Intriguing twists and turns in the story - thank you!
Thanks! This the story is getting twistier and increasingly knotted the more I write it. Hopefully I can unravel all these plot threads by the end!
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FYI
A lightly edited version of this is on Royal Road. It is a little behind this one, so there is not new content or anything, but I did change the cover today, as I explored my available drawing tools a bit more.
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Almost didn’t get this done on time.
Chapter 18: The Commission to Find Glamour
Month 12, Day 6, 6:00 AM
Frank Poe
Frank knew that—somewhere in the haze of his normal mornings—Marie would get up, wash, dress, then apply her various black makeups, and then leave early to see Stella. He knew that this meant that Marie had committed to the sort of morning routine that would impress roosters and songbirds. Experiencing it, however, was not the same as knowing it.
Bleary-eye and attempting to brew tea, Frank heard a sharp knock on his apartment door when the sky was still blue-grey with dawn. There was only one person that would have access to his rooms at six in the morning, so it didn’t take a diviner to know who knocked. Poe closed his eyes in dismay; he hadn’t even changed into a proper suit of clothing yet; he was still in his pajamas.
Frank stumbled through the couches and yanked open the door. Luckily the one blocking the doorway had finally moved on, but the revised path reached unfathomable depths of shin-injuring complexity.
His neat, black-haired, and cheerful apprentice greeted him.
“Good morning Master Poe! Ready to … go?” Marie’s smile faded as she took in Poe’s clothes and bleary eyes.
“I will just need to …”
“Drink tea, have a wash, change clothes, and otherwise get ready.”
“Something like that.”
“Hmm.” Marie ticked her head to the side. “I suppose that it won’t be too bad if we’re a little late. Mama goes to bed at around eight.” Marie smiled with, somehow, extra positivity. “I am sure she’ll wait until then before she sends Dinky to come here and break all your bones.”
Frank tried not to look horrified. The last thing he needed was that thug pounding on his door. And, if Maire was correct about Dinky’s ability with a battle wand, Poe wouldn’t want to fight him either, journeyman thaumaturge or not.
“Just one moment.”
Poe shut his door, and looked at his ordinary little cookstove. The little kettle on the hob would be entirely too slow to boil water. So, drawing a quick array on the stovetop with chalk, he resorted to magic to get the tea started, then he changed in record time into a suit decorated with purple flowers and and yellow-gold accents, then drank the hot tea, and finished by splashing water on his face. Perhaps they could visit a proper bath that evening.
Poe rushed through his morning routine, and, less that fifteen minutes later, he was headed down the stairs to the office to grab his coat and the glasses he used to hide his eyes. Marie met him at her black table, where she was already reading his recommend book on light.
Marie carefully rested the book on the table as they left. They began the walk to the Hands, Hearts and Palms.
“Poe. Do you think you can manipulate darkness like you can light?”
“Of course. I’ve cast spells that imitate darkness as well as light.”
“But the book just says that darkness is just the absence of light.”
“Absence of visible light. But yes, that’s essentially correct.”
“So, how would you make a darkness spell?”
“Well, because light is energy, I can transmute the light into darkness. Or, you can transmogrify darkness; you can take the association of one thing with the dark, like say a moth, and make an area dark. Lampblack powder, or a night-blooming flower, or black pearls, can be drawn upon to give you a controllable darkness.”
“So, how does the earring spell work?”
“It takes sound energy and transmogrifies it into a sound that you can hear. If there isn’t any sound, then the spell would fail. That’s not really a problem; you can make hum to yourself if it is too quiet. Detecting magic through sound is very old; in the tale of the the vagabond princess and her brother, the princess supposedly heard the magic in the cursed potions her evil stepmother had hoped to use to transmogrify the boy into a roe deer.”
Marie gave Frank a side-eye. “That’s a story. That’s not real.”
“Sure.” Frank replied easily.
Marie huffed at him.
“There have always been fewer sorcerers in the world than people. And people, well, they’d rather have a convenient lie than a difficult to understand truth, wouldn’t they?”
Marie nodded.
“For now, why don’t we improve your mastery of spells you know, rather than branching off into darkness?”
“Alright.”
Frank was surprised at how many people were on the street so early in the morning. ‘Doesn’t anyone sleep?’ Frank thought.
That Morrows had confronted Marie with so many witnesses around just suggested a level of brazen illegality that Frank found depressing.
In a world where the truth of any statement could be determined with a spell, one would think that crime would be more difficult to get away with. If anything, the Raven Queen was just the most high profile example of how corruption, indifferent leadership, and failed investigative techniques allowed even the most high profile law breakers went free in the city.
Then again, the Night Market was the best source of difficult to source components it the world. Frank knew that the Crown’s legal flexibility made for a more liberal world, at least for thaumaturges.
Frank drew his pipe from his pocket. Despite having a battle wand, Frank did not keep it with him. He was a sorcerer, not some thug. He would not use a battle wand as a crutch. Aside from its protective enchantments, Frank had several tiny spell arrays built into the pipe; notably one etched into the bowl.
One might feel that carrying a wand openly was a threat, but a pipe would go unnoticed.
Frank pulled out his particular kinninnick blend that produced a thick white smoke. This blend had bark from several magical bushes, including radiant paperbark trees, and he’d infused them with a ritual. He hadn’t even tried it since the accident.
He lit it with his little fire lighting stick, and swirled some of the smoke into his mouth, and out in a perfect smoke ring. The familiar warmth from the smoke’s inherent magical properties caused and involuntary smile. The healing smoke relieved his tiredness and fatigue. He reckoned his will strain was completely gone now.
“That smells different.” Marie observed. “Do you smoke … some kind a potion?”
“In a way, it is. As sorcerers we must avoid potions and drugs that effect the mind. You understand why?”
“I’ve heard about this, corrupted will?”
“If you can’t think clearly, you can’t cast magic with certainty and skill. Addiction, dependence, these things interfere. So. I have specific blends of magic kinninnick to make smoke that has magical effects; mostly healing.”
“You did not smoke before?”
“No. I’d … stopped using my pipe, but it is my most flexible tool.”
“Will you teach me?”
“Not likely! I’ll teach you normal potion magic.”
“But if I was a boy it would be ok?”
“Gah! No! It’s not a good habit at all.”
“So, do as you say, but not as you do?”
Frank rubbed the tense spot between his eyes. “Perhaps you should apprentice to a lawyer instead of a sorcerer.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Never mind. Just, for now, know that I use the pipe and its smoke for magic, not any sort of mind altering effects, understand?”
“Alright.”
Frank’s exasperation nearly had him forgetting why he was coming with Marie at this godawful hour. But, as they approached the street with the parlor, he began to notice the red marks in buildings that showed they had returned to Morrow’s territory.
Frank paused walking for a moment, and cast a small revealing magic using the spell array in his glasses that would help him visually detect any hostile magic. Anything interesting would blaze with a spectrum that would help him identify if any of the five elements were in an active spell array.
When he’d first made the glasses as a student, he did not mean for them to identify hostile magic, but they could.
As they had approached the parlor, nothing stood out, and no one seemed to be hanging about with a battle wand waiting to ambush Marie.
When they entered, the bouncer registered as armed with some sort of battle wand, but it wasn’t Dinky. Frank reckoned this was fine; it was one of the bouncers that Frank had met before. And, as usual, the bouncer greeted Marie with warmth, and they treated the strange, brightly dressed Frank with a suspicion.
Frank let his detection spell fade. He’s hardly need it to have a conversation with Mama Stella; after all, the door was guarded.
Marie and Frank were lead back to Mama, who, instead of her usual place in the laundry, was working in the main office. She gave Marie a long hug.
“Mama, what happened?” Marie asked. “Did they come back?”
“No.” Stella replied. “They sent a runner to ask if we’d had a substitute, but no one came.”
“Good.” Marie said. She turned to Frank. “You don’t need to stay. They probably won’t be back, and I want to go visit Mille.”
Frank felt his eyebrows involuntarily raise.
“You don’t think they’d attack you at Mille’s?”
“Oh no. She’s not … worth anything to them.” Marie explained. “Morrows don’t bother with people that are of any use. Or, don’t have any money. Unless they are owed money, and Mille wasn’t like that with them.”
Stella nodded. “Its not far to Mille’s. Kett and his men made their point. They’ll wait a few days before they come back. I don’t know if my girl told you, but you should go talk to Madame.”
Frank found himself clenching his jaw. He didn’t want to talk to the proprietor. She was pressuring Marie, and in his opinion, she was more dangerous than any ordinary thug. She could twitch a finger, and Marie would be back here out of sense of obligation or duty or whatever it was that motivated teenage girls to do anything. However, there wasn’t any point in resisting a meeting. Frank needed to know how bad this situation really was.
He nodded to Marie and Stella, and was directed to a bedroom. Frank was involuntarily blushing when he knocked on her door. ‘It’s just a woman.’ Frank thought. ‘You’ve talked to women before it it turned out fine.’ Then he reminded himself of all those instances where it had not worked out fine.
Madame called for him to enter.
It was, indeed, a bedroom. There was a huge bed that seemed it could fit three people, surrounded in red and black drapes, a settee that would have been at home in opulence and style in Frank’s own room full of couches, and a beautiful screen of cleverly fitted wooden pieces to make a pattern of stars. At a small writing desk to one side, Madame sat and greeted Frank.
“Master Poe. How nice of you to join us. I would get up, but I find that my illness keeps me from standing without pain.”
‘The sort of illness that left your face bruised and your ribs cracked.’ Poe thought grimly. Poe knew what to expect, but Madame was worse off than he expected, especially since he knew she should be able to afford healing potions and salves. Her face was mottled with purple bruises, and was propped in a chair with pillows.
“It occurs to me, Madame, that you need the attention of a healer.”
“Oh, you know how it is,” Madame replied, “who can find the time?”
Frank took that to mean that when the Morrows punished, they did not appreciate a quick healing. Healing would be evidence of defiance, and defiance would be punished twofold.
‘Still’ Frank thought, ‘I can’t leave it at this.’ He continued this thinking aloud. “My dear woman, if you expect me to have a rational conversation with you, I am not going to see you continue to suffer.” Frank slowly withdrew a flask of a mild healing potion. It wasn’t the sort of thing that would return you to health if you were bleeding or unconcious, but it would ease any pain and speed natural healing somewhat. He walked to her desk and deposited the flask in front of her. “At least take a sip.”
Madame rook the flask, and had a reluctant sip. Then a second. She handed it back.
“Thank you. As much as I appreciate this favor, I hoped we could negotiate a business arrangement.”
“Fine. What do you want from the August agency?”
“Glamours.”
“No.” Frank paused. “Do you have some investigative service you want us to perform?”
“Don’t be so quick! Sorcerers don’t have any trouble making money, but I’m sure a person like yourself craves … connection. Regular service here might do you some good.”
“No.”
“I am sure we have some common ground on which we could negotiate. Perhaps …”
“Before you offer some compromise that would be even more manipulative, I will be plain. I am not doing magic on demand for you or anyone else. The August Agency will consider a commission to find you a replacement glamourist. Are you interested in working with me, or are you going to attempt to hold Marie’s relationship to this place over my head?”
Madame sighed. “I need quick results.”
“Do you even want my expertise? You pay me my retainer, and I will consult my oracle. My oracle approves, and only then, will I pursue a glamourist for you. Results will take time on this, unless you want a legal sorcerer.”
Madame smirked. “If I needed someone legal, I wouldn’t even need to hire someone like you. What if your oracle refuses?”
“I’ll keep the retainer, and you find your own way to disguise the Morrows.”
“You would take advantage of an injured woman.” Madame pouted. But, her bruises had faded from the healing potion Frank had given her. She probably wasn’t even in any pain.
This was a delicate situation. If he could get a read on her emotions …
Frank reflexively drew smoke from his smoldering pipe and made a smoke ring. He nearly had a word ready, but he decided it would do no good. Divination could be a crutch; better to be prepared for the unexpected than to try to never be surprised. He let the smoke fade.
A magical reading would not tell him anything he did not already know, and he hadn’t practiced free casting since the accident. No matter how simple, the divination was not worth the risk.
“I think you are smarter than that.” Frank said. “Now, if you would, let’s write out our agreement.”
And they did. Madame may have been hurt, but she was more than willing to write out out a simple agreement for the August Agency to find someone to do glamour for the Hands, Hearts, and Palms. Poe made his own copy of the commission to find glamour.
