Letter VII (F.M. to C.D.)

Dearest Cordy,

Your letter saved me from what began as a very boring week. My high point was counting Grandmother's linens and organizing them according to color and season. Yes, you read that correctly. I went into the closet for a fresh towel and emerged hours later feeling very accomplished! To think what a bucolic lifestyle has done to me!

While I searched for ways to keep myself occupied, I also tried to keep an eye on father, especially his nocturnal activities. I knew you would find his use of protection wards suspicious, but I never thought to connect his activities with those of Sean Valerian. Indeed, the idea seemed preposterous.

The very day I received your letter, Father announced his intent to visit the village tavern for the evening. Though that isn't unusual for him, he acted a little too nonchalant, so when he left, I followed.

In the interest of full disclosure, I feel I should explain that while the main reason for following him was to find out what was going on, the other reason was because he had unknowingly donned a certain pair of men’s long underwear. Sean’s spell has lasted substantially longer than mine and I, unthinkingly, hung my muse up in the most logical place: the laundry closet (he came out very clean, but I hope Grandmother’s servants didn’t add starch). Not knowing when and how my muse would come out of the spell, I felt obligated to follow him.

The invisibility spell I cast turned out beautifully. I couldn't even see myself when I looked down and it was nice not to have to dash from shadow to shadow trying to avoid being seen in the moonlight. About halfway to the village, Father turned off onto a path I'd never noticed before, which wound through a dense thicket.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to scramble through scrub oak without making a sound? I had to follow Father's movements exactly, moving at precisely the same time he did, so he wouldn't hear me traipsing along behind him, catching my skirt on every other branch. I slipped up a few times, making noise when he didn't, but when he looked around to see what it was, he must have dismissed the sound.

Just as I bent over to coax my dress away from the clutches of a particularly thorny bush, I heard someone greet Father. Looking up, expecting to see some stranger from the village or at least someone human, I discovered it was actually an honest to goodness troll! He was approximately five feet tall, and almost half as wide. His skin was a bumpy gray in the moonlight and covered with what appeared to be battle scars and…algae? I couldn’t tell and didn’t want to ask for a sample to put on the magiscope. His head was only about the size of mine, but the giant hat he wore made it look about three times that. Not to mention the clothes. And his face! All wrinkled up like a prune with a long hooked nose and sharp eyes that glowed in the dark like a cat's. Oh, and let’s not forget the most prominent feature, large corn-shaped teeth, perfect for grinding away at a plate of gristle-bone sandwiches or whatever it is they serve at their infamous tea parties.

Even more surprising than seeing a troll for the first time in my life, was watching my father converse with him as though they were old friends! They spoke quietly for a few minutes before the troll gestured back up the trail. “Where did you find your new man?” he asked. “It couldn't have been easy finding someone who can speak troll.”

“He's an unusual find, true,” my father replied, “which is why I hired him. He has a variety of contacts outside the Realm and he speaks a little bit of everything.”

“Well, his accent is terrible,” the troll continued, “but his grammar is fairly good.”

My father slapped him on the back. “Perhaps both will improve with association.”

The troll nodded in agreement, glancing back again. “He's welcome at my wagon anytime.”

“Thank you,” Father said, making a sign of farewell.

As the troll headed my way, I quickly crawled into the shrubs just off the trail, using the noise he made to cover the sound of my movements. I'm fairly certain that bouncing off his stomach as he ploughed through what he thought was empty space would have been disastrous in more ways than one. He took a deep breath as he passed my hiding spot and seemed to look right at me with an amused expression on his face, before heading off down the path.

I stared at his retreating form, thinking how outlandishly he was dressed, how hideous a creature he was, and yet, how civilized he seemed to be. It made me wonder, not for the first time, what do they do at troll teas?

But I didn't have time to wonder. I quickly caught up with Father and followed him further into the woods. After several minutes, he stopped in a small, dark clearing. When he strode to the middle and lifted his hand to knock, I realized there was a little shack there that I hadn't seen before.

