1 The Scarlet Reckoning
"Daddy, if one of them is a boy and his name is Henry, he belongs in the second bedroom. If the other is a girl and her name is Matilda, the third bedroom is hers; she likes fire."
–Maya Madalena Valensi, age 3 re: her future twin siblings, "Of Ginger & Spice," Ch. 28: HM2V: The Spiral Staircase
8 pm GMT/Noon PDT, Tessera Nightclub, Manchester, England
Upscale waitressing was a wonderful way to build one's character, make a name for oneself in the magical realm, and boost the bank account. At least, that's what her father reminded her each evening in his British accent, before she portaled to the nightclub from the second floor of her mother's Vera Manor Garden laboratory.
Black cravat: check. Pleated white silk shirt: check. Black sleeveless vest: check. Black silk slacks: check.
Twenty-one-year-old Matilda Valensi strode the nightclub's perimeter purposefully, her trimmed fingernails poised just so above the pen and pad of paper peeking out of her hip pocket, her curly auburn hair tied in a high ponytail; she had inherited her mother's distinctive Afro-Caribbean cheekbones and her European father's cream-colored complexion.
Teak serving tray in hand, she examined the metallic light sconces in each corner, all enveloped in flowing plum-colored floor-to-ceiling drapery as far as the eye could see, much of which had remained the same throughout the past century, according to her all-knowing, preternaturally young father. Weaving her slight fingers through the dangling rose quartz crystals, she listened for their delicate mellifluous fairy-like chime. She knew those gemstones like the back of her hand.
The saxophones' brassy, booming timbre echoed throughout the crowded nightclub, its Gatsbian patrons dressed to the nines; the ancient ivory and ebony piano keys plinked as a pair of finely-gloved hands hammered forth from the bottommost clef to the very treble. The bass performed, the familiar rhythmic thrum of metal-worn strings vibrating across the stage, as Matilda detected the familiar scent of floral jasmine notes intermingled with Boswellian frankincense and Tamil patchouli.
8:40 pm GMT/12:40 pm PDT, Tessera Nightclub, Manchester, England
Out of the corner of her eye, Matilda observed a leering middle-aged man and his friends, all in nondescript uniforms, exchange their quid for a house special, the "Salem Witch Cocktail" (club soda, melon liqueur, lime juice, grenadine, and several shots of mystery liquer), continually whispering what seemed to be lurid, unseemly remarks at the female bartender, whose porcelain countenance began to turn a deep puce.
Ducking under the bar table's barrier, she sidled up to Nancy, glaring at each of the leering men in turn, none of whom appeared sorry in the least. Matilda's faux diamond studs kept her flame-throwing capacity at bay, but her temper began to flare, seeing how poorly her friend was being treated. "Eh, Billy," shouted one coarsely. "'ow's the daily offerin'?"
"Assets aplenty," another shouted, and her fists clenched.
The men seemed temporarily chastened with a quick glare of her flashing red eyes, but one man in particular continued to rankle Matilda's shackles. As he grew increasingly inebriated, his pawing continued, a burly arm on the countertop winding its way toward her own behind while, preoccupied, she took orders from two other clients; she shrieked in pain and whipped around, flushing with anger as the men roared and jeered. Oh no he didn't, she thought to herself, incensed with rage.
She removed her stud earrings, placing them in the bottom of her pants pocket. No more Miss Nice Girl, she decided. Enough was enough, as she felt a sudden heady surge of adrenaline course through her veins, winding its way through her upper arms, past her elbows, her slender wrists, and finally to her nimble fingers, which began to sparkle and crackle as she began snapping them against the vintage bar's tabletop.
Flames.
Delicious liquid crystalline ruby-amber flames.
Flames on the side of her face.
9:15 pm GMT/1:15 pm PDT, Tessera Nightclub, Manchester, England
For as long as she could remember, Matilda had always had an affinity toward fire. She had aced the 'candle and air' portion of her father's Montessori diagnostic test as a three-year-old, and before she was even born, her Epicenter Pico No. 23 Azores bedroom had been outfitted with fireproof glass windows and a flame-retardant balcony for the moments her temper got the better of her.
