Cursed (Schooled In Magic Book 17), page 23
She nodded to Emily, then hurried off into the crowd. Emily gritted her teeth, taking long breaths to calm herself down. That had been too close. A simple trick, one that wouldn’t have troubled her for a moment six months ago, had come too close to catching her. And then ... she wondered, sourly, about the morals of anyone who would sell arousal potions to young men and women. They probably thought it was funny.
Or expected the customers to use the potions in private, Emily thought, as they wandered towards a bookstall. That might make a certain amount of sense.
“There might be something interesting here,” Cat said. “Did you bring any money?”
“Just a little,” Emily said. It didn’t look as if any of the new currencies had made their way to Kingstown yet. The stallkeepers were still using weights and measures to calculate the value of the proffered coins. “What do you want to buy?”
“Nothing as yet,” Cat said. “But we should go to lunch soon.”
Emily grinned and turned her attention to the pile of books. She’d always loved rummage sales at home, if only because they offered a chance to find a bargain; she’d enjoyed rooting through the stacks, wondering what she might discover under the piles of discarded romance novels, almost as much as she’d enjoyed reading the books themselves. The booksellers seemed to have sourced books from all over the Nameless World, from penny dreadfuls and blue books to magical textbooks and older books that claimed to date back hundreds of years. Cat picked up one and studied it for a moment, then snorted in disbelief and put it back on the pile. Emily had to smile. The scroll was a well-known fake.
“You can learn the secrets of the ancients,” the bookseller insisted. He was a young man, Emily thought, but he’d gone to some effort to make himself look older. “All you have to do is buy this book!”
“I think the only thing I’d learn from it is that there’s a sucker born every minute,” Cat said, dryly. “If there really were ancient secrets within this scroll, my friend, it wouldn’t be offered for sale here.”
“Ah, but the magician who found it had no idea of its true value.” The bookseller wasn’t going to give up so easily. “He sold it to me for a handful of gold coins.”
“And you’re trying to sell it to me for a handful of silver coins.” Cat laughed. “You seem to be losing money on this deal.”
“Only because I like your face,” the bookseller bantered.
“Her face is much nicer,” Cat said, indicating Emily. “You should be paying her to take the book.”
Emily felt herself blush. The bookseller winked at her, then picked up the scroll and concealed it under the table. Too many people were listening to the conversation for him to have a chance of selling it, at least at anything like the advertised price. Emily had no idea who’d buy it, but there were a lot of people who knew nothing about magic. They might not recognize the scroll was a fake until it was too late.
“Perhaps you would prefer something newer,” the bookseller said. He held out a book with a strikingly lurid cover. “What about this?”
“Tales of Beliau-Lelaki, Hero of the Empire,” Cat mused. The cover showed a barbarian warrior, wearing only a loincloth, with a pair of naked serving girls at his feet. He was carrying a sword that looked a little too long to be realistic. “I think I’ve read it.”
“There are others.” The bookseller lowered his voice. “If you and your lady-love would like some instruction ...”
Cat laughed and led Emily away from the stall. “Do you think anyone is going to buy anything from him?”
Emily shrugged. “There’s a market for just about anything,” she said. “If you can find a way to get the buyer and the seller together, anything can change hands.”
“I hope not,” Cat said. “But I fear you’re right.”
Emily nudged him. “I’m just glad you don’t need instruction.”
Cat snorted. “Those books were all the rage in the camp,” he said. “And most of us thought they were absurd.”
They passed a pair of teenage boys who appeared to have extra eyes growing out of their foreheads. Emily eyed them for a moment, concerned that they might have been hexed, but neither of them looked to be in pain. There would be a tent nearby where healers were waiting, ready to deal with any magical accidents or pranks. A young girl hurried past them, singing a sweet song about a woman who was waiting for her sailor husband to come home from sea. Her parents followed, carrying a hat for donations. Emily wondered, sourly, just who would get the money from the girl’s singing. The cynic in her doubted the girl would see a single coin.
I could be wrong, she told herself. They might be putting the money aside for her education.
