Rook, page 25
He shrugged. “They didn’t deserve to die.”
“Do you know what they were?” I asked. “Their species and abilities?”
“Most of them,” he said. “Basic bureau training.”
“Hmm.” I leaned back against the wall and gazed up through the burnt-out roof at the sky. A pair of birds flitted from branch to branch above us. “I happen to know that Dupin’s Paranormal Division is short-staffed,” I said. “For that matter, the city doesn’t have anyone remotely qualified to manage supernatural animal control. It would be a dangerous job. Foolhardy, even. But the person who stepped up would be in a position to do a lot of good. Especially if it was someone with a working knowledge of the supernatural and a solid moral compass—the sort of person who would want to protect the innocent, even if the innocent were wild and strange.”
Kit was quiet. His aura spun with a kaleidoscope of sallow doubts, glimmering hope, and bitter gray regrets. At length, he heaved a sigh and nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
We made our way out of the debris, whereupon I found that Miss Lee had arrived with the carriage. “You’re certainly a welcome sight,” I said. “Did Mr. Jackaby send you to fetch me?” I asked.
Miss Lee rolled her eyes. “I saw a parade of emergency vehicles heading toward an enormous column of smoke,” she said. “I just assumed you would be at the end of it.”
“Rude,” I said. “But not wrong, obviously.”
“I got your sweetheart tucked in the back already,” she added. “Sounds like you two had a long night. He’s ready to go home as soon as you are.”
“Home sounds lovely,” I said. “Thank you, Miss Lee.”
Charlie glanced up as I climbed into the carriage. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept properly in days, but his whole heart glowed like a bonfire when he saw my face, and his lips spread into a wide smile. I slid into the seat beside him, and he wrapped his arms around me for the first time in days.
“That was frightfully rude of you to rescue me down there,” I said, melting into his warmth, “right when I was supposed to be rescuing you. How did you get out of your cell, anyway? You never said.”
“Coaxed a salamander into the lock,” he answered. “Melted the mechanism.”
“Mmm. That’s okay, then.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “I freed the salamanders, so I still get credit.” The carriage trundled into motion, and soon we were rolling down a winding road. “Are you all right?” I asked.
He took a deep breath. “No,” he finally answered, truthfully. “I’m exhausted. I’m overwhelmed. Very soon, I’m going to need to confront a lot of people who seem like they would be just as happy to see me dead. And even sooner”—he made a show of shivering in mock horror—“I’m going to need to face your parents again.”
I smiled in spite of myself and he gave me a squeeze. “Fair,” I said. I rested a hand against his chest, feeling his lungs rise and fall. “I like that.”
“Me meeting with your parents?” he asked.
“You being honest with me. Even if everything you’re being honest about is wretched.”
Charlie nodded and brushed his hand through my hair. “I like being honest with you,” he said. “What about you? Are you all right?”
I considered. “I . . . I think I am, actually,” I said, surprising myself to realize that, for once, it was true. I had taken on a real case and solved it without needing Jackaby by my side at the end. The stress and turmoil would flood over me again soon enough—but for now, I had Charlie back. For the first time in weeks, we were alone, just the two of us. For this fleeting moment, there were no mysteries, no politics—just a gentle carriage ride through the quiet, misty morning streets of New Fiddleham.
chapter thirty-one
The ride home with Charlie was as peaceful and pleasant as the subsequent conversation with my parents was not.
“So you lied to us?” My mother’s aura was less angry than it was hurt, which somehow made the whole thing even worse. My father stood just behind her with his arms crossed. I had sent Charlie upstairs without me, but this long-overdue conversation was something I needed to face on my own.
“Yes,” I said. “I did lie to you. And I’m sorry. I should have told you about my work and about Charlie and everything. But to be perfectly frank—why would I?”
“Wh-why?” she stammered.
“Because we are your parents!” my father said.
“No, that’s the reason I wouldn’t,” I said. “I spent my entire childhood pretending to be the daughter you wanted me to be—or else getting scolded and scorned for being anything else. You made it abundantly clear that being myself was second to being acceptable.”
“Abigail,” my father said. “That’s hardly fair.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “If you want me to trust you, then you don’t simply get to demand it. You need to show me that I can—that I’m safe to be open with you. This place might not be as posh and polished as our house in Portsmouth, but Mr. Jackaby has always made it clear that I could be myself under this roof—in fact, he rather insists on it—and Jenny has been nothing but supportive from the start. We’ve seen one another at our worst, and instead of turning away from all that, we’ve been there to catch each other when we needed it most. And Charlie . . . Charlie doesn’t just accept me as I am, he loves me for it. He believes in me in ways that lift me up and make me believe in myself.”
My mother looked as if she were about to cry. “I love you,” she breathed. And her aura glowed rose red with trembling sincerity. “I’ve always loved you.”
“I know, Mother,” I said, losing steam. “I love you, too. But I think you love the version of me that you could stuff into Sunday school dresses and bribe with lollies. It’s not enough to love the person I was. I need to know you’re open to loving me now—and loving whoever I’m going to be.”
