Lost Magic (The Swift Codex Book 3) (5 page)

Baby in my lap, I sat across from him and picked up my fork. Mordon slapped his thigh. I eased my bare foot onto his leg, asking, “What are you doing?”

“I'm going to make you a quick anklet to keep the teardrop safe. Less of a chance anyone will get a good look at it.”

“And then what? We can't go around with a newborn minus its mother.”

“Unless you work up an illusion to make it look older. A few weeks older.”

“Mordon, I'm tired. I don't want to do an illusion.”

A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “I'll claim it's a colony child you got stuck with.”

“A new mother does not just pass off the baby like that, does she?”

“There are a few circumstances which would require an impartial party to behave as a guardian. Criminal cases, for instance.”

“But I'm not...I don't know how to do anything baby-related.”

“Did you or did you not promise to look after her?”

“I did,” I admitted, grudgingly.

“Then you're her guardian and she's therefore your ward.” He puffed out his cheeks, looking aged. “And since I'm technically your guardian in order to keep the overenthusiastic males at bay, you're my ward, and that makes this child mine as well. And in order to keep the both of you safe, we should hasten off into the most crowded place we can.”

The baby was already making me feel fatigued and positively terrified. How was I going to do this? “So, we're still going to the Midsummer Festival?”

“And we're going to blend in with the adults. Be ready to be the center of attention, everyone is going to want to croon over her.” Mordon grabbed the pliers, clamping the ends of the anklet shut above my foot.

“How long will it take to find this Septimus fellow?”

“That depends if he's easy to find. Could be a matter or days or weeks. If not,” Mordon closed his eyes and tilted his head back, “it could take a while.”

The implication gave me a bad feeling, but I had to know. “How long is a while?”

“Months. Years.”

“Years!” The outburst lacked strength, just a whispered cry of despair.

“You're the one who made the oath.”

A retaliation on the tip of my tongue, I glared at Mordon—and saw a strange, soft expression on his face. “You...weren't accusing me of making a mistake?”

Eating with one hand, he grasped my ankle with the other, passing his thumb over the bottom of my foot. “It wasn't that long ago that I had an intruder in my shop. Got through all my wards, didn't set off a one of them, not until someone else set them off.”

I put my head in my hands. “Mordon.”

“Let me finish. She was hurt and in trouble, and she had nothing, nothing at all, to offer me. There wouldn't have been a single person who would have blamed me for turning her aside. But she had a need, and I was in a position to fill that need. Why would I be angry with her now for following in my footsteps?”

The baby was starting to get the hang of swallowing the milk instead of letting it drip down her jaw. “People thought you were crazy.”

“Just the ones who would have been too frightened to do the same in my place.”

I raised a tentative glance at his face. He was watching me with a mixture of warmth and amusement. I wasn't ready to be buoyed up yet. “But, I've drawn you into it. A lot of people into it. And you said yourself, this is dangerous territory. With whatever Josephina was involved in. It's dangerous.”

“So were you, my chicklet, so were you.”

My chicklet? That was a new term of endearment, not one I'd even heard applied to me before.

A tiny fire started on the table between us. My first instinct, after the fireball of earlier, was to put out the mysterious flame—but then I saw the corner of an envelope being left behind as the fire spread. As it grew and wavered, the black following the flame turned white and crisp, and before long I saw a familiar shorthand of hard vertical lines.

“Who is that from?” Mordon asked.

I picked up the envelope, impatiently waiting as the last corner formed and the fire died out. “My contact in the
Tribune
. It's been ages since she's written me. I wonder what's up?” I tore the flap open and exposed a thick wad of papers and parchment. I read the cover letter aloud. “ 'Swift, I am enclosing an article to be printed in tomorrow's edition. If you find it is not accurate in its source, please sign the last page and burn it back to me now. RJ.' ”

Mordon took the last page from the bottom of the stack while I read the article. “ 'Wildwoods Burn After Black Magic, Feys Return to Damaged Home, by Simona Eccles, American Sorcerering Today. A spokesperson for the Wildwoods Fey Council has confirmed today that a black magic spell has caused over 70% of the Wildwoods to burn. The identity of the spellcaster is as yet unknown, and authorities are seeking information related to the incident. Rumors of the Fey Council seeking legislature to identify and license practitioners of harmful magic have not been confirmed, but it is suspected they will add their support to the grassroots movement Safe Streets in order to prevent tragedies like this in the future. “The loss of the forest of the Wildwoods hurts us all,” says' ...some man from a socio-economic company. What is Safe Streets?” I asked, putting down the page.

“A movement to document everyone who has magical abilities over a certain threshold. It died out about five years ago, too many people calling it intrusive and a violation of privacy rights. Ironic to call it grassroots, though. It originated from a strong ruling class family.”

“Can I suppose that family was the Cole family?”

“It wasn't their idea, and Gregor Cole was playing coy with the topic,. I think he supported the movement, just not the man who proposed it.” Mordon tipped his chin to encourage me to read on. “Who does it say is the spokesman for the feys? I personally cannot imagine that their council would want anyone to know of their vulnerability. People may decide to storm the woods if this gets out.”

“Why bother?”

“Power, spider silk, even digging the dirt itself. A lot of medicinals come from the Wildwoods, and no one likes how the feys hold dominion over the management of those resources. Personally, I believe the feys like to sell as much as they dare, but others disagree. Such as that socio-economist quoted.”

