Chapter 42
They waited four days for the mysterious woman who could repair broken magic to present herself. Ambrose wasn’t even sure if she was alive when he proposed their plan B option.
Mal had begun to doubt her existence, but Maeve assured him her father did not entertain fantasy.
They sat at a dusty table on the bottom floor of the Cabin, drinking what Maeve considered a disgrace to the good name of tea after their dinner.
The Innkeeper set down a fourth cup of tea before her, with a hopeful look as he gestured for Maeve to try it. Maeve pretended it was perfect. After The Innkeeper shuffled back to the kitchen happily, she pushed it away.
“Just tell him you don’t like it,” said Mal, not looking up from his book.
“I did,” she said incredulously, gesturing around them. “Three times.”
The door to the Inn creaked open slowly, and a tall woman with long black hair stepped through the threshold. She was covered in dark tattoos and colorful piercings. Well-dressed, with lavish jewelry hanging from her neck and running along her fingers.
The woman made her way straight to Maeve and Mal and took a seat at the table. Hey eyes were rimmed with dark makeup.
“I am Ismail, young travelers,” she spoke with a sensually thick, regional accent, like the Innkeeper. “You travel with something broken that was once strong. Are you in need of mending it?”
Maeve was so surprised, so enthralled by her ability to know such a secret, she didn’t see Mal’s face turn cold.
“How did you find us?” Asked Mal, suspicion dripping from his voice.
“Don’t fret, young wizard,” said Ismail with a smile. “I am drawn to the broken magic in your pocket.”
“That’s amazing,” said Maeve.
Ismail gave her a smile and a nod.
Mal was still not entirely convinced. He didn’t take his cold eyes off Ismail.
“Are you in need of my services?” Asked Ismail, looking directly at Mal.
He contemplated for a moment.
He nodded.
“Come with me,” she said, standing.
They did as she asked and followed her out of the Inn, pulling up the hoods to their traveling cloaks. She led them around the corner to a shadowed alleyway, and they passed a plethora of homeless Humans living in makeshift houses in the back alleys.
Ismail turned down another completely vacant alley. She held out her hand silently. Maeve and Mal took her hand, and they Obscured with a faint SNAP.
Maeve’s stomach flipped, and they twisted quickly to another alley. Ismail turned and pushed open a small iron gate, leading them along a brick pathway until they reached a small house.
Mal was on full alert next to her, his Magic prepared to strike at any moment.
Ismail held open the front door, extending her hand into the house.
Maeve stepped into the dimly lit room. The walls were lined with potions in all colors. There were giant vases around the room with perfumes leaking from their openings. It was clean and stylish on the inside.
Ismail discarded her coat and walked to the center of the room, to a tall, round table.
“Please,” said Ismail, gesturing to the table.
Mal stepped forward and placed the two pieces of the stone on the table. They lowered the hoods of their cloaks.
Ismail leaned over the stones, closing her eyes and inhaling loudly. She did this three times before looking up at Mal.
“I can do it.”
“How much will it cost?” Asked Maeve.
Ismail adverted her gaze to Maeve with a strange look on her face.
“How much money?” Clarified Maeve.
“Ah,” said Ismail, nodding. “To be clear, young travelers, my flat fee is one hundred rubies or two thousand gold pieces. But this magic is dark, and it will cost you more than precious stones.”
Maeve turned to Mal, who gave her a slight nod. She pulled the money from her pocket and placed a purple drawstring bag on the table.
Ismail poured the contents out and counted each piece. She smiled. She slid one chipped piece of gold to the side, separating it from the rest.
“Ambrose Sinclair sent you?” She asked with a glittering grin.
Mal’s magic whipped to attention.
Maeve laughed and sent a soothing bit of her own magic his way. “Yes. I am his daughter. You can tell that from the coin?”
Ismail picked up the chipped gold piece.
“Magical objects hold memories. Things Magicals touch hold memories. When they are damaged and broken, I can see everything.” She placed the chipped gold coin back with the rest. “This is his gold.” Her eyes flicked up to Maeve.
“I know who you are then. Why pay me when you could trick my mind into thinking whatever you want?”
Maeve thought carefully on her response then said, “how do you know I already haven’t?”
Ismail grinned at Mal. “Then that makes you The Dread Descendant. I heard a rumor you had appeared.”
“From who?”
“Not, who, young wizard. What.” She ran her fingers across the broken stone pieces.
“I’ve heard many rumors from the Magic that speaks in only whispers I can hear.
I heard rumor that the Premier’s daughter cannot enter the minds of others anymore.
