The Merqueen (The Witching World Book 3) Page 18

  Mordecai continued to address Marcelo. “Do you think this Winston will be a problem?”

  “I don’t,” Marcelo replied. “His magic is learned; it doesn’t run through his blood. And he’s only recently begun learning, since after I met Clara. It’s mediocre at best. He’s just gotten lucky in his attacks on us before. It won’t happen again.”

  “How can you say that because Winston’s magic is learned and not inherited he can’t access powerful magic?” I asked.

  “Because that’s how it is, my child,” Mordecai said. “For as long as I’ve been alive, and probably for as long as Count Washur’s been alive, that’s how it’s been. When magic thrums through your veins, pulsing in your blood, you can access a greater level of it. Magic is such an innate part of us, as are the elements that compose it, that when it’s a foundational part of our makeup, we can connect to the magic of everything—the fifth element as you call it—with greater fluency. We don’t make the rules. It’s just the reality of how it is.”

  “Then how do you explain me?”

  Mordecai gave an ironic chuckle that made Sir Lancelot look at him sharply from his place on the windowsill.

  “We cannot explain you. Marcelo and I’ve tried, and before his death, Albacus did too, but we can’t. The power you can access is incredible, even more so for the fact that you have no magic in your blood. And you’re sure that you don’t, correct?”

  Carlton was studying me with interest. After all, I lived in a world ruled by men, and the most senior and skilled magician here spoke of my curious, inexplicable powers. Meanwhile, I was a young woman without an inheritance, magical or otherwise.

  “There’s no way that I have magic in my blood. Completely impossible.”

  “Well then the mystery continues.”

  “How will we proceed in our preparation to rescue our family?” Marcelo asked.

  “There’s little you or I can do to further our skills. We’ve trained as much as we can for now. But her”—Mordecai leaned forward in his chair, his arms on his legs—“that’s a different story. We don’t know what Clara’s capable of, but we do know that she’s been able to access powers that no other magician has ever even known existed. I think we must teach Clara everything we know and then support her in exploring what only she can access.”

  “Will you teach her with me?” Marcelo asked.

  “Yes.” Mordecai looked around the room to include Sir Lancelot and Carlton. “We’ll all teach her whatever we know. I believe the way to rescue Gertrude and Salazar without losses lies within the unpredictability of Clara’s magic. A man like Washur, who’s lived as long as he has, has probably seen or heard of most spells we could throw at him. Our magic is predictable. He can easily defend against it. Clara’s isn’t.”

  “And will you actually teach me this time?” I asked. “Every other time you’ve said you would, something has come up, and I barely learned anything at all. I need to know that you’ll truly instruct me.”

  “I will, child. I promise.”

  “And so will I, my darling. I’ll be certain that we follow through on your training this time.”

  “Carlton,” Mordecai began, “Marcelo tells me that you’ve mastered a wonderful disappearing spell.”

  “Yes, milord. Along with its appearing counterpart. I can transport myself anywhere—and back—so long as I know what my place of arrival looks and feels like.”

  “That’s most wonderful. I’d like you to teach that to Lady Clara, as well as me. I’m always happy to learn a different way to do something.”

  “It will be my pleasure to participate in the defense of name and family, milord.”

  “Good man, Carlton.” Hints of the former glee Mordecai and Albacus would share in their experimental magic crossed Mordecai’s old face, lifting the depth of its wrinkles.

  “Sir Lancelot,” I said, “will you continue to teach me what you know of the history of magic as well?”

  “I’d be happy to, milady.” Sir Lancelot beamed.

  “When do we begin my training?” I felt like I’d asked this question many times before, yet I found myself asking it again.

  “Tomorrow morning, with first light. An old man like me needs his rest.” Mordecai stood.

  “I can lead you to your room if you’re ready, milord.” Carlton stood at Mordecai’s side and bowed his head, a master of etiquette.

  “Yes, that’ll be lovely, Carlton, thank you. My weary bones felt every bump on our journey.”

  Under his breath, Marcelo whispered to me, “Clara, no flying this time, all right?”

