kneading her ankle through the soft kid.
“And how exactly do they think they can stop people using magic, anyway?” Emily added, leaning back and enjoying the warm play of Stanton’s fingers on her leg.
“As I understand it, they propose to implement a sort of poison,” Stanton said. “A poison, deployed within the ManticAnastomosis itself, that would make magic toxic to any practitioner channeling it. The idea was put forth in the fifties by a scientist named Aleksei Morozovich. It sent the magical community into an uproar.”
“I can imagine.” Emily winced as Stanton’s fingers found a particularly sore spot. Then, she asked softly, “How toxic?”
“As Morozovich’s research was never disseminated, that’s a matter of speculation. Some say that even the smallest charm could leave a practitioner feeling ill … and that perhaps, it could be fatal to an individual working a great magic.”
“And what about someone like you?” Emily asked. “Someone burned?”
Stanton pressed his lips together and was silent for a long time. His hand played over her ankle gently.
“Being burned means I cannot control the magic that flows through my body,” he said eventually. “I have no defenses against it; it flows through me untrammeled. I do not choose to channel magic, and thus I cannot choose
not
to channel magic. If the poison as it has been described were to be implemented, I imagine it would be unpleasant.”
“Mildly unpleasant?” Emily ventured hopefully. “Maybe?”
“Fatally unpleasant,” Stanton said. “Probably.”
Emily let his words hang in the air, hoping the afternoon brightness would blunt them. It didn’t.
It was Stanton who finally spoke again.
“The Sini Mira does not care about me, or people like me. They are fanatics, willing to trample innocent bystanders in the pursuit of their goals.”
“Great. So I have fanatics following me around. Again.”
He looked at her. “Well, the preliminary indications are that they’re not after you, per se. They are interested in your mother. And even if they do think that you can help them find something out about her, as long as you stay within the Institute, you’ll be completely safe.”
The sureness and protectiveness in his voice made her feel like giggling. Emily hated girls who giggled, so she bit her lip and tried to look serious.
“I just wish I knew what they wanted.”
“You said your mother was going to the Sini Mira. Whatever business she hoped to transact with them was obviously never completed. What that business could have been …” He furrowed his brow quizzically. “A nice young woman from Boston, with a child, crossing the country to get to the Sini Mira in San Francisco.” He rested his hand on her ankle, shaking his head. “Whatever the situation, it must have been dire.” He gently lowered her foot. “Better?”
“Much.” Emily smiled at him. “I need to speak with Komé. I think she knows more about the Sini Mira than she ever told me.” She softened her voice. “She wanted me to go with them, back in Chicago. Remember?”
“I remember,” Stanton said. “I didn’t agree with her then either.”
“I’ll speak to Emeritus Zeno tonight,” Emily said, thinking of the rooting ball with Komé’s acorn in it. “He has to let me talk to her.”
“It’s not getting Zeno to let you speak to Komé, it’s getting Fortissimus to let you speak to Zeno,” Stanton said. “You know what he’s like.”
“Fortissimus.”
Emily grumbled the word like a curse. Yes, she knew exactly what Rex Fortissimus was like. The most prominent presentment arranger in New York, Fortissimus supposedly knew more about credomancy than anyone besides Emeritus Zeno. He had been retained at an extremely handsome rate to arrange the Investment, promote Stanton’s public image, and advise him on decisions of importance. He’d been making a nuisance of himself for weeks, mostly by claiming whatever share of
“And how exactly do they think they can stop people using magic, anyway?” Emily added, leaning back and enjoying the warm play of Stanton’s fingers on her leg.
“As I understand it, they propose to implement a sort of poison,” Stanton said. “A poison, deployed within the ManticAnastomosis itself, that would make magic toxic to any practitioner channeling it. The idea was put forth in the fifties by a scientist named Aleksei Morozovich. It sent the magical community into an uproar.”
“I can imagine.” Emily winced as Stanton’s fingers found a particularly sore spot. Then, she asked softly, “How toxic?”
“As Morozovich’s research was never disseminated, that’s a matter of speculation. Some say that even the smallest charm could leave a practitioner feeling ill … and that perhaps, it could be fatal to an individual working a great magic.”
“And what about someone like you?” Emily asked. “Someone burned?”
Stanton pressed his lips together and was silent for a long time. His hand played over her ankle gently.
“Being burned means I cannot control the magic that flows through my body,” he said eventually. “I have no defenses against it; it flows through me untrammeled. I do not choose to channel magic, and thus I cannot choose
not
to channel magic. If the poison as it has been described were to be implemented, I imagine it would be unpleasant.”
“Mildly unpleasant?” Emily ventured hopefully. “Maybe?”
“Fatally unpleasant,” Stanton said. “Probably.”
Emily let his words hang in the air, hoping the afternoon brightness would blunt them. It didn’t.
It was Stanton who finally spoke again.
“The Sini Mira does not care about me, or people like me. They are fanatics, willing to trample innocent bystanders in the pursuit of their goals.”
“Great. So I have fanatics following me around. Again.”
He looked at her. “Well, the preliminary indications are that they’re not after you, per se. They are interested in your mother. And even if they do think that you can help them find something out about her, as long as you stay within the Institute, you’ll be completely safe.”
The sureness and protectiveness in his voice made her feel like giggling. Emily hated girls who giggled, so she bit her lip and tried to look serious.
“I just wish I knew what they wanted.”
“You said your mother was going to the Sini Mira. Whatever business she hoped to transact with them was obviously never completed. What that business could have been …” He furrowed his brow quizzically. “A nice young woman from Boston, with a child, crossing the country to get to the Sini Mira in San Francisco.” He rested his hand on her ankle, shaking his head. “Whatever the situation, it must have been dire.” He gently lowered her foot. “Better?”
“Much.” Emily smiled at him. “I need to speak with Komé. I think she knows more about the Sini Mira than she ever told me.” She softened her voice. “She wanted me to go with them, back in Chicago. Remember?”
“I remember,” Stanton said. “I didn’t agree with her then either.”
“I’ll speak to Emeritus Zeno tonight,” Emily said, thinking of the rooting ball with Komé’s acorn in it. “He has to let me talk to her.”
“It’s not getting Zeno to let you speak to Komé, it’s getting Fortissimus to let you speak to Zeno,” Stanton said. “You know what he’s like.”
“Fortissimus.”
Emily grumbled the word like a curse. Yes, she knew exactly what Rex Fortissimus was like. The most prominent presentment arranger in New York, Fortissimus supposedly knew more about credomancy than anyone besides Emeritus Zeno. He had been retained at an extremely handsome rate to arrange the Investment, promote Stanton’s public image, and advise him on decisions of importance. He’d been making a nuisance of himself for weeks, mostly by claiming whatever share of
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