Rebel Magisters (Rebel Mechanics #2)(6)
“Yes, I’m very useful.”
He groaned. “I know how it sounds. But you really were heaven-sent. More than that, though, you’re a truly amazing girl who can make the most of your opportunities. I feel lucky to know you.”
I knew he meant well, but he was incapable of expressing affection for me without mentioning my use to the cause. There wasn’t much point in pushing to get more from him, not if I wanted him to be honest. “And I am glad I met you because you opened my eyes,” I admitted. I deliberately removed my hand from his arm. “I must be going. We’ll talk again.”
It was probably just my imagination, but it seemed to have grown chillier since I entered the park. Had an autumn wind blown through, or was it merely my nerves giving me chills? I pulled the collar of my coat closer around my neck and hurried my pace.
As much as I wanted to leave Henry out of it, I felt honor-bound to at least pass on what Alec had said. It would be wrong to withhold the information. But would Henry be sensible? He wouldn’t have done things like rob trains and government offices in the first place if he hadn’t been somewhat predisposed to taking risks.
*
I already had an appointment with Henry that evening. We met regularly after the younger children had gone to bed, supposedly to discuss the children’s academic progress. The truth was, ever since he’d learned about my magical heritage, he’d been teaching me magic.
I wasn’t sure what good it would do. My powers must have come from an illicit liaison between my mother and a magister, since no one else in my family had magic. My very existence as a half-breed was illegal, and I wasn’t sure what would happen if anyone found out about me, but it likely wasn’t good. I didn’t dare use magic in public because another magister could detect when magic was being used nearby. Henry was the only person who knew, and he believed that anyone who had a gift needed to develop it. Given the nature of our activities, he thought I should know how to fully use my powers.
After dinner, I helped Olive get ready for bed and read her a story. As I left her room, I ran into Henry in the hallway. In a whisper designed to be heard by any eavesdroppers, he said, “May I have a word with you, Miss Newton? I would like to discuss Rollo’s latest report from school.”
“Of course,” I replied, matching his tone. He escorted me into his study and closed the door. I had to move a pile of books in order to sit. Henry’s study was a carefully cultivated image of chaos, with enough bugs pinned to cards on the wall and spiders in jars to keep the housemaids out of the room if they dared disobey orders to stay out. This was the nerve center of the Masked Bandits and the place where Henry hid his most incriminating secrets. It was also the one place at home where he dared drop his guard and his pretense of being an absentminded amateur scientist.
As soon as he’d closed the door, he set about activating the wards he’d built into the room, which blocked anyone outside the study from being able to detect magic being used within or hearing anything we said. Then, without warning, the lights in the room went out.
I knew what that meant. I held my hand out in front of me and tried to sense the ether swirling around me. It took some concentration, but I managed to pull energy from the ether into the palm of my hand to create a light. More concentration magnified it to illuminate the room. Once I’d created the light, it took little attention to maintain it, though Henry put me to the test by picking up a butterfly net and waving it around. My light flickered as I giggled and went out entirely when he threw the net at me.
The room’s lights came back on, and he said, “Better. But you need to be able to form the light instantly and maintain it when distracted.”
“Even when someone’s throwing something at me?”
“Especially when someone’s throwing something at you. And it’s not just about the light. Learning to control the light is learning to control power, and that applies to any magic you perform. Now, let’s work on physical manipulation.” He dumped a dish of paper clips on the floor and handed me the dish. This was a little easier for me, as it was a use of magic I’d taught myself when I’d discovered my powers. After the third paper clip, however, the task became more difficult, as I found myself battling with Henry. He moved them so that I had to redirect the ether, and we had a tug of war with each other over the last clip. It was fortunate that the wards muted sound in the room because I couldn’t hold back a cry of victory when I wrested the clip away from him and landed it in the dish.
“Excellent! This may prove to be your area of expertise,” he said, sitting in his desk chair and removing the spectacles I knew he didn’t need. I thought for a moment that this meant he was ready to let me rest, but instead he held up the butterfly net and said, “Make it look like a fan.”
I tried not to groan out loud. Illusions were the most difficult thing for me, and I’d never seen another magister other than Henry perform one. But Henry said they’d once been a staple of magic, before magisters grew lazy and complacent with their position in society, and he wanted me to have every advantage. I stared at the butterfly net for a long time, picturing the fan I would make it look like. Next came the hard part, shaping the ether around the net to give it the illusion of a fan. It flickered back and forth between the reality and the illusion for a moment before finally settling on the illusion.
“Good,” Henry said. “Now, have you read any good books lately?”