After enjoying a hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage links, and pancakes with Grade A maple syrup (apparently the kitchen staff had gone American that morning), I headed to the hospital ward. I wanted to check in on my parents, but I also wanted to grill Dr. Dunwiddle about her progress with the portal scans.
When I showed up, I peered into Runa’s office. She was busy reading something on a tablet screen, so I knocked on the door jamb to get her attention. When she glanced up, her brow was furrowed. Although that’s often how she looks when she catches sight of me, so it might not have meant anything was amiss. She set down the device, signaled her glasses to zip into her pocket, and beckoned me in with a tilting nod of her head.
"Is it safe to see them?" I asked.
"Safe? I don’t know." She shook her head and wore a dejected expression that was made worse by the dark circles hanging under her eyes. Things were so bad, even the frills on her shirt drooped under her lab coat. "I just don’t know."
Except for the time I set her exam room on fire, I’d never seen Runa as anything but stalwartly pragmatic, so her defeated air hit me like a donkey kick to the chest.
"They’re not, you know, getting worse?"
"No, not worse. The method works, really works. I get your magic from the absorbing capsules into them. They get better. Their power should do nothing but strengthen with the treatment. But I leave the room for a few hours to sort out this portal thing, and when I come back, they’re back to zero again. I just don’t get it. It’s like unless someone tends to them twenty-four hours a day, the magic fades. If I or one of the nurses stays with them, they’re fine, but we can’t live in their room."
"So, the magic you’re giving them is leaking out?"
"It can’t. It’s not that kind of magic. It’s healing magic from a troll. Maybe Chester isn’t as skilled as we thought."
"He fixed my hand."
"Exactly. And when he wasn’t in your presence, did the hand go back to being broken? No. Because healing magic is sticky magic. It can take several doses in tricky cases like your parents, but it doesn’t fade. It doesn’t reverse, not to this extent." Runa dipped her head and rubbed her brow with her fingertips. "I just wanted to get this right for Olivia," she said mostly to herself. "The idea she has is our best chance, but—" Runa peered between her fingers and abruptly cut her words off when she realized I was still there.
I didn’t want to talk about Olivia, nor did I want to hear her name. The very fact that Runa would be doing anything to make Olivia happy made a petty little piece of me glad that whatever she was doing wasn’t working.
"But what?" I prodded.
"Nothing. Never mind. Come on, you might as well stop in and see them now that you’re here. No entering the room, though. This is challenging enough."
Expecting to see two people lying in bed staring into the void, I was surprised to see my mom seated in a chair, her back rigid, and her hands being held in Rafi’s. He didn’t glance over or acknowledge our presence in any way. He only stared into my mother’s eyes like a very intense lover.
"What’s he doing?" I whispered to Runa.
"His idea. Hypnotizing. Elves excel at it because they’re so calming to be around."
"Calming? Wait, is Lola an—?"
"Yes. Obviously." Again, another fact of Rosaria that Cassie Black was just supposed to have known via osmosis or something. "She’s a different breed of elf than Rafi. Her kind are more comforting than calming, but her line goes way back. Time with her was in high demand during the Mauvais’s rise and it’s a wonder he didn’t try to wipe out the elves along with the trolls. Merlin forbid he allow anyone any sense of peace."
From the pair at the table came a noise. A groaning hum like someone doing a vocal exercise. Rafi’s hands gripped tighter, his fingers digging into the skin of my mom’s hands, and I worried her fragile bones might snap under the pressure. I started forward without thinking, but Runa stuck out an arm to hold me back.
The throaty rumble ceased and my mom opened her mouth.
"White. White. White. Tuhhh—"
And then her eyes closed and her head lolled until her chin dropped to her chest. Rafi let go of her hands and gently placed them in her lap.
"It’s all I can get from her. It’s the third time she said it. Just white and tuh."
"White Tower?" Runa inquired. "Does that mean she knows where she is?"
"I don’t know. I asked her to focus on the last thing she saw before her extraction, so it’s possible she’s confused. She may think I’m asking about what she sees now, but I doubt she knows where she is exactly."
"What about Tobey?" I asked. "Have you tried this on him?"
"I’d planned to start on him, but he made bail before I got here and is now roaming free once again."
"You’ll try it, though? He might know something."
"Yes, Ms. Impatient, but it’ll have to wait a few hours. I was really giving your mom all I could muster and I need a bit to build up again. Which also means no sparring with your favorite teacher today."
"Does that mean I’m working with…?" I couldn’t say the name. My stomach twisted in ways that would spark the jealousy of the most bendy contortionist.
"Yep, Banna’s waiting for you in the armory."
"Why the armory?" I asked, picturing (and dreading) having to make the wooden horses march again.
"Because the Yeoman Warders and their spouses are using the practice room for a yoga class."
"A yoga—?"
Rafi nodded before I could finish the sentence, leaving me with a mental picture of a group of men and women in full Beefeater regalia doing their sun salutations.
