Beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and picturesque façade of the City of Redemption lies another city; a community of dark and ancient magic populated by creatures of the night.
Reporter Cassandra True has become entangled in the magical intrigues of the city and now she finds herself trapped by an enchantment into becoming a part of a diabolical spell. Her only hope of escaping lies with a witch named Morrigan who once imprisoned her.
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Chapter 69: A Jarful of Spite
In Which Miss True conducts an interview
In the space of time it took for Devon to return, Cassandra caught herself three times starting to say the incantation seared in her brain. Each time she stopped before uttering more than a syllable or two, but each time it seemed to take longer to tamp the spell back down into her subconscious.
Mrs. Palmer tried to help by providing distracting chatter. It seemed that Miss Cooper had expressed a desire for no further involved in Faerie Court politics, if appreciating Strephon's help in reuniting her with Luna. Glad as she was that she and Luna had aided in repelling the Reaver attack, it was time for them to go. Grandma Simms's anti-werewolf wards were making Luna uncomfortable, in any case, and there really was little more assistance the two could render.
Having fetched them here at the outset, Reverend Shepherd now offered to return them home, and Eddie as well; he seemed to regard Eddie as his responsibility. The Reverend also promised that he and Eddie would do a recce of the neighborhood en route, to make sure all hostile werewolves had departed.
Cassandra did not mind. As much as having people around for moral support was a comfort, they also made her feel self-conscious, and she had enough pressure on her as it – Togwog-ghk! Damn! She almost did it again.
A patch of air next to the broken curio cabinet shimmered and through it stepped Devon, accompanied by Wisp and Banshee. They no longer had on the bland school uniforms they wore when they were Morrigan's captives and she was passing them off as her nephew and niece from Australia. Now they were dressed in stylish outfits, such as a pair of jet-setters might wear on holiday in Cannes. They still had the same somber, sulky expressions, though. Cassandra guessed it was because Devon had dragged them away from whatever fun they were having.
“Well. Here we are,” Devon said.
The Banshee sniffed. “Where's the Queen? I thought this was some kind of royal summons.”
“It is,” Devon insisted. “In a manner of speaking.”
The two exchanged glances.
“You see, Miss True here is an associate of Mister Strephon Bellman and is assisting him in an important investigation at the behest of the Queen. And so by helping her, you would be indirectly serving Her Majesty. See?”
“I thought it would be something like this.” Wisp turned to his sister. “Let's go.”
“No, wait,” Cassandra pleaded. “Wisp – or Winston... I'm sorry, I only know you by the names Morrigan gave you. What should I call you?”
The Wisp stopped and gave her a peculiar look that was simultaneously thoughtful and annoyed. For a moment, Cassandra thought she had said something wrong. Then she thought that perhaps she had said something very right.
“Winston will do,” the Faerie said. “And you may call her Sheila.” His sister wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at him, but did not argue. “Say what you have to say and be quick about it.”
This put Cassandra on the spot. What did she have to say? She was assuming that Devon would take point in these negotiation. Everyone was looking at her. A dozen conflicting thoughts welled up in her head, and bubbling under the surface of it all, that damned woggle spell.
“Well,” she said slowly, marshaling her thoughts, “it's like this. When I was a prisoner in Morrigan's workshop, I helped free you from Morrigan's enchantment.”
Winston's face darkened. He obviously did not like to be reminded of this. Cassandra was on dangerous ground, but she had to push on. “In return you gave me the key to the cage. You told me that now we were even and you owed me nothing.”
He seemed to relax now. “So I did.”
“But I also freed your sister.”
Winston opened his mouth, presumably to say something. Then he shut it and crossed his arms.
“I told you she wasn't stupid,” Sheila said. She turned to Cassandra. “What would you have of me?”
This was the tricky part. Cassandra would only get one chance at this and she needed to choose her words carefully. “I need to talk to Morrigan.”
“Why?”
“I... I've been put under a spell.”
“Yes, a compulsion,” Sheila nodded. “We can tell. A pretty nasty one too.”
“If you were thinking of asking us to break it for you, it won't work,” Winston said. “Once initiated, that sort of spell can't be undone until the incantation is completed.”
Cassandra sighed. She expected that would be the case. If the spell could be easily broken, Devon would have done it himself. It was still disappointing. “That's not what I wanted.” She once again retrieved the purple paperweight from its hiding place in the end table drawer. “This stone is a part of the spell, I think. And Morrigan made it. I think Morrigan created the spell too, or at least she was involved. I want to speak with her and find out what she knows.”
Winston took Sheila's arm and the two of them began arguing. Or at least it looked like they were arguing. Cassandra couldn't make out what they were saying to each other, except that it sounded like a pair of wind chimes; very angry wind chimes. Cassandra placed the paperweight back in the drawer and waited.
