Like Ms. Child, Gwendolyn had a talent for baking, but somehow I don’t think Julia Child ever dreamed of her culinary talents spilling over into becoming the best potions instructor MagicLand ever had. Well, the best until I came along and blew apart, not only Gwendolyn's kitchen, but also her confidence in her teaching skills.
I had improved, though. With the past couple weeks of slow and careful instruction, I could now turn any mouse a perfect shade of pink with my concoctions. Something I couldn’t muster at all when I first started brewing magic juice.
Still, I’d never been one for cooking, so Potions Making would never be my favorite class. Plus, I swear all these kids had been raised beside a cauldron and could tell by smell alone exactly how much eye of newt or scale of cobra was in a sample they were expected to re-create. As if that had any application in the real world. To be honest, I would have rather had Gwendolyn teach me how to bake up the perfect eclair than the perfect elixir, but I wasn’t given a say in my curriculum.
As Gwendolyn called roll, I tried to sneak in. I know, what was I thinking? I’m tall. I’m clumsy. I don’t sneak. I ended up tripping over the threshold from the main kitchen into the classroom. Gwendolyn’s words cut off and fifteen giggling heads whipped in my direction. I don’t know why they were so amused, I did this nearly every time I passed from the kitchen into the classroom whose wooden floor sat just one inch higher than the main kitchen’s tiles. I mean seriously, these people were magic, you’d think they could get the floor from one part of the patisserie to sit evenly with another part.
"Oh good, Ms. Black has arrived. We were one short." Gwendolyn pointed to a bench table to the left of the room. The girl seated there looked away, clearly mortified that she was getting stuck with me for a partner. Can’t blame her for that, really.
I wove my way through the tables to sit beside the girl. From her hair to her freckles it was like her parents had given birth to Pippi Longstocking. And judging by her smock dress and mismatched undershirt, they were doing their best to enhance that look. They hadn’t inserted wire to curl up her coppery braids, but I’d bet they’d considered it.
"Today we’ll be working on a recipe that will make a vampire’s teeth soft so they can’t bite you."
I didn’t earn any points when I asked Gwendolyn — who I was now supposed to call "Ms. Morgan" — why if a vampire had bad teeth, wouldn’t he just carry a pocketknife to make a couple tiny slits in your neck and turn you into a blood-filled juice box.
This comment extracted a gasp from Pippi, much nervous shuffling from the rest of the class, and a stern glare from Gwen— Ms. Morgan.
Apparently vampires were very scary business in MagicLand because the cheeks of every kid, from the darkest skin tones to the lightest, went as white as Gwendolyn’s ivory complexion.
"Please everyone," Gwendolyn said reassuringly, "Ms. Black just has an odd sense of humor. Vampires do not carry knives, and Ms. Black would know that if she had kept up with her studies of magic culture. Because as we all know, vampires have not been allowed to carry sharp objects of any kind since, when?"
Pippi shot up her hand.
"Yes, Inga?"
Okay, so not Pippi.
"1964 in the Vampire Tolerance Act," not-Pippi recited.
I rolled my eyes. Would knowing that help me defeat the Mauvais? Maybe if I wanted to bore him to death.
"Very good, now if everyone could begin to slowly add the corn syrup to the marshmallow-acid blend, we will practice the incantation that will turn dentin into rubber.
I can’t be blamed for what happened next. I still feel bad, but I refuse to take full responsibility for it.
I was perfectly willing to let Eager Little Inga do the whole spell, but Gwendolyn, in an attempt to make sure everyone (namely me) was taking part, declared that the shorter person at the bench would do the pouring and the taller person would do the incantation.
Inga measured and poured and mixed and followed Gwendolyn’s instructions to add a couple flavorings until the mixture smelled like root beer. Then it was my turn.
Over my time in MagicLand I’ve learned I’m a hands-on kind of witch. Give me a Shoving Charm any day, but do not ask me to do an incantation. I feel silly muttering words hoping they’ll do something. I far prefer the more practical stuff where I can picture the physics of the magic doing its work. Potions was more like chemistry, and I’d never done well at chemistry. I tried to imagine the molecules of the ingredients blending together, but since potions only work after they’ve been administered to their intended victim, it’s not the same as the immediate effect of shifting a book from here to, just for example, the other side of a wall.
But I knew I needed to try. I needed to get a handle on my magic if only to keep Mr. Wood’s clients from roaming around. So, feeling like an utter fool, I spoke the words and concentrated my magic onto the mixing bowl in front of me.
Yes, a mixing bowl, not a cauldron, which still disappoints me.
When the brew started bubbling, I glanced around. Okay, good. There was bubbling going on in other mixing bowls as well. I kept on with the incantation and closed my eyes to fully picture the magic and the end goal. I had in mind Edward Cullen coming in for a glittery bite of Bella’s neck and then finding himself in need of Vampire Viagra.
And then Inga was screaming. Everyone was screaming. And Gwendolyn was shoving me aside, shouting at me to get Dr. Dunwiddle immediately. When I finally got a glimpse past Gwendolyn’s frantically fussing frame, my mixing bowl had bubbled up and over and the contents had somehow gone off like a geyser all over Pippi/Inga.