I was barely able to slip in behind him before the door closed firmly behind me. A lantern hanging from the eaves shed light on the only other occupant. Your suspicions were correct, dearest, for it was none other than Sean Valerian! I admit I was very skeptical when I read that part in your letter, but I quickly repented of those feelings. You can imagine how my thoughts were running wild! Sean Valerian is Father's new man! I silently leaned against the wall, eager to discover more.

Father spoke first. “This is a good place. No one will ever notice it, especially with that nevermind spell you’ve got cast over it. Now, what did you learn from my daughter?”

A smile almost passed over Sean’s controlled expression. “Nothing yet, sir. I gave her only the information you suggested and the instructions for Cordelimaera as well.”

“She didn’t question you?” Father asked pointedly.

“Not as much as she wanted to, I think.”

Father snorted. “That doesn’t sound like Foofri.”

“It probably helps that she already knows and trusts me.”

“Perhaps. Any messages from Cordelimaera yet? I’m trying to keep track of all the letters sent to us, but Foofri always goes into the village to pick up the post early. And I can’t exactly pry without drawing attention to the fact that, after eighteen years, I suddenly have an interest in her correspondence.”

“She hasn’t contacted me since our meeting, sir.”

“The client won’t be pleased. He was hoping for expediency in this matter.”

“Yes, considering his feelings, I can see how Ardaya would be anxious for any news.”

Father nodded. “Well, I suppose that’s all for now. I know we have a few other contracts you're meeting with in the village and I better get back home before Foofri gets even more suspicious. Keeping secrets is one part I won’t miss once you take over. I’ve always hated that part, but I didn’t really have a choice when Foofri showed enough promise to attend the Academy. Nothing else I’ve ever done could support her education.”

“Keeping things secret is something I've learned out of necessity,” replied Sean, “but I have to admit I, too, find it difficult keeping Foofri in the dark. She can be very compelling when she wants.”

“I'm well aware of it,” Father said, nodding. Then he stopped abruptly and gave Sean a pointed look. “You don’t have any intentions towards my daughter, do you?”

Sean gave a short laugh and shook his head. “That isn't why I came back.”

Father stared him down, but eventually his expression relaxed. “Good. It will make working for the underground a lot easier on you.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Until next time, then,” Father said before taking his leave. Sean leaned back against the closed door with clenched fists and shut his eyes tightly. “This is more complicated than I expected," he whispered to himself (or so he thought).

After he left, I stood in the dark for a while, considering what I had just overheard. Then I made my way home and fell into an exhausted sleep. When I awoke, I was able to think things through more clearly and pick out the important discoveries from the night before.

My father works for the underground, which he joined so he could put me through school (I often wondered how he managed to earn enough since the shop never seemed to bring in very much income, except during busy seasons). In addition, he's training Sean to take over for him, which makes sense since I only have my apprenticeship left. Additionally, Father and Sean are working for none other than Damorin Ardaya, who seems to have a vital interest in either your well-being or that of the Stones, which accounts for his behavior (or at least part of it; why he should be hiding behind potted plants is still a mystery).

Also, I don't think for a moment that my father failed to notice that Sean didn't really answer his question, but for some reason chose not to press the issue. I wish I knew what Sean thinks is complicated. In fact, I wish I knew more about him period--where he's been, what he's been doing, and what brought him back.

I’m sending this letter special courier in hopes that it will reach you as soon as possible. I must know your thoughts on the matter. I do not understand all that is going on, and I have more questions now than ever, but I do know my father would never do anything that would harm you in any way so when you express misgivings about what Sean requests, I can say without reservation, that I do trust what he and Father are doing, as strange as that may seem. One thing you should know, I’m going to confront the both of them during their next meeting, if I can. It isn’t right for them to keep us in the dark about this whole business. Also, you will let me know if anything strange has occurred, won’t you? I hope I hear from you before Father announces a little trip to the tavern.

As ever,

Foofri

P.S. Encounters with two different handsome men in one day. You poor, poor thing.

P.P.S. Thank goodness, the muse is still underwear. And I’m keeping him in my room now.