Madame offered, again, to give payment “in kind.” Frank was certain that he blushed furiously, but he refused as confidently as possible. ‘Surely Madame knows that I know a trap when I hear it?’ He thought. Any regular trips to the parlor would inevitably lead to Frank being a Morrows’ target. They wouldn’t let an investigator visit their businesses without trying for leverage. People might forget meeting him, but the bookkeeping would have records of his visits.
It was fine—or seemed fine—for Marie’s visits.
After Frank worked out an agreement, which Madame rewrote, to her own personal preferences, Frank returned to the office and Marie.
“Done?” Mama asked as Frank returned. Marie sat in a chair across the desk, reviewing an account book.
“Yes. I need to return to the office and consult the Raven. Marie, will you be returning with me?”
“Mama asked me to look at the numbers from the last few days; I also want to talk to Madame, and visit Mille.”
“Are you sure it will be safe?”
“Yes, Poe.” Marie rolled her eyes. “I can take care of myself.”
“You can cast the detection spell, but not for long, right?”
“Ok.”
…
Frank returned to the office. On the walk back, his pipe went out. He’d left the kinninnick mostly unsmoked. He had paused and looked at a poster of the Raven Queen: “Alias: The Raven Queen. Dangerous practitioner of Forbidden Magics. Flee on sight. Report any information to law enforcement. Reward for information leading to arrest: Five hundred gold crowns.” What was he doing to achieve that reward? He needed to find the connections to her. Where would she even hide? With the Stags? Or, would she hide in a place no one would ever expect?
He dropped his pipe off at his desk, and trudged up to the roof.
He sat and considered the situation as he waited for Frigg to arrive.
He breathed deeply, letting his will spread out and touch the living things around. A curious crow was still awake, and it watched him, without approaching, for some time. There was a house owl that wanted to take up residence in the rafters of an attic a few houses over. Frigg wouldn’t like that; owls were the mortal enemies of ravens.
Frank let his mind wander. This situation was almost too straight. The Morrows wanted glamours. He just needed to find someone to produce them. Sorcerers and witches who lived on the edges abounded who could probably do that work.
‘Why had Kett been so eager to pressure Marie?’ Frank wondered.
Frank rummaged through his coat till he found a piece of a glass mirror the length of a finger, and about twice as wide. He dropped it in the bowl. The metal bowl rang with a pale brittle sound, and the sharp edged glass reflected the morning’s clouds. Mirrors created an illusion all their own.
The day began to warm.
Dark wings descended; Frigg finally appeared. She flew over to Frank and alighted lightly in front of him. She preened her feathers. She looked at the offered mirror, but did not grasp it with he beak or talon.
“Frigg. I apologize for the moth.”
“Kraa.” Frigg replied with reproach.
‘Madame at the Hands, Hearts, and Palms wants me to find someone to create glamour for the Morrows.”
Frigg fluffed her feathers. Frank had a sense that she had a question for him.
“No. I don’t know her real name.” Frank said.
“Kraa.” The Raven said. She hopped around the bowl for a moment. Finally, the raven took the piece in her beak and snapped it in half. She brought half to him, and dropped it at his feet, then she picked up the larger piece left in the bowl and flew off.
‘Compromise.’ Frank thought. ‘I need to find a compromise with Madame.’ He needed to simultaneously find a way to supply glamour and find Madame a sorcerer. ‘Or, that might be wrong; maybe a way to glamour myself?’
He returned to his office and cleaned his pipe. Marie would be back soon.
In the dry library of his office, he planned a different type of divination. When he’d bought the August Agency, this room inspired him to create the magic he’d use for his cases. He swept the papers from his desk and revealed the circle inset on its surface. With a brush in hand, he began to write the glyphs.
Frank contradicts himself.
"Do you even want my expertise? You pay me my retainer, and I will consult my oracle. My oracle approves or I refund your retainer.
And then 2 paragrephs later in answer to what happens if the oracle refuses:
"I’ll keep the retainer, and you find your own way to disguise the Morrows.”
oops! I went through an edit on his attitude on the retainer. I decided he didn’t like her enough to refund the money
Thanks for catching that. There are a couple of problems. I’ll fix it now!
Technically, the last time I published a chapter it was a day late, or maybe it was the time before? At any rate, I couldn’t wait to put this one out, because something I’ve been planning for awhile is finally connecting up!
Chapter 19: Millie Parker’s Folly
Month 12, Day 6, 11:00 AM
Marie
Before Marie finally looked up from her work several hours after Poe left, she had looked over the bookings and log books, and compared it to money they’d received.
“The numbers are close. But you have Morrows who didn’t pay. It would have to go on their tab.”
“Where?” Mama asked. Marie pointed the the entries.
“I’ll check them again.” Mama said. “Its not just the discount or a voucher?”
“No. You can check with the masseurs, of course. They could have skimmed it, but I don’t think they’d have done that.”
“Thank you for reviewing. I’ll check it.”
“Mama. I love you.”
“I love you too, my little Marie.”
“I … you could come live with Poe and me.”
“Why are you suggesting that now?”
“Because, you don’t have to live here. They beat Madame and I worry that they’ll come after you too.”
“They won’t. It will be fine. This isn’t the best place, but there are worse . You are getting an learnin’, you got money. You have a good future. Don’t waste it.” Mama replied.
“I’m not.” Marie whined. “It’s just that … why don’t you take Poe up on his offer to live with us at the Agency? It’s safer.”
“No, it isn’t. There’s nothing safe goin’ against Lord Morrow. Or thems thinkin’ that you’re defyin’ Lord Morrow.”
“But, Mama …”
“No more fussin’; I’ve got books to balance. If you want to visit Madame, you should do that afore she goes to sleep.”
On the way from the office to Madame’s suite, Marie schemed to get Mama to live with her. If the Morrows could be appeased? Or, if Marie bought them off somehow? Marie entered the suite and found Madame propped on pillows in the bed, reading a few pages of paper.
“Madame, how are you doing?”
“Fine my girl. You know I have no memory meeting with Poe? Not one?”
“I know.”
“Yet, I hold here in my hand a contract—written in my own handwriting—that is proof that he and I entered into a contract.”
‘Yes.’ Marie thought. ‘That’s the way the curse works.’ Then aloud, “That’s why I have to help him at the August Agency.”
“Do you know why you are immune?”
“I don’t know.”
“It might have something to do with that tattoo on your chest.”
“Maybe.”
“Have you ever told him about it?”
“No.”
Madame nodded. “He’s agreed to have the August Agency find a glamourist for us.”
“Good.”
“You could do that though. Perhaps you could convince Millie?”
Marie felt this was doubtful. But, Millie was more than a prostitute. If she could just focus on her magic, maybe she could find enough work that she could get further treatment. It was really in her best interest, right? And, Madame helped her, so she should help Madame in return.
“I’ll ask her. I was going to visit her today anyway.”
“Good. While you’re there, check on Dinky. I sent him to talk to her after his shift. Maybe he’s already talked her around. He always cares more than he should, but he’s been gone for hours.”
Marie didn’t normally think of Dinky as very persuasive, but he wouldn’t have threatened Millie. If Madame thought he could convince Millie, maybe this whole situation would be entirely cleared up.
…
Warming sunlight lit the streets to Millie’s townhouse.
On the way, she practiced the esoteric magic she’d learned from Poe. As she walked past shops and homes, she heard the faint chimes of the magic people used. It made a faint and beautiful and dissonant music in her ears as the different magics pitched with tines from dozens of different effects.
Marie heard plenty of this music as a child. Musicians performed up and down the pleasure districts; bars and pubs often had a singer or fiddler to keep the patrons dancing and entertained while they drank. That music had the rhythmic quality that encouraged movement.
That music did not compare. The magic from the earring was a thrumming music one imagined from the slow wheeling of the sky.
Of course, Marie did try to keep the people on the street from noticing her bubble of silence. As she drew further from the shops and avenues, closer to Millie’s neighborhood, few people seemingly carried detectable active enchantment or magic with them. And, even though people would have more reason to carry battle wands, Marie didn’t encounter them.
Millie’s lived in a home on a quiet street; not entirely run down, but with a faded elegance. People lived several families to a house here. On her street, Millie was one of the few that lived by herself.
Outside, children played unsupervised in the street. Chasing and shouting. Millie couldn’t hear their squeals quite as loudly while under the effect of the spell.
But, as she approached Millie’s home, she heard perhaps the most beautiful music she’d heard so far. It drew her even from down the street. Marie felt a sort of awe. She cut the spell off, as it was beginning to strain her. But, in its absence, Marie felt a desire to hear it again.
‘What was that?’ Marie thought. She stopped mid stride. The children didn’t seem affected. ‘Is that Millie’s glamour magic?’
Marie had never felt anything like it. Certainly, Millie never seemed to use a spell with an attraction that strong. But, with the detection magic released, Marie’s heart began to settle. She didn’t even realize that she’d felt so strongly hearing it.
Still. This wasn’t the brittle sound of a battle wand; so, visiting Mille should still be safe.
Cautiously, Marie continued toward Millie’s townhouse.
The house was squeezed, much like the August Agency, between the other homes on the street. A short flight of stairs lead to a small covered porch and the entrance to the first floor. Millie’s house had glass windows with wooden storm shutters.
Someone had closed them all. Marie couldn’t recall ever seeing them closed before, and it certainly wasn’t storming. The bright daylight streamed down and puffy white clouds slid through the afternoon sky.
Marie climbed the steps carefully. She felt watched, but—as she looked for danger—nothing evidently dangerous was nearby, just loudly playing children. She knocked on the door, and it swung open. Someone had left it unlocked, unbarred, and unlatched.
The dim interior seemed quiet; but just like you could tell if a house had the ineffable quality of being truly empty, this house was not. Marie heard the sound of people moving on the second floor.
“Millie?” Marie called. “Dinky?”
Silence.
Slightly worried, Marie reviewed what she knew of the house. She’d visited more than once before. The ground floor had a sitting room, kitchen, and dining room. In front of her was a staircase leading upward. The second floor had two rooms, and water closet. Millie slept and did her magic on that floor. Marie reasoned that she also would entertain her “clients” there as well.
Marie walked cautiously forward, straining to hear any sounds. She glanced in the sitting room, and saw that it was empty. Furnished well, it had glasses, bottles of spirits and thickly upholstered furniture. Although, she could see a broken chair, and possibly the place Millie had been attacked. Some effort had gone into cleaning it, but even in the gloom, Marie could still spot the stains on the rug where someone had bled.
Marie shuddered.
“Millie?” Marie called again.
She heard a thump upstairs.
“Little Marie?” Dinky called from upstairs.
“Dinky?” Marie called back.
“Come see. She’s beautiful.”
“What?” Marie said reflexively. ‘Who is beautiful?’ she thought. ‘Surely not Millie; she should still be recovering.’
“Come see.” Dinky repeated, his voice distant and soft.
Marie looked to the top of the stairs; Dinky seemed to be calling from the bedroom, but Marie couldn’t see the doorway from the bottom of the stairs. Did Millie have other guests too?
Marie decided she was being silly. Maybe Millie had merely refined a new glamour. Millie was a kind person; she wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone. Marie had come to visit her friend, and accordingly, she would.
Marie climbed the stairs a bit quicker than she intended, and found herself at the bedroom doorway.
Inside the bedroom the darkness shrouded the half-dozen figures crowded into the room; all of them stared at the figure seated on the bed. It was too dark to see much detail. Marie reflexively reached for the thaumaturgic-enchanted glass lamp that Millie usually kept on the table by the door. It was missing.
‘Millie is there, isn’t she?’ The people around the bed blocked Marie’s view, and it was so dark. ‘You can hardly imagine that it would be this dark in the middle of the day.’ Marie thought. ‘What would it be like to control darkness in darkness?’
To Marie, who had grown up with her waking hours spent in the night at Hands Hearts and Palms, mere darkness wasn’t particularly frightening. But, she couldn’t see her friend if the room was plunged in darkness, and there wasn’t even a lit lamp. Marie could only see a crack of sunlight allowed in the room. The shutters failed to fit tightly enough to keep the thin beam of radiance out.
“Millie? Let’s get some light in here.”
Marie strode to the window, past Dinky and the others, then opened it, and popped the storm shutter’s latch, and let in the sunlight. Behind her, Millie screeched.
Marie whirled around, and saw the nude wreck of Millie’s form crumpled on the bed.
“Close it!” Millie. A dozen eyes and half a dozen faces turned to light.
Marie could see the room more clearly now, and the faces of Millie’s visitors. The room was a wreck; the thaumaturgic glass lamps smashed. The curtains on the bed torn. The formerly blank faces of the admirers twisted and snarled.
A woman roughly pushed Millie out of the way, and slammed the storm shutter’s closed.
