The Waking Magic (Winter's Blight Book 3)

by M. C. Aquila

  Magic.

  James recognized that feeling; it was a bit like how the cursed name in Mum’s letter made his head spin. It took away his control and snuffed out his will, coating it with magic to make him forget why he was there.

  But he wanted to keep his pain, remember his purpose and what he needed to learn. As intrigued as he was, a breath of excitement filling him, he resisted it, shaking his head, and his mind cleared.

  “Excuse us, lad,” a man said as he knocked into him. The man had his son perched on his broad shoulders, and the boy let out a shriek as he felt the first droplets of rain on his head. His dad laughed and his mum, walking beside him, reached up to hold his hand.

  James watched them, longing unfurling in his chest.

  Rain began to pour, and James ducked under the awning of the fiddler’s tent and waited in the back.

  As people streamed out of the tent as the show ended, covering their heads with their flyers or opening umbrellas they’d thought to bring, James walked against the current, his gaze focused on Vera and Cecil. Cecil was talking wildly with his hands with Vera, laughing, until his sister poked his arm and nodded in James’s direction.

  “You did make it after all.” Cecil’s smile faded as James drew closer, and his golden eyes flicked over him. “What did you think—?”

  “You look so pale.” Vera interrupted him. “Did something happen?”

  James wondered if what had happened, what he had learned, was written on his face for them to see. Unsure what to say, he glanced away, suddenly self-conscious. He was good sometimes at hiding what he felt, but here in front of the two of them, he could hide nothing; he was visible.

  “I, um—” James swallowed hard. “I got some bad news. I was coming here to see if you could look at my book.”

  “You ought to sit,” Vera suggested brightly. “I could play you a song to cheer your spirits.”

  “No,” James said. “I mean, um, I don’t—” After glancing behind him to make sure they were out of earshot, unable to stop himself, he asked in a whisper, “What you did with that fiddle—that was magic, wasn’t it?”

  Vera let out a loud gasp. “Oh! However could you suggest something so strange and incorrect?”

  “Darling, it’s fine.” Cecil gave her a pitying pat on her bare shoulder. Then he looked at James as he said, “There is no need to hide what you are when James has clearly already figured it out. Have you not?”

  James swallowed hard, chancing a glance at Vera, whose perpetual grin was distracting, and said, “I’ve heard of faeries that use music to, um, enchant people. Not that I… not that I was enchanted or anything.”

  Vera chuckled, then she leaned toward him and whispered, “I’m only half faery—half Water spirit, to be exact. That’s how I can play so well!”

  “Water spirit?” James’s voice cracked in his excitement, and he produced his notebook from his jacket pocket, flipped it open to a new page, and began to scribble down what she’d said. “You mean like, um, a nymph?”

  Vera flushed and looked down at her pigeon-toed feet. “Is it because of how I’m dressed?”

  Ignoring her, Cecil chuckled and said to James, “Have you heard of a Fossegrimmen? They are male creatures that live in Nordic regions and are known for luring humans to them with their fiddles’ songs.”

  James began to scribble faster. “I’ve heard of things like that, but I’ve never found any book on—”

  Cecil laughed, but his smile wasn’t cruel or teasing. “I apologize, but—it’s just uncanny. When I was a young man around your age, I carried parchment around with me at all times, writing down as much information as I could. It’s how I got started as a researcher.”

  “You’re a researcher?” James gaped at him. “It’s just—you don’t look, um, like a researcher. But that’s what I want to be—someone who studies faeries and magic for a living.”

  He had never quite said that out loud before or even admitted it to himself. Saying it now, he realized it was true. That was what he wanted to do with his life—after all this had passed, after everything settled, and after Mum was back.

  “Honestly,” Cecil said, “I am not much of a researcher anymore. It used to be my life. These days, however… Let’s just say that after a while, I realized I was not content to simply gain knowledge. I wanted more than that.”

  “Like, uh, what? What’s worth more than knowledge?”

