Fallen Magic

“Enter,” the headmaster calls out.

Edward opens the door and pauses in the doorway. He’s tense, ready to flee at the first sign of danger. “Tallulah,” he says. “What’s happening?”

I guess I’m doing introductions, then. “Edward, this is my mother. She wanted to meet you. Mother, Edward Blackthorn.”

“Well,” Edward says, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, “here I am.”

“What,” hisses Mother, “have you done to my daughter?”

Edward freezes in the act of walking around the desk to join me. “I’ve never intended to hurt her in any way. I know a lot of what’s happened to her is because of me, but none of it was what I wanted, and I have done everything in my power to make those things right.”

He sounds surprisingly sincere. I know everything he just said is true, of course, but I wasn’t expecting him to feel the need to justify himself to Mother.

“That’s not what I meant,” she snaps. “You’ve changed her. Corrupted her.”

So that’s why. Mother always has to find someone to blame for everything. I wish I’d had a chance to warn Edward beforehand.

He narrows his eyes and says nothing.

“You don’t deny it?”

“It’s inevitable that when two people are close enough, they will change each other. I don’t believe I have corrupted Tallulah. I wouldn’t want her to become…” He hesitates, finishing walking around the desk until he’s standing behind the chair I’ve stolen for myself.

“Become what?” Mother asks.

“Like me,” Edward says simply.

Mother has nothing to say to that for a moment. She takes another sip of tea.

“Is this all you wanted from me?” he asks. “Because I was in the middle of something, and – “

“No, you may not leave,” Mother snaps. That is a mistake.

“There seems to be a misunderstanding,” Edward says, slipping into that deceptively mild calm. “What makes you think you have any authority over me?”

That surprises Mother to the point that she chokes on her latest sip of tea, and coughs a few times. I want to offer her help or at least ask if she’s okay, but I don’t think she’d appreciate that right now. “I suppose that’s no less than I should have expected,” she says once she’s recovered her composure, “from a Blackthorn.”

I know that’s hurt Edward, but his tone doesn’t reveal pain. “And I suppose this is no less than I should have expected,” he replies, “from a woman who has so utterly failed her daughter.”

Stars.

“How dare you,” Mother spits.

“I dare because it’s true. She writes to her father. Every week, without fail. Even when she was isolated she wrote to him. Did it ever occur to you to wonder why she didn’t write to you? To wonder why she didn’t tell you any of this before?”

“You will stop speaking to me like this at once – “

“I will not,” Edward says smoothly. “Tallulah is a sensible girl, most of the time. Not the type to cut a parent out of her life out of petty spite or stubborn independence. I know she wouldn’t do that if she had a scrap of faith left in you as her mother.”

“Edward – “ I say, but he ignores me.

“And look! She’s sitting in the headmaster’s chair. That means you saw your daughter on crutches, in pain, and didn’t even think to offer her your seat – “

“Edward! Stop!”

“Am I wrong?” he asks me.

Yes. The word catches in my throat. I can’t say it. I don’t even know if it’s true any more. No. I can’t make myself say that either.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says. “Tell me she’s a good mother. Tell me she’s always been there when you needed her most.”

And I can’t. Stars help me, I can’t.

“I see how it is,” Mother says coldly. “You choose him.”

“What?” I say numbly. “No. No, I don’t. I shouldn’t have to choose between my mother and my best friend. I’m not going to – “

“Stop lying to me. You don’t need to spare my feelings. I understand when I’m not wanted. Thank you for the tea, Headmaster.” She sets her cup down on its saucer with an air of finality and gets to her feet.

I’m crying. I can’t help it. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”

She doesn’t listen; she stalks out without another word.

Edward kneels down beside my chair and wraps a comforting arm around me. I shake him off with an effort.

“Well,” the headmaster says coldly, “what do you propose I do now?”

“Tallulah and I need to speak in private,” Edward says. “May we go?”

“After you have been so flagrantly disrespectful?”

“If I have broken any aspect of the Academy’s rules, please inform me of it,” Edward says.

“The Academy’s code of conduct states that all students must show the appropriate respect – “

“To all other students, staff both academic and otherwise, and researchers working on the Academy premises. Mrs Roberts has no official position at the Academy, unless I have been gravely misinformed.”

The headmaster sighs. “Just go, will you? Tallulah, I wanted to discuss this morning’s papers with you, but perhaps that can wait until you’re… well.”

Not a sobbing heap. “Thank you, Headmaster,” I choke out, and get to my feet. The pain hits me immediately, even stronger than before. Maybe it’s just because I’m drained after that conversation.

Edward, at least, has the decency to open the door and hold it for me until I manage to hobble out.

“I don’t know if I can make it to a meeting room,” I say.

“This floor is all staff offices,” Edward replies. “We’ll have to go up or down at least some stairs. Unless you want to ask Electra to lend us her office?”

If that’s intended to lighten the mood, it works: I crack a smile. “I can make it to the nearest study room. And it’s not like we’re discussing state secrets. It’s just…”

“Personal,” Edward says.

I nod.

We don’t speak further until we’ve reached the study room. It’s thankfully empty; I stagger over to the nearest chair and collapse onto it.

“Are you…” Edward begins.

I shrug. “I’ve been worse.” After the riot, I can say that about any situation without lying. “But…” It would be so easy just to not say this, to move on with my life and ignore my feelings. Except without that impulse to hide from confrontation I wouldn’t be in this position now. I’ll feel better once it’s done. Hopefully.

“But what?”

“You shouldn’t have said the things you did.”

Edward narrows his eyes. “What did I do wrong? Was I supposed to just stand there and let her insult me?”

