The Threads of Magic, Alison Croggon [uplifting novels txt] 📗

now I know that if the Stone Heart fell into the hands of a Specter, it could instead multiply their power to an unimaginable extent.”

“I knew it!” said Missus Orphint under her breath.

The old witch coughed. “It’s too late to destroy this evil artifact. Destroying the object would only release the spell into the diurnal world. The Ruptures that resulted could tear apart the whole of reality. So this evil thing must, at all costs, be kept safe and secret.”

Her voice was fading, but her urgency grew. Everyone leaned closer, trying to hear every word.

“The Stone Heart must never be permitted to land in the clutches of the Specters. I ask you, my siblings, to exert yourselves in all the ways you know to keep the future safe from these dread possibilities. I beg your forgiveness again for my terrible failure. May the powers of eternal love have mercy upon my soul.”

The scratchy violin chords sounded again, and the sheet of parchment slowly peeled itself out of the air and fluttered to the ground.

Everyone at the table, including Georgette and Sibelius, stared at one another in horror.

It left the witches no hope at all of destroying the Specters, and precious little of surviving if the cardinal or Oswald found the Heart. The only solution now was to find the casket that Old Missus Pledge had made to imprison it: the casket that Pip had sold to Olibrandis, and that had almost certainly been taken by the assassin who murdered him.

“Damn,” said Amiable.

ALLOWING HIMSELF TO BE TAKEN BY THE RUPTURE would be the bravest thing that Pip had ever done.

Now that it was right in front of him, he felt nakedly frightened. The hole was almost as big as he was. It was like looking into a green, glowing cave that stretched into depths he couldn’t see. The walls rippled as if they were made of thick vapor, moving in hypnotic spirals and waves. He could feel a terrible gravity pulling him closer and closer, and every single bit of him shouted that he should run away. It was too strange, too uncanny. It didn’t belong in Missus Orphint’s cozy kitchen.

“If I go in,” he said out loud, “will you bring me back?”

I think so, said Clovis.

“What do you mean, you think so?”

You dare to question me? The arrogance was back in Clovis’s voice. Me? A prince of the realm?

“I don’t think you should go,” said Oni quickly. She was pressed against the wall, as far away as she could get, her eyes wide with fear. “I think it’s a trap.”

Pip set his jaw. It probably was a trap. But it was the only chance of getting El back.

“I want you to promise me. I want to be able to trust you.”

“On your word as a prince,” added Oni.

The Rupture became agitated, the rolls of vapor churning rapidly. It’s insulting for such as you to make demands of me, said Clovis.

“It’s no good,” said Oni. “He’ll just betray us.”

Pip shook off her hand. “Clovis, if you don’t bring me and El back I will never be your friend. I’ll hate you forever and ever. I don’t care what you do. You can hurt me as much as you like; it won’t make any difference. You’ll be all alone and you’ll deserve it.” He took a deep breath. “That’s my promise,” he said. “And me, I keep my promises.”

He moved forward and put his hand into the Rupture. It was slightly cool, but otherwise he felt nothing except an increasingly insistent tug. This close, he could hear a faint, high humming. His heart was beating so hard it felt as if it were jumping in his throat, trying to throttle him.

He looked back over his shoulder. Oni was staring at him, her hands clasped tightly together, and he felt a twinge of sorrow within his fear. Perhaps he would never see her again. He opened his mouth to say goodbye, but there was a sudden jerk, and he was pulled inside. The faint humming became a rushing noise that grew louder and louder, until it hurt his eardrums, and the dim glow was now a pulsing flash that was so dazzlingly bright he could see it even when he closed his eyes.

It was unbearable, and it seemed to go on for an eternity, a bruising assault on all his senses that drove every thought out of his head except the desire for it to stop. He lost all track of time. It could have been hours or just a few moments; he had no way of telling.

But at last it did stop. No more rushing, no more flashing lights. At first the relief was overwhelming. He stayed very still, his eyes jammed shut, afraid that it might begin all over again.

Where was he?

It was still cool, but he wasn’t cold. His cheek was pressed hard against some kind of soft fabric, a carpet maybe. Very cautiously, he opened his eyes.

Right in front of his face stood a pair of polished black boots.

Pip scrambled to his feet. The movement made his head swim. He swayed and blinked, staring around in bewilderment. The black boots belonged to an assassin with a scar on his chin, who stepped back as he rose, but that was the least of Pip’s astonishment.

He was in a bedchamber, unlike any he had ever imagined. It blazed with light. Pip had never seen so many candles in one place. They burned in a crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling and in huge candelabras placed about the room. The ceiling and walls were painted with pictures of fantastic animals — dragons and unicorns and griffins — framed by ornate gilt cornices. All the furniture seemed to be made of gold.

Pip turned in a full circle, his mouth open in astonishment. On a table with spindly gold legs was a golden platter piled high with purple plums, and a gold decanter surrounded by long-stemmed glasses. At one