46. Crossing the Divide
FORTY-SIX
CROSSING THE DIVIDE
A pure-blooded home must be vigilantly warded against magical misfortune, for there are envious folk who would seek to hex or curse us.
Be cautious when accepting unfamiliar gifts, second-hand items, or objects of unknown origin, as they may carry ill will or dark enchantments designed to undermine the purity of your household.
To recognize a cursed item, look for sudden changes in temperature, appearance, or moisture levels.
Objects may emit unsettling sounds, peculiar odors, or even reappear in places where they were not left.
If any of these signs are detected, the object should be swiftly and carefully disposed of using proper banishment spells, ensuring your home remains free from harmful influences and malicious intent.
–EXCERPT FROM THE ARCANE ELITE: UPHOLDING THE SANCTITY OF WITCH BLOODLINES
This was an unmitigated disaster.
Minerva crouched behind the goblet, gathering her courage. If only she had some elderberry wine to pour in the magical cup, she might even take a sip.
At the moment, she would have to settle for the righteous indignation that was flowing through her like an electric current. How dare this muddled Ordinary mage appropriate her heritage? What right did he have to come in here and raid the Archives? And for what? Whiter teeth and fresher breath?
She was positively crackling with outrage. Enough was enough. Someone needed to teach Cormac Vorador a lesson. He couldn’t be allowed to leave the Archives with the items he was looting. She just needed a moment to take stock, and come up with a plan.
“Cormac, stop. Please!” Maida cried out. “Aren’t you worried about the effect Nocturnaturals is having on the magical community?”
“Seriously, Maida? When has the magical community ever worried about the Ordinary community?”
Reflexively, Minerva thrust her paw into her wand pocket.
Finding it empty, yet again, her hand now sought her tail.
The entitlement of this idiot! How she’d like to teach him a lesson—both literally and figuratively.
Cormac didn’t know half of what the magical community took care of.
If it weren’t for the Society’s intervention, Ordinaries would have destroyed the entire planet several times over.
“Magic cannot be packaged like cereal,” Minerva wanted to shout.
Was everything that came out of that mage’s mouth a lie?
Nocturnaturals were all poisonous smoke and funhouse mirrors. Superficial and short-lived. Even Cormac’s claims about his horrible botanical minions were false. Synthetic magic had the effect of salting the earth. There was no way those…things…could be composted!
She stood still as a statue and glared at the vines creeping like eels as they passed by the case.
Surely there was an enchanted weed whacker hiding in one of these drawers?
Even if there were, she wouldn’t have the strength to wield it.
In the distance, she heard the chime of Papa Lathrop’s reliable mantel clock. It seemed to be speaking to her.
Bide your time…
Lucretia was starting to freak out. She looked absolutely terrified, Minerva thought, and who could blame her for that?
But although she was bound and gagged, she didn’t seem to be in mortal danger.
She was still able to breathe and grunt.
Her eyes were not covered. She risked waving at her niece, in the hopes that Lucretia might know her and find it comforting.
If a fairy could figure out who she really was, surely her own flesh and blood would recognize her?
Minerva hopped up and down. “Lucretia,” she squeaked. “It’s me! Auntie M!”
But she may as well have been invisible. Lucretia, wild-eyed and terrified, turned back to Cormac, who was ransacking yet another cabinet. This one contained a multitude of poppets and figurines. Lucretia looked on as he piled them into his seemingly bottomless case.
Minerva felt disappointed in her niece.
Watching Maida bravely arguing with this madman, however, filled Minerva’s heart with equal measures of pride and regret. She could see why the house had chosen and reached out to the girl. She should have done the same. At the very least, she should have made an attempt to get to know Maida.
She waited till Cormac’s back was turned and he was busying himself with his loot, and returned to the task of flipping the mirror over.
She lifted the mirror’s handle enough to wiggle her body beneath, lining it up with her spine.
Then she nudged her head beneath the base of the mirror.
This way, she could use her whole body to accomplish the task.
She pushed up on all fours, attempting to balance the mirror, but it slipped, crashing into the stand holding the goblet.
From there, it was a domino effect. The stand fell over, causing the goblet to topple against the glass door to the side of the case. When the door opened from the weight of the goblet, the oversized chalice toppled out and rolled across the floor.
Minerva was sure she’d been spotted. But Cormac and Maida’s attention was elsewhere. She heard the buzz of strong, incoming magic a few seconds before she saw the portal appear.
Maida and Cormac were arguing more now, and he used that obscene wand of his to try to close the portal. There was no time to waste.
Minerva got down on her belly and crawled back under the mirror, redoubling her efforts. This time she used her entire body, as well as her tail, to stabilize herself and stayed upright.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to safely set the mirror down again, with the glass side up.
Her best bet, she decided, would be to back up and lean the mirror against the back of the case.
Slowly, she spun around, teetering left and right.
She finally stopped when she and the mirror were both facing out towards the room in front of her.
This meant she was staring directly at Cormac. She was terrified that the manic mage would notice her, that he would turn that foul wand on her once again, making her feel even smaller.