“There’s a cluster of schools over there, advertising themselves,” Cat said. “You want to wander over and make fun of whoever’s assigned to tell students about Whitehall?”
Emily glanced at the handful of advertising booths, then shook her head. “Bad idea,” she said. Whoever was advertising Whitehall might know her by sight. “You went to Whitehall, remember?”
“I did?” Cat pretended to be surprised. “Does that mean I can’t make fun of it?”
“Not now,” Emily said. “We have to find the others, remember?”
They reached the edge of the Faire and started to turn back, inspecting the stalls as they walked. A mercenary company was trying to recruit magicians, offering both high wages and a guaranteed share of the profits from military operations to any sorcerer willing to join them for at least five years. Beside them, a well-known alchemical combine was trying to find new recruits who could think outside the box. Emily couldn’t help wondering if whoever was in charge of the Faire had put the alchemists and mercenaries together in the hopes that the alchemists would blow themselves up and take the mercenaries with them. The alchemical techniques the alchemists were demonstrating to anyone who took a passing interest struck her as dangerously unsafe.
“It might be interesting, if one were bored,” Cat said. “But the Rangers also have exciting lives.”
“You could go patrol the borders,” Emily agreed. She didn’t want to see Cat join a mercenary band. “Or join the Mediators.”
“Too much meditation,” Cat said. He grinned, but there was a sharp edge to it. “Can you imagine me trying to calm a bunch of idiots down?”
“I suppose this explains why you were never made Head Boy,” Emily said. “You would have joined a fight rather than stopping it.”
“Probably.” Cat shrugged as a handful of middle-aged men walked past them. “It isn’t as if I wanted it ...”
Someone crashed into Emily, hard. Cat shouted, an instant too late. She stumbled, the world going white. Her body tingled, an unpleasant sensation running through her, a sensation she knew all too well ...
... And then she fell into darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“WELL, WELL, WELL,” A VOICE SAID. A female voice. “If it isn’t little Emily.”
Emily fought her way to wakefulness. Her mind seemed to be cloaked in a haze, a haze that threatened to make it impossible to think. The voice was familiar, she thought, but she couldn’t place it. Her body felt wrong, as if it didn’t belong to her. The world was dark, so dark that — for a horrified moment — she thought she’d been blinded. She had to think hard before she realized her eyes were closed. Everything just felt wrong ...
She opened her eyes. A face — a huge face — was staring down at her. Panic rushed through her mind as she tried to move, but her feet were rooted to the floor. Everything felt wrong, completely wrong ... the proportions were all wrong. She lifted her hand, intending to brush her eyes, and stared in horror at a green hand. The world spun around her as everything fell into place. She’d been turned into a frog! Or a toad. She wasn’t sure which and it didn’t matter.
The person who’d caught her was laughing.
“Doesn’t seem so funny now, does it?” The woman laughed again. “How does it feel to be weak and powerless?”
Jacqui, Emily thought numbly. What the hell is she doing here?
She forced herself to think. Jacqui had nearly managed to get Frieda killed, once upon a time. Emily had nearly killed her, when she’d realized the truth; she’d come very close to tearing the wretched girl limb from limb. Jacqui had abused her authority as Head Girl, to the point where she had been stripped of her title ... Emily shuddered, helplessly. Jacqui had no reason to love her and now ... and now Emily was at her mercy.
Focus, she told herself. Where are you?
“How does it feel?” Jacqui laughed. “The great Necromancer’s Bane? How does it feel?”
I can’t even talk, you idiot, Emily thought. She looked around the room, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It looked like a potions lab; a worktable, a small collection of books, an open cabinet crammed with bottles and jars, a wire cage suitable for a hamster ... she wondered, grimly, just what had happened to Jacqui after Emily had left Whitehall. What are you doing here?
She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a croak. Where are we?
Jacqui snickered. “What are you going to do? Croak me to death?”
She reached out a dainty hand and picked Emily up by the neck. Emily wriggled helplessly, trying to look as if she was panicking. Six years ago, she would have panicked. Six years ago, she wouldn’t have worried about going to bed as a human and waking up a frog. But now ... she silently blessed her good fortune that Jacqui hadn’t thought to use more than a simple prank spell to transfigure her. She would have been in a great deal more danger if there had been a realistic prospect of losing herself in the frog’s mentality ...
