The Girl Without Magic

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Maggie blinked for a moment. “But you said I’m not dead.”

“You aren’t. Though as you fell into the Siren’s Realm without meaning to, I can understand the confusion.”

“So who is the Siren?” Maggie asked. “Can I talk to her, ask to get sent home?”

“Miss Trent, I am afraid that is not possible,” Bertrand said. “It would be like allowing you to fly a broom before you’ve learned to levitate. There would be no hope for success.”

“But I need—”

“A witch of your caliber should be able to navigate the Siren’s Realm quickly enough, and then you will be able to request whatever you like.”

“I’m not a witch,” Maggie lied, the words falling from her mouth before she knew she had meant to say them. “I’m not a witch. I’m human.”

“Yet you know a Wayland and fought in a wizard’s battle?” Bertrand’s eyebrows knit together as he examined Maggie.

“I have friends who do magic,” Maggie said, hoping her excuse would be good enough.

“Then your path to an audience with the Siren will be long indeed.” For the first time, Bertrand sounded as though he might actually feel sorry for Not Dead Maggie.

“Why should it be long?” Maggie asked, her temper flaring at the sympathy on Bertrand’s face. “I just got here. Why can’t I go back?”

“The Siren gives us a land of peace and beauty.” Bertrand spread his arms wide. “She gives us the light from above, wonderful food, and loving companionship. But all things must come with a price.”

“What price?”

“To be transported back from the Siren’s Realm to a particular place requires a lot of magic—”

“But then how did I get here?”

“—and you will need to pay a significant amount of magic if you want to be placed back at the right time and place. And even with all the magic in the Siren’s Realm, it still might not be possible. The Siren’s ways are as indiscernible as a figure shrouded in mist.”

“How”—Maggie cut across Bertrand as he opened his mouth to continue—“did I get here? If I’m not dead, then what happened to me?”

“The Siren’s Realm is a world between worlds. It is above and below, hidden in the cracks, just out of sight. Her realm is stitched to ours and a hundred others, holding them fast together. But where those stitches are, there are holes between places. If you did not come here intentionally, then my truest guess would be that you stumbled through one of those stitches.”

“Then if I find where the connection is here, I can go home.” Maggie searched over the heads of the crowd, looking for anything that might lead her away.

“I’m afraid that might not be as easy as you would like, Miss Trent.”

Maggie clenched her teeth, biting back the words the pity in his tone made her long to scream.

“I’m afraid the only way to get back where you want to go is with the blessing and aid of the Siren. And to get that, you’ll need magic, quite a bit of it. But please don’t despair, Miss Trent. Magic may be the currency in the Siren’s Realm, but even a human can make do. The Siren’s price must be paid, but it can be done through honest labor. If you are willing to serve wizards who trade in magic, you might eventually be able to find a way home. Not that I would ever recommend abandoning the Siren, but if it remains your will when the possibility arises…”

“People pay in magic here?” The very thought of it turned Maggie’s stomach. Her magic was a part of her, as much a part of who she was as her face or her soul. To trade that for what? Food? The bath?

Suddenly, Maggie was very grateful for her lie. She didn’t want this man to know she had any magic to trade or have stolen. She wouldn’t trade a part of herself to him or anyone else.

“Yes, well, thank you for your help.” Maggie backed away from Bertrand. “I think I understand enough to be getting on with now.”

“But Miss Trent, you haven’t seen the glorious sights the Siren’s Realm has to offer.”

“I really think I’m fine.” Maggie kept walking backward. She stepped on someone’s foot and heard them grunt. “Sorry,” she said without turning back. “But I really think,” she spoke to Bertrand again, “that I’ll be fine.”

“But a human thrown into a world so magical?” Bertrand bowed. “Miss Trent, it is lucky I was summoned to help you so quickly. Perhaps the golden threads of fate sought to bring us together.”

“I really don’t think so.” Maggie bowed back. “And I have to go.”

Without another word, Maggie spun around and sprinted down the nearest street, not stopping until she was thoroughly lost.

She wasn’t really sure how far she had run, but somehow she had ended up on a street unlike any she had ever seen. The ground here gleamed like the metal of the fountain with bright, shimmering jewels of every color set into the ornate engravings.

Maggie stared down at the ground. Her Academy-issued boots, given to her as a student of the magical school, were filthy and worn. She glanced around, waiting for someone to yell at her and tell her she shouldn’t be standing on such a precious work of art. But the others around her just strolled past, seemingly unconcerned with Maggie’s shoes. There weren’t many people out on this street, and all those in view wore finely made clothes, fitting in perfectly with their lavish surroundings.

The tents here were made of the same bright fabric as her blue one, but these were coated in jewels to match their colors. The sun had begun to set, and the bright rays made the tents sparkle brilliantly. Maggie walked closer to the tents, pressing away the terrible feeling she wasn’t meant to be there.

