The Magician's Dream (Oona Crate Mystery: book 3) (13 page)

***

Oona and Adler said their good-byes outside the park gate, where he departed with his sister and Madame Iree. Oona looked all around the cluster of chattering pedestrians for any sign of Mrs. Carlyle, but the maid was nowhere to be seen.

“She is probably halfway back to Pendulum House,” Samuligan said when Oona inquired if he had seen the maid. He sat atop the carriage in the driver’s seat and pointed up the street, his mouth curving into an amused smirk. “I saw her heading north for safety, along with all those other panicking people.”

Oona opened her mouth to admonish the faerie for finding humor in the chaos and hysteria, but in that instant someone bumped into her and she staggered into the carriage wheel. Deacon cawed from her shoulder.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” said a voice, and Oona turned to discover none other than Molly Morgana Moon standing before her and extending a hand. “Please excuse me. I’m a bit shaken from . . . from . . .”

Oona took the woman’s hand and straightened. “No need to explain. We were there. We saw it all happen.”

Molly Morgana Moon’s eyes—which at first had appeared quite dazed—seemed to come into sharp focus on Oona’s face. “I know who you are. You are Oona Crate, the Wizard’s apprentice.” She looked to the Wizard, who stood to Oona’s right. “Alexander. My goodness, it’s been years.”

The Wizard gave a slight bow. “Too many, Molly.”

She turned back to Oona and smiled. “I knew your mother.”

“You did?” Oona asked, surprised. She stared into Mrs. Moon’s face, feeling quite in awe. Here, standing before her, was a woman she greatly admired. A woman who was brave enough to do what no other woman before her had attempted to do: run for political office on Dark Street. The knowledge that she was an acquaintance of Oona’s mother was bittersweet to say the least.

“I did, indeed,” Molly Morgana Moon said. “Octavia and I went to school together at the Academy of Fine Young Ladies, and years later we worked together to gain the right for women to vote here on Dark Street. You know, I always wondered if it would be she who one day ran for office . . . but alas, that was not meant to be.” She sighed, looking momentarily lost in memory.

Oona opened and closed her mouth, unsure of how to respond. She fidgeted awkwardly with the sleeve of her dress.

Molly Morgana Moon’s eyes once more seemed to focus on Oona, and she took in a sharp breath as if she only just realized what she had said. “Oh, my dear . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

“It’s all right,” Oona quickly lied, and then, looking for a way to change the subject, she boldly brushed at a spot of dirt on the front of Mrs. Moon’s dress.

“Oh, look at that,” Molly Morgana Moon said, and then looked around. She caught the eye of her husband, who stood nearby, clearly on the lookout for more trouble. She turned back to Oona. “What a tragic outcome. I would say I’m happy you came, but . . .” She gestured toward the iron bars of the park, through which could be seen the tumbled remains of the stage. “I might say that an anti-demonstration was to be expected . . . but I—we—did not expect such violence.” She frowned. “And no sign of the police to do anything about it.”

“Does that surprise you?” the Wizard asked.

Mrs. Moon shook her head. “Sadly, no. There are not enough constables to cover thirteen miles of street, and that nincompoop Inspector White is good for nothing. All those men should be arrested, but not one of them will be caught.” She paused a moment, peering toward the far end of the park. “Did you do that, Alexander?”

She pointed toward the wall of ice in the distance. Most of the men who had attacked the rally were already gone, and the wall was now beginning to melt in the warm sunlight.

“I did,” said the Wizard. “Along with Oona. It was she who cushioned your fall from the collapsing stage with a brilliant bit of spell work that I myself did not think fast enough to attempt.”

Mrs. Moon’s face seemed to light up as she looked directly into Oona’s large green eyes. She was not a tall woman, only an inch or so taller than Oona, but her presence was extraordinary.

“So, I have you to thank for that, do I? I was wondering why we managed to keep on our feet after being thrown so forcefully. What a remarkable young woman you are.”

Oona’s face reddened. “Why do you think those men attacked like they did?”

Molly Morgana Moon’s expression hardened. “It was my rival, Tobias Fink—I’m sure of it. I saw some of the men carrying his campaign signs. He likely gave them cash.”

“Cash from Red Martin,” Oona said.