  “No flying?” Mordecai spun on his heel at the threshold. His large old-man ears were deceptively sharp. “What do you mean, ‘no flying’?”

  Marcelo sighed. He forgot how well Mordecai could hear. Three hundred seventeen years did nothing to diminish the man’s senses.

  Marcelo swiped his hand through his hair another time and sat forward in his chair. “The last time we were here, Clara flew.”

  It was hard to tell whose eyes widened more, Mordecai’s or Carlton’s. Comically, Sir Lancelot matched them with his wide owl eyes. But Sir Lancelot had been the one to witness my flight; he already knew.

  “Clara flew?” Mordecai spoke on a gasp.

  “She did, and she almost died because of it. She fell in mid-flight, and if the terrace hadn’t been beneath her, she would’ve plunged all the way to the base of the mountain in a gruesome mess of splattered blood and bone.”

  It was the vivid description of someone who’d imagined the worst, almost losing something he loved. His tone was recriminatory.

  But Mordecai’s wasn’t. “She flew? Well, let’s see it then!”

  “You want Clara to fly again?”

  “Of course I do. In all my years, I’ve never learned of anyone who could do it. Why didn’t you tell me? I want to see this flight.”

  “Is it safe for her to try it again?” Marcelo asked

  “Yes, yes. Of course. You and I’ll be there to stop her fall, if she should fall. But perhaps she won’t. It’ll be something extraordinary. Come, let’s go now. To the roof.” And Mordecai, who’d just been tired and weary from the journey, seemed anything but, and I was left to trail after him, up the stairs, all the time wondering what had just happened.

  Once again, I was going to show my teacher something, when what he knew that I didn’t could fill an ocean.

  Chapter 32

  At first, my steps were heavy and reluctant, but then that fell away. With each step upward, something in me shifted. By the time I reached the third floor, I was bounding up the steps. I passed Mordecai.

  I flung myself through the doorway to the open-air staircase that would lead me to the roof, and I felt as free as the fresh air that rushed to meet me. The air enveloped me, embracing me, lending me its strength so I could forget all that would come in the future.

  Right now, there was only my magic and the magic of everything around me. The five-petal knot pounded inside me, voicing its enthusiasm. Together, we could do things, great, incredible things. I was the vessel that could give precision and form to its boundlessness.

  I reached the roof. I couldn’t see anyone behind me, though I knew they’d followed.

  The wind whipped around me, bringing my hair to life; writhing, eager serpents wreathed my head. The waves from the sea far below crashed like a symphony, celebrating my eagerness. If Mirvela was down there, then maybe she felt me too. Maybe, for once, she’d be scared of another, or at least of the vast power that grew within me, ready to unleash itself.

  The kindling in my chest burst into flames, spreading warmth and certainty to every one of my limbs, to all of my parts. The serpents that circled my head, red already, appeared to transform into locks of fire.

  Finally, I heard footsteps and chatter on the roof behind me. But I didn’t stop or turn to look. They were there. I couldn’t be blamed for recklessness. They could save me if I fell.

  But even if they hadn’t
been there, I’d have done the exact same thing. There was no chance that I’d fall. None at all.

  The five-petal knot came alive in my chest, a bead of light running endlessly down its tight, symmetrical loops and twists. The fifth element urged me on. Yes. Yes. Yes.

  I allowed the magic within me to explode into life while I ran toward the edge of the roof. I didn’t look back to see the open-mouth stares of Marcelo, Mordecai, and Carlton, who disobeyed butler protocol to take this chance he might never get again. Only Sir Lancelot, the smallest of them all, looked steady and unsurprised atop Marcelo’s shoulder.

  The wizards ran after me, trying desperately to catch up—if not to save me from myself, then to witness this great act.

  But they couldn’t catch me. No one could catch me now.

  I leapt off the edge of the roof and left them all behind.

  The Ginger Cat

  Clara and Marcelo’s adventures continue in The Ginger Cat, Book 4 of The Witching World series.