Which it often did.
She never meant to cause trouble, but somehow, glancing at the lurid spectacle before her, with dark purple draperies ablaze, formerly snobby clientele fearfully ducking for cover, rose quartz crystals askew, table linens smoldering, and the leering men's clothes turned to ashes, she knew she had a particular knack for attracting trouble.
Valensi, Party of Five, her father proudly announced whenever he took the family to Tessera Nightclub, showcasing where he and her mother had met, back when they were Jimmy and Darcy during WWII.
She surveyed the surrounding chaos and sighed. Matilda, Child of Fire.
9:30 pm GMT/1:30 pm PDT, Vera Manor Kitchen
"Any aces?" Macy asked, playfully poking her younger sister in the ribs. Double date night was well underway, with a boring-yet-wonderfully domestic game of Go Fish. Sweeping her curls from her visage, she glanced over at Harry and Jordan, whose cards remained well-hidden from view.
"Go Fish," Maggie responded, then gasped aloud. Her face froze as she fell off her chair onto the linoleum floor.
"Maggie!" Macy watched in horror as Jordan and Harry sprang to their feet, initiating magical and mortal first aid treatment. Maggie remained still for an agonizing few seconds, after which she blinked and shakily rose to her feet with the help of three.
"What did you see?" Harry anxiously asked.
"Fire—at Tessera Nightclub," Maggie whispered, her eyes wide with mounting unease.
"Matilda," breathed Macy and Harry, exchanging looks.
"Not again," Macy groaned, as she picked up the playing cards that had scattered off the kitchen table to the floor below.
"I'll go this time," Harry rose and orbed out immediately before Macy could protest.
10:30 pm GMT/2:30 pm PDT, Vera Manor, Living Room
"Your father could have had a coronary!" Macy was screaming at the defiant figure seated in front of her atop the velveteen couch.
"Isn't he immortal?" inquired Matilda, instantly realizing she had said the wrong thing, as Macy flushed a darker red than Matilda thought possible, taking larger and considerably louder inhalations, readying herself to execute yet another stern lecturing upon her youngest (and most challenging, if she were honest with herself) daughter.
"That's beside the point!" responded Macy sharply. "Once again, your father's orbed to Tessera Nightclub to do a large-scale memory wipe of two hundred people. Two hundred!" she shrieked. Macy paced back and forth on the living room carpet, gesticulating wildly. "Immortal or not, his soul isn't getting any younger—what if you'd put someone in a coma? Accidentally killed someone? Wound up in jail? What if he hadn't been home?" She attempted a few deep-breathing exercises that Maggie had taught her some years back, but nothing had ever really prepared her for a red-headed daughter whose pyromania would regularly land her in trouble in the magical community.
"But Mom, you and dad are always at Vera Manor—or at Epicenter Pico—" Matilda interjected. "And for the record, a creep grabbed my ass from behind—"
"I don't care what happened—wait till your father gets home," hissed Macy.
3 pm PDT/11 pm GMT, Vera Manor, Living Room
Harry arrived home within the hour, collapsing on the empty sofa across from his daughter, utterly exhausted.
Macy ran for an ice-cold compress which she placed on Harry's forehead. "Better?" she whispered.
"Much," Harry croaked in response. He remained silent as Macy quickly filled him in on the details of her exchange with Matilda in the past thirty minutes, as he nodded gravely. With some difficulty, he rose to a sitting position. "Let me speak with Tilly alone, love," he murmured in Macy's ear, and she reluctantly assented, leaving the father and daughter alone to chat in the curtained Victorian room.
3:05 pm, Vera Manor, Living Room
"Dad, the creep tried to grab me—Nancy can vouch for me, I swear—" But Harry put up his hand firmly.