“Don’t you understand!? Her beauty can only be lit by the darkness!” The woman cried. Marie could not reckon with that irrational conclusion. ‘How could anything be lit by darkness?’
But in the darkness, then Marie saw it: a transformed female creature of unrelenting fascination. She straightened from her curled and bowed posture and sat with preternatural grace. She glowed with eldritch fire. Just sitting made her the most beautiful thing Marie had ever seen. More beautiful than the moon on a clear night. Magical.
Even in the near darkness, Marie could trace the perfect scars across her face and body. Whatever had given her those scars nearly killed her, but even with perfect unblemished skin, it was the scars that were almost the most beautiful part.
In the stillness, the sycophants returned to their admiration.
“There, that’s better!” The woman said, and returned to the bedside. She shoved her way close, pushing another out of the way. The man barely registered. “You need anything dear?” The woman asked the creature.
She said nothing.
Marie felt the magic all around her. The compulsion. If only the magic had been as simple as a curse. Marie’s heart wanted to worship the fey creature. It was right there, a desire to be close to her. A compulsion to forget everything but the wonder of the nude figure seated there, beckoning all to behold her.
Marie’s mind would not.
Marie found herself silently crying for her friend. Millie Parker was gone.
Throwing off the compulsion to gaze on the beautiful creature, Marie looked for Dinky; she’d seen him on the way in, and he still stood at the foot of the bed.
Even outside Marie’s full attention, magical compulsion still beat at Marie’s resolve. It repeated in waves of pure emotion: Worship. Marie’s mind would not be fooled, but the longer she spent in the creature’s presence, the harder thoughts were.
“Dinky.” Marie called. “Dinky!”
He turned briefly to her. But, returned to looking at the beautiful female form.
“You should be quiet.” He replied. “Don’t upset her.”
“Dinky! We have to go. We have to go now!”
“Don’t upset Millie. She doesn’t like it.”
The figure on the bed barely moved to notice them. She tilted her head and swayed to unheard music.
Desperate, Marie reached for Dinky, and tried to grab his hand to drag him to the door. She took a fistful of his shirt and tugged at him.
“No Marie.” Dinky said.
“Dinky. We have to go. We have to let the Red Guard know. She’s an Aberrant Dinky! An Aberrant!”
Dinky turned on Marie, and now she remembered how big he really was. He towered over her like a building. She stopped pulling at his hand, but he grabbed her by the arm.
“You can’t.” Dinky said. “Dey’ll take ‘er from us. Let’s just put you out of t’ way; you’ll change your mind.”
To Marie’s horror, Dinky pulled her from the room, and forced her downstairs. His arm gripped her painfully, and even kicking Dinky’s shin did nothing. Dinky merely picked her up bodily and hauled her with main force. With her dominant arm bound, she couldn’t reach her knife, and was helpless to stop him. She pounded him with her offhand, and twisted trying to reach her knife. She shouted in frustration and anger; maybe the children outside would hear?
Dinky rounded the stairs with Marie and brought her to a cellar door. He put her down, and Marie nearly escaped then, but Dinky grabbed her hair. She screamed again at the sharp pain, and grabbed his hands to keep from falling down.
“Dinky, no! Please Dinky.” She shouted, but when she finally turned to face him, his expression remained glazed and impassive. He wasn’t even angry.
Dinky unlocked the cellar door with the key in the lock and pushed her down onto the stone steps.
Maire rolled painfully on her arms protecting her head. She managed to stop halfway down. She was lucky she hadn’t been thrown over the stairs’ edge, which had no bannister. As Dinky closed the door, she threw herself at it, trying to push it open.
Her effort made no more difference than a butterfly beating its wings inside a glass jar.
Dinky merely pressed the door closed and locked it, then taking the key with him.
“I got to go back to ‘er little Marie. You’ll be safe down there.” Dinky’s voice sounded muffled through the door.
Marie scrambled with the knob and hammered door with her closed fists as Dinky!s boots thumped away and back up the stairs to the bedroom. Her efforts made no difference. She wasn’t strong enough to break through the heavy wooden door.
Looking around the small earthen and stone cellar—lit with sunlight from a tiny barred window and filled with shelves full of dusty jars and bottles—Marie realized she was trapped. There was no way out. Worse, there was no way to warn everyone of the aberrant that Millie Parker had become.
…
For fans that don’t know, or don’t realize: Millie Parker is Moonsable. Azalea has a short story that features her and Lacer. Putting her in the story is risky; Azalea might have an interaction with Percy and Moonsable, so I hope I’m not stepping on his story accidentally!
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Happy July! I’m on vacation. Which, for me, means that I’m working on all the hobbies and not really taking a break, because why vacation? lol.
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Chapter 20: Heptagrams
Month 12, Day 6, 3:00 PM
Frank Poe
Frank examined his spell array for errors three times before he decided everything was just where it needed to be. He’d retrieved his heirloom conduit and a large beast core. The core sat in its proper place on his desk. He’d build the elaborate spell array around a heptagram with writing, a 14 glyphs, and all linked to all the shelved books; he took a deep breath.
Two and a half hours of preparation.
He was ready.
Frank clarified his thoughts, held the conduit in his left hand and turned his will to the stikhomanteia. He would not do something so crass and obvious as to try to find the Raven Queen. Instead, he began to try to find a connection between those connections that he’d already seen, and maybe ones he had not. What was the connection that would guide him?
Around him the books whispered; this was closer to a meditation and search for spirit than hearing with his ears. He walked directly to a shelf and drew the strongest voice, then placed it in the first numbered and labeled square on the floor. It was an astronomy text. ‘Yes.’ He thought. ‘That one fits.’
Slowly, the spell drew his attention to more books; each one, he placed in a labeled square. He paid no attention to the spines. The vocabulary for the augury would be drawn from these picks, and the spell guided him from one to the next till he had seven total.
Then he moved to the second part of the spell. What was the Raven Queen’s connection to the world? He tried to draw on the collective power of unconscious connection, and his own tenuous connection to ravens and Siobhan Naught. If he went looking, where would she reveal herself? Imbued with this command, he opened each of the seven books, not bothering to guide the process too much, but letting them fall to the page they preferred. He let the magic continue to guide him and he scanned the open pages and selected the seven words.
Luna
Shadow
Cast
Wizard
Knowing
Stolen
Stillness
Frank relaxed and let the magic divination dissipate.
He’d had clearer guidance than this before. He sighed. Maybe if he’d tried the full sentences version, instead of just calling for words?
Unspecified guidance could be like this though. He just wasn’t connected enough yet.
Frank figured that the Raven Queen, or someone close to her, would either be impacted by, or would impact some event with the moon and darkness, a spell, a knowledgeable sorcerer, stolen object and stillness, or stolen stillness? How would stillness be stolen? Calming someone who was agitated? Or, a moon, cast in shadow, could be an eclipse.
He picked up the astronomy book and looked in the back for the table of lunar eclipses; there weren’t any for nearly a year. That didn’t seem to be right.
Frank picked up the slightly warm beast core and tucked it, with his heirloom conduit, back into his component box.
Frank, tired and aching from his first controlled use of serious magic for months, sat on his hard desk chair. He was tempted to just read the books the spell had selected as its vocabulary. The clue could still be a combination of the words, and possibly the subject of each book.
Unfortunately, the books’ subjects did not give him an obvious clue: An Astronomy text, a Bestiary, History, Folk Tales, A Treatise on Language and Glyphs, a Legal Treatise on Forbidden Magic, and a Meditation Guide.
In short, nothing that would make sense until perhaps later, in hindsight, that could make this meaning understandable.
‘I will figure this out.’ Frank buried his face in his hands. ‘Maybe.’
The Raven Queen was seemingly clever and powerful, but he had over a thousand thaums of power available. He’d been a half term from Mastery. He was a sorcerous investigator. He wouldn’t let this setback keep him from figuring out the Raven Queen
He leaned back in his chair and stared at his office’s grey-painted ceiling.
‘Where is Marie?’ Frank started. She would stay at the parlor and she planned to visit Millie, but … it was late afternoon. The sun would soon set. She’d been away all day. If she planned on staying out for longer, she hadn’t said.
Frank Poe was not the sort to discount his premonitions, and his premonition put a churning feeling in his gut.
Frank fished in his pocket for his work-a-day thousand-thaum conduit and a cleaning cloth. Dousing the cloth in alcohol from his drawer, he changed a few quick marks on the array, modifying and simplifying the commands, then changing the energy source to the heat in the air, and leaving an out in case the spell took too much power. Frank placed the book of folk tales in the vocabulary square. He turned his will to the modified spell. The book flopped open, and Frank read the first full sentence that came to him. The book quoted a princess:
“I am aware of the danger I run, but it does not deter me from my purpose.”
Frank jumped up so quick, he knocked over his chair. Marie was in danger, probably of her own making. He considered a map scry. But, he did not have any hair or blood to scry with. He could take one of her possessions, but then he’d have to break into her bedroom.
‘Or no.’ Poe thought as he ran out to her table. ‘She keeps our finances!’
Poe scooped a pencil, bottles ink, and the accounting book, and ran back into his office. Poe pulled his city atlas off the shelf, a bottle of mercury from his component box, and several other components.
Working quickly, he created a third spell array. This was a complex variation on map scry, but it was a spell that he’d perfected for the use with an atlas, rather than a single map. For real accuracy, he’d have worked from a diorama, but who had the space?
For components in the array he had a bottle of iron gall, a bottle of India ink, a black diamond, a gold coin, the large beast core he pulled back out of the component box, a handkerchief that had captured rain from the plane of radiance, Marie’s pencil, and last, the office accounting book. Poe put the drop of mercury on the street atlas, focused his will, and started the scry.
The magic bucked him! A slight glow started in the array. Frank practically heard Professor Lacer’s contempt for such a poor casting. Frank poured on more of his will and focused. Marie shouldn’t have any protections against scrying. Then, Frank realized the trouble.
Marie was close to another magical effect; it blocked him!
With increased application of Frank’s will, the bead of mercury finally did as it should, and melted into the atlas. The pages flipped open to a page on a neighborhood not far from Hands, Hearts, and Palms. But, instead of resting as a quicksilver bead on the page, the mercury spread out, like oil on the surface of water, making an irregular iridescent shape on the buildings between several streets.
Frank tried to improve the resolution; to get the bead to shrink back into a bead and point to the building where Marie might be found, but it refused. Poe pushed the spell as far as he dared, and then let it go. He didn’t have the more powerful conduit out anyway, but that didn’t matter. More will was not always the solution.
The scry only showed the Marie’s general location in those few blocks. Poe could only think of a few reasons that could happen, and none of them were particularly good.
Stella or the worker’s a the parlor would know Marie’s location, because Poe had a dreadful feeling that Millie was responsible for this divination resistance. A thaumaturge of Millie Parker’s supposed power wasn’t enough to stop his search, but it was enough to dilute the spell.
He tossed on his coat, grabbed an extra beast core, and ran out and down the street toward the parlor. He tried to ignore the pressure behind his eyes. The extra strain he’d taken, facing the will of some other sorcerer or effect. Maybe he wasn’t as recovered as he thought.
Of course, when he arrived, none of the regular bouncers or receptionists were there. He asked for Marie by name and instead of information, he got brittle smiles and hostile glares. He asked for Mama Stella, for Madame, and even for Dinky. They weren’t available.
Just as the bouncer was moving to toss him out, Madame must have been alerted. She looked better, but still sported some of the bruises.
“Madame! You know me; I’m Poe. Where is Marie?”
“Mr. … Poe? Have we met?”
“I do not have time for this. Marie didn’t return to the Agency. Where. Is. Marie?”
Madame gave Poe a long thoughtful look. Whatever calculation she’d been doing in her head, it came out as a willingness to help Frank, which was the most he could hope for.
“She’s visiting Millie.”
“Where?”
“What do you mean?”
Frank drew the street atlas from his pocket, flopped it open to the page that the spell had identified and pointed. “Which house?”
Madame traced her finger down the street, thinking.”That one.” She pointed.
Frank snapped the book shut.
“What’s wrong?” Madame called after him as he flung himself out into the evening. A few minutes later, Madame was still standing at the reception desk. She felt upset about something, but she just wasn’t sure what about.
Frank ran. He’d barely exercised for several years, but his body still seemed to know how to run. That sadist Fekten, in his Defense classes, had still left some memory in his body for running. But, when he reached the street with the Millie’s house on it, he slowed to a stop, breathing hard.
Nothing looked too out of the ordinary. The street was, perhaps, a bit quiet.