I know Edward well enough by now to realise he’s not pretending; he really doesn’t understand what he did wrong. Stars, I don’t know if I have the strength to explain how normal people work to him right now. “Just because she insulted you doesn’t mean you had to insult her back.”

“It wasn’t just because she insulted me.”

“Then why?” I ask, knowing I won’t like the answer.

“Because what I said was true. Because it needed to be said. Because you needed to hear it.”

“That is quite possibly the last thing I needed to hear right then.”

“Needed,” he corrects. “Not wanted. I know it isn’t easy, but – “

“She’s my mother, Edward. Even if she’s made mistakes, she’s still my mother and I should still love and respect her.”

“Should,” he points out.

He’s right; the way I worded that implies – stars.

“It’s okay,” Edward says. “Just because she’s family doesn’t mean you have to love her or respect her or ignore her faults. You just have to stop feeling obliged to, stop caring about her opinion.”

I laugh bitterly. “Edward,” I say, “do you have any idea what a hypocrite you’re being?”

Edward flinches. I feel a twinge of guilt, but not enough to stop me. He wants to make me face up to the uncomfortable truth about a parent? Then he has no right to complain that I’m doing the same thing to him.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he’s a good father. Tell me he’s always been there when you needed him.”

“Tallulah – “ He turns away from me. That really does hurt. I want desperately to apologise and take it back, but I need to make him understand.

After a long moment he turns back. “Okay. Yeah. I guess this is how it felt to you, isn’t it? Except worse because she was there listening to it – fine.” He throws his hands up. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sorry too.”

“Though for the record I still believe everything I said there.”

He needs to learn when to shut up. Wait, no. That’s not what he’s asking. He wants to know whether I still believe what I just said.

I don’t even know whether I do. Is Lord Blackthorn a good father? I’ve only seen him and Edward together once, and that was in the aftermath of the riot. I know he loves Edward, though, and Edward loves him back.

Is that enough? Once I would have said yes, but that was before. Now… I just don’t know. I don’t trust my own judgement any more. “I didn’t think about what I said, honestly. It just…”

Edward shrugs. “I deserved it. Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t if you won’t?”

“Deal.” He pauses. “If you do want to talk about it… anything, really. I’m here.”

“I might take you up on that when I actually know what I think about all this. In the meantime, could you help me make it to my dormitory?”

Edward smiles and offers me his arm.

I tug the curtains around my bed shut and then lie there, unmoving and exhausted.

Is Mother a bad parent? Has she failed me?

Edward had a point: maybe this pain is necessary. Maybe confronting these questions is the first step to finding acceptable answers.

He thinks too highly of me, though. Supposing I cut her out of my life because I didn’t respect her any more, when I just never wrote to her because I couldn’t face the thought of her confronting me with my own failure.

I felt I couldn’t confide in her. I felt she’d blame and judge me. Why did I feel that way? I stare into the empty darkness, and the answer comes: because of how she’d reacted when I tried before.

When I was accepted into Genford, I cried. I didn’t want to go to a strange fancy school; I wanted to go to the ordinary high school my friends were going to. Thirteen-year-old me didn’t care about making connections or future career opportunities or anything like that.

Mother told me to stop being such a baby. It was for my own good. I’d get over it and make new friends, and one day I’d thank her for it.

I never did. After the first couple of days there I gave up on trying to make her see and started pretending that everything was okay. Only now do I realise that I never stopped pretending. I never belonged at Genford, and I was never happy there.

It seems so obvious now, but at the time… when you’ve been living with something for two years, it becomes normal. You don’t realise that you’re suffering.

Even if I couldn’t, though… should Mother have realised? She was busy: she must have thought Tallulah’s getting good grades and she says she’s happy. I don’t need to worry about her. Until she did.

There’s everything she said after I Fell, too. It still hurts to remember that. Deceitful, ungrateful brat, and no daughter of mine. Malaina changes things, though. It’s not a surprise it would change how she saw me. It’s not a surprise she’d think worse of me for it.

And then on top of that the shock of finding out exactly what I’ve been doing since from the newspapers, of all things, because I couldn’t even write to her to tell her… that I can’t blame anyone but myself for. I should have told her. I shouldn’t have tried to pretend she didn’t exist.

Edward has a point, though: what does it say about someone that their own daughter would rather pretend they didn’t exist? She could have been loving, supportive. She could have talked to me occasionally about things beyond grades and planning my future. It wouldn’t have been too hard to notice then that I was lying to myself, that I wasn’t okay.

I don’t know. Maybe trying to assign blame for the past isn’t the right way of thinking about it. Maybe I should be focusing on the future.

All that does is remind me of the look of betrayal on her face as she watched me remain silent, fail to defend her. The dreadful silence that followed her exit. I don’t know how to fix that.

Stars, I realise, I’m supposed to go home for Holy Days. I’m supposed to live with her for nearly a month. I don’t know if I could stand a month of icy silence. I don’t even know if she’d let me come home any more.

Edward would take me in for a month if I asked. He’d probably be delighted to have company. I don’t know that I want to live in Blackthorn Manor, though. I’ve grown used to the grandeur of the Academy now, but there are hundreds of people here, enough to fill the building. It would be quite different to be one of only a handful of people living in a manor.

It would be quite different to live with Lord Blackthorn. That’s the real problem.

It’s beside the point right now, though. How am I going to fix this? I need to talk to her – though as soon as I think about it I want to do almost anything but that – but it was giving into the urge to just not deal with it that led me to this point in the first place.

I can write. It’ll be easier in a letter. I’ll have time to choose my words carefully, to make sure I’m saying precisely what I mean to. I’ll do it tonight. Well, after I’m up to date with my homework, anyway.