"I thought magic didn’t work like that." I’d been told magic couldn’t be kept in a Tupperware dish and passed on to another Magic.
"It doesn’t work like you think," Runa said. "But from what I hear, you’ve seen yourself that magic can be transferred. You passed some to Alastair before you lost him." She shook her head in exasperation. "I still can’t believe you lost two entire humans."
"She does exceed all expectations, doesn’t she?" Morelli chimed in.
"Could we focus a little less on my failings and a little more on Olivia’s very important speech? And I didn’t exactly give Alastair my power; I filled the absorbing capsule he brought with him," I said, then realized I’d just proven Runa and Olivia’s point. My extracted magic, handled properly, could be easily packaged into a heaping helping of yummy absorbing capsules and given as a treat to the Mauvais.
"For now, you will continue training," said Olivia. Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but far better than being extracted. "I know control is in there somewhere, so you need to take this seriously," she said with grave significance.
"More than seriously," Banna added. "Yes, there’s the matter of your test, but you’ve also defied the rules and you lost two people with your foolishness. I think it’s only fair to tell you a tribunal has taken up your case to evaluate not only your magic control issues, but also the threat your magic poses if the Mauvais captures you. They will make their decision within the week."
I didn’t need to ask what would happen if I lost my case.
"And, who knows, the tribunal may decide to test you again," Busby said with strained optimism. "Which is why you must focus on your training. In the meantime, no more skulking around trying to solve whatever mystery you’ve created for yourself. Train. Visit your parents. And stay within the Tower."
"Stay? I can’t go home?"
When Morelli had mentioned the Portland-London portal being open again, of being able to go back and forth with ease, an urge to go home had hit me like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. I just wanted to check in on the world I’d left behind. I mean, what about Pablo? What about Daisy stealing my job? What about making sure Mr. Wood remembered his very dedicated employee still existed?
"We don’t think it would be safe," said Mr. Tenpenny.
"But you think the traitor is someone in HQ. I’m not exactly safe here either, am I?"
"She does have a point," Banna said, looking up from the notes she’d been jotting.
"We’ll evaluate your situation," Olivia said while passing a cool glance over Banna. "If you need to go home, you will go with Morelli or Chester or someone else who can provide protection. Now, I believe that’s all we have to cover this morning. If you’d like to visit your parents, Dr. Dunwiddle and Mr. Morelli are headed that way."
3 - MAGICAL ENZYMES
"MISTER" MORELLI FELL into step with Runa, and as we climbed the stairs the two discussed various ideas on how to treat my parents. The others — Rafi, Olivia, Banna, and Mr. T — also came along with us, so I’m not entirely sure why we couldn’t have just met in the White Tower’s hospital ward in the first place.
Built way back around the year 1100, the White Tower might look like it only has a handful of floors to the magically-challenged observer, but once you get inside — assuming you’re a Magic, of course — you discover an unknowable number of levels, corridors, and rooms, an open air tennis court on the roof, and even, on a lower level, a swimming pool I’d yet to try out.
"Chester told me they were doing a world better," Rafi said as we stepped out from the stairwell. His soothing scent of sandalwood was knocked aside by the hospital ward’s powerful fragrance of cleaning solution and bleached laundry.
"Given the condition they were in," said Busby, "anything might be considered an improvement."
When we neared my parents’ room, several Magics who I recognized from the night before were standing around magnanimously hemming and hawing over what could be done. At the sight of Runa and Morelli, their murmurs — which I’d bet you anything were little more than boastful speculations — went silent. The group stepped aside, moving out of the room’s threshold while making excuses of places they needed to be, spells they needed to cast, and the like.
What I saw when they cleared the way, well, it wasn’t what anyone would call a miracle, but after the state my parents had been when I’d last seen them, it was surprising enough to make me stop in my tracks.
My mom sat in a plush chair that had been placed between her bed and the window. She wore a short-sleeved, pale blue top. The neckline gaped, not because it had been designed that way, but because my mom’s shoulders were so thin a clothes hanger would have given the shirt more shape. Her arms and chest showed fresh bruises from her struggles with the medics the night before, but most of the discoloration was the purplish-yellow of fading bruises. Fury flared in me over the Mauvais’s vicious treatment of his pets. When I glanced to Mr. T, his jaw showed the same tension I felt tearing through mine.
But that’s not what had left me dumbstruck. Rather than the screaming, poo-flinging chimp she had been, Chloe Starling was now calm and clean. Her dark brown hair had been brushed back from her face and tied into a ponytail that made her look young despite the disturbingly dark circles hanging under her eyes. She wasn’t doing anything, just sitting and staring into space and quietly, distractedly humming the same tune I’d heard coming from her when I found her.
