Page 49 of The Witches Catalogue of Wanderlust Essentials (Natural Magic #2)

Chapter 28

Family Baggage

A few mornings later, Zani was sorting out, cleaning, repairing, and reorganizing her travel satchel when she received a call from Minerva Lathrop. Her beloved travel gear was spread out across one of the work tables. Everything still seemed in perfect working condition, save for the Pair Tags.

Minerva wanted to let her know that her Aunt Minodaura would come by the Archives shortly to run comprehensive tests on all the wards. Now that Amrita had explained her real reasons for hiring Zani to work in the Archives, it no longer felt like a prison sentence or a task to be completed as quickly as possible. She could take her time. Ironically, she found she was now looking forward to the work. Hastily, she shoved all her stuff back into the satchel and tidied the space up. The last thing she needed right now was a lecture on proper housekeeping.

The director’s words were still weighing on Zani. After she hung up from Minerva’s call, she cleared her schedule for the remainder of the day. When else would she get the chance to ask her aunt about her connection to the bloodstone? Sooner rather than later, she hoped.

It was only two days until the eclipse. Will still wasn’t returning her calls, and Zani just had a capital F feeling that there was something she urgently needed to do. Perhaps this was it?

“I thought Minerva let you know I was going to be working in here. Why are you here?” Minodaura asked Zani as she shuffled down the stairs to the basement archives. She turned to look back at Minerva, clearly bothered by the sight of Zani. “I thought you phoned ahead.”

“I did,” Minerva squeaked defensively. “But honestly, Minodaura, I’m not your secretary. If you’ve got something to say to your niece, best you say it to her yourself.” She rolled her eyes. “You know what, ladies, I don’t think either of you need my help. I’m going to head up to the cafe and see if I can scare up a cup of tea. I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Hmph!” Minodaura did her best not to look flustered. But Zani knew she was displeased. Her cheeks burned scarlet, and her breathing got louder.

“The wards are all doing fine, Auntie.” Zani said. “I check them every night and every morning. And the house itself is quite cooperative as well. Watch this…”

She ran her hand along the side of the glass aquarium that was filled with glass bottles of varied sizes, shapes, and vintages. This was where they kept the most dangerous djinn bottled up and under water. Colorful fish swam between them, unaware of what the glass bottles contained. As her hand passed the exterior of the tank, it lit up with a shimmering array of protective sigils and symbols. They twinkled there for a moment and then began to fade away once Zani pulled her hand back.

“The Mudpuddle is an unusually sensitive and protective vessel ,” Minodaura acknowledged, referring to the semi-sentient house as if it were merely a container. “But it’s failed before, and I don’t want to take any chances that it will happen again.”

“Are you referring to the mage that broke in and tried to steal from the archives last fall?” Zani asked. “You know that Lucretia Lathrop let him in, don’t you? The wards gave her access.” All the Lathrops enjoyed special privileges when it came to the Archives. It was, after all, located in the basement of their ancestral home.

“No.” Minodaura frowned and wrung her hands. “That incident was quite unfortunate, of course. But I think Lucretia learned her lesson. The incident I’m referring to happened a long time ago. Before you were born.” Minodaura slowly lowered herself to sit on the step, hanging onto the bannister for support. It was as if she were too weary to stand any longer. “Something very rare and precious was stolen from the archives.” She glanced at Zani, but only for an instant as the confession pained her. “It was my fault. My wards failed. It disappeared from here on my watch.” She lowered her gaze and stared down at her striped socks and sensible shoes.

Zani didn’t think she’d ever seen her regal aunt look so humble or so dejected.

“It was Larkspur!” she blurted out. “Larkspur Lathrop is the one who took the bloodstone amulet. It wasn’t your fault!”

Minodaura’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about? What do you know about that cursed stone’s disappearance?” She studied Zani warily.

“Quite a bit, actually.” Zani stood and crossed to the stairs. She climbed halfway up and sat down next to her elderly aunt. Once she was settled, she took her aunt’s hand. “Amrita Berman suggested I speak to you about it.”

“I know.” Minodaura sighed. “She’s suggested the same to me as well. Many times. Apparently, she thinks I’ve been too hard on you. But you have to understand, Zani, I have always wished for one thing, and one thing only. I only wish to keep you safe. I can’t lose another family member to that stone.”

Once Minodaura began to cry, it was as if the floodgates had opened. Thick, heavy tears rolled down her cheeks and dotted her lap. They fell in such profusion it threatened to soak her skirt. And they had an infectious quality as well. Soon Zani was crying, too. If they continued like this, Zani worried they might flood the archives with a deluge of witch water.

“Wait a moment.” Zani dashed down the stairs and felt around in her bag for the floral handkerchief with delicate lace crocheted around the edges. Although it had originally been a gag gift, it had surprised her with how handy it was. “I have something for just this sort of occasion.”

Zani dried her eyes, and the handkerchief spoke in a calming tone. “ There, there darling, ” it soothed. “ Everything will be all right in the end. ”

She passed the Cliche Kerchief to her aunt. With a loud honk, Minodaura blew her nose. The handkerchief spoke again. “ Hang in there, honey, ” it said. “ The sun will come out tomorrow .”

Minodaura looked at the handkerchief with a look of horror. For a moment, Zani thought she was going to toss it over the bannister. And then her aunt began to giggle.

