Chapter 23 #2
“Once again, I’m telling the truth,” she ground out.
“I know that,” CZ replied. “Abel knows that. But if a random witch on the street told you New York was occasionally talking to them, you’d do absolutely nothing with that information and probably see if you could call them some help.
This is the sort of thing you tell a friend, and they whisper it to another friend, half joking, and thus superstitions and fairy tales are born over time. ”
“You have to stop before I burst with pride,” Abel said, eyes alight. “You should audit one of my classes.”
Joan handed CZ the table leg. “Help me attach this. Okay, so what do I do? I assume it’s talking to me because of the magic cycling I’m doing, but is it dangerous? Am I about to be lured into a bargain with an eldritch god that damns my soul?”
“Is it asking you for anything?” Abel asked.
“No, if anything, it helped me.”
“Next time you talk to it, maybe ask it why,” Abel said. “Then report back to me so I can publish a paper.”
“It’s that simple?”
Abel shrugged. “Myth is a squishy thing. It seems to me like you’re not doing anything to magic, you’re just channeling it in such high quantity, and so rapidly, that you’re establishing a mental connection. You’re not hurting it, and it’s not hurting you. Can you do it right now?”
“I can try,” Joan said. “But I have to concentrate.”
Joan had closed her eyes and settled her breath—and told CZ to stop crinkling the instructions so loudly—ready to put on the performance of a lifetime, when Mik called.
CZ dove for her buzzing phone at the same time she did, but Joan came out on top.
“What happened!” she screamed into the phone at Mik. “Can we come back?”
“That is so loud, oh my god, Joan,” Mik grouched over the line. “Don’t yell at me. Everyone’s being so crabby here. Fiona didn’t show.”
CZ grabbed the Allen wrench to throw out the open window, and Joan grabbed his fist to stop him. “What do you mean, she didn’t show?” Joan asked, the dreams of the last two hours dying slow deaths. They were so close. “She told Grace she’d be there.”
“Then she ghosted,” Mik said. “You guys can head back, they’re restrategizing. It’s very intimidating, actually. Wren is like an evil mastermind, and Astoria can back up every one of her diabolical plans.”
“I am not evil!” Wren yelled very faintly in the background.
“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Joan said, gesturing furiously at CZ. “Be there in an hour, max.”
Abel was already straightening. “I should head back to Queens anyways,” he said.
“Mom’s already grumbling about CZ’s attention being split.
Keep me updated on Fiona, and I’ll keep an eye out for her too.
And the magical New York thing, Joan. I’m really serious about the paper. You could make my career. No pressure.”
He left, and Joan and CZ surveyed the mess they’d made of Grace’s floor.
“Figure it out later?” Joan offered, nudging a screw with her leg and watching it roll gently across the floor.
“Figure it out later,” CZ confirmed, and they scrambled for the door.
They were almost out of Brooklyn when CZ’s mom started calling him.
“She’s going to ground me,” he grumbled, letting the call ring and then checking his texts. It was incredible the calls were even going through on subway reception. “She wants me home. She probably heard Abel left Queens to see me and it reminded her that I should come home more often.”
At least your mom cares enough to call. Joan bit her tongue to keep her first words in. They weren’t children anymore. Even if Joan knew exactly what CZ meant by she’s going to ground me. “Go home,” Joan said. “Come back to the hotel when you can. We won’t make any decisions without you.”
The phone lit up again, and the train pulled into York Street. Joan nudged him with an elbow. “Go, your family needs you.”
CZ’s foot tapped. He let out a little groan, leaned over, and kissed the top of Joan’s head. “I’ll make it fast.” He rose and slipped out the door at the last second, picking up his phone with a “hi, Mama, I’m on my way.”
That had always been the difference between them, despite both having demanding families—CZ’s actually wanted him around.
Joan rode the train in silence to the 7th Avenue Station and got off, orienting herself toward the hotel with ease.
She felt CZ’s absence like a cold void. His warmth had been keeping back the dark press of her thoughts all afternoon.
Being back in Manhattan made her uneasy, like at any moment her aunt might pop out of a bush and have her dragged away.
That was ridiculous. Right? She wasn’t being hunted, not at all. They’d just… let her go.
How could that be such a relief and such a disappointment at the same time?
When they got their answers out of Fiona, either destroyed or finished the spell, and put this whole thing to rest, perhaps then her family would publicly disown her for her role in it all. Only once Joan had done something worth noticing.
The streets were busy, and Joan felt beautifully surrounded by people. It was what she loved about this city—it always felt like it was holding you. It was wonderful and shocking and maybe only a touch creepy to know it really was holding her. That it really was alive.
Joan reached for magic, pushing past the lingering fatigue that plagued her and trying to focus in, a trickle of magic snaking into her as she walked the block and a half to the hotel.
Talk to me, she thought at magic, at New York. Why me?
When there was silence, she pulled in more magic, squeezing her palms into fists, digging her nails into her palms. The entrance to the hotel was within sight. More, more.
Something began the slow swing of its head, directing its attention at her.
A clatter behind her broke her concentration. Someone had dropped their phone and was picking it off the ground, cursing to themself. Joan’s nerves jumped and snapped, frustrated as she lost her concentration. She had been so close.
Joan swung around.
And walked straight into someone.
She opened her mouth, got halfway through her sentence. “I’m so sorry—” she exclaimed as the person bounced back, orange-brown hair spilling from beneath a ball cap.
It took her half a second to place the hair, even as large sunglasses obscured the face.
Joan stared Fiona Ganon down on the sidewalk, feet from the hotel entrance.
Fiona’s expression was grim. “Nothing personal,” she said, “I just couldn’t waste an opportunity,” and moving faster than Joan could react, she flicked her hands, fingertips trailing magic, and slapped a palm across Joan’s mouth.
No, Joan had time to think as magic slithered down her throat and wrapped around her lungs. The effect was nearly instantaneous: The world tilted sideways. She slumped into Fiona’s arms, limbs paralyzed, as Fiona cradled the back of her head, like they were old friends engaging in a loving embrace.
CZ, Joan thought distantly.
Her eyes rolled back in her head.