The Girl Without Magic Page 5

  He opened a door that led down steps like the ones they had come up from the entryway. But these steps went down farther. By the time they reached the kitchen, the sound of the rain was a dull hum, and the thick layers of rock had muted the thunder. The only hint at the ferocity of the storm was the slapping of the waves against the stone.

  The kitchen was simple with no windows to be seen. A metal cauldron hung in a fireplace so large it took up a whole wall. Cabinets sat against the two walls near it, and in the middle of the room was a scrubbed, wooden table. It looked almost homey.

  Images of water pouring in through the rocks swam unbidden into Maggie’s mind. She swayed for a moment before realizing Bertrand was staring at her.

  “I’m fine,” Maggie growled.

  “You’re not, but I would be more concerned if you were.” Bertrand went to a cupboard at the corner. “I think a hot bowl of hearty soup will do you a world of good.”

  Bertrand pulled a bowl from the cupboard and set it down on the table. In an instant, steaming, brown, beef stew filled the bowl.

  “You could have made the stew,” Maggie said, not sitting at the table. “It takes less magic to find the things to make soup than to wish it into being.”

  “You are a clever girl.” Bertrand smiled as he sat at the table with his own bowl of bright orange soup. “It does cost more to ask the Siren’s favor in giving you something than to seek what you wish for from other occupants. But I assume the markets are closed at the moment. And I’ve always been a terrible cook besides.”

  “What about this house?” Maggie asked, stepping toward the table. “How much magic did it take to get this place? How come you aren’t living in the shadows with the Derelict?”

  “There are ways to enjoy all the pleasures of the Siren’s Realm without ending up in the darkness. And I have never stolen magic,” Bertrand said. “I hope, Miss Trent, you would never believe that of me. Though I will admit I have had an unusual amount of good fortune in the Siren’s Realm.”

  “Were you just a really strong wizard back home?” Maggie asked, sitting at the table, the smell of the soup and her curiosity overpowering her desire to reject anything Bertrand had to offer.

  “I was,” Bertrand began, “and remain a very strong and rather clever wizard.”

  “But you can’t do magic here.” Maggie took a bite of her stew. The taste made the fear that had clung to her chest melt away.

  “No.”

  “And when you’re out of magic, you’re out,” Maggie said.

  “Did someone tell you that, or did you figure it out for yourself?” Bertrand asked, tenting his fingers under his chin and leaning across the table to examine Maggie.

  “I felt it,” Maggie said, “the first time I asked for anything here. I felt the magic go out. And then nothing replaced it.”

  “Then you are as clever as I hoped you would be.” Bertrand smiled.

  “But you must be out of magic, then.” Maggie looked down at her stew to avoid Bertrand’s gaze. “All this? If you haven’t stolen magic and aren’t a secret silk trader, you can’t have much left.”

  Bertrand was silent for a moment. Maggie looked up to find him staring at her as though trying to read a book in a language he didn’t quite understand.

  “There is a way to refill the cup of magic,” Bertrand began slowly. “The Siren has her rules, and magic that comes here with her travelers is finite.”

  “But you said―”

  “There is no rule against bringing in more magic from the outside.”

  “What?” Maggie said, trying to understand. “You like put in a FedEx order for more magic?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by that.” Bertrand shook his head. “But no. You cannot ask to have more magic brought in. You can, however, go and fetch it for yourself.”

  “You can leave?” Maggie dropped her spoon, not caring when the stew sloshed onto the table. “You can get out of the Siren’s Realm?”

  “I said as much when we first met, Miss Trent,” Bertrand said, furrowing his brow. “I thought you had been listening.”

  “I was, but you said it took a lot of magic if the Siren was even willing to send you back home.”

  “I never said anything about fetching magic from home.” He smiled sadly. “To get to one specific world would take the help of the Siren. But going home has never interested me. I have already lived in our world. There are, however, ways to slip through the stitches that join the Siren’s Realm to the worlds that surround it.”

  “Worlds?”

