Fallen Magic

It's early afternoon by the time my lesson finishes. Just enough time to grab something for lunch and then do just enough research in the library that the lawyers won't have reason to suspect I've been doing anything else. I curse whatever made my life so complicated.

I hurry to the library and dive straight into its Malaina section. But there isn't much that I find helpful. I vaguely remember that my dad came looking for the same thing while I was in hospital after I Fell, and he didn't have much luck either. I've been spoilt by the Central Library in Ryk, as well as the Academy's (hyperspace and all).

I have a little more luck with the legal section, where I find two or three large volumes on Malaina law which seem promising. Maybe I should look for a proper law library, or go back to the Archive of Public Information – both are likely to contain proper trial records. I'd need to be back in the capital to do that, though.

But I manage to piece together a page or so of notes over the next hour or two, enough to make it look like I've made progress. Even if it doesn't feel like I've made progress. I'm startled out of my focus when the bell rings to signal ten minutes until closing. Which means ten minutes until the work day ends, too. I'll have to be quick to get back to the office.

And I am quick. I don't quite run, but I'm still a little out of breath when I reach the office with two minutes to spare. I see Jamie give me a disdainful look as I enter the reception area, which makes me glad for those two minutes. It seems like just the sort of thing he'd do to lock the door precisely on time and leave me stranded outside.

I'd like to hope that people like him would at least understand that annoying the ones they're afraid of because of their dangerous magic could have nasty consequences for all concerned. But I have very little faith in that. Electra wrote something similar about those who'd bullied Olivia, the girl she eventually killed.

It would be a lot easier to hate her if she didn't have the annoying habit of so often being right.

I make my way down the increasingly familiar corridor and knock on Tara's office door.

"I'll be with you in a minute," she calls out from within. In the middle of something, I suppose. Maybe I should just wait in the reception area and go home with my dad when he emerges. But I can see his office door from my position opposite Tara's, so I shrug and lean back against the wall.

True to her word, Tara opens the door almost precisely a minute later. But she's not alone: she had a client with her. A man in his seventies or eighties, but still tall and imposing. He's thanking Tara for her time as he makes his way out, but he stops as he sees me.

"Is this one of your employees?" he asks. "I swear, they get younger every year."

"She's the daughter of a colleague," Tara replies. "She doesn't work here. She's just helping out while she's home for Holy Days. I hope you have all the information you need to decide your next steps, Mr Gregor."

"Yes, you've been most helpful, thank you – " He stops walking a second time, just outside the office, uncomfortably close to me. I press myself a little closer to the wall. "Daughter of – " I can almost see the gears turning in his mind, as he remembers exactly who Tara's colleagues are and exactly which infamous daughter she's referring to.

"Tallulah Roberts herself. Well. What an… unexpected pleasure."

I wish that I could just fall backwards into the wall and disappear. I can't quite read his tone: interest, certainly, but what kind of interest is difficult to tell. "It's nice to meet you too, Mr Gregor," I try. I sound absurd. Like a child playing at manners. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Tallulah is just waiting for her father," Tara says quickly. "They'll be going home shortly."

"And yet she knocked on your door?"

"That's – it's nothing urgent," I improvise. It's probably true enough, though it would be nice to spend a minute or two updating Tara on my findings. "It can wait until tomorrow."

"I'm very curious about you," Mr Gregor said. "Tell me. What makes you special enough to attract the attention of the Blackthorns?"

"I – I don't know. You'd have to ask them." It's something I've asked myself before, and I've not quite found a satisfactory answer. But it's not any of this stranger's business.

But he's a client. And I don't want to antagonise him.

He laughs a little. "Maybe I will."

I can't imagine that working out well for him. Neither Blackthorn is the type to tolerate strangers' curiosity about their private business.

"Well, good evening to you, I suppose," he says, and begins making his way out. Tara follows him, while I breathe a silent sigh of relief. I'm a little uneasy about him, mostly because I know so little about who he is and what he wants. But that could have been far, far worse.

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By the time Tara has finished escorting Mr Gregor out, my dad and Simon have emerged from their respective offices.

"Tallulah. You didn't run into Mr Gregor, did you?"

"I did," I admit. "I – who – "

"This is my fault," says Tara as she returns. "Tallulah went to the library – I should have warned her I had meetings in the afternoon, but I thought she'd be back sooner – "

"Sorry. I lost track of time. But – who was he?" How concerned should I be?

"A problem," says Simon briefly.

"He was until recently a steward in the service of the Wilde family," Tara explains. "He's looking to sue them for unfair dismissal and withholding of owed wages. But a lot of the firms don't want to antagonise a powerful family."

"So he came to us," I say, "because we've already antagonised the lot of them by working with Lord Blackthorn."

"Pretty much that, yes. That, or – " Tara glances at my dad.

