Chapter 23
Lost and Found
“You alright there, Mal?” Des said, throwing a tiny ball of paper at him.
It had been nearly seven hours since Mal had abandoned his family, and he was not doing so well. Something was eating away at his stomach. He thought he’d done the right thing; it felt like the right thing at the time, but now, now he just hurt.
“I think so,” Mal said, rejoining the land of the living.
The gang was lounging around the library; they’d pushed several pieces of furniture together to form a sort of semicircular menagerie of comfort in front of the fireplace.
They were slouched and slumped upon them eating pizza, and watched as the fire crackled gently at their feet.
Mal had spent a good five minutes dealing with a confused pizza man trying to explain where he needed to go.
For some reason the Order’s secret headquarters wasn’t on his map.
While they ate, the group had been trying to figure out whether they should go to Taran’s funeral or not.
Yu was firmly against it. Hala and Des were firmly for it.
Mal had zoned out. They all agreed it felt strange being invited, especially because it had been Elaine who’d invited them.
They all agreed they should pay their respects to Taran, but none could decide on what to do about Elaine.
She had helped cover up several murders and could have prevented more had she come forward.
Taran wasn’t exactly to blame for any of his actions, but they all agreed Elaine could have done something.
Yu thought they should pay their respects after the funeral so as to not let Elaine know their intent; Hala and Des wanted to go, but for very different reasons.
Hala wanted to tell Elaine that they weren’t going to pursue her for anything she’d done, and Des wanted to tell Elaine the exact opposite and that she should expect to be wearing a purple tracksuit in her near future.
(Purple in this case because all magical UK prisons require inmates to wear purple tracksuits upon entry.
I would tell you why but you’d think I was taking the piss.
Okay, you twisted my arm, I’ll tell you.
During the fifties a specific shade of purple called “Byzantine Magenta” was scientifically deemed the most magical color.
You’d think magical scholars would have better things to do with their time, but here we are—they can’t all be Merlin.
Anyway, because magical prisoners are contained within a large dampening spell, the color is supposed to help the inhabitants feel some vestige of their lost power.
Most people also believe the garishness of the color forms a part of the punishment.)
Mal still hadn’t formed an opinion on the matter. (That being what to do about Elaine, not the color purple, of which he was a fan.)
“What do you think about all this?” Des said, nudging Mal.
“I agree,” Mal said, doing the conversational equivalent of looking at the ground while walking headfirst into a lamppost.
“Yes, but with who?” Yu said, gesturing to the group.
“With whom …” Hala whispered, taking glee in correcting them.
“All of you …” Mal said.
“You sure you’re alright?” Des said, nudging him once more.
“Sorry, let me turn my brain on. Hala is right—”
“See!” Hala said, triumphantly.
“Let me finish. If Elaine was willing to die to put this right, clearly she’s hurting. But Des is right”—Des glared triumphantly back at Hala—“that she did break the law, and guilt doesn’t mean no punishment.”
“So …” Hala said, “what do you think we should do?”
“What can we do?” Mal said. “Everything she did was part of the mess that the Order covered up. These killings are never going to be ‘officially’ solved. What can we actually do?”
“We could frame her for a similar crime?” Yu said, to an array of glares. “Okay, no framing, fair enough.”
“So your solution is …?” Des said.
“I’m not sure,” Mal said. “We should go pay our respects; he did save our lives. But maybe not at the funeral.”
“See!” Yu said.
“I don’t know, it feels wrong not going,” Hala said.
“I know,” Mal said, “but that funeral is about mourning the man those people knew, not what he became at the end.”
Mal remembered the little funeral Walters had given Kosh after everything that had happened.
Once Mal had put the skeletons back in their graves, Walters had found Kosh’s parents and buried him with them.
The others didn’t seem to understand, and Mal couldn’t blame them; Kosh had tried to kill them all.
But after the others had headed back to the car, Mal watched as Walters mourned the man Kosh had once been.
Mal admired Walters. It would’ve been easy to dismiss Mal’s theory and bury his head in the sand, but Walters saw the truth and he’d faced it head-on.
That was strength. He’d even helped them stop Kosh.