  “Experience.” Cecil gestured to Vera, saying, “It’s one thing to study how magic works. It is on another level entirely to experience it for yourself. There is no greater thrill.”

  Glowering at the ground, James thought out loud. “Well, yeah, you can do that. You’re not human.”

  “You know, Vera isn’t my sister by blood, but by choice,” Cecil admitted. “I, myself, am completely human, and yet I can use magic just as a faery can.”

  “That’s not possible,” James countered instantly. “I know a half elf, and she can’t use magic. She can manipulate it, but not, um, anything like a faery.”

  “I thought the very same,” Cecil said. “Most people do not know how magic truly works, and the faeries aren’t keen to share. But I never take anything at face value, James. A good researcher never does.”

  James’s arms lowered to his sides. He looked up, meeting Cecil’s eyes, his mouth falling open. “But you—your eyes—”

  “I am still human. I can explain all that to you if you have the time. I can even show you.”

  On the stage beside him, Vera held her breath.

  “I don’t have time,” James said, looking down, his shoulders slumping. Then he produced the Unseelie book from his pack and thrust it toward Cecil, asking, “You said you might be able to remember what’s in the pages I’m missing, right? It’s really important.”

  Vera was staring at him now, and she said, her eyebrows pinching together, “Oh, that’s why you resisted my song when the others didn’t. A song cannot soothe your pain. Your sorrow—it runs so deep you cannot escape it.”

  He was cold suddenly and shivered. “It’s my mum.” He worked the words out slowly. “She… she’s missing, and I need to find her. I need this book to find what took her. It’s the only clue I have.”

  Before he’d even finished getting the words out, Cecil reached out and placed a hand on James’s shoulder. “I’ll do whatever I can to give you the answers you require, James,” he told him, the theatricality gone from his tone. “I promise.”

  James had heard promises before—assurances that everything would be fine. But nothing was fine. And promises never did a thing for him.

  “But we shall have to recover those lost pages first,” Cecil continued, his gaze expectant.

  James blinked. “How can we do that?”

  “I can use magic. But I’ll need you to help me find the items I need and to help me focus the magic.”

  James felt his spirits lift a little. “Um, okay.”

  “Oh, yay!” Vera let out a yip and leaped down from the stage, landing solidly on her feet. Then she threw her arms around them both, pulling them to her, squishing James’s face with her hand. “This will be an adventure!”

  “Before we go to the forest where most of the items I need are located,” Cecil said as they walked down a line of stalls carrying goods of all kinds, “we need to pick up a few things here. Crystals for the magic and parchment to fill the torn pages of your book.”

  “You use crystals?” James asked, walking beside him. “That half elf I mentioned—she has these orange ones with fire magic that explode when you throw them! Can we find ones like that?”

  Cecil raised one thin eyebrow at him. “Why ever would you need to blow something up?”

  “Um, well…” He trailed off.

  “It is quite all right.” Cecil leaned in conspiratorially, saying, “I shan’t tell a soul. It’s just curious, you see, because everyone is drawn to magic for a specific reason.”

  James blinked. “What do you mean?”

>   “I started researching magic simply to quench my curiosity. People say that to learn everything is to demystify life’s mysteries; I disagree. It’s not possible to know everything, and the more I uncovered about the world, the more questions arose. And, in turn, the more I learned about myself, the more questions I uncovered of the Self. My reason for pursuing magic shifted. It became my way of embracing my true nature.”

  Furrowing his brow, James mulled over his words.

  “What has drawn you to magic, James?” Cecil asked. “I will not judge you. Every reason is valid.”

  “I’m just curious,” James said, shrugging. “That’s it.”

  Once they’d found the parchment, which had to be the same age and coloration of the parchment in James’s book, they then paused at a booth carrying salt lamps, sage, and crystals of all kinds, both crude and polished.

  Cecil grabbed a flint and was about to pick out a few crystals, but when he saw James eyeing some, he said, “You choose. Just select ones you feel drawn to. At least three types.”