“So, Lady Emily,” Jacqui said. “What are you going to do now?”
She held Emily in front of her, her eyes bright with anger. “I can squeeze my fingertips, right now, and your neck will snap. Or I can put you in a cauldron and boil you alive. Or ... I can make you my slave. Why should I not?”
Cat will be looking for me, Emily thought. Whatever had happened, whatever diversion Jacqui had used to get a clear shot at Emily ... it wouldn’t have killed Cat. It might not even have stunned him for more than a few seconds. Jacqui wasn’t that good. Cat and Frieda and everyone else will be looking for me.
She felt a wave of crushing embarrassment and horror. Jacqui had never registered as a serious threat, not to her. Jacqui had annoyed her, when she’d become Head Girl, but she’d never intimidated her. She’d never really intimidated any of the sixth years. Emily had nearly killed her and the others ... they’d made it clear that they wouldn’t let Jacqui push them around. Emily had expected threats from older, more powerful enemies. But now ... a simple first-year spell, cast by someone bright enough to work around her protections, and she was helpless. Jacqui had rendered her completely helpless.
It was hard, so hard, to keep the appearance of panic from becoming reality. Cat didn’t have a sample of her blood. He’d have to go back to the manor to get the blood Emily had given Belladonna, giving Jacqui all the time she needed to smuggle a transfigured Emily out of the Faire and teleport her ... somewhere. They could be halfway across the Nameless World by now ... Emily wished, suddenly, that she’d bothered to learn something about Jacqui’s family beyond the mere fact of their existence. They’d been linked to House Ashworth — Jacqui had been one of Melissa’s cronies, back in the day — but what now? Jacqui might be acting completely on her own.
Or she might be a deniable asset, Emily thought. If she fails, her family can write it off as a rogue operation ...
“Perhaps I should use you as my personal slave,” Jacqui said. “Or ... what if I hand you over to someone else? Someone who will have no idea who you are?”
Emily tuned out the list of increasingly horrible possibilities and forced herself to keep looking around the room. Her clothes — and the pistol — were lying on a chair, suggesting that Jacqui had taken the time to check Emily’s clothes for any tracking hexes before bringing them to her lair. Emily felt her heart sink. Jacqui had probably warded the whole complex thoroughly ... she cursed herself, savagely, for leaving the manor before she recovered her magic. Jacqui wouldn’t have posed any kind of threat if Emily still had her powers. She wouldn’t have dared lay a finger on Emily.
“Or I could sell you to one of your enemies,” Jacqui offered. She sounded oddly disenchanted. “That would bring in the gold, wouldn’t it?”
Perhaps, Emily thought. There were people who would pay to see her dead — or have her under their control — but they’d be taking an awful risk. Didn’t you learn anything from how quickly Fulvia abandoned you?
Jacqui turned, carrying Emily with her. “I’ll go see who I can interest,” she said nastily, as her grip tightened. “For now ...”
She carried Emily over to the cage and dumped her inside, snapping the latch closed before Emily could move. “I’ll be back soon,” Jacqui said, mockingly. “Enjoy your new home.”
Emily glanced around as Jacqui marched away. The cage was bare, without even a bottle of drinking water. She inspected the wiring, trying to determine what would happen if she shifted back into human form, but it was impossible to tell if it would break or tear her to ribbons. Jacqui would probably have put a charm on the wire to make it unbreakable, deterring her captive from trying to cancel the spell and escaping. And yet ... Emily forced herself to think. Jacqui could not have expected to meet her, not at the Faire. She’d had no reason to make preparations for a prisoner she hadn’t expected to take ...
She concentrated, trying to work a single spell. Prank spells were designed to be easy to remove. There was no need to wave one’s arm, if one knew the proper spellform for a basic cancellation spell. The tutors encouraged kids to use the pranks because they taught motionless spellcasting. But ... no matter how she concentrated, she was unable to muster the power to break free. She was trapped, as helpless as a peasant girl who’d angered a hedge witch and got herself turned into a frog. Or a stone or ... a thought struck her. Jacqui had turned Emily into a frog, but Jacqui hadn’t rendered Emily immobile. Perhaps, just perhaps, she’d made a mistake.
