Putting aside her book, she yawned hugely, wishing she had a way to tell what time it was. She knew she'd stayed up for several hours in order to finish the book she had borrowed from the large library, and it was now quite thoroughly dark outside, but she still wanted to know what time it was.
Duh, Meg. Christ, but you're stupid. Clearing her throat, she sat up. "A watch, if you don't mind?" she said aloud.
A watch appeared beside her obediently, dropping to the bed. Picking it up, she gasped in surprise; it was an expensive ladies' watch, with diamonds set around the outside, and was very beautiful.
A lot more expensive than what I was expecting, though. Hell, I was expecting a five dollar Barbie watch.
Shaking her head, she strapped it around her wrist and looked at the time; naturally, it was already properly set. Midnight. Normally I would have been in bed for at least an hour by now, but I'm not tired at all. Hopefully Mr. Taylor doesn't mind my staying up.
Rising from her bed, she stretched. Looking at her pile of books, she contemplated beginning to read again; then she shrugged, picking the one volume in the pile she was sure would put her to sleep. Hopping back into bed, she stretched out, making herself comfortable as she opened the cover.
This book was one of the titles dubbed non-fiction that she was sure shouldn't have been; she had taken it out of the library mostly out of an insatiable curiosity to know what was within. The title was "A Beginner's Guide to Magick," one of many other volumes having to do with magick on the non-fiction shelves. Yawning, she began to read:
Foreword
First of all, I would like to say in regard to any young people or other beginners in the practice of magick who might be reading this volume, that this booke can in no possible way ever take place of the real live teaching of a Master of the arcane arts, and should in no way be assumed to do so. Such an assumption could be disastrous, as this booke is not a real live Master, although it was written by one. Attempting any of the experiments, spells, or sorceries described within these pages when not under the supervision of a true Master mage could cause great havoc, including damage to the spellcaster as extreme as death. It should never be attempted when not under the watchful eye of a certified Master of magick, even when following all other guidelines, precautions, and warnings detailed within. It could be very disastrous were it attempted so.
Meg blinked, wondering if the rest of the book was going to be as indecipherable and monotonous as this. If it were, it would certainly put her to sleep!
She found as she continued to read that she needn't have worried, though; rather than putting her to sleep, she found the volume very intriguing, despite its schoolbookish quality. If one simply accepted that magic was real, everything said in the book made complete and total sense.
And if you accept that magic is real and believe this book, everything I've seen in this house makes complete and total sense, too.
It was too much. Rising, she shook her head, marking her place with a piece of ribbon she had found halfway through the first chapter. Opening her door, she began to walk, not knowing where she was going, merely intending to think everything out thoroughly.
Okay. Let's assume for a minute that magic is real, which I don't believe, but whatever. According to that book, it isn't stuff like what Branwyn did, with all those candles and diagrams and praying to the Goddess. It's more like in fairy tales, or--or like in fantasy novels.
And if you just assume that magic is real, everything in that book makes sense, that's the weird part. I mean, I kinda expected to find some way of proving scientifically that everything in there was bullshit, but it couldn't. It all makes sense, and it doesn't break any of the basic laws of science.
And if you believe the book, it could explain a lot of stuff about this house. The floating trays, the self-lighting candles, the self-opening doors...if Mr. Taylor himself is a Master mage, or some previous owner enchanted the stuff, it all makes sense.
But still. I mean, magic? Yeah, okay, this place looks like it's straight out of a fairy tale, but I'm still having trouble believing the owner of the house is some kind of a wizard.
Blinking, she realized her steps had taken her to the entrance to the attic. Frowning, she started to turn around; then, shrugging, she opened the door, walking within and closing the door afterwards.
Moonlight shone in invitingly through the other door, still propped open. Suddenly curious to know where the door led, she began making her way through the junk, shoving most of it aside without so much as a thought. She paused upon finding a book bound in soft blue leather, though. Beyond the color, the cover was totally nondescript, with no clue of what lay inside. Curious, she opened it.
"Jason's Journal," the front page read. Flipping a page, she read, "March 5th - Today Master Erron began my training in magick. He said I should keep a journal in which to write down my lessons and thoughts, should I ever need to look back on them again. So, I have done so. Master Erron said my magickal power was--"
Snapping the book shut, she shook herself. Probably a fiction book, she told herself. Someone was reading it up here before it got so cluttered, and it got left up here to be discarded with the rest of the junk. Just because Jason happens to be the secretive Mr. Taylor's first name too doesn't mean a thing.
Tucking the book under her arm, she continued through the junk. She paused as she came across a portrait, identical to the other one she had seen in the storage closet. Curious, she picked this one up, examining it. The canvas was shredded in four identical places, looking as though it had been quite savagely ripped apart with a set of claws, although she supposed it could have been done with a knife. Trying not to let herself think of any manner of savage beasts that could have done this to the portrait and might be hiding in the castle, she examined the man in the portrait.