The nurse attending my parents was a husky, white guy with shaggy, black hair. When he glanced up to see who’d come in, I barely had time to notice one of his eyes was blue and the other brown before he quickly returned his attention to the task at hand: trying to get my dad to eat something that looked like it might have come out of a dirty diaper. Wisely enough, Dad — who was resting in his hospital bed — kept dipping his head away from the spoon every time it came near him. This saved him from eating the poo du jour, but meant he had a thin layer of the stuff on his cheeks and forehead.
"How are they doing, Jake?" Olivia asked after introducing us.
"As you can see, his reflexes are pretty sharp, but other than that there’s been no change since Chester did his work last night," Jake said, surprising my ears with his Canadian accent.
As Olivia had mentioned, my parents had been extracted by the Mauvais. An extraction, in case you’ve forgotten, not only leaves you with no magic, but also wipes out large portions of the regions of your brain that allow you to do amazing things like speak, think in a logical manner, and feed yourself.
"Chester’s work," the nurse explained to Runa and Morelli, "and the nutrient boost we gave them does mean they’re now able to hold themselves upright. There’s also enough of them in there somewhere that they signal when they need to use the loo, for which I am immensely grateful, but they don’t seem to have much more cognitive function beyond that. There’s no speech capabilities. They do little more than mumble a word that sounds like white or wipe, maybe whine. We still can’t tell if it’s indeed a word or just us hoping it’s a word. They also enjoy humming that tune," he said, indicating my mother.
"And their magic?" Runa asked.
"None really. Or at least no accessible power. But our tests have shown there’s still some residual cellular magic."
Again, a little refresher in Magic biology, every living creature has magic deep within its cells, but only Magics — and a few very clever animal species — can tap into that magic. We call that accessible magic.
"It’s better than nothing," Runa said, mostly to herself. "If the cells had been completely wiped, there’d be nothing we could do. If the inaccessible magic is still there, we might be able to coax it back to being accessible. Chester can work on healing their bodies, but a transfusion of magic is the only thing that’s going to kick start their cells and get their minds to heal."
"You really think a transfusion will work?" I asked Runa, cruel sarcasm adding an accusa
tory, waspish tone to my words. Mr. Tenpenny touched my arm and told me to hush, but I shook him off. "Sorry, but you weren’t here last night. You haven’t—" I bit off my words, knowing what wanted to spill out next wouldn’t help anyone.
One of the first things that was attempted after we got my parents back to the Tower was to call in other Magics, including the ones you just saw loitering around. It had been hoped that they could transfuse some of their own magic to Simon and Chloe. It wasn’t done in the belief that the Starlings would suddenly pop back into magical self-awareness. It was done because if they had magic, accessible magic, to tap into, they would heal faster. Normally, intact Magics will avoid extracted Magics as if they were highly-contagious medieval lepers. But my parents were heroes of a sort to the magic community, which meant in this case, volunteers were easy to find.
And so, like some Midwest revival, there was a lot of laying on of hands, and for a few moments my mom did have a spark of life in her eyes. Those eyes met mine and I don’t know if it was just wishful thinking, but I swear there was that brief slackening of the face and widening of the eyes a person gets when they recognize someone.
But just as fast as it appeared, it was gone. Turns out my parents were like magical sieves. You could pour magic in, but it flowed right back out the holes that had been poked into them.
"Are you really in any position to question me?" Runa said, a bit snippily, but not harshly. "Normal transfusion techniques can’t be used on Magics who have been extracted. However, there is an old technique I’ve been researching that might do the trick. It fell out of use, but I think it’s our best chance. If you would cooperate."
"Me?" And then I recalled her telling me something about magic transfusions sticking better between relatives. At the time I didn’t think I had any relatives, so the information rolled right out of my brain as useless.
"And him," she said, pointing to Rafi.
"Wait, am I related to Rafi?"
"Yes, he’s your long lost brother. You can see the resemblance," Morelli said sarcastically. Although Rafi and I did both have black hair and we were both tall and slim, that’s where the similarities ended. Rafi had rich, warm-toned skin, whereas the covering over my bones was more the color of bleached flour. And Rafi’s trim frame moved like a cat trained in ballet, whereas mine bumbled about like a buffalo hoping for a spot on the roller derby team.
"Rafi, maybe you could explain," drawled Mr. Tenpenny. "I don’t think I can handle this clever banter much longer."
"Certain elves, like yours truly, can serve as magic conduits."
"More like magic enzymes," Runa clarified. "If your magic is sent through Rafi and into your parents, it’s carried more efficiently and should bind better than just sticking it into them directly. Your being a close relative increases our odds greatly. There’s no guarantees, though. No offense, but your parents are a bit leaky. Now, if you’d like to be useful for once…" She trailed off and pointed to her patients.