  Turn the page for a preview of The Ginger Cat!

  The Ginger Cat Preview

  Chapter 1

  “You called for me, Milord?”

  “No, Carlton. I didn’t,” Marcelo said. Carlton, always the devoted servant, looked crestfallen. Obviously he possessed acute hearing that traversed the normal limitations of space. He hadn’t been in the parlor when we were discussing him.

  “However,” Marcelo continued, “I was about to call you. As usual, you anticipated my needs perfectly.”

  Marcelo and Carlton were friends, much more so than was common for master and servant. A childhood of watching his father be demanding of the staff and harsh to a point that neared cruelty was enough to form a bond between the boy and servants. They were all victims of Marcelo’s father and whatever circumstances delivered them to him.

  Carlton smiled gently. “Yes, Milord.”

  In three quick strides that defied his age, Mordecai was next to the butler. “Carlton, we’re ready for you to teach us your version of appearing.” Mordecai smiled brilliantly, and it was a refreshing sight. At that moment I could almost grasp Mordecai’s ability to extend life beyond its normal limits. It seemed that enthusiasm for life was at the essence of the secret to immortality. When you appreciated life fully, you were rewarded with more. Or something like that.

  Yet this theory didn’t apply to Count Washur and Mirvela’s situation. Shouldn’t it make a difference how long life was achieved? Shouldn’t it matter that magicians stole life from others in order to live longer? It should. Wickedness shouldn’t be rewarded.

  But it was. At least that’s how it seemed.

  Mordecai said, “So tell me, Carlton. What is it about how you disappear that’s unique?”

  The last three days had been filled with learning, quenching what had seemed like an insatiable thirst for magical knowledge. Finally, I was beginning to understand fundamental basics of magic that Mordecai and Marcelo took for granted. All mainstream magic was dominated by spells, standard ones that an enchantment automatically updated. The fundamental spell might be the same, yet each magician lent to it his signature. Sometimes the differences were subtle, other times, the differences were sufficient to make an abrupt, utilitarian spell sing like silk curtains around an open window, fluttering on a spring breeze.

  Carlton wasn’t nearly as skilled as Mordecai or Marcelo, but those spells that he’d mastered, he mastered like everything else he did: with utmost perfection and decorum.

  “Carlton’s appearing magic is as smooth and rich as freshly churned butter.” Marcelo grinned as Carlton blushed under the collar, where he hoped he could hide his pleasure at the compliment. As a boy, Marcelo couldn’t get enough of Carlton’s few tricks. The butler doled them out like a treat, reserved for special occasions and moments when he wanted to indulge the boy the entire staff both loved and pitied.

  Today wasn’t quite the special occasion Carlton used to reserve his magic for. However, the man couldn’t deny the importance of his contribution. He was as aware of the threat we prepared to face as we were. Even more than us, he understood the depth of Count Washur’s dominance. He’d witnessed it almost bi-weekly toward the end of the former Count of Bundry’s life. Count Washur visited Marcelo’s father often at the end, when it was most important to ensure the man was within his clutches.

  Count Washur had a plan, one no one understood but him. And we didn’t see its twists and turns yet.

  Carlton said, “I’m pleased to contribute whatever I can to the defeat of Count Washur, Milords and Lady. I think the best way to experience how I disappear and later reappear is to do it with me.”

  Marcelo’s eyes widened, like a child offered the forbidden fruit he’d been long denied. And Mordecai, in a boisterous voice I hadn’t heard since before Count Washur’s black elephants crashed through the gates of Irele, said, “That would be wonderful.”

  He and Marcelo stepped closer to Carlton.

  I mimicked the actions of my teachers. Even though they were holding to their promises and finally teaching me in concrete terms, they still expected me to catch on quickly. They skipped over the instructions due a novice like me. Marcelo reached out to hold my hand, the golden serpent and dragon of his promise ring sparking to life in a glow for a fleeting instant.

  “Excuse me, Count Bundry? May I tag along as well?” I didn’t have to turn to know who spoke. Sir Lancelot’s tenor matched his petite owl body. No one I’d ever met sounded like him, both in his tone and unmatched intelligence.

