45. It’s Not the Plant’s Fault #3
She didn’t answer. “So that’s your plan, then? Steal from the magical community in order to synthesize products for the Ordinary masses?”
Cormac was nodding along enthusiastically, as if she were praising him. He seemed utterly unaware that she was horrified.
“Yes! Yes, Maida. I’m so glad you get it.”
“I don’t get it, Cormac. You’re not saving lives. You’re destroying valuable and important items to make stickers and candies that make women look prettier and men feel smarter. There’s not an endless supply of the resources that you’re using.”
“Exactly!” He gazed at her with so much pride it chilled her.
He gestured at the suitcase full of looted treasure.
“This stuff is helpful, don’t get me wrong, but it’s finite.
Eventually I’m going to run out of gadgets, gizmos, and grimoires.
What I really need is a magic generator.
Someone who can manifest something from nothing. ”
He started stepping towards her as he spoke, holding out his free hand, making his intentions and the invitation clear. As he stepped, new vines sprung up from the ground and spiraled around his limbs, creating the impression of a tree walking.
“I don’t want to do battle with you, Maida. In fact, that’s the furthest thing from my mind. I want us to?—”
A whirring sound interrupted Cormac. There was a buzzing of bees and then the brightness of oblivion as a portal began to materialize the wall opposite the display case.
Maida turned away from Cormac just long enough to see the way the center of the opening melted and the outer edges turned to static.
She saw a hand. Then an arm, clothed in colorful brocade.
Someone was trying to come through, but the appendage wasn’t quite solid.
The colors were off, like an overexposed film negative.
“Will!” she cried out.
“Mayday! You gotta get out of there. It’s not safe. That man, he’s?—”
She could hear Will’s voice and she could see his arm flailing, but it was like he was trying to reach the room from too great a distance.
The more he struggled, the farther back he shrank.
Cormac aimed his wand at the portal and the opening grew smaller.
The vines circled the edges of the opening, weaving in and out of the fabric of ether, stitching it up and gathering it like a drawstring purse.
Maida reached towards Will, holding out both her arms.
“Let him go, Maida. We don’t need a porter. And if we do, you can just make another,” Cormac said.
“It doesn’t work like that!” she snapped, turning back to face him.
“Then show me. Show me how it works.” Cormac lowered his wand.
The stitches went slack and for a moment allowed her to glimpse Will’s faded face.
He looked utterly bereft. “I can’t take you with me, Mayday.
I’m not sure I even have the energy to get back,” he shouted.
But his words came through as a flicker and a whisper.
She thought about Will’s helplessness and how he must feel. The sadness nearly overwhelmed her.
“What a pity,” Cormac said, without pity. “There’s nothing to be done though, is there?” He used his wand to scratch his head.
“Come thru, Will!” Maida cried. “Please, Will. You can do it. I believe in you.” She clutched her locket, wishing she could save him, do something, anything, to help her friend.
Lucretia grunted loudly and tipped her chin towards the floor. Maida stared down at her own feet and saw the goblet. She picked it up and threw it at Cormac’s face. He caught it easily, though, and laughed.
“I’m still waiting, Maida. Show me what you can do to save your friend.”
She clutched her locket, praying for a miracle.
There was another flicker of light, movement of some sort from the display cabinet, like the flash of a mirror sending a signal from a mountaintop.
Maida could hardly believe her eyes, but a child’s hand mirror was moving around inside the display case.
She could only conclude that it was an enchanted mirror that had somehow sprung to life.
It positioned itself to face Cormac. He caught a glimpse of himself, but quickly turned away, refusing to look.
“You think I don’t know what I am?!” Cormac flicked his wand at the mirror, breaking the glass. “It doesn’t matter what you show me. You cannot trap me. I have the power to be anyone I want to be. And so will everyone, someday.”
“Maida!” Will called. The buzzing sound was back and the portal was shrinking again, this time without Cormac’s help. She knew they wouldn’t have long.
“I love you, Mayday,” Will called. She could feel his very essence, reaching out to her from the oblivion.
I love you too, Will Porter.
Maida held Will close in her heart as she fiddled with the locket’s clasp. Then she popped it open, set her intention and whispered the magic word she prayed would save him.
“Gearheart.”
The portal contracted and vanished with a pop. Only a haze remained, and this too faded quickly.
Surreptitiously, while Cormac was still distracted by the mirror, she snapped the locket shut in her hand.