Wayward Page 12

  “You are a comfort to me. Dead flowers and animal bones don’t talk. It’s a different kind of comfort.”

  “And you have no other toys to talk to?”

  “Well. No, I don’t.” Or people.

  “So you’re attached to me?”

  Cassia reminded herself for the thousandth time that Violet was just a doll. She was asking for her affection because that’s what enchanted dolls were for. Her voice was full of hope because it had been designed into the magic, and not because it mattered what she said next.

  “In a sense, yes,” she said lightly, judging it to be a good balance between her sentimentality and her pride. Then for good measure she changed the subject. “You have a petal in your hair. Hold still a moment.”

  “Very funny.”

  Cassia brushed the petal away and rearranged Violet’s ringlets. “There. As lovely as ever.”

  For a moment, Violet made no reply. Cassia wondered if she was upset that she had deflected away from the question of caring about her. Was that even possible?

  “You promised you would fix it like yours,” she said eventually.

  “Oh.” Cassia drew up, surprised. She had told Violet she would restyle her hair, back in the junk room, but something about the doll bringing it up unsettled her. “Alright. Let’s see.”

  She pulled the doll closer and looked at her hair under the light. “Ah. The style has been glued down.”

  Violet gave a tinkling laugh. “Then use magic, silly.”

  “Magic. Right.”

  Cassia raised a hand to hover over the doll. If she cast a spell to unglue the hair, that would be simpler. Then she could style it by hand. That was a very straightforward intention. It was best not to overthink it. She summoned her magic and, with a push, channelled it through the intention: unstick.

  There was a calming, warm feeling, when magic left one’s body to set to its work. Or perhaps it was just Cassia. Perhaps it was relief that the block she suffered so often had let her be this time.

  Was this how Ollivan felt when he enchanted the music room all those years ago? Or when he had summoned every robin in a five-mile radius to the garden as a solstice gift for Alana? Or when he had thrown the voices of everyone in the house, as if they were all ventriloquists, so that a simple conversation became impossible, and any moment alone came with the risk of an unembodied voice in your ear that actually belonged to someone several rooms away—

  “Cassia, concentrate!”

  Cassia jolted back to the moment, and cut off the spell. Thoughts of Ollivan had tempered her intention with bitterness. Bitterness that had manifested as decay. Violet’s hair was unaltered, but her dress was moulded and moth-eaten, and tattered at the hem as if she had been walking through underbrush in it. The purple had faded like it had been washed too many times.

  “Well. At least your hair is the same,” said Cassia dryly.

  “Do you want to try and fix it?” chimed the doll in her blandly encouraging voice.

  “Alright. But just—”

  “Don’t move?”

  “Precisely.”

  But Cassia couldn’t get her concentration back. When she looked at Violet in her tattered dress, she couldn’t see a canvas for a magic. She only saw the way she had failed. She let her magic rise, but her intention was caught somewhere between desperation, and the fear that desperation would ruin everything again.

  She sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. “I’m sorry, Violet. I think your dress is stuck like that.”

  When Cassia lowered her hands and looked up, she couldn’t contain a gasp. Violet’s gaze had slid to the side, and she was looking past Cassia’s shoulder to the garden gate behind her.

  Cassia turned to face the gate just as a hand emerged from the darkness on the other side to clutch the bars. She leapt up in fright, knocking Violet under the bench.

  A heartbeat later, the hand’s owner materialised in the moonlight.

  “Jasper.”

  He unlatched the gate, which gave a metallic squeal as he pushed it open, and stepped through as he did every day. Only this time, he was hours and hours late.

  “Jasper – it’s the middle of the night,” she said. Her voice was pitchy and high, but she fought to calm herself.

  Not that Jasper noticed. He had crossed to the pavilion in an instant, and when the light of the lamp hit him, his features came into even clearer relief. He looked terrible, his skin tinged grey and his eyes bloodshot.

