Thaumatology 101 Read online

  The sigil which guarded the door was fairly simple, for a given value of simple. The complexity there was that it responded to non-magicians if they knew the correct form of wording, but she was pretty confident about that.

  Then there were the runes built into the building as it had gone up. These strengthened the structure and actually repaired wear and tear. Nothing she could not handle, so long as she could work out how to actually get to them to work on them. Some were in the foundations! She finally cracked that when she found her mother’s notes on the maintenance mechanism they had built in. Everything could be handled from a central point in the cellar.

  Twill flew in with a fresh mug of coffee as she was going over the enchantments for the grounds. ‘Those,’ she said, landing on Ceri’s shoulder, ‘need work. Especially the barrier on the south gate.’

  ‘Yeah, well they put the runes in using ink rather than carving them,’ Ceri said. ‘Dad’s view was that carving into wood didn’t make that much difference so long as there was someone there to keep up the drawings.’

  Twill gave her a pat on the cheek with a hand so small it felt almost like a pin pricking her. ‘Well, now there is,’ she said.

  ‘Huh, yeah, if the Calendula and Elder ink is in any fit state to use.’

  ‘Well,’ Twill said, ‘let’s go look. Your parents kept those supplies in the cellar, didn’t they?’ She looked down at Ceri’s shoulder and sniffed. ‘Walk slowly, please, I’ve nothing to hang onto. Why did you put one of these things on anyway? I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in one of your shirts.’

  Ceri looked down at the white, lace-and-mesh teddy she had put on without thinking that morning. ‘This is comfortable,’ she said, ‘and I felt like wearing it.’ And the unbidden voice in the back of her head was saying that Lily would like it; it would turn the half-succubus on and Ceri would get another compliment. There was no way she was admitting that to the fairy.

  Standing up, she made her way as smoothly as she could down the stairs to the hall. Off to one side, in the corner, was the hidden-but-not-really-secret door which lead to the spiral staircase to the cellar. The stairs were dark and fairly narrow, but Ceri had been navigating them since she was old enough to walk. At the bottom, a small chamber presented them with two options; off to the right, directly below the main area of the house, were the two summoning rooms, and ahead of them was a heavy, metal door which led to into the workshop.

  It was as much a laboratory as a workshop, really. Amulets and charms, as well as larger items, had been made there. There was an entire jewellery making bench at the far end, and the left wall was lined with heavy wooden tables and the kind of glassware you saw in semi-industrial chemical labs. When her mother had been working on a new potion, she had tended to get very enthusiastic.

  There were two cabinets in the room. The smaller one was metal, had a padlock on the front, and was entirely empty. It had contained various things which you needed a special license to obtain and store. A couple of weeks after her parents’ funeral Ceri had taken several men in protective clothing from the Department for Environmental Affairs to the cellar to clear out the contents of the cupboard. She had been happy that they had come; she had not wanted to go near some of the stuff in there.

  Beside that stood a much larger, wooden cabinet which contained the more general supplies. Ceri rarely came down here; there really was very little she usually wanted, or at least, that was what she told herself. As she opened the big, wooden doors of the cabinet and the scent of herbs, oils, spices, and other things she had more trouble identifying filled her nose, she felt a sudden flurry of excitement. Back before the accident which had claimed her parents, she had loved watching them working down here. When she had been younger, she had thought that she would be doing the same someday, and later she had just been happy to help.

  ‘Mum used to let me help her sometimes,’ Ceri said as she began checking the shelves. ‘I’d grind the pigments for inks, or the herbs for her potions. Even when it was clear I was never going to be able to work magic I’d still do the grunt work.’

  ‘You enjoyed it?’ Twill asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Ceri replied. ‘It was something I could do with them. It felt like I was doing something magical, even though it wasn’t.’

  ‘And now you can do magic,’ Twill said. ‘I’ve never heard of anyone spontaneously developing magical talent before.’

  Ceri found a packet the size of a pack of cigarettes, checked the label and grinned. ‘Cheryl checked the literature,’ she said, ‘and she couldn’t find anything either. Then again, she couldn’t find any examples of someone surviving a thaumic burst like that.’ She peeled back the wrapper of the packet and checked the slightly waxy substance inside. ‘This looks good.’