Frank walked slowly now, counting the buildings, looking for the house Madame pointed him too. Then he saw it. The door was slightly ajar. Inside it was dim, but looked like there was the beginnings of a party; there were people moving inside. It felt strangely inviting. The whole building seemed to take on the feeling of …
Frank stopped halfway up the stairs. The compulsion was mild, but it was growing stronger as darkness approached.
He pulled his pipe from his coat, packed it as quickly as he could with his etherglow kinninnik, and lit it. He held his pipe and smaller conduit He blew a smoke ring, but was too nervous, and the smoky ring was obviously not clear enough. Taking a second mouthful of smoke, he blew three perfect rings. Picking the best one floating upward, he cast, holding the smoke circle in place with the magic and holding the protection word and phrase in place in his mind.
The mind is so much faster, if more imprecise, than chanting. But, Frank had practiced this hundreds of times: A protection for the mind and body from Aberrance.
Put we on the spirit armor,
to stand against the lies,
for we fight not flesh and blood;
but against powers,
against darkness,
against wickedness.
Therefore take up the armor,
resist the evil,
and stand with all things real.
The spirit armor locked in place, invisible. This wasn’t that powerful a spell when esoterically cast like this, but it did scale, and would last some time, even as the smoke ring dissipated. He dared not try to use his full will, as tired as he felt.
When had he cast so many spells in quick succession? Not for a long time.
The armor worked, and his mind cleared, but he felt a strong urge to cry.
‘A nightmare type?’ Poe questioned. ‘No.’ He concluded. If it were a nightmare type, he’d still feel the pressure, or maybe some other effect; in fact, if it were a Nightmare type, he might already have been snared. If this was a nightmare type, he might as well try to find what was left of his apprentice before he died.
Frank put his conduit and beast core away. ‘No more casting. I’m strained enough.’ He thought.
He pushed the door slightly open and peered into the dark hallway behind it; the sunset illuminated only a short way into the house.
He limbered his wrist, and spun the still hot pipe. He took another draw, letting the radiance fill him, when he blew out, the glowing smoke lit the dark entryway. Some people loitered just inside; dazed and confused looking. Snared, but not …
“Are you here to behold her beauty? She is the most beautiful! We should worship her.” A lanky dark haired man with a red scarf tied around his arm said to Frank.
Frank ignored him, and pushed into the house.
At the top of the landing was a figure of mesmerizing white. Frank’s attention wandered for a moment, caught in her swaying motion. She held all the full of grace and beauty of the moon. Her arms raised and lowered, her nude body swaying and dancing. Was she scarred? What of it? That only wrote more beauty in her flesh. It reminded Frank of the gold repair of fine tea bowls; in fixing the shattered thing, the scars returned her to even greater elegance.
Frank threw off the compulsion; as long as the spell held, he would not get lost in adoring that dancing form.
Frank saw people quite close to her, on the stairs and the landing. The people around her did not dare touch, but they all stood transfixed: held in place by the kind of mind bending magic that only blood sorcery or an aberrant produced.
At least the aberrant didn’t seem to be his apprentice. He could see from her naked form: she was too noticeably womanly and scarred to be Marie.
The mental effect was weak, compared to magic of the last aberrant he’d met. Likely, even without the spirit armor, he could resist it. He could have resisted, however, only if he were prepared. He was not prepared. Considering the turmoil of his mind at that moment, only his spirit armor spell kept him from falling down into a hole of adoration.
He cursed, and dragged his eyes away, scanning the crowd for Marie. He spotted women and men, old and young, including some two dozen sycophants and worshipers, on the second floor, in the hallway, and even in some of the rooms. All of them dazed, even if She was not in their line of sight.
“Marie!” Frank called. What else he could do but call for her? “Marie?”
‘Is she somewhere else?’ He thought. ‘In the back of the house?’
He moved through, trying to push his way toward the back, and simultaneously trying not to be ensnared again by the aberrant’s magical effect. Her effect wasn’t as strong if he looked away.
But, looking away was his mistake. Without him watching for it, the creature glided down the stairs, then touched his shoulder from behind, and, when he twitched, he faced her. He stared directly into Her eyes and beheld all the broken beauty in the world.
The armor, which he’d incompletely cast, simply melted away, then Frank felt his body lose balance from the backlash, and even without maintaining an active connection to the spell, he fell like a marionette with all the magic cut from it.
He lost consciousness into a haze of adoration. His body recovered, but his mind could find no purchase to climb out of the emotional hole. His will, not fully recovered from casting earlier in the day, was too spent.
A silent music of longing filled him.
It felt so good to watch the beautiful moon fey dance and forget. He was just so tired. He’d failed. Again.
In the thrall of Her, Frank did not feel his tears, even as they dripped off his chin and onto the floor.
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This one took a bit, so posting 6 days later, instead of 5. I had it drafted in plenty of time, but I felt like it needed tweaking. Accordingly, this chapter is more closely edited than I normally do, and it probably still isn’t quite right.
I wanted everyone to get the right sense of Franks’ reaction here, and that took more time.
Sorry for the delay!
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I had to play catch up, but Iove the new chapters!
Alright. Next chapter.
Chapter 21: Bad Sleeps.
Month 12, Day 7, 4:00 AM
Marie
When Marie woke, she decided that she had not slept particularly well.
There was no comfortable place to sleep. For one thing, the cellar had a dirt floor. And the walls were dusty. And there were bugs. Likely spiders. Almost certainly mice, because Marie could smell them. She imagined there was vermin everywhere.
She had no mirror, but she was pretty sure there was dirt in her hair. And her arms and shoulder had developed bruising that she could feel most of the night, but not see, because the moonlight through the little window was only enough to see the shapes of things in a pale monochrome
She really wanted a bath. When she’d woken in the darkness, her mind first had to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings, then she remembered the events that put her in this sorry state.
When Dinky threw her in the cellar, he’d locked door. It was an old lock, and probably pretty simple. But it was still more than enough to keep Marie stuck there.
After banging on the door, and giving that up, Marie had searched the cellar for something she could use to escape. The primary contents of the cellar were wax sealed unlabeled jars filled with somethings. Could have been food. Could be magic components. Could be poison. If there was a way to tell, Marie couldn’t discern it, even before the light failed.
The other items didn’t seem all that helpful either. Marie found some dusty butcher’s string, a big pot of salt, some discarded rags in a box, and a dusty tin with a few forged nails rattling around in the bottom. But, even though Millie had nails, she apparently did not bother with things like hammers, mallets, or crowbars.
Marie tried to turn the lock with her knife, which she had dropped when she fell. She succeeded in pushing the old fashioned key out of the lock, but no more. She had no idea how to pick a lock, so even with the nails, it made no difference. Marie threw them back in the can.
Marie ticked off the qualities of her accomdation: No bed. No water. No food. Unless she broke into the mystery jars, which may, or may not, have had anything to eat in them. Marie wasn’t that desperate yet.
All in all, Marie would be writing a one star review.
Eventually, all Marie could find of interest was a black feather that sat under the “window.” When she found it, she just collapsed against the wall, hoping she could hear someone that she could shout to for help.
Marie had plenty of time to think about what must have happened to Millie. But, there was nothing to do but mourn.
Sure, the aberrant still lived. But, Millie Parker seemed gone. Replaced by a fey creature of pure fascination and adoration.
Marie figured that if she’d only visited sooner, maybe she could have talked Millie out of trying whatever dangerous magic she’d cast. Or maybe Poe could reverse the spell? Poe had said it was hopeless to save an aberrant, but maybe the Red Guard had magic that would help. Marie knew she didn’t know everything; surely, Poe didn’t know everything either.
Even to Marie, this denial felt hollow. She could reason well enough.
This wasn’t a mere spell.
Even in the cellar, Marie felt it: the magical effect attracting everyone to Millie Parker’s home. The aberrant spreading adoration and awe.
That magic wouldn’t change Marie. She refused.
For her whole life, Marie grew up around people who wanted things. Marie knew well enough what the Hands, Hearts, and Palms sold. Its clients wanted fine food, alcohol, potions, money, or sex. They wanted an escape. They wanted connection. They wanted to feel good. They wanted to be wanted.
As long as she could remember, Marie had refused to exist for other people, and she wasn’t about to start now. She would not want things to want them. Maybe that’s why Poe’s curse never worked on her. She didn’t know. But, if Marie was to work her will on the world, it would be for her purposes, and she wouldn’t be dissuaded so easily.
Millie Parker, however, wanted to be wanted more than anyone Marie knew. Millie was desperate to be loved.
‘No. Not loved.’ Marie thought carefully about Millie’s magic. Marie remembered how beautiful the glamours appeared; like a fine lady dressed in the finest cloth and perfect skin. ‘Millie Parker wanted to be desired.’
Millie must have been desperate to recapture that grace after she was beaten. So, Marie guessed, Millie found a spell she didn’t understand, or one that was too powerful for her, or maybe she thought she could make a spell of her own. Then she cast it, and she’d obviously broken. Millie ended just as Poe described.
Maybe it could have been avoidable. Maybe Marie could have stopped her. Maybe if Millie had understood that so many people would have been happy with her the way she was. Without glamour, Millie was never beautiful, but Marie never minded.
How many more people could have kept Millie from this fate, if only she’d understood? What right did strangers have to demand that Millie be beautiful?
Marie’s anger was not caused by a lacked of empathy. Marie understood Millie well enough. Marie had a similar desire in her heart; she wished—from time to time—that her daddy, whoever he was, would have loved her enough to stay in her life.
But, Marie rejected the premise that being desired and being loved were the same thing.
She felt furious at Millie, furious at the man that had beaten her, furious at the injustice of the Morrows, furious at their healers. She felt especially furious at the stupid locked door that kept her trapped in this dirty cellar.
She should have been furious with Dinky, but she knew that he wouldn’t have the will to fight.
Of course, when Poe didn’t come for her immediately, she felt furious at him too. Well, maybe not too much. She was just hopeful, and he let her down. She heard people arriving periodically. There was quite a crowd, if all the footsteps were an indication.
Eventually, she had heard Poe arrive. It was late; nearly dusk. Poe called out to her. She’d called to him, but he must not have heard. She did, unfortunately, hear someone fall. And Poe didn’t call out again. That made her sick and afraid. Dinky knew her, but no one knew Poe. Would they restrain themselves when protecting their Moon Fey?
Afterward, she’d cried for a bit. Then she realized she was furious at herself. Why couldn’t she have been bigger? Or stronger? Or just have run away when she realized something was wrong?
It seemed that Millie Parker got what she wanted after all. Anyone who looked upon her would stay with her. Forever. Until they likely died of starvation or dehydration. Marie was trapped here until the Red Guard came.
After the sun fully set, Marie sat and leaned against wall with the window, even though the wall was dusty and the floor was literally hard packed dirt.
She held the raven feather in her cupped hands, and as the light faded into moonless evening, she watched it become a black shape in a room of deep shadows.
She stared at the feather for a long time. She imagined she was a Raven Queen that could turn into shadows and escape through the little barred window. Really, it wasn’t much more than a hole; but it was far too small for her to escape as a girl. But, if she was a raven, she could escape.
Being furious was tiring. Eventually, she’d slept. Badly.
When she’d woken, she’d felt some panic first, before she could remind herself what happened. The now-risen moon cast a glow through the barred opening in the cellar’s wall.
Then, her body reminded her that it was done with trying to sleep against a stone wall.
Everything hurt: her bruised fists from hammering on the door, her head where it rested against the white stone, her cramped legs, her much abused shoulder where she’d apparently landed when she fell, and her forearms that were sore and tender from rolling down the stairs. Her shin hurt too, but she wasn’t sure why.
The feather had fallen from her grasp and was lying in a moonbeam on the floor. Marie sat up.
“I am a sorcerer.” Marie said aloud.
She had her conduit. She had string and nails to mark a circle in the dirt. She had memorized the spell array to attract the attention of the Frigg. It made a noise. Even if Frigg didn’t come, someone might realize there was something wrong if Marie made it loud enough.
Or, maybe Frigg would come. Marie didn’t know how Frigg would help, but she might be some help. At this point, with a vague sense that spiders could at any moment fall in her hair, Marie would take any help.
There wasn’t much light. But there was enough. Marie could see the dirt in front of the window to make a spell array. Marie found the discarded nails and the string, then pushing one nail into the hard packed earthen floor. She scraping her palm in the process and it hurt, but she hissed and fought the urge to rage. She wrapped one end of the string around the pivot, and the other end on a second nail. With the most crude compass ever made, she began making a circle.
