Fallen Magic

Fortunately it’s not that complicated to activate the enchantments; we manage it that evening. I would have been completely unable to figure it out on my own, but Edward knows exactly what he's doing. Not that that’s a surprise.

That done, I find to my surprise that I don’t have homework due, and I don’t have to deal with the newspapers (at least, not urgently). Edward offers me more lessons in advanced enchantments, but I’m suddenly just so tired. “Maybe tomorrow? I need to rest.”

“Understandable,” Edward says. “Honestly I’m impressed you made it this far.”

It doesn’t seem impressive just surviving, but maybe that’s all I can do.

I make it all the way back to my dormitory and am about to collapse onto my bed when I remember the half-written letter to my mother. Does it really have to be done now? No: I’ve put this off long enough.

I have two paragraphs of precise, formal writing. They set out that I do not in any way hate her or feel she has failed as a mother, and that I apologise greatly for giving that impression when we met on Tuesday. I remember then where I got stuck and why: Edward is the problem.

I need to convey that I disagree with everything he said that day – whether or not I in fact do – while also making it clear that he is my friend, that he has not corrupted me, and that nothing she says or does could change that.

She thinks that day was a choice, though, between her and Edward. She thinks I chose him. And I know from bitter experience that when she gets it into her head that things are a certain way, it’s nearly impossible to change her mind.

It doesn’t matter how well-formulated and elegant your arguments are if the person you’re trying to convince just won’t listen.

Stars. That’s what scares me.

Well. That and the fact that if she continues to not listen, I might find myself with no home to go back to.

I also want to apologise on Edward’s behalf, I write slowly, focusing on making each letter neat and precise, for everything he said to you. He was angry on my behalf and looking for someone to blame; he doesn’t know you. I have explained to him that none of what’s happened is your fault.

Writing such a blatant lie makes me cringe a little. I made no such attempt, and I’m not going to. If the only way I can reconcile myself with her is by lying, should I even be trying?

She’s still my mother. I still love her. I can’t just give up on her. Without a proper relationship with my parents, I’d become even more dependent on the Blackthorns than I already am.

I trust Edward absolutely, but I very much do not trust his father.

But I also want to explain to you that neither is it his fault. I know you’re probably assuming the worst already, but… I can just imagine her face as she reads my words. What am I doing, trying to justify Edward Blackthorn to her? How dare I? Maybe she’s crumpling up the letter and throwing it away in disgust before even reading my attempt at an explanation.

I’ll just have to hope she doesn’t. It’s all I can do now.

I force down another couple of formal paragraphs and sign myself your loving daughter, Tallulah. That isn’t a lie. I do love her. Stars, why am I having to convince myself of that?

There. I’ve done it. I’ll look over it again tomorrow; for now, I can just rest.

Despite my resolution, sleep doesn’t come easily. I’m convinced there’s something I’m forgetting: an assignment due the next morning that I haven’t started, or more questions from the reporters to answer or letters to write or meetings to have. I lie awake for a long while wondering what I’ve forgotten.

When I do sleep, it’s fitful; shadowy figures stalk my dreams. I can’t even work out what they’re supposed to represent. I feel a little better in the morning, though. I’ve survived the worst of it now; I just need to send the letter to my mother and then I can go back to being a relatively normal student of magic.

It doesn’t work out like that. I shouldn’t even be surprised by this point. I wash and dress, look over my letter and walk down to the post room to seal and send it. Which is when I discover that I have rather a lot of post.

“With respect, Mr Blackthorn,” the tired-looking mail worker is saying, “I can’t simply let you take mail addressed to another student without their explicit permission.”

“Tallulah is my friend. She’ll give me permission,” Edward says, that familiar intensity in his voice.

“Be that as it may, I do need to – “

“It’s fine,” I say. “Edward has my permission.”

He spins round. “Tallulah,” he says, warily.

“What did you need my permission for?”

“It seems that rather a lot of people read yesterday’s papers and your words printed in them and decided the appropriate response was to send you a letter. I wanted to sort through them for you. Sorry for being so insistent, by the way, ma’am,” he adds to the mail worker. “Your insistence on following correct security procedures is commendable.”

The poor woman just looks mildly confused at that. “…thanks?”

Edward is going to need a lesson in what normal people do and don’t see as compliments.

“Sorry,” I say to her. “I’d like to send this letter please. And to pick up my post, I suppose.”

There’s a small sack full of it. I make Edward carry it, because he was so keen on collecting it for me, and we set off to get breakfast before getting to work.

“I will still sort through it for you,” he says.

“I can sort through it myself,” I say, a little tension in my voice.

“Oh, right. That sounds kind of…”

“Controlling?” I ask; it comes out harsher than I meant it. I know Edward wouldn’t intentionally try to control me, but I wouldn’t be overly surprised if he just thought it was being helpful and sparing me pain.

“Well. Yes. That’s not what I’m trying to do, though. I’ll pass on anything important or anything you need to respond to. It’s just to save you time.”

“By spending your own instead,” I say. Not that I don’t appreciate it, and not that I particularly like the idea of sorting through the pile myself, but it doesn’t feel quite right. “We could do it together. Then it’s done in half the time and neither of us has to suffer alone.”

