Putting on my I-don’t-need-you face, I stomped over and yanked open the door, self-consciously cringing at the noise of the entry bell.
Of course, my resolve to hate everyone faltered the moment the bell ting-a-linged my departure. I tucked down my head to hide the prickling tears of confused disgrace I was desperately trying to hold back. With head tucked and shoulders hunched, I zigzagged my way out of Runa’s neighborhood, moving as quickly as possible toward the side street where my portal was located.
A little tip: Although walking with your head down fully emphasizes your I’m-so-morose air, it’s terrible for your back and shoulders. It also makes it really hard to see other sidewalk users. Which is why, in my hunch-y haste, I collided into Tobey Tenpenny.
Apparently the gods of magic had decided my day hadn’t already been horrible enough.
8 - LETTER FROM HQ
TOBEY HAD BEEN walking hand in hand with Daisy, who was impossibly gorgeous. Come to think of it, it was completely possible since she was a witch who could charm her skin into its super smooth, gleaming perfection as well as add a magic bounce and sheen to her long, blonde, shampoo-ad hair. It also helped her appearance that, unlike me, her eyes weren’t brimming with tears and her nose wasn’t burning red with a surge of emotion-induced snot that threatened to burst through at any moment.
"Cassie, I heard they want to train you at headquarters," Tobey said excitedly. "That’s great news."
Have I mentioned MagicLand isn’t big on privacy?
"Yeah, well, I’m not going."
"Are you a moron?" All his excitement changed to the offended irritation I was used to from the early days of our frenemy-ship. "Do you realize the opportunity you’re being given?"
Tobey is an Untrained, that’s a person who should be a Magic but, for whatever weird quirk of genetics, isn’t. Having grown up with a grandfather who was, before his death, a talented wizard who ranked rather high up in the magic world, Tobey knows what he’s missed out on. And he seemed to take it as a personal insult when other people, namely me, didn’t see the magic in being a Magic.
"I melted a girl today, okay? I’ve changed my mind. I can’t handle this magic crap anymore, so why don’t you run along with Malibu Barbie and stop judging what I do with my life."
This earned me a deservedly nasty look from Daisy. I was lucky she didn’t zap me with a Wart Charm, but maybe that was only because she didn’t have any toad skin in her purse. See, I do pay attention in potions class. I’m just not good with putting what I’ve learned in that class into practice.
"You’re a real piece of work, Cassie." Tobey tugged Daisy by the hand to pull her along as he huffed away from me.
To her credit, Daisy yanked her hand out of his and threatened to magic all his hair out if he ever dared to drag her like a dog again. If I didn’t hate everyone at that moment, I might have wanted to make friends with her.
Once I got to my portal, I rushed inside and tripped my way through the mess of coats and shoes until I tumbled out of my closet door. I was never more glad to be back in my rat-trap apartment. Pablo purred at the sight of me, a bag of kettle corn was calling my name, and I had a freshly filled growler in the fridge. I poured a glass, filled up a bowl, and plunked down on my battered couch with Pablo and a novel that had nothing to do with magic.
Just as I was getting into the story, a knock sounded from inside my closet. I got up and tiptoed over to the flimsy door. I half-expected it to be Dr. Dunwiddle ready to drag me away to my draining. Or perhaps it was Inga’s parents come to hurl insults and pain-inducing magic spells at me (even though this was entirely illegal according to the guidelines set by the Council on Magic Morality).
Unsure whose angry face might be lurking behind the door, I leaned closer to it and took a sniff. I chided myself over how quickly this had become a habit, and an image of me as a droopy-faced bloodhound sprang to mind. And just so you know, this isn’t some weird fetish or compulsive behavior I’ve developed. See, all Magics carry on them a defining and unique scent that varies depending on who’s doing the smelling.
Through the door, I detected chocolate and an underlying hint of raspberries. After all our time together, I should have become fully acclimated to that scent. But as with everything else, the watch had boosted my magical sniffer.
Despite wanting to stew in my bad mood, despite wanting nothing to do with magic or the magic community, and despite a lingering know-it-all voice in the back of my head telling me I shouldn’t be alone with him, I smiled as the fruit bat in my belly fluttered his wings again.
"I thought you were supposed to stay away from me," I said when I opened the door, pushed aside my jackets, and invited Alastair in.
"I need to keep my distance, but this should help," he said, lifting up a white box decorated with blue and silver flourishes. I raised my eyebrows, asking a silent question. "Chocolate cupcakes with raspberry filling and hazelnut whipped cream frosting," he answered. So, maybe it wasn’t him I had scented. Maybe I’d caught a whiff of those baked beauties.
"You do have a way with words," I said as Pablo strolled over to rub a couple thousand hairs all over the lower portion of Alastair’s dark blue slacks.
