"I give you sausage and you bring me recycling? Not a very fair trade."
But Winston shook his head, then jutted the paper at me. The movement was accompanied by the scent of chocolate. And raspberries. My heart jumped.
I took the scrap from Winston and turned it over several times as if it had more than two sides. But no matter how many times I flipped it over, both sides remained blank. My heart leapt again, but this time straight into the Thames to drown itself for being so stupidly hopeful. The paper was likely nothing more than a piece of a bag Alastair had carried a sandwich in at some point. Winston must have picked it up from a bin that hadn’t been dumped yet.
"Thanks, but it’s not exactly what I want."
Winston snapped his beak, and let me tell you when a bird — even a ghost one — the size of a raven with a beak that can tear flesh off bone snaps at you, you pay attention.
"I don’t know what you want me to do with this."
Just then the door to the White Tower opened and Mr. Tenpenny, who had started to step out, took a step back in surprise.
"Ah, hello, Cassie. And Winston." The raven tilted his head in greeting. "Any reason you’re standing here?"
"Winston has brought me what he thinks is quite the treasure." I handed it to Mr. T. "It smells like—"
"Alastair," Mr. T said immediately upon taking the scrap. "Very good, Winston. Come on, Cassie. Inside so we can read this."
"It’s blank."
"It’s not. Go on, Winston. I’ll bring you some steak in a bit."
Only after the bird eyed Busby as if making it very clear he would hold him to that promise, did Winston fly off.
Mr. Tenpenny wouldn’t answer any of my questions about what significance a small, torn piece of lunch sack might have as he raced toward Olivia’s office.
Olivia was at her desk, calculating something by swiping rows of beads that hung in the air like a floating abacus. Mr. T slapped the paper down on her desk, breaking her concentration and sending the beads scattering. Of course, these were magic beads so they only rolled a few feet before vanishing in a puff of mist.
"What is this?" Olivia asked, looking at the paper with distaste.
"It’s from Alastair. I think he’s managed to project a Communication Charm."
"Are you sure?" Olivia asked. She sat up straighter and examined the paper. "It could just be garbage."
"Winston brought it to Cassie. It carries the scent of Alastair’s magic. It has to be a message from him."
"Can someone explain to me what’s going on?" I asked.
"A Communication Charm allows you to write with magic remotely. It’s been ages since I’ve seen it used. Let’s see if I can still manage it." After a moment’s concentration, Olivia demonstrated by making some odd motions with her index finger almost as if she was listening to a symphony and imagining herself as the conductor. The smell of smoldering came from a side table where a tidy stack of stationery sat. Mr. Tenpenny went over, picked up the top sheet, then handed it to me. On it was written: Cassie has much to learn.
"Cute," I said drolly.
"That’s just the basic spell," Olivia explained. "It takes a Concealing Spell layered over it to make the words invisible. Unfortunately, that combination of spells has fallen out of usage."
"But how did the paper get from where Alastair is to here?"
"That’s the whole point," said Mr. T. "It’s a way to send a message remotely without anyone knowing you’re doing so. All Alastair had to do was move a single finger in the shape of the words. Well, and be able to muster the magical strength to send and conceal those words. It takes a great deal of concentration and proves Alastair is still in good shape. The spell was a marvel before the telegraph. Now, as Olivia said, it’s rarely used. Mobiles, what you call cell phones, have mostly replaced the need for the Communication Charm."
"Even if the Mauvais had allowed Alastair to keep his phone," Olivia mused, "the battery would have died days ago. Modern technology is convenient, but it’s far from perfect."
Given my own phone’s quirks with cell service in MagicLand and in the magic-altered White Tower, I had to agree.
"It’s very clever of Alastair to send it, but we need someone who can undo the concealment portion of the charm to reveal the message. Corrine and other messenger service workers used to be well-trained in such spells, but I’m afraid we’ve all gotten a bit lazy with them. Busby, do you still know how to do it?"
Before Mr. T could answer, Banna, swathed in her layers of clothing and dark sunglasses, stepped into the office. "Ah, good, you’re all here. I thought I should inform you the tribunal—"
Mr. Tenpenny’s face had brightened the instant Banna entered the room. As she’d been speaking, he’d double-timed it over to her. In his excitement, I half expected Mr. T to lift the tiny woman up and carry her over to the desk. Instead, he grabbed her by the hand and hurried her across the stone floor, her short legs nearly tripping over themselves to keep up with his long strides. Once to the desk, he pointed excitedly to the paper.
"A concealed Communication Charm. Can you read it? You of all Magics must still know the Revealing Spell."
Banna glanced at the paper, then brushed her fingers along it. "It’s recent." My heart went leaping like a caffeinated frog. Recent meant Alastair was still alive. This wasn’t some three-week old message lost by the magic postal service. Banna held the paper down with one hand while making circular motions over it with the other, almost like she was massaging the thing.