Mrs. Moon looked surprised but then began to nod. “Yes, you would know about Red Martin from your father. He would have spoken about him.”

Oona nodded, though she did not add that she herself had come face-to-face with Red Martin on several occasions.

“That was some display you put up,” the Wizard said. “Must have cost a pretty penny.”

Oona looked at her uncle in surprise. Talking of money was something he rarely did.

Mrs. Moon’s husband, John David, suddenly stepped forward, looking highly offended. “I hope, Alexander, that you are not implying that we have been taking money from the likes of Red Martin!”

The Wizard spread his hands in front of him. “I meant nothing of the sort. I was merely stating what a shame it was to have all been for nothing.”

“Yes, well, that’s the price of politics!” Mr. Moon said harshly, and then turned to his wife. “Come, Molly. We should get you home.”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Moon said, and then, leaning toward Oona, she whispered in her ear. “Don’t mind him. He’s just upset at the loss. But we won’t let this little setback stop us. In fact, I feel even more determined than ever to crack down on crime.” Straightening up again, she extended her hand to Oona, and the two of them shook. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Oona. You remind me a bit of your mother. I hope that I’ll see you again, and that you’ll continue to give your support. Oh, and thank you again for saving all of our necks. Really, both of you.”

And with that, the couple made their way to their carriage and were off, leaving Oona with a feeling of excitement and perplexity all at the same time.

“Come, Oona,” said the Wizard. “We should be off ourselves. We have a battle test to prepare for.”

The Third Test

“Hello, Mrs. Carlyle,” Oona said as she and Deacon entered the Pendulum House library. “I was afraid you might have been injured in the riot. Are you quite all right?”

They found the maid busily dusting one of the tree-branch bookshelves in the forest of books.

“Oh, hello, Miss Crate,” she said. “Yes, I’m fine. Quite a nasty bit of business that was back there at the park. I thought we were all done for. I’m sorry you had to see it . . . but that’s what we’re up against. Better get used to it, if you’re going to fight for women’s rights. Got to stand our ground, we do.”

“Is that why you ran all the way back here?” Deacon asked from Oona’s shoulder.

“Deacon!” Oona snapped. “There’s no need to be rude.”

Deacon looked abashed. “I . . . I’m sorry, Mrs. Carlyle. I did not mean to cause offense. It’s just that . . . well, you spoke of taking a stand—”

“But I ran for my life,” Mrs. Carlyle said. She nodded understandingly.

“Sorry,” Oona said. “Deacon can be a bit literal at times.”

“Hmm!” Deacon intoned, and now it was he who sounded offended.

“No, no. It’s all right,” Mrs. Carlyle said, and Oona could see her cheeks flush pink. “He’s right. I did run, just like everyone else. I didn’t see any sense in my getting my head cracked open by one of those thug’s clubs. And when I talk of taking a stand, I don’t necessarily mean physically. Of course, those men were three times as big as me, with clubs and glass bottles. They might be stronger here . . .” She pointed to her arm. “But not necessarily stronger here . . .” She pointed to her head. “It’s too bad you didn’t get to hear Molly Morgana Moon speak today, because she exemplifies just what it means to fight without fists.”

“I just met her,” Oona said.

“Did you now?” Mrs. Carlyle said wonderingly. “Never have, myself. But I’ve been a supporter from the get-go.”

“Uncle Alexander seems to know her from years ago,” Oona said. “Apparently, she and my mother were friends.”

“Well, isn’t that something,” Mrs. Carlyle said earnestly. “Speaking of your uncle, is he all right, too? I saw that bit of magic you two performed just before I turned and ran. I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s fine. I just left him and Samuligan in the entryway.”

Mrs. Carlyle glanced around suspiciously.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Oona said. “Samuligan isn’t here. He disappeared as soon as we entered the house. Most likely preparing for my next battle test.”

This news did not seem to appease Mrs. Carlyle, who continued to look nervously around.

“The test is to take place in the front gardens,” Deacon said in a clear attempt to settle the maid’s nerves.

Oona furrowed her brow. “I meant to ask him to help me find a book on the battle tests so that I might prepare as well, but he disappeared before I could do so . . . and now he doesn’t respond to my calling him.”

Deacon adjusted his position on her shoulder. “How convenient.”

“Precisely,” Oona said. “He doesn’t want to give me any advantage.”