As Alastair started one of his timers — a mechanical penguin this time — I poured him a glass of beer. I also refilled my own mug because nothing goes better with decadently sweet chocolate than a wickedly bitter IPA. When I brought the drinks, Pablo was eyeing the timer as it waddled back and forth across my shabby coffee table.
With me on the couch, Alastair in the wingback chair, and Pablo inching closer to the penguin, we made small talk, finished off two cupcakes, and consumed half the growler before Alastair got around to the real reason he’d stopped by. "I think you should do the training at HQ."
I rolled my eyes. Of course this couldn’t just be a friendly little chitchat over cupcakes.
"Just because I’m practically drunk on sugar, which I’m not supposed to be having, by the way, doesn’t mean I’ve lost my senses. I need to be drained. It’s the only way for me to move on with my life and for all the little Wyrd children to stay safe."
Wyrd being the official name for Magics in the Portland community. Or maybe all communities. I suppose I should fact-check that.
Pablo leapt onto the table and took a swipe at the timer. I was about to scold him, when the penguin waddled just out of the cat’s reach.
"Maybe you want to read the letter first," Alastair said, then slid a precisely folded sheet of paper across the coffee table. I took it, and something about the feel of the smooth paper under my fingers woke up a spark of hope I thought had gone dormant. Or maybe it was the buzz from so much IPA.
"Are you supposed to have this?" I asked. More importantly, was I supposed to have it?
"No, so don’t mention it to any of the others."
I unfolded the letter and recognized Alastair’s sharp handwriting. I looked up at him questioningly.
"After reading the original, I copied it out as soon as I could. It might not be word for word, but it’s close."
Secret messages? Subterfuge? My curiosity level ratcheted up several notches. While Pablo kept up his attempts at penguin hunting, I read the letter.
Dear Mr. Tenpenny and Friends:
It has come to our attention that a Ms. Cassie Black has joined your community and that she has faced the Mauvais. We also understand she allowed the Mauvais to take the watch, but was quick thinking and skilled enough to pull the magic from the watch before it ended up in his hands.
While we are impressed with this show of talent, you must realize how dangerous she may be. She is now the watch, and if the Mauvais catches her, he will use her for any purpose he sees necessary to regain his power, which we believe to have been greatly diminished when the Starlings acquired the timepiece from him.
As such, we would ask her to come to Headquarters to evaluate and train her. Here we
can better protect her, and in turn, protect Magics and non-magics alike. We understand this is an unusual offer, but this is an unusual circumstance.
This didn’t seem all that eye-opening. I already knew I was a powder keg of magic and that my training was now focused on reining some of it in. I lowered the letter and reached for another cupcake. Alastair playfully smacked my hand and pulled the box away.
"Not until you finish that," he said, glancing meaningfully at the sheet in my hand.
"You could have just copied out the good bits." I drained the remaining swig of beer from my mug then went back to the letter.
Another matter has also come to our attention about your Ms. Black. If she is indeed the daughter of the Starlings, you may wish to inform her that some sources have reported the Starlings may not have died.
This may only be rumor and we are not making it public knowledge until we gather more concrete information. If they are alive, we cannot guarantee what condition they are in; they may have been extracted. We are looking further into this and have been consulting with Dr. Runa Dunwiddle on the matter as she has done the most studies regarding draining and extractions.
We cannot insist strongly enough that Ms. Black comes to HQ. She is both a danger and in danger. She should have been sent here sooner, and we will intervene if she doesn’t come willingly. We welcome you to join her. You knew the Starlings well and it’s been too long since your last visit. Although we hear you are a little changed since last we saw you.
Sincerely,
Olivia
I didn’t like all the "insisting" and "we will intervene" language, but I couldn’t dwell on that portion of the letter. I scanned the second to last paragraph once more, then stared at Alastair. My mouth may have been gaping in stupefied surprise.
"So my parents might really be alive? Vivian wasn’t just making it up?"
Like a child unwilling to give up her belief in the Easter bunny, I desperately wanted to believe these two people I’d never met were still among the living. But the cynic in me had kicked and punched at this tiny bit of optimism so often and so brutally that it had remained cowering in a far corner of my mind.
However, if they were alive, if the rumors were circulating not just between a few people in the Portland community but at HQ as well, if there really was evidence of their not being dead, my inner cynic might just let that little spark of optimism get up and wander around a while.
"Why didn’t the others mention this earlier?"
"I asked them about it after you left. That’s why I didn’t leave when you did. I told them this was a sure way to get you to go, but they said since finding your parents alive is such a slim possibility, they didn’t want you going for that reason alone. They want you to go out of a desire to become a better Magic.
"I don’t agree. I think anything that can convince you to go and get a handle on the insane amount of power you’ve taken in would be good for you. You need to be able to protect yourself. And," he added, "it would be nice for other reasons." His cheeks warmed and his gaze dropped to the frosting on his cupcake, a charmingly shy grin on his lips.