Her circle was barely visible in the dark, but she managed a deep groove. Stretching the string out, she used the straight line it made to make the triangle she needed inside the circle.
Salt. Salt could make a conductive circle, and she had a big jar of it by the door. Marie took a handful of it and carefully carried it back to her circle. She ignored how the salt burned where it touched the scrape on her hand. She filled the grooves in the array with it. Marie tried to make it as perfect as possible. Then she placed the feather in the array; she did not have all the original components, but she did know all the symbols for what she needed. She would convert the heat in the air to sound.
A raven sound.
Marie had a moment of concern; this would be the first time she cast a spell alone. No. That wasn’t true. Poe watched her, but she already cast the spells on her own. She’d cast this spell without his help. She merely needed to focus.
She heard the sound of the raven in her head. She knew what the sound needed to be. She knew it needed to be as loud as she could make it. The spell array waited for her to stretch her will to it. Her conduit was in her had.
Kneeling next to the ciricle, Marie bore down with her will, and activated the array.
“KRAA.”
The array burst with a booming raven call. It was so loud, it rang in Marie’s ears. Marie instantly felt dizzy, tired, and disoriented. In the small cellar, the noise had been amplified.
‘That worked.’ Marie thought. “Now, will someone come?’
She tried to stand, and was dizzy for a moment. Her hand fell on the salt circle and knocked salt across the floor.
‘That’s right; I’m not supposed to do magic. I should hide this.’ Marie stood and scuffed way the array with her feet. As she finished, she heard a tapping at the barred window. When she looked up, there was a familiar black shape looking down on her.
“Frigg!” Marie said. “Do you have some way to help? I need help.”
Frigg bobbed her head. She had something in her beak, and she dropped it through the window.
“Kraa. Kraa.” Frigg replied. She cocked her head.
Marie looked for the thing Frigg dropped. In the dark, metal glinted. When Marie picked it up, she recognized it. It was the pin Frigg had stolen. A pin made from half of a broken skeleton key.
Marie looked at it dumbly. Did Frigg just … give her a key? Marie ran up the steps and fit the key into the lock. It was hard to turn, but it did turn. She desperately twisted the slippery pointed end until the lock gradually slid the metal bar into the lock. She pulled the key out and slipped it into a pocket. If she ended up back in the cellar, she’d want a way out.
She glanced back at the window, toward Frigg. Frigg nodded.
“Kraa.” Frigg called, and then with flapping wings was gone.
Marie felt a wave of nausea and her head was pounding. The magic of Her was stronger here. Marie needed to get out of this house and warn people.
Marie reached to the sheathed knife tucked in her dress. She wasn’t going to get caught again. She would fight her way out if she had to. She gripped the knife tightly, and carefully, slowly, turned the knob and gently cracked open the door.
It was dark in the hallway, maybe even darker than the cellar. A crowd of people milled about, moving jerkily with vacant expressions. Most of them seemed to be men; Marie figured they were the sort of men who visited an expensive prostitute at night.
Marie shivered, and she felt sweat beading up on her forehead. She swiped it away with her forearm. Her mouth was so dry, and she sucked on her teeth for some moisture.
These men were all bigger and stronger than her. Dinky was her friend, and he’d practically tossed her into the cellar. Marie did not want to think what the strange men could do.
She hoped that she didn’t find Dinky. The knife wouldn’t be much use against him; she couldn’t stab her friend, even after what he’d done.
Through the open door, Marie felt an even stronger pull. The magic of Her. She was close; perhaps on the landing at the top of the stairs, or in the front room by the front door. She had drawn more and more people to Her. That was why it was so crowded.
Marie dreaded it, but she looked at floor to see if she could see where Poe fell. But, she didn’t. It was dark, but the floor still appeared clear.
This was bad.
‘He must be in the crowd somewhere.’ Marie guessed.
Marie tried to slide unnoticed along a wall, where the sycophants would not notice her. A dim light shown from the front room, but she had to sneak past its doorway to escape the house.
As she hunched down and gently pressed herself along the wall, and nudged people out of the way, Marie slid along. It seemed to take forever; she didn’t want anyone to become alert to her. It was hard to know what they’d do. The pale glow in the room illuminated faces with a eerie light. Marie was beginning to see color.
Millie Parker had trapped Morrows and ordinary folk alike; Marie could see the occasional flash of red bandana or scarf.
Marie eventually got a view of parlor room.
The glow was from Her. What was left of Millie Parker had taken residence in the room, and continued to dance for Her adoring supplicants. Marie saw Her, and she was just as fey and beautiful, but Millie resisted it easily. Her friend really was gone; an fey creature took her entirely.
Bare inches inside the doorway, holding his pipe in one hand, and conduit in the other, a familiar figure stood. In the illumination of the pale loght, Marie recognized his brightly colored coat.
“Poe!”
Marie realized—to her own shock—that she had called to him. Poe had his back to Marie, seemingly enthralled.
In an instant, from behind, someone grabbed her arm that held the knife. Marie tried to wrench herself free; she was pretty sure she’d cut whoever had tried to grab her. But, when trying to pull away with the knife, she’d been let go with a jolt.
Her arm pulled free with a jerk, slamming into her own chest, with the knife in her white-knuckled grip.
Stabbing oneself hurt. Her body told her, in no uncertain terms, that a few inches of knife did not belong between her ribs.
Marie screeched. That somehow hurt more. She staggered with her back against the wall; no one else seemed to want to grab her. She let go of the knife immediately, and didn’t even try to pull it out. It hurt so bad. And she was dizzy. And her head was already pounding.
Marie saw Poe turn toward her, breaking his eye contact with Millie’s fey form. His face was entirely in shadow, so Marie could not see his expression. Did the koi on his coat move?
Marie felt dizzy. Blood loss? Will strain? Exhaustion? The last thing Marie saw before the blackness took her was the tip of Poe’s pipe flaring with an orange glow.
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FYI almost done with next chapter. Sorry for the wait.
Weird: the spacing went strange. Edits today (24th) to fix it.
Chapter 22: The Broken Doll
Month 12, Day 7, 5:00AM
Frank Poe
Frank would never willingly describe his encounter with his first Aberrant. His doctors at the Retreat tried and failed. The Red Guard drug the story out of him. Once.
This was not as bad, and many times worse. At least this time, he didn’t know anyone effected by it, and didn’t need watch them torn apart.
But that did not make the experience pleasant. This aberrant seized the mind and squeezed. Frank lost almost all control, and in that state he’d stood, transfixed by the terrible, scarred, graceful, and beautiful figure of Her. From the moment he’d despaired his will shattered and what was left of his mind scrabbled amongst the broken pieces.
From the moment She touched his shoulder and broke his spirit armor, She was his world. Already strained, Frank could not muster any motivation to stop the euphoria that came from gazing upon her. He’d known better. But, his emotions had lead him astray.
Most people think they make decisions based on logic, but they don’t. They decide what they want to do, then they fill the logic in afterward. Frank knew this. The mind held many traps for the unwary, and the University tried to warn its graduates about all of them. Frank had fallen for this trap, and in hindsight, he knew it.
In addition to the despair of his failure, he had trapped himself in his own recrimination.
So, instead of fighting back the compulsion to be fascinated by Her, Frank’s exhausted mind did no more than observe.
Hours had passed. Vaguely, Frank was aware that more and more people joined the vigil. She danced. The dance contained sweet dreams and visions of unescapable nightmare.
In the throws of Her power, nothing would be as beautiful. Eventually, Frank’s reason did batter against the doors of his mind, seeking a way out.
But, reason possessed no strength. Frank’s strength had been sapped by his failures. He felt increasingly sure Marie died; either to Her, or Her protective and violent self-appointed protectors.
Binky, for example, always flanked Her, and was compelled to protect her just as strongly as Frank felt compelled to watch. Frank idly wondered, as he observed the beautiful red scars the accented her legs like the etching on decorative glass, was Dinky’s protectiveness his idea, or was it part of Her enthrallment.
Then, after the he and his fellow sycophants had passed the darkest part of the night—even in darkness she glowed with magic—Frank’s adoration was broken by the sound of a Raven.
He snapped his eyes shut, and grasped the sound with his mind.
“Marie.” He whispered. That was her spell. She had called to a raven. But, it felt like she’d called to him. Frank’s mind was clear at last. He would save her. He had not failed.
Waking from the floating dream of Her, Frank finally had some sense of place. His will was clear and forceful. He was in the room with the aberrant, and she was dancing before him. But, he’d never dropped his pipe. The bowl of the pipe could act as a circle, and there was magic there he could activate. Magic designed to help him escape.
Keeping his eyes closed to put Millie’s influence out of his mind, Frank slowly reached in his pocket. If Dinky, or one of the more zealous sycophants, knew he was free of the magic, they’d try to put him back under. So, he’d have to do this without alerting them. He slowly drew his conduit out, to hold in his opposite hand.
Frank breathed. The cool, musty air of the parlor filled his nose. There was a perfume or incense. The parlor smelled like a city, with the people adding their own colognes and swamp flowers.
He lit the pipe with a touch of his will to the pipe’s enchantments. The rich smell of the etherglow kinninnick bloomed. It always reminded Frank of the gulf; the cool smell of wind over water, but without the stagnate smell of decay. Etherglow smelled variously like cypress and thyme flowers; open clean scents without cloying musk.
He gripped his will and snapped his eyes open. To a true sorcerer, an aberrant was nothing more than the sad marionette of Millie Parker. Frank was, if nothing else, a true sorcerer in his heart, even if his mind had failed him. Frank kept his observations detached, and so there was no place for Her to latch onto in Frank’s mind.
He needed to find Marie, and he needed to escape.
A steel smoking pipe doesn’t seem like much of a weapon to an untrained eye. But, when merchant sailors had been banned from carrying swords, they learned better than to rely on the Crowns’ Marines to protect them. Masters of the smoking pipe didn’t teach in some fine lord’s fencing hall. They learned and practiced in the rough seas and dock barrooms. They hid the techniques they knew behind whimsical names and obscure references.
From these sailors, Frank learned that the business of a fight was to put your opponent down, no matter how. Honor and dueling canes were for fools that thought a fight had rules. He had his weapon ready, and he took a moment to observe his situation with a critical eye. The windows would be the quickest way out, with the fewest of the rabble between him and freedom.
He began to plan his escape from the parlor.
He shifted his grip on the kisseru-pipe to “smoking on the afternoon watch.” Arm raised slightly, wrist turned up, fingers on the bowl-end so that he could switch to an underhand grip in an instant. He could start with an obfuscation.
“Poe!”
Frank spun about to see Marie standing in shock just across the hallway. It has become crowded, and much taller adults surrounded Marie. She’d stepped away from the wall, so her back wasn’t protected.
In the light from the aberrant, Maire’s face appeared as a pale and terrified, her dark clothing otherwise giving the impression of a deep shadow. Poe took her in an instant, and took his first step toward her, but the strangers around her were quicker.
One of them grappled with her from behind. A knife glinted. Marie’s knife. Marie wrenched her arm away, slashing and cutting the thin woman who had attacked. The attacker behind stumbled. In the dark it was impossible to see exactly what happened. But Marie screamed in fear and outrage. And pain. She splayed her arms, and at first Poe could not see where the knife had gone.
Had she dropped it?
But then as she was stumbling, she fell haphazardly, and stayed down.
Frank willed the circular array at the mouth of the pipe to life and burned the kinninnik. The kinninnik flared as an orange spark in the cool light of the aberrant. Frank brought the pipe to his lips, and blew. White glowing smoke exploded into the room and hallway, completely obscuring everything. He tucked his conduit away, so that his off hand would be ready to use with the fighting pipe.
Even in the smoke, a sycophant tried to grab Frank, pushing Frank away from the doorway. Frank flipped the pipe over, slid it under the man’s wrist, grabbed the mouthpiece end with his other hand, and used the two handed “twisting the auger”; the wrist twisted and then broke with a pop. The man staggered and nerveless fingers released him. Screaming in pain, the man still stood in Frank’s way. Frank stepped into the sycophant, as if moving past him, but using the mouthpiece end of the pipe, struck the forehead of his assailant with “carpenter hammers peg”. The attacker finally stumbled back the crowd.
Frank was breathing hard. He hadn’t practiced these skills for a while, and his pulse was racing. But, the attackers were not ready, and he was.
Even though the smoke reduced the people around him to shadowed outlines, Frank didn’t lose track of where he was. He still stood roughly in the doorway, so it was a simple matter to step out into the hallway, with shouts of outrage behind him, and the aberrant screeching something about light.
The smoke’s white glow faded, but it still blinded everyone, including Frank, turning the rooms and hallway into a dark fog.