P.P.S Please send me the leaky dress spell. I can think of any number of uses for it.

Letter VI (C.D. to F.M.)

My dear Foofri,

I’m glad your new protection spell doesn’t last very long (although I’m certain Muse deserved his double enchantment). But while talking frogs and marble statues of handsome young men always get disenchanted sooner or later, who would set out to rescue a lady’s undergarment (or a pair of men’s winter underwear – with a flap)? It cannot but inspire pity.

It is odd that Uncle Alain would use protection wards, since, as you say, he never had a chance to study magic. Perhaps he got them ready made? But what would he be carrying that would need to be guarded anyway? The magic carpet trade isn’t that cutthroat.

It’s probably just a coincidence, but is it possible Sean Valerian has anything to do with your father? As you pointed out, it is a little odd Uncle would drag you out to Seven Oaks at this time of year, and then he turns out to have a warded satchel at the same time the vaguely remembered Sean is sending cryptic letters. Although I have a hard time imagining Uncle engaging in anything more nefarious than price wars.

Speaking of Mr. Valerian, I haven’t been able to find our SMM papers yet (but I have one more stack of boxes to search). Childhood acquaintance or not, he seems to be making a lot of demands on a slim basis: “Tell Cordy this, don’t do that.” And who is this “we” he referred to? If he really wants us to work with him, maybe he should give us something like, oh, I don’t know, ACTUAL INFORMATION. I am trying to take this adventure seriously, but since nothing serious has actually happened, I can’t help being skeptical.

I did go to the Justicum archives this morning to attempt to research the Stones. I say attempt, because I failed to uncover anything, but what I didn’t find looks decidedly suspicious. There is absolutely no record of how the Stones came into being. The first emperor takes the throne and suddenly the Stones are there. But if they came with the conqueror, then why do they belong to my family? And if they always belong to us, why isn’t there any mention of them in pre-conquest history? We, after all, didn’t come in with the conqueror. We were just bright enough to defect to the winning side (fine, loyal lot that we are).

When I got back home, I found yet another summons to court tea, embellished by a handwritten note from the princess. I didn’t find our last conversation particularly stimulating, but apparently Ameliorene did. I absolutely refused to put on the court dress with the fringe again, so I dug out my old Guide to Charmed Couture and turned one of my ordinary afternoon dresses black. This did not prove to be one of my better ideas. I’ve never been good at domestic magic, and the spell didn’t take right. Of course, it wasn’t until I was already at the Residency that I discovered that when I stood still for too long, I left a small puddle of black, like a poorly housebroken water dragon.

When I made this mortifying discovery, I immediately scuttled behind a large potted palm and tried to figure out how to get to the exit without leaving a visible trail. I’d just decided I could make it if I stuck to the wall and pretended I was ill so nobody would stop me to talk, when Damorin Ardaya sidled behind my plant and almost stepped on my foot.

Clearly, he was avoiding someone. Back when I was his apprentice, he was always lecturing on the importance of recognizing the social responsibilities that accompanied Council membership, blah, blah, blah, so it was satisfying to catch him in the act of shirking said social responsibility. (Although I would have enjoyed it more had I not been painfully aware of my leaking dress.)

Of course, he pretended like we weren’t both skulking behind a potted palm in the empress’s afternoon court. “Magi Cordelimaera, how nice to see you.”

“How are you, magi?” I answered, shifting so that my skirt covered several black drips.

“Well, thank you. I’m pleased to see you look the same. I was worried ill health had kept you from the Council.”

Busybody.

“No, thank you, I always enjoy excellent health,” I said coolly.

“I hope your absence wasn’t occasioned by anything serious,” he tried again.

“Really, Magi, I don’t think my absence is any of your business.”

Both aghast and proud of my own temerity, I expected a crushing snub, at the very least. But instead he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall while he looked me over with the most ghastly calculating expression.

“Stop it!” I hissed.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like I’m an anomaly in your latest experiment.”

“Cordelimaera, I think you had better tell me where you were,” he said, ignoring my simile.

“No.”