  “I wanted to see you,” he said. But it wasn’t true. Or if it was, there was more to it. Even as he smiled at her, he kept darting glances at the house. That was a first; she had never suspected lies from him before.

  Cassia folded her arms and tried not to let the sudden rush of hurt she felt at seeing him show on her face. “You could have seen me this morning. At our lesson?”

  “I couldn’t come this morning.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Cassia, I’m sorry, but—”

  “And my initiation?” That got his attention. His frown deepened with confusion, but there was wariness there too. Cassia wondered if he really didn’t know what he’d done, or if the confusion was a lie. Another one. Unbidden, something that had meant nothing to her at the time resurfaced: Ollivan had told her to stay away from him.

  “What about your initiation?”

  Cassia forced herself to meet his eye as she confronted him. “You didn’t have to vote me in,” she said. “I would have understood. I didn’t deserve it. And you didn’t vote me out, which I suppose I should appreciate given my performance. But… but you ought to have at least spoken to me afterwards. Instead you acted like we’d never met, just as everyone else here does. So excuse me for being a little surprised that we’re friends again, and that you’re here.”

  “Friends, again?” Jasper shook his head. He reached for her hands and Cassia gave them to him, as much out of surprise as anything. “Cassia, we’ve always been friends. It wasn’t what you thought. I was sad for you, after you worked so hard. I couldn’t bear to see the hurt on your face and know I couldn’t do a thing to fix it. It was selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh.” But the look on his face had been so clear. Had she misinterpreted what she’d seen? She had been so ready to assume that even Jasper would want nothing to do with her, and maybe she was being unfair. His thumb brushed in circles across her knuckles. It felt nice. “I suppose I thought that—”

  “Is he here?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your brother,” said Jasper venomously. “Is he home?”

  Cassia pulled her hands away. Jasper didn’t notice; he was looking over her shoulder at the house again. “This is about Ollivan.”

  “I knew he was going to do something like this.” He started pacing. “I knew it. I even prepared… I need to know where he is.”

  Cassia started collecting up her cuttings from the bench and rubbed her eyes tiredly, hoping he would get the hint. “Grandfather’s given him a curfew.”

  Jasper laughed bitterly. “But is he here?”

  It was a fair question, but Ollivan seemed to have finally been cowed by Jupitus’s threats over dinner. “He said he was going home. I think he took Grandfather seriously. And his light was on when I got home.” She considered Jasper’s nervous energy. There was a glint in his eye like the edge of a knife. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I don’t trust him.”

  “Nobody does, Jasper. He’s a murderer.”

  “He’s going to try something.”

  He was barely making sense, but Jasper’s bloodshot eyes and ragged appearance were a piece of the puzzle. He hadn’t been sleeping.

  “You mean… to you,” she said. Jasper’s head whipped round.

  “What has he said to you?”

  “He hasn’t said anything,” said Cassia, then realised that wasn’t true. “Actually, he… said something about you giving a testimony to Grandfather. He called you a liar. What did you say?”

  He raised an eyebrow, his expression darkening. “Why? Don’t you trust me over him?”

  It was such an absurd question that Cassia almost laughed. “Stars, of course I do. We all know you tried so hard with him. I’m just sorry that Ollivan doesn’t appreciate it.”

  Jasper grinned, and with a flash, he gripped her by the shoulders, fingers firm against her flesh. “Come to the Wending Place with me.”

  Jarred by the sudden change and the strength of his hold on her, Cassia tried to lean away. “Now? It’s gone midnight. Besides, I—”

  “I know it’s late, but I want to share something with you. A secret.”

  With a twist of her elbow, Cassia managed to extricate herself from his overenthusiastic embrace. She feared what Jasper’s secret might be, but in that moment, for reasons her mind resisted, she also feared disappointing him.

  “Can’t you tell me here?” she said.

  Jasper’s smile grew. “It’s not that kind of secret. This one, you have to see. Come on, we can sneak out through the gate.” He took her hand and tugged her closer. “I wouldn’t want to scandalise your mother.”

