The Uncanny Raven Winston

by Tammie Painter

  "Of course I do." I’d known for all of sixty-three minutes. "What’s your point?"

  "Nothing. Go ahead and hang out with him if you want, but I just wonder how he couldn’t have known Vivian was the Mauvais if they used to work together. It’s all a bit convenient, don’t you think? I mean, he had to recognize the Mauvais’s scent."

  "Vivian smoked and wore gallons of perfume. You probably noticed that when you had your face smashed up to hers."

  "Look, that wasn’t— Never mind, I don’t need to explain myself to you. But it wasn’t what you think. My point is that Alastair was close to the Mauvais at the time your parents died. And now I hear Alastair convinced you to come here by telling you your parents might still be alive. I just—"

  "Just what? Want to be a meddling lunkhead?"

  "Why do you have to be so impossible?"

  "Because I don’t know why you’re telling me this. Do you not think this has already gone around inside my head?" Tobey looked about to speak, but I cut him off. "And hearing it from you isn’t helping since I don’t know if you’re spreading your little conspiracy theories because you want to help me, or because you want to be a jerk."

  "How is warning you being a jerk?"

  By now people were staring, and some were pulling out their phones to record our tiff. I needed to ask Busby if there was a spell that could instantly shatter the lenses of phone cameras. I lowered my voice, gripped Tobey’s forearm, and tugged him along.

  "Because," I said once we’d gone several paces, "you still act like you have a chip on your shoulder about me, and that’s not fair. I didn’t ask to be Magic. You didn’t ask to not be Magic. I thought maybe you were telling me this because you were jealous of Alastair, but it’s more like you’re jealous of me. We’re not friends and we won’t be until I’ve tossed aside all my power or you suddenly gain some. Neither of which are going to happen any time soon, so please stop taking it out on me."

  "I’m not taking it out on you. And I kind of thought," he said hesitantly, almost as if he didn’t like the taste of the words in his mouth. "I kind of thought you’d want a friend in here."

  "Are we friends now?" I said with a mocking laugh.

  "I keep trying to be, but, well, talk about someone with a chip on her shoulder." He punctuated this quip with an arch of his eyebrows and a know-it-all grin.

  I told him he wasn’t clever and we continued along past the Fusilier’s Museum to head back toward the raven enclosure where Winston had shown up while we’d been away.

  Tobey was right. He’d come by to help me clean my apartment after it had been ransacked, he’d tried to help me with Pablo, and he’d been sort of nice about it. I was the one who got bent out of shape over him smooching Vivian. I was the one who kept throwing my attitude around. He had no reason to be here and he had his new girlfriend back in MagicLand. Had he really come to London as a friend? I swear I didn’t think I’d ever sort out this whole human socializing thing.

  "Okay," I finally said. "I’m sorry. I’ll try to play nice, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make fun of you from time to time."

  "I would expect nothing less. So, do you want to know a secret?" I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him. I was in no mood for guessing games. "You’re not much fun, you know. Anyway, there’s a file room in the lowest levels of the White Tower. It supposedly contains information on every Magic who ever existed."

  "I thought they had Banna for that?"

  "Magics like to be thorough. Banna is impossibly old, but she’s not immortal. The file room is sort of a backup system. Anyway, I think I can get you into it. They know me here and wouldn’t question me showing you around."

  I stopped. My heart pounded in my ears, thudding over the metallic jangle as two ravens played tug-of-war with the stolen set of keys. Alastair would be fuming if he found out I was even thinking of going behind his back to do this. I’d promised him we would find my parents his way. But really, I wouldn’t be looking for my parents. Just information on them. That wasn’t against my promise.

  I know, I’m the Queen of Loophole Finding.

  "When do we begin?"

  "Soon," Tobey said, his voice revealing a hint of delight. "I’ve got to wait to get the key from my grandad."

  "I could just…" I waggled my fingers.

  "No, they’d smell your magic on the lock. You’d think you’d know that by now. Anyway, I’ll find you once I get it." This was followed by an awkward lull in our devious conversation. "Don’t you have a class to go to or something?" he asked waspishly.

  Did I mention Tobey was impossible to figure out? I pulled the sheet out of my pocket.

  "What the—?" Where there had been three classes listed for this afternoon, the sheet had gone blank except for a check mark next to Alastair’s time slot and a note at the bottom telling me Chester would collect me early the next morning. "I guess not. Did you—?"

  Before I could ask him if he wanted to grab some lunch, the ravens began cawing loudly enough to be heard across the river. The sound echoed off the Tower’s stone walls and sent a shiver down my spine. The crowd of tourists nearest the enclosure hushed.

  Winston turned his attention to us. Suddenly, he began flapping his wings as if preparing for flight and snapping his beak with sharp clicks. Tobey glanced around as if looking for the source of the noise and stepped back a pace.

  If it weren’t for the weird sensation charging through my spine and into my toes, I would have teased him about being afraid of birds. Before I could say anything, Tobey muttered, "I’ve got to go."

