Fallen Magic

I do eventually sleep again, but I don’t feel well-rested when Electra comes the next morning, and my performance at practical casting makes that clear. Electra doesn’t criticise it, despite there being plenty to criticise. That’s almost more unsettling than if she’d viciously torn into my inaccurate hand movements and awful hunched posture.

I won’t be surprised if it turns out she’s adopted niceness as a new way to unsettle people. If she has, it’s working. At least I remember to request the books I need for Enchantments homework.

She leaves to prepare for her class at eight and thirty, which gives me two and a half hours before the examination. I have the notes for this morning’s lessons, and I should work through them, but I just don’t want to. All I want to do is sleep and wake up when all of this is over and I can go back to some semblance of a normal life.

I can’t be asleep when the doctor arrives, though. I need to convince him that I’m normal and stable and there’s nothing wrong with me, and being asleep at eleven after midnight is not a good way to do that.

Instead I re-braid my hair, more thoroughly than I did when half-asleep earlier, and put on what turns out to be my last clean dress. I didn’t even consider how my laundry would get done while I’m here, but the cleaner isn’t allowed in to empty the rapidly-filling basket of dirty clothes in the bathroom. I’ll have to add it to my list of things to ask Electra. Washing was often one of my chores at home, but the Academy has spoilt me. Doing it myself seems unthinkable now.

Having gone to the effort of making myself somewhat presentable, I can’t now ruin it by crawling back into bed, so I sit on the chair and read the latest book Edward fetched me from the library, Notable Royal Magicians of the Past Two Centuries. Several of his ancestors feature prominently, unsurprisingly; he mentions that he can’t vouch for the historical accuracy of those accounts.

I should interrogate him about his family’s history, really. I’m surprised I haven’t already. It’s never felt quite right for some reason.

The book is well-written enough to be engaging, regardless of its accuracy, and it passes the time. I’m twelve chapters in and absorbed in an account of the creation of the Portal Network when there’s a knock at the door.

I haven’t been able to find the energy to be properly nervous until now, but the nerves make up for it by hitting me all at once. It feels like the beginning of a Malaina episode. Which is precisely what I don't need right now. “Come in,” I say, relieved my voice sounds steady.

Electra opens the door and steps inside. “This is Doctor Wandsworth from the Institute of Malaina Treatment and Care,” she says, indicating the man following her inside. He’s about the same height as she is, though considerably wider and ruddier in complexion; his hair is a rusty-orange colour, as is his beard, and he wears a pair of round-rimmed spectacles and a white lab coat that’s slightly too small for him, judging by the strain its buttons are under.

“And you must be Tallulah,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

I slide my bookmark into place on page one hundred and thirteen and close the book without letting it snap shut. What does he want to hear? “I’m fine,” I say. “Missing classes. It’s good to meet you, Doctor.” I stand and offer him my hand to shake.

He looks a little startled, but takes it and squeezes it gently. His palms are clammy, and I want to pull my hand away. But the perfectly normal, polite girl I’m acting the part of would never do something so rude, so nor do I.

“Missing classes, you say,” he says, looking around for somewhere to sit. The only chair is the one I was just sitting in. “You’re a keen student, then?”

“Yes,” I reply. Keep the answers simple, neutral. Don’t give him anything to latch onto. And since I’m being polite: “Would you like to sit down? You can have my chair.” I take a couple of steps to the edge of the bed and perch on it.

“Yes, thank you,” he says, easing himself into the chair and setting down his bag. To my dismay he immediately opens the bag and begins pulling out a set of wires attached to a strange metallic device. He takes a moment to untangle the wires and study the device, then sets it down beside him.

“We’re going to take some measurements of your magical signature,” he says. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

I hate it when people say that, even though in this instance he’s probably right. Each magician has a unique magical signature; taking measurements of it can determine their School, power and which areas of magic they have the most talent for – though Edward claims most measurement techniques are unreliable and a waste of time.

It also shows fluctuations when a magician is casting, or in the case of Malaina when they’re close to an episode. It’s one of few guaranteed ways of detecting mala sia, which have completely different signatures to normal magicians.

So, nothing to worry about, assuming I’m not close to an episode. I don’t think I am.

“Could you give me your hand?” asks Doctor Wandsworth as he gets to his feet, still holding the wires.

I hold out my hand, and he loops the end of the wire around my finger, tighter than is comfortable; I bite my lip to hide the pain. It’s bearable by the time he ties off the end and steps away. He returns to his seat and picks up the device attached to the other end of the wire. I’m curious about how it works, but it hardly seems the time to ask to study it.

After a moment he pulls parchment and quill from his bag and scribbles a few notes. “Now,” he says when he’s finished, “can I ask you to channel magic through the wire?”

I close my eyes and sink into the familiar calmness of working magic. It’s easy now to focus on the cold tightness of the wire around my finger and let a little magic flow through my body into the metal. I’m not even close to losing control. Despite myself, I smile a little.

“This is unusual,” says Doctor Wandsworth.