“Well, that’s not very gentlemanly,” said Mrs. Carlyle.

“Samuligan isn’t really a gentleman,” Oona said.

“I should say not,” said the maid, and then, with a twinkle in her eye, she added: “But speaking of gentlemen, that young Mr. Iree is quite the catch.”

“You think so?” Oona asked brightly.

Deacon cawed his disapproval. “Come now. Let’s see if we can’t find a book in here that will give you a hint of what to expect for this third battle test.”

Oona peered around the forest of books and began to shake her head. “Good luck finding anything in here without Samuligan’s help.”

“Don’t you know of any spell that might locate the book you want?” Deacon asked.

Oona considered this. She did not know offhand of any spell that would do the trick, especially since she didn’t even know the name of the book they were looking for. But all at once an idea came to her.

“Perhaps I do know a spell,” she said, though it was not specifically a spell that was used to find things.

“Well, it must be worth a shot,” Deacon said.

Oona thought of the words she had recited yesterday in the park: the spell that would connect her own magic with the magic of the house. The thought of doing the spell without the Wizard made her nervous, but she had a feeling she would be able to do it all the same.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she uttered:
“Profundus magicus
.
”

And just like that, she was plugged in. The house’s magic filled her up like warm water, and she knew what she needed to do. She concentrated on her desire: a book containing information on the battle tests.

She snapped her fingers and the sound was like cannon fire. Deacon was startled from her shoulder and Mrs. Carlyle dropped her feather duster, but Oona hardly noticed these things. Her gaze narrowed in on the large book that presently slid out from one of the knottier oaks near the swamp. It hovered off the shelf and then shot across the room straight into Oona’s hands.

“Look out!” Deacon shouted, as it seemed the book was moving too fast.

Oona did not so much as wobble as she caught the massive volume and then turned to set the book on top of a table. The words
Apprenticeship Magica
were embossed upon its dark leathery cover, barely legible to the eye. Oona waved her hand over the cover, and the book opened to the exact page she desired.

The instant she found the page, Oona could feel the extra magic disconnect, as if the house had done its duty and now retreated of its own accord.

“Extraordinary,” she said, marveling at the house’s intelligence even more than its powers.

“Rather,” Deacon said excitedly as he landed upon the book and began scanning the open pages. “This is exactly what we were looking for. You found it.”

“The house found it,” Oona corrected, and then thought:
Now, let’s just hope it’s helpful.

***

One hour later, Oona stood in the front garden along with her uncle and Samuligan. Deacon stood resolutely upon the ironwork fence that surrounded the extensive grounds. He seemed more confident today than he had before the previous tests, and Oona guessed that it was because of what they had read in the book. Deacon put a lot of stock in what was found in books. Perhaps too much.

Oona wasn’t so confident. The book had not given her any information to feel confident about.

She recalled Deacon reading the book entry aloud in the library: “The third battle test given to the Wizard’s apprentice shall take him or her deeper into the world of magic than they have ever traveled before. The apprentice will enter into it wholly and from there must find their way back.”

Oona had nodded. “Yes, go on.”

Deacon shook his head. “I’m afraid there is nothing more to read.”

Oona’s mouth had flattened into an incredulous line. “Well, that isn’t very helpful.”

Deacon had seemed to think that it was quite helpful, explaining that it at least told her what to expect. But Oona had plopped down in a chair feeling quite disappointed. Deacon may have found it helpful, but he was not the one who was going to be tested. The entry had been exceedingly vague, and now, an hour later, she felt more anxious than ever.

Peering around at the chaos of the front garden, Oona began to wonder what the book had meant by: “The apprentice will enter into it wholly and from there must find their way back.”

The overgrown plants loomed all around her, shading her partially from the sun. At her feet, thick strings of thorny vines and blankets of dry leaves covered the dark earth. The front yard was not a place she regularly visited, save for venturing to and from the front gates.

Unlike the inner garden, which existed within the walled courtyard inside Pendulum House, magical plants did not inhabit the front garden. Here the plant life was of a nonenchanted variety, and yet, to Oona, the overgrown oak trees and thorn-filled blackberry bushes had always seemed more ominous than any of the enchanted plants in the inner courtyard. And though the Wizard sometimes trimmed his rosebushes, the rest of the garden had not been tended in a very long time.