* * *
The only good thing about a practice session in the armory was that it couldn’t last long since we had to clear out before the tourists started trundling in. And yes, the armory was opening again to the public. The gnomes couldn’t detect a damn thing, and after sixty hours of round-the-clock duty, had insisted their contracts specifically stated they could not be worked more than three days in a row.
Even with the limited time before the display’s grand re-opening, I wasn’t looking forward to my upcoming lesson. I mean, it was great that Banna seemed to be on my side in regards to not extracting me — or at least waiting for the tribunal to make that decision, not just jumping in all trigger happy with the extraction gun like Olivia — but after my last lesson with her, I imagined Banna would not go easy on me this time around.
Once I reached the armory, I peered in, hoping Banna might have changed her mind. But no such luck, the main lights had been fully dimmed, leaving only the small display lights glinting off suits of armor and the cold glow of her Solas orb to illuminate the space.
"Ah, you made it," said Banna, whose eyes, which were the same chilly color as her orb, showed genuine delight that I’d shown up. Maybe Banna was more tolerant of bitchy behavior and sandy screw ups than I gave her credit for. "Come on in, we don’t have much time. I thought we’d go back to a little more practice on the membrane spell. Alastair had been working on that with you, correct?"
"Yes," I said cautiously. Cautious because I didn’t dare hope there was more to this than met the eye. If the tribunal was leaning toward extracting me, they certainly wouldn’t send one of their own to have me practice a spell that not only controlled my nasty habit of absorbing, but also reined in my giving tendencies. For an extraction they would want my magic flowing as freely as the long, luscious locks of a model in a shampoo ad.
Perhaps the tribunal was considering letting me off with a warning. Perhaps they could put a halt to Olivia’s blood-thirsty, or rather magic-thirsty, craving for my extraction. I couldn’t help but hope. Which meant I went into the session with a very un-Cassie-like level of enthusiasm and positive thinking.
It’s amazing what a good attitude can do. I guess I should have been taming my snarky cynicism all along becaus
e conjuring the membrane came easily. I didn’t quite feel like I was doing it correctly, that maybe it was a little leakier than it should be, but Banna said she was sensing only the tiniest bits of magic emanating from me as she circled around, trying to pull power from me as she evaluated the membrane for any chinks in the armor.
"Quite good. Since you’ve done so well, it’s your choice for how we use up the last ten minutes or so we’ve got. Sparring or giving the horses some exercise?"
To be honest, neither sounded like a good option. The armory was only just re-opening after days of closure, and I didn’t have a good track record with preventing disasters in this room. But sparring with Banna scared me more than the possibility of making a mess of the armory and disappointing hundreds of tourists again.
"The horses," I said hesitantly.
"Good choice. That will let me see just how much control you’re showing over your magic."
Was it too late to change my mind? If I sent the horses into a stampede, how soon would that get back to the tribunal? Plus, I worried I’d already overdone it. I felt tired, far more tired than I had in weeks from doing magic. If I’d known what I was going to be up to this morning, I would have drowned my pancakes with the entire bottle of syrup.
Just then a buzzer went off and the glass cases that protect the suits of armor from the hands of Norms lowered. (The Magics like to leave the cases open in the evening for any role-playing shenanigans they might want to get up to.)
Banna gave a disgruntled huff. "I could have sworn we had more time. My internal clock’s been completely thrown off lately." She then snapped her fingers to conjure a pair of sunglasses and an umbrella. She’d just gotten her shades on and the umbrella up when the full array of lights came on. "I better get going. Keep up the good work." With another snap of her fingers, the orb vanished and Banna dashed out of the armory.
My head ached and my eyelids felt like they had boulders weighing them down. I guess I hadn’t realized how much effort I had been putting into the membrane. But it had worked and I’d impressed Banna, a feat almost as unlikely as impressing Runa. Still, I didn’t think I had the energy to climb to my room for a nap. I needed sugar. I wasn’t exactly sure how the food situation worked in the White Tower, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.
"Can I get some cookies?" Then, remembering this was the U.K., I added, "Or biscuits?"
Something popped only inches from my face and I flinched back, pinching my eyes shut. When I opened them, a plate of three chocolate chip cookies hovered before me. Talk about convenient. How did the Tower-dwelling Magics not turn into blimps? To keep the plate from refilling, I grabbed all but a small piece of the cookies. The dish then disappeared and I devoured the treats in about ten seconds, feeling more rejuvenated with each chocolatey morsel.
After strolling past the horses — they really were impressive — I exited the armory just as the sounds of voices with Germanic accents reached my ears from the display’s entryway.
An odd sight met me when I came out into the hallway: Nigel. I mean, he looked the same as ever, but I’d always seen him outside on the Tower grounds; he seemed out of place inside.
"Hey Nigel, looking for a lesson?"