"Could they be alive? I mean, even if their brains have been magically scrambled?" An extraction, especially one done by an evil wizard, does not leave the brain in Mensa-level condition.
"I can’t say with any certainty. But if there are reports or even rumors, I think it’s worth you finding out what’s behind them and who’s making the claims. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you’ll find out anyway. HQ isn’t far from where your parents were last seen." He pointed at the growler and I gestured for him to go ahead. With Pablo now more fascinated with my guest than the timer, Alastair poured us both half a glass. After he took a sip, he cautiously said, "Busby will go with you. And I was thinking of going as well."
"You would go with me? Even though—"
"Of course I would," Alastair said, and then it was my turn to fiddle with my cupcake to hide the heat in my cheeks. With a cheeky smirk in his voice, he added, "You know, for moral support."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" I asked as I picked up my mug.
"Look, at some point you would have found out about this." He tapped the paragraph about my parents with his long forefinger. "And I know you’ll want to pursue it."
"The thought may have crossed my mind."
"Exactly. And from what we saw during your little stunt with Vivian, I have a feeling you’d rush in without fully considering the consequences." I pursed my lips, ready to go on the defense. "Don’t pull that face. What you did was incredible, but also incredibly stupid. I would go as one of your instructors, but I also want to go to help you find your parents."
"Why you? Busby is the one who worked with them." I hated how harshly the question came out of my mouth. Why when we were having such a lovely evening full of grins and cupcakes and beer did I have to puzzle over whether Alastair had ulterior motives? Did he already know where my parents were? Would he somehow use them to deliver me to the Mauvais?
The warm, open look on Alastair’s face clouded over. "They were my friends. I want to help find them, but we do it my way."
"Which is?"
"Methodically, not with your smash-and-grab style. Also, I happen to know where the best cake shops are near HQ." He paused, letting this tempting offer settle over me. "So will you go?"
What can I say? I was curious. Not just about the cake shops, but about my parents as well. The very idea of finding them, of seeing them, seemed crazier than the existence of magic. And yes, I was also curious about Alastair. I just hoped that old saying about the murderous qualities of curiosity wouldn’t prove to be true.
Speaking of curiosity, Pablo was casting sly glances at the timer, his muscles twitching with patience and preparation.
"Fine, I’ll go. But if I hate it, if we find out these tales about my parents really are nothing more than rumors, we’re coming home."
"Agreed," he said and clinked his glass to mine.
Just then the timer went off. Pablo launched and batted the penguin across the table. Witnessed by humans for the first time, a penguin flew. But only a couple feet before it crash landed on the floor. Pablo pounced, knocked the timer around a few times, then as he was prone to do, flicked his toy under the couch.
"Bad cat," I scolded. "Sorry, I’ll get it."
"It’s alright. I’ve got a dozen of them. The penguin ones aren’t the most accurate, anyway. Always going off early." He checked another timer on his phone, then turned the screen to me. "See, six more minutes."
I swirled some frosting onto my finger. I was just about to lick it off when a question stopped me.
"Where is HQ, anyway? No, let me guess, it’s in the basement of the Portland Art Museum and I’ve been unaware of it all this time."
"Not quite," he said, arching an eyebrow with wry amusement. "HQ is in London."
9 - THE FINAL SHOW
"LONDON?" I SAID once I’d picked my jaw up off the floor. Only then did I recall Busby mentioning London in connection to my parents’ last mission.
"Sure. Sorry, I thought you knew."
"Why would I know that? I didn’t even know MagicLand existed until a few weeks ago."
"True. I sometimes forget you’re new to all this. Anyway, I’ll tell the others you’ve agreed. It’ll take a day to make arrangements, and well…" He rubbed the back of his neck and gave me a sheepish look. "You’re kind of suspended from classes for now, so you’ll have the day free to get ready." Which was good since I still needed to squeeze Mr. Green’s flayed foot into a shoe and get everything in place for his afternoon funeral. "You should probably pack what you’ll need for a couple weeks."
"But what about Pablo?"
Pablo, who had been staring under the couch with his tail swishing back and forth, perked up and started purring at the sound of his name.
"He could stay with L
ola. She’ll love having him around."
And no doubt she’d figure out some way to get him to push a vacuum around by the end of his stay.
When Alastair left, we did that awkward pausing thing you do when you don’t quite know whether or not to finally sneak in that first kiss. Or, in my case, to take the risk and ask if the person who was turning your heart into an Olympic gymnast on crack, if he was working for your mortal enemy.
Just as my lips began to tingle — whether in preparation to smooch or to blurt out an accusation, I still wasn’t sure — Pablo broke the tension by scratching in his litter box a single time then launching from it as if the litter had just become electrified. In a small apartment it didn’t take long to realize what he was fleeing from. Alastair and I both groaned, slapped our hands over our mouths and noses, then cursed the cat. Nothing like the stench of poo to kill the mood, am I right?
The Uncanny Raven Winston Page 6
