The sun appeared in the sky this morning like a poached egg, bright and warm and wiggly. The mists rose from the lowlands in gray and gold streamers, moist and ragged around the edges like the fading fragments of dreams.
I like to sleep late but never do, and this morning was no exception. I was up at 5:30, wandering around the lower levels of Chadsford Hall. It's a mindfulness technique, really. Walking around with attention focused on nothing—aimless. Still, I could sense the magic filling up the place.
It's nothing new to have magic in the air of the Hall; it's usually full of the stuff, but it's normally the old, comfortable sort of magic that's about as exciting as pilling a cat. The magic I felt rushing underneath the doorjambs was the new stuff, the newly minted variety fresh from the Source.
Not a good thing for me, new magic, that is. I'm allergic. Ms. Wonder says that everyone is allergic to magic. She says that's the point. But it's different for me. The general background magic that supports all thaumaturgic activity is harmless, but the new stuff clings to me like static. It builds to a critical mass, and then BANG! It's not pretty, and it never turns out well.
The distraction from bright, cold drafts of the stuff wafting about the rooms of the Hall, glistening like Empyrian electrum and shimmering with octarine green and blue, was too much for my aimlessness. I needed advice, and I needed it fast. I headed upstairs, where I heard gushing torrents of water filling a bathtub. "Poopsie," I said, "I need your advice. Rally 'round."
"What's up?" she said.
"What's up?" I said, "That's the point, isn't it? You know that new magic is rolling off the press even as we speak and that it's coming from Woodcroft?"
"I noticed," she said. "Are you puissant?"
This went right by me, of course. Puissant? Is that a word? What could she possibly mean by it? Must have something to do with magic. There was no time to muse on this mystery. I felt the need to get right down to it, so I gave her the best response I could.
"Probably not so puissant as you," I said, and I thought it pretty good. Don't you agree?
"That's sweet of you to say," she said, "and probably very true, but what is it you wanted to ask?"
"Well," I said, choosing my words carefully. "You know that Gladdis..."
"Witch of Woodcroft," she interrupted.
"Yes, all that," I said, "but put that out of your mind for the nonce. Let me finish my thought, or I'll wander off the path. We can't afford distractions. You'll be leaving for work shortly, and where will I be then? Lost among the lilies, that's where.
"Lost among the lilies? Is that a saying?"
"Isn't it?"
"One of yours then," she said.
"Ah," I said because I'd lost the thread. "What was it we were talking about?"
"Something about Gladdis," she said.
"That's right. Gladdis has published the seminal installment of Rogue Star. Is seminal a word?"
"Seminal," she said, "or carrying the seeds that will develop into the fruit of the work."
"Wonder," I said.
"Yes?"
"What the hell are we going to do about it?"
"Do about it?"
"You know what I mean. How to stop the overflow of magic and all the strangeness that follows."
"Relax," she said. "I know this is one of Princess Amy's hot buttons, but everything will be OK."
"It will?"
"Of course, it will. Just take a deep breath and let life happen. Don't you remember Lucy once telling you that it's not your job to be in control of everything?"
"She did, yes, that's one wise kitten, Wonder," I said. "Well, she's no longer a kitten, but she was when she told me that. Animals have a certain wisdom, don't they?"
"Humans too," she said.
"Well, some humans," I conceded. "Thank you for reminding me, Poopsie, I feel much better now."
"Don't thank me; thank Lucy," she said. And so I did.