Edward laughs. “I’ve taught you too well, haven’t I? Now I can’t hide my intentions from you properly. Fine. You win. Remember back when we first met, when I also got far too many letters like this?”

I do remember. Was it really only a couple of months ago? It seems an eternity. “…yeah?”

“Some of them said some… rather unpleasant things about me. It seems likely there’ll be people saying unpleasant things about you. I’d rather you didn’t have to read those things.”

“…oh,” I say. I understand now: he’s trying to protect me. I appreciate it, I really do. “I don’t want you to have to read those things either.”

“Someone has to,” he says.

“Then it should be me. This is my problem.”

“Which I am largely responsible for.”

I shake my head. “Edward. I don’t need you to protect me.”

He stops on the staircase and turns to face me. “Don’t you?”

I hate that he asks me that. I hate that I have to ask myself whether I do need his protection and I’m just too stubborn to admit it.

“I don’t want to,” I say. “You have more than enough to worry about without having to look after me. I don’t want to be the one slowing you down because you’re always having to check whether I’m okay.”

“You want to be partners. Equal partners.”

“Yes.” I hadn’t quite thought about it in those terms, but he’s right.

“Tallulah.” He hesitates. “You should know me well enough by now to realise that when I say that right now that isn’t going to work…”

“It’s a statement of fact, not an insult. Yes.”

It hurts a little to admit that, but he’s right.

“And that you might not want to become the person who could make it work.”

I shake my head. “I do. If the world is going to keep throwing these problems at me, I want to be someone who’s capable of dealing with them without breaking.”

At some point I must have reached clarity without realising it, because it seems obvious now. I can’t keep going in this awkward middle ground, caught up in schemes of politics and power without understanding them. Either I quit – which would mean abandoning Edward, which is completely out of the question – or I learn how to play.

“Teach me. Please.”

Edward laughs bitterly. “I don’t have it all figured out. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I’m going to make a lot more if I survive them all.”

“Then we’ll figure it all out,” I say, “together.”

“Everything I’ve learnt is telling me that you’re being hopelessly naïve.”

I flinch.

“That just because there are two of us now doesn’t mean we can do anything. It doesn’t make us any more than a pair of inexperienced teenagers.”

“You’re – “

“But I want to believe you. Stars, I want to believe you so much.” He offers me his hand, an overly formal gesture that he somehow makes not look awkward. “Tallulah Roberts,” he says, “would you like to change the world together?”

I adjust my grip on my crutches so I can free a hand without losing my balance, then take his. “Edward Blackthorn, it would be an honour.”

He grins. “Step One of my brilliant plan: get breakfast.”

“That’s how all the best plans start,” I say, laughing.

So that’s what we do. Step One is an unmitigated success. Step Two, on the other hand, is dealing with the sack of post we’ve been trying our hardest to ignore while eating.

Edward reserves a meeting room, and I’m pleasantly surprised by the fact I can haul myself up the stairs much more easily than I could have a couple of days ago. I don’t think it’ll be long before I can ditch the crutches altogether.

He unceremoniously opens the sack and tips the letters out into a heap. “You get first pick,” he says. “Don’t touch any of this, you never know what enchantments or contact poisons could be lurking in there.”

I would really have preferred not to receive that kind of warning. “And… how, precisely, am I expected to open letters without touching them?”

“You’re a magician, aren’t you?”

Right. Yes. I am a magician. I fix my gaze on the nearest envelope and attack it with a weak cutting-spell. I’m not used to such precise work, so it’s a pleasant surprise that I get the intended result: a thin strip at the top of the envelope tears off, leaving a thin piece of cream-coloured paper visible.

I use a General Animation Spell to remove the letter from the envelope, unfold it and bring it close enough to read. There’s only a single sentence: STAY AWAY FROM BLACKTHORNS IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, GIRL.

“Yeah,” I say, “you wouldn’t want to read this one.”

He grimaces. “My turn?”

It’s just words, I tell myself. They can’t hurt me.

I tell myself that many more times over the next hour.

Most of the letters are of that general nature, though some are more personal attacks and many also contain various insults and slurs. It’s easier when there are two of us, and we can mock them viciously to pretend they don’t hurt us. Though there’s only so many times you can critique the spelling of someone threatening to kill all Blackthorns before it loses its humour.

There are some that can’t be so easily dismissed, though, because they’re not threats at all. One girl has written to me thanking me: reading about my extraordinary bravery gave her the courage to stand up to a bully who hasn’t bothered her since.

“Good for her,” says Edward.

“But I – “

He waits for me to find the words.

“I’m not extraordinarily brave. I’m not a hero, or a role model, I’m just – “

“Stop.”

I stop.

“Lesson in politics. Don’t deny your successes.”

That was not what I expected him to say.

“People are going to underestimate you, because you’re an inexperienced teenager. Sometimes you want that to be the case, but if you want people to take you seriously? You’re going to need to be more than that. You need to be the girl who persuaded the Black Raven to show mercy and lived to tell the tale. Which you did,” he adds.

“But it wasn’t – “

“You don’t need to believe in your own legend. It’s probably best if you don’t. But you need to pretend you do.”

I can do that. I can definitely do that. What could possibly go wrong?