But Cormac didn’t seem to notice her at all. He was too busy staring at himself.
“Do you think I don’t know what I am?” Cormac snarled at his own reflection. Then he lifted his wand and took aim at the mirror.
Minerva was blown back. She heard the sharp crack of glass breaking. The force of the blow separated her from the unwieldy mirror. She simply couldn’t hang on. The mirror toppled backwards, landing face up on the shelf.
“No!” Minerva squeaked, seeing the jagged fissure up the middle of the now-broken mirror. She fell to her knees, hovering above it for a moment before breaking all the rules to peer down into the enchanted mirror at herself.
She wasn’t quite sure if it would work. She didn’t know who or what she would see. She would have to force herself to look, though, really look. It had been decades since she’d studied her own image for more than a passing moment or two. Just long enough to make sure she had nothing in her teeth.
Grasping her tail for luck, she leaned forward and looked down.
There were two Minervas in the mirror, standing opposite each other, their heads almost touching.
Outside the case, she could still hear Maida arguing with Cormac.
“What have you done?” Maida cried.
“Nothing much. I just sealed the porthole. Don’t worry, he’ll be out of there and running around with his fairy friends in a few days.” Cormac wiggled his fingers at her, attempting to wave her feelings away.
“Don’t worry? Will’s my friend! He can’t ‘just stay in there’ for a few days!” Maida sputtered. “Nobody can survive that long in oblivion. Not even a porter.”
“It might not be that long, actually.” Cormac shrugged. “Synthetic magic is very potent but also fleeting. One of the kinks we’re still trying to work out.”
Minerva stared down at the version of herself on the left.
She looked almost exactly as she had in the mouse library.
The sight of herself as a mouse no longer shocked her.
Her light gray fur was fluffy, and she admired the fact that her delicate whiskers were fine and straight.
She recognized a wisdom in her own eyes that she didn’t think had ever been there before.
On the right side of the mirror, though, she saw her old self, almost exactly the same as she was before her home was attacked and her world was turned upside down. She was a proud witch again—a spry woman with long braids and decent eyesight, even in her old age.
Both images moved in synchronicity. When Minerva stood up straighter, both reflections did the same.
When she leaned closer, so did they. She spun to the right and the two images turned to face one another.
Both reflections acted in perfect unison with her and each other.
When she took a deep breath, they breathed. When she blinked, they blinked.
She leaned in and noticed something even more peculiar.
In the reflection on the right she was holding up her wand hand, as if to cast. But there was no wand, nothing to cast with.
In the reflection on the left she was holding her tail aloft in her wand hand, a familiar gesture that felt completely natural.
It had become more and more comfortable to her over the past few weeks.
Minerva looked away from the mirror and turned her head to study her own tail.
From the first moments of becoming a mouse, she had appreciated it for its utility.
It had helped her to balance, and made so many tasks easier.
She had used it to gain entry into the Archives and to help summon her broom.
It had comforted her occasionally too, this extra appendage that gave her an edge.
To be sure it was no thing of beauty—it didn’t sparkle or shine or radiate an ethereal beauty.
But neither had her beloved ash wand. Her wand had been small, simple and perfectly functional, like it was made for her own hand.
Synthetic magic is fleeting.
She gripped her tail tighter and pointed it at the lantern on the table close to Lucretia.
Quickly, and with her eyes shut tight, she whispered an illumination charm.
This time, the magic moved confidently through her like a warm, welcoming stream.
It washed away all fear and uncertainty, leaving understanding in its place.
Minerva didn’t even have to open her eyes to know the lantern was now lit.
She could feel the glow of her own magic radiating back at her from a distance.
She wasn’t the only one. Lucretia was staring at the glass case.
At her. Her eyes were wide with shock, confusion, and recognition. Lucretia saw her.
It felt like the first time that Minerva had been seen, truly and completely. She held a finger in front of her mouth and Lucretia nodded slightly, showing that she understood and would keep Minerva’s presence a secret.
Minerva looked back at Cormac, who was still rummaging through cabinets, packing some things and leaving others on the floor. There seemed to be no method to his madness. Many of the items he threw away were powerful. And others that he kept, were gaudy and decorative at best.
He had not noticed the lantern being lit. He’d been too busy devouring yet another Nocturnaturals bar. The wrappers lay on the floor with the discarded items.
At present, he was wrestling with a fiddle that refused to stop playing.
When his own magic failed to silence it for more than a few moments, he resorted to breaking it in half.
Still it played on. It was a fairy object.
Their charms were some of the most persistent.
Not so easy to do away with. Minerva felt a renewed appreciation of and respect for the fae folk.
Maida slipped into the chair beside Lucretia. “It’s going to be okay,” Minerva heard Maida whisper. “We’ll figure something out. We won’t let him get away with it.”
“No we won’t,” Minerva agreed. She took one last look at the mirror, and nodded at both her selves. Then she raised her tail to repair the broken mirror and watched as the two images came together quite beautifully.