  And with that, Tobey — apparent sufferer of ornithophobia — turned on his heel and strode hurriedly away. When I looked back to Winston, he was standing proud with his wings sleek against his body. He then gave a sharp nod of his head as if to say, "Good riddance."

  Since I couldn’t stand around staring at birds all afternoon, since the day was too nice to hole up inside my room, and since I needed some sort of distraction, I headed back over to the Tower Green and spent the afternoon being regaled with Nigel’s inaccurate tales. Who knows, maybe if I corrected him enough, he might earn his place as one of the Yeoman Warders.

  21 - STRAIGHT FROM THE HORSE'S EAR

  WITH JET LAG still making a mess of my circadian rhythm, the sun was only just rising when I pulled myself out of bed the next day. I dressed, and when I emerged from the bathroom, a tray of breakfast had been left on my table.

  A chill ran up my arms at the realization I’d heard neither the door to my room open, nor the sound of the china clinking. But by Merlin, did the eggs and toast smell tempting. And the small slice of crispy ham made me wonder how Mr. Wood was getting along.

  My stomach growled. I poured a cup of tea, and was just lifting a fried tomato to my lips when a heavy fist thudded on my door. The sound startled me and the tomato plunked into my tea.

  "Miss Black, sir, are you ready?"

  As promised, Chester was at my door to guide me down to the room I’d be training in. So much for breakfast. I grabbed a piece of toast, holding it between my teeth as I pulled on my pair of thrift store Doc Martin’s.

  Chester fidgeted with his hands and kept muttering to himself that, "It would be okay," as he led me down the staircase, along various hallways, down some more stairs, and through a couple arched entryways. When we reached a broad, wooden door, he stopped. His hand shaking as he reached for the iron latch. Again he repeated his mantra that it would be okay.

  "You doing alright there, Chester?" I asked, wishing I’d brought more of the toast with me since the first slice had barely made a dent in my hungry belly.

  "I don’t like going in here alone." The guy who trampled rats in the dark was scared of this room? That did not bode well. He glanced over to me, a watery smile on his big face. "But you’re with me. It’ll be okay."

  "Let’s hope so." And still he didn’t open the door. "What’s
in there?"

  "Lots of sparkly things."

  Dear Merlin, had we somehow reached the room where the crown jewels were kept? HQ couldn’t possibly expect me to train in there. What kind of idiots were these people? They knew I had control issues. What if I disintegrated millions of dollars worth of gold, diamonds, and rubies?

  "Where exactly are we?" I asked.

  "The armory," replied Chester as he flipped the latch, opened the door, and swept his arm to usher me in.

  With Chester sticking close to my side, I entered. And gaped in stunned surprise. The room was full of life-size horses made entirely of wood and wearing battle gear from across the ages. Chester’s hands twisted and fretted against one another as we passed by full suits of gleaming armor, jewel-hilted swords as tall as I was, and a block of wood, which seemed absolutely out of place amongst all the sparkly things, as Chester put it.

  "I think someone forgot to tidy up," I told him and pointed to the wood block.

  Chester, who need I remind you was big, brawny, and well-muscled, shimmied back from the object and pressed himself as close to the opposite wall as possible as he hurried along. All the while, he kept a wary eye on the hunk of wood as if it might fling itself at him. Which, given that I was in the room, it just might, but I don’t think Chester knew of my super powers. Just to be safe, I kept my own hands firmly pinned to my sides.

  "That’s the block," he said, his voice a trembling whisper. "They used to chop people’s heads off on it. People, and trolls. Lots of trolls who wouldn’t behave. Even some who would."

  Slaves, invading other countries, troll genocides? Magic it seemed had a really dark past.

  "Cassie, over here," called Mr. Tenpenny from somewhere amongst the suits of armor. Chester’s ears twitched and he honed in on the sound, with me following close behind. "Ah, Chester, thank you for showing her the way. With all its hidden rooms, the White Tower can be tricky for new arrivals."

  "I still can’t keep track of them all sometimes," Chester admitted. "Rafi has to remind me. Don’t tell Mr. Olivia that though, she gets mad at me sometimes."

  "I promise not to say a word. Feel free to go now. I’ll take matters from here."

  Chester gave a curt nod of his head to both of us. Then, muttering again to himself that it would be okay, he headed back the way we had come. At one point I heard his footsteps pick up the pace and I’d bet it was when he had to pass by the chopping block.

  "You certainly do know how to pick a place for training," I said. "So what are we going to do? Joust?"

  Mr. T arched his left eyebrow. "How did you know?"

  "You’re not serious."

  "Well, we’re not going to gallop toward one another with lances at the ready, but you will learn how to exert and control your power by moving those horses a few paces. They have special properties we’ll get to in a moment. But first, something light to practice with." He gestured toward the suit of armor nearest us. It looked big enough to fit a giant. A fat giant. "Make that walk, turn around, then return to its current position."

