Heart's Magic (17 page)

She locked herself in her
stillroom and poured all her turmoil into the poisonous potion she
was creating. She didn't know what to think about anything
else--especially Harry. So she didn't. She would think about him
tomorrow. Or maybe next week.

Shadows gathered around
Holborn Tower, creeping higher, growing deeper, as the cold winter
night fell at its early hour. The tower creaked and groaned, the
old bones of its ancient timbers settling into sleep. In many of
its serried cells, piled one above the other, crammed into every
gap, a single magician huddled beneath a blanket, locked away for
crimes ranging from fraud to murder, all committed by means of
magic. Most of them would eventually be released, barred by
powerful spells from working magic for a year or two, or
twenty.

The shadows crawled along
the corridors, fleeing before the lantern in the hands of Thomas
Norwood, as he made his nightly rounds, checking that all was well,
that each magician was in his designated cell and the magicians
standing guard were alert. With the Briganti Enforcers' commander
away, he was left in charge of the magician's prison, among other
duties.

Norwood left the upper
levels where the alchemists were kept in rooms made and fastened
together entirely of wood. He descended past the conjurer's cells,
the top floor of wood and the lower few of stone and iron since
conjurers did not depend on physical materials for their magic. He
stopped at the few cells on the single floor reserved for wizards,
where even the bunks and tables were constructed of
metal.

"How is he?" Norwood paused
by the guard at the stairwell door, asking about the lone wizard
prisoner.

"Same as ever. Mad as a
hatter." The man shrugged. "Mr. Norwood?"

Norwood looked down at the
other alchemist, waiting for the rest of his question.

"Do you suppose, now we're
getting women wizards, we'll have to open up more cells in the
tower?"

"I hope not, Mr. Biggs. I
certainly hope not." Norwood clapped him on the shoulder. "But I
wouldn't count on it, myself."

He walked down the corridor
to the occupied cell and peered in. Nigel Cranshaw sat on his bunk
in the dark, staring down at the burned claw that was his right
hand. He was curling it in and out the tiny bit that it would,
muttering to himself.

"Good evening, Mr.
Cranshaw." Norwood spoke through the barred window as he always
did. Not with all the incarcerated magicians, but with this one.
Madness wasn't a crime.

"Norwood? That you,
Norwood?" Cranshaw stood and hobbled bent over toward the door.
Obviously, this was one of his better days. He sounded almost
reasonable.

"Yes, Mr. Cranshaw, it is."
Norwood held up his lantern to let the light fall through the
grille.

The wizard scuttled out of
the direct light into the shadows and Norwood lowered the lamp
again. "Does the light disturb you?"

"Not disturb, no. Not the
light. Fire. Fire is--troubling."

"I can see that it might
be."

"Can you see? I can. See in
the dark. Most illuminating." Cranshaw edged closer to the door,
adjusting his bent posture until he could peek out the tiny window
with his pale, protuberant eyes. Cranshaw was a tall man, so even
bent, he had to bend a little more. "Let us out, will you, Thomas?
There's a good lad."

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't do
that." Norwood looked into the shadows inside the cell, looking for
anything out of place, but could see little past the man looking
out.

"Of course you can. I
shouldn't be here, Norwood. It's all a mistake."

"No, sir, it's not. You
used illegal magic to attack in a challenge without consideration
of the others present. You could have killed more than Miss
Tavis."

"I had to, don't you see?"
Cranshaw curled his good hand round the bars. "She's evil. They all
are. You weren't there. You don't--"

"Yes, I was there!" Norwood
lost his temper. "You would have killed me, you mad bugger, if Miss
Tavis hadn't shielded us. And you'd be dead now yourself, if she
and the sorcerers hadn't healed you."

"What?" Cranshaw jolted,
his eyes disappearing so that Norwood saw only his beaky nose and
thin-lipped mouth. "No, no! No, it wasn't them. It was Rosato. Dr.
Rosato and his lovely ointment."

"Rosato might bring it here
to you, but it's Miss Tavis that made it." Norwood paused. "And I
probably shouldn't have told you that."

"They put something inside
me. They contaminated me with their wickedness." The eyes
reappeared, rolling wildly in fear. "Women are evil. Twisted.
Wrong. We don't need them."

"Yeah?" Norwood shook his
head sadly. "How do you plan to continue the human race without
them?"

Cranshaw stared at
something beyond Norwood. "Would that be so terrible?"

"What?" Norwood glanced
over his shoulder, but nothing was there, save his own shadow
climbing to the ceiling where the lowered lantern cast
it.

"If we didn't continue..."
Cranshaw turned and slowly hobbled back to his cot with its woolen
mattress and woolen blankets. Nothing with plant materials a wizard
could draw magic from. He sat and stared at his burned hand,
muttering once again.

Norwood walked back to the
guard at the stairwell. "Keep a sharp ear out, Mr. Biggs. I'm
afraid I may have agitated our prisoner."

"Will do, Mr. Norwood." The
alchemist on guard climbed to his feet, rattling only a little with
a single key on his ring. "Seems quiet enough now."

"So he does, but who knows
if it will last." He sighed. "I wish I knew better what to say to
him--whether to confront him with the truth of his crimes or
appease his delusions."

"I'll leave that to those
of you higher on the magical power train," Biggs said. "I'll
content myself with keeping him locked away."

"You do that, Mr. Biggs."
Norwood went through the door into the stairwell. "You might want
to go ahead and lock the floor down now."

"I will." Biggs took
another, larger key off a hook on the wall. "Mr. Norwood--you know
the lady magicians, don't you?"

"I am acquainted with them.
I wouldn't say I
know
them."

"You believe they really
mean to open the academy to females?"

"I don't know about that,
Biggs. I had heard that they intended opening a separate school for
girls, but I could be wrong."