  “Miss Trent.” Bertrand leaned across the table, staring directly into Maggie’s eyes. “There is much more to this pale existence than merely surviving. I have always been one for adventure, and the Siren has provided that to me in abundance.”

  “But you leave?” Maggie asked, gripping the edge of the table so hard her fingers hurt.

  “I do, Miss Trent.” Bertrand nodded. “But the cost can be terribly high. I saved you from the Derelict and the Siren’s storm. It is my hope that you will learn to survive here in the Siren’s Realm. You are far too interesting to be condemned to the shadows.”

  His eyes searched Maggie’s as though he were seeing into her very soul. Examining every fear that had plagued her since she was trapped in the endless darkness. Or maybe even before. Since the battle. Since birth.

  “You are not meant for that kind of danger,” Bertrand whispered. “Not all of us can be.”

  “Wait, what?” Maggie asked, but Bertrand had already stood and was by the door.

  “You should finish your stew before it gets too cold, Miss Trent. I would offer you the guest room upstairs, but I do feel you would be happier down here away from the storm. I shall see you in the morning, Miss Trent. The sun will rise when the storm has passed.”

  Without another word he turned and walked up the stairs, leaving Maggie alone in the kitchen.

  aggie lay curled up on the floor by the kitchen fire. The floor was hard, but the heat of the fire had warmed the stones. And the crackling of the flames made the pounding of the waves seem less ominous. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. Surely it was almost morning. But that wasn’t how it worked in the Siren’s Realm. The sun would come up when the Siren wished for the storm to be over. It could be weeks.

  Maggie pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

  She wasn’t meant for danger? Maggie gritted her teeth. She had been fighting in a battle when she fell into the damn Siren’s Realm to begin with. She had been willing to die. But an adventure was too dangerous for her.

  Okay, so maybe she had never been the type to seek out adventure. She had been too busy trying to survive her Clan, and then the Academy. She had probably fought more terrifying things than Bertrand Wayland ever had. Choosing to give up on his world to come live a life of pleasure.

  “Quitter,” Maggie mumbled. “He quit his whole world, and I’m not meant for adventure?”

  But maybe that was it. She hadn’t wanted to give up her world. She had been fighting to save it. And even here in the Siren’s Realm she didn’t want to give up her own magic to pay for pleasure. She had spent her days fishing and living off of bread and meat.

  But she was being frugal. Keeping what was hers instead of using it to buy fancy silk dresses and beautiful things.

  She hadn’t wanted to risk her own magic. Hadn’t wanted to give up what she had.

  Maybe that’s what Bertrand had meant. She didn’t want to sacrifice what she had for a chance at something different.

  Maggie massaged her cheeks, willing her teeth to unclench.

  There was nothing wrong with wanting to keep what you had.

  But what if there was a chance at something better?

  The circle kept going around in her head as the crashing of the waves grew slower and the dull pounding of the rain disappeared.

  Maggie stared at the wooden boards of the ceiling, expecting the storm to start howling again or for Bertrand to come running
down the stairs.

  Minutes slipped by. Part of her wanted Bertrand to come dashing down the stairs. Give her another lecture on what the Siren’s Realm was really like. Or maybe explain why she wasn’t meant for danger.

  But the waves grew calmer yet, and Bertrand didn’t appear. It took Maggie a while to force herself to roll over and push herself to her feet. Fatigue weighed on her limbs, and dread of what she would find up the kitchen stairs didn’t help her move any faster. Only the thought that if she left immediately she might avoid seeing Bertrand made her climb the steps. Bright sunlight peered in through the iron barred windows, casting the stone walls in a warm glow.

  Tiptoeing across the wooden floor, Maggie crept toward the window, holding her breath as she looked outside.

  Bertrand had been right. The stone buildings of the Fortress had made it through the storm. But the buildings looked newer now. Cleaner and brighter. The water in the canal shone a gentle blue in the crisp sunlight.