Finally they seemed to come to an agreement. “We will grant your request,” Sheila said. She produced a glass jar from her handbag. It looked like a mayonnaise jar with holes punched in its lid; the type of jar a science-minded child might use to house a particularly interesting beetle she had found. The jar even contained a stick, some leaves and a slice of raw carrot, but instead of a grasshopper or a large caterpillar, it contained a very tiny and miserable Belledonna Morrigan.
Morrigan scrambled to her feet and glared up at Cassandra. She wore the Fairy Queen costume Cassandra remembered from her role in Iolanthe, but it was grungy and ratty about the hem; her tiara rested crooked on her disheveled hair. Large flecks of glitter stuck to her dress and face. If not for the incandescent rage seething behind her eyes, she would have seemed pitiful. “I suppose you're here to gloat,” Morrigan scowled.
“I want to talk.”
“You have three questions,” Sheila said, “and Morrigan shall answer them truthfully.”
“And she will answer them truthfully,” Winston confirmed. Morrigan did not seem to like that at all.
Neither did Cassandra. “Just three?” She had hoped for something more like an interview. “No follow-up questions?”
“Any follow-up will be considered on of the three. Choose your questions wisely.”
Nothing like a little pressure. Cassandra gave Devon a plaintive look, but he held up his hands. “I can't give you any hints. It's not allowed. This is your request, so the questions must be yours and yours alone. Them's the rules.”
Well, if she was going to do this, Cassandra decided she might as well do it professionally. She dug her notebook and pen out of her handbag. This also gave her time to arrange her thoughts.
“All right. First of all, who is behind all this?”
“Come again?” Morrigan said.
“The enchantment I'm under and the big spell I'm supposed to cast.” Cassandra was afraid for a moment that she might have been too vague, but she also feared that if she got too specific, that might offer Morrigan a loophole.
The expression of intolerable smugness which broke over Morrigan's face like First Love's Dawning did little to reassure her. “I cannot say,” Morrigan answered with brutal enunciation.
“What--” Cassandra almost said, “What do you mean?” That would have counted as a second question, so she amended it to “What a curious thing to say.” Devon nodded approvingly and gave her a golf clap. She had evaded that trap, but there would be more to come. “Remember, you are obliged to tell the truth,” Cassandra said.
“She is telling the truth,” Winston said.
“Just look at her face,” Devon confirmed. “She wouldn't be this smug unless she was speaking with malicious accuracy.”
Winston slid him a warning glance, and Devon raised his hand and pantomimed zipping his lips. He was not supposed to interfere.
Cassandra returned her attention to Morrigan. “I get it. You're under a spell too, and can't speak your boss's name. No, don't bother confirming. That was an observation, not a question.” That was bad. If Morrigan was under some magical Non-Disclosure Agreement, then anything Cassandra might ask her might be under it.
She tried a different tack. “What was your involvement in the spell I'm currently under?” Her first thought was to ask “WERE you involved?” but then she recalled one of the first rules of interviewing: a yes-or-no question will usually yield a yes-or-no answer. Always word your question to produce at least an inch or two of copy.
Morrigan hesitated before she answered. No doubt she was trying to determine the minimum amount of truth she had to divulge and still answer the question. “I made the stone markers for the points of the pentacle. But of course you knew that already, didn't you ducks?” She gave Cassandra a venomously sweet smile. Damn her, Cassandra did know it. “That's two questions you've wasted. You aren't very good at this game, are you. But I will tell you that I also drafted the enchantment to make you cast the incantation. I'm terribly good at compulsions.”
If that was the case, it occurred to Cassandra that maybe Morrigan could undo the spell. She almost asked, but something about the greedy expectant look on Morrigan's face gave her pause. Why was Morrigan being so helpful? Devon and Grandma Simms were pretty sure that the spell could not be undone until the incantation was complete. It would be just like Morrigan to trick her into wasting her final question. And in any case, asking her if she COULD remove the spell didn't guarantee that she would.
No, Cassandra would have to try something else for her final question. “This incantation I have to perform; what will it do?”
Morrigan licked her lips. She was thinking about this one. She beckoned Cassandra to lean closer to the jar and in a low voice said, “The spell will release...”
She paused dramatically. “...From his centuries-long imprisonment...”
Another pause. Get on with it, witch!
“...The giant...”
In an instant, Cassandra knew what Morrigan was about to say.
“TOG...”
Cassandra lunged for the jar but it was too late.
“...WOG...”
She wanted to command Morrigan to stop, but she found her lips mouthing the syllables with her.
“...MAGOG...!”
Before she could stop herself, the words of the incantation began to emerge from her lips like bubbles from a simmering pot of porridge: “Ashlog ennog, bog-slog crannog...”