"No, Tilly, I don't want to hear it." He sighed. Much as he loved his youngest daughter, he couldn't let her most recent infraction go unchecked. "Tilly, Tilly, Tilly, you'll be the death of me," he wryly mused, half to himself. "Just because you have the privileged ability to create fire, doesn't mean you can use it whenever you want. Even," he added, "if you're faced with creeps. Self defense is one thing, using disproportionate force is something entirely different, and altogether inappropriate. Tilly," he stared down at his lap, then gave Matilda a piercing look, painfully aware that his slacks smelled of burned tablecloth, aged bourbon, and scorched drapery. "Tessera Nightclub has been part of your mum's and my history for a century—back when we were Jimmy and Darcy—till now."
Matilda rolled her eyes. Here we go again, she thought to herself cynically. Mom and dad meet, date while penniless, he rescues Matias, Matias becomes Grandpa, Morgana enters the picture, mom has three kids, all of whom they expect to be just as perfect as them both. Her older sister Maya took after Macy, Columbia Ph.D., corkscrew curls and all. Matilda's twin brother Henry (older than her by a few seconds) resembled his father Harry, earnest and placid in personality. Henry was off at a writer's retreat and about to complete his final year at Middlebury as a Phi Beta Kappa philosophy major.
The only curly-haired redhead in the family (besides Morgana, who wasn't a blood relation), Matilda herself was at a top school, with excellent grades in sociology after dropping pre-med studies; yet, she couldn't help but feel a certain degree of inferiority. Everyone, it seemed, was absolutely, infuriatingly, annoyingly perfect.
She hated disappointing her sweet, gentle father, time and time again; a tear trickled down her freckled cheek. Once more, she managed to make a mess of her life. "Dad—" she whispered. "I'm sorry. I really, really am. What's the verdict this time?" Harry moved to sit next to her.
"Tessera Nightclub's agreed not to press charges—this time, at least," specified Harry, as Matilda breathed a sigh of relief. Vindication. "But your mum and I need to think things through and come up with a plan of action. Meet us here straightaway at seven tonight."
7 pm, Vera Manor, Living Room
Once more, Matilda found herself summoned to the Vera Manor living room. Nothing good ever happened there. She recalled having doctor's visits on the velveteen couch, annual dental reviews of her teeth, and most recently, the family announcement that Morgana had suddenly vanished from where she had been last spotted in Oslo, Norway, after attempting to assist in a succubus birth.
It had been two long weeks, and Morgana not been found yet.
She was the only woman in the family Matilda identified with, even though there was no specified blood relation. The curly red hair, their mutual stubborn streak, their tendency to speak their mind, even if it landed them in hot water (or in Morgana's case, a decades-long mostly amicable separation from ex-husband Matias, which slowly thawed with Maya's birth). The only one who really understood me, Matilda thought to herself. The only one who thought I wasn't the crazy black sheep of the family.
Matilda stared across the table at her parents. "So…uh…what's the plan?"
Harry twiddled his thumbs and cleared his throat, glancing uncomfortably over at Macy, who rolled her eyes. Do I really have to be the bad guy here? Macy seemed to say. "Matilda," she began, "first things first—earrings on. Now." Matilda grumbled to herself as she dug into her pants pocket for the faux diamond stud earrings, which she placed on both ears. Satisfied, Macy continued. "As penance (or punishment), you're doing community service—"
"Oh, like, sorting library books or volunteering at the YMCA?" Yawn, Matilda thought to herself.
Harry shook his head. "Tilly, love, your mum and I—we—" he paused for half a second, then continued. "We sent in an application on your behalf. You've been accepted as a college-age junior division counselor at a new summer camp for magical kids—Camp Wanaka. The first of its kind in the country."
Camp Wanaka? Matilda had never heard of a "Camp Wanaka." "So, uh, where exactly is this 'Camp Wanaka?'" she asked skeptically.
"It's located deep within the Southern Alps of New Zealand—and the camp term is a total of eight weeks," Harry chimed in. "It's a real resume-booster for sure—"
New Zealand? I knew I was out of line, but damn this was cold, even for them. "Are you both trying to get rid of me or something? Like, lock me away?"
"NO!" exclaimed Macy. "I-I mean, no." She regarded her youngest with a mixture of bittersweet frustration and bemusement. "Your grades and fire skills qualified you. I think it's a great opportunity—a chance to get away for a bit and see if you can channel your pyrotechnic abilities for the greater good."