  His eyes met hers with a look that unequivocally invited her to scandalise her mother with him, and despite herself, Cassia entertained the idea. Maybe behaving like Ollivan was what it took to be valued like him. But not like this. She wasn’t about to use Jasper in a rebellion experiment.

  “Another time,” she said, and forced a smile.

  She regretted it instantly. The smile convinced Jasper that she could be persuaded.

  “Not another time. Now,” he said, laughing and pulling harder on her hand. “This is too good to wait.”

  Cassia stumbled, pulled off balance as she struggled against him. Some of her cuttings tumbled to the ground
. That was the end of her polite smile.

  “Stars, Jasper, I’m not going with you.” She yanked her hand free and stared him down to let him know she was serious. “I said no.”

  Jasper’s humour vanished. He was stock-still a moment, his expression as cold as ice. Unwillingly, Cassia took a step back. She didn’t want to show her fear, but something was wrong.

  “I chose you,” he said quietly. “Of all the people I could share this with, I wanted it to be you. I thought we’d grown close these last few months.” Cassia only hesitated for a second, but it was enough for Jasper. He laughed, but his usual smile was replaced with something like a sneer. “Was it all in my head? What’s been happening between us? Just tell me if it was.”

  This was what she had dreaded; Jasper telling her how she feared he truly felt. A line crossed that left their friendship behind forever. Was honesty the right thing, when it would cost the both of them so much?

  “I just need time,” she said without meeting his eyes. Stars, she was a coward.

  “Cassia, just—” He rubbed a hand over his face and groaned in frustration. “Just come to the Wending Place with me. Please.”

  “Why?”

  His reply was slow, teasing, as his wild smile crept back onto his face. She had given him hope again. “Because magic goes so far beyond what they teach us as children, Cassia. Things you couldn’t even imagine. Things I can’t describe. But if you saw it – felt it – I can’t explain why, but I know you’re struggling because you have the wrong material. You’ll take to what I want to show you, I promise. You just have to trust—”

  He cut off as his gaze caught on something behind Cassia; something low to the ground. “What’s that?” he said mildly.

  Cassia turned and followed his line of sight. She thought Violet had fallen under the bench, but she was right there in front of it, sat upright on the ground by Cassia’s legs.

  “Oh.” She dug around for an explanation that didn’t make her sound pathetic, and was slow to realise there was more at stake than looking like a child with a doll. Jasper got there at the same time.

  “Did you steal that?”

  The undisguised tone of derision in the question made Cassia wince. She opened her mouth but her mind was empty, and she could feel the flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks with every burning moment that she continued to draw a blank. Jasper’s eyes flashed as he turned, part mockery and part rage, as his lips curled into a sneer. He took a step towards her and she felt her magic flare in response. Jasper froze, and the expression transformed through confusion into horror. His every muscle tensed, the tendons in his neck pulling taut and his breath coming out in glugs, as if he was choking.

  “Jasper?”

  One shaking hand reached for her, his fingers curling stiffly into a claw. “You—”

  Cassia’s blood pounded in her ears. He had alarmed her, and her magic had responded. Had she done this, whatever it was? She didn’t know a person could perform magic without intention, but Jasper’s index finger was slowly, painfully reaching towards her in accusation. Maybe she had given her magic an intention. Her mind had been scrambling around so desperately that she couldn’t be sure.

  “Jasper.” She reached for him, then lowered her hands, helpless to do anything. “I don’t know how to make it stop!”

  Pain was etched across his face as the blood drained from it. Less than ten seconds had passed before he dropped, empty-eyed, to the ground, where he lay as motionless as the doll by his side.

  13

  Jasper lived above an abattoir in an alley on the north bank of the river. The surrounding buildings were warehouses and wholesalers, all of which were closed up at this time of night. The street was packed earth, not cobbled or paved, and no lamps illuminated the way. The moon caught the ripples of the river at the end of the street and picked out roof tiles still damp from rain, but the west side of the alley was in shadow, and there Ollivan stood, watching the flat.

