“Sorcha isn’t even trained,” Baumgartner said, as if that were a defense against magic. “Even if the manuscript was legitimate, there’s no way she could accomplish magic on that scale. The delusions, the weather, the ultimatum—it’s all for show. She’s acting out.”
I looked at each of them, the sorcerers who refused to believe the world wasn’t exactly as they imagined it, ordered in exactly the way they believed. Fury rose, that they refused to see the truth and face the coming danger. And pity accompanied that anger, that they lived in worlds so simple, so defined by their own prejudices.
“Even if I’m wrong,” Mallory said carefully, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, “would you rather prepare for the worst and be pleasantly surprised, or walk in with your arrogance, and be blown out of the water?”
The sorceress rolled her eyes. “Always drama with you, Bell.”
“Simpson,” Baumgartner said. “Focus.”
Simpson bit her tongue, but rolled her eyes again.
“I’ve got a governor,” Mallory said. “A small spell that will ratchet down her magic, keep her from being able to give the Egregore physical form. I just need to get close enough to use it.”
“Take the chance when you can get it,” Wilcox said. “Let’s bring her down.” He pointed to a spot at the music pavilion near the park. “The vehicle to take her in will be here. It’s been warded and sealed, and it’s ready.”
“And you’ll actually contain her this time?” Baumgartner asked haughtily, as if he’d been the one to put out all the effort at Towerline. In fact, he’d put out none. My opinion of him before walking into the room hadn’t been high. That didn’t help matters.
“The wagon team assures me they will. You’ll help us get her in?”
“We have containment expertise,” Simpson said.
I doubted that was true, too, and that she’d ever “contained” anything larger than a random bird or field mouse. But I wouldn’t be petty aloud.
“Then let’s take our positions,” Wilcox said, and we walked to the door, outside again into freezing temps.
“Well,” I said. “That went about as well as I expected.”
“Fucking bureaucracy,” Catcher said. “But yeah, not entirely unexpected.”
“What is it with supernaturals and bureaucrats?” Mallory asked.
“Something in the DNA, I suspect.”
“I’ve done what I can,” Mallory said, then looked up at Catcher. “Right?”
“You did. You can lead a bureaucrat to a better idea,” he said with a wink. “But you can’t make him use it.”
Mallory chuckled, which had been the point, stepped into his arms.
Ethan put a hand on my face. “I love you. Be careful.”
“Ditto that,” Catcher said to Mallory.
We exchanged brief kisses, and then looked at each other.
“You ready for this?” I asked Mallory.
She held out her arm. “Let’s follow the yellow brick road,” she said. And we set out to find the Wicked Witch.
• • •
We followed the island’s main road toward the park, the sorcerers in front of us, at least until they split off to take their positions. Ethan and Catcher would come in from other directions, hopefully surreptitiously. Luc, Lindsey, and Juliet would stay near the planetarium and closer to shore, in case Sorcha made a run for it. Brody would stay with the vehicle. Thankfully, the CPD had thought ahead, made sure the snow and ice had been mostly cleaned off. The asphalt was still slushy and slippery, but we didn’t need skis and snowshoes.
“How are you feeling about the governor?”
“‘Confident’ is a word. It’s not the word I’d choose, but definitely a word.”
She slipped a little in the slush, and I grabbed her elbow before she could go down, helped her straighten again.
“And what word would you choose?” I asked her.
She thought about it for a moment. “Encouraged?”
“I’ll take that. How close do you need to get?”
“As close as possible.” She pulled the compact from the pocket of her coat. “It’s a spell-alchemy hybrid. I’m a spell kind of girl; she’s an alchemy kind of girl. Without getting into the gory details, it’s like Spanx for magic. Sucks it all in.”
“You are a wonder. And you’ve come a long way in a year.”
“Just need an endorsement deal and I’m good to go. I’m going to need to concentrate—both on finishing the spell and keeping her from knowing about it. So I need you to handle her.”
“That will not be a problem,” I said. My blade and I needed a good workout.
She nodded. “I’ll give you a signal when I’m ready.”
As we reached the hill, she cleared her throat nervously. “Do you want to bet on how bad this gets?”
I grimaced. “Like the number of people who die?”
“No, that’s just morose. More like, will Baumgartner blame us when this thing goes to shit?”
I’d spent ten minutes in a room with the man, and I already knew the answer to that. “He absolutely will. No bet.”
“Hmm,” she said, and crossed her arms. “Other obvious predictions—Sorcha will wear a completely inappropriate outfit. She’ll blame something on someone other than herself. Baumgartner’s sorcerers will either completely fail to make a dent, or screw up out of some misplaced sense of ego.” She paused. “The mayor will refuse to take responsibility.”