"What?" he asked distractedly, as he glanced down toward the end of the hallway. "Oh yes, I suppose it would be good if I could give a little speech about the White Tower. But was that Banna who just came from the armory?"
I couldn’t imagine who else would be sporting an umbrella indoors, but I merely said it had been.
"I wonder what she’s doing in there again. She and Olivia have been going into that area a lot recently. Maybe they’re visiting the pool. Have they taken up swimming? Are they starting a Tower swim team?" he asked excitedly. "Do you think they’ll let me join?"
"I think it’s more to do with Tobey’s reappearance. But if there’s any talk of a swim team, I’ll mention your interest."
"Oh, how splendid. Now, shall I start my speech?"
"Go for it," I said as we started our way toward the stairwell.
"Well, the White Tower was constructed by the Druids after they realized Stonehenge was a bit too drafty to live in." Nigel glanced at me as if waiting for my confirmation.
"That’s absolutely incorrect, but I kind of like it. Might be a good test to see how gullible your tour group is."
"Then wait until you hear how the turrets at the four corners of the White Tower are topped with the hats of giants the Druids conquered."
"That might be going a bit far. Did you ever consider writing fiction instead of being a Yeoman Warder?"
"No, why would you ask that?"
"No reason," I replied as Nigel finally got on track and delivered a pared down and mostly-accurate history of the White Tower, starting with William the Conqueror’s invasion of 1066.
While he spoke, his news of Banna and Olivia in the armory wouldn’t leave my head. But then again, why wouldn’t they be in there? It was a common area of the Tower, not someone’s room, not someone’s office. Plus, this was Nigel we’re talking about. He’s not known for having a firm grip on the facts.
22 - MID-MORNING ARGUMENT
AFTER NIGEL’S GHOSTLY brain had reached its limit for new information, we headed out of the White Tower and into the crush of early-bird tourists wandering in a daze of history. Weaving through them with a determined stride was Olivia — her face grim and her braids looking tighter than normal.
The sight of her and her obvious foul mood, forced me to abandon any concerns over where she and Banna chose to spend her time. Instead, my mind filled with worry over what city the Mauvais would hit next. And whether Olivia would take it upon herself to extract me to protect that city.
"Oh, there’s a tour just starting," said Nigel as he noticed a group approaching the tiny St. Peter in Chains chapel. "I might be needed." Nigel sometimes helped the other Yeoman Warders lend credence to their tales of haunted crypts and spectral sightings. He enjoyed the role and I figured his hearing the correct history of the Tower as often as possible couldn’t hurt. Who knows, eventually it might even seep in.
I told him good luck then made my own way to the raven enclosure. Most of the birds would be out and about at that time of day, but a couple might be lingering around. I truly liked the birds. Not only did their all-black attire show they had good fashion sense, but they had a clever intelligence that could get them in trouble and I couldn’t help but admire that.
Winston was just waddling over to see me when someone, a male someone, called my name. He — Winston, that is — let out an annoyed squawk and turned his back on me. Who knew birds could be jealous?
I turned to see Tobey heading toward me. I then recalled Winston’s earlier reactions to Tobey Tenpenny, namely the bird’s seeming desire to thrash Tobey on the few occasions the two had been near each other. A shiver ran up my spine. Winston had attacked the window when he had seen me kissing Tobey (who as I now knew had actually been the Mauvais all morphed up to look like Tenpenny Junior). Had Winston’s other freak-out sessions around Tobey been because he sensed the Mauvais’s magic on him? If so, Winston merely giving Tobey the cold shoulder might be a good indication that Tobey was now Mauvais-free.
Still, you already know how far I reel out the trust line. I wasn’t about to put my magical fate in the hands, or rather wings, of a dead bird. Probably good life advice for anyone, really.
"So you really did escape from the hospital."
"Yeah, I kept telling them I’d gotten all the rest I needed and they finally agreed there wasn’t any reason to keep me there. Go for a walk?"
I eyed him warily.
"When you first met me, I gave you a paisley tie," he said, looking at me with impatience. I glanced over to Winston. He still wore a sightly put-out air, but he bobbed his head as if in approval.
"Fine. It’s you. Along the walls?"
We climbed the stairs and joined the
cluster of tourists shuffling their way along the walkway that overlooked the Thames and from which they could get great shots of Tower Bridge. We squeezed past a crowd of selfie sticks that were threatening to tangle together, then walked in silence until we reached the chilly interior of Wakefield Tower. I was just pondering whether I should conjure my hoodie or perhaps a Warming Spell when Tobey finally spoke.
"So, here’s the deal. Runa’s borrowing Grandad’s iPad to look over his information regarding the Mauvais. She’s trying to match up any location the Mauvais might have been with the portal records Banna pulled up for her. I could go in for a quick check up, you know pretend that I’m feeling weird or something. Then, while I’m in there, I could get the info for you. Or go over what’s there and tell you what I find out."
The Untangled Cassie Black Page 15