  The life he was trying to win back was the one he’d had before Jasper was ever in it, and he had hoped never to return here. A patch of street in front of the abattoir was stained dark; maybe from an upended bucket of soiled water, but more likely with blood. It wasn’t the type of place one expected to find the educated son of wealthy parents, but that was why Jasper had chosen it, and why Ollivan had loved it too. It was a rejection of everything they’d been brought up to be. Now, every memory of being here, and of that year leading up to the murder, rang like a warning bell he’d been too consumed to hear.

  * * *

  It had begun three winters before at the Wending Place.

  Ollivan had been pressed into becoming a Successor by Jupitus and Alana, so could never admit freely that their games and parties were usually riotous fun. That evening was an exception. He arrived alone, morose and missing Sybella, who was out of town with her parents. The common room was airless and overfull. The condensation pressing against the windows was thick enough to hide the flecks of fluffy snow collecting on the other side. There was so little else to do in July, in the deepest ebb of winter, other than attend Society events, and everyone had turned out for this one.

  He was not in the mood to socialise with most of his peers and had expected Lev, who lived nearby, to be there before him. But he wasn’t. Instead, Ollivan had to listen to Tomas Otueome soliloquise on the virtues of one of his favourite tailors versus another for thirty minutes, while scanning the room for the only people he really cared to spend time with.

  The evening’s game was moments from starting when Lev and Virgil appeared in the doorway of the common room together. They had confessed to him that they were in love some weeks previously, and though their cheeks were flushed from the cold, the smiles they bore for one another said they didn’t feel it. They did not look for him.

  “Successors!”

  Etta Flint, who would be President for two more months, had climbed onto a table to address the packed room. “Welcome to tonight’s enchantournament!”

  “It doesn’t work, Etta!” called someone from near the bar.

  “Well we decided that’s what it was called,” snapped Etta. She brandished a top hat at them and explained the rules of the game; competitors would be chosen, then she would draw a prompt for a spell from the hat and the best execution won. The crowd would choose the winner in every bout until they had two champions.

  Because the game was played in pairs.

  “You have sixty seconds to choose your partners. Begin!”

  The Successors swarmed about the room like ants on a strawberry. As Ollivan pushed towards Lev and Virgil, he wasn’t sure where he ended and his peers began. Perhaps that was why his friends didn’t see him making his way over, but they had always had a tradition of rock, paper, scissors for games played in pairs; as a consolation prize, the loser chose a dare the others had to complete. They employed it less often since Sybella had entered the picture, but she had her own friends. Ollivan still needed his.

  But as Ollivan got closer, he slowed. Virgil had slipped his hand into Lev’s. Then they squeezed through the throng in the wrong direction, perhaps because they thought to look for him there, but perhaps because they meant not to. He didn’t want to find out. It was better to let them form a pair and break tradition than to make them keep it out of politeness.

  Suddenly, he knew that his dour mood, growing ever darker, could not be helped by being here. He would leave, go home and miss Sybella and try hard not to think of anyone else he loved and whether they still cared for him.

  He had nearly escaped the common room when Jasper Hawkes drew his eye simply by being still when everything else was in motion. He stood against the wall and was staring at Ollivan, as he had done many times before. It was enough that Ollivan had begun to wonder if he was in love with him; a tendency of thought Virgil had since pointed out stemmed from arrogance. It was just that the Hawkes boy seemed disinterested in almost everything but him.

  But as Jasper came over, it was clear the look in his eye was something else; a challenge.

  “Partners?” he said.

  Ollivan looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of his friends just as Virgil spotted him. He looked briefly guilty before seeing that Ollivan had found a partner in Jasper. But the damage was already done, and now Ollivan couldn’t leave, or he would look petty and bitter. He felt petty and bitter, but he didn’t need Lev and Virgil knowing that.