“I don't like the ramifications of this article, and I haven't even read the second paragraph,” I muttered and flipped to the next page, where a name was circled in red ink. “Oh, nice one. How illegal is it, exactly, to get violent with a journalist?”

“Not at all if you know how to incinerate the body without leaving a trace,” Mordon said. “Why?”

“Because apparently the spokesman for the Wildwoods Fey Council is me.”

“Did you contact them?”

“Of course not. I haven't hardly talked to you about it, nevermind shooting my mouth off to the papers.” I felt insulted he even asked.

The paper made a rustling noise as Mordon smoothed the trifold creases out of it. “Best sign on the dotted line then.”

“What is it?” It was clearly a form, with my name and details filled out in RJ's block capitals.

“Two copies of a fraudulent account notification. It says that someone falsely claimed your identity, that the information contained within the story is 'horrifically inaccurate' and that if they publish anything about either the event and/or with your name associated with it, you will pursue legal reparations for damages associated with your life and the lives of those involved. Your contact has taken the liberty, too, of signing you into the books of a certain Donald Steele and has submitted a complete copy of all items to him.”

“He's my father's brother. Does criminal cases. He's one of the Wildwoods' Hunters. You saw him at the Wildwoods welcoming party, but we didn't have a lot of time to talk at that moment. So he chases down criminals at night and prosecutes them during the day, and there's some loophole that makes it all cool with the law. Go figure.”

“Well, hurry up and sign these things then. I'll burn one right back to your contact, and the other should go to your uncle.”

I did as he asked, and he stuffed the first one into an envelope marked URGENT while I signed the second copy. While I was addressing the copy for Uncle Don, Mordon focused and lit the letter on fire with the green ember in his hand. I tried not to be jealous. One day I'd learn how to perform the method of communication that everyone else in the whole sorcering world had down pat. Mordon took care of the second envelope, too.

“Who do you think it was that wants to make me out as a traitor and put the Wildwoods in danger as they do it?”

“An excellent question, and one we should keep an open mind about.”

“So you don't have a clue?”

“I have several people who come to mind, but I'd rather see who draws your attention first. If our lists match, we might be onto something.”

I nodded, feeling weary and like the day had transformed me into someone older. The baby thrashed in my lap, fighting sleep. I smoothed the few dark hairs over her scalp. One thing at a time. The papers, presumably, were taken care of as best as it could be. Another thing was sitting all too naked in my arms.

I looked to Mordon, drawing his attention away from a distant gaze and absent stroking of his hairless chin.

“I...was wondering if you knew where Lilly stashed the used clothes for the Care for Chronic Curses drive.” I cleared my throat. It was due to my own affliction, the gryphon's curse, that Lilly had taken an interest in the charity. The subject had always felt a bit embarrassing for me, but Lilly genuinely enjoyed her part in the group. “I thought there might be some newborn clothes.”

“In the closet.”

I started to rise, but Mordon held out his hand and got up first. The baby suckled on the syringe, waving one fist in the air until I depressed the plunger and fresh milk filled her mouth.

“We have a closet?” I called after Mordon, wondering where it was. The commons lounge was shared by all five of us, the central hub which linked our respective residences together in the form of doors to individual apartments. As it wasn't great fun to cook for just myself back in my private apartment, I usually manned the kitchen in the commons area, so I also knew that all of the kitchen cleaning supplies were kept under the sink. However, Barnes tended to clean the sitting area, Leif the chairs and couches, and Lilly did whatever was missed—so I'd never had reason to wonder where they kept their sanitary paraphernalia. Obviously in a closet, which I hadn't known we had.

“We do, indeed.” Mordon stopped at the top of the stairs and knocked on the wall. A sliding door appeared, and inside were rows and rows of shelves, and on those shelves were all the clothes folded nicely, coordinated by color and age, a rainbow of ages and genders. Lilly's work. Or, wait...

“Lilly had everything in bags. By the door.”

Mordon shrugged and didn't offer an explanation, reaching for a yellow dress with red poppies on it, then taking hold of plain white fabric. He totally didn't even look, because he knew where everything was, which meant I was to live the rest of my life with a neat freak. Why I hadn't realized this before was beyond me.

Then he was beside me, sliding his hand between my thigh and the baby's head. He asked, “Do you know how to fold a diaper?”

The unexpected contact had taken my thoughts elsewhere. Mouth too dry to answer, I just shook my head.

“Watch.”

So, I watched as this guy who had probably saved my life, my magic, my career, and reputation, all at least once if not more, took this tiny baby which I didn't even know how to look at, and he laid her on the cloth and made a diaper out of a square of white cotton and a pin. When she blew milky froth at him, he carefully dabbed it with the corner of the cloth, then set to dressing her, talking to me the whole while in a soft, crooning tone meant for her.

“How do you know all of this?” I asked when she was dressed in the poppy dress, interrupting his explanation of how to use a swaddling blanket.

Mordon chuckled, climbing to his feet with the baby in his arms, bouncing her gently. “How do I know this, she asks? How indeed, little one, since I don't have any babes of my own.” He kissed the baby on her forehead. She blinked and screwed up her face, eyes unfocused, looking concerned about the strange man holding her. “Remember, I told you that I was required to perform every station in the colony. I spent a considerable amount of time in the nursery, and in the infirmary.”