Tucked in the very back of the drawer was a folder that didn’t belong. Or maybe someone thought it did but hadn’t gotten around to relabeling it: Operation Winston.
I pulled it out. There was a sheet stuck with old, crackled tape on the very top. Centered about a third of the way down were the words Starling Report written in slanting block letters. My stomach gave a little jolt that made my light flare brighter, which I thought interesting, but not worth contemplating at the moment.
Inside the file were full details of my parents’ work, of their tracking efforts, of notes in their own handwriting about how they’d suspected Devin Kilbride, warnings from them that he might be the Mauvais — warnings that were apparently ignored because further notes indicated their frustration with the system. There was also a request made by them to investigate a building where the Mauvais was reported to hold a lease. The request was denied. They went anyway. They didn’t return.
The final pages of the file had been hole punched at the top and were held in the place with a metal fastener attached to the folder. On these pages were evaluations from various sources asserting that the Starlings must be dead. But two reports stated that the Mauvais did not hide the bodies of his victims. He put them on display to show what he could do. If the Starlings’ bodies hadn’t been recovered, the reports stated, the Starlings were probably alive.
This was the end of the first report, but the second went on to point out that the Mauvais may have drained the Starlings. From a source who had defected from the Mauvais’s side, there was a statement about a new technique the Mauvais had been working on. A cruel technique that stole power to make the thieving Magic stronger. The defector noted the technique could work on a repeating cycle if the victim’s magic could regenerate itself.
The human battery, I thought. So it wasn’t just speculation.
The report ended with emphatic declarations that all efforts should be made to find my parents. An investigation into the building was done, but turned up nothing. In a hand that showed clear aggravation, was written: I quit.
The first handwriting, the statement about the new technique, I recognized as Alastair’s. The second, although sharper than usual, was Mr. T’s copperplate script.
Amongst the last pages in the file was a sheet that had the creases and marks of a piece of paper that’s been crumpled up and spread flat again. It was a police report — magic police, not the regular kind. I’d have probably skipped over it if not for the source of the report: the Portland community. Embossed in the top right corner was the Rosaria emblem. Centered at the top were the words, "Missing Child Report."
While some details of the report had been written in by hand, the bulk of it had been typed. It was a transcript of a witness statement.
Witness: I saw Lola LeMieux with the Starling child at the park. The girl was feeding the ducks but must have run out of food. There’s that concession stand just near the pond, you know, so people can have their picnics by the water. Well, Lola tells the girl to stay put.
Officer: You heard this?
W: Well, no, but that’s what it looked like. The girl nodded and Lola went up to buy something. Chips maybe, or perhaps a hot dog so the ducks could have the bun.
O: That’s irrelevant. What happened next?
W: I see that Alastair kid come up and he starts talking to the girl who’s looking up at him like he’s the bee’s knees. Can’t imagine any girl liking a gawky thing like him, can you?
O: It doesn’t matter for this questioning. Please continue.
W: Nothing to continue with. Like I told the lady officer, someone, a great big fat someone, mind you, walks right in front of me and stops to stare at the lake. And when I say fat, I mean fat. Like at least four feet wide. Don’t even know how he fit through his front door. There really ought to be laws to keep people like that from getting so big. Just a waste of space, isn’t it?
O: I would ask you to stick to what you saw.
W: Didn’t see nothing. By the time Jumbo moved along, Lola was back, the girl was gone, Alastair was gone, and Lola was crying her heart out calling for the girl. Broke my heart to hear her so upset.
At the bottom of the report someone had noted: Zeller has been put on trial for the abduction, but swears he only spoke to Cassie Starling, nothing more. He was cleared of all charges, but considering his former relationship with the Mauvais and his unusual magical talent, he will be kept on surveillance.
The file slipped from my fingers. I fumbled, gripping at the pages to catch it. I knew I’d gone missing. I knew I’d been in Lola’s care at the time. I knew Alastair had been in the area. But I didn’t realize he had been right there with me, had been speaking to me at the very moment I’d gone missing. And I most definitely did not know there’d been enough cause to suspect him and put him on trial for my abduction.
Alastair had not only been in the area, he had very likely been the last person to interact with me before I disappeared. Alastair who had worked with the Mauvais. Alastair who had built the watch. What had really happened that day? And why?
I couldn’t process this. I really couldn’t. All the efforts to not suspect him, to try to believe he actually cared for me had been a complete waste. I had ignored my natural instincts to distrust. I wouldn’t do it again. I’d be angry over his betrayal later — if I had a later, that is. Right then, I needed to undo some of the damage he and his buddy the Mauvais had caused.
In my scramble to catch the file, I’d snatched at the final few sheets, exposing the inside back cover. There, barely held in place with a strip of brittle, yellowed tape, was a remnant of torn paper. I pulled the ripped intake report from my pocket. It matched up. And this matching piece had the address I needed.