“Why not? It’s a simple enough question.”

“Why should I? It’s none of your business.”

“It’s a matter of your responsibility to the Council.”

“I’ve already discussed the matter with Master Lastra. If you’re concerned, perhaps you should take it up with him.”

“I will,” he said, sounding unexpectedly grim. It’s difficult to tell what goes on behind that impenetrably polite expression of his, but I would bet the Stones themselves he was surprised and not happy about it.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have so many people to talk to.” I turned to go and nearly ran into the princess.

“Cordelimaera, there you are!” she exclaimed. I was startled to discover she now considers us to be on a first name basis, and was too late to prevent her grabbing my arm. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything!”

She looked up wide-eyed at Damorin, but I was too worried about my unraveling dye spell to be flustered by her ridiculous implication. “Oh dear.”

It took her only a moment to understand, and then she dropped my arm and hopped away with a squeak. “My dress!”

Her royal blue gown, was, in fact, pitch black wherever it had brushed against me, while my dress had leached to a nasty shade of gray.

“I’m sorry!” I exclaimed. “The dye spell didn’t set right.”

“Damorin!” she exclaimed, holding her hands out to him. “Do something!”

His gaze slid from her to me, and for a moment I thought he was trying not to laugh. I know I was, even though I may have just ruined the princess’s favorite tea gown and gotten myself banned from the empress’s court forever. But then he assumed an expression of perfect gravity and offered Ameliorene his handkerchief.

I don’t know what good that was supposed to do, but I didn’t stay to find out. “I’m terribly sorry,” I gasped. “Excuse me!” And I fled the scene of the crime before I further disgraced myself.

I’ve been trying to decide whether this incident confirms the rumors about what way the wind of royal favor is blowing. I’m not exactly sure why she would settle on Damorin, (I suppose his dark and brooding looks have something to do with it—attractive enough if you like that sort of thing) since he must be nearly a decade older than she is, not to mention extremely esoteric in his interests. But there’s no accounting for the taste of some women.

I came home and found your letter, and although the image of Muse as a camisole did not do much for my near hysterics, my interest in your other news did sober me enough that I didn’t have to stop every other line to giggle. By the end, however, I still felt too worked up to write back immediately, so I decided to hop the wall to the neighboring estate and go for a swim. (Old Winterfast and Grandfather were chess cronies, and ever since the funeral, he’s been sending me flowers from his hothouses and urging me to drop by for tea, which is really very sweet of him.)

The Winterfast pool is the most marvelous one in the city. It is sunk in the ground and made entirely of black marble with silver stars set in the bottom. At night the stars glow and it almost feels like swimming through the sky. I didn’t bother with a bathing suit, but cast an invisibility spell and stripped down to my underwear. My swim got rather long, and I wasn’t really paying attention to anything except a delicious feeling of bodilessness when I finally swam to the edge and scrambled out at the spot where I had left my clothes. You can imagine how dismayed I was when I discovered they were gone!

“I can’t see you, but I can see the puddle you’re making,” said a cheerful voice behind me. I spun around and saw a young man standing with my robe in his hands. My first impulse was to run, but my trail of dripping would have given me away in a second.

“I surrender,” I said meekly. “May I have my clothes, please?”

He shook his head. “If I give them to you while you are still invisible you might run away.”

“I promise not to.”

“But how do I know you’ll keep your word?” he protested. “I haven’t the slightest idea who you are. At least I don’t think I do,” he said, squinting at (or rather through) me.

Of course I had no intention of going visible in my underwear. I tried to be logical. “I don’t know you either. You may be a desperate axe murderer. Besides, it’s all very well calling me a trespasser, but how do you know I don’t belong here? Invisibility is no basis for judgment.”

“It’s not exactly a character reference.”

I held my breath, wrinkled my nose and worked up a sneeze. “I’m beginning to catch cold,” I said as pitifully as I could manage, chattering my teeth for emphasis. “I shall probably catch pneumonia and become deathly ill and be confined to bed for weeks.”

