“Aidan’s gift is that of truth telling, Myra.” Laurel gestured that James sit by her. “But I think you need more than that in order to understand the depth of your own question. James?”
The mage nodded, leaning forward. Quiet intelligence radiated at Myra, and had she not been witness to the change in his demeanor, she would have thought there were two Jameses about. He began, “In 1853, Britain became involved in a conflict that later developed into the war between us and several allies and Russia. The theatre for the conflict was such that gathering intelligence was both difficult and dangerous. Perfect impetus for officers eager to distinguish themselves, but quietly.”
“And thus the Department of Topography and Statistics was born,” Robert broke into the conversation. “Formed by myself and two others—another mage and a natural philosopher.”
“Professor Silas Addair.” James raised his teacup in mock salute.
“Scientist for the team, Doctor Addair added a veneer of respectability to an otherwise ungentlemanly pursuit. Information gathering by questionable means was frowned upon by those in the military who found the rules of honorable combat to be entirely too strict to allow for such. Yes, he was one of ours,” Robert elaborated, taking Myra’s shock in stride. “And the only ord of the original three. But smart and brave as they came. Good man. Once.”
Uncomfortable silence descended upon the small group.
“Time passed, and our little endeavor gained the necessary respect from those higher up to not only continue, but to grow. The DTS became M.I. and its numbers grew from three to five to half a dozen, myself and Stephen coming on at the time of the Afghan war and Laurel joining shortly after,” James continued. “By then, Doctor Addair had married Florence, and their infant son was just about walking—”
“But you’re forgetting Violectric Dampening,” Laurel inserted.
“Yes. Well, I feel that’s Robert’s story to tell.”
“It’s yours as well. Go on, James.” Robert closed his eyes and slumped deeper into his chair.
“Electricity sickness or, as we call it, Violectric Dampening, is a problem that we became keenly aware of through a treatment Robert received while recovering from a grievous injury. The electrotherapy, while it restored motion to the affected limbs, had the unfortunate side effect of negating his magic abilities.”
“It was Addair who made the connection. Electricity and magic, oil and water. Worse than. For it wasn’t a fair fight. It was poison, and it was everywhere.”
Myra glanced around the library’s dark depths, recalling something Aidan had said the night before. Something about telegraphs and the TurnKey ley lines. She said, “Aidan made brief mention of it when we were to travel via the TurnKey. That it disrupts how it works.”
“Only the wizard who uses it.” James shook his head. “Earth magic is unaffected. No, Dampening is an epidemic amongst mages, generally avoided by staying out of close contact with electricity.”
“In my case, the damage to my gift was permanent.” Robert roused himself, reaching for a scone. “Silas began an obsessive search for the cure, angered that that which had saved my life had also, in many ways, killed what gave my life meaning. The sickness was in science. And too, he believed, science held the cure. There was no telling the world to stop adding lines for telegraphs and trains. We were on our own, ghosts within the government, only as safeguarded and legitimate as they deigned. Our days as wizards were numbered.”
“And the problem of the Dampening extended beyond us original members,” James continued. “M.I.’s expansion had been more or less halted by the electrifying of the world around us. What wizards there were were often suppressed before they reached the age of Emergere, before they realized their powers. Those born with the gift were . . . lesser. You see, for us full mages, electricity is merely a temporary hobbling, a weakness from which we might recover. But for the lesser mages? Electricity is a permanent drain on their abilities. Laurie and Benjamin, your American friend, Aidan, they all are but shades of what a wizard truly could be, having one, perhaps two gifts amongst the many. Silas’ own son—”
“And unlike full mages,” Laurel broke in, “we cannot take or leave the gifts as we please. It is a twisting of the natural talent, nature’s way to compensating, we believe. And all the while, Doctor Addair worked to secure a remedy, a formal curing of the Dampening which he had managed to temporarily ward off for us lesser mages through his elixir.”
“Which brings us to you,” James turned his focus back to Myra.
“To me?” Myra wilted under the sudden scrutiny.
“Addair’s elixir. I do not need it. Stephen does—did—not. Nor Robert. Each of us having the full complement of magic. But for the lesser mages, without regular dosing of the Doctor’s compound, the Violectric Dampening becomes permanent. You appear to not need it, unless there’s something rather strange in your past that you’ve managed to gloss over even under the truth-teller’s questioning.” James’ forbidding aspect had returned.
