The Native Star (29 page)

Emily narrowed her eyes. “You don’t like him much, do you?”

Mirabilis flashed her an abrupt, brilliant smile. “Why, Miss Edwards! Whatever gives you such a ridiculous idea? I treasure all my subordinates. Mr. Stanton is no exception.”

“Then why did you send him to Lost Pine?”

“Well, why not? What’s wrong with Lost Pine?”

“I heard you sent him there to get him out of the way. To humiliate him.” Emily didn’t mention that the words had been Caul’s.

“Humiliate him?” Mirabilis bellowed. “Young woman, are you humiliated to come from Lost Pine?”

“Of course not.” Emily lifted her chin. “It’s a good place, with good people.” She spoke with rising heat. “Good, ordinary people who help each other!”

“There you have it.” Mirabilis shrugged conclusively.

Emily wrinkled her nose, trying to figure out exactly what conclusion he’d offered her. Finally, she gave it up and spoke a bit more calmly, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“It’s just that it seems a shame that he can’t … be here. After all he did.”

“Mr. Stanton will be amply rewarded for his participation.” Mirabilis’ voice was velvety with condescension. “Gaining public recognition as the man who saved the life of a president could boost his power substantially. But he cannot harvest that power unless he seizes the opportunity and promotes himself. And he has the press at his feet to do it!” Mirabilis shook his head wonderingly. “He’s always had the most unfathomable distaste for the practice of propaganda.”

“But it’s not the truth, Mr. Hembry wasn’t an assassin!” Emily said. “And besides that, it’s … undignified.”

“Dignity is like morality,” Mirabilis barked. “Too much is as bad as too little. And as for truth … too much of that is even worse, as I hope you never have to find out.”

Emily pressed her lips shut, pressed herself back against the seat. She felt as if her knuckles had been rapped with a cane.

“Besides, by forcing Mr. Stanton to face the press, I kill two birds with one stone.” Mirabilis’ voice was gentler now. “He harvests the power he has earned, and his father is propitiated.”

“Propitiated?”

“Credomancers propitiate the powerful,” Mirabilis said. “And Senator Argus Stanton is a formidable politician. He has been in Washington for years and there’s no sign that the legislature of New York will ask him to come home anytime soon, no matter how many scandals he gets himself involved in. He must be propitiated so that he, in turn, can propitiate the powerful people above him.” Mirabilis frowned, shook his head. “Unfortunately, Mr. Stanton has never been willing to fully exploit the … 
opportunities
 … that his close association makes possible.”

“Surely you’re not saying he should use his father’s connections to get ahead?” Emily lifted her eyebrows. “That’s … well, that’s just dishonest! He wouldn’t stoop to that. I know
that
much about him.”

Mirabilis looked at her for a long time without speaking. He blinked, then stared at her some more. Finally, he drew in a deep breath.

“You know, Miss Edwards,” he said finally, “you really must see Central Park while you’re in our fair city. It’s got some amazing attractions.”

But Emily didn’t have a chance to voice her opinion on the attractions of Central Park, because at that moment the train gave a lurch and slowed to a stop. Emily glanced out the window, glimpsed the marble colonnades of a soaring train station rising up around them. Mirabilis smiled.

“Ah,” he said. “Here we are. Welcome to New York.”

They arrived at the Institute at that peculiar moment of afternoon when sunlight is soft and heavy as beaten gold, and Emily found herself wondering if perhaps the professor hadn’t planned it that way. She couldn’t imagine a more spectacular or awe-inspiring sight than the palatial Mirabilis Institute.

Fired by the diffuse golden sunlight, the rambling four-story mansion of frosted white marble looked as if it had been poured rather than constructed. The windows were dazzling sheets of magma; the colonnade of slender pillars sentinels of flame. As Emily stepped out of the carriage into the broad porte cochere, she steeled herself against expected heat, but the air was cool and spring-sweet, heady with the perfume of fat, grapelike clusters of exuberant wisteria.

Astonishingly, the inside of the Institute was even grander than the outside. Everything glimmered with high polish: gold, black, red. Masses of crimson orchids nodded in jewel-toned pots cradled in frothy ormolu. Embroidered silk shone against ghostlike marble walls. And everywhere, mirrors winked oblique reflections, like eyes furtively watching one’s back.