I tense and open my eyes. Unusual is not a good thing right now. But I have to stay calm – Charles First-King. Edwin the Just. “May I ask what is unusual?”

“The readings,” says the doctor, staring fixedly at his device. “They don’t match anything I’ve seen – “

Bang.

I force myself to keep breathing, tell myself that nothing is wrong.

There’s a faint trail of smoke coming from the device in Doctor Wandsworth’s hands, and I can just make out that the wire close to the device is charred and broken.

Did I do that? I don’t think I did. I have an unfortunately good idea what a Malaina episode feels like by now, and this isn’t it.

“Must’ve malfunctioned,” the doctor mutters, setting the broken device down beside him. “They do that sometimes, if the enchantments aren’t up to scratch. I’ll have to complain to my supplier. Well, I can’t finish that part of the examination without a working signature-tester, but we can still go through the interview, if you’re ready?”

I’m not ready. I want to know exactly what this malfunction was, and whether it was my fault, and what the unusual readings just before were. But I’m playing a perfectly normal, stable, polite girl who wouldn’t dare ask such questions of a doctor. “May I take the wire off my finger first?” I ask instead.

“Yes – certainly.”

He waits for me to unwind the wire and rub life back into my finger before beginning the interview.

It’s about what I expected: questions about how I Fell, what tends to trigger Malaina episodes, what triggered the one that brought me here. I tell the story of the incident in the library yet another time – or a heavily censored version, anyway, focusing on my guilt over the Cavendish case and how I felt I was complicit due to being friends with Edward Blackthorn and carefully sidestepping the meeting with Lord Blackthorn, Mildred’s provocations and anything else sensitive.

I’ve rehearsed this story in my mind enough that I can tell it without it being obvious I’m concealing things, but I can’t help being nervous about Electra. She knows the real story; there was no way to hide it from her. She could reveal all my secrets if she wanted to.

But she doesn’t.

So I keep talking, keep pretending to be normal, until Doctor Wandsworth is done with his questions and leaves.

“I will be back shortly with lunch,” says Electra, stepping towards the door.

“No – wait – “ I can’t wait any longer; I don’t know how I had the self-restraint to wait as long as I did. “What happened with the device?”

“It malfunctioned,” Electra says flatly. “They do that sometimes.”

I narrow my eyes. I don’t know much about enchantments, but it seems strange for one to just explode for no reason. “Was it me? Did I…”

“No. You know enough about Malaina now to know that you couldn’t cause something like that without knowing it. Unless perhaps you were mala sia, but I think that would have become apparent long before now.”

“But – at the hearing – will it make me look worse?”

“No, but it does mean the signature evidence cannot be used in your defence.”

“Couldn’t we – schedule another appointment, then? Have it done with a device that works this time?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. Is that all?”

I didn’t ask that question intending it to be a test, but it became one: if it really was just a malfunctioning device, there’s no reason not to schedule another appointment. So it’s not the device. It’s me. There’s something strange about me and my magic that Electra wants to keep a secret –

And that explains why the device exploded. Electra made it happen, because she didn’t want Doctor Wandsworth to be able to record these unusual readings. She doesn’t want anyone to know what’s wrong with me. Including me.

“Yes,” I say, wanting desperately to ask her what she’s keeping from me. “That’s all.”

I don’t dare ask, though. Not when she clearly doesn’t want to tell me and I’m all too aware that she controls my access to the outside world. Maybe I’m a coward, but I don’t think I could stand being completely alone for the next week. It’s hard enough as it is.

There has to be a way I can find out, though. Once I’m free, I can get hold of one of those devices for myself – I don’t have the first idea how, but I’m willing to bet Edward does – and take my own readings.

Not that I’d know how to understand them.

I collapse onto my bed and stare unmoving at the ceiling until Electra returns with Edward and lunch.

I can’t even talk to Edward about this for the next week, because if he doesn’t come to the window again – and I expect he won’t, it’s too risky – then there’s no way of having a conversation that Electra can’t hear.

“How was the examination?” he asks, setting a bowl of soup down on my desk.

“Good,” I say, “I think so, anyway. I didn’t have an episode during it. That’s what counts, right?”

He cracks a grim smile. “No news, by the way.”

I wasn’t expecting news. I’ve resigned myself by now to the fact that Lord Blackthorn isn’t going to save me. I’ll have to prove in court that I’m stable. “Thanks. Actually – “ I have a flash of inspiration – “something weird happened in the examination. The device they were using to measure my signature – it suddenly exploded just as the doctor was taking readings. Apparently it malfunctioned.”

Electra watches me with narrowed eyes. Though that’s the way Electra always watches me, so I don’t know if she’s figured out what I’m doing. I can still tell Edward the facts of the situation, because of course I’d tell my best friend if something unusual happened – and presumably he knows enough about enchantments to have a good chance at piecing together what I’ve realised, even with less information than I have.

I hope he can solve this mystery, because I know for a fact I can’t.