Frank bent his knees, lowered his center, and strode to the place Marie had fallen and push aside anyone that might have moved in the way. Only one step into the hallway, an attacker there attempted to grapple him. With the pipe bowl now on the back of the man’s neck, Frank used “stevedore’s hook” to turn the lunge, and “piper’s turn” to use his assailant’s momentum to redirect him and throw him down the hallway deeper in the house into other vague shapes, knocking them to the ground.
Another man lunged at him from behind in the parlor and clouted him in the ear, but, although his ear hurt, there hadn’t been much force behind it. Frank moved on instinct, without bothering with trying to see the attacker. Frank slid toward the attacker’s body, and by feel, slipped under their arm, locking the pipe in both hands on the attacker’s shoulder, and using the pipe for “Cooper at the shave-horse”, which dislocated his arm. A simple kick in the leg to unbalance and “pushing the capstan” sent the figure to the floor in the doorway, temporarily blocking more sycophants from rushing him from the parlor.
Finally, there was space enough, but no light.
Instinctually, Frank activated the spell matrix in his coat, and glowing Koi flowed out and around him. In their glow, he spotted Marie on the floor. No one else would benefit from this light, so he had a moment while they peered through the smoke to find him. The remaining sycophants, too far into the smoke to keep track of him, raised their arms to try to feel their surroundings, and, apparently not sure where Frank was, they began to stumble into each other, shouting and cursing.
Frank took another few steps, slipped the pipe in his coat, and scooped up Marie from the floor.
“Marie! I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Her head lolled about, and he wasn’t sure how badly she might be hurt. With all the smoke, and the dim light, Marie was barely more than a dark shape in his arms.
Frank had always known she was a small; but, Marie was no more than two-thirds his height, and weighed no more than a full barrel of wine. But she did seem to be breathing, although it was ragged. Even unconscious, she was groaning in pain.
Something bumped his chest when he tried to lift her; her chest still had her knife in it. He realized what had happened; she’d lurched so hard to break her attacker’s grip, she had accidentally stabbed herself. Her black dress did not show the blood, but Frank could feel it, dampening his fingers. He almost put her back down.
The blossoming glow that cast Frank’s shadow on the wall stopped him.
Frank’s smoke wasn’t meant to be more than a momentary distraction, and while the aberrant would hold the sycophants’ attention, that didn’t mean She wasn’t aware. Even with the Koi swirling around him, the aberrant’s magic tried to convince him to look upon Her. She would not give him love, but he’d feel it. Like a warm bath. Like coming home. Tears came unbidden to his eyes.
But, he did not forget the weight in his arms; Marie gave his will purpose. He grit his teeth and resisted.
“NO!”
Lurching into a sprint, Frank gave the aberrant no chance to touch him. Frank barreled down the hall. There were more people there, but he dropped a shoulder and shoved away the unprepared sycophants that were at the doorway. When he made the street, the moon was out, and his smoke was drifting through the doorway, his school of koi swimming in the air. He let the koi return to the coat, and he leapt down from the porch onto the street.
Frank ran out into the stygian-blue night, escaping the terrible beauty and magic of that broken doll.
———
Alright, I know this is a modest 2000 words.
But in my defense, my wife wanted me to finish the main story quest of Dawntrail (FFXIV expansion), in which case, after doing the necessary leveling over a few days, I spent several hours in tears working through the end. I think these developers get pleasure from making gamers cry.
I won’t go into details, but if you do choose to play I’m on Faerie, and my FC is Sleeping Forest. We have a tree mansion in Gridania, if you want to visit.
I’ll also be adding another chapter soon; because in fact, this chapter is only the first half of what was a longer chapter that I’ve decided to break up.
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Chapter 23: Sheltering Under Green Antlers
Month 12, Day 7, 5:30AM
Frank Poe
The lamps were lit, and shadows still pooled between them, even as moonlight lit the sky.
Frank ran away from Millie Parker’s house and down street with Marie in his arms, but it was empty, so he didn’t even bother calling out. Frank didn’t make it far before a bearded man with stained clothes came out of a building, and called out to Frank.
“Hey! Where you running there? Hey!”
Frank slowed for a few beats and stopped running.
“There’s an aberrant. An Aberrant, man! At Millie Parkers’.” Frank called out desperately. “Call the Red Guard! the Coppers!”
“What?”
“Are you thick? Run to the Coppers! My apprentice has been stabbed! An aberrant is at Millie Parkers’.” Frank turned his head and pointed with his chin toward the house down the street that he’d fled from.
The bewildered man stopped in his doorway with a blank look.
“Go! An Aberrant! Run straight to the Coppers!” Frank repeated.
Thus excoriated, the man seemed to suddenly understand. Gilbratha was the most magical city in the world. People knew what to do when there was an aberrant. He took off running, work boots slapping hard on the road.
“Poe.” Marie said as she woke from unconsciousness.
“Marie?”
“It hurts Poe. I think … stabbed myself.”
“Shh. I have a healing potion here.”
“I think I’m bleeding on your coat.”
“Never-mind that. I’m going to put you down.”
“I’ve never been stabbed before.”
“Shh.”
“I don’t like it.” She whispered.
“I’ve got a mild healing potion here, it should help with the wound, but … I have to pull the knife out while you drink. Can you do that?”
Through gritted teeth, Frank saw that Marie nodded in the moonlight. Or perhaps the sun was brighten the morning.
Frank carried her to the step of the building the man had run from. Frank carefully knelt, with Marie propped on his lap. She squeezed her eyes hard shut against the pain, and breathed in sharply.
Frank brought out his flask of healing potion and set it down at the ready. He had never done this before, but he knew what needed doing. Hesitation did not serve a sorcerer. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.
He grasped the knife, and pulled it free, and put it in a pocket, blood smearing his hands. Frank couldn’t see the wound, and her black dress did not show it, but he felt Marie’s warm blood on his fingers. She cried out, but Frank brought the potion to her lips, and, to his relief, she drank. When it was almost down, she convulsed in pain, and she coughed hard, and whimpered at that.
“It hurts. It still hurts.” Marie cried. She had tears streaming down her face.
Something was wrong, and Frank had no idea what it was.
“A healer, Marie, where is the nearest healer?”
“Can’t …” Marie started to say, but then she stopped talking, and she convulsed and passed out.
She looked so pale. She was still breathing, but Frank was very afraid she’d lost too much blood and was dying.
Frank needed a healer, and he had no idea where to get one. The Morrows and the parlor were in the area, but, the Morrows had already failed to help Millie, would they help Marie? They were out; Frank didn’t trust the Morrows.
Which, ironically, made his next thought seem plausible to him. The Stags dealt in honesty, of a sort. He’d have to pay, but surely they’d have a good healer on retainer. They were open, and it wasn’t so far.
Poe took a deep breath, then picked up Marie, and started jogging toward the Verdant Stag.
At first, adrenaline kept him going. Then fear. Then sheer stubborn will to arrive and demand a healer.
When he did finally arrive at the Verdant Stag, his legs were burning, but the grand edifice of the building, lit within, was one of the most beautiful sights he’d seen in years. The light of a new day was slowing turning everything near blue with morning light.
When Frank stumbled into the antler festooned entryway, Marie felt like a lead weight in his arms. She was still breathing, he was sure, but she had not woken, and barely stirred. Her sleep, however, was unsettled and she grunted in pain and even said a few words in delirium.
An enforcer met him at the door. The man took one look Frank’s blood coated hands and grasped immediately what needed to be done.
“Healer?” He asked.
Frank, exhausted, nodded.
“For you or her?”
Frank, finally catching his breath, replied, “Just her, but we must hurry, she was stabbed.”
The enforcer nodded. “It’ll cost. You prepared to pay?”
“Absolutely.” Frank replied.
The man lead them into a side room on the same floor; a professional had prepared the room to treat injuries. The room had a clean cot, towels, and even some potions at hand. There was a slate table in the middle of the room for healing.
The enforcer directed Frank to put Marie down on the cot, while he called for the healer by pulling a bell.
To Frank, she seemed so cold, and even more pale than normal. Frank swept her black hair away from her face. She took ragged, uneven breaths, even in unconsciousness. She didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, but he looked down at himself and realized his coat, which was self cleaning, still had blood on the wide sleeves and on his chest where he’d held her against his body. These stains we already fading, but it was hard to know how much blood Marie had lost.
A stern-looking healer entered with a young male assistant and immediately began to appraised the situation. The enforcer moved to stand just inside the door. There was no question of giving permission.
“Call me Healer Nidson. What’s the injury?”
“She was stabbed in a fight.”
“With you?”
“No. We were attacked.”
“Where?” Nidson asked.
“We were in Morrow’s territory, and I didn’t know where to find a healer we could trust.” Frank explained.
Nidson slashed his hand in a nullifying motion. “No. Where did she get stabbed?”
“Oh, ah, chest. Her left side.”
“Help me cut this dress off.” Nidson said. The assistant laid out tools, while Nidson moved to wash his hands, then gestured for Frank to do the same. “You will help me and my assistant.” When Frank hesitated, Nidson continued. “She is not a relative or lover?”
Frank shook his head. “Employee … and apprentice. Sorry.”
“Come on then. Wash your hands. You can apologize to her later.”
“Sorry.” Frank repeated. He washed up. Nidson took a heavy pair of shears and, with Frank’s and the assistant’s help, cut Marie’s boots and dress off of her immobile body.
Looking at Marie’s nude body for the first time, Frank realized how thin and frail she actually was. Her elbows and knees looked overlarge on her, with insufficient muscle, and her hip bones were better defined than they should have been. Frank was shocked; he thought she’d ate well. But the black dresses with long sleeves and tall boots had been covering her knees and elbows, hiding her thinness. She wasn’t skeletal, but she seem much thinner than he’d thought.
She was also covered in bruises that Frank had not seen in the dark; her arms, shoulders, and legs had purple marks, cuts, and scrapes, and there was a huge faded mark of fingers wrapped around one forearm.
“Merlin preserve us, did you beat her?!” The assistant exclaimed. Nidson’s severe look shut the young man’s mouth before he could continue.
“No.” Frank whispered, as he shook his head. She looked like she’d rolled down a stair or something. Had she been laying somewhere unconscious while he’d been snared?
They revealed more bruises as they stripped off the bodice of the dress; but that was not the only surprise. Marie had a complex black spell array tattooed over the center of her chest, directly over her heart.
“Did you know about this?” Nidson demanded, gesturing at the tattoo. He’d let the bruises pass without comment, but this was on a completely different level.
“No.” Frank replied firmly. “She never mentioned it.”
Frank could read most of the glyphs in the tattoo, and that gave him pause. In the array, the glyph for blood had been tucked in one corner. Marie had a blood enchantment.
‘What happened to give her a tattoo like that?’ Frank wondered. But, this was barely a stray thought compared to the distress of Marie’s most severe injury.
The knife wound was an angry bloody mark on Marie’s left side. Luckily, it seemed to have stopped bleeding. Still, there was bruising and dried blood that they needed to clean. Nidson had his assistant work on the cleaning, while directing Frank to get clean towels and clear water.
To start, Nidson cast a diagnosis spell. Immediately after, he began administering potions, but then, after the wound was cleaned, he had Poe and the assistant move Marie to the slate table, where he performed a direct healing.
Frank knew that healing was a difficult and sometimes dangerous art, but Nidson made it seem easy. He treated Marie’s wound quickly and efficiently. The wound closed with only a pale scar, and Marie’s breath relaxed and color finally started coming back to her face and arms. The severe injury taken care of, they dressed Marie in a loose surcoat-like garment that tied on both sides of Marie’s body.
Nidson cast another diagnostic spell.
“What about the will strain? What do you know about that?” Nidson asked.
“Will strain! She shouldn’t have … oh.” Frank realized, then, why the Raven’s call had seemed so loud. In a panicked state, Marie had likely put all her will into it.
“We were trapped in a situation with … what I believe was an aberrant. I think my apprentice overcharged a simple beginner spell to help us escape. Unsupervised, and against my direction, but she was probably desperate. She was attacked and stabbed after.”
“The alarms haven’t sounded.”
Frank shook his head.
“I asked a bystander to go notify the Red Guard, but they probably forgot.”
“Forgot? How could they … You’re Frank Poe. Of course.” Nidson, turned to the enforcer, “We need to notify the Red Guard that there’s a potential aberrant incident.” Nidson asked Frank for the location, and after Frank gave the address, Nidson repeated it.
“You should write it down.” Frank added.
The enforcer grabbed a pencil and pad and quickly wrote the address at Frank’s direction. He then dashed out of the room.