"Lord Blackthorn sent us a message about the case," he continues. "He's concerned about the circumstances of the dismissal. And whether this is a ploy by the Wilde family, or someone associated with them, to gather information about – about the firm. And…"

"…about me." So I should, in fact, be very concerned. Good to know. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

Silence. I glance at Tara, who's staring fixedly at my dad.

"I – I didn't want to worry you. I didn't expect – "

"You know what worries me? Not being told about things like this. So I can't do anything to avoid situations like what just happened, and I don't know how to act when I'm in them."

"…you're right," my dad concedes. "I should have. I'm sorry."

I have to blink. It's a little scary, how unused I am to other people admitting so easily that they were in the wrong. It's a good job he did: I was angry enough for a moment that I might have said something I regretted. But his quick concession puts a stop to my frustration.

"Just… please tell me next time? Promise?"

"I promise."

Stars, I hope he keeps that promise. I'm probably being hypocritical here, though, with how much I keep hidden from him. It feels different, but I can't quite articulate why.

Anyway. Damage limitation. "I don't suppose Lord Blackthorn gave us any more information?"

My dad laughs. "Why would he tell us anything beyond what we strictly need to know?"

Why, indeed. He didn't find out anything about me other than that I was here, at least, which – wait. The way he reacted to me. Surely if he was trying to be subtle about his intentions, he wouldn't have paid such obvious attention to me. Unless he wanted something else altogether.

"Is Mr Gregor a magician?" I ask.

"Not as far as I know."

Which isn't a no. "Could he have – left a magical eavesdropping device?"

"Lord Blackthorn assures us our building has been warded to prevent such."

"And how sure are you that he hasn't broken those wards?"

"I – I'm not a magician. I don't know anything about wardwork."

And I'm really starting to wish it was taught as a default option to first years at the Academy. Because I don't have the first idea how to check whether this building's network is working normally or whether it's been interfered with. "Then talk to someone who does. Get Lord Blackthorn to send a person out to inspect the wards."

"Tallulah…" My dad is looking at me as if I'm mad again. "I can't just tell – that man – what to do."

"Fine. I'll write a message and you can send it for me." I'm pretty sure Lord Blackthorn couldn't be annoyed at us for being too paranoid, of all things.

"If – do you think he'll listen to you?"

"About something like this? Yes." I reach into my bag and pull out paper and a quill. "Tara, do you mind if I borrow your office again quickly?"

"Go ahead."

So I do. I only really need the desk to lean on; I don't even sit down. I just scrawl out a quick note explaining the situation, check that it's clear and respectful, and pass it over to my dad.

He skims it and raises his eyebrows, but says only "I'll send this for you, then, shall I?"

Oh. Maybe it's not Lord Blackthorn I should be worried about disrespecting. I feel as if I should apologise, but I can't find the right words. And besides, it's worth a few ruffled feathers to make sure that we're safe here.

No. That's how the Blackthorns think. I'm acting almost like Edward does in a crisis, like his father acts all the time. Like I'm the only one who can solve this problem, and everyone else is either a tool to be used or an obstacle in my way.

This is important, yes, but it's not a real emergency. And I care about these people.

"I – sorry. I was being too…" I don't know the right word. "Forceful? I shouldn't have. This is your building, your business. If you don't want to send that letter, then don't. Or if you want to change it." I should stop talking.

My dad blinks at me. "Thank you. Apology accepted."

Just don't do it again. He doesn't say the words, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was thinking them. At least now I know it's a problem, and I can watch for it.

"I don't mind sending this on your behalf," he continues. "Though I should check with Simon and Tara first."

He passes the note to Tara, who nods after staring at my words for a minute. "Looks good to me. Simon?"

Simon also accepts the note after a cursory check. "I'll send this and then lock up," he says. "That way you three can get home."

"I don't mind – "

"It's okay. Have a good night."

"Well, if you insist – thank you. Have a good night."

"See you tomorrow."

I make my way out of the office, following Tara and my dad. Tara has an apartment on the other side of the city to ours, it turns out, so we go our separate ways as soon as we're outside.

I can't decide if the silence between us is awkward or not. We certainly have reason to be awkward around each other after that little incident, but then we're also just not naturally talkative people. Both lost in our separate thoughts, just wanting to get home.

"I should have stayed and sent the message myself," my dad says after a few minutes.

"Simon was happy to do it," I point out. I'm not sure how he expects me to respond.

"He always is. That doesn't mean it's right that he always should."

Oh. This is about more than just tonight. This is his guilt over how much Simon has been covering for him while he's been dealing with, well. Me.

Which in a way makes it my guilt as well. And definitely makes it a problem I am not equipped to help him with. I try to find words anyway. "You'd do the same for him, wouldn't you? And he knows that?"

"I – yes. But – I don't need to."

I can't argue with that. "Would it help if – I don't know – you did something to show your appreciation? Holy Days are coming up, after all, so – "

"You know, that might actually help a lot. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry again about earlier."

"Don't be. I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't – never mind. Forget it happened and move on?"

"Deal."