“Not me, no. I’ve had doctors aplenty to look at me for my madness, but nobody’s stayed long enough to effect a cure.” Myra stopped short, surprised. “Or whatever you would call it, now that it would appear I am not at all ill.”
“No, my dear. You are perfect.” Laurel reached forward, taking Myra’s hands. “Oh, how Stephen would have loved to meet you—” Tears sparkled in the corners of the woman’s eyes. Her sudden affection had Myra lowering her eyes, self-conscious.
“An Empathic. One who works the magic of emotion,” Robert added in his own starry-eyed wonder, showing more animation than he had displayed in the short time Myra had known him.
“And with human magic being mostly inseparable from emotion, you are not only able to join with someone else’s gift, you can adopt it as well, provided they are using it and you are in close concert with them.”
“For example, Aidan’s gift is truth telling, a Maester of Triewes—to use the old term for the talent. Which means that he can tell when anyone about him is lying or, if he’s very adept, concealing though technically truthful.” James rose to pace the room. “Such a gift is practically inseparable from emotion, and when you are near him, you naturally acquire much of his talents for your own use.”
“Aidan had suspected, if not quite understood, your gift,” Laurel added. “Which, I would assume, is why he wanted you to tell us of his trustworthiness—believing your touch upon our emotions would also carry the force of truth.”
At Myra’s confused look, Robert continued, “The gift of Maester of Triewes is two-fold. When it is the natural talent of a lesser mage, well, he cannot lie, my dear.”
“Such a gift is quite valuable in our line of work,” James added. “I, having the full complement of powers for a mage, chose to specialize in combat and illusion.”
“And I”—Robert pushed himself to the edge of his chair, puffing with the exertion—“I—” He paused, frowning in concentration, his right hand held out in front of him, palm down. The tick of a clock somewhere in the library’s depths marked the long moments passing. Then, in the stillness beneath Robert’s hand, there came a stirring in the air. It was followed by the emergence of a tiny cloud bank rolling in from nowhere. A flash of light and low rumble heralded a diminutive downpour of rain, the illusion made complete.
Robert shook his hand, spraying Myra with raindrops as he ended the spell. He slumped back into his chair, spent. “I, too, had the full complement of magic, though my chosen specialty was that of weather working. And on a good day, if I’m not so tired as this, I can work up enough of a squall to fill a space such as Grafford House itself. Far different from the days I could strand a cityscape in fog or parch a foreign land with unending sun.”
“That . . . was wonderful!” Myra no longer cared that she gaped like a landed fish. Would she be able to learn that as well?
Laurel passed behind Robert’s chair, giving the man a sympathetic squeeze on his shoulder. She addressed Myra, “And I am M.I.’s Ways-walker. It is my sole gift, the Dampening having affected my powers so that I am a lesser mage. But I was fortunate enough to have learned the proper use of my gift from Florence, one of M.I.’s founding members who, like Robert and James, had the use of all the powers. Through Ways-walking, a wizard can send her mind to other planes of existence, move herself and others where she wills it. The TurnKey system was devised by those skilled in the art of Ways-walking. It is, as some say, an older, higher form of Kinetics.”
“And Kinetic I already know, based on what Aidan told me of Kady—” Myra stopped short her response as the door to the library opened.
“Look who I found in the hallway: a gentleman!” Benjamin called out the cheeky greeting, gesturing to Aidan who, Myra had to admit, cleaned up rather nicely. Reminded of her own disheveled state and the dry, clean clothes that awaited her, she hurried to finish the last of her tea and scone, feeling as though she had been caught gossiping.
Benjamin had taken up his position of lounging against the fireplace mantle, refusing, with a wave, Laurel’s offer of a cup of tea. “Had one, thanks.”
Aidan stood behind Myra’s chair, making her nervous. Again.
“So the report from Stephen’s activities abroad is brought by a representative of our American counterpart. Aidan?” James launched into the meeting with little warning.
Myra made to rise. “Should I be here?”
“You absolutely should be here, my dear,” Robert answered, pouring her another cup of tea and gesturing that she sit back down. “You’re one of us now. No secrets.”