  Twill carried a bottle from the back of one of the shelves. It was bigger than she was. ‘The oil’s dried out though,’ she said. ‘You realise that the chances that you would come out of an accident like that with beneficial side effects must be smaller than those particles you’ve been looking for.’

  Ceri shrugged and picked up the bottle. ‘Even a tiny chance is a chance,’ she said. ‘I’ll go up to Baltzman’s and get some more of this stuff.’ She waited for Twill to fly out and land on her shoulder before pushing the doors closed, and then started for the door, bottle in hand.

  ‘You will be putting some clothes on, won’t you?’ Twill said as they started up the stairs.

  ‘Yes, Twill,’ Ceri said, suppressing a smirk.

  ‘I’m sure you look wonderful in just a… teddy is it? But I think something a little more covering is appropriate.’

  ‘Yes, Twill, I’d never have thought of that.’

  There was a second or two of silence and then Twill said, ‘Don’t think I won’t enchant you knickers to shrink three sizes once you’ve got them on.’

  Ceri tried very hard not to giggle.

  Soho

  Blatzman’s was the best purveyor of magical supplies and equipment in London. Grey’s Market on Oxford Street was larger and shinier, and many people who did not know better went there, but Ceri’s parents had always bought their supplies at Baltzman’s. That was as good a reason as any for Ceri to take the trip up to Piccadilly Circus and then walk up to Great Pulteney Street. It was quiet, being Sunday, but the shop would be open for a short day; magicians were not big on Sundays as a day of rest.

  The shop was correctly called “Baltzman’s Emporium of Magical Artifice,” which had resulted in the student community christening it Beema’s. Generally, though, students did not shop there, and so had never met Earnest Baltzman. If they had, they would have shown more respect. Ceri remembered him as a stern old man who had looked at her over the top of half-spectacles whenever she strayed from her parents. Then again, the last time she had been there was when she was twelve.

  Ceri looked up at the six storey building built in the Regency style. Age had had a significant effect, however, and it seemed run down and in need of repair. It was not exactly an illusion, like High Towers, but Ceri knew the interior was not the same. Taking a deep breath, she opened the front door and walked in.

  A bored-looking assistant glanced at her from behind a counter and then went back to reading a textbook on potion brewing. She was attractive, and dressed in a lot of black. Her hair was black as well, though unlike Ceri’s, hers was dyed. Her large, hoop earrings had pentagrams in them. Ceri hid her smirk in a smile and started through to the inner door. The front room was there for one purpose; it was a tourist trap. The cases around the walls displayed over-priced charms and amulets, and interesting looking trinkets, the kind of thing which the norms found irresistible. Baltzman could not stand tourists.

  The inner door led onto a labyrinth of small and large rooms, staircases half-hidden behind screens, and bookcases. You more or less had to know what you were looking for and where to find it since there were no signs and it was very easy to get turned around and find yourself walking in circles. Her parents had sai
d that the further up you went, the more esoteric, and potentially dangerous, the materials got. Ink-making supplies were, thankfully, considered among the least threatening of magical paraphernalia and she found them in the third room she got to.

  She was going over the oil bottles, trying to find the brand her parents had used when she heard the voice from behind her. ‘May I be of assistance, young lady?’

  Turning, she saw a man who had to be well into his seventies looking at her over wire-framed half-spectacles. Standing straight, he was probably almost her height, but he stooped and she found herself looking down to meet his grey eyes. Somehow, Baltzman did not look as terrifying as he had twelve years earlier. ‘Oh, yes Mr Baltzman. I’m doing some repair work on some enchantments and, well…’ She held up the oil bottle she had brought along.

  Baltzman eyed the dried up gunk at the bottom of the bottle. ‘It takes years for that oil to dry up like that,’ he commented.

  Ceri nodded. ‘Six,’ she confirmed. ‘I’d really like to use the same oil. It’s what my parents always used. They swore by it.’