He hadn’t just lost someone he loved; he lost the version of him he knew, or at least the version he wanted Kosh to be.
Maybe this was why Mal hurt so much. He hadn’t just abandoned his parents; in walking away he’d given up all hope that they might one day be the parents he wanted them to be.
They had made his life miserable, but the sad truth was he still loved them.
He didn’t want any of this. Mal would have put up with the misery forever, but it never seemed enough for them.
They had to try and take more. More of his life, more of his pride, more of his self-esteem.
He’d done the right thing. He couldn’t put himself second anymore. Not for them. Not for people who made him feel lesser than. Not for people who made him believe he was lesser than. Mal would’ve only withered further with their roots dug in his skin.
It was a weird feeling; somehow he felt both better and worse.
He couldn’t tell if this pain had made him stronger, or if he’d finally let go of some great weight and now felt lonely without it.
He couldn’t stop thinking about everything that could have been.
How much of his life he wanted to share with them, but just couldn’t. He finally had to move on.
Mal felt a small rush of hope that felt slightly out of place.
He glanced over and saw, for the first time, that Hala’s eyes were slightly different: her irises were now a diamond instead of a circle.
He’d never noticed that before, but he’d also never really looked.
A lot of magic could be done with next to no transformation; Mal assumed it was the same for Hala’s psychothingy.
Mal gave her a look that said, “Was that you?” (For the curious, you cock your head down and to the side, then raise your eyebrows—kind of a sassy eyebrow glare.).
She simply mouthed “Sorry,” then gave him a smile that said, “I know how you’re feeling.
” (Which again, for the curious, is a muted smile to one side, using mostly the bottom lip; a consoling, funereal smile, if you will.)
“Shouldn’t you lot be doing something productive?” Walters said, ambling over. The clanking of bone filled his gait. For a second, Mal thought he saw Walters staring at the pizza.
“We are,” Yu said. “We’re relaxing.”
“And we’re keeping Mal’s mind off things,” Hala said.
“I finally left,” Mal said. Des rubbed him on the back as if he were poorly with some sort of physical ailment.
“If anyone deserves to relax, you lot do,” Walters said, leaning up against the fireplace.
“Yeah, we saved the world, we should be entitled to at least a week off,” Yu said, picking up another slice.
“Well, not quite the world,” Walters said. “Mazino probably would have conquered the region for a century or two and then been expelled. Still pretty bad. Not apocalyptic though.”
“So we saved Poland?” Mal said, brightening up slightly.
“And maybe its neighbors?” Des added.
“Not bad for our first case,” Hala said, lounging back in her chair.
“I’ve got some snacks if anyone’s hungry after pizza,” Yu said, pointing to a suitcase in the corner of the room.
“You moving in?” Walters asked.
“That’s just gingerbread in there,” Yu said, “but if there’s a room going spare, I’m not turning it down.”
“You can have the one next to Des,” Walters said, attempting a smile. “You’re all welcome to stay if you want.”
“Would help with the student loans,” Mal said, looking to Hala.
“I’m game. Any ideas on our next case?”
“I’ve got some leads on the people that sent lamp-man if anyone’s interested?” Des said.
“Do we have to call him lamp-man?” Yu said. “I’m sure he has a name.”
“Well, it’s lamp-man or knife-hand,” Mal said. “You choose.”
Yu sighed with exasperation, as the others chuckled to themselves.
“For the fifth time, it’s a stiletto, not a knife,” Yu said.
“Oh please, do explain the difference …” Des said, smirking.
Mal took in the moment. Everyone laughing, bickering, and enjoying themselves.
He couldn’t help but smile; it felt odd.
Inside he felt terrible, but this lot made him feel like things were going to be okay.
Why? Why weren’t they disgusted with him?
He’d abandoned his family earlier that very day.
What was wrong with them? Why wasn’t he more disgusted with himself?
They just seemed to accept him, and somehow that made it easier for him to accept himself.
Was it really that simple? Why did seeing himself through their eyes matter?
It was sad that he’d never felt this before.
But, if the choice was up to him, and it very much was, he’d take this lot every day of the week.
This is what family meals are supposed to be like, Mal thought. He could get used to this.