,” I said, trailing him to the breakfast nook and sitting across from him. “What is that?”
“A drink from home,” was all he said, sipping and rustling the Thaumaturgical Tribune in front of him again.
I sniffed at the vapors, and licked my lips at the salted undertones drifting on the steam. Though I never had been one for craving salt, much less indistinguishable drinks from unknown origins, my stomach growled.
The doorbell rang, a long string of vintage goat bells clanking and tinkling merrily. Mordon left to answer, and I was left with the drink on the table. When he was gone for a few minutes, curiosity got the better of me, and I used his stirring spoon to sample a taste.
It was thick as gravy, salty, and had a lamb after taste. Copper lingered on my tongue, pepper bit my lips. Before death, I would have found this thing revolting, but right now it seemed as much at home to me as eating eggs and toast. There was a clunk at the stairs and the sound of fabric sliding to the ground. I set the spoon down and rushed to take some of the pile from Mordon. It was clothing, I noted, clothing piled up to his chin.
“Good grief!” I exclaimed, “What’s all this?”
“Your clothes,” muttered Mordon, heading to the living room.
I frowned at him, “Mine? What, did Lilly take the sizes off my old clothes? Because those didn’t fit.” I forgot for an instant that when I came here, I was wearing a new day dress and those don’t give precise measurements anyway.
He raised one eyebrow and lowered the other, “You don’t remember Janise taking your measurements? She was here for the better part of an hour yesterday. You and Lilly kept her talking.”
I shook my head and fell into Leif’s armchair, “I don’t remember a thing...how many days have I been sleeping?”
“You slept yesterday and the day before, and the day before that was the fiasco with Eliza. I’m happy to see you are awake and coherent today, I don’t think that Leif could keep Lilly calm for another day.” Mordon paused, then added, “Your magic has a mind of its own, doesn’t it?”
Had Leif told him about me being the feral, or was Mordon prodding for information? I smiled, but couldn’t keep from blushing for a reason I did not know, and said, “I just don’t care much to be startled.”
Mordon cocked an eyebrow at me, as though judging my words and actions. Shrugging, he nodded back to the pile in his arms, then tossed them onto the couch.
I thought of how my room didn’t have a dresser, much less a closet. “I don’t have any place to put all this!”
A smile cracked on his lips. “I have a box.”
“A box? I’d need a freaking wardrobe!” I motioned the clothes in my lap and engulfing the couch, “What even is all this?”
I found a cloth bag filled with random fabric scraps. I gave Mordon a confused look, but he just accepted the bag and left. What would Mordon do with a foot of orange velvet, two feet of red and white stripes, and an oddly-shaped pentagon of stars that streaked across a blue background? I kept my questions to myself when he pressed his fingers to his lips.
True to his word, Mordon pulled a wooden box out from under the coffee table. It looked like it could maybe hold a pair of knee-high boots. He opened the top despite groaning hinges and took hold of the clothing off the top.
“Ceremonial robe.”
It was long, dark blue, and sparkled like stars on the inside. He dropped the tail into the box and it kept on going down and down until the robe was gone. I leaned over and peered into the box, seeing only a dark shadow at the bottom. I stuck my hand down and instantly my fingers brushed silk. I pulled it up enough to see the fabric, then let it fall back in.
“Training robe. Fight robe. Uniform pants and shirt two complete sets—we will set one pair aside—evening gown, day dress, heavy coat, light coat, trench coat.” Mordon dropped each item in one by one, not giving me much of a chance to see them. He paused and his brow furrowed, “We need to make our way to the cobbler sometime.”
I was flabbergasted. “When would I need to wear an evening gown? Haven’t had to wear one in my whole life!” That is to say, I did not know that I would permanently join Leif’s circle; I had two weeks, or rather just over a week and a half, to find a place or move on. Did Lilly know that? Did Mordon or Barnes?
“No? You will. There’s the annual Festival starting this week, and they kick off with a formal dance. You will be properly introduced, and...” he paused and stroked his non-existent beard, looked at his empty hand, and continued, “We will n
eed to work on a performance, some sort of display is typical for the ladies. Lilly tells me you already have the essentials mastered for illusions, so we will have only to choreograph.”
“Mordon,” I said, shaking my head, then deciding that wasn’t enough to express my displeasure, jabbed him in the chest, “What if I’m not going to be introduced?”
“In that case you would need to speak with Lilly. She has preformed opinions about you.” Mordon’s tone was cool and his expression blank.
“And what about you? What do you think of me?” I snapped at the very thought that he was implying I did not deserve Lilly’s high regard, and that he possibly believed me to be less than I was. I’d spoken too quickly, but my words were already out. Perhaps I was not what was best for this circle, and perhaps Lilly had misconceptions about me. It had been ten years.
“I think you’re impulsive, reckless, and lack any degree of self-control. In short, a very dangerous mix with magic.”
I bit back a retort about how that was what we said of Railey and most certainly not of me. I had asked Mordon for his opinion, and he had responded earnestly based off what he had seen of me already; once I mastered the temper I found myself mysteriously having, I realized the tactical advantage of an opponent who has the wrong impression of my strategy.
Mordon saw me keep my tongue in check and continued. I wondered if he was trying to test my patience. “I also looked up the articles about you—all of them, not just the ones that Lilly keeps close to her chest.”
The articles about two eleven-year-olds who were involved in “strange and mysterious magics”, the investigation that went no where, and the letters to the editor that were quick to lay the blame on the silent child. My face must have given away more than I wanted it to, because Mordon’s voice was gentler.
“The only detail every newspaper agreed with was that you never spoke of what actually happened, and I am much too curious a creature to be contented with not knowing. Aside from that, I have a duty to guard and protect these people, and I do not much like having deadly secrets under this roof.”