  He frowned. It was fairly clear he had assumed she was a norm who had got past the front room, but she seemed to know him and have some idea what she was doing. ‘Have we met, young lady? You appear to know me.’

  Ceri grinned sheepishly. ‘I used to come here with my parents, but I haven’t been since I was twelve…’

  He poked a wrinkled finger at her. ‘David and Marion Brent’s daughter… Ceridwyn?’ There was obviously nothing wrong with his memory. ‘I understood that you had… gone into the more mundane magical sciences.’

  Ceri blushed a little. ‘I’m a norm,’ she said, and then amended. ‘I was a norm. I guess I was a late bloomer.’

  Baltzman’s eyebrow raised, but he said, ‘That brand went out of business about three years ago.’ He stepped smoothly around her, reached up, and plucked a bottle from the shelves. ‘I think you’ll find this a suitable substitute.’

  She bobbed her head, taking the bottle from him. ‘Thank you. I haven’t really done this before. I used to help Mum make ink up, but… it’s been a while.’

  He looked her up and down, and nodded. ‘I think you’ll find it comes back to you. Your parents had an account with us. I’ll see that it’s transferred to your name. Have a good day, Miss Brent.’ He turned and ambled off deeper into the shop before she could reply.

  Kennington

  By the time Ceri was out in the garden with a pestle containing her ink and a newly cut quill made from an Eagle Owl’s feather, she had lost herself in her work and largely forgotten about Lily, or anything much else really. Time likely passed, but she did not notice as she carefully traced over the faded runes her father had drawn onto the wood of the arbour which formed the “gate” on the south side of the grounds.

  There was no physical gate. The path appeared entirely open to anyone wishing to walk through, but no animals ever walked in, and anyone with ill intent trying to enter would be repelled. Well, they would if the enchantment was working properly. Currently, according to Twill, they were even getting the odd fox in through the fence.

  Ceri was fairly sure she had done everything right. Dressing up in the old lab coat her mother had worn when working had not been necessary, but it had felt right; and it stopped the ink getting on her clothes. She had ground a couple of ounces of the pigment bar, made with Calendula and Elder to ward off evil, and then mixed in the oil, and ground again. A couple of iterations of oil and grinding, and she had her ink to the consistency she wanted, and all the while she had been charging the ink using the same mantra her mother had always used.

  Twill had been watching the whole time, and the fairy gave a little nod of satisfaction when Ceri declared that the ink was ready. The fae’s approval had been appreciated. Somehow, Ceri felt, it was like her parents were there watching with pride as she mixed her first ink for real.

  The final rune was low on the gatepost and she spent five minutes bent in half with her quill moving carefully over the badly worn surface. As she completed the final line, however, she was rewarded by a brief flare of light from all the runes on the arbour. It had worked! She had renewed the enchantment her parents had created. It was not quite as satisfying as creating one herself, but a lot of apprentice enchanters started out doing this kind of work.

  She let out a slight groan as she straightened her back and sat up. ‘You need to work on your flexibility,’ Lily said from behind her.

  Ceri turned, looking over her shoulder. The half-succubus was sitting on the scruffy grass beside the gravel path, dressed in one of Ceri’s large shirts. The arms were a little too long, but it was stretched very tightly across her chest. Her nipples were standing out as well. ‘I didn’t see you there,’ Ceri said, because she did not know what else to say.

  ‘I didn’t want to disturb you,’ Lily replied. ‘I’m not sure I could have if I’d wanted to. That was… very impressive.’

  ‘Huh,’ Ceri scoffed, self-deprecatingly, ‘I was just tracing over my father’s work.’

  Lily shook her head. ‘I could feel the power coming off you,’ she said. ‘It made me…’ She did a slow, sensuous blink, shuddering slightly. ‘…tingle.’

  Ceri swallowed. ‘W-well, just wait until I get started on the house runes.’

  Lily’s smile was predatory. ‘Can’t wait,’ she said.

  ‘Uh, well, I have the corner posts to do,’ Ceri backpedalled, ‘a-and the front gate posts to look at. Probably tomorrow.’ She climbed to her feet to go to the back of the property, but stopped as Lily stood as well.

