The Untangled Cassie Black

by Tammie Painter

  "Anne of Cleeves?"

  "Not alive in World War II."

  "I knew she died in World War I."

  And so began another history lesson with Nigel. To be fair, he had gotten quite solid in his facts from 1066’s Battle of Hastings up to the Battle of Bosworth Field. I mean, not every detail, only those related to the Tower. After all, I was an armchair traveler, not an English historian. Getting him through Henry VIII’s wives, though, was proving tricky.

  "Just remember," I said after I related yet again the marital exploits of our Henry. "Divorced, beheaded, died. Divorced, beheaded, survived."

  "Got it. So did Anne Boleyn’s head grow back?"

  "What? No."

  "Then how was she beheaded twice?"

  Before I could explain the Annes were two different people, and that the beheadings were actually a Catherine and an Anne (which I feared would only send me down a rabbit hole of explanation about Henry’s triple dose of wives with the name Catherine), Chester came trudging our way. A happy grin stretched across his broad face.

  "Mr. Cassie, I’m to tell you..." He trailed off and looked to the sky as if searching for the message in the wispy clouds. Winston clacked his beak, snapping Chester’s memory to attention. "That Sir Tobey woke up."

  "That was fast," I said, my heart racing with joy at the news. Again, not because I liked Tobey Tenpenny, only because he might have information about the Mauvais’s location.

  "Told you he was alright. I gotta find Mr. Tenpenny and tell him. Although I think Mr. Tobey already knows he's awake, so I don't know why I need to tell him."

  "No, they probably mean Busby Tenpenny," I said. Between him and Nigel I wondered if there was something in the London water that reduced IQs. "Look, I’ll tell him, okay?"

  "Sounds good. I could use a sandwich, anyway," Chester said with a shrug, then strolled off toward the Tower’s cafe.

  I told Nigel I’d catch up with him later and headed back inside. Since Olivia’s office was only a few zigzagging corridors away from the White Tower’s door for Magics, I began my hunt for Busby there. I told myself I was being logical, but the lack of stair climbing probably had more to do with the decision. My thigh muscles sent up a cry of joy when my ears picked up the sound of Mr. T’s smooth voice coming from Olivia’s office.

  I was about to walk straight in when I caught what they were talking about.

  Or rather who.

  8 - KISSING COUSINS

  "SHE DID SHOW remarkable bravery going in after them like that," said Mr. Tenpenny.

  "She showed remarkable stupidity and look where that has led. Alastair gone, the Mauvais with a boost to his power, your Tobey lying in a hospital bed. And now some vague threat if we don’t hand her over."

  "But she did get her parents and she still has the watch," said a soft voice with an Irish accent.

  With the sunny day outside, the hallway was brighter than it had been when I’d witnessed — or thought I’d witnessed — Olivia kissing Alastair, but the corridor was still castle-dim. The interior of the office, however, was even darker than the hallway and lit only by the glowing, icy blue light of a Solas Charm.

  "The watch," Olivia scoffed. Her heels were making a sharp click-click-click as she paced across the stone floor. "You mean the watch that should have been destroyed ages ago?"

  "Olivia," said Mr. Tenpenny in the tone of someone begging for reason, "what’s done is done. Or rather not done. We can’t go back and disarm the watch before Cassie’s magic mixed into it. To do so now, it’s far too risky."

  "But will the tribunal think that, especially when they get wind of this demand he’s made? Banna, you’re a part of it, what’s the mood in there? Who else is on the tribunal’s panel?"

  Both my jaw and shoulder muscles tensed at the news that Banna was part of the very group who would decide my fate. The woman had never given any indication she didn’t like me, but despite her warm, melodic voice there was an unyielding aspect to her. She would not let emotions, hers or others, sway her opinion.

  "You know I can’t tell you that, but I’m afraid the mood is grim. They see Cassie Black’s magic as a dangerous thing. Like letting a dragon loose in a barn full of hay. I can tell you this new threat won’t help matters. I’m afraid unless something drastic happens, they will vote for extraction, and likely sooner than the seven days."

  "They have to see it’s a good thing the Starlings are back," Mr. Tenpenny insisted. "Surely that’s a point in her favor."

  "Breaking the rules, acting without any true forethought. These are what the tribunal will bring up."

  "Then why even save the Starlings?" Olivia said curtly. She had stopped her pacing when Banna spoke, but now the click-clacking started up again. "Why didn’t we just leave them in that building? What’s the point of bringing them here? Their minds are completely gone."

  "You can’t punish her for trying," said Busby calmly but assertively. "We used to reward selfless Magics who would rush in to save someone without thinking of their own risk."

  "Selfless?" Banna asked critically. "Do you not think she wasn’t thinking of herself or her own wishes when she went after them? Did she stop to think of the danger this would bring to us all? Don’t get me wrong, it was indeed a brave thing. I’m only repeating what will be said in the tribunal so you can mount your arguments." After a pause she added, "If they allow any."