  “Uh, I can’t let you buy them,” James said, rubbing his arm and glancing down.

  “Nonsense.” Cecil waved his hand through the air. “You cannot well stop me, can you? We’ll need crystals for the spell anyway.”

  James turned to the vendor and looked over the crystals. He hesitated, picking a few up and putting them back down, unsure what he was supposed to be feeling. He settled on a cluster of apophyllite, a hunk of gold pyrite, a few dozen cuts of clear calcite in a drawstring pouch, and a jagged piece of tigereye.

  “Now tell me why you picked those crystals,” Cecil said as they walked away. “What drew you to them?”

  “Um, I don’t know.” James stowed the purchases in his backpack. “I guess the clear crystals look like the one my friend uses.”

  “And what about this one?” He pointed to the shiny yellow tigereye gem in James’s hand.

  “I guess—” James laughed self-consciously. “I guess this one just looks really cool.”

  They reached the northern edge of the festival grounds, away from people, and headed into the forest.

  “James, come look.” Cecil was kneeling on the ground by a tree and motioning. When James peered over his shoulder, he saw a nest on the ground with two skeletal remains inside. “They must have fallen, and the mother must have abandoned them.”

  “Oh,” James said, frowning. “That’s… neat?”

  Cecil picked up one of the delicate skeletons by the skull and held it in the palm of his hand. “I imagine this must simply look like a tragic part of nature to you,” he said, tilting his head up. “But you’ll soon learn that everything has power inside it. Wind, rain, earth, and fire, things dead and living—all nature has power in it.”

  He handed the bird remains to Vera, who cooed and cradled them in her hands like she was holding live birds instead of their remains.

  A breeze blew through the forest, making the distant bells chime.

  “Should we be here?” James asked casually, images of giant spiders coming to mind.

  “The spiders are fearful enough of the sound that they won’t come even this close. We’re perfectly safe.” Cecil walked with purposeful strides through the forest. “Regardless, I am certain we could easily defeat any foes we encounter!”

  James let out a laugh, thinking he was joking. But Cecil’s confidence did not waver.

  “But, um,” James protested, “we don’t have weapons or anything. And we’re not…” He trailed off, embarrassed.

  Anyone looking at the three of them would be able to tell they weren’t fighters; James knew he was the least of them in that regard. Even Vera looks like she could knock me out if she wanted to.

  “Magic is and always will be the strongest weapon,” Cecil said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “That is what draws you to magic, is it not? Beyond curiosity, you want to defend yourself.”

  “I—” James gaped, realizing he was right. “I guess.”

  “It’s not wrong to desire safety or protection. But I can’t help but wonder why you need it.”

  As they headed toward the final spot Cecil suggested they check, James admitted, each word coming out stilted, “In the past few weeks, my, um, friends and I have gotten into some trouble, and”—he let out a shuddering breath as he remembered the fetid scent of the dwarf’s cave—“there was nothing I could do about it.”

  “What will happen once you have the means to defend yourself? What will change?”

  After a moment, James admitted, his voice low and controlled, “If I can take care of myself, then I won’t have to depend on anyone else. Ever. People will see that I’m capable and stuff, you know?”

  Cecil did not reply, but before James could wonder why that was, he spotted a tree that stood out in the forest ahead of them. The bark was dark brown with many twisting branches ending in sharp points like needles. All the leaves had fallen.

  “I’ll need a branch from that tree,” Cecil said, pointing.

  “It’s a blackthorn tree.” James stepped up to it. “People used to say it was bad luck—that it only grows in the Winter Court, which isn’t true at all. It was known for something else, but I can’t remember—”

  Without thinking, he reached up and grabbed a low branch, snapping it off the tree. “Ouch!” He dropped the branch like a hot potato. One of the sharp thorns had pierced his index finger, drawing blood.

  Before he could react, Cecil took his wrist and pressed a handkerchief to the injury, sopping up the blood. James winced as the man squeezed the cut too hard.