Nidson wasted no time in returning to the topic.
“The will strain is mild, and with healing her other injuries, most of the worst of it has been mitigated. She’s underweight for her age, but given her heart condition, she probably has trouble putting on weight.”
“The tattoo.” Frank observed.
“Yes. She probably had some sort of heart failure as a small child or infant. In fact, that tattoo probably kept her heart pumping when it otherwise would have stopped from shock on the way here.”
Frank cringed, and rubbed his unshaven face. She’d almost died saving him.
“Also, she needs to eat better.” Nidson lectured. “Higher protein foods and lightweight fats. Milk, cheese, fish, fresh vegetables, and dulse. Give her nourishing draught to make sure she’s getting the vitamins; her body may be having trouble digesting and distributing nutrients to her muscles and organs.”
“I didn’t know.”
“A proper master should be paying attention to these things.” Nidson replied. “You specialized in divination as journeyman. I am sure you learned some diagnostic spells.”
His words were mild, but Frank felt like they’d been delivered like a slap.
“How … do you know me?”
“You are a famous case study for failed divination magic. You’ve been the source of several academic papers, and a note in the Lenore Healer’s Journal.”
“Ah. It was Fate magic.”
“As you say. Apparently, one needs to cast a memory spell to keep from forgetting meeting you?”
“That worked for some of the healers, but not all. A clear, forceful, and detailed will is often enough to remember, but most people just take notes. It doesn’t keep them forgetting, but your mind can’t forget a written record.”
“Notes it is then.” Nidson took a notebook from a shelf and began writing.
Meanwhile Frank and the assistant moved Marie to the cot, then covered her with blankets, and put a pillow under her head.
The tension Frank had felt from the overusing his magic, the adrenaline from the fight, and the anxiety of bringing Marie to the Stags were all wearing off. The relief left behind a bone deep exhaustion and aches. Frank fished in his coat for a pocket watch, and realized that Marie had received hours of treatment. Frank sat in a chair, and rubbed his face.
Nidson looked up from his writing and observed Frank for a moment.
“Now that the apprentice has been seen to, let’s take a look at the master, shall we?”
“I’m fine.” Frank replied.
“You are not. You seem to be suffering from will strain, exhaustion, muscle strain - at least in you legs and hands - and your ear is bruised and cut.”
“What?” Frank noticed the pain—actually pains—in his head, but he didn’t think it was that bad.
Nidson, however, disabused him. Frank’s injuries were only less severe than Marie’s in the sense that he hadn’t been stabbed. Frank had fallen hard to the floor at least once, and his fight against the sycophants wasn’t as free of injury as he’d thought.
Nidson gave him a healing potion, nourishing draught, and told Frank sternly to stop casting spells for two weeks.
Frank sighed. He’d have to rely on more mundane investigative methods. Again.
He was just so tired.
After Nidson took some additional notes, he gestured for his assistant to help Frank move Marie.
“We’ll get you both tucked into a room, and after you rest we’ll see about payment.” As Nidson said this, powerful resonant alarms began to sound.
“That would be the call to get to shelters.” Frank said.
The noise woke Marie, but she was barely out of her dream.
“Poe, we can’t have the Raven Queen visit. We don’t have any hot water for tea, and she’ll want bone tea.” Marie mumbled. “Where can we buy bone tea, anyway?”
“It’s ok, we won’t be inviting the Raven Queen over today. We’re going to have a long rest.” Frank soothed. “I’ve got you.” He lifted her gently off the cot.
Marie, eyes closed, murmured something close to “ok” and she fell deeper into sleep.
“We have a shelter for the wealthier guests of the hotel.” The assistant observed, the four of them headed out of the clinic.
With Marie in his arms, Frank trouped with the crowd to the shelter. The Verdant Stag may have reserved the shelter for guests, but this seemed to be liberally interpreted, because everyone in the lunchtime crowd seemed to find a place in the Stag’s shelter. The underground shelter, little more than a warded basement, filled completely.
But, Nidson found a cot for Marie, and Frank sat on the floor leaning against a nearby wall. Nidson and his assistant went to look after an old woman who was mashed against a wall as they attempted to enter the shelter.
Frank was in the crowd, but loneliness pressed down on him. How sad was the state of affairs in the city that he’d gone to criminals for help.
Moreover, Frank’s eyes felt sore and weak. His eyelids kept trying to close, even as he glared suspiciously at those around him.
The shelter seemed safe, but he discounted the possibility that a pickpocket or rogue might pass over a sleeping target. He could not let down his guard. Frank needed to keep Marie safe, but if he’d actually been threatened, he would have been weak as a kitten, because the potions at work in his body pushed him to exhaustion. His pipe was tucked away, but he could neither summon the will to light it and cast magic, or the strength to wield it.
After many long blinks, Frank kept up the struggle to keep awake. No serious academic student didn’t have their little tricks to keep alert. Frank pulled out a notebook and scribbled spell arrays from memory, while simultaneously trying hard not to look like an easy target and worriedly observing Marie sleep.
Eventually, the call of all clear allowed everyone out. Frank, dazed and barely alert enough to stand on his own, was led to a room with a bed big enough for four. When he made sure Marie was tucked away on one side, he situated himself on the far end.
The High Crown’s own bed couldn’t have been more comfortable, and even fully dressed, Frank fell asleep instantly.
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I’m just reading this now. For some reason I was actually shy to read it and I put it off until I could build some gumption. I have this fear that people will deduce where I’m going with the story and they will write something from Book 8 (or whatever) before I can get around to it and then I will have to figure out what to do with the plot.
Also it’s just plain social awkwardness. I feel very strange listening to my own audiobooks, too. I guess because it’s so personal. It feels somewhat like if you got captured doing something candid and goofy on camera, and then went viral and you realized strangers on the subway were watching a video of you. That’s not to say I dislike it; it’s just weird shyness.
Anyway, I’ve been really enjoying your fanfiction! I love Poe and Marie. And Poe in some ways really reminds me of The Doctor (Who).
I totally support fanfiction in general. I think it’s a great way for new writers to get practice, and benefits readers so much with extra content exploring the world and characters they love in new ways.
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I have the fear that I will mess you up, so I am actively trying to stay away from the epic stuff. (BTW message me if I do mess anything up at all; I’ll rewrite it.)
For this reason, Frank and Marie won’t be trying to unravel the fundamental mysteries of the universe.
Also, if Frank manages to predict anything, it’s because it’s something I know has already happened on the books. If he gets something wrong, it will totally be because divination isn’t reliable, or because he’s been misled by common understandings of things. It’s more fun, for the purpose of this story, if Frank gets something right, but then doesn’t know that he did and goes in the wrong direction. Oracles predict the future, but none know what it means until after it happens.
We all know that Frank and Marie can’t capture the Raven Queen. If he did then the story would change. I’m not messing with that! If Frigg were Empress Regal, then that would be interesting, but probably not. She’s just another raven in a city that seems to have lots of them.
Also it’s just plain social awkwardness. I feel very strange listening to my own audiobooks, too. I guess because it’s so personal. … That’s not to say I dislike it; it’s just weird shyness.
I relate, because my reaction to this is: “Yay! Azalea read my story, and she likes it at least tiny little bit! 
” On the other hand I also thought this: “Eek! Azalea read my story, and it’s so embarrassing. 
Especially the typos. I was on her typo hunting team, and there are so many in my own story. I’ve lost all credibility now.”
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I love this fanfiction story and a big THANK YOU to all for sharing this with us, the readers!
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You are welcome! I like writing it.
Azalea is right; this fan fiction has been good practice. First, I am exploring an explicitly different style of writing than I’ve used for the other novels I’ve drafted. Second, I’m also working explicitly with Deborah Chester’s advice on plotting and characters.
One of the things I liked about Azalea’s magic system is that it’s similar to a system I’d been messing with for my own writing. Mine has no spell components, but otherwise a drawn-array kind of magic and - in retrospect - it also has a sort of body cultivation-ish magic. I hope that if I ever do publish no one thinks I’ve been copying her; I wrote my first story using it in July of 2018, and I didn’t even find this story until 2022.
My system was inspired by Denno Coil and a third-hand account of “real magic” describing Agrippa I read as a kid. “Real magic” was described as being really into diagrams, and it also had spell components. There was a “spell” in the book that the author was explicitly skeptical of. I recall it included candles, rusty nails, dried flowers, and a triangle inside a circle, and a magic chant. You had to perform it at a new moon as well.
I just realized, I’ve read thousands of books since that book, so it’s funny that a book like that was memorable. Aside from the innumerable books from Royal Road, library books, books for my education, hobby books, and paperbacks I’ve bought, my Amazon Kindle has over 1100 read books. Almost all of my casual reading is science fiction and fantasy.
In fantasy fiction, spell-array type magic is everywhere (especially since the success of Full Metal Alchemist), but Dresden Files, Spellmonger, the Demon Cycle, Elder scrolls (the trap wards), Starship’s Mage, Final Fantasy 14 (Arcanist/Summoner/Scholar), and occult fiction all have it.
I’ll add this: Since 4th grade, I wanted to be a fantasy author, but I was told (in my High School) that this wasn’t a viable career. Very few people can be published, so only “really good” writers succeed. Also, my grandmother told me that magic is evil satan worshipping stuff, but that was just one further discouragement. Somewhere along the line, I got it in my head that being an author is not a viable career choice.
Also don’t try to be a video game developer; there’s no money in that.
So, I decided to get a music degree, because of the many opportunities that music opens up. 
I was slow again. It might be that this fiction writing thing is kinda hard. A little calmer now; and hopefully a little funny.
Chapter 24:
Marie
Month 12, Day 8, 4:00 AM
When Marie woke, she realized a few of things. It was dark. She was in the biggest, softest bed she’d ever been in, and someone else was sleeping on the far side of the bed. Worryingly, she was tucked under the covers, but she wasn’t wearing her dress or boots. At least she was wearing something, even if it felt unfamiliar. She tried not to think about how that happened.
But, most surprisingly, she did not hurt. No, that wasn’t quite right, because dhe did ache a little, especially her head and her side. But, those pains were the pain of overwork and stress, rather than deathly injury.
She was pretty sure that the last time she’d been conscious, she’d been dying. She wasn’t entirely sure what dying felt like, but pain, bleeding, unconsciousness, and delirium seemed like probable symptoms. Technically, the process of dying happened all the time, she supposed, because you got old and died. But, specifically, she had been dying of a self-inflicted stab wound to the chest.
She choked off a laugh; she’s hurt herself worse than the aberrant had. She wasn’t dead! Probably. She didn’t know what death would feel like, but she suspected death did not feel like a full badder and some sore muscles.
She flopped sideways in the bed, looking across at the person sleeping on the other side. Whoever it was, they were sleeping on their back, fully dressed, on top of the blankets. It was dark, but there was light enough from the windows to see the koi on their coat.
“Poe?”
“Hmm. Ugh. What?” He came awake with mutter.
Marie had lots of questions to ask him. How did they escape? Where were her clothes? How did she get healed? Where were they? Why was he here? But the question that really felt the most compelling was:
“Poe, why are you sleeping on top of the covers?”
“It’s one thing to sleep on a bed with an unrelated girl in it, and quite another to sleep in a bed with her.” Poe said slowly.
Marie felt a little flush of embarrassment.
“Where are my clothes?”
There was a silence. It lasted a little longer than it should have. ‘Did he go back to sleep?’ Marie thought.
“Don’t be angry.”
“Why would I?”
“The healer had to remove them.”
“Ok.”
“With sharp shears.”
Marie frowned. You couldn’t take off clothes with …
“She cut them off?”
“He.”
“He … And where were you for this?”
“Ah. I helped.”
“So. You’ve seen the tattoo.”
Frank breathed a relieved sigh.
“And, you’ve seen me naked and destroyed my dress.”
Poe lifted his hand to cover his eyes. “I guess so.”
“I’m … I need to use a bedpan.”
“This a suite. There’s a washroom.” Poe pointed.
Marie decided this was enough conversation for now.
She fought her protesting muscles, got up, and retreated to the washroom. Sorcerous lamps lit the clean whitewashed plaster room as well as other comforts: mirror, self-cleaning bed pan, and a basin with warm water tap, soap, and towels. After settling her business with the bedpan, she looked herself over in the mirror.
She flushed in embarrassment at the the long shapeless tunic thing she wore. Its open sides had ties to hold it together, which made the tunic appear both oddly revealing and yet also plain and ugly. She hated how it made her look thin and sickly.
‘Of course,’ Marie thought, ‘It doesn’t help that I am thin and sickly.’