He grinned good-naturedly. “I wouldn’t want anyone’s misery on my head, even a trespasser’s.” He handed over my over-robe.*

“And the rest?” I demanded.

“There’s, er, a slight problem..” He whistled softly and Winterfast’s huge black dog trotted out of the shadows with my robe clutched in his mouth.

“Jackler, you stupid beast,” I chided as I wrapped myself securely in my over-robe. He recognized my voice and began wagging his tail furiously and slobbering to keep pace.

The man was squinting at me again. “I say, you promised …” He broke off as I turned visible.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” I said severely. My captor started in surprise. “Not you, Jackler,” I explained.

“I beg your pardon. Jamin, at your service.” He bowed politely.

“Magi Cordelimaera at yours,” I said, offering my hand. “I live next door. Are you staying with Magi Winterfast?”

“As a matter of fact, the old bean’s my grandfather. I got tired of rusticating, so he invited me to come and savor the worldly delights of the metropolis.”

“How nice,” I answered dubiously, trying to remember whether Winterfast had ever mentioned a grandson. I couldn’t see any family resemblance, although since I’ve only known Winterfast as gray and craggy, that’s probably not very good evidence. Jamin is sort of goldenish—you know, bright gold hair and glowing tan—attractive enough if you like that sort of thing.

At any rate, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough whether or not he’s an imposter. I think I’m at last sufficiently sleepy to retire, so I’ll bid you good night, dearest.

Cordy

*At this time, traditional Council wear consisted of an inner robe, usually loose fitting and plain, covered by an over-robe, tied with a sash and often heavily embroidered. Excellent examples of these historical costumes have been preserved in the Imperial Realm Museum for the Preservation of Magical Culture (IRMPoMC).

Letter V (F.M. to C.D.)

Dearest Cordy,

Strange things are afoot right now and we are in the thick of it. There are so many things to tell so you must bear with me, dear, and no skipping ahead as I know you are wont to do.

Since arriving in the country, I'd done a bit of thinking. It seemed rather odd that my father chose this specific time to visit Seven Oaks. We never go to Grandmother's until midsummer at the earliest, and he never comes here for business. Indeed, for a merchant dependant on the hustle and bustle of a city marketplace, a trip to the country prior to the city's Anniversary week celebration is very unwise. Why would he choose to spend time out here when he should be back in the Realm's capital preparing for the busiest time of the year? After posing these questions to my father on several different occasions and not coming up with much—you know how gifted he is at hemming and hawing and never really telling you what you want to know—I decided to bide my time until an alternate method presented itself.

It came in the form of a midnight trip to the village on the night before last. He thought I was asleep in bed. I was actually pilfering a jam tart from the pantry when I heard footsteps and the soft closing of the kitchen door. I tiptoed to the window just in time to see him hop over the garden fence and head off on the village road. Knowing I wouldn't get another opportunity to rummage, I shoved the tart into my mouth and quickly padded up to his bedroom.

I was surprised at how easy it was to find his satchel until I took it back to my room and tried to open it. Dearest, it had two protection spells—one binding the clasp, the other protecting the contents. You know my father never had the opportunity to cultivate his magical ability, so it surprised me a lot to find him using protection wards. No thanks to Muse, I was able to unravel them after about an hour, and by that time, I only had a few minutes to go through the stack of papers therein, for fear of my father returning and discovering what I'd done.

Muse was rather upset with me at the time. He'd taken to riding around in the air above my shoulder, offering spells anytime he saw fit--which was often, let me tell you. Whenever I declined, he'd go on and on about how unappreciated he is and how he's assisted some of the most powerful magii in the Realm and how I wouldn't believe some of the magical feats he's accomplished, and one feat in particular, if anyone knew about it, would be in the history books! I asked him if it was really that horrible and he couldn't take the joke and got all huffy and puffy and defensive about it. So I apologized and told him that changing creatures into underwear would make a diverting addition to any history book, and he became even more offended. I felt tempted to ask him to conjure up a sense of humor, but I doubt it would have produced the desired effect. But I digress.

