Fallen Magic

And that’s that.

It’s over. I’m free.

I’m almost shaking with relief. I don’t quite believe it.

“Well,” says Tara, smiling, “that must be the easiest case I’ve ever won. I guess I shouldn’t ask what happened?”

I shake my head, mostly because I don’t fully know myself. Then I remember my idea, and ask: “Can you do me a favour?”

“That depends on what that favour is.”

“My dad,” I say. “He’s a lawyer, too. Roberts and Bryant. Silver Street, in Crelt. Could you take a message to him?”

That’s the closest I can get to subtle, but I don’t feel it’s my place to give Tara career advice. Besides, I do want to send this message quickly, and if I directed someone to home then there’s a chance my mother could find out.

“Of course,” Tara says. “What is the message?”

“Tell him… tell him I’m okay. That everything’s fine. That I miss him, and I’ll see him for Holy Days.”

Tara repeats the message back to me, then asks “So, about this compensation suit you’re entitled to make…”

I don’t really like the idea, to be honest; I just want to forget any of this happened and move on with my life. Besides, if Mildred did make a deal with Lord Blackthorn, its terms might prevent me from suing. Most contracts tend to include clauses like that. I’m not certain, though, so I reply “I don’t know if I’ll be doing that. But if I do, I’ll hire you.”

“Or get your friend to hire me? I’ll work for a percentage of the settlement if you’d rather not further indebt yourself to him.”

“Thank you,” I say, and stand shakily.

I make it out of the defendant’s box and onto the courtroom floor before Edward intercepts me. He doesn’t speak, just wraps his arms around me. I’m startled for a moment, but then I hug him back. I can feel myself smiling more than I have in two weeks.

Much as I want to just stand here hugging him, or to escape the courthouse and properly talk without Electra overhearing everything we say, there are other people I need to talk to. I gently tug myself free and walk over to the witnesses’ bench.

“Hi, Elsie,” I say when I’m close enough to talk to her without shouting. “I didn’t expect you to come.”

“Tallulah,” she says. “I’m glad this is what happened. And sorry for not visiting a second time – it took me a long time to… to figure things out. But once I did, I knew I had to be here. To testify for you, if I had to. But thank the stars Mildred finally saw sense too.”

I keep my face carefully blank. I don’t think seeing sense has anything to do with it. “Thank you,” I say. “Really. It means a lot that you believed – in the end – that I wasn’t – “

“Unstable,” says Elsie.

I nod.

“I was wondering,” she asks, a little nervous, “whether you want to have a snack together this weekend.”

“That sounds lovely,” I say. It really does.

One more conversation, then. Edward is chatting to his cousin about some complex and obscure piece of magical theory, from what I can make out. Some things never change.

I consider just leaving, but I need to do this first. Then I can put all of this behind me for good. “Electra.”

She’s wearing her usual dangerous smile. Am I imagining it, or does she look pleased by this turn of events? “Miss Roberts.”

“I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh?”

“For everything you’ve done for me, the last two weeks. I don’t know if I’d have survived them without you.”

What little of the guidelines concerning Malaina isolation I’ve read aren’t that prescriptive. Much of how it’s managed is left to the judgement of the suitably qualified person. And I had regular meals, company while I ate, the ability to keep up with all my work. She never once threatened to take any of that away or tried to exploit her power over me.

Pretty low standards, maybe, but from Electra it’s practically miraculous.

“Yes, well,” she says. Is she uncomfortable? “Don’t go thinking this will get you any special treatment. I expect your work to return to your usual standards and to be submitted on time. And speaking of time – your next class begins at eleven-thirty. You three – four, with Miss Cavendish – had better hurry.”

She stands and stalks past us without another word.

The hearing was scheduled for eleven, so it must be a few minutes after that now. “How far are we from the Academy?” I don’t know how long the carriage ride took; I didn’t want to know at the time.

“It took me forty minutes to walk here,” says Elsie. “And we have Spells – “

“Felicity has been awful about this whole thing,” Edward explains, “I wouldn’t put it past her to give us detention if we’re late.”

“Especially if Electra speaks to her,” Elsie adds. “So we’re screwed.”

“Not necessarily,” says Edward. “I know a few shortcuts that can shave ten minutes off that. As for the rest… how do you feel about running?”

I feel quite good about running, actually. I feel as if I could run to the end of the world. “Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m feeling a lot less good about running. Not that we’ve run most of the way; neither Elsie nor I managed more than five minutes before having to give up and walk, and we’ve been half-walking, half-jogging ever since.

Edward, on the other hand, looks as if he could have kept up the pace we started at the whole way.

“It’s not fair,” says Elsie between gasping breaths as we slow to a walk again.

“What isn’t?” I reply, not much better off myself. I think longingly of the glass of water in the defendant’s box that I was too nervous to drink.

She gestures to Edward. “Isn’t it enough for him to be a fabulously rich magical prodigy without also being fit?”

“It’s called training,” Edward says, not even breathing heavily. “Now less talking and more running. We’re nearly there, but we only have five more minutes.”

For a moment I want to ask how his time judgement is that precise, but then I realise we’ve just passed the City Hall, which has a clock on its roof that’s visible from down here. I groan and break into a slow and painful jog.

It takes us three minutes to reach the Central Ring and persuade Miss Carr to let us into the Academy quickly. Well, Edward does that bit while Elsie and I try to catch our breath. Then I remember: the Spells classroom is on the third floor. We have to climb three flights of stairs to get there.