“You’re basically laying out the Supernatural Debacle bingo card,” I said. “And you’re right about all of it.”
I looked at each of them, the sorcerers who refused to believe the world wasn’t exactly as they imagined it, ordered in exactly the way they believed. Fury rose, that they refused to see the truth and face the coming danger. And pity accompanied that anger, that they lived in worlds so simple, so defined by their own prejudices.
“Even if I’m wrong,” Mallory said carefully, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, “would you rather prepare for the worst and be pleasantly surprised, or walk in with your arrogance, and be blown out of the water?”
The sorceress rolled her eyes. “Always drama with you, Bell.”
“Simpson,” Baumgartner said. “Focus.”
Simpson bit her tongue, but rolled her eyes again.
“I’ve got a governor,” Mallory said. “A small spell that will ratchet down her magic, keep her from being able to give the Egregore physical form. I just need to get close enough to use it.”
“Take the chance when you can get it,” Wilcox said. “Let’s bring her down.” He pointed to a spot at the music pavilion near the park. “The vehicle to take her in will be here. It’s been warded and sealed, and it’s ready.”
“And you’ll actually contain her this time?” Baumgartner asked haughtily, as if he’d been the one to put out all the effort at Towerline. In fact, he’d put out none. My opinion of him before walking into the room hadn’t been high. That didn’t help matters.
“The wagon team assures me they will. You’ll help us get her in?”
“We have containment expertise,” Simpson said.
I doubted that was true, too, and that she’d ever “contained” anything larger than a random bird or field mouse. But I wouldn’t be petty aloud.
“Then let’s take our positions,” Wilcox said, and we walked to the door, outside again into freezing temps.
“Well,” I said. “That went about as well as I expected.”
“Fucking bureaucracy,” Catcher said. “But yeah, not entirely unexpected.”
“What is it with supernaturals and bureaucrats?” Mallory asked.
“Something in the DNA, I suspect.”
“I’ve done what I can,” Mallory said, then looked up at Catcher. “Right?”
“You did. You can lead a bureaucrat to a better idea,” he said with a wink. “But you can’t make him use it.”
Mallory chuckled, which had been the point, stepped into his arms.
Ethan put a hand on my face. “I love you. Be careful.”
“Ditto that,” Catcher said to Mallory.
We exchanged brief kisses, and then looked at each other.
“You ready for this?” I asked Mallory.
She held out her arm. “Let’s follow the yellow brick road,” she said. And we set out to find the Wicked Witch.
• • •
We followed the island’s main road toward the park, the sorcerers in front of us, at least until they split off to take their positions. Ethan and Catcher would come in from other directions, hopefully surreptitiously. Luc, Lindsey, and Juliet would stay near the planetarium and closer to shore, in case Sorcha made a run for it. Brody would stay with the vehicle. Thankfully, the CPD had thought ahead, made sure the snow and ice had been mostly cleaned off. The asphalt was still slushy and slippery, but we didn’t need skis and snowshoes.
“How are you feeling about the governor?”
“‘Confident’ is a word. It’s not the word I’d choose, but definitely a word.”
She slipped a little in the slush, and I grabbed her elbow before she could go down, helped her straighten again.
“And what word would you choose?” I asked her.
She thought about it for a moment. “Encouraged?”
“I’ll take that. How close do you need to get?”
“As close as possible.” She pulled the compact from the pocket of her coat. “It’s a spell-alchemy hybrid. I’m a spell kind of girl; she’s an alchemy kind of girl. Without getting into the gory details, it’s like Spanx for magic. Sucks it all in.”
“You are a wonder. And you’ve come a long way in a year.”
“Just need an endorsement deal and I’m good to go. I’m going to need to concentrate—both on finishing the spell and keeping her from knowing about it. So I need you to handle her.”
“That will not be a problem,” I said. My blade and I needed a good workout.
She nodded. “I’ll give you a signal when I’m ready.”
As we reached the hill, she cleared her throat nervously. “Do you want to bet on how bad this gets?”
I grimaced. “Like the number of people who die?”
“No, that’s just morose. More like, will Baumgartner blame us when this thing goes to shit?”
I’d spent ten minutes in a room with the man, and I already knew the answer to that. “He absolutely will. No bet.”
“Hmm,” she said, and crossed her arms. “Other obvious predictions—Sorcha will wear a completely inappropriate outfit. She’ll blame something on someone other than herself. Baumgartner’s sorcerers will either completely fail to make a dent, or screw up out of some misplaced sense of ego.” She paused. “The mayor will refuse to take responsibility.”
“You’re basically laying out the Supernatural Debacle bingo card,” I said. “And you’re right about all of it.”