Since Jake had just resumed his attempts at feeding my dad, and since my mom was still calm, we decided to start with her. Rafi placed one hand gently on her bony shoulder and used his other hand to hold mine. His skin was as warm as its coloring and I hoped my mom found his touch soothing on her bruised and battered body.
At a signal from Runa, I concentrated on giving my magic. Since I’m an over-the-top absorber, giving isn’t the easiest thing in the world for me, but it helped to picture my last moments with Alastair, when I fought my own doubts and threw him enough magic to fill the absorbing capsule, turning it from red to purple. The mistrust, the accusations, the utter hatred for him I felt when I first saw him with the Mauvais popped into my mind as well, but I tried my best to visualize the full capsule glowing violet from within.
"That’s enough," someone said. I can’t tell you who. The voice sounded very far away. My hand instantly went cold as Rafi let go.
And then the pain rushed in. A burning, itching pain like I’d just shoved my hand into a cluster of poison oak into which someone had tossed broken glass.
"Here’s the ice," came a smooth, posh accent that sounded like something straight out of a Masterpiece Theatre program. Busby grabbed my wrist and plunged my hand into a bath of ice water. It didn’t stop the pain, but it did slow it down.
"Did it work?" I grunted.
Morelli was leaning over my mom and sniffing her. Which sounds like a bizarre thing to do to someone, but all Magics carry a signature scent that varies by who’s doing the smelling. If my magic made it into my mom, she should smell like me. Over time, I later learned, once the magic in her cells got its motor running, my scent would fade and hers would take over.
"Faint. Hardly any," he said, standing up straight again.
"Cassie was pushing hard," Rafi said. "Even her memories were coursing through me. Do you really think Alastair was helping the Mauvais? That he was betraying you?"
Morelli shot me a strange look. Surprise? Disgust? Nah, that’s how he always looked when dealing with me. Or maybe that was just how his face was arranged.
"Not now, Rafi," Banna snapped, the ozone tang of her magic suddenly stinging my nostrils. Rafi made a motion of zipping up his lips. "Dr. Dunwiddle, do you really think this is going to work? There is a reason why it fell out of use."
I watched my dad. There was no sign he had any idea what was being said, but his eyes were lolling back and forth between us as if watching a tennis match. At least it proved there was something in there.
"It’ll take time for us to build up their ability to retain magic," Runa said, her voice brusque, annoyed. Believe me, after stirring up Dr. D’s annoyance on many occasions, I recognized the tone. "Before their final extraction, the Mauvais could have drained them several times, forcing their power to recharge in between sessions. Their cells have been overused and need to rebuild their ability to hold onto magic. But, yes, I do think with several more applications it could work."
"But that will exhaust Cassie," said Mr. T.
"I’m willing to eat all the cake in London if it will keep me able to donate. But isn’t there any way to speed it up?" I asked, my hand starting to go numb from the ice bath.
"The watch," Busby said, then handed me a towel. I dried my hand, then wrapped the towel around it to warm the poor appendage.
"Well, go get it then. Use it on them. Get them better." I’d never admit it, but I was desperate to see that look of recognition again in my mom’s eyes.
Mr. Tenpenny shook his head regretfully.
"Not like that. It’s not the watch’s presence that would heal them, but its absence."
"I’m not in the mood for riddles, Mr. T."
"They’ve really had too much stimulation," said Jake. He’d wiped my dad’s face clean and Pops had fallen into a quiet slumber in which I hoped for his sake he was dreaming of eating a large pepperoni pizza. My mom was still in her chair, but her chin now rested on her chest. The nurse was slipping a neck pillow over her shoulders and shifting her head into a more comfortable sleeping position.
We took the hint and left the ward, leaving Runa and Jake behind to tend to their patients.
4 - D SPELLS
SINCE MY ROOM was located only one floor down from the hospital ward, the moment we left my parents, I seized the chance to avoid a trek all the way back to Olivia’s office.
"Meeting in my room?"
To my surprise everyone agreed to my suggestion. Everyone except Rafi who claimed he had to make sure Chester remembered he was supposed to help the cleaning pixies take care of a gang of rats who were trying to establish territory in the White Tower’s pantry.
As we reached the door of my room, a chime came from Morelli’s back pocket. He reached for his left butt cheek and pulled out his phone. Why does everyone’s phone but mine work in this place?
"Look guys, I gotta go. Wood’s about done with his PT and he’ll need a ride. Can’t believe I
gotta be seen driving a Prius."
"Monster truck more to your taste?" I asked.
"A monster truck for a half-troll. Good one," he chuckled. "Nah, what I’d really like is a Tesla. State of the art. All electric. It’s the way of the future."
"So profound of you."
I opened the door to my room and let the others in, but Morelli still lingered in the hallway.
"I thought you had to go."
The Untangled Cassie Black Page 3