Okay, the tiny and short-lived spark of pride I experienced was probably inappropriate, but you have to give me credit for making the potion work. Problem was, it worked a bit too well because Inga now lay on the floor in a pool of red braids and gingham fabric. Most of her bones had turned to rubber and her unsupported muscles were wobbling in a way that reminded me of something from a Jell-O ad.
Unfortunately, as a land-dwelling vertebrate, a rigid skeleton really is handy to hold all the squishy bits of the body in place. Inga’s eyes rolled out of their sockets and the twin sacks of her lungs fluttered under her dress with her panicked breath.
"Go get Runa," Gwendolyn ordered. When my legs refused to move, she shouted, "Now, Cassie!"
Like some sort of verbal Shoving Charm, her words jerked me out of my shock and sent me running.
7 - FACING THE FIRING SQUAD
IGNORING THE DISGRUNTLED looks being hurled at me from passersby, I sprinted to Dr. Dunwiddle’s clinic. I didn’t explain. I just said (okay, screamed) that there was a pool of Pippi on Gwendolyn’s floor. Dr. D gave a disdainful shake of her head that not only left her hovering glasses scrambling to keep up, but also told me she’d been expecting this and was not happy about it.
"Stay right there," she barked. "Don’t move from that spot and do not touch anything in this clinic." She then grabbed her bag and dashed down the street.
I waited. And to prove I was a trustworthy individual despite my earlier thievery, I obeyed her order not to touch anything. Not even the packets of sugar cookies that were beckoning my name as dinner time came and went. I toyed with the idea of hurrying home for a quick bite to eat and to get some comforting cheek rubs from Pablo, but I knew if Runa came back and I was gone, I’d be in even more trouble.
The light outside changed from daytime bright to that rosy, Pacific-Northwest-summer evening glow, turning the robin’s egg blue walls of the clinic a curious shade of lavender. From behind me came the tinkling chime of the bell that dangled above the entryway. I turned, doing my best to stay in the exact spot where I’d been when Dr. D took off. At the sight of who had stepped in, a tiny fruit bat thrummed its wings inside my stomach.
"Why are you standing there?" Alastair asked, his face a mix of sympathy, amusement, and curiosity.
"Runa told me not to move."
&n
bsp; "I’m sure she wasn’t being literal."
"It’s me we’re talking about. She’s probably got the place booby trapped against me."
Alastair pointed to the chairs in the waiting area of the clinic. My feet were throbbing and my legs ached from standing. The offer was too good to refuse. The moment I sat down, my toes cheered with relief.
"Any news?" I asked, rubbing my knees to stir them back to life.
"I only know that Runa’s working on it," said Alastair as he sat in the chair next to me. He didn’t ease back, but remained perched on the edge of the seat. I knew he’d get up soon and move away to protect himself from my magic ShopVac, but I appreciated the gesture. And since my worry over Inga/Pippi was pushing aside any suspicious thoughts, having him there was comforting.
The comfort disappeared as quickly as a slice of cake in front of a spell-weakened Magic when Dr. Dunwiddle returned. As soon as she stepped through the door, I jumped up from my seat. Runa narrowed her eyes when she saw me. The mint-and-honey scent of her magic filled the room as her glasses flew over and quickly scanned the shelves before they zipped back into her breast pocket. Mr. Tenpenny and Fiona followed in the wake of her annoyance.
"Well?" I asked, the word barely coming through my dry throat.
"Inga’s going to be okay," Runa said, setting her bag on the counter near the register. "But she’s going to be in Intensive Care for several days at the very least. It’s just a good thing Gwendolyn followed protocol and told me what lessons she was doing this week, otherwise I wouldn’t have had the proper equipment on hand to save the girl."
"What happened? It was just a simple potion."
I don’t know why I asked. I knew what had happened: Cassie Black had happened. There were no simple spells, no simple potions, no simple incantations with me.
"You nearly dissolved all her bones. Luckily, those long legs of yours got you here in time for me to stop it. There were enough bone cells left to rebuild, but if it had gone on just a few minutes longer, she’d have died."
I dropped back into the wooden chair. Elbows on knees, I leaned forward and pressed my palms over my face. This was way worse than blowing up a kitchen or accusing an Untrained of using the Exploding Heart Charm on his grandfather. I looked up at the three of them through my fingers.
"You’re going to kick me out, aren’t you?"
"We wouldn’t kick you out," said Fiona. It made me feel a little better and put a tiny amount of air in my balloon of belonging. "You’re far too dangerous to be set loose." And the balloon deflated again. "Alastair, you might want to change seats."
Alastair got up, gave my shoulder a squeeze, then went over to lean against Dr. Dunwiddle’s main counter. Not that he could ever look awful, but even in the warm pink of the evening light, his skin looked paler, duller, a little worse for wear from sitting beside me.
"So what happens now?" I asked. "Magical Prison? Forced Draining?"
A little noise came from Mr. Tenpenny’s throat. It reminded me of his efforts to speak when he first decided being dead really wasn’t for him. I didn’t know what he might have to say, but I couldn’t meet his eye.