He was young, not too much older than her seventeen years. He was quite handsome as well, with long black hair hanging in waves to his shoulders, and bright blue eyes that gave the impression of being quite kind, despite the arrogant, self-confident look upon the man's face. He was dressed in some kind of medieval clothing; she didn't know enough about clothes to identify it, but it looked very good on him. Then again, she supposed he must have known that.
The book slipped out from under her arm, dropping in among the junk. "Shit!" she said aloud, dropping the portrait as well. Rummaging through the junk, a spider crawled up on her arm, but she ignored it.
At last she emerged, triumphantly clutching the journal, and delicately removed the spider from her arm, setting it down atop a battered silver tray. Moving on through the junk, she clutched the journal, not wanting to drop it again.
Finally she managed to make it to the door. Peering through, she realized it led out to the roof, where a balcony of sorts lay about the edge. The door was set at a diagonal angle, implying a portion of the castle with a pointed roof.
Pulling herself through, she emerged atop the balcony, looking about curiously. The balcony was just wide enough for two people, with a white railing and a few carefully placed benches the only barrier in between herself and the empty air beyond.
Meg had never had a problem with heights, but looking out at the mountains she could see in the distance, she found herself clutching the railing dizzily. The portion of the castle the balcony sat upon was a lot higher up than the highest ledge she had ever been upon.
Sinking into a nearby bench, she found herself facing the roof, which went up at an angle before flattening out. Observing it, she found that designs had been painted on the roof, a curious multi-colored pattern of shapes.
Rising, she closed the door to the attic; sure enough, the designs crossed over onto the back of the door, completing the picture. One couldn't see them from afar; out on this balcony was the only place they were visible.
I wonder who did this? Certainly not Mr. Taylor. He's so damned secretive he wouldn't get out here in broad daylight if his life depended on it.
Shaking her head, she sank back down onto the bench and sighed.
The question is, Meg--do you believe in this magic shit, or not? It could be true, you know; after all, everything makes perfect sense. And if you don't believe in it, then nothing makes sense.
She sighed, then yawned. Damn. I am getting tired, after all. Oh, well. I can always ask Mr. Taylor about this magic crap in the morning, and see if I'm crazy, or if he is, or if we're both merrily insane together.
Rising from the bench, she headed back to her room.
She woke the next morning as a cat jumped up on the bed, used her body as a bridge to walk up to her face, and sniffed delicately at her nose before pawing at it, wondering if it was a new sort of toy.
Muttering, she turned over, only to have the cat paw at her ear instead. Sitting up, she rubbed at her eyes, blinking as she looked towards her small visitor.
The cat was small, barely out of kittenhood, and calico. Recalling that only female cats were ever calico, she didn't even bother checking its gender.
It head-butted her chin, purring. Laughing, she petted it. "Hello, sweetie," she told it. "Do you live here, or are you a stray? And what's your name, I wonder?"
It just rubbed against her face, purring loudly enough to wake the dead. Smiling, she picked it up and put it on the bed, rising and stretching. The cat meowed curiously, hopping back out of the bed to follow her as she strolled to the closet, pulling out some plain blue jeans and a blue T-shirt. It continued to tag along as she walked into the bathroom, set her clothes atop the toilet, and started to run hot water into the bathtub.
"You are persistent, aren't you?" she asked as it rubbed against her legs, purring. It only looked up at her and meowed innocently, then continued rubbing on her legs. "Trust me, you don't want to stay in here. I'm going to be taking a shower, and I might accidentally get you wet."
The cat looked up at her in an affronted way, then turned and fled the bathroom. Smiling, she turned the knob on for the shower, stripped her nightgown, and stepped inside, closing the shower curtain behind her.
She stepped out several minutes later, dripping wet, and realized for the first time that the bathroom held no towels. "A towel?" she said experimentally to the empty air.
A fluffy white one appeared, dropping into her hand. Shaking her head, she toweled dry, and somehow wasn't surprised to see a smaller towel floating in afterwards and beginning to mop up the water on the floor of its own will.
Slipping into her clothes, she hung the towel on the nearby towel rack, heedless of her still-dripping hair. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the towel leapt off the towel rack and wrapped itself around her hair, ensuring it at least wouldn't drip on the floor anymore.
Shaking her head, she brushed her teeth, and put her hand when she was done, saying merely, "Hairbrush?" It appeared in her hand, and she took down the towel, hung it back up, and nonchalantly began to brush her still-damp hair.
Ya know, I actually think I'm starting to get used to this business of things floating around of their own will, she said, and giggled at the thought.