  “We oughtn’t let that sacrifice go to waste,” Cecil said brightly, letting go of James’s wrist. He held up the stained cloth and the branch and waved them around, chuckling. “It can be used for many different kinds of spells.”

  James felt himself pale. “You mean… you mean blood?”

  “Blood is a powerful source of energy.” Cecil sighed in a wistful, nostalgic way. “There’s so much new for you to learn about magic. I envy that.”

  “But—” James gaped. “Unseelies use blood.”

  The Red Cap, the dwarf, the Fachan… Monsters need blood.

  “That they do. Seelie and Unseelie techniques are equally useful, I find.”

  Vera caught up to them, walking like a doe through the foliage, making hardly a sound. Pointing to the tree and then to both of them, she exclaimed with a cheeky grin, “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes!”

  I remember now: people thought blackthorn was cursed, that witches used it for spells. But that’s not what this is. Is it? Witches haven’t even been around since way before the Cataclysm.

  “James?” Cecil called. “Shall we restore those pages now? Firstly, I will need to teach you some basics.”

  Cecil and Vera were already walking back toward the festival grounds, the light shining through the trees in the distance.

  The breeze picked up again, scattering cold rain droplets across the ground and chiming the bells like a warning. They warned him not to follow the two odd siblings.

  But he ignored the warning.

  Clenching his fists, James nodded once. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How about this one, lass?” A saleswoman with a tanned, worn face raised a leather wallet with blue beading. “It’ll go nice with your hair.”

  Deirdre let out a wistful sigh. “I wish I could—it’s so pretty! Isn’t it, James?”

  Looking over her shoulder, she did not see James as she expected—he was gone.

  “Lose your boyfriend?” The saleswoman snickered, putting the wallet back down.

  Ignoring her, Deirdre darted around the area, looking over the sparse crowd on her toes, expecting to catch a glimpse of his bright scarf.

  Nothing.

  “Did you see anyone come here with me?” Deirdre asked the saleswoman, darting back.

  “You came here alone.” She raised her eyebrows, smirking. �
�You better keep him on a leash next time.”

  Deirdre retraced her steps quickly past the stalls, looking around, her hair whipping from side to side.

  Where is he? This place is so big—how will I find him? I have no idea when he left me!

  After several fruitless minutes of speaking to merchants, asking if they’d seen him, Deirdre fell back, standing on a makeshift boardwalk underneath one of the large trees in the area as the rain fell faster. She thought and thought, trying to come up with a solution or plan until her head ached. Then she glanced up at the tree, spotted the silver bells, and considered climbing up to get a better vantage point.

  “Good evening!”

  Deirdre turned at the silvery voice, spinning around and searching for the source, but saw no one.

  “Good evening! Down here!”

  In one of the puddles that stretched under the boardwalk was what first looked like a pinkie-sized white water lily. But the yellow center was a small face with long, dark, stemmed eyelashes, and the white petals covered a small body like feathers or fur. And two of the large petals began to beat fast, like hummingbird wings, as the tiny woman flew up to eye level with her.

  “You’re a faery!” Deirdre cried, pointing.

  The faery nodded. “Aye. I am a Water Garden faery.”

  Deirdre slowly smiled, tilting her head. “What are you doing here?”

  “I and my kinsfolk are making sure the festival is not flooded.” The faery beamed, her face positively sunny. “There is a wedding happening, after all. There is nothing worse than a good woman not being united with the man she’s smitten with.”

  “So you know them—the bride and groom?”

  “Aye. But you are searching for the human boy who left you behind, correct?”

  “Yes! I…” Deirdre’s smile vanished, and she clasped her hands together hard. “James left me behind? He ditched me?”

  “I saw him wait for you to focus your attention elsewhere and then depart. He left you intentionally, so he is not lost!” The faery flew a bit closer, whispering, “That is fortunate, for some who are lost at the festival are never found.”