James Potter And The Morrigan Web (78 page)

James shook his head, his confusion steadily overwhelmed by a sort of disgusted anger. “You’re
in
on this?”

She rolled her eyes impatiently. “Don’t get all high and mighty on me. I just figured it all out a few days before you did. The only difference between you and me is that I know the professor is right.”

“That’s a pretty major difference!” James spat, raising his own wand. “He nearly
killed
us in New Amsterdam!”

“Expeliarmus,” Nastasia called in a bored voice, flicking her wand at him. James’ wand wrenched out of his hand and spun through the air. Nastasia caught it deftly. “Wow,” she said, impressed with herself. “That was pretty good, wasn’t it? You totally should have seen that coming.”

“Power belongs to those unafraid to use it,” the Collector said approvingly, still standing before his armchair. “You could learn a lot from Ms. Hendricks, James. The Americans have always appreciated the inevitability of progress. Of course, she is helped very much by her family heritage. I recognized this immediately about her. Blood carries its own memories, and hers is a very rich blood indeed.”

James studied Nastasia’s face. “Nasti?”

“That would be easier, wouldn’t it?” She smiled wanly, her wand still pointed unflinchingly at him. James was dismayed to see that this wasn’t some fractured half-version of Nastasia’s personality. This was all of her-- both Nasti and Ashya-- working together, if reluctantly. He backed further away from her, although he sensed it was no use. Behind him was bare stone wall, flanked by pillars. Across from him, the chamber entrance was guarded by the imposing clockwork figure of Tawil At-U’mr.

“All right,” James stammered quickly, glancing from Nastasia to the Collector. “What do you want?”

The Collector spread his hands, palms up. “All I want, James,” he smiled. “Is your consideration. Your patience. Your willingness to entertain the idea that I may, in fact, be right. You will find this difficult to believe, but I am not a bad man. I myself am simply a tool in the hand of destiny, fortunate enough to be available at this all-important, pivotal moment in history. What I desire from you is a decision: will you help take us forward into a new golden age of wizardkind? Or will you, like so many others, be crushed in the teeth of progress?”

As he spoke, the Collector turned aside, approaching the desk. “You see, James, there is no mechanism by which the cycle can be stopped this time. Forces beyond comprehension have aligned to assure this. Destiny is no longer a mute force, cold and distant. Destiny is now one of our tools-- a cord to be stretched and tied at will,” he glanced back at James, smiling conspiratorially, “a
Crimson Thread
, as it were, is very nearly within our grasp, ready to be sewn as we wish, forming a tapestry of our
own
design.”

James knew what the horrible figure was referring to. In his mind, he saw the mysterious Loom of Destinies in the cellar of Alma Aleron’s Archive, frozen in place, no longer weaving its magical, interminable tale of human history, all because of a single, stolen red thread. He heard the voice of Merlin, both grave and foreboding:
this changes everything…

“The Crimson Thread,” he whispered. “The Lady of the Lake…”

The Collector ignored him. He turned back to the desk and, almost daintily, plucked a piece from the oversized chess board. It was one of the crystal knights. The tiny figure glimmered and sparkled in his hand. “Your choice, James,” he mused, staring at the chess piece, “is not whether to join me, or to attempt to stop me. There
is no
stopping me now. The pieces are very nearly in place. The secrets of the Morrigan Web are safely hidden. The plan of months and years and centuries is now in motion. No, James. Your choice is to join me… or to die.”

The Collector’s words hung in the air like smoke, lingering, echoing in James’ head. Was he really being threatened with death? Right here, right now? He glanced toward Nastasia’s outstretched wand, then to her eyes. She offered him an impatient grimace and a minute shake of her head, as if to say
what are you waiting for, stupid?

Across the room, a ruffle of fabric and a sudden movement caught James’ attention. A hand appeared in mid-air, hovering a few feet behind the Collector. The hand-- James recognized it as Albus’-- was fisted around a wand.

“Petrificus--” he called, his voice muffled beneath the Invisibility Cloak, and then, interrupting himself: “Ah bugger!”

There was a scuffle, a grunt, and Albus’ hand swung toward the floor, dropping his wand. James’ relief was replaced with annoyed frustration as both Albus and Rose tumbled out from beneath the Cloak, falling atop each other onto the stone floor.

The Collector did not turn around. “Amazing things, Invisibility Cloaks,” he commented idly. “But with the fatal flaw of being a constant tripping hazard. Ms. Hendricks, please assure that our new guests won’t cause any trouble.”

Nastasia rolled her eyes irritably and, cursing under her breath, summoned both Rose’s and Albus’ wands. They clacked against James’ as they flew into her hand.

“Welcome, my young friends,” the Collector announced, “I’d have offered you tea as well, but you seemed to be so enjoying your sense of secret adventure. Please, if you would just stand over there, we’ll be finished here quite soon.”

Rose made to throw herself upon Nastasia, but a mere wave of the Collector’s wand tossed her backwards, knocking Albus aside. Both tumbled messily to the floor next to the Jiskra’s giant birdcage.

“Stop it!” James cried, stepping forward again. “Leave them alone!”

Still holding the crystal knight in his left hand, the Collector looked back at James, his expression serious. “Let this be a lesson, Mr. Potter. Your decisions are never yours alone. The repercussions influence everyone around us. Your brother and cousin, for instance. But I know what you are thinking. You are thinking of your poor, unfortunate cousin Lucy.” He nodded slowly, his eyes unwavering. “She paid the ultimate price for your decisions, did she not? A pity you haven’t learned how to avoid such errors. Or have you? Be careful. Your next words will decide the course of many, many lives.”