Faint words began to appear under her fingertips. At one point, she jerked her hand back and her jaw tensed. She glanced up to see if anyone had noticed. Of course we had, we were watching her every move.
"Sorry, I’ve gotten out of practice with this spell. It got a wee bit carried away from me." She gave a self-deprecating shrug, pinched her first two fingers to her thumb, then continued. "That should do it," she said when she stopped her hand motions. I leaned over her shoulder to read what she’d revealed:
I’m alive. Underground somewhere, Portland I think. Find me soon. Attacks won’t stop. Talk to Morelli.
My throat went very dry. Morelli had said he and Alastair had discussed person-to-person portals. Was Talk to Morelli in reference to that? What if HQ found out about his extracurricular portal activity? I mean, if Olivia herself asked my landlord to make a portal, that would be one thing, but if she caught him making one, namely one I’d commissioned… I just had to hope Morelli was quick with his excuses. Or with covering up evidence.
"What does that mean, ‘Talk to Morelli?’ You don’t think he’s the traitor, do you?" asked Busby.
"It’s possible," said Banna. "The trolls, you know they’ve always born a grudge. Just look at what Chester—"
"Chester is innocent," I blurted, causing Banna to flinch.
"What did you say?" she asked.
I went on to explain about Chester and the armory, and the rats, and just Chester in general. He wasn’t exactly the shrewdest half-troll, so how could he conspire against the likes of Olivia and Banna? I’m not even sure if he could outwit Pablo.
"This is mostly conjecture," said Banna.
"But we will consider it," Olivia added. I stood there waiting for more, waiting for one of them to act. "Well, we’re not going to do it this very second. We need to sort this out." Olivia tapped the paper.
"Have you finished your entry for the book?" Mr. Tenpenny asked. I said I hadn’t, annoyed at the change of subject, at how easily they were ignoring Chester’s possible innocence. "Perhaps you should go work on that." Talk about your not-so-subtle dismissals.
I left, wanting to take the paper, wanting to have something of Alastair’s with me. I didn’t feel like holing up in my room and adding my crappy life story to some stupid book, so I headed to the hospital ward, grumpily wondering what the point was since I couldn’t be near my parents.
When I
got there, Dr. D was nowhere to be seen, so I took my chances and peered in to see my mom vacantly but willingly accepting from Jake spoonfuls of what looked like mashed potatoes. My dad sat at the table staring out across the grounds. It was an improvement, but nothing to celebrate. It was clear they still had no idea who or where they were.
I counted on my fingers. Pisa. The bridges. Vegas. Dublin. Two more spells. Two more spells and they would be pushed out of the running for any chance at an easy recovery. If the Mauvais stayed on his path of destruction, and if Runa couldn’t figure out the transfusion thing, my parents faced years of slow infusions of magic to return them to normal, assuming they could ever return to normal. And so far, no one had given me any guarantee of that.
As another spoonful of potato neared my mom’s mouth, she mumbled, "White."
My dad echoed the word.
"Yes, good job, both of you," Jake said with oddly pure delight. I mean, how excited could you get over a word they’d been saying since they’d been brought in? "The potatoes are indeed white. Very good, Chloe."
Leaving them to their starchy white wonderland, I wandered around the hospital, but couldn’t find Runa to ask her about my parents’ progress. Seeing little else to do, I headed back to my room to wait for Morelli to finish his task.
Tobey was lingering outside my door.
"Hey, I wanted to show you this spell—"
Just then someone came around the corner. I unlatched my door and pulled Tobey in.
"Shut up and get in here." I wanted to slam the door closed, but the pneumatic hinges meant it took the damn thing what felt like ten minutes to click shut. "You can’t talk about spells in the open. You’re not supposed to have magic, remember?"
"Right, sorry, I just got an idea in my head and wanted to try it out."
"Okay," I said warily. "Let’s see it."
Tobey shook out his shoulders, then tipped his head side to side, sending disturbing popping sounds from his neck. He then squinted his eyes and tightened his face in that same look of constipation he always wore when doing magic.
And then it began to snow. The room didn’t grow any colder, but fluffy, glittering snowflakes drifted down around us. Unfortunately, when they landed on the floor, they immediately melted, leaving a dark puddle on the carpet.
"Nice," I said, as I performed a Drying Spell on the carpet. I really was impressed, not just being sarcastic. "Did Rafi teach you that?"
"Nope, I read about the principle in one of grandad’s books, but I put my own spin on it. That was the glittering."
"Not too bad for an Untrained," I said with forced encouragement, trying to hide my jealousy. I could barely control my magic and here he was mastering spells after only reading a few pages? So much for my status as the magical prodigy.
After this wintry demonstration, we went over a few other spells for practice. My mind kept returning to Alastair, to what he might be doing, to how he was holding up, to whether or not I could get to him in time. Still, the work with Tobey helped distract me from overthinking and gave me something to do with my nervous energy. After about an hour, two coronation chicken sandwiches and an entire apple cake appeared. Once three-quarters of the cake had gone down Tobey’s gullet, a raven (not Winston) landed at my window. It tapped on the glass with its thick beak.