But despite all the grandeur, Emily could not stop looking at Mirabilis. Within the Institute’s walls, he seemed to expand, the edges of him becoming softer yet more powerfully distinct. It was as if he’d grown six inches and shed twenty years. She could imagine him belonging nowhere else.

In the exact center of the high-ceilinged foyer, an elderly serving man waited to receive them. He wore a gray coat that bore the Institute’s ornate shield.

“The Institute is pleased at your return, Sophos.” The old man recited the words with grave formality.

Brusquely, Mirabilis handed off his coat, hat, and gloves. The serving man bowed respectfully as he took them. He seemed about to say something, but Mirabilis stopped the words in his mouth with a lifted hand.

“Thank you, Ben.” His eyes shone keenly, his voice rich and resonant as polished amber. “Miss Edwards, you deserve a rest. But first, there is an experiment I’d like to perform. Will you come with—”

“Japheth Mirabilis!” A loud female voice echoed against the high ceiling.

Both Emily and Mirabilis turned. A large woman was storming toward them, her heels clicking on the polished marble floor. She was block shaped, with shining black hair and wide-set eyes. She wore a rustling dress of dark green silk, elaborately draped and extravagantly bustled. Her little hat had a frothy black ostrich feather that cuddled against her forehead.

“What is she doing here?” Mirabilis muttered sidelong to Ben.

“She arrived before I received the message not to admit anyone,” Ben replied softly. “And after the message came, she refused to leave.”

“The Witches’ Friendly Society has jurisdiction here!” the woman brayed, pointing an accusing finger at Emily. “You have no right to hold her!”

“What is she talking about?” Emily asked.

“My name is Penelope Pendennis,” the woman said briskly, handing Emily a card but not taking her eyes off Mirabilis. “Witches’ Friendly Society. I’m here to serve as your representative.”

“My what?” Emily asked, looking at the card. It featured three female hands clasped together.

“The Witches’ Friendly Society is a national trade union,” Mirabilis said wearily. “For the protection of American Witches.”

“As resolved at the United States Mantic Conference in Cincinnati in 1874, we have the right to be involved in all matters concerning the protection of the rights of—”

“Yes, yes,” Mirabilis barked. “I don’t dispute your claim. I just don’t know how on earth you … females … find out about these things!”

“What is this all about?” Emily asked.

“I am here to protect you.” The woman’s eyes were pyro-clastic in their intensity. “We have heard about your situation. As your representative, I can offer you independent advice.”

“Independent!” Mirabilis snorted.

“Independent of the prejudice and favoritism of
Warlocks.”
She looked at Emily. “At the very least, I hope to serve as an unbiased observer of whatever Mirabilis intends to do with you.”

Do with me?
Emily knitted her brow. “Then you’re a … a
sorcière?”

“No, I’m a
Witch
. It’s only the Warlocks who insist on that finicky
sorcière
nonsense. They like to reserve the term ‘Witch’ for their dirty jokes.” She glared at Mirabilis for the sins of his gender before continuing. “I’m a specialist in Federalist Earth Magic. Large-scale agricultural blessings, enlightened empire building, destiny manifestation.”

“And your society does what exactly?”

“Our society was formed at the beginning of the century as a way for Witches to help other Witches. To protect ourselves from prejudice, and especially to protest the treatment Witches have always received at the hands of Warlocks.”

Emily was aware of an extravagant sigh from Mirabilis’ direction.

“Treatment?” Emily raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“My dear, if you have to ask, you obviously haven’t been paying attention.” Miss Pendennis leaned forward, putting her mouth close to Emily’s ear. “Dreadnought contacted me from Philadelphia,” she whispered. “I’m a great friend of his sister Hortense. He thought you could use someone to help you navigate. And I don’t blame him … it’s all hidden knives and squinks and mumbo jumbo around here!”

Emily nodded slightly, then straightened and looked at Mirabilis.

“I shouldn’t mind having Miss Pendennis observe, at least.”

Mirabilis threw up his hands—a gesture of complete hopelessness. His whole body indicated his utter disapproval. Finally, though, he let out a breath.

“As you like.” Mirabilis shook his head. “Females!”

Miss Pendennis elbowed Emily in the ribs and gave her a wink.

“Now that we’ve got that sorted out, can we get on with business?” Mirabilis said. “I wish to perform an experiment. Please come along.”