There was little of interest in Father's papers except one document detailing how father is training someone to take over the management of his business so he can go into semi-retirement. This was news to me. I had no idea he was planning on retiring, and I would think if he was training a replacement for his shop I would have met the man. This news, of course, casts no light on why he brought me out to Seven Oaks at this time or why he had protection spells guarding his satchel, but I'm not discounting any unusual discoveries at this point. Additionally, I will continue to pry and if I have to pull out my dim-witted persona, I will.

The following morning was my meeting with Sean Valerian. The sunrise was glorious, which was good since I'd stayed up far too late the night before, and I was sitting under the magi oak, enjoying the moment when Muse suddenly appeared and offered to teach me a spell to get rid of my freckles. He was only trying to get back at me, but he couldn't know what a particularly sore spot my freckles are. My exuberant magic reared its ugly head yet again, and I reflexively turned him into a fluffy pink chemise. It was purely reflex! I had practiced the incantation so much that when I was confronted with such a strong emotion, it just popped out! As he began to float gently to the ground, I saw a shimmer of light just behind him and before I knew it, Sean was standing right in front of me.

I was too shocked to say anything. Where did he learn to do that? was my first thought. Only seventh skillhouse magii or higher have the ability to transport. My second thought was what his thoughts might be as he watched my transformed muse complete his descent right before his eyes. Before I could react, he reached over and picked the item up. He fingered it for a moment, before realizing what it was and then he looked at me with a vague expression.

“Yours?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, indignantly, as I snatched it from his hands and stuffed it into my pocket. “It's a friend of mine. I mean, a friend's. Yes, a friend's. But nevermind, Sean Valerian,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Where have you been all these years?”

“So you do remember me,” he stated.

“Yes, of course.”

“Hmm,” he said, scratching at his chin. “I think you remember my name, but not much else.”

“No, I remember we used to meet at this tree. And...,” I paused, wracking my brain for something--anything--else. “And I remember feeling sorry for you," I finally said, "but I admit I don't remember why.”

He shook his head, not quite amused. “It doesn't matter. It's not as though you've missed anything. Besides, I can't change the past, but I can do something about the future." He drew himself up. "About that letter I sent,” he began.

“Yes?” I answered, wondering what in the world he was talking about.

“It's about the Suldan Stones.”

“What about them?”

He looked around before continuing. “Look, they're not something we can talk about lightly. What do you know about them?”

“Not much, honestly. Only that they've caused a lot of trouble.”

“They're very dangerous artifacts and your cousin is now in possession of them.”

“Not technically,” I reminded him. “She doesn't actually carry them about on her person.”

“No, but she has the power to wield them and that makes her a target. There are certain kinds of people who would take drastic measures to gain control of the Stones. There are other people who would like to prevent that.”

“You, for instance?”

“Yes,” he replied firmly. “I owe it to her. And to you.”

“Why?”

He looked down and sighed. “Someday you'll remember why,” he finally answered. “And when you do, just remember that I'm doing everything I can to make up for it.”

“Why so mysterious about everything?”

“I'm sorry if it seems that way. I'm not trying to be mysterious, I'm just trying to help. That's mostly why I've come back to the Realm." He looked around again. "But see, this isn't about me, it's about Cordelimaera."

“If it's about Cordy, then it's about me, too.”

“Yes, which is why I've come to you. Anything unusual that happens to her, we need to know about it, especially if it has to do with the Stones. And the information needs to go through you to me so we don't have to contact her directly.”

“Who is 'we'?” I asked. “And what is their interest in this matter?”

“I'm not at liberty to say just now,” he replied, “but they have no interest in the Stones, only in Cordelimaera's safety.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?” I asked. “Who's to say you're not working for the bad guys?”

He quirked a brow. “Why don't you cast a spell on me and find out?”

I stared at him, trying to read his expression. When his gaze didn't falter, I said, “Well, I suppose I don’t exactly have a reason not to trust you.”