A bright, white tent, laden with diamonds, stood at the very center of the street. It was taller than a two-story house and wider than a barn. The flaps at the front had been tied open, letting in the evening breeze.

Someone moved inside, their shadow gliding past the opening. Maggie stepped forward, reaching her hand out toward the tent. Inside, she would find peace. A place to rest, comfortable, and safe.

The shadow stopped when Maggie’s hand was inches from the gap in front of her. The shadow waited unmoving, willing Maggie forward.

“No!” Maggie shouted. The heads of the passersby turned toward her as she ran back up the street, searching for the path that had brought her to the street of jewels.

The price of peace was too high. How much magic would the shadow want from her?

All of it.

Maggie ran faster, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill over. It would be dark soon. She needed to find the blue tent with the bed and the food.

Perhaps the endless darkness had been better.

“Watch it!” a voice shouted an instant before Maggie screamed and fell to the ground.

She had run smack into an old man pushing a wooden cart. The man smelled like sweat and seaweed. The cart smelled like roasted meat.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said as she pushed herself off the ground. Her wrists ached, and her skinned palms stung.

“You better watch where yer runnin’,” the man grumbled, checking his cart for signs of damage. “I’m a nice feller, but not all around here would be so kind about bein’ run over. What if you had trampled a dwarf?”

“Sorry,” Maggie said again. “I’m just…”

“Lost?” the man said. “Jumped into the Siren’s Realm and now you don’t know what to do?”

“Apparently I fell in accidentally.” Maggie’s heart suddenly felt hollow. She had fallen away from the battle where everyone left in the world she cared about could have been killed. And now she was worried about running into the guy with the meat cart.

“You did?” the man said, suddenly seeming much more interested in Maggie. He examined her for a moment, looking from her skinned and b****y palms to her old boots. “Somethin’ terrible was happening and then all of a sudden you end up in the dark, eh?”

Maggie nodded.

“And yer not magic at all?”

Maggie shook her head, clinging to the lie though she didn’t know why.

“Poor thing. I remember fallin’ into this place. I was in a shipwreck, you see. It was awful confusin’. I mean to say, me endin’ up here with a bunch of wizards and talking damn half-horses?” The man laughed. “You’ll be all right, girl. Find yerself an honest trade, and they’ll pay you for it with magic. You can’t use it fer spells, but neither can they. Then you’ll have a bit of that energy folk here trade like gold, and you’ll be able to survive just fine.”

“Just find a trade?”

“Aye,” the man said. “At least it doesn’t get cold here. The storms may be fierce, but they only come up once in a while.” He paused, apparently waiting for Maggie to speak, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. “I’m Gabriel.” He held out a hand.

Maggie took it, feeling his rough callouses on her skinned palm. “Maggie.”

“You got a place to rest for the night?” Gabriel asked. “Some folk round here do some strange things come dark. Wouldn’t be right for a girl to be out alone.”

“I was in a tent, but I got lost,” Maggie said, feeling like a child alone in a shopping mall.

“The Siren has a way of givin’ what’s needed to point you in the right direction. Try and find yer tent, and you should get there.” Gabriel smiled kindly, showing a few missing teeth. “And if you need help, look for me. There aren’t many of us folk with no natural magic find our way to the Siren’s Realm, and we’ve got to stick together, those of us that do.”

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel nodded, pushed his cart away, and was soon swallowed by the crowd.

Maggie stood still. Part of her wanted to call after Gabriel and admit that she’d lied, that she was a witch. But what did it matter? There was no part of her that was a witch anymore. No tiny shred of her being that wanted anything to do with magic. Maybe the witch part of her had died in the battle even if she hadn’t. She wished Gabriel were still with her, if for no other reason than to have a person to talk to.

Standing in the middle of the street, Maggie closed her eyes, letting the crowd move around her, picturing the blue tent with the tiny cot and the loaf of bread. A place to sleep safely for the night. She waited for a flash of insight or a map to appear in her hands, but nothing happened.

Sighing, Maggie began walking down the street.

My tent. My tent. All I want is to find my tent. My tent.

She repeated the words in her head as she moved down tight alleys of dingy, worn tents and broad streets lined with stalls displaying shining wares.

My tent. My tent.

The sun had dipped low when she came to the fountain square.

Bertrand Wayland stood in the fountain, shirtless and surrounded by giggling women.

Maggie ducked, walking faster to avoid Bertrand’s notice. She didn’t need pity or patronizing worry. What she needed was her tent.

My tent. My tent!

The stale smell of troll greeted her as she turned onto a street with a ruby red tent whose tables were filled with people drinking and singing along as a centaur played a strange song on a violin.

And at the end of the street was a blue tent. Small and dark in the night.

Maggie ran forward and leapt through the tent flap, grateful to be alone in the darkness.