She also wondered where her knife and the other items that were in her pockets had gotten to, like her conduit, and her old cloak pin. Poe would be unimpressed that she’d lost it.
Her black makeup had smeared around her eyes, and her lips cracked and dried. She wetted a towel and proceeded to scrub her face. It took some time, but eventually, she’d scrubbed the makeup clear.
Her scrabbling in the cellar had chipped her nails and scraped the enamel. In places, the enamel had faked of entirely. But, her hands were pink and healthy; the scrapes and damage from hammering on door were gone, as we were the painful bruises that she’d had on her arms.
Regardless of her return to her usual level of ill health, she still sported purplish dark circles around her eyes and bloodshot red eyes. Although that could have been from the uncontrollable crying she’d been doing since she’d entered the washroom.
Marie firmly concluded this was improper behavior and appearance for a young apprentice sorcerer. She found herself longing for a proper neck-deep bath. Normally, she washed with a rag and a basin. But, every few weeks, Mama would take them to a proper bathhouse … she’d even gone with her friend Millie a few times.
This made the crying somewhat worse, and even more frustrating that she couldn’t seem to stop.
“Marie?” Poe called from outside the washroom.
Marie cried harder. She wanted to stop, but couldn’t figure out how. Her side hurt, and it made her think about how the knife had gone in so quick, and how foreign it felt. She wrenched open the door.
Poe, who had stood just outside the washroom, stepped back sharply. Marie did not let him retreat; she staggered into him, and hugged him around the middle as tightly as she could.
He smelled a little metallic, but underneath were warm smells of almond, his strange smoking herbs, and smoke.
Poe awkwardly, but gently, returned her embrace.
“It’s ok. You’re safe.” He said.
Marie just cried more.
…
Sometime later, the room was cheery, with the lamps lit and a real wood fire in the grate. She found herself sitting next to Poe on a small couch near the fire. Poe set her at ease, offering a her any of several seating arrangements, but Marie felt best sitting next to him. He close enough to touch, but she noticed that he’d returned to keeping a distance between them, even if it was only a handspan.
He’d had some time to wash up, but although his coat was pristine blue with the koi bright and shimmering, his bright suit clothes underneath had stains and dirt across his chest and knees. Marie felt odd to see Poe anything less than perfectly dressed.
There was a small pot of a bitter hot tea from the night kitchen, and two stoneware mugs. They sipped and chatted for a couple of hours. She’d had a second wash to clean off the tears, and he’d explained what happened, then she explained how she ended up trapped, and how she escaped. Poe nodded along.
Eventually, they got to the heart of the matter.
“So, do you think Red Guard eventually came?”
“I suspect so.”
“Is Millie … did they kill her?”
“Millie Parker is gone.” Frank said gently. “All that’s left is an aberrant. Even if the Red Guard didn’t destory the aberrant, she is dead.”
“What about everyone else?”
“The effect probably wore off. It was not a terribly strong compulsion. The Red Guard will take everyone in for observation and questioning, and then … well they tend to modify everyone’s memories to make them forget the details.”
“Oh. Isn’t that illegal?”
“Not when the Red Guard does it.”
“That seems …”
“Hypocritical? Manipulative? Dictatorial? Oppressive?”
“Yes.”
“Tough. The Red Guard does what it likes, and sorcerers accept it because the alternative is worse: either ban magic entirely, or suffer uncontrolled break events.” Frank sounded both matter-of-fact, and a little bitter. “At least they are not political in the ordinary sense. They aren’t trying to run things. They probably won’t even arrest any Morrows.”
“I guess.” Marie replied reluctantly. “Can’t they bring her back?”
“No. I once considered the Red Guard as a potential career path; who wouldn’t want to protect the world? As a teenager, I read everything I could find about aberrants. There are entire books on the dumb mistakes sorcerers have made that turned themselves into aberrants. But, I suspect that the Red Guard controls much of the information. One fact, however, seems clear from most writers: once an aberrant has been born, the sorcerer is gone.”
This made Marie consider her encounter with Mille in a new light.
“Why didn’t the aberrant effect me?”
“There are several possible reasons. Mille Parker wasn’t a very strong sorcerer, so her break event was not as powerful. Or,” Frank glanced toward Marie’s chest, “it could be that illegal blood magic tattoo you have over your heart.”
“Um. Yeah.”
“I won’t ask to see it again. But, I will ask, where did you get it, and why?”
Marie felt a tightness in her throat. Her Mama had told her to never reveal the tattoo. When bathing publicly, she covered it with an alchemically applied bandage. But the tightness was a literal constriction. She considered her response carefully.
“When I was six, I swore an oath not to talk about it unless it was with its creator, a healer, or Lord Morrow.” Marie finally replied.
“And an underage blood oath. Or, a curse? … This gets better and better.”
“Please. Don’t. I was … ” Marie pushed as hard as she dared against the compulsion, but her heart began racing, and she couldn’t say anything more. She couldn’t talk about the bargain at all.
“That’s going to be a problem to solve.”
“It’s nothing!” Marie protested.
“I think you know better than that.” Poe’s mismatched eyes felt like they saw straight through her.
Marie felt the tears coming back. She tentatively reached her hand to touch him, but then she realized, even though he did not move, Poe flinched. He was still reluctant to touch her; even her hand. Instead of asking, she drew her hand back into her lap, and she looked down at it. All the pain and scrapes were gone, without even a scar.
“Poe. You won’t stop teaching me, will you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’ll keep teaching you. You’re a natural talent, and you saved me. I just hope you’re not too angry at me for not getting to you in the cellar.” Poe had changed the subject subtly; Marie appreciated the effort. She looked up at is mismatched eyes.
“I was, but you did save me when it counted.”
“Then we save each other.” Poe smiled and shrugged.
“Uh. Let’s not get carried away.” Marie replied.
Poe laughed, and Marie found herself smiling.
Marie wondered, ‘How much will this cost? Poe seems rich, but how rich exactly? Could he afford the healing and the room? Surely he could, but Marie was close to death. The Stags would make them pay, or at least, if they were anything like the Morrows, they would try to make Poe pay as much as they could. Worse yet, they’d try to get him in debt.’
“Is this going to be expensive?” She asked aloud.
“Probably. But, I have something they want, and I’m feeling generous toward their organization.”
Marie wondered what Poe planned to barter, then she wondered about what was next. She must have worried him.
“So, let’s get some more sleep?” Poe asked hopefully. Marie could admit that he did look a little tired. But she had been awake for over an hour, and its would be entirely wrong to sleep when the sun would be up in just a short while.
“But, I’m not sleepy! The day has just started.”
“Well, seeing as how we nearly died, how about food?”
“And a soaking bath?”
Frank nodded. “But, we’ll need to get clothes, and settle up here. Let’s see what we can do.”
Technically, their requests still came early in the day. The kitchens had only just started serving a breakfast of oat gruel with savory meat bits to rooming guests for no additional charge. Poe managed, however, to discover the Stag’s kitchens would make a poached egg with butter and salt on rice if he paid extra.
Marie was not nearly so picky. She ordered breakfast from the room service, and she asked about a replacement dress. After being directed to the concierge service, she eventually found that the Stag would send out for a new dress if she liked, but it sounded like it would cost an handful of gold. For that much money she could have bought fabric, thread, and tools enough to sew five dresses.
“Just have them charge it to the room.” Poe suggested. “I’ll cover it when I discuss payment with the Stags.”
“It’s too much.” Marie responded.
“Don’t worry. We won’t be paying with money.”
The dress did arrive promptly, and it had been fitted to her measurements perfectly.
It arrived with a smartly dressed concierge. Marie opened the dress’s box, pulled away the paper, and revealed it with flourish. She saw it, and wrinkled her brow. Withdrawing it, if anything, made it worse. The dress was pale lemon color with white lace trim, puffy sleeves, and a layered skirt made of white and yellow fabrics.
Marie instantly hated it.
“That dress isn’t your preferred style, is it?” Poe observed. “We can do better. Wear it for now, and we’ll get you a proper black dress later.”
After changing into the dress in the washroom and reviewing the outfit in the mirror, Marie decided hate was inadequate. She despised the dress.
The dress had an entirely useless a ribbon waistband with a bow. The puffy sleeves failed to extend at her wrists, instead ending midway down her forearms. A flimsy shawl was meant to drape artfully over her shoulders. The flouncy skirt ended above the knee, which was fine, but she didn’t have tall boots to wear or leggings. The soft leather “shoes” were little more than dainty slippers, which meant they would soak through if they even looked at a puddle of water. Marie could see her knees!
The entire outfit made her look like a child. Not even a healthy child, but a sickly spoiled child of a crown family that neither knew work nor hardship. Her black hair made the dress seem even more stunningly unflattering. She almost put the ugly healer tunic back on.
Scowling, but still wearing the dress, she returned to the main room.
Poe sat by the fire, cleaning his pipe with a twist of paper. When he looked up at her expression, he immediately turned his face away, and Marie saw his shoulders shaking a little bit.
“Go ahead. Laugh.”
“Not at all.” Poe gasped. “It’s fine.” When he turned back toward her, only the very hint of a smile danced at the edges of his lips.
They gathered their things and headed for the office to settle-up on their stay at the Verdant Stag.
———
AFTER CHAPTER NOTE:
Feel free to suggest other colors for this dress. Lemon Yellow is nearly as opposite from Marie as I can imagine, but if there’s a color you think is funnier let me know. Shorter skirts are easier for her to move in which is why she doesn’t mind them. But, she’s sensitive about how her height makes her seem like a child, and an outfit like this isn’t her preference at all.
I’ve worked it out, and Poe only seems much taller because she is actually very short: 4’ 4” Dinky is over 6’ and he manhandled her easily. Poe is only 5’ 8” tall. She’s tiny, and she’s a little sensitive about it.
But, there are a few things that I am worried aren’t coming across. A recent post about Dumbledore has got me thinking that readers might be seeing a certain type of story here, when this story is really not. If readers are getting that impression, and can point to specific internal thoughts that is giving that impression, please let me know.
I’ve got them sharing a room here, and certain tropes might trigger in the reader’s mind. But, this isn’t chapter intended to be romantic; instead, its meant to be more funny and awkward for the characters, and give them a chance to have an episode to clear up some loose ends and introduce some new potential story elements.
So, to clarify:
First, Frank has no hidden attraction to Marie. Frank doesn’t want to touch Marie b/c of his own reluctance to touch anyone. After the accident, he has a fairly large personal space. Carrying Marie and letting her hug him is more significant, I think, than I’ve actually drafted in the story so far. He doesn’t let people into his personal space. And, he doesn’t enjoy open nudity; either his or anyone else’s. So, a massage he might receive from a stranger would be torture and drive his anxiety way up. Marie doesn’t have that problem, but I think you can tell from this, she didn’t want Frank to know either how thin she is, or about that tattoo.
I really needed to put more emphasis on Frank’s reluctance to touch people in the last few chapters - especially the fight, and his initial decision to push into the crowd. He doesn’t mind crowds, so long as no one is touching him and he can move around. I’m thinking not so much a phobia, but just … reluctant. (I’m using that word a lot, sorry.)
I might add more on this aspect of his on Royal Road, but big rewrites are unlikely.
Second, I want to emphasize how unimportant s*xual attraction is to me when writing this story: I did not plan either character to have an orientation when I started writing, and it will not be important to either characters or the story. (Although, Marie may have thought Percy was cute.)
Marie’s work as a young accountant at the Hands, Hearts and Palms drives a lot of this story, but it was almost accidental: I needed Millie Parker to be Marie’s friend, and so I needed a way for them to meet. The massage parlor set up a lot of interesting threads I could use to keep Poe and Marie at the center of the action, especially with the Morrows. It’s been a remarkably useful plot device, creating story opportunities I didn’t foresee at all.
But, some rather unfortunate and destructive tropes may give the impression that because Marie worked at a brothel there could be a romance in the future. There will not be.
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Poe, I must concur.
These last few chapters are awesome - the story is ramping up and the mystery is just starting to show. I’m so excited for the next chapter!
I feel like 5’8 it’s probably average, perhaps just below average for a Gilbrathan man. Azalea’s characters are mostly on the taller side.
I hadn’t thought of that, but I could see it possibly being interpreted that way. I know you well enough to know that’s not at all where you are going with this, and you’ve written Poe as an absolute gentleman.
I would hesitantly suggest some edits to Marie’s perspective to make it clear that she wanted her hand held for reassurance, more like how her Mama does. Other people probably need to weigh in on this, though, because I might be missing a more nuanced perspective.
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