"But they will be admitting
girls on the same basis as they do the boys--if they have talent.
Right? My Lizzie and me, we have five girls, and our eldest--she'll
be seventeen come March, and I swear she can move magic. Not sure
what sort it is, but I can feel it moving."

Biggs fidgeted with the
oversized key. "So I was thinking, if they
are
testing girls for magical talent,
well, Sarah Biggs deserves as much of a chance as any. It's a
better life as a magician than a shop clerk or seamstress, I'm
thinking."

Norwood blinked a little at
the flood of words. "I should say she does. I suggest you sent a
note to Magister Greyson at Brown's Hotel. And I will mention the
matter to Magister--whichever one I see next, if I can. Perhaps
suggest they hold a testing day for the ladies, like we do for
boys."

"You think I should? Send a
note?"

"I do. I know they are
actively looking for students."

"Well, then, Mr. Norwood, I
will."

The younger alchemist
nodded and clattered down the stairs as the guard locked the door
to the wizard's floor, shutting himself in with the
prisoner.

Inside the lone occupied
cell on that level, Nigel Cranshaw stared into the deepest darkness
beside the door. "You see how it is? You see how they treat
me?"

"It is not fair, is it?" A
figure took transparent shape in the shadows, slender and youthful,
not female but not quite male either, though it was dressed in
trousers and a loose, open-necked shirt. "You were only trying to
help them see the truth. Allow them to recognize the evil they are
clasping to their bosoms."

"Exactly. You understand.
They put something inside me. It's still there." The wizard
whimpered.

"I know, dearest Nigel, and
I do understand. The evil must be wiped out. All of it,
utterly."

"Yes, yes." Cranshaw
sniffled. "It hurts. Why does it hurt so much?"

The figure crept from the
darkness, its face beautiful in the dim light, black hair curling
around the pale skin, red lips a curving slash across it. "Poor
Nigel. Poor, dear Nigel. Cry out against your pain. It was not your
fault. That female did this to you. She infected you with her
blood. She should pay. They should all pay. Feel your pain, Nigel,
and know who caused your suffering."

The beautiful being slipped
onto the cot next to the wizard and took hold of his hand. It
squeezed until Cranshaw howled and it breathed in the sound and the
pain, and it smiled.

It had taken Elinor until
well after teatime to finish her potion for Friday's challenge.
Only when Freeman had knocked on the door with a tray did she
realize the time. She took a break to eat--wizardry was not a magic
where one could snack over the worktable--and went back to work.
She might have finished sooner, if not before tea, if she hadn't
wanted to make a different potion than the one she'd used with
Cranshaw.

It required a great deal of
effort to make the astringent magic in pine needles mix with the
purgative magic of broomtop in this new spell. And it took even
more time and effort to understand how to tie a knot in the magic,
as Cranshaw's potion had suggested, to keep it potent over time.
She'd never tried knots before and magic was slippery
stuff.

She ate the food in the
supper tray Freeman brought, creaked her way across Harry's back
garden, and fell into bed exhausted.

She woke late the next
morning, not her favorite time any day of the week, and rose to eat
the enormous breakfast sent over by Harry's cook as was usual on
mornings after Elinor worked late. She'd barely managed to get
dressed when someone knocked on the door to her flat.

Amanusa and Pearl stood on
the landing when Elinor opened the door. The wide skirts of both
women barely fit in the narrow space. "Oh, ah..." Elinor backed
away. "Come in."

There were two comfortable
chairs near the fire. They'd brought a second in for the few months
Pearl had shared the flat. While the sorcerers removed their
shawls, Elinor brought a third chair, wooden and slat-backed, from
the small table near the window where she'd eaten breakfast. If
they used the other dining chair, she could have three
guests.

"I know you said we needed
to talk, Amanusa, but I didn't realize you felt the need quite this
acutely." Elinor sat in the wooden chair, then popped back to her
feet. "Oh, I should offer tea."

But how? The maid had gone.
Elinor didn't have a bell to ring in Harry's kitchen where all her
provisions came from. Still, despite her new rank. She needed to
move out of this flat, declare her independence.

"Never mind." Amanusa laid
her gloves across her lap. "We don't need tea."

"I do," Pearl said. "I told
Grey to tell Freeman to have Cook send some up. He's come to visit
Harry. With plenty of those delicious lemon tea cakes."

"I know you're eating for
two." Elinor sat down again. "But isn't this a bit
excessive?"

"Not at all. I haven't
eaten anything all morning except two dry biscuits and plain black
tea. I'm starving. And it is time for elevenses, even if you did
just crawl out of bed." Pearl smiled merrily at the other
two.

"Please, we have important
matters to discuss." Amanusa folded her hands and focused on
Elinor, who composed herself in an attitude of curious
patience.

"Elinor." Amanusa held her
gaze. "I have reason to believe that--"

The tea arrived with all
the attendant bustle of bringing it in and setting it up,
dismissing the footman, pouring, serving, and then eating. Pearl
ate. Elinor sipped at her tea. Amanusa might have.

"Elinor," Amanusa began
again.

Elinor set her tea aside
and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes, Amanusa? Goodness, such
drama. I realize our school is very important, but
cou--"

"It's not about the school,
Elinor. This is about you."

"
Me?
What about--?" She broke off, fear
suddenly springing up her throat, leaving no room for words. She
didn't want to hear this, whatever it was.

"You've been working
sorcery, Elinor." Amanusa's voice was stern and gentle.

"What? No. I'm a wizard. I
don't--" How had Amanusa found out about the sex sparks? Elinor's
face burned hot.

"When you and
Harry--"

"We
didn't
--" Elinor broke in. "It was
just-- Well, of course I know that, but--Just a--"