  Glancing up and down the hall to make sure Bertrand was nowhere to be seen, Maggie ran as quickly as she dared for the door to the entryway, not realizing she might not be able to get through the door to the streets until her hand was already on the big iron handle. But with a tug, the door to the outside burst open, and Maggie darted out onto the walk, pausing only to shut the door before running down the street.

  The canal looked beautiful enough to swim in. The windows behind the iron bars were no longer draped with curtains. The Siren’s Realm was bright and new and ready for a beautiful day.

  Through the stone houses and out into the gray tents, she ran. The tents didn’t seem any newer or brighter like the Fortress, but they were still there, unmoved by the storm.

  The wide row of centaur tents came next. The flowers seemed to have grown in the night, nourished by the storm, while the weeds had drowned, leaving the gardens clean and beautiful.

  But the centaurs outside their tents didn’t seem to be enamored of the flowers.

  “The winds of the Siren can be cruel,” a speckled male centaur spoke to a dainty-looking female. It wasn’t until Maggie was only ten feet away that she noticed the distress on the female’s face.

  Maggie slowed her run, trying to look like she wasn’t listening as she passed.

  “It is a part of the path in the Siren’s Realm.” The male’s deep, resonating voice chased Maggie down the street. “She grants our wishes, but we live only by hers.”

  Maggie wanted to turn around and ask if one of the centaurs’ camp had been washed away by the storm, but it seemed too cruel.

  If they really had lost a friend, the last thing they would want was a stranger prying in.

  If one of her friends had been lost…. Maggie’s heart skipped a beat as fear surged through her. Gabriel. He had no magic of his own. What if the Derelict had gotten him, or the Siren had decided she didn’t want him around anymore?

  Maggie ran as fast as she could, her legs burning as she tore down the streets.

  She passed tents and people she had never seen before. One row of tents was so short, the humans living in them wouldn’t be able to stand up right. A long line of black and red tents sat across from a high grass mound.

  Fear lodged itself in Maggie’s throat. The prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes made her stop running. She would not cry in the streets of the Siren’s Realm. Not because she was afraid or lost.

  Not for anything.

  Maggie took a deep breath. “I need to find my friends. To find out what I lost.”

  Her hands tingled as magic was pulled from her fingertips.

  Closing her eyes tightly, Maggie spun on the spot. After a few turns she stopped, swaying dizzily.

  A tiny part of her hoped to hear Gabriel call from down the street, “What are you doin’? Have you finally lost yer mind to the Siren?”

  But no one called her name. Maggie opened her eyes. Directly in front of her was a row of tents she hadn’t seen before. Low to the ground and sandy brown, they looked like they were meant to be camouflaged on the beach.

  Without pausing, Maggie started forward, searching every shadow for a sign of Gabriel, Illial, Rushna, or Mathilda. She was so occupied in searching the shadows she didn’t know she had reached the edge of the Endless Sea until she was standing on the sand.

  Maggie sagged, her hands on her knees, gasping for air. Gabriel didn’t live by the sea. He lived in a tent… somewhere. She had never seen it. He lived with others who had fallen into the Siren’s Realm. He had asked her to come live with them where she could be safe. If only she had gone with him to see the place then maybe she could have found it.

  Cursing to herself Maggie looked up and down the beach. There were a few people around, but no one she recognized. Off in the distance was the outcropping of rocks that hid her tent.

  “Gabriel will be on the same street at the same time as always,” Maggie told herself, starting down the beach. “Follow the routine, and you’ll find the people.” Her words sounded much surer than she felt.

  A middle-aged woman lay on the sand right before the stone began to take over turning the beach into a rocky shore. Basking in the warm rays of the sun, she beamed at the bright blue sky.

  “Good morning!” she called to Maggie as she passed.

  “Morning,” Maggie said, not halting her stride.

  “And what a fine one it is,” the woman cooed. “I haven’t felt a morning like this in ages.”

  A shiver shot through Maggie’s spine as she wondered if the woman hadn’t felt the sun because she had been hiding in the shadows with the Derelict.