The room was awkwardly silent for a few moments.
“When you were only a toddler,” my father finally said, “you couldn’t say pudding properly.”
My mother laughed and cried in one wet burst.
“You remember that, Bea?” He chuckled. “You would say poob-bie, just like that, with your tiny lips flapping. It almost broke my heart when you learned to say pudding properly. But do you know what you learned to say that very same year? Iguanodon. I was so proud. By third year, you were the only one in your class who could identify an archaeopteryx. I will always miss my baby girl reaching for a bowl, yelling poob-bie! But not nearly as much as I am excited to see what she does next.”
My eyes felt watery, and my throat tightened up.
My father put his hands on my shoulders and kissed my head. “We’ve always been proud of you, Abisaurus,” he said, his aura swelling to agree. “I might not understand this world you’ve made for yourself. It seems a bit rubbish, if we’re insisting on being perfectly frank—but if it’s your world, then I still want to be a part of it.”
My mother sniffled and nodded. “We both do.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” my father continued. “We have enjoyed reading about our young lady in the periodicals, but I for one would rather get a direct post from time to time. And if she insists on falling for some strange, foreign chap she met in the States—well, I might not understand him, either, but I don’t want my baby to get married without her father walking her down the aisle.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Did this just turn into you giving us your blessing?”
He shrugged. “No boy will ever be good enough for my sweet girl. You could tie the knot with a crown prince and you would still be marrying beneath yourself.” He gave my chin a gentle nudge with his knuckle. “But from what I saw the other night, you could do a lot worse than Charlie Barker. I like how he bristles and stands up for you.” He shot me a wink and lowered his voice. “Even against your mother, the daft fool. Anyway, you can’t go waiting for me to fall in love with him. That’s your job.”
“He’s no Tommy Bellows . . .” my mother put in.
“Tommy Bellows is an absolute onion,” I said.
My mother held up her hand and continued. “. . . but I must agree that he seems like a decent lad. And he makes you happy—which matters more than silly titles.” I could tell that last statement pained her, but I chose to appreciate it all the more. “We won’t force you to come home,” she said, “if this is what you want.”
“We just don’t want to lose you,” my father added, gently.
“I don’t want to lose you, either,” I said. “I promise I’ll write. And you’ll be the first to know when we’ve settled on a date for the wedding.”
“We could stay until then,” my mother said. “If you’d like.”
“Oh.” The relief I had been feeling suddenly tightened into a knot again. “Really? You don’t think it’s a bit . . . uncomfortable up in the spare room?”
“Oh, good lord—we won’t be staying here another night,” she blurted out.
“There’s an odor in that room,” my father said.
“And strange lights at night,” my mother added.
“And a horrifying china doll in the corner. I keep turning her to face the wall, but every morning she ends up pointed toward us again.” My father shuddered involuntarily.
“We’ve already booked a room at a nice inn near the shore,” she concluded. “Only temporary, until we can make proper plans to . . . to go home.”
My mother suddenly lurched forward and wrapped me up in a hug. I tensed at first. She had always been tender in her own way, but she had never been one for affectionate embraces. Her breath caught in little hiccuping bursts. I returned her embrace, leaning into the hug.
“I always want you to be honest with me,” she managed, sniffing.
“It’s all right, Mother,” I said. “I just needed to feel safe before I could be open.” I blinked, raising my head. A spark of an idea was flickering to life in my mind.
My mother straightened, wiping her eyes. “Mm? What is it?”
I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I love you. We’ll talk more about—well, everything—soon, I promise. But I’ve just had a thought and I’ve got to go.”
I found Jackaby tying sprigs of sage into tidy little bundles as I burst into his study. “How large can a dome of confidence be?” I asked without preamble.
“Sorry. What?”
“A dome of confidence. We discovered one when we were investigating the Finkins’ house. They protect people from sharing secrets outside of a magic circle, right? So how large can the circle be?”
Jackaby shrugged. “They can get pretty large. A room could be encircled. Even a whole house, although a dome that big would take more time and effort to secure it. It would all depend on how many enchanters you could devote to the task at once.”
“Could a dome encircle an entire city?”
Jackaby’s brow slowly creased as he considered the question. “Why?”
Mayor Spade steepled his fingers at the head of the wide oak table. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows of the conference room in city hall. Commissioner Marlowe sat beside the mayor, scowling in thought. Farther down the table, Charlie and Jackaby perched on the chairs to either side of me.
“Those Humans First people insist that the problem is paranormals living in secret among us,” I explained, “but if the paranormal community is ever going to live openly, they first need to know that they are safe and that their neighbors support them. We can’t force people to trust one another, but we can come at it from the opposite direction. We have to create a situation that lets people know that they will be safe if and when they decide to live openly.”
“And that’s what this dome thing would do?”