“Can’t you just magic us up there?” asks Elsie as we jog towards the bottom of the staircase.

“I can’t teleport and I don’t want to risk casting on another human. We’re stuck with the slow way, I’m afraid.”

“I think I’d rather just have detention.”

I’m pretty close to agreeing with her, but I keep going anyway. Giving up now means all the effort spent getting this far was wasted. My legs are screaming at me. I just want to collapse against the nearest wall.

Then we reach the third floor and sprint along the corridor to the classroom. Edward flings open the door with a spell to save time fumbling with the handle, because of course he still has the energy to cast. We stumble through the room to our seats.

“Ah, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence after all,” says Felicity. “You are precisely on time.”

I collapse into my chair, and that’s when I realise I don’t have my satchel. No textbooks to consult, nothing to take notes with or on. I’m still a Spells lesson behind as well. Not the best way to resume my education.

Mildred sits in her usual seat, looking insultingly calm and unruffled. Doesn’t she have a private carriage now? That would have been much more efficient than running – though right now I wouldn’t even consider asking her for a ride.

Today’s lesson turns out to be the start of our new topic of illusions, and Edward promises to take detailed notes for me so I don’t fall further behind. They’ll probably be better quality than mine, since he has a habit of making sarcastic little notes about where Felicity is oversimplifying or not going into the theoretical reasoning for her instructions anyway.

Once we start the practical section of the class it takes me a good five minutes before I can cast anything. I’m giddy and exhausted, and the calm I need to draw on magic feels a long way away. And since I’ve never been much of an artist, all I can create is a simple blue rectangle hanging in the air.

“That’s good progress, Tallulah,” says Felicity, wandering over to our desk. She manages to make that sound like an insult. At least she remembers my name now, I suppose. “Edward, I haven’t seen you cast an illusion yet. Are you struggling?”

I bite my lip to hold back laughter.

“No,” replies Edward flatly, “I will show you.” His words have the ring of an incantation, and indeed as he presses his hands together and then pulls them apart a perfect image of the Blackthorn family crest, the raven and tree in silhouette on a silver shield, appears from nothing.

“Those weren’t the correct gestures, Edward, you’re supposed to do this – “ Felicity demonstrates how her fingers interlock as she holds her palms to each other, unlike his.

“Well, evidently my way works just as well,” Edward replies.

“But that’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“It’s the way it’s described in Advanced Illusion-Crafting – “

“Is that a required textbook for this class?”

“It’s widely recognised as the best description of practical illusion work, and I prefer to learn from the best.”

I’ve recovered just enough energy to recognise what Edward is implying there. “Don’t,” I whisper to him. “It’s not worth it.”

“Oh, really? Is my humble class simply not good enough for Master Blackthorn?”

I hope desperately that he has enough tact to not give the blunt, honest answer I know he’s thinking. What he says is better, though not by much: “I cannot answer without giving insult, which I do not wish to do.”

But he has given insult, even if he hasn’t stated it directly.

“Tell me, then, about the three categories of illusion.”

“Image, Veil and Mask,” Edward says without hesitation. Most of the class are watching him instead of focusing on their work now, eager to see how this confrontation unfolds. I am very much not. I just want one relatively normal lesson. Is that really too much to ask?

“Image is what we have been working on today; it refers to creating the illusion of an object where no such object exists. Veil is its opposite, creating the illusion that no object exists when in fact one does.” Such as the veil he cast on the ladder when he climbed up to my window. Though it’s probably best he doesn’t give that particular example. “And Mask refers to making an object that does exist appear to be something it is not. Would you like the general matrix classification of each?”

I don’t even know what a general matrix classification is; something that’s taught in Advanced Magical Theory, or possibly in one of the many books Edward has read.

“I… hardly think that is necessary,” Felicity says. “So you’ve read a book about illusions. I hope you don’t think that is sufficient to give you mastery of them.”

“No magician is master of a spell they cannot cast,” Edward agrees with a rhythm that suggests he’s quoting something. “I believe this – “ he gestures to the Blackthorn family crest still shimmering in the air – “suffices to show I have a basic understanding of Image. As for Veil – “ he stands, holding up a page of the notes he’s taken. “Let that which is seen be hidden.”

The paper shimmers and then disappears. Well, it doesn’t truly disappear: if I look at the space where it was there’s something subtly wrong about the empty air, which seems to have the texture of parchment even though air should have no texture.

“Is that adequate?” Edward asks.

Someone at the back of the classroom applauds; I think it’s Daniel.

“For a magician of your limited experience? I suppose it is. But you surely do not believe you have nothing to learn?”

It’s better than adequate. Veils are famously tricky magic, and certainly not magic we have been taught. If Edward isn’t careful he might give away the extra-curricular practice he’s been doing. Actually, it’s a little late for that.

“The beauty of magic is that there is always more to learn.” He’s quoting again. I wonder whose words those originally were. “But please, do not suggest that I struggle with basic casting again.”

I’m honestly surprised that he’s taking this approach: I’ve heard enough of his rants about Felicity’s classes to know that he could verbally tear her teaching to shreds if he wanted, but he’s not trying to provoke that confrontation.

I think Felicity senses that Edward would be more than capable of doing something impressive with Mask as well, and that this confrontation is unlikely to go her way, so she takes the chance to end it. “If you continue to give me no reason to suspect that, then so I shall. Now that I have your attention, everyone, I would like to discuss refinements to the casting technique…”