It was more a command than an invitation, for Mirabilis turned on his heel and began walking, not even looking back to see if Emily and Miss Pendennis were following.

They followed.

He led them into the main hall, above which soared a large rotunda. Two broad marble staircases curved up to the second floor. A shining circle of red and gold had been tiled into the marble at their feet, and in the center of the circle stood a statue of a wise-looking goddess. She had one slender arm up-stretched, and in her hand she held a torch that burned with a low blue flame.

“The Veneficus Flame,” said Professor Mirabilis. “It monitors the mantic energy stored in the earth and serves as a gauge of its vitality.”

“It’s so low!” Miss Pendennis said.

Indeed, the flame was hardly higher than the nail on Emily’s thumb. It looked fragile, as if the smallest gust of wind could extinguish it.

Mirabilis nodded. “It has never burned so low before.” He snapped his fingers at Ben, who emerged silently. “Bring me a ladder and the measuring stick.”

The old man returned a moment later with a tall oak ladder and a stick on which lines had been neatly painted in white. Ben leaned the ladder against the statue’s back.

“Miss Pendennis, Miss Edwards will have to climb that ladder,” Mirabilis said. “You are such a sturdy young woman … would you mind steadying the bottom so she does not fall?”

“Right,” Miss Pendennis said briskly, moving to take her position. As she did, Mirabilis leaned close to Emily.

“Your hand must be reclaimed from the marble for this experiment. May I?”

Emily extended the stump of her hand. Mirabilis gestured subtly, seeming to pull the marble from thin air. Furtively glancing to make sure Miss Pendennis wasn’t watching, he tapped it against the Boundary Cuff three times in a precise rhythm.

Emily found it reassuring to watch her hand resolidify, whole and unharmed. Despite all the trouble it had given her, she’d hate to lose it in some other dimension somewhere.

Mirabilis gestured Emily toward the ladder; she climbed to a level with the flame.

“Now what am I …” She looked down to speak to Professor Mirabilis, only to find that he was right next to her, hovering in midair, the tall measuring pole in one hand. She recoiled. Below her Miss Pendennis tensed.

“Steady now!” the woman called up.

“What are you doing?” Emily glared at Mirabilis, clutching her hand to her chest. “I’ll be killed if the stone absorbs any more magic!”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Professor Mirabilis said. “I am the supreme master of the Institute. The Sophos. Within these walls, I have access to a variety of useful powers that do not require the exercise of free magic. I won’t let any harm come to you. Trust me.”

Tentatively, Emily brought her hand back out.

“I don’t think I’ll ever learn all the ins and outs of this credomancy nonsense,” she muttered.

Mirabilis continued as if she had not spoken. “On April the 23rd, the flame was at this level.” He held the tall measuring stick next to the flame and pointed to a place on the stick that was at least eight inches higher than where the flame currently guttered. “On April the 24th, a little more than two weeks ago, the flame dipped to the level you see it today. For such a dramatic reduction to occur, fully seventy-eight percent of the magic potential in the Mantic Anastomosis would have to simply … vanish.”

“Vanish?” Miss Pendennis called up to them. “Power cannot vanish!”

“April the 24th,” Emily said softly. “That’s the day the stone went into my hand.”

“So you told me earlier,” Mirabilis said. “Which leads us to the experiment.” He took her hand and drew it close to the flame.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered tenderly. “It’s quite cool. You won’t feel a thing.”

He had such a reasonable tone, such a soothing way of talking. She hardly knew why she didn’t struggle more as he put her hand over the flame, putting the gem right in the tongue of blue fire. In a brilliant whoosh, the flame flared through the stone.

Emily blinked, staring at the blue flame as it danced and twisted like a gas jet. It was on a level with the mark for April the 23rd.

“We’ve found our missing magic,” Mirabilis said.

“Do you mean that seventy-eight percent of all the magic in the world is in the rock in my hand?” Emily looked at the stone, at the black blob within it that seemed to pulse faintly with every beat of her heart.

“Poppycock!” Miss Pendennis barked. “Mirabilis, that’s impossible.”

Mirabilis shook his head and smiled down brightly at her. “Nothing is impossible.”

Mirabilis gestured for Emily to climb down, and she did, slowly and carefully, head spinning. Seventy-eight percent of the world’s magic? Well, no wonder everyone had been so all-fired anxious to get ahold of it!