Aidan gave a curt nod to James and began, “My team, acting on behalf of our government with the understanding that this was a joint venture between us and the British Crown, met with Stephen as planned. The news that he had brought with him had put all teams—both magical and non—on high alert, having not heard anything about Addair’s activities ourselves. Those up top considered it troubling that a mage of Silas’ skill and reputation would have slipped past us undetected.”
“I thought Addair was not a mage . . . ?” Myra whispered to Robert, puzzled.
“Things changed. ’Round about the time his wife was taken from him.” Robert’s voice was hard, and he did not look at Myra. Eyes to Aidan, he indicated that he should continue his report. He looked as phlegmatically dull as ever. His hands, however, gripped the arm of his chair with knuckles made white by tension.
“As a precaution, we made our rendezvous point the Heartland Apex, planning to travel onward to the warehouse that we had made use of for storing our supply of Silas’ compound. Unfortunately, that pause, with its gathering of so many of our small force, was enough to tip off Addair’s own men. They were waiting for us when we arrived.
“They captured us all too easily. Stephen they held separately. He—” At this it appeared Aidan might break down, the rest of his story never coming to completion. But he mastered himself quickly, finding a seat and passing a shaky hand over his eyes.
“It was as though the whole mission had been created for the sole purpose of destroying him. They didn’t even bother to separate Kady, Walter, and I, throwing us into a cage like animals and walking away. It wasn’t until it was too late that we realized our predicament: our prison negated our powers. We were helpless.”
“A Faraday cage,” Robert mused from his chair.
“Right.” Aidan nodded. “Stephen, he . . . In addition to our supply of Silas’ cure, the warehouse served as a munitions store. Stephen had done his homework. He managed, somehow, to start the fire that freed us.”
“Somehow?” James interjected.
“Somehow. Because they . . . they tortured him. They took their time. What happened to Robert by accident, they did on purpose—” Aidan’s voice broke again. “They— I could see them injecting him with something, and he went limp soon after.”
“It felt like poison.” Myra’s addition to the conversation was out before she could stop herself. She clapped her hands over her mouth, feeling herself go red with embarrassment and no small amount of shame. Five interested pairs of eyes turned to her.
“Go on. You’ve knowledge we could not otherwise have, Myra.” James sucked in his breath, a thin attempt at masking his anguish.
“It all happened so fast. And I didn’t know it was real,” Myra dissembled. “One of the hooded men—mages, I suppose—injected something into Stephen’s arm, and he knew that it was stopping his powers. So he acted in the only way he could, which was to try to kill them all by setting the munitions afire. Trap them all there— Stop Addair’s men from further evil—” Startled at the memory, at the clarity of Stephen’s thoughts in her mind and what his hasty plan meant for Aidan sitting right in front of her, she mouthed the words “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Moira. This is what we have chosen to do with our lives,” Aidan reassured her, though he looked troubled.
She gulped. “Well, his plan worked. And it had the unexpected benefit of cutting power to the cage that held you. Stephen counted himself as lost, along with those whom he’d slain via the first explosion. But Kady, she refused to leave him.”
Aidan picked up the story. “Her gift newly available to her, Kady leapt off into the blaze, searching for Stephen. I tended to Walter, but it was too late. He— He was gone.” Now Aidan did break down in earnest. A strangled sob set his shoulders to quaking, and he passed his hand over his eyes. Whatever had struck down Walter, they were not to learn.
“And that’s when Myra arrived, and you saved her,” Robert rumbled from the comfort of his chair, drawing the attention of their small group off Aidan.
“And we’re nowhere closer to finding Addair. And the last of the elixir is gone,” Benjamin chimed in at last, stepping forward into the light. “Aidan made mention of it in the hallway. That warehouse held the last of the Americans’ supply.”
“And two bodies,” Aidan intoned darkly, having mastered himself once more.
“Yes, he also made mention that he’s mostly certain that two of Addair’s men were killed in the blast but obviously not all, as Stephen had hoped.”
Ice water ran in Myra’s veins as she, again, recalled the quick fire fight as they had fled for the train. She locked eyes on Aidan, wondering if that merited inclusion in the official report. Or, perhaps, M.I. was in the habit of tallying kills, not enemies. She shuddered and allowed the Maester of Triewes to say nothing.
“Which brings me to today’s news.” Benjamin slapped his stack of newspapers onto the table in their midst. “None of it good. Either our informant is shirking his duties or there has been no whisper of Addair’s activities since the events at the warehouse.”