But it was not James who spoke next. It was Albus. “Hey ‘
Professor
’,” he said, adopting his most churlish tone of voice. “You forgot. We Slytherins don’t
need
wands to cause trouble.”

James turned toward his brother, as did Nastasia and the Collector. Albus had both of his hands hooked into the framework of the Jiskra’s cage. With a hard grin, he heaved it over.

The cage toppled, crashed, and broke open. With an ear-splitting screech, the Jiskra burst out of it, seeming to immediately double in size as it reared, unfurling great leathery wings matted with red feathers. The two heads pivoted on goose-like necks, swivelling furiously, and locking fixedly onto Albus.

“Oh
bugger
!” Albus cried again, grabbing Rose and yanking her aside.

The Jiskra screeched, this time exhaling a directed spray of mist from one head. The other head spat a streak of white sparks, like a stone striking a flint. The sparks ignited the mist, which exploded into blue-orange flame.

James boggled as the flames filled the space where, only a moment before, Albus and Rose had been standing. Fire bloomed against the wall, lighting an enormous tapestry. A hand suddenly seized James’ wrist. He glanced up to see Nastasia, her wand lowered, her face wide-eyed and impatient, dragging him toward the fireplace.

“Come on, Cornelius!” she declared. “You want to become a permanent resident?”

The Collector strode forward, his wand raised. For the moment, however, he was distracted by the burning tapestry. A jet of water erupted from his wand, hissing against the flames.

“Al!” James cried, “Rose!”

Nastasia grabbed a small pot from the mantel over the fireplace: Floo Powder, of course. She heaved it into the fire, where it shattered.

“Jump!” she commanded, pulling James along with her.

Green flames swirled around him as he half-leapt, half-fell into the hearth. Behind him, Rose screamed; Albus cursed; the Collector roared. An instant later, the noise fell away, engulfed in spinning green flames.

Wherever James and Nastasia were headed, he could only hope that his cousin and brother had both the good sense and great fortune to follow.

16. THE WOES OF FILCH

Something cold and hard reared up out of the fire and struck James, knocking the wind out of him. He tumbled, realizing he had fallen back out of green flames and onto a stone floor.

“Where are we” he panted, struggling to get to his feet, dizzy from the unexpected journey through the fireplace. “Are we back home?”

Nastasia scrambled upright next to him, glancing around. “We aren’t home,” she answered bluntly.

A circular wrought-iron stairway stood in front of them, leading up to a low balcony. Huge pots lined the narrow walkway above, trailing vines and oversized leaves.

“We didn’t even leave Durmstrang!” James exclaimed. “We went to the last place Avior travelled from! His own classroom! Oof!”

He tumbled forward as another figure bowled into him, erupting from the green flames of the classroom’s fireplace. A fourth figure tackled all three of them, knocking the entire assembly to the floor in a messy heap.

“Must go faster!” Albus panted in James’ ear. “Run! Go, go,
go!”
He clambered upright, planting a knee in James’ back as he went.

Rose screamed again, much closer this time, as the green fire flared once more. A large, complicated shape exploded from the hearth, trailing flames and screeching monstrously. The Jiskra landed directly behind James, its wings flapping for balance, its twin heads swivelling. It spied him with its four beady eyes and reared.

James rolled frantically aside, barely avoiding the blast of liquid fire. Hands grabbed at him, dragging him to his feet as the Jiskra scrambled forward, wings flailing, struggling for flight.

Footsteps clanked on the iron stairs as Albus pounded up, followed by Rose, Nastasia and, stumbling in the rear, James. Claws scrabbled at the railings as the Jiskra lurched up after them, half-flying, screeching with both of its heads.

“Wands!” Albus cried, scrambling onto the balcony. “Nastasia! Give us our bloody wands!”

“No time!” Nastasia exclaimed. “I don’t even know whose are whose!”

A burst of fire boiled up through the wrought iron balcony floor, singing the leaves of the Yuxa Baslatma plants. The Jiskra followed, mounting the balcony railing and launching into the air. It flapped overhead, flailing and snatching at the ducking students with its claws.

“Ow!” Rose exclaimed, tripping amongst the plants. “I’m caught!”

James clambered to a halt behind her, seeing that Rose had, indeed, become enmeshed in the trailing, flowering vines of the plants. He grabbed her arm and pulled fiercely, dragging her forward. The vines tugged back, popping and ripping free of their pot, trailing tendrils of dirt-choked roots.

“What are you waiting for?” Albus called impatiently, tramping down the second stairway. “We’re nearly there!” He pointed toward the open double doors below, and the corridor beyond.

James gave one more grunting tug on Rose’s arm, pulling her free of the Yuxa plant just as the Jiskra swooped overhead again, spraying a trail of flame. Rose’s hair and robes caught fire and she screamed once again, flailing helplessly. James grabbed his cousin and flung his own robe over her, damping the flames. Next to him, he realized with some shock, Nastasia was doing the same. Her own pink hair was singed and smoking.

The Jiskra screeched furiously, circling back.

Nastasia herded Rose ahead of her as they pelted between the plants. They reached the second stairway and began to scramble down. A shadow fell over them, and James turned back to see the Jiskra filling his vision, its wings spread, its red claws and glinting black talons extended.

He did the first thing that came to his mind: he lunged forward and grabbed the Jiskra’s legs with both hands, narrowly avoiding its hooked talons. The great bird screeched, lurched forward off-balance, thrashed its wings, and crashed heavily onto the potted Yuxa Baslatma plants, knocking several of them over. They crashed to the floor below, shattering their ancient pots like bombs.