Page 40 of Twisted Magic

“I thought the moment for me to red-mist Bogdan had passed,” he commented wryly.

Seliah was already shaking her head. “Not that. Use your magic for good.”

“It’s only good for keeping myself alive.”

“Not true. If your magic isn’t healing, then what is it?”

“This is an unanswerable question, now that Maman is dead.”

“Wrong. She didn’t know either, or she wouldn’t have experimented on you. It’s in you to know.” She poked him in the chest with a pointy finger. “It’s inherited magic, right? All of you have it to some extent, manifesting as a resistance to being damaged.”

“Hmm.” She had a point. And the answer seemed to be there dangling elusively just out of reach.

“Do you need more time, Jadren?” Bogdan called mockingly. “Or—”

“Yes, thanks,” Jadren said back. “Appreciate the offer.” Turning his shoulder to the fuming wizard, he focused on Seliah. “Keep going. What else?”

“Why did you restore my hair when you healed me? That’s not healing either.”

He frowned, trying to remember. “I like it long and I missed it. I wanted to put it back. Restore it so that…” He trailed off, not quite able to put words to his ability, but feeling closer to it than ever.

“Yes.” Seliah nodded eagerly. “Your magic is strong in kinetics and time manipulation, your MP scorecard showed. In penetrating to the realm beyond what most of us understand. Maybe your magic is more a kind of repair and restoration that you do to yourself, but also apply to anything.”

His mind and heart raced, excited by this possibility as he hadn’t been by anything he’d attempted in all his life. Then he deflated. “We still don’t have enough magic to match—”

“Tik tok,” Bogdan called out in irritation. “I’d have insisted on a time limit, had I known you’d be dragging your feet like this.”

“Poor planning on your part,” Jadren shot back. Still, if he was going to do anything, he needed to do it soon, as the assembly grew restless, many shooting him concerned looks. He was losing their confidence.

“We don’t need a ton of magic,” Seliah said in a rush. “Consider this: the house knows this about you and wants you to restore her to the way she wants to be. Maybe this shifting and changing and trapping people isn’t malicious but more like… well, like the kind of insanity you and I both experienced. Magic stagnation and other weirdnesses.” She waved her free hand vaguely.

“Other weirdnesses,” he repeated, utterly charmed by her, and also fiercely intrigued.

“I don’t know how to explain it in magical terms,” she snapped in frustration. “It’s just a working theory.”

“No, I think you’re on to something.” He and Seliah had both had their magic go awry, turning back on themselves, expressing in ways not under their control. If House El-Adrel had developed a kind of consciousness, perhaps she had suffered, from inattention and inability to fully exercise her magic, or some such. Could be that the shifting around of the rooms were the house’s version of nightmares, of calling out in her sleep, kicking and fighting against unseen foes. He could sympathize. “I wonder if the painting of House Phel was a clue,” he mused.

Seliah caught her breath. “Nic and Gabriel raised the manse from the marshes and restored it to its former state. You and I always use that metaphor of losing ourselves to the trauma states as being like going underwater, sinking into the bog. When you helped free me of madness, you said my magic tasted foul. Stagnant, poisonous stuff that had to be drained away. Which you did.”

He nodded along, that thrill of epiphany zinging along his nerves with a feeling of correctness, of hitting upon the right answer. Even better, if they were right about this—and he felt sure they were—then it shouldn’t require much magic at all. “But how do I declare what I’m going to do if all I’m doing is freeing the house?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” She grinned cheekily, and he simply had to kiss her.

“You could always just use the bed,” Bogdan observed cattily.

“Does sarcasm run in your family?” Seliah asked with a grimace. But she was excited, too, a shimmer of anticipation in her that they were on the correct track.

“Apparently it goes with the resistance to death.”

“Spitting in the face of danger? That tracks.”

“Jadren!” Bogdan shouted. “Enough stalling already. Act or concede.”

“Here goes nothing,” Jadren told Seliah, giving her one more quick kiss.

“Exactly,” she replied. “Stand back and allow the wave to break.”

Jadren raised a hand for silence, needing to this time, as the assembly had fallen into gradually rising conversation during the lull. “Denizens of House El-Adrel,” he said, waiting for the last of urgent talkers to self-consciously wind up. “Like me, many of you were born in this house and have spent your lives here. We have always had a conflicted relationship with her—proudly telling tales of her whimsical changes and gleefully speculating on how many bodies lie trapped within her walls. We are also wary of becoming one of those bodies. I believe every one of us has some story of being trapped by disappearing doors or stairways, minor aggravations and major, even life-threatening dangers. This is a fundamental legacy of House El-Adrel.”

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