“Good,” he said, giving me the first smile of his I'd seen since the tea shop encounter. “And remember to tell Cordelimaera to keep her eyes open. Have her report anything unusual. Anyone who acts differently. Any strange occurrences. Any information that may fall in her lap. Things like that. But she mustn’t go out of her way to find things out, do you understand me, Foofri? She mustn’t go looking for trouble. It would be extremely foolish.”

I nodded my head. “Yes, I understand. I'll write to her as soon as I get back to Grandmother's.”

“Tell your grandmother hello for me, will you?”

"She knows you, too?"

"Of course. At least, I hope she remembers me."

“You could say hello yourself, if you transport me back to the house,” I replied. “It would save me half an hour, at least.” I have to admit, it wasn’t the time I was thinking of. I’ve only been transported a few times, and it’s such fun I couldn’t resist asking.

Pulling me closer, he began the incantation, when all of a sudden, something darted out from my pocket. I'd forgotten that my protection spell doesn’t last very long. Muse floated up in front of Sean, the only remains of the spell evident in his pink, ruffly beard. “If she wants to transport, she can just ask me for the spell, thank you very much! I don’t need you honing in on my magi!”

He pointed his finger at Sean as though he meant to lay a curse on him, but Sean quickly cast his own spell against the little wretch. I looked down to see a bright red pair of men’s button-flap woolen underwear lying peacefully on the ground.

I looked up at Sean and asked as innocently as he had, “Yours?” We both laughed. I picked up my muse as Sean rewove his incantation and in a few seconds we were standing in the clearing behind the cottage.

“I'll say hello another time,” Sean said. “Right now I have another appointment.”

“How will I find you when I need to?” I asked.

“Don't worry, I'll be around.” Then he disappeared.

When I got inside, the post had come and I read your letter with great interest. I hope this doesn't sound callous, but I’m relieved I’m not related to you on your father’s side or I would be involved in this as well (more than I am right now anyway). It's so odd that we should be mixed up in something like this, but you’re the only Demestheln left, and although this adventure has been thrust upon you through no actions of your own (for once), we must take it seriously. Please heed Sean's advice and do nothing that would be foolish!

With great affection,

Foofri

P.S. Did you find anything in our Sisters of the Midnight Moon club papers? I'd forgotten about the forgetting spell we used (I'm not joking!) and am desperate to know what Sean is talking about. I'll ask Grandmother about it, too, when I get the chance.

Letter IV (C.D. to F.M.)

My Dear Foofri,

I have quite a lot to tell you, but first, allow me to congratulate you on improving Lady Lucinda’s hat. I’m sorry she didn’t appreciate your efforts, but bun-snigger outings are overrated anyway.

After a lot of trouble figuring out the stage of the moon, I at last succeeded in translating those detestable runes. (The letter was already mysterious! Did he really have to encrypt it? Boys and their spy games!) It reads as follows:

Magi Cordelimaera,

I apologize for contacting you in this clandestine way, but it is necessary that any communication between us be kept absolutely secret. The return of the Suldan Stones threatens to upset the balance of power in the council. You are the Stones’ legal owner and, if the legend is true, the only person actually able to wield their power. As such, you are now in grave danger. Although it has been a long time since we met, I hope that your memory of the summer we spent together will remind you that I have a debt to pay. What happened that night was my fault, and I ask for the chance to atone. It will be best if any communication between us happens through your cousin. Please send any response to this letter via her.

Sincerely,
Sean Valerian

At least he didn’t insist on making it an anonymous letter as well! I do have a vague memory of a pesky boy who trailed us one of the summers we spent at Grandmother’s, but I have no idea what he means by paying a debt. (I suspect most of this fogginess is due to the forgetting spell we used to bind the secret oath of our Sisters of the Midnight Moon pact.) I’m also less than convinced by his ominous suggestion that I am in “grave danger.” I may be the Stones’ owner, but I’m not able to so much as breathe on them without Lastra’s permission, and I’m certain the rumor that only a “true Demestheln” can wield their power is a piece of superstitious nonsense. I doubt that this letter will reach you before you keep your dawn rendezvous, but if it does, you may tell Mr. Valerian that if he sends me anymore obnoxious coded letters, I shall report him to council security.