  "If they allow any?" blurted Busby. "Of course they must allow arguments. They can’t judge a Magic without allowing other Magics to testify on her behalf. It’s precedent."

  I made a note to myself to buy Mr. T a pint or two later that day.

  "This is an unprecedented case, you have to admit that, Busby Tenpenny."

  "There has to be some way to give her time," argued Olivia. Okay, I might have to buy her a drink too. "Or at least lessen the sentence. A draining, perhaps?"

  Well, maybe not a full pint.

  "I think we know the only way to save her is to do away with the Mauvais," said Mr. T. "We have this note, maybe we can trace something in it. Allow me a team, Olivia. Put me back on the force."

  Olivia made a sound as if about to speak, but Banna cut her off, "You know that can’t be allowed."

  "Then what other option do we have?" said Olivia, a hint of fire in her words.

  "We must consider destroying the watch. That’s the only way to destroy him. The tribunal has discussed it and we would be more than willing to take care of the timepiece."

  "That risks killing Alastair and Cassie," Busby said flatly.

  "There are risks," replied Banna, "but only a few people will be hurt. If we don’t act, hundreds, thousands of people could die. And of course, Cassie Black need not be hurt. If we extract her first, her magic will no longer be bound up in the watch and she won’t be harmed by anything we do to the thing. That then brings us back to Alastair Zeller’s original two-strand concept of neutralizing the watch."

  "But the prophecy," said Olivia. "If we take her magic, if we damage her mind, she won’t be able to fulfill the prophecy. She could be the one to rid us of the Mauvais forever. Without her, even if we knock him down a notch, he may rise again. We need her to fully put an end to him."

  "With her magic intact we’re at more risk than ever." When no one replied to this, Banna continued, "Besides, from what you’ve told me, she doesn’t even believe the prophecy is real, or that it doesn’t apply to her, just like every other rule we’ve created. And it may not be that simple. We may not have time to wait for her to fulfill the prophecy."

  "What do you mean?" asked Mr. T.

  "If someone in the community is helping the Mauvais, the longer we keep the connection alive between Devin Kilbride and Cassie Black, the longer this person has to boost his power with that connection."

  "Who is it? Has the tribunal any theories?"

  "That I cannot say."

  "I believe," said M
r. T, "possibly more strongly than anyone here, that the Starlings deserve a chance at recovery after what they’ve been through. And I’m aware it’s a concerning situation with tough calls to make, but I will not," Mr. T pounded his fist on the desk a single time for emphasis, "risk Alastair. Not after everything he’s done. And I don’t think it is in any way fair to extract Cassie for magic strength she didn’t ask for. Would a few extra days, even an extra week, make any difference? Think about it, the Mauvais wants Cassie’s power. If we extract her, we may never figure out who is helping him."

  "You mean to use her as bait?" Olivia asked.

  "Not exactly how I’d put it, but I suppose so."

  "Fair point," said Banna, in a tone that made it clear she thought he was being ridiculous. "But keep a tight rein on that girl. She’s too precocious by far."

  "Precocious," said Olivia with a weary chuckle. Her leather chair creaked as she finally took a seat. "Yes, that’s one word for it."

  "Lurking in hallways again?" Rafi whispered, scaring me so much I had to slap a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

  "Do not do that," I hissed. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and black slacks. He must have been swimming again that morning since a hint of chlorine competed with the scent of his magic.

  "Last time you lurked outside Olivia’s office things got a little weird between you and a certain Tenpenny. You think you’d learn."

  "Unicorns," I warned and Rafi put up his hands in defense.

  "Shall we? There’s news to tell." Before I could respond or react, Rafi linked his arm with mine and dragged me into the office. "Guess who's awake."

  Mr. T’s face beamed brightly enough to replace the bulb at the Cape Meares lighthouse on the Oregon Coast. He practically tripped over his chair in his haste to get up. He jerked to a stop at the door, offered an apology to Olivia for his rudeness, and gave a little bow of his head when she waved him off.

  Even behind her bug-eyed sunglasses, I could feel Banna watching me. Ignoring her despite the chill at my neck, I hurried after Rafi and Busby, who can be surprisingly quick for a dead guy.

  * * *

  Runa, now with lavender frills peeking out from her lab coat, bustled up to us the moment we stepped into the hospital wing. As we followed her back to one of the last beds in the nearly empty ward she spoke in a hushed tone, making every effort to put up a roadblock to the traffic jam of questions trying to spill out of Mr. T's mouth.

  "He's gone back to sleep, but he was awake and seemed coherent," Runa whispered once we reached Tobey’s bed. "He's a little dazed, but that's to be expected."

  Tobey’s curtained-off cubby included a broad window that looked out over the exact same expanse of the Tower’s grounds that could be seen from my room. And, I recalled, from Alastair’s. On a side table next to the window stood a bouquet of bright white daisies. But what held my attention was the box of Moonstruck chocolates next to the flowers.

  "Did he say where he’d been? Is there any clue as to where the Mauvais has gone?" As Mr. Tenpenny rattled out these questions, I stepped over and, while pretending to look out the window, slipped a truffle (okay, three truffles) out of the box.

