Chapter 19 #2
“This place has had the odd occupant,” Jeff muses. “I remember, thirty-five years ago, a fellow named Jonathan. Nice bloke. Shame what happened to his family.” He shakes his head; the weight of old grief settles between us like mist. “Shifters,” he mutters. “They can be violent.”
He tells the tale—still local legend—of a rogue pack that attacked Jonathan’s family during an early border dispute in the north. Jonathan survived, badly injured.
What Jeff does not know is that I helped him, and he stayed here until the trial. The Alpha Prime—head of the shifters—ensured such violence never recurred, though rogue elements remain. This is one reason the shifter border controls are so tight.
A beat of silence follows.
“If you need anything, I’m up the road, the house with the green door,” Jeff says.
It is roughly three miles away. Time and the sector border have left the chapel utterly remote. Once, a thriving village clustered around it, but those same changes scattered its people, leaving the sanctuary abandoned.
“Thank you.”
He rubs his palms together. “Well, I’d best get on. Grass doesn’t stop growing.”
“Lovely to meet you, Jeff. I have adjusted the ward, so you have your full access again.”
He nods warmly and heads off, Frank trotting at his heels.
Back inside, I order the essentials—food and clothes—then curl up on the sofa in the living room. Light filters through the stained-glass windows, casting soft colours across the floor and far wall: pale blues and bruised reds, shifting as the sun moves. The house is quiet around me.
I let my thoughts drift.
I need to check on the Ministry and the paper mages to make sure Knox is not about to do something reckless.
My first impression of him is that he is a good man, but you can never be too careful.
People lie. They lie all the time, and often they lie most convincingly when they think they are being kind.
I expect using magic again to feel difficult—different from when I was House—but I am surprised to find the very same filaments still there, waiting.
They prickle at the edges of my senses like fine threads.
I also realise I have been using technomancer magic without thinking.
Everything I learnt as House is intact. My magic is not as wild or boundless, yet it is mine—still present, still powerful.
I frown, very powerful. The ley line and sleep must have really given me a boost.
I focus on the Ministry first. Lander has been busy dealing with Fred, but she and Baylor are safe for now, so I let her go. I do what I always do: I distance myself emotionally, knowing people are only ever temporary.
Then I remember that I am now temporary, too.
I glance at my human hands and smile, flexing my fingers as if to reassure myself they are real.
Beryl will return when she is ready; I do not reach out—not yet. Surprise: I’m no longer a house; I am human. I need time to make sense of everything that has happened before I try to explain it to anyone else. Besides, she has a mission; she does not need my interference.
Truthfully, I do not want anyone to care for me right now. Rescuing people has been my unofficial pastime, my purpose, but at the moment I need to be alone—selfish, quiet, unobserved.
The Ministry’s activity is steady. Nothing urgent, yet one name unsettles me: Samuel, the man with the glasses, one of Meredith’s cronies. He has been discussing me in his correspondence, describing my display of magic with far too much interest.
I make a note to watch him. Nothing dangerous yet, but it is always the quiet ones who keep their knives sharp.
Next, the paper mages. I locate their island; it is warded, well defended. Their protections impress me. It takes fifteen minutes to thread my way through their magical defences—delicate, precise, beautifully made, like lace spun from intent—but not a problem.
I scan their correspondence. My filaments divide effortlessly, gliding through their systems. I can no longer split myself from this body and travel with them as I once did, yet the magic remains effective.
They have begun investigating my past, but they have not got far. You would need to dig back almost two centuries to find anything. Good luck with that. Still, there is nothing concerning; so far, my instincts seem correct—they appear to be good people.
On impulse, I send Knox a quick magic note to say I am safe and well. Opening a line of communication seems prudent.
Then I head to the reading nook and pull a book from the shelf. Real paper pages—no scanning, no magical database in my mind—just ink and paper. I breathe in the scent of the pages as I sink into a chair and read all afternoon, losing myself in someone else’s problems for a few blessed hours.
Later, my ward pings.
The deliveries.
I collect the bags, tip the driver generously, unpack, cook a simple dinner, and return to my book.
Afterwards, I shower instead of bathing. The water is the perfect temperature. No Harper lobster. I am growing used to this body. Tomorrow, I promise, I will exercise again.
Before bed, I check on Samuel one last time.
He knows I did not go to the paper mages’ island. Meredith’s people have eyes on them, and when I failed to step out of the car, they combed the surveillance footage. They traced my journey through the Magic Sector, straight to the chapel.
They plan to collect me. Not tomorrow or the next day, but in two and a half days. The coven is still exhausted from fighting me; they will need those extra days to recover.
That gives me a solid sixty hours to prepare.
How thoughtful of them.
I will need evidence to prove I am simply an innocent party defending myself, because I will not go quietly.
I have been avoiding—even fleeing—the Ministry of Magic for one hundred and ten years, and I will not let it dictate my life now that I am human and have rights.
I watched those very rights take shape over decades, fought for in committees and courtrooms and quiet rebellions. I will use them to protect myself.
I immediately order high-quality cameras to be installed around the grounds, capable of recording magical activity.
I will ensure everything is in place: the cameras rolling, the wards ready, the angles covered.
If Meredith wants to bring a raid to my doorstep, they can do it under excellent lighting.
If a battle breaks out, we might as well capture it in full high definition.
If I am careful, Meredith is the one who will end up in a cell, locked away in some maximum-security prison, and so will Samuel and anyone else who helps her.
Is it wrong that part of me is excited? My fingers itch, hungry for sigils, runes and ink.
At last, I get to stretch my magic.