  "Whose is that?"

  "King Henry VIII’s."

  "He was a big boy. But do they really just leave this thing out in the open? Tourists come through here, don’t they?"

  "The keys that unlock the gates at the start of the day also trip a protective spell that brings up glass cases and security systems around most of the items in here. And yes, Henry was a bit on the portly side. Now, make him get some exercise."

  I was sorting through the spell I’d need to use and what spin to put on it, but a question kept getting in the way.

  "Why not just keep the cases up all the time?"

  "Then how would we play dress up in the evening?" he said, showing no indication he was joking. "Now, get to it, we haven’t much time."

  And so, I made Henry’s silvery suit march ten paces. This took a great deal of concentration since I had to make each leg move one after the other. If you think the act of walking is easy, ask an expert in neuroscience just how tricky it is to coordinate brain, muscles, and inner ear to put one foot in front of the other without falling on your face.

  Henry’s first few steps were as halting as a toddler’s, but the massive amount of focus had one up side: It was keeping me from using too much magic at once. Thinking about every minute action meant I was doling out precise amounts of power.

  "Very good, Cassie. Keep that up as you turn him."

  I really wanted to cheat. I could have just made Henry walk backwards to return him to his spot, but I did as I was told (first time for everything, right?) and turned him around to head back to where he’d spend the day being gawked at by the masses.

  "That showed an excellent amount of control. You had to think, didn’t you? You didn’t just react. You really put some thought behind what you were doing. That’s what we’re aiming for, but for it to come naturally even when you’re reacting without thought to a situation. Now, let’s try the horses."

  We headed back to where I’d entered the room. When we passed the block, even I felt a small shudder run through me.

  "This will be more difficult."

  "Why?" I asked. "I mean, it’s the same idea, isn’t it?"

  "Well-trained animals," Mr. Tenpenny explained, "especially ones trained for battle, were expensive investments. No one wanted to lose the time and money they’d put into their mount, so the armor decorating these models was enchanted to protect the real horses the armor was intended for. It makes the steeds, even these wooden ones, more resistant to magic, much like the sparring vests you’ll be using later. But go on, get that second horse to take three steps forward and then back."

  So we’re just going to gloss over this whole sparring thing? Mr. T watched me expectantly. Yep, guess so. I focused on the second horse.

  Okay, Seabiscuit. Let’s get you trotting.

  It did take more effort. Much more. See, I can feel my magic coming from inside me when I use it. It’s kind of like waving your hand through a gentle breeze. There’s an infinitesimal amount of resistance, but nothing to prevent you from moving your arm.

  This however, felt like when you put your hand out the window of a car as it zips down the freeway. Much as your arm will do in the fast-moving car, I immediately felt my magic whipping back. But, just as in the car, if you angle your hand the right way, your limb glides through the air like an airplane wing soaring through the sky. Using this image, I shifted my magic to get under that resisting flow coming off Seabiscuit and he stepped forward three paces, his hooves clopping against the wooden platform he stood on.

  "Have him go back," Mr. T said quietly, his voice carrying a sense of awe.

  After Henry and after pushing through Seabiscuit’s magic barrier, this lesson started to seem easy. And so, dancing my fingers like playing a piano, I signaled the horse’s legs to step back to his original spot, even though I was ready for him to have a go at the racetrack.

  And that’s where I screwed up. I wasn’t concentrating. I mean, I was, but not with the all-out effort I’d used earlier. In my cockiness, I allowed too much magic to flow out.

  And that thought about the racetrack seeped out as well.

  Seabiscuit reared up and charged forward. I tried to force him back with my go-to Shoving Charm.

  Big mistake.

  The wooden, full-size horse went hurtling back, his legs flailing and trying to find purchase like when you see horses being airlifted to safety.

  Mr. Tenpenny cursed, but the exact words were drowned out when my poor racehorse crashed into his friends. Luckily, these things had been built solidly. Some wood chips went flying, some rivets from the armor popped out, but none of the steeds broke their legs. Okay, one lost an ear, but it was a clean break and could probably be fixed with a couple drops of Super Glue.

  Still, the whole horsey exhibit was now a jumbled mess of wood, cloth, and metal. An emerald from one of th
e bridles came loose, bounced across the floor, and rolled to my feet just as a buzzer sounded and glass enclosures went up around some of the exhibits.

  Olivia burst in. "What the hell happened? I heard the crash from down in my office."

  Down? Wasn’t her office above this room? I really needed a map of this place.

  "Cassie had… That is to say, to her credit, she had been doing quite well prior to…" Mr. Tenpenny trailed off.

  "Prior to destroying one of the most popular exhibits in the whole Tower?" asked Olivia, her dark cheeks made even darker with fury.

  "Well, yes. That."

  Olivia stared at me. Thinking of the pre-teen axe murderer from the day before, I wanted to point out that the torture exhibit was also quite popular. But I held my tongue.