  Lily closed the distance between them, looking like a big cat stalking prey. She smiled, showing her fangs and whispered, ‘Tease.’ Ceri’s breath stopped. But then the half-demon turned back toward the house. When she spoke again, her voice was normal Lily. ‘I’m going to get some breakfast. See you inside.’

  Ceri let out the breath she was holding. Another couple of days, she could last another couple of days. Sure she could.

  ~~~

  The front fence of High Tower was different from the high, cedar plank fence panels which formed most of the other three sides. Frameworks of wrought iron spikes held up on granite posts looked rather less secure than the cedar panels, but it fitted the “haunted house” concept much better, and the runes carved into the posts made sure that this fence was no less secure than the other ones.

  The carvings were just as sharp as when Ceri’s father had cut them, but as she ran her fingers over the smooth stone she could sense that they needed to be charged up, re-energised. She still had ink, and that seemed like the simplest way, so she began carefully tracing along the bottom of each rune with her quill, starting from the right and working in, then going to the left extreme and working back to the iron gate in the middle.

  So it was that she was on her knees beside the gatepost, carefully tracing the last rune when the man and woman in suits arrived at the gate. They looked down at the young woman with the short, black hair dressed in a white lab coat which was slightly too small and dotted with various stains, some of them fresh, and then looked at each other. ‘Miss Ceridwyn Brent?’ the man asked.

  ‘Moment,’ Ceri said, concentrating on the task of laying a fine line of ink along the bottom of the rune.

  The man seemed to be about to speak again, but his friend raised a hand and he closed his mouth, looking grumpy. Ceri’s pen reached the end of the rune and she lifted it away with a slight sigh. Four runes on each post burned brilliantly for a second, and then a shimmering, pale orange wall rose up along the fence line, climbing to about eight feet and hanging there for a second before dissipating. The man stumbled backward, looking slightly shocked.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Ceri said. ‘I couldn’t really stop in the middle. Yes, I’m Ceridwyn Brent. Who are you?’ Stood on the inside of her newly reinforced barrier enchantment, Ceri felt quite sure that these two could be assassins from Hell and she would be safe. That was likely a little over c
onfident, but she figured she would at least have some time to run.

  The woman reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, holding it open for Ceri to see. ‘Detective Sergeant Middleshaw,’ she said. ‘This is Detective Inspector Radcliff. We’re from the Greycoats.’

  ‘You’re here about Shane Walters?’ Ceri asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ Radcliff replied. ‘Can we come in, or do we get burned alive on the spot?’

  Standing up, Ceri reached forward and opened the gate with a slight smile. ‘Enter my land without malice, detectives, leave it without hindrance.’

  Middleshaw smiled back as she stepped through the gate, Radcliff looked as though he was expecting hellfire to pour down from the rooftop at any moment. If Ceri had to guess, while Radcliff was the senior officer, Middleshaw had the most experience of magic. The Greycoats were the branch of the Metropolitan Police Force which specialised in magical investigation. Originally part of Scotland Yard, they had been given their own building on nearby Greycoat Street, mostly because the norms wanted rid of them. There was, however, some movement between the Yard and the Greycoats, most commonly a norm detective moving over to provide the benefit of investigative experience to the more magically inclined detectives. Management and politicians tended to think the mixed teams were a good idea.

  Closing the gate behind them, Ceri took a few quick steps to get ahead and led the way to the front doors. She had every confidence that Twill would have warned Lily of their guests, though she also had a slightly twisted wish that Lily would decide not to get dressed before they walked in.

  ‘Uh, it’s a lot less…’ Radcliff said as they walked into the hallway.

  ‘Haunted?’ Ceri suggested.

  Radcliff nodded. ‘It’s a lot less haunted-looking on the inside.’ His hesitancy made him seem smaller somehow, but he was a tall man, easily six-feet in height and slim with it. It looked like there was a fair bit of muscle on his frame; the long, lean muscle that came from a regular, but light, fitness regimen. He would probably have been fairly good looking too, if he could have managed a smile. As it was the firm jaw, high-bridged nose, stark blue eyes, and the cropped black hair just made him look more grim.