Quite a disappointment to the Orator’s Office.
You were on track to be their favorite weapon.
” Ismail touched the broken stone pieces and inhaled sharply.
“Or,” her eyes flicked up, “it seems that has changed. You are no longer afraid.”
Maeve stared her down for a moment. “Have you ever?” She asked quietly.
“No, little witch, I have never been in another’s mind.”
Maeve nodded. “That’s because you aren’t capable. You have no idea what it’s like. To make you think a lie is one thing. But to alter one’s mind memory and matter is entirely another.”
“I imagine you are mighty witch to achieve such a thing. I meant no offense, small Sinclair.” She took a deep, exaggerated breath. “Let’s begin,” she said.
With a wave of her hand, the seals on the vases popped off, and colorful perfumes began quickly filling the room.
She began chanting in a language Maeve didn’t understand or recognize, taking the stones in each hand.
The witch inhaled the perfumes through her nose, extending her arms forward. She opened her eyes with a snap, and her pupils were gone, and her eyes were pure white.
“This magic is ancient,” said Ismail. Her voice had changed into something strained: deep and rough. “It will cost you three times.”
“What will it cost me?” Asked Mal.
Smoke surrounded Ismail as she placed the stones in the center of the table and inhaled the smoke again, her long tattooed fingers grazing over the stone.
“Three marks,” she said. She continued to inhale the colored smoke. She gripped the edge of the table, bending over in a contorted way.
“A mark on your soul,” she said, beginning the spell.
Damn. There was only one thing that put a mark on your soul. It wouldn’t be Mal’s first.
Ismail was chanting in another language between each direction.
“A mark on your body,” she continued.
An offering of blood. Painful, but he could handle it.
Ismail’s voice flattened out. “And a mark on something pure.”
Maeve’s breath caught in her throat.
Ismail’s hands broke away from the stones. The room grew brighter. She stood to her full height and addressed Mal.
“Do you accept?”
“A life. My blood. And. . .” Started Mal.
Ismail’s brows lifted. “Another’s innocence.
Dirty Magic,” said Ismail with a wicked look.
“And in that order. You have seven hours to complete the spell. With each cost, you must repeat the incantation ‘hoc aliquid do’ three times. Once you have completed the cost, my Magic will take hold, and what you seek will be returned to you. Do you accept?”
Mal hesitated.
“Yes,” answered Maeve. She didn’t look at him. “He does.”
Ismail’s eyes and the smoke began to turn dark.
“Go,” she said.
They left without question or pause, pulling up the hoods to their cloaks. Silently, they made their way back up the pathway to the main road.
Mal kept walking and walking.
“We aren’t going to obscure?”
“I need to think,” said Mal.
They turned down empty back alleys and back streets. They passed shops and bakeries. Each block turned darker, shabbier, and more broken. Windows boarded up with wood and covered in bars, glass shattered along the sidewalk and shops lay empty. Maeve stayed in line behind Mal. His pace was quick.
They stopped at the opening of a tight alley way. Mal pressed his palms against the faded bricks. His head hung. Three figures from the unlit gap between buildings made their way closer.
Maeve opened her mouth to assure Mal that they’d find another way, or that she could figure out a loophole to complete the Magic costs.
“Hello, princess.”
The voice came from the alley. The man’s speech was broken. Nothing like Ismail’s fluid and elevated voice.
“You look near to royalty I would say.”
All three of them laughed. They were close now. Almost in the light of the street. Maeve ignored them.
“I’ve only ever seen such a face on a girl I overpaid for.” The light hit their faces. They were older. Poorly dressed with dirty hands and ripped trench coats. He addressed Mal now. “How much for her?”
Mal was still facing the wall. “Get on.” He said with a sigh.
“I’d pay a pretty price to see what’s under that coat.”
“I said to leave,” said Mal. His voice was low and tired.
The man in the middle stepped towards Maeve.
“How about I just take her, then?”
The other two sniggered at one another. Together they pulled an assortment of second hands human weapons out.
The man’s eyes never left Maeve as he pulled a knife from his pocket, pointing it at each of them. “I’ll fuck your pretty guts out and make him watch. And then slit his throat and make you watch. And then my boys will fuck you too.”
Maeve nearly laughed.
Mal’s magic stilled. Like deep waters.
He dropped his hands and turned towards Maeve. She raised her eyebrows.
Mal turned his attention to the man. The man faltered slightly. Mal was taller, yes, but against three there was no competition to humans. Except Mal was not human. And the power of Magic could be felt by all. Even the lowest of humans.
“Apologies,” Mal said. “She’s all yours.”