Not that I blamed him for that. I was the same way, and I felt that the way to keep the others safe was to keep my secrets to myself, and solve my problems as quickly as I could. No need to get them any more involved than they already were. However, Mordon was not going to budge from this subject until I gave him something—even a crumb. “Leif spoke earlier about how we were determined to be a circle. We were going to be the best, we had it all figured out. Leif was our leader, Lilly our healer, Railey was our seeker...Griff was enforcer...”
“And you were protector,” said Mordon, nodding as though it were obvious from the start. Maybe it was.
“It wasn’t much different from now,” I mused, “Then we split off into pairs a good deal—Leif and Lilly preferred to think too much for the likes of the other two, and I served as...well, I served as glue. Glue between the spontaneous and planned, glue between the guys and girls, the one person who would honestly tell the others what was happening.”
“And when Railey died and you said nothing?”
“I said nothing before then, when Griff left. And do you want to know the real reason why I kept my mouth shut? Would that put you more at ease?” I could not believe I was saying this.
Mordon crossed his arms. “It would depend on the answer.”
Fair enough. “Because I knew too well that when the others looked at me, they would see a child. A child full of drama and imagination, just like any other child. They would cease to see me as me and instead they would see me as an age. I told no one on both cases because I would not be believed.” Or so I had thought; in retrospect, that might not have been the case but I was so shocked myself that maybe I hoped it would go away on its own.
Mordon ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Past is past. From now on, if you are to be part of this circle, you must have faith in your companions.”
He went to drink, then paused when he saw the spoon wasn’t in his cup. “Did you try this?”
“...yes?” Was it something that only drakes could drink? I hadn’t thought it could harm me—I’d been so tantalized by the smell of it—but perhaps I should take greater caution in the future. I didn’t feel any worse for wear.
“And what did you think of it?”
“I would drink a cup,” I said. In truth, I’d taken to it faster than I’d taken to coffee when my brother brought it home as a teenager.
Mordon stared thoughtfully at his mug, then stood and poured me a small cup. He handed it to me and watched me sip it.
“You’re making me nervous,” I accused.
Mordon smiled and broke his gaze, pretending to go about his business, grabbing his massive Thaumaturgical Tribune again and seeming to read it intently. Assured of the pretension of privacy, I enjoyed my drink and the way it warmed my throat and stomach, making my body glow with life and rejuvenated heat. I drank it the way I used to drink hot cocoa after making snowmen with Railey, both drinking fast and savoringly slow. The cup was gone entirely too soon. I got up, snared the clothes in one hand, and left to get dressed. I returned, feeling a odd in clothes so light they almost might not be there. I put on my shoes.
Mordon raised his eyes past his paper and said, “You’re helping me in the shop. New merchandise today; I could use someone to shelve books.”
“Sounds like a refreshingly boring day,” I said, thinking that I could finally seize hold of research material.
Mordon chuckled, “We can hope.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sunlight poured through the windows on the ceiling and I took a deep breath of the musty air in King’s Ransom. I fidgeted the kidskin gloves to line the seams in a less irritating position, then patted my pocket to be certain my rings were still there. I hadn’t been able to fit the gloves over the rings, and Mordon insisted I not handle the books bare-handed. I was certain he meant so I wouldn’t harm the books, but from the dark stains on the palms of the gloves, I was glad he made them so I would not have to scrub my skin. Next to me was a short stack of books I set aside to read later, as it was clear that Mordon intended to keep me busy while I was in his custody.
Before he let me start, we toured his shop and he told me about the things that would be in my best interest to not touch: A vase with a woman painted on it, the coffin with the door open, and various nicknacks on the counter. The nicknacks could cause any number of discomforts from farting to hives, the coffin he said would be a pain to get me out of again, and the vase...well, the vase was something we did not touch, and he had done his best to block it off using shelves. I had a book I intended to read that included information about The Lady of the Vase, as she was so descriptively called.
When I started, there was already hip-high piles of books standing in front of shelves. The shelves were by subject, the books by author. I’d hardly managed to keep pace with the new stacks, but the shop started helping me by parting the books where the new one needed to go. I made quicker progress, and now I only had one shelf left to sort—that is, unless Mordon brought out another stack.
I chewed on the inside corner of my mouth. It had been several minutes since I saw him last. I shrugged it off, going to the next shelf. I grabbed the top book, Household Healing: Mealtime Potions, Tinctures, and Infusions by Anna Bell, but the shop didn’t show me where it would go. I found it myself and tried to push aside The Anti-Brew: Poisons, Their Uses, and Their Cures by Karene Canori, but the shop snapped the row of books back together. The building creaked and groaned. I shivered.
“Mordon?” I called, yelling a little even though I knew the shop could amplify my voice as I walked towards the backroom, “Mordon, are you alright?”
I was almost to the open door when I heard footsteps and Mordon peered at me. He smiled a pinched grin that was all teeth and no crinkles around the eyes.
“Mordon?”
“All is well,” he said, holding that same wincing expression.
“Do you have some more books for me?” I asked slowly, trying to not show my suspicions.
He turned, grabbed a stack of battered Encyclopedia Britannicas, and dropped them into my arms. I tried to not give them a scornful look—they hadn’t a hint of magic about them, and King’s Ransom was a shop of magical antiquities. The stack next to the encyclopedias included Skills of the Thaumaturge by Aethel and Curing Curses by Siren Ostler—I had seen reprints of both on his shelves, but these copies looked very aged and I knew Mordon would have gone into a lecture about the authors if he had noticed me looking at them. The man standing in front of me didn’t. He stood awkwardly, still smiling.
Feral Magic Page 8