  "All he could say was it was rather dark, and seemed to be underground because there were no windows."

  "He said that much? That's a good sign, isn't it?"

  "A very good sign," said Runa.

  Seeing Mr. Tenpenny acting so non-British with his enthusiastic feelings of hope, love, and optimism was charming but it was also plunging a hot knife of envy into my gut. Would anyone ever care about me like that? Would I ever have a family who gushed with heartfelt joy over me waking up for five minutes?

  To hide the sting in my eyes, I popped a rum-infused chocolate into my mouth and scanned the charts attached to the foot of Tobey's bed. It detailed his reason for checking in (concussion and magical exposure), his vitals (normal), his current treatment (rest, and Chester as needed), and of course his name: Tobey R. Tenpenny.

  "What's the R stand for?" I asked through a mouthful of swoon-worthy chocolate. I expected something steadfastly posh like Reginald or Remington, but I hoped for something tease-worthy like Ranunculus or Rumpelstiltskin.

  But Mr. T dashed my hopes and expectations when he answered, "Raven."

  "Raven?"

  "Yes, it's a family name. His father's name was Raven Tenpenny. I'm Busby Raven Tenpenny. Every branch of our family tree has a bird perched in it."

  "Like Starling?" Rafi asked significantly.

  "Yes, of course," replied Mr. Tenpenny as if Rafi were a brainless dolt. "You know very well the name Starling goes back far longer than most names, even Raven."

  "Wait, wait, wait," I said, mental gears smoking with how fast they were turning. "Are you saying we're related?" I pointed between me and Tobey and Mr. Tenpenny.

  "Yes, of course," Busby said.

  "And you didn't think to tell me?"

  "It— I suppose it never crossed my mind. Or maybe I just assumed you knew. I mean except for how thin you are, you and Tobey look quite similar. The height, the eye color, and the dark hair are common traits in our line."

  "So Tobey and I are—?" I asked, fuzzy on the details of how family trees branched.

  "Cousins of a sort. Your mother’s mother was my sister."

  "That's why you were so flummoxed when you heard Tobey had kissed Cassie," Rafi cried out, half laughing.

  "I did not kiss her," said a faint voice from the bed.

  9 - LUNCH IN THE BUBBLE

  IT WAS TRUE. Tobey didn’t kiss me and I didn’t kiss him. Even though we had. As Olivia had theorized, the Mauvais had likely morphed, sucked a bit of magic from me during an intimate moment I would very much like to forget, while also worming his way into my head to make me think Alastair had been groping Olivia. Magic is so complicated. And icky, now that I think about it.

  Everyone thrilled over Tobey being awake and being able to speak, and this quickly wore him out before I could grill him about what had happened to Alastair, where the portal had led to, or where they’d been since going through. When it finally got to the point that Tobey was doing little more than snoring and mumbling in his sleep, Runa ordered us to leave, reminded me to come back later in the day to fill up some more absorbing capsules, then told Mr. Tenpenny she’d find him if anything changed. As we headed toward the hallway, the sound of my mother’s tune caught my ears. Only this time, it was my dad doing the humming.

  "Cassie, I think we need to talk," said Olivia.

  And believe me, no good conversation ever started with those words.

  "Now?"

  "Unless you have plans."

  Rafi, seeing his chance to escape another meeting, said he needed to get back to his office to make sure Chester had his schedule in order for the afternoon. I gave him a withering look as he practically skipped down the hall away from us.

  "Your place or mine?"

  "It’s a nice day. How about we go outside? We can order up some lunch." The woman knew how to bribe me, that’s for sure. "I need to first check all is in place in the armory, though."

  As Mr. T, Olivia, and I trudged down the stairs to the armory, Olivia informed us the Yeoman Warders were demanding we buy them a pint for each complaint they were having to deal with over the armory being ‘closed for renovations’ twice in one month.

  The armory looked the same as we’d left it. The rows of horses stood at attention — one still missing a small piece of ear thanks to an earlier magical mishap of mine. The execution block still stuck out like the ugliest of sore thumbs. And the cases full of swords and suits of armor still delighted any eye that loved shiny objects.

  The one difference was the area where Tobey had been found. It had been roped off and four gnomes had been placed at the corners. I say placed, but for their sake, I do hope they were allowed to waddle in and get into position of their own free will. It mus
t be annoying to be a gnome and having to endure humans lifting you up and sticking you in whatever dirt patch they pleased.

  "New decor?" I asked.

  "They’re surveillance gnomes," said Mr. T. Or should I be calling him ‘Uncle’ Tenpenny now?

  "Yes, I know that, but I don’t think the Mauvais is going to keep using that spot to send us messages."

  "Some days I do forget how little you know," said Mr. T in an exasperated tone as if I was supposed to feel guilty for not absorbing every single fact of magic knowledge and culture over the past month. "Percival, Pinafore, Pinchot, and Petunia are highly sensitive and might be able to sense where the temporary portal that opened here came from."