“I did it!” I cried, tossing Porridge into the air in triumphant glee. Hargrove bellowed with laughter, dancing across the room to snatch paper and pen.
“Write it down, exactly what you did. I’ve never seen anything like it.” His wide grin fell as he stared at the wall. “That was my only teapot. Well. Can’t be helped!” And then we returned to singing and twirling around the room. The children rejoiced, jumping to clutch my skirts.
“I want to do another,” I said, breathless.
“Excellent, I’ve just the thing.” Hargrove handed me an empty bottle. “Turn that into a teapot.”
—
SOON AFTER, HARGROVE WAS POURING US cups of gin-flavored tea. “Little magic mule, that’s what I’ll call you. A delicate hybrid of both races.”
“Do you think I’m the only one?”
Hargrove grunted. “Don’t imagine yourself so special. I know for a fact you’re not alone. There’ve been sorcerer children born as you are, and magician children as well. You’re simply in a unique position to realize both halves of your talents.”
“How many did you know like me? I mean, back when, well…”
“Back when it was legal to be a public magician? One or two. They’re dead now, of course. Caught training apprentices.”
I shuddered to think of it. “Bloody Howard Mickelmas. It’s his fault we have to live like this,” I said. Hargrove merely shrugged and poured himself some gin. “What was he like?”
“Mickelmas? Why?”
“You’re the first person I ever knew who met him. Was it always clear he was evil?” I asked. Hargrove made a face.
“He was just a proper magical bloke. Bit stupid, of course, but if we executed for stupidity, there’d be no one left to walk the planet.”
“What did he look like?”
“Don’t know. We never saw his face at Guild meetings. He’d send a raven or a cat. It would sit in the center of the room, and he’d talk through it. Great party trick. Used to consider him daft, but now no one knows what he looks like. Probably how he’s survived all these years.” He gulped more tea. “I don’t like talking about him, if it’s all the same to you. Irritates me.”
I understood his feelings. “Could my father speak through animals?”
“Nope, just the old set-yourself-on-fire routine.”
“But he could play with fire. Isn’t that a sorcerer trait? Don’t you think it odd that a mixture of the abilities can exist in one person?”
He snorted. “Lord, it’s as if William Howel rose from the dead and returned to lecture me in a dress. That’s a dreadful image.”
“My father asked the same questions?” I leaned forward.
“Yes, and arrived at the staggering conclusion of nothing.” He sighed. “William had such hopes for magic in England, insane, irrational hopes. He wanted a consortium.” He put his thumbs and index fingers together to fashion a triangle. “Witches, sorcerers, and magicians, all on the same level. All in service of the crown. All equal.”
“Why?” I was eager. Before our lessons, all I’d had of my father was a half-remembered picture on my aunt’s fireplace.
“Because of his belief that all magic comes down in a straight line. Witches, sorcerers, magicians.”
“Witches are first?” I frowned.
“Enough questions.” Hargrove startled me with his brusqueness. “I used to tell your father this, when he got off on a ridiculous tangent. Knowledge is as powerful as fire. The brighter it burns, the more it devours. Now we must pay for our lessons, little one.” He extended his hand, fingers wiggling.
I gave him a sovereign, wincing as I did so. “I sold three silk hair ribbons. I’ll have to tell Lilly I lost them, or she’ll be out of her mind with worry.” Scowling at him, I said, “You’ve made me a thief.”
“I notice you’d no qualms stealing that bread and cheese,” he answered, pocketing his money. The church bells struck six. I leaped to my feet. How had I let time slip by like this? “Blast. I’ll never get through the ward at this hour.”
“Leave it to me.” Hargrove guided me to the curtained-off area that contained his cot and magic trunk. Pulling the bed aside, he revealed twelve odd little squiggly symbols that had been carved into the floorboards, forming a circle about three feet wide. “Get in. This will take you home.”
“What is it?” I stepped inside.
“A porter’s circle. Old magician’s trick. It will take you wherever you wish. But you must think clearly of the place, or it might become confused and drop you in northern Africa.”
“What are those lines?” I inspected the squiggles around my feet. Something about them looked rather familiar.
My dream of the Seven Ancients, the night of Korozoth’s attack. I’d stood in a circle of stones whose carvings were very similar to these. A chill slid down my spine. I’d learned not to take dreams for granted.
“These are letters borrowed from summoning circles, reconfigured for our purposes,” Hargrove said.
Summoning circles. These markings felt wrong. “Can’t I be like you and disappear on my own?”
“Oh, I’m not that special, chickling. My cloak, you see, has porter runes sewn into the fabric.” He swirled his coat, and I caught the glint of golden thread at the edges by his feet. There was nothing else for it but to use the circle.
“What do I say? Some magic words?”
“No, say ‘please take me home.’ It’s only polite.”
I did as he asked, thinking of the house near Hyde Park. With the loud rushing of wind in my ears, the room vanished.
—
“WHERE ON EARTH DID YOU COME from?” a startled Agrippa said. I realized with horror that I had appeared beside him on the street. Thankfully, there was no one else nearby. I tried for a nonchalant attitude.
“I was walking up the other way.”
Agrippa shook his head. “Goodness, I need to be more attentive. Can’t have Ancients popping up beside me, can I?” My heart sank to realize how he trusted me.
“May we do a lesson in the obsidian room?” I asked. Even if I was a magician, I could at least make him proud. Agrippa sighed and looked as if he wanted most to change into his evening clothes and have dinner. “I think I’ve made progress. It’s all the reading Lord Blackwood’s had me do.”
“Very well. A little lesson won’t hurt us.”
—
AGRIPPA FIDGETED IN HIS TAILS AND nodded at me, the image of patience. He wanted to eat. I wanted to prove myself.
Pouring a bowl of water before my feet, he said, “Lift it into the air and fashion it into an orb.” He yawned, understandably expecting little from this. For whatever reason, water was my trickiest element.
This time, I could feel the power like a second skin. I bent my left knee, and the image formed perfectly in my mind. I concentrated on it, wished for it. I didn’t speak, for I didn’t have to. The water formed, then lowered itself to puddle on the ground.
Agrippa looked surprised. “Erm. That was good.”
“Then let me try something more difficult.” I prepared myself for the fire maneuver.
In an instant, I had a swirling vortex of yellow-and-red flame spinning toward the ceiling. It burned so hot that Agrippa shielded his eyes and dabbed at his forehead with a pocket square. Even in my gown, I found it easy to manage everything. I fell into a sorcerer’s crouch with my left leg stretched outward, and spun the vortex faster and faster. When I flung both my arms wide, it exploded in a flash of bright light.
My powers responded beautifully to my every thought and wish. After so many years living at the mercy of my ability, I’d never imagined that control could feel so wonderful.
Agrippa coughed, swiping at flakes of ash that rained down on his coat.
“What on earth have you been doing?” he said.
“Studying, sir.”
Agrippa began to laugh. “My girl! My dearest girl!” He took my hands in his own. We swung about the obsidian room, much in the way I had celebrated with Hargrove that afternoon. He pulled me close and kissed me warmly upon both cheeks. Pride was written all over his face. I was giddy with happiness, almost drunk with it.
“I knew you could do this,” Agrippa said. Joyful tears glinted in his eyes. “You’ll knock the Whitechurches and Palehooks down a peg.”