Then we saw the house.
An old wooden fence gated a land grown wild with weeds. The fence was splintered and sagging on its posts, the barn beyond it in a dilapidated state. The wood was swollen with water and bleached from the sun. To the right, a moss-covered gray stone cottage had sunk into the ground. In short, it looked like any other abandoned farmstead to be found in Cornwall.
But the magic.
It simmered in the air, coating the inside of my throat like honey. Blackwood closed his eyes tight. He felt it, too.
“There’s glamour upon it.” Putting out his hand, he touched only mist and air. “The enchantment is powerful.”
“Magician enchantment?” Magnus walked forward, leaping over the fence. He turned around, and then came back wearing a puzzled expression. “It feels off, doesn’t it? Not quite human.”
Agrippa had schooled me in only the most rudimentary form of enchantments, but the boys had learned more. An enchantment went deeper than a mere illusion—it permeated the reality of an area, soaking it in deception. If I went inside that stone cottage right now, it would look like any other ordinary, abandoned house. Whatever Strangewayes was hiding would remain cloaked from the naked eye.
Enchantments, to put it mildly, were tricky.
“It might be Fae in nature.” Blackwood sounded confused. “But they don’t usually bother with areas this close to the sea.”
Indeed, the Fae were a woodland folk. Great amounts of salt water repelled them.
“Cut the air,” Magnus said, readying his stave. A simple warded blade could sever weaker enchantments.
I slashed Porridge twice but got nowhere. Blast and damn. Magnus followed with his own attempt, though he was a bit clumsy with his arm bandaged up. Blowing out my cheeks, I paced in front of the fence. Maria chuckled.
“Sorry. But you all look so cross.” She shrugged her pack off and set it on the ground. Her little fingers played along the top of her ax; she seemed to rely upon it for support, the way I relied upon Porridge. “Have you no other powers to use?”
Have you? I wanted to ask. Who knew what talents witches had for breaking enchantments? Then again, perhaps they’d never had much experience with them. Magicians, after all, were the race known for dealing in these kinds of deceptions. Right now, Mickelmas would have likely been a great deal of help.
That gave me a thought. Grabbing my reticule, I rummaged through it for…Yes! I unfolded one of Mickelmas’s trunk spells. Maria studied it, wearing a puzzled expression.
“It’s magician work, isn’t it?” Blackwood sounded dismayed.
Magnus only peered over my shoulder to read.
BRING TRUTH FROM A LIE
A blade, obviously
Thread, if you’ve got it (if you haven’t, I don’t know how to help you. Are you not wearing clothes?)
Soak thread in blood—MUST BE MAGICIAN’S OWN BLOOD.
Cut straight through.
What is false becomes true; what is hidden may be revealed.
Pig Latin works especially well. Or ancient Sumerian. Whichever comes more naturally.
I searched my sleeve for a stray thread, found one, and pulled. Cutting it with my teeth, I handed it over to Maria, who looked at the thread like it would bite her. Then, taking a deep breath to prepare, I lightly sliced my thumb with my blade. I’d been as delicate as possible, but the sting still made my eyes water. Blood welled up and ran down my hand. Maria gasped in shock as I took the thread, bloodied it, and handed it back once more. She looked at me as though I’d gone mad.
“Hold the thread out tight in front of me.”
“Eh?” But she obeyed, furrowing her brow at handling the bloody thing.
My thumb throbbed, but I put it out of my mind. Closing my eyes, I thought, What is false becomes true. What is false becomes true. I pictured an invisible curtain lifting off the farmhouse, and my blood began to hum softly. Using Porridge, I sliced the thread and opened my eyes.
A slit rent the fog down the center, clean as if done by a blade. Buttery sunshine poured out of the wound in the air. Magnus cheered while a gaping Maria poked her hand through. Blackwood’s eyes widened, but he made no sound.
“Sorcerers can’t do…that,” Maria breathed.
We took a moment for Maria to pour water on my cut and bandage it. Then, one by one, we stepped through the hole and into a strange, surreal wonderland.
The grass, which before had been weedy and sparse, now grew emerald, lush, and knee-high. Plants I could never hope to identify bloomed in abundance. One shrub displayed flowers with spiky petals of a grayish-bluish-purplish color; the sight of it lowered my spirits. Another hedge contained leaves that were a riotous shade of pink, flowering buds opening and closing as we passed. If you looked closely, you could catch tiny, jeweled eyes peering out at you from inside the depths of the flower. Extraordinary.
“Look at the house,” Blackwood said, his voice soft with astonishment.
The squat, mossy cottage was gone. In its place stood an elegant house done in the Tudor style, with a gabled roof, leaded glass windows, and an arched entryway of brick. One side of the house was covered in a lush growth of ivy. Weather vanes decorated the roof, elaborate iron designs that took the shapes of giant whales and squids fighting, and a decapitated man juggling his own head. The house was so soaked in magic that it made one dizzy, the waves of power that radiated from the building an almost physical force.
I could feel it, the pressure on the inside of my skull, the sensation of something slithering over my skin. Raw magic. Not elemental, but from some other world.
Like the Ancients.
I led the way up the path. Entering was difficult; the door was a thick metal, strangely orange in color. It had been closed a long while, because it squealed when the boys tried forcing it. Eventually, it began to yield. Cautious, I watched for a sign of…anything.
“Together now,” I said as Magnus readied himself. “We’re not entirely sure what’s in here.”
“If we’re lucky, it’ll only be some sort of black mold,” Maria said, balancing on the balls of her feet. She was as alert to danger as a cat.
“That’s luck?” Magnus grunted, throwing open the door. A burst of sour air met us, as if the house had exhaled. Wincing, I waited. Nothing came screaming out to attack us, so we moved in, one after the other. I entered first, flinching when a cobweb brushed my face.
I stopped dead in the entryway, so Magnus accidentally bumped into me. We all grouped together, gazing about in wonderment.
The room was enormous, four stories high at least. The house we’d glimpsed from the outside was not big enough to support this.
Magicians.
A collection of melted-down tallow candles waited on a table right by the door, jammed into iron candleholders shaped like fists. I lit them, and we each took one. The floorboards creaked loudly as the four of us walked through the stillness of the room. Long tables covered with strange-looking objects stretched out on every side. My eyes watered; the place did smell faintly of mold but also of something sickly sweet, like a burnt cake.
The room was filled with the most extraordinary creatures. Glass cases covered with a fine layer of dust crowded the walls and tables. Wiping the dirt from one bell jar, I discovered a tiny creature, suspended forever in silence. Its face resembled a very large dragonfly’s, bulbous eyes gazing blindly at the world. One lone fang hung from its open mouth. Wings like a bat’s had been posed to resemble flight. The beast could fit into the palm of my hand, though I wouldn’t want to pick it up.