  Maggie didn’t look back as the woman called, “Enjoy the blessings of the Siren, little one.”

  The rocks were already warm from the sun. Maggie scrambled up them, using her arms to pull herself up to the high, flat level. The storm had washed away the usual layer of sand, leaving the stone smooth and clean. Maggie crouched, running her hand on the smooth rock. The Siren had cleaned all the filth away.

  “No.” Maggie shook her head, squinting into the distance, searching for a sign of her tent. “No, no, no!” she shouted, running full tilt across the rocks. She leapt over cracks, barely giving herself time to find her balance before she moved on. Before she had even reached the edge of the high rock, she knew her tent was gone. The peak of the blue tent should have peered up over the edge.

  But maybe it had just been blown over. She could set the tent back up; she’d done it before.

  She stopped, her toes right at the edge, and looked down at the place that had been her home. The rock was flat and shining with no trace a tent had ever been there.

  Maggie covered her face with her hands, willing herself to breathe and not let panic take over.

  “It’ll be fine,” Maggie whispered, not caring if the Siren heard her. “Everything will be fine. You’ve dealt with worse before.”

  Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking at the bright sun.

  The tent really was gone. Right along with her cot and table. There was no debris on the beach, but why would the Siren have let that survive the storm?

  It was gone. All of it.

  Everything she owned had been washed away by the Siren’s storm. All she had left were the clothes on her back. No net to catch fish, no bed to lie down on while she tried to figure out what was next.

  Maggie climbed down to where her tent had been. At least the rock was there. She sat on the very edge, dangling her feet over the shallows.

  She knew it was foolish, but the rock felt like her front porch. Her home.

  A plume of water shot into the air a hundred yards out to sea.

  “Mort!” Maggie called, laughing tiredly as the whale’s back breached the water. “You made it buddy! I didn’t know if the Siren was going to let you stay!”

  The whale said nothing, but lay lazily in the water.

  “Are there still fish out there for you?” Maggie asked. “Well, there will be more since I can’t fish now.” Maggie dug her nails into
her palms. “I don’t have a place to live anymore. I lost my net, so I can’t earn enough to buy another tent.”

  Maggie paused, hearing the whales imagined response in her mind. But you’re a witch, silly girl. And a good one at that. You’ve plenty of magic to ask the Siren for a new net and tent.

  “And let my tent be blown away next time a storm comes?” Maggie said out loud. “If I had been here―” she shivered in the warm morning air at the thought “―I might have been washed away with the tent. No, I don’t want to move into the Textile Town.” She held a hand up to silence the whale’s protest. “Who decided to call it the Textile Town?” She said the words again. Somehow the name felt right in her mouth, and she hated herself for it.

  “I don’t want to live crowded in with people,” Maggie said. “I like it out here! I like the rocks and the sea. It’s home. My home, and I want to stay!” The whale rolled onto its back, showing his stomach to the sky. “This is where we live, and we’re going to stay here! I just have to find a way to earn enough magic to build a Fortress of my own!”

  Maggie sprang to her feet, newfound determination flooding through her. She knew what she wanted, and she was plenty strong enough to earn it.

  “Thanks, Mort!” she shouted over her shoulder as she climbed the rocks toward the Textile Town. “Good talk!”

  he market square was her first stop. She had walked quickly through the streets, partially due to her newfound determination, mostly because the streets didn’t seem like a good place to linger. The tents were all there. The Siren’s cleansing hadn’t reached into the town itself. But there was a low rumble in all the conversations she passed. A sense of dread and grief.

  “I’ve never seen it so bad,” a beautiful young woman with flowing red hair said to the minotaur who guarded the vivid green tent. The line to get in was longer that morning than usual. “I don’t know if it’s safe to be here.”

  Making a split-second decision, Maggie turned and walked back to the girl.

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie said to the girl, bowing to the minotaur before continuing, “but I’m pretty new here. I’ve never been through one of the storms before.”