I marched over to the wall map of London. It took a while, but I eventually found what I was looking for. The address wasn’t within easy walking distance of the Tower, but neither was it far from the Victoria & Albert Museum. I memorized the address and distractedly crammed the file back into the drawer.
I sent my captured photons back to wherever they needed to go next, then locked the file room door and set out to find Tobey Tenpenny.
After all, we had a date to go on.
47 - DATE NIGHT
"ABOUT THAT DATE," I said when, under the watchful gaze of a gnome, I found Tobey walking along the walls.
"Look, I’m sorry I asked. I didn’t mean it as a date, just an excuse to get out of here."
"Either way. I’ll go."
"What about Alastair?"
"I’m going to be brain dead soon. I think I should be allowed to do what I want while my neurons are still firing."
"Don’t say that. Grandpa and the others are working on keeping it from going that far."
I shrugged. If I believed they could win, if I dared to think that I might be allowed to keep living my life with all my mental faculties still intact, I would lose my nerve about risking that life to save my parents. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about spending any of my final hours with Tobey Tenpenny, but the only way I was allowed to leave the Tower was with someone else. If I left with Tobey, the gnome — who was certainly eavesdropping on our plans — wouldn’t be suspicious.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I had no doubt the gnomes would gossip amongst themselves about my leaving on a date with Tobey; I was counting on it, because that gossip would quell any speculation that I might be, oh say, trying to escape to rescue two people the Magics seemed to have no intention of ever searching for. I only had to hope that the news didn’t reach Olivia until I’d had enough time to ditch Tobey and save my parents.
And with any luck, not get killed in the process.
* * *
Not long before the hour Tobey and I were supposed to meet, I pulled on my black tights and a black sweater. I couldn’t help but feel awkward walking out the main gate and over to the Tube station with Tobey. And not just because I’m normally awkwa
rd with other humans. I worried about what to do if he tried to put his arm around me or pull me aside and smash his face into mine again. But on our journey, he maintained a polite distance and gave no hint that this was anything more than two people who could barely stand one another going out for the evening.
How could he just play off that kiss as if nothing had happened? I couldn’t bother to sort out the mind of Tenpenny the Younger. I had enough problems of my own to solve.
I knew I might encounter the Mauvais soon, and after failing my test that morning, I should have been nervous about such an encounter. I should have been doubting my ability. But there’s something about knowing you’re as good as dead anyway that lends you a weird amount of courage. If I died trying to set my parents free, I would certainly feel a lot better about my mental death (well, as good as one can feel about that sort of thing) than if I just sat in my room waiting for HQ to pass judgment on me.
As we rode the District Line, Tobey and I made little more than vague comments about how many stops were between the Tower and our destination. At South Kensington station we got off, and even then our only conversation as we trekked through a long, underground tunnel was to note the signs directing us to the Victoria & Albert Museum.
Once inside the museum, it was as perfect as I’d hoped it would be. Plenty of big sculptures, miles of corridors, and a confusing layout for someone unfamiliar with the building. But Cassie, your intrepid armchair traveller, had seen maps of the place, had "borrowed" Morelli’s wi-fi to wander along virtual tours of the main galleries. I didn’t have a local’s knowledge of the museum, but it wouldn’t be difficult to ditch Tobey once the opportunity came.
Sure, I felt like a jerk about my plan, but he was the one being weird. Actually, with the aloof way he was acting, he probably wouldn’t even notice I was gone.
From the Tube station tunnel we strolled through a wide, bright exhibition hall filled with marble sculptures. We then made our way along several low-lit galleries that, although inhabited by larger-than-life pieces of art, were nearly empty of other humans, making the rooms seem abnormally eerie. After going up a level, we came across a cafe.
"You want to get some wine or something?" Tobey asked, sounding beyond uncomfortable.
"Sounds great," I replied, seeing my chance. "Get me a red while I go pee. I’ll find you at one of the tables over there." I pointed vaguely to the side of the dining area, then took off.
The loo, which I did need, ended up being ridiculously far from the cafe. And of course, it was at the end of a gallery that turned out to be a dead end. Which meant I had to backtrack in front the cafe to make my escape.
As I passed the cafe, Tobey was still lined up with a group of annoyed-looking customers while a harried bartender tried to keep up with the orders. I slipped in amongst a group of art students who had their pads and pencils poised to sketch any object that caught their eye. Their drawings could use some work, but the cluster of pupils did block the line of sight from the cafe. Once past the beverage queue, I rushed my way out of the building and into the night.
Take that, you stupid gnomes.