I nodded. “By creating a citywide dome of confidence, we could turn New Fiddleham into a sort of magical sanctuary. Everyone within our borders would be part of a shared confidence, and the identities of our most vulnerable citizens would no longer be shared with anyone outside our city limits, including unscrupulous federal organizations. Someone like Garabrand could sneak in and fill out all the assessments he liked—but the documents would turn to gibberish as soon as they moved outside of our border.”
“People would still have free will,” Charlie said. “It wouldn’t force anyone to love their neighbors or anything like that. It would just mean that supernatural citizens would have one less thing to worry about, and that might encourage more of us to show our true colors without shame or fear.”
“Supernatural folk showing their colors has not exactly done wonders for the city thus far,” Spade said. “Seems like every time one of them does, it’s a whole new problem.”
“Only because we’ve made being part of a magical community a crime,” Jackaby snapped. “But if we take all of the stigma and terror out of it—just allow magic to coexist with the mundane—then gradually the paranormal becomes the normal. Neighbors could finally get to know their neighbors.”
“And that’s a good thing?” Spade countered.
“Maybe,” I said. “It would be a grand experiment.”
Marlowe pursed his lips. “Would the spell be dangerous?”
I turned to Jackaby. “I don’t believe so,” he said. “I asked around among the occult community. Apparently the worst that happens when this sort of spell falls apart is that it stops working. I couldn’t find any known instances of supernatural side effects or snapbacks. It appears to be a fairly low-level enchantment—we would just be performing it on a much larger scale.”
“There are more than enough capable magic users in New Fiddleham to do it,” Charlie volunteered, “and many of them have even more experienced family members across the veil who would be willing to assist with the process. After it is set up, it would require routine maintenance, but we’ve asked the experts, and it all sounds feasible.”
The mayor nodded soberly. “I just don’t know.”
“Don’t look at me,” grunted Marlowe.
“It’s not our job to know,” I said. “This is our city—all of ours. Not one group’s or another’s. We will need to put it to a vote and let the people decide.”
Nearly two months passed before all the necessary paperwork had been filed, the ballots had all been drawn up, and the announcements had been made. Factions within the Humans First campaign seemed to be at odds about whether they were for or against the proposal, and I ran into at least three contradictory flyers in one walk. There was an electric crackle in the air, the unspoken portent of an upcoming crossroads—but in spite of this swelling energy, the chaos and conflict in streets seemed, for the moment, to have ebbed. There were the occasional flare-ups of scuffles in line for the ballot boxes, but even the crowds gathering in front of city hall seemed oddly muted as they awaited the results. New Fiddleham was holding its breath.
“They’re completing the tally now,” Marlowe said, stepping out to meet us on the city hall balcony. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”
I nodded.
“I met with the widow Finkin yesterday,” he added solemnly, gripping the railing and looking out over the street. “She was granted a special exemption to scatter her late husband’s ashes on the other side of the veil. Said he would’ve wanted to make it over eventually.”
“That’s a kind gesture,” I said.
“It’s not much, given what she’s been through.” He shrugged. “Speaking of going it alone, where’s that mentor of yours?”
“Jackaby promised Jenny he would stay with her so that they could hear the news together. If the motion passes and people grow more accustomed to the supernatural, then a ghost appearing in public would become a much more viable option—if she wanted to.” Even thinking about it had made it harder for Jenny to maintain her form at all, but I didn’t feel the need to share that detail. “I told them that I would bring word, one way or another, as soon as I knew.”
“How about Charlie?”
“He wanted to be here,” I said, “but his sister needs him more than I do right now. I insisted.”
“Alina? Really?” Marlowe glanced my way. “She doesn’t strike me as the type to need anyone. Seemed perfectly composed at her acquittal. Leadership suits her. Charlie, too.”
I smiled and shook my head. “I’m learning that being a good leader isn’t about not needing help,” I said. “It’s about being there for others, and letting them be there for you, too.”
Marlowe nodded, turning his eyes back out over the city. We stood in silence for a while.
In the streets below us, men and women milled about, many carrying handwritten signs extolling the virtues or the perils of the dome of confidence. Rock-Jaw the not-actually-a-troll was occupying a large swath of sidewalk, wearing a huge sandwich board in favor of the initiative.
“Are you going to be upset,” Marlowe asked, “if the city doesn’t want to turn itself into a magical sanctuary?”
“At least the paranormal community would know where it stands,” I answered. I glanced up at him. “What about you? Do you want the proposal to pass?”
Marlowe took a deep breath and scratched the stubble on his chin. “If it does,” he said, “New Fiddleham will never be the same.”
“I don’t think that was ever an option.”
“Fair,” he grunted.
I watched him for a moment. “You’re not fond of magic.”
“I’m not fond of messy,” he corrected. He looked over the railing for a moment at the crowds gathered in the street below. “I saw the numbers in that lockbox you uncovered. If the Bureau of Curiosities’ estimates are even close to accurate, this city is hiding a lot more magic than any of us realized. We’ve barely been keeping up with just a fraction of what’s out there. Can you imagine what it will be like if this place suddenly becomes a supernatural safe haven? If all of those secrets start tumbling out into the open?”