Several pairs of hands shot out to grab her by the shoulders as her friends tried to stop her, but it was the sound of Morrigan's cackling laughter that brought Cassandra back to her senses. She took a couple deep breaths, partially to regain her own composure and partially to wait for Morrigan to cease her giggles. “Is that all the spell does?” Cassandra said.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Morrigan replied, her voice dripping with malicious sweetness, 'I seem to have lost count. Was that question number four?”
Cassandra resisted the urge to drop kick the jar. There was no point in getting mad. She turned to Sheila. “Well, I guess that's it. You've fulfilled my request. You're free to take Morrigan and go.”
That halted Morrigan's mirth. “Wait!” she begged. “Don't let them take me! I'll answer anything you like! I'll even remove your curse! Anything! Just free me!”
It was tempting. Cassandra still wasn't sure if Morrigan could remove the spell, but she could still be useful. Sheila and Winston paused, waiting for Cassandra's answer.
She shook her head. “I have neither the power nor the right to free you; and I don't think I can trust you. But even if I did, Winston and Sheila have lived up to our agreement, so I need to keep my end.”
Sheila smiled and Winston nodded his head. “It's never a good idea to break faith with the Fae. Mortals rarely get that.”
Morrigan fell to her knees in the detritus of leaves and glitter in the bottom of the jar. “Please, Cassandra, please! Have mercy! Strephon would have mercy!:
That was nasty. Yes, Strephon probably would have mercy on Morrigan. Whether out of a sense of chivalry or a sense of guilt or just because it was the gentlemanly thing to do, Strephon would probably try to free her.
“You didn't show me a lot of mercy when you drugged me and put me in a cage,” Cassandra said quietly. “I could probably forgive you for that if it were just up to me, but I'm not the one you should be asking. You did the same and worse to Winston and Sheila. They're the ones who hold you now and they're the ones whose forgiveness you need to seek.”
“No, no!” For the first time, Morrigan seemed to notice Mrs. Palmer watching from a distance. “Lydia! Lydia! We used to be friends!”
Mrs. Palmer wiped her cheek. “We did. I wish we had remained friends, but I was not the one who ended our friendship. I'm sorry, Belle, but Cassandra is right. You lie under Faerie Law now.”
Sheila picked up the jar and was about to shove it back into her handbag when Cassandra said, “Wait. Just one more thing.”
Winston grimaced. “What is it now?”
Cassandra hesitated. She hadn't forgotten the terror she felt trapped in Morrigan's cage, nor the fact that Morrigan intended to do the same or worse to Strephon. Still, Morrigan looked so pathetic in her faded fairy costume, trapped in that sinister mayonnaise jar. “I know Morrigan doesn't deserve any mercy,” she said. “No one ever does. By definition, mercy isn't something you deserve.”
“Your point?”
Cassandra wasn't sure what her point was. The spell in the back of her head was beginning to nag at her again. But she felt she had to say something. “My mother likes to say that holding a grudge is like letting your worst enemy live rent-free in your head. Wouldn't it be better revenge to just forget about her, live your own lives happily without her and leave her to stew in her own bitterness alone?”
Winston rolled his eyes, but Sheila rewarded Cassandra with a smile of tolerant amusement. “I see you are a foolish mortal after all. No, Morrigan does not desire mercy, not really. What she most desires is to be free so that she can hurt the people she hates: you and your Strephon and all who are dear to you.” Sheila held the jar up to her face and cooed, “Isn't that right, Auntie-Poo?” She gave the jar a vindictive shake, making Morrigan tumble about inside it. “Someday my brother and I may tire of tormenting her and then perhaps we will do as you suggest; but for the time being she is better where she is.”
Sheila tucked Morrigan's jar back into her handbag, then gave Cassandra a thoughtful look. “You were good enough to share your mother's wisdom with us,” she said, “so I will give something to you.”
“What do you mean?” Apprehension struck Cassandra. A fairy gift could mean anything.
“A song,” Sheila said.
“Uh, that really won't be necessary...” The last time she'd heard Sheila sing, it knocked Cassandra unconscious, and she'd had quite enough of that for one evening.
Sheila parted her lips and a single pure note emerged, as bright and as clear as moonlight on a tranquil lake or morning breaking over the hills. It washed over Cassandra’s consciousness and all the tumult that had been raging in her mind; the fears, the doubts, the second-guessing and uncertainty, and above all the nagging muttering of that terrible spell – all of it fell silent before that one perfect note.
There was more to the song than that, but Cassandra scarcely noticed it; or rather, she felt the rest of the song as it filled the dark and troubled corners of her mind, but that first note was what held her attention. This was Sheila's gift: she had given Cassandra a moment of clarity.
It would not last. Her problems, her anxieties had not gone away. They were still there, but she felt as if she had been briefly lifted out of them so that she could regard them objectively. Everything seemed so clear now.
She now knew what she had to do.
NEXT: Chapter 70: Aithea’s Secret