Using the directions I’d jotted down after returning from the file room, it took me less than ten minutes to walk to the address I’d found on the map. The building was a big, square thing, sort of nondescript, easy-to-forget, and looked like it might have once been nothing more exciting than office space. As I approached the door, I caught the distinct scent of cinnamon.
And, barely perceptible under the Eau de Mauvais, lingered a hint of chocolate.
I can’t find the words to tell you how disappointed I was. Even after all the suspicions I’d harbored, even after what I’d learned of his involvement in my disappearance, I had wanted Alastair to be telling the truth. I had wanted Alastair to be the good guy.
Like they say, wish in one hand, poo in the other, and see which fills up first.
I did not want to go up against two wizards, but like Rafi had told me, once you know how a Magic fights, you can anticipate his moves. I knew Alastair instinctively went for the Binding Spell. He had said he didn’t throw my test, that he wanted me to know what I was capable of. Well, now I knew. I’d beat him in that test. I could do it again.
I skirted around the building. One faint light was on, but the windows were all covered by what appeared to be butcher paper, like when a shop covers their windows while preparing the interior for opening day. I couldn’t find an open window to slip through, so I looped back around to the front entryway.
As I approached the main door, I ran through a list of lock possibilities, but it was my lucky night — well, if you ignored the whole Alastair-really-is-evil thing. The latch hadn’t caught when the door had swung back after the last person entered. I pushed the door slowly, begging it not to creak or squeal. I prepared to use a Silencing Spell, just in case, but the hinges remained quiet. Again, lucky me! Walking into my own death was proving to be super easy.
I glanced around, and then stepped inside.
The interior was dark, so I called up the Light Capture Charm again. I pulled in only enough photons to make a light about as bright as the beam of a flashlight with nearly dead batteries, just enough to keep me from tripping over anything. It didn’t take long to realize the ground floor was empty, a shell of a room occupied by nothing more than several support columns.
But there was a stairwell.
You know, because I hadn’t climbed enough stairs during this trip.
I tiptoed up the steps, keeping my back to the wall as I went. The top of the first set of stairs let me out onto a broad interior landing. This floor remained intact with what were probably former office spaces and hallways leading off either side of the stairway.
In the distance, at the far end of the left-hand corridor, I heard men’s voices. I wasn’t near enough to catch what they were saying, but I recognized one of them and my thudding heart sank.
See, despite being the world’s foremost cynic, I’d still been holding out hope that maybe the scent of chocolate on the main door had merely come from a cake the Mauvais had brought with him. I mean, who doesn’t like a little snack when practicing malicious magic? But I should know better than to hope, and I swore never to do it again as I honed in on Alastair’s voice.
I took another step forward, focusing intently on trying to hear what was being said. My magic was humming over my eardrums when a hand touched my shoulder. I whirled around and instinctively used the Shoving Charm. My attacker stumbled and thudded against the wall as I whipped the light around.
"What the—?" he started to say.
I jumped forward and slapped my hand over the idiot’s mouth.
"Shut up," I hissed. "What are you doing here? Never mind. Just go." I pointed in the direction of the stairs with my free hand, but Tobey shook his head. "Then stay quiet and stay behind me. Did you follow me?" I asked, as if that weren’t obvious.
He nodded his head, then pulled my hand away from his mouth and whispered, "The wine line wasn’t moving and I was just going to go grab a table to wait for the queue to die down. When I turned around I saw you walking by. And so, yeah, I followed you. What is this place?"
"Mauvais," I said and pointed down the hall. "You need to leave."
"No way."
"You are such a pest. Just stay out of my way, okay? And don’t let him see you."
Tobey agreed. I stood up and crept toward the door at the far end. The voices became clearer, but not the words. It wasn’t exactly an argument, but it wasn’t a pleasant chat either. The tone was terse and clipped.
"Is that Alastair?" Tobey whispered. His mouth right against my ear. I flicked him away like a pesky mosquito. "I never did trust him."
I didn’t need to hear it from the likes of Tobey Tenpenny. I had wanted to trust Alastair. I had wanted to fall for him. Who am I kidding? I had fallen for him. Luckily, I was used to walling up any wounds in my hear
t.
"Do not move away from this door," I told Tobey.
Then, with my magic tingling in my fingertips and ready to fight, I entered the room.
48 - WE MEET AGAIN
BOTH MEN TURNED toward me. One had a look of pure delight, like a squirrel who’s just fallen into a sackful of peanuts. The other’s face drooped with dismay.
"Cassie, you shouldn’t have come," Alastair said.
"Yes, she should have," said the Mauvais with a delighted chuckle. "It’s exactly what she should have done."
"You’re in on this with him," I accused Alastair, ignoring the Mauvais. "You lied to me. All this time, ever since I was a little kid, you’ve been working for him."
The Uncanny Raven Winston Page 29