Clean, dressed, and dry, she strolled back into the room, taking her glasses from atop the dresser and placing them upon her nose. It was then that Mr. Taylor addressed her again, scaring her out of her wits as usual.
"Good morning, Ms. Dale," he started, sounding quite business-like. "I was thinking last night, and I was wondering if you happen to ride horses. I'm sure you've found the stable by now; my horse Moonshine could use someone to exercise him."
She sighed, sitting atop her bed. "First of all, Mr. Taylor, please don't call me Ms. Dale. My name's Meg, so use it, all right? And no, I don't ride horses. I'm terrified of them, thank you very much; they're too big. And why can't you exercise him?"
He sighed. "I shall only consent to call you Meg if you agree to call me Jason," he stated stubbornly. "I am not that much older than you, after all, there is no need to call me Mr. Taylor all the time."
She shrugged. "Fine, fine. You call me Meg, I call you Jason, whatever. So why can't you exercise your own horse? Moonlight or whatever."
"Moonshine. And I..." He paused, and there was silence for a moment. A very short moment, though. "I had an accident some time ago, which resulted in my being unable to ride."
"Oh. Sorry. Well, I've ain't never ridden a horse in my life, so I'm afraid I can't help." She paused, then, knowing she sounded rude, asked, "How old are you, anyway?"
"I...Twenty-one," he replied, and she wondered what he had started to say.
He's only four years older than I am, then. Funny, he doesn't sound like he's only twenty-one. He sounds older, like about forty or so.
Then again, if he had a hard life, the maturity that came with experience could be showing in his voice. It had happened before with people she knew.
"If that's all, then I--"
"Hang on, Mr. Taylor," she interrupted, remembering her plans of the previous night.
"Jason," he said grievously.
He sounded so much like an offended five-year-old that she almost laughed. "Jason, then," she said agreeably. "I was wondering--well, you're gonna laugh at me."
"I shall not laugh at you, Meg," he told her solemnly. "Not even if you tell me that blue fleas with purple spots are waltzing on top of your mattress."
She laughed at that. "No, nothin' like that," she said when she at last got her breath back. "But...well, I got some books from your library and I started reading 'em--hopefully you don't mind."
"Not at all. The library is there for my guests as well as myself."
"Well, that's good, anyways. But...there was this book I got from the non-fiction section. I thought it prob'ly wasn't 'sposed to be there, but I 'twas curious, so I started readin' it. It's called 'A Beginner's Guide to Magick.'"
"Yes, I know the book. Your question is...?"
"Well..." She took a deep breath. "Is the book real? I mean, is magic and all that really real? It'd explain an awful lot, like the floating trays and crap. But I mean, magic doesn't exist 'cept in books...does it?"
There was silence for a moment. Then, "What do you think?"
"I...I dunno." She sighed. "I'm afraid I'm going crazy or somethin', actually bein' ready to believe in that crap...but it would explain an awful lot 'bout this place. I dunno. I guess, if you were to tell me it was real, I'd be ready to believe you."
"Then...yes, Meg, magic is real, as real as you or I."
She swallowed. "And...and then, all that, the floatin' trays, and the candles, and everything, they're...magic?"
"Yes, they are. You can examine one of the floating items, if you wish; you will find no strings."
"I already did." Somehow, that relieved her; at least she knew that he wasn't using magic to spy on her. "So then, you're a...a Master of magic or whatever?"
"Indeed, I am a Master mage."
She took a deep breath. "I...guess that's all, then."
"Very well. If you should wish to speak to me again, just say my name aloud anywhere in the castle."
And again, although she had no way of knowing, she knew he had left.
Jason watched the girl in the mirror, frowning. She had discovered one of his books in magic in the library, and had read enough in it to have discovered how much the running of his household depended on his magic.
Very well. I wasn't sure I was ready for her to discover it yet, but if she stayed here for very long she was guaranteed to find out eventually.
"She has magical power of her own," a voice said out of the darkness, the voice of one of his invisible servants.
"Indeed. Do you think she will discover them, and wish to train herself?"
"Perhaps. I think she would have enough sense to come to you first and not attempt it herself, though." The invisible servant paused for a moment, then suggested tentatively, "Sir...do you think...do you think she could be the one to break the curse?"
He sighed. "It is possible. It is always possible. I doubt it will ever be broken, though."
A sigh came from the servant. "Very well, then, sir. I shall go, now."
With a whoosh of wind, it was gone.
A/N: Um, I am working on the sixth chapter, really I am. It's just coming along rrreeeaaaallllyyy sssslllooowwwllllyyy…yeah. Anyway, I did some rewriting and stuff on the first five chapters. And I think I'll be done with the sixth chapter soon. So please, nobody beat me with sharp objects. -whimper-