“What kind of cockamamie handkerchief is this?” she gasped, holding onto her sides. She dabbed at her eyes, which were full of a different kind of tears.

“ When one door closes, another one opens !” The handkerchief chirped happily. Minodaura snorted.

“It’s a Cliché Kerchief,” Zani explained. “Very silly, but also, oddly effective.” She shrugged, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her shirtsleeve.

Just then, Minerva poked her head in the door. “Minodaura, there’s a gentleman here to see you.”

“That will be Burnside Porter.” Minodaura used the handrail to help foist herself to her feet. “I actually asked him to stop by to help me tell the story I need to tell to you .”

“You know Burnside Porter?” Zani was shocked. She studied her aunt, trying to imagine where their paths might have crossed. She could not even picture her conservative old aunt fraternizing with the free-spirited old porter.

“Yes,” Minodaura nodded. “Burnie and I go way, way back.

“But I thought you didn’t approve of porters and porting,” Zani said.

“I don’t, in general. But Burnie is special. He’s gone out of his way to offer to help our family on a number of occasions.” Minodaura shifted her feet on the stairs, clearly uncomfortable. She gripped the rail tightly with gnarled knuckles that had not been spared the ravages of time. “The thing is, I don’t really want to tell this story to you myself, Zani. It hurts me too much to relive it. I think it would probably be better for both of us if Burnside were to show you what happened. Maybe we can talk more afterward.”

She squeezed Zani’s hand and took a tentative step down. The wooden riser groaned with her bones as she did. Zani had the sudden impulse to hug her, but refrained, fearful of doing anything that might make her old aunt lose her balance.

“In the meantime,” Minodaura said, “I may as well get to work on the wards.”

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Minodaura pulled a wand out of her pocket and waved it to illuminate the web of protective magic that blanketed the archives. Normally invisible to the naked eye, it was woven of an ultra fine silvery thread which formed a delicate mesh. It was everywhere, touching everything.

With a practiced hand, her aunt used the tip of her wand to test the knots, quickly setting to work tightening some, and loosening others. Her motions were precise, but also methodical. When she worked her wards, Minodaura seemed less stiff. The wrinkles in her forehead smoothed themselves out, and she seemed to be much lighter on her feet, moving gracefully from strand to strand in a dance.

Working wards was comforting for her aunt, Zani realized. Part of it was the repetitive movements, the precision and prescription of it all. It left little space for worrying. But the other half of it was the illusion of control. When she was working her wards, Minodaura felt safe and powerful.

Zani shook out the hankie and stuffed it in her bag. Minodaura wrinkled her nose disgustedly, but did not speak as she was in the midst of counting knots.

“Don’t worry, it’s self-cleaning,” Zani explained.

“Go on now.” Minodaura lowered her wand for a brief moment. “Time’s a-wasting!”

* * *

The bookshop was busy, so Zani invited Burnside up to her room to speak in private. She was surprised to find that the old man appeared much older than the last time she’d seen him. He was thinner and frailer and his hair was longer. He walked slowly and stood slightly crooked, with a lean to the left as he stooped over. Twice on the way up the spiral stairs, he’d had to pause to catch his breath. The second time he coughed so violently, she’d offered to get him a cup of tea. He merely waved her off and took a swig from his flask, which reeked of whiskey.

This did not inspire confidence.

“How much has your aunt told you?” Burnside hung a set of windchimes beside the bed in her bedroom. They were made of ceramic and featured a collection of butterflies painted in every color of the rainbow. He tested them, listening carefully, apparently pleased with the sound they made.

“These are for you and Will, Zani. I know you like to wander, but it’s always nice to have a beacon to bring you home. Sort of like a lighthouse.” Burnside paused to reconsider his words here. “Like a lighthouse, but portable. My windchimes work on the temporal plane. Like the necklace you gave to Flora. Except they have the bonus of sound. I made them especially for you two.” He looked up at her with much love, but also a tinge of sadness in his eyes.

“That’s so kind of you,” Zani acknowledged. “But Will and I–” She wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to say. “Will isn’t speaking to me at the moment.”

“He’ll come around.” Burnside waved a hand, dismissing her concerns. “Don’t you worry about that.” He took another healthy swig of whisky. “Now shall we get going?” He knelt down.

“You really mean to port with me now? Shouldn’t you eat something first?” Zani asked, a little worried.

“Plenty of calories in this stuff.” Burnside waved his flask. “Plus, there’s a full pantry in the airship.”

“Airship?” Zani asked. “Where, or rather when , are you taking me?”

“Where and when.” Burnside winked. “Not too far as the crow flies. But a bit more than a hundred years. I’m taking you home, to your family’s lighthouse.”

“Okay…” Zani said warily.

Gingerly, she climbed onto his back, concerned the whole time that she might hurt him. But it wasn’t as bad as she feared.

Porting with Burnside was nothing like porting with Will. There was no rushing wind, nor was there a bright light. There was just a slight rippling effect in the surrounding air. She heard the chimes clinking again, behind them, and closed her eyes tight as she felt Burnside began to straighten. Through her eyelids she could sense darkness, a near pitch blackness all around them. Then Burnside patted her leg.

“You can get down now,” he wheezed. “We’re home.”