  “Of course you may join us, Sir Lancelot,” Marcelo said. And then, as an afterthought of respect, “If that’s agreeable to you, Carlton.”

  “Yes, Milord.”

  “Oh wonderful,” Sir Lancelot said as he abandoned his perch at the sunlit windowsill. He landed on my shoulder with the grace of a pygmy owl that knew more of etiquette than perhaps even Mother. “I’ve long wanted to experience appearing magic. I’ve seen it done many times, of course, by many magicians, but not one of them thought to take me along, as if I were no more than an animal.”

  I chuckled. It was an absurd thought. Sir Lancelot was less an animal than many humans I knew.

  “There was this magician I met once, when I lived with the Great Bardelli. He was traveling and stopped for just two nights at the house. He used to disappear into his trunk. Can you imagine that? The disgrace of it. A magician relying on a tool instead of developing his own magic.

  “Well, he used this trunk to put on magic performances. That was how he earned his way, you see. Putting on shows for the masses. Quite humiliating, if you ask me. A magician should have a sense of dignity, no matter what circumstance he’s in.” Sir Lancelot’s feathers ruffled at the thought of such an affront to the name of magic.

  “This man, his name was Thomaso Giardo, lugged this big trunk to the parlor just to show the Great Bardelli his trick. Needless to say, Bardelli was unimpressed. He was a true magician. He used tools to suit his needs, like all magicians do, but never to replace the development of his own magic.

  “So Thomaso got in his trunk, closed the lid, and asked one of the servants to open it. Of course, he was gone when the lid was opened. And, you can imagine, he returned once it was closed again. Very basic. Very boring. Still, he performed this for us several times. The third time—“

  “Sir Lancelot, perhaps you might save the rest of this story for Clara’s magical history studies,” Marcelo said, ignoring my plaintive look.

  “Yes, yes, of course. You know me, Count Bundry. Once I get going, sometimes there’s just so much to say. I have a perfect memory, and I never forget a single thing, not even one word. I remember the name of every single person I’ve ever met, even those I wish I could forget.”

  “Yes, Sir Lancelot, I’m aware,” Marcelo cut him off. “That’s one of the many things that makes you so special.”

  Sir Lancelot beamed, and I secretly applauded Marcelo’s smooth handling. We all took another step closer to Carlton.

>   “So how do you want to do this, my boy?” Mordecai spoke to Carlton. Since he was older than most people alive, everyone was a boy or a girl to him.

  “I’ve never taken anyone with me before. I imagine it might be best if you all hold onto me. It will make the connection stronger.”

  “Wait. Is there something I need to do?” Was this yet another instance of my magician teachers forgetting to explain things?

  Carlton’s smile was kind, and I liked him the first time I met him. He was a great improvement from Irele’s butler. Robert always behaved as if I’d offended him with a bad odor.

  “Lady Clara, it should be sufficient for you to intend to come along with me.”

  I smiled back at Carlton and did my best to ignore the should be in his statement. My life was one possibility of success after another—with just as great a possibility of failure. There hadn’t been any certainty since I succumbed to the fever in Norland, since the seed of magic awakened what might have lain dormant within me my entire life. I nodded at Carlton, trying to convince myself as much as him that I could do this.

  “Better than explain how it is, let’s do it.” Now Carlton sounded like a true magician and not a butler. The excitement true magicians experienced when performing magic crossed all boundaries of station. “Hold onto me tightly.”

  “Excellent,” Marcelo said. “I’ve waited years for this.”

  “You wouldn’t have had to wait so long if you hadn’t left when you did.” There was a hint of regret in Carlton’s voice. Marcelo fled Count Bundry’s control at the age of eight, which meant he also left the staff and their affections behind.

  “I wish I hadn’t had to leave.”

  I knew where this was going: unhappy memories. Not for the first time, I wished life could be simple and straightforward. Couldn’t we just intend to do a spell and do it without discussion and reminiscence?