Emily looked up at the latch. It was a simple design, easy to open if one happened to have hands and the wit to use them. She hopped forward, clambered up the wire and pushed the latch as hard as she could. For an awful moment, it refused to budge — she thought that perhaps Jacqui hadn’t made a mistake after all — and then it came loose. The door fell open, just as she fell backwards. She allowed the body’s instincts to take over, twisting in the air so she landed on her feet, then jumped out of the cage. The drop to the floor looked terrifying, but she knew from experience it was survivable. She jumped before she could think better of it.
I got out, she thought once she got to the floor. The workroom looked as if it hadn’t been used for a long time. Jacqui hadn’t even bothered to scrub the floors and dust the tables before going to work. What now?
She glanced at her clothes, then put them out of her mind and looked for a way out. The door was firmly closed and sealed. She could neither twist the doorknob nor crawl under it, even as a frog. The windows, too, were firmly shut. She braced herself, then hopped onto the table. A handful of tools lay there, all useless to her. She couldn’t even pick up the wand, let alone direct the magic, without human hands. Despair fluttered at the corner of her mind, reminding her that when Jacqui came back she would be killed ... or worse. The first order that Jacqui would give her, when she was enslaved, would be to do nothing to escape, not even try to kill herself. She would be trapped and helpless and ... she had to get out of the room, whatever it took.
The cabinet of potion ingredients caught her eye. She hopped over to it and peered into the darkness. Most of the ingredients seemed standard — Jacqui didn’t seem to have purchased anything rare or expensive — but one of the vials contained a standard neutralizer. Emily pushed it out of the cabinet and shoved it off the side, letting it fall to the floor. It shattered, the liquid spilling everywhere. Emily gritted her teeth, unsure if the desperate gamble would actually work, then dropped down and landed in the liquid. There was a moment of slithering and sliding, a moment when she was sure the trick hadn’t worked ...
... And then she was suddenly human again.
She lay on the ground for a long moment, heedless of the fragments digging into her skin, then pushed herself to her feet and yanked on her clothes. The pistol felt reassuring in her hand, even though she doubted it would be much use against a trained sorcerer. She glanced around the room, trying to find anything else that might be useful, then froze as she heard someone coming down the corridor outside. Jacqui? Or a servant? Emily tensed as the door opened, then lifted the pistol as Jacqui stepped inside.
“Emily?” Jacqui stared at her in horror. “What ...?”
She lifted her hand, casting a spell. Emily jumped to one side — a flash of light darted through where she’d been standing — and pulled the trigger. The sound was very loud in the small chamber, so loud she was partly deafened. Jacqui let out a scream and collapsed to her knees, blood leaking through her shirt. Her eyes were wide with pain and horror and complete incomprehension. She might or might not have known what the pistol actually did, but she hadn’t realized that her wards would need modification to protect her from bullets. Emily shook herself into motion and ran past her, slamming Jacqui’s head into the door as she passed. She heard a curse behind her and ducked, instinctively, as a fireball shot over her head and struck the wall. Jacqui no longer wanted her alive.
And casting the spell when she was in so much pain is actually quite impressive, Emily thought. She ran past the scorch mark and looked around, trying to find the way out. Where the hell am I?
“Stop her!” Jacqui’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Stop her!”
Emily hefted the pistol, glancing around for any sign of Jacqui’s ... allies? Or servants? The house felt oddly familiar, as if Emily had seen something like it before. Dragon’s Den? Or somewhere else? Emily heard someone walking towards her and fled the other way, unwilling to risk a confrontation with another magician. If Jacqui had friends and allies ... she put the thought aside as she reached a solid wooden door, one that was firmly locked and bolted. She stared at it, wondering how she was supposed to leave. A single spell would open the latch, if she could cast it. But she couldn’t even make sparks.