Speaking of Master Lastra, he summoned me yesterday to explain my absence from the council. Fortunately, I’d had time to think through my strategy, and I had decided to tell him the truth. (A daring but necessary move.)

When I arrived at Lastra’s office, he didn’t even invite me to sit down, but left me standing on the carpet in front of his desk as if I were a lowly Academy first year. He glowered at me from under those enormous eyebrows of his and said, “Magi, you were aware that you were summoned to give testimony at the last council? Your absence caused a great deal of inconvenience. I trust you were detained by nothing less than an emergency.”

I smiled. “Oh no, Master, it wasn’t an emergency.” I plunged into the story of my broom closet escapade, dwelling upon the greasiness of the count’s mustache as my motivation.

Lastra remained perfectly expressionless while I spoke, and even after I finished, he just sat there staring at me, until I was nearly ready to fall to my knees and beg his pardon. From his expression, I was expecting at least some sort of suspension of my council privileges, but what he actually said was, “You don’t deserve it, but for your grandfather’s sake, I will make an exception. See that it doesn’t happen again.”

I was surprised and relieved, of course, even more so when he added, “Another full council will not convene for three months. We will let your testimony rest until then, but as Head Councilman, I must ask whether you have any information which will assist our investigation into the disappearance and return of the Stones?”

I shook my head, and he let me go. I’d feel extremely grateful, if I didn’t know very well that Lastra always has an angle. If he doesn’t want me testifying now, it’s for his own reasons.

To be honest, I think he guessed there was more to my non-appearance than a broom closet, and I think you must have too, although you’ve been too kind to prod. I could have gotten out of that broom closet, even if I had gotten caught (goodness knows I’ve done worse), but I couldn’t bear the thought of standing in front of the entire council, gossiping and petty as it can be, and being grilled on those last few days before Grandfather died.

It’s true that I don’t have any information that would aid the investigation, but I think that Grandfather tried to give me some. I didn’t really think it through at the time, but now that everyone is talking about the Stones, the Stones, and nothing but the Stones (and I don’t even know what they’re supposed to do, and I’m not just saying that because I’ve been sworn to state secrecy), I’ve seen his words in a different light.

You know that his mind was wandering with the fever those last two days (and I can never thank you enough for staying with me), but when the hour of his death drew close, he had a few minutes of clarity. He told me that he loved me, and then, because I was crying pretty hard, he said, “No tears, Cora. Always more trouble than they’re worth.” I thought he was telling me to stop crying, but he added, “I’d have given my life not to see them come back. And now they’re yours, poor child.” He began to slip away from me then, but as his eyes slid shut, he whispered, “He’ll tell you, when it’s time.”

I had thought he was wandering in his mind again, but now I can’t help but wonder if he was talking about the Stones. He’d been so ill, that I hadn’t thought he had even heard the news (I certainly hadn’t troubled him with it). But perhaps he was thinking of them and the trouble they’d cause, and he meant that since he wouldn’t be around to pass on the family secret, somebody else would have to do it. I suppose he meant Master Lastra, who is bound to know if anyone does.

Well, if that is what Grandfather meant, he was right. I’m feeling quite put out with my notorious relative. If Uncle Sedgwick had to disappear with the Stones and throw the whole family under suspicion of treason, you would think he would have the decency to make certain they never resurfaced to muddle the lives of his innocent descendants. If he had to be a thief, why couldn’t he have been a good one?

Write at once and tell me what fairy tale Sean Valerian has tried to feed you. (I’ll look in the attic for our SMM secret club papers. Mysterious young man or no, we probably shouldn’t be walking around with amateur memory spells in our heads.)

Affectionately,
Cordy

P.S. Congratulations on the success of your mirror experiment! I know you weren’t expecting a muse, but he might continue to be as useful as he has already been. I admit I feel much better about your early morning rendezvous with the dubious Sean Valerian knowing that you’ve mastered such a practical spell. (And yes, as I’ve long suspected, you do have a sense of humor.)