Her uncle shook his sleeves back from his wrists. “Today we will test your ability to tell illusion from reality. It is a skill that will come in handy if you should ever find yourself facing the likes of a faerie warrior.”

He gestured toward Samuligan, who gave a tip of his hat.

“Sometimes,” the Wizard said, “an illusion can seem more real than reality itself.”

Oona frowned at this. She did not like the idea of something that was not real appearing to be more real than something that was.

To her further confusion, Samuligan grinned at her and added: “And, of course, in the end, the illusion is a part of reality; otherwise, you would not be able to experience it.”

The Wizard shook his head. “Now, now, Samuligan, you’re only going to confuse her.”

Samuligan stood up straight and clicked the heels of his boots together. “I thought that was my job.”

“I . . . oh, yes . . . so it is,” the Wizard said, and shrugged apologetically at Oona. “Whatever you do, just don’t panic.”

“Panic?” Oona said, already feeling a bit panicky. “Why would I panic?”

Uncle Alexander placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Just keep your head. Your job is to find your way back here, to me, in the garden. Back to where you are now. Remember that. Link with the house’s magic. It will guide you, but you must trust the magic . . . not Samuligan’s illusion. Remember, just find your way back to me, in the garden.”

Oona shook her head, quite confused. “But why? Where am I going?”

Samuligan all at once raised his hands above his head and said: “To Faerie!”

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the garden was gone, and so was the house, and so were the Wizard and Deacon. Only she and Samuligan remained.

The two of them stood facing each other in some kind of large stone entrance hall, like the entrance to a castle. To her left, an enormous set of double doors rose to meet the high ceiling. Two sets of thick beams set in metal brackets barred the doors shut.

To her right, a short stone stair case led up to another set of doors, these much smaller than the ones to her left. Though the doors at the top of the stairs were closed, Oona did not get the impression that they were locked. She did not know how she knew this, but she did.

As if to prove her correct, the doors to the right swung open and the sound of murmuring voices spilled through. A tall man in a black evening jacket stepped across the threshold. He held a tall metal staff in his right hand, and when he banged it against the floor, the sound was like an enormous church bell had been rung.

It was then that Oona noticed the figure’s pointed ears, which were like Samuligan’s. This was no man, but a faerie. Oona’s mouth fell open as she looked from the faerie with the staff to Samuligan and back again. It was astonishing. Samuligan the Fay was the only faerie Oona had ever seen. Indeed, he was supposedly the only living faerie this side of the Glass Gates . . . unless . . .

Oona’s brow furrowed. Was it possible—truly possible—that Samuligan had actually transported them to the Land of Faerie?

No, it’s an illusion
, Oona told herself, and yet, despite the thought, she did not believe it. What she believed was what she saw.

“The queen will see you,” the faerie with the staff announced.

“The queen?” Oona asked.

Much as Samuligan had done in the garden, the faerie clicked his heels together and said: “All hail the all mighty Queen Mimm the Second, Absolute Ruler of Faerie. You may enter.”

Oona’s mouth went dry. She tried to swallow, but found it momentarily impossible.

It’s an illusion
, she told herself, but once again she did not believe it.

“After you,” Samuligan said, and for once he was not wearing his sly smile; instead, he showed an expression of utmost seriousness. It made Oona feel even more nervous than she already did.

Samuligan extended his hand toward the open door, and the two of them began to make their way up the stairs to be received by the queen.

***

The room was like no other Oona had ever been in. The ceiling soared high above and seemed to be made entirely of light. Enormous stone pillars supported the roof, and yet the stone seemed to glow, casting iridescent light upon the walls, walls that moved like water. Oona could see thousands of sparkling beings swimming within the walls, like tiny underwater pixies.

As Oona and Samuligan made their entrance, she became aware of other faeries in the room . . . and yet all Oona could see of them were their hands and their heads. It was both peculiar and startling to behold.

Catching sight of Oona’s startled expression, Samuligan leaned down and whispered: “Invisible clothing. It was the height of fashion some five hundred years ago in the Faerie Royal Court. Many of these courtiers have very little to do. They are a lazy bunch of faeries, and they have grown quite fat. So they wear clothes that make their bodies invisible to hide their excessive weight.”