When he had first told me I was a witch, I’d wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted drained and I wanted to go back to a simple, solitary life. I didn’t see the point of magic since it certainly hadn’t done me a lick of good for well over twenty years of my life. I also most definitely did not want to be part of this community, of any community for that matter.
But after meeting these people and recognizing the kindness of their efforts to teach and help me, for the first time since meeting Mr. Wood, I’d felt a sense of belonging. And, although my natural instinct was to keep other humans at a distance, I kind of wanted to make an effort to be a part of this group, which was a very icky and very unfamiliar feeling for me.
Now, with the people I’d grown closest to staring at me with that what-should-we-do-with-her look on their faces, I realized that belonging and fitting in wasn’t in the cards for me. Whether it was intentional, accidental, or my typical rash behavior, my every action did nothing but chisel away at my chances of being accepted here. Again, I don’t know why I was surprised. It wouldn’t be the first bridge I’d burnt in my life.
Well, maybe I’d dissolved this particular bridge.
"Look, I can’t be trusted. I’m a magic menace. I can understand if you’re thinking of extracting me."
Extracting, in case you’ve forgotten, is like draining but to the most extreme degree possible. It removes all of a Magic’s power, and tends to have nasty side effects that make a botched lobotomy look like a fun day out at the zoo.
"We’re not going to drain you or extract you," said Mr. T.
"Not yet," Dr. D muttered. She may have just put in a grueling few hours encouraging a handful of bone cells to get their act together, but she wasn’t too tired not to despise me all over again. And we’d been getting along so well.
"So what are you going to do? You can’t put me back in class with those kids. I won’t go," I said, feeling stubbornly heroic. "And you yourselves said I can’t go around without being trained."
"An opportunity has come up," said Fiona in a way that made opportunity sound like a euphemism for "lucky break for us."
"Opportunity?"
"Headquarters has sent a letter," Mr. T said. "They’ve heard about you and the watch, and they think it’s best if you go there where you can be properly trained." He spoke tentatively, as if he was selecting just the right words. Or as if he wasn’t certain how much he was allowed to say. That bat that had been fluttering in my belly? It now seemed to be climbing up my spine with its tiny, clawed feet.
"Properly corralled is more like it," Dr. Dunwiddle said under her breath. Mr. Tenpenny gave her a scolding look, but she merely shrugged it off.
"Anyway," said Fiona, "it would require you studying with another community. One that has more stringent training methods."
My hackles went up faster than an overexcited kitten who’s just rounded a corner to find a German Shepherd staring him down. I’d barely gotten comfortable with being in the Portland community. I did not want to go to headquarters where I’d be thrown in amongst a bunch of new Magics, where I’d be Freak Number One all over again, and where I’d likely be subjected to at least a dozen embarrassing types of scrutiny.
"And if I refuse?"
"We think it’s best you go," Mr. T said, but there was the tiniest bit of hesitancy in his voice.
I was feeling vulnerable. I was feeling stupid. I was feeling afraid of another upheaval to my routine. As such, that tiny bit of hesitancy sparked a wildfire of stubborn self-defeat within me. What comes next is not my proudest moment in MagicLand.
"Look, just drain me," I whined. "That’s what all this is going to amount to, right? Despite what some of you claim, I am not a natural at this. I’m too old to be properly trained, and it’s too late for me to learn how to control this much magic. Drain me, then put whatever comes out in a piece of magic Tupperware so someone in need can have the leftovers and I can go back to my life."
"Is that really what you want?" Fiona asked in that tone you use when you’re pretty sure someone is just lashing out. Which, in all fairness, I was.
I darted a glance at Alastair. His color had returned, but there was anxious concern in his eyes. I looked away. Alastair was a messy variable that I couldn’t bring into this equation.
I thought of what Vivian had offered when she lured me to her boutique to hand over the watch, and what she’d said before our little showdown. She had hinted my parents might be alive and Runa had later confirmed the possibility. They were supposed to have been killed by the Mauvais, but they may not have been and that spark of hope was part of what left me eager to make an effort with my magic and with the MagicLand community.
Now with this, with all of them looking at me and talking about me and contemplating fobbing me
off to be someone else’s problem, any sense of wanting to stay was getting shoved far to the back of my mind. On top of being upset over melting Inga/Pippi, I felt like I was being ganged up on. So, I did what comes naturally to me: I stayed stubborn and even raised the stubbornness ante.
"Yes, drain me. Go on, do it." I held out my arm as if ready to give blood.
"You know it doesn’t work like that," Dr. Dunwiddle said, rolling her eyes. "It would take at least an hour to get everything set up and I’m too tired to do it today. Come back tomorrow."
"Ohhh-kay." I stretched out the word, a little thrown that my offer had been accepted. I mean, I expected them to refuse, to argue against the very idea, to cajole me back into feeling like I was one of them. Merlin’s beard, I had really screwed up, hadn’t I? "So, should I go home now?"
"That’s probably for the best," Runa said wearily. "You can meet us back here tomorrow morning."
The Uncanny Raven Winston Page 5