"I heard a tapping gently rapping at my chamber door," I said as I went over to open the window. The bird hopped in carrying a square box that measured about five inches on each side. It was tied with string that the raven clutched in its claws. "Hand it over."
It shook its head. I went over to the plate of food and picked up a piece of chicken that had fallen from my sandwich. It seemed a little cannibalistic to me, but the raven didn’t hesitate to gobble up his avian cousin in exchange for the package.
"What is it?" Tobey asked.
I turned over the tag. In purple ink and block letters, it read: This should take you wherever he is. Snack first, then be careful.
"It’s the portal."
"Are you going now? I’ll go with you."
"No, we should rest. It’s going to come down to a fight and we should give the cake time to charge our magic. Besides, if we leave now, it might be noticed. We’ll go once everyone else is asleep. Meet me back here in a few hours."
"Alright. Midnight, then?"
"That’s the witching hour," I said and ushered him out the door.
The moment he was gone, I opened the box.
38 - THE PORTAL
INSIDE THE BOX, nestled in shredded paper, was a black ball about the size of a baseball.
I felt like a heel for tricking Tobey. He wanted to go, to help, and in some ways I did want him along, but I couldn’t take the chance. He had magic now. My magic. And if the Mauvais sensed that on him, he would drain Tobey for everything he could take.
I wasn’t sure what that would do to Tobey. After all, he wasn’t truly a Magic, but he was also no longer an Untrained. Would draining him simply pull the plug on his power, leaving him as before? Or would he end up like my parents? It wasn’t an experiment I was willing to run.
I lifted the portal from the box. It had almost no weight, but felt as cold as dry ice. Once out of its confines, it expanded to the diameter of a sewer pipe but with none of the pungent sewer-y smell.
Sewage! That was what I’d been trying to recall. The armory had had a foul smell lingering in the air when Tobey had been returned. Morelli told me trolls, even half-trolls, give off a stink when they’re cursed. Chester had to have been cursed before we got there. But cursed to do what? To bring Tobey through? To bring us that note? To poison Runa at some specified date? I needed to tell Olivia this new revelation.
But how long might I get stuck in Olivia’s office explaining and arguing?
I looked at the portal. Morelli said the illegal ones didn’t last longer than a few hours. How long was a few? Did I have three hours or twelve? Either way, the thing would deliver me to Alastair, and that meant to the Mauvais. Even if the portal stayed open for a week, I might not return. I had to make sure Chester wasn’t punished for something he didn’t do, or at least didn’t do of his own free will.
I jotted a note to Olivia and Busby about the timing of the smell in the armory, about my theory that it could be a sign of Chester having been cursed. I propped the message on my table. Then, with my hands shaking, I wadded up some of the box’s paper lining and tossed it in. It vanished just as the stapler had done when I’d thrown it into the portal Alastair and Tobey had been pulled into by the Mauvais.
My belly twisted. The tiny bit of optimistic self-delusion I allow myself now and then wanted to say that maybe the Mauvais, worn out from all his evil-doing, would be in bed taking a nap. That maybe I could go in and rescue Alastair without the Mauvais noticing a thing. Once back, I’d tell the others about the portal and they could go in and wrangle Devin Kilbride into non-existence.
But I’d never gotten the hang of fooling myself and I knew the truth. Someone was going to die. Or be made into a human battery. Whatever happened, it wasn’t going to be sunshine and rainbows on the other side of this portal.
I closed my eyes, gathered my strength, focused my magic, then, wondering where I’d end up, stepped through.
And immediately cursed Morelli.
This was nothing like the portals I’d been in before. It wasn’t like walking through an open door into another room. It wasn’t even like being treated like an uninsured package. This was more like bashing head first into a screened patio door, then feeling my skin and muscles and bones squishing through like straining berries through cheesecloth to make jam. I just hoped everything stayed together and that I wasn’t leaving behind a liver or kidney or some other vital tidbit. This is what you get for ordering quickly made, illegal portals.
The strained-berry feeling intensified as I suddenly slammed against a hard surface. An electrical smell pierced my nostrils
and a crackling noise filled my ears. My neck hairs prickled. I tensed, fearing the crash and spark of a lightning storm.
39 - IN THE TUNNELS
THE STORM NEVER came, and the electrical sizzle subsided. Once the strained-berry sensation eased, I checked myself. Everything seemed like it had made it through, but if I survived this, I swore to schedule an exam with Dr. Dunwiddle as soon as possible to make sure all my internal bits and pieces were still where they should be.
The portal had let me out into a cramped room with shelf-lined walls like a basement storage pantry. I caught the scent of hops, not fresh ones being dumped into a batch of beer, but musty, like ones discarded decades ago. I recalled Tobey’s hypnosis session. He’d mentioned the same smell.
The Untangled Cassie Black Page 25