"But—" Matilda tried to look for a loophole. "Don't you need a J1 camp visa with my signature and approval?"
Harry chuckled. "No, it's the other way around, and all you need is a Working Holiday Visa, and a show of funds indicating you have enough to leave the country when it comes time. Nice try. Tilly," he bent forward past the coffee table and clasped her hand in his. "I think this will be an amazing chance to see what you're capable of—besides making restitution to magical society. Can you try it—and do it for me?"
Matilda fixed on her dad's sympathetic eyes, blinking away tears, and slowly nodded. She didn't have it in her heart to disappoint him. Not this time—not again—not so soon.
8 pm PDT/3 am GMT+12, Two Nights Later, Vera Manor, Living Room
Matilda was fully packed for her New Zealand adventure, which was to begin in several short hours when she would orb to the campsite directly alongside her father.
"What'll you guys do when I'm gone?" she couldn't help but ask.
Macy and Harry glanced at each other, then back at their youngest. "We're going to Norway for the next eight weeks," admitted Macy, not without trepidation.
"Oslo, to be precise," interjected Harry. "Your mum's giving a presentation at the University of Oslo on her latest Grecian Hypnos research, but we have, dare I say…ulterior motives."
"Morgana?" breathed Matilda. She felt a sudden surge of hope. So they were looking for her? They nodded.
"Morgana was last seen at an Oslo bookstore, which isn't much to go by as the scrying crystals failed—she'd made herself untraceable decades ago for her own safety—but this is our best possible chance. Which is why I—I mean—" Macy glanced at Harry,"—we—worried about whether you'd be ok if we weren't around."
That made sense, realized Matilda. And perhaps, getting fresh air far away from the grey skies of Seattle and Manchester would do her some good. As a child, she had loved glamping in the backyard ("glamour camping"), which involved playing board games and sipping her dad's home-brewed peppermint iced tea, as well as baking hot dogs, and roasting s'mores with her siblings, using the fire she set herself. This would be followed by an animated movie via projector under the trellised tealights, surrounded by the lemon scent of mosquito-repellant candles (and her mother Macy's latest coffee-infused concoction, come morning).
Maybe, just maybe, helping magical children experience arts camp near a scenic lake would help her become a more compassionate person. She'd spend her days being one with nature, channeling her fire power for good.
1 am PDT/8 pm GMT+12, Vera Manor, Living Room
Their farewells commenced as the hour of Matilda's departure approached.
"Why don't you find someone to date while you're there, sweetie? A friend? Coworker?" Macy raised a gentle eyebrow over at her redheaded daughter, who shook her head vigorously.
"No, mom," Matilda archly responded. "I'm better off alone. Besides, my fire power could hurt someone in the wrong situation."
Macy sighed. "As you wish." As if reading her daughter's mind, she remarked casually, "you'd be less likely to injure someone there since they'd have their own powers. Assuming you wear your earrings to dampen the fire effect, of course." She went on. "Never, ever remove your earrings unless you are in dire mortal danger. Do you understand me?"
Matilda almost made as if to object, or posit a hypothetical situation, then realized her mother was dead serious. "Yes," she muttered. Then a weird thought occurred to her. "Mom, are you gonna put a sensor on my earrings?
"No, dear," Macy's eyes softened. "Much as I really, really want to, it was your father's idea that we present you this opportunity to start fresh. Also," Macy whispered in her daughter's ear conspiratorially, "in case you change your mind about the whole dating thing, I slipped a few condoms in the side pocket of your luggage—"
"Ewwww, Mom!" Matilda groaned aloud, positively repulsed.
Macy waved her hands about in resignation. "Just saying—is all!"
Matilda sighed. "Ok—thanks, I guess…?" She looked above her mother's head to the Vera Manor staircase, which her father was descending that very moment. "I guess it's time…stay safe in Oslo—hope your talk goes well—and that you find—" words failed her in that moment, but Macy understood what was unsaid.
"We'll do our very best—which is all anyone can do," murmured Macy, gathering her daughter in her arms for a hug. "I love you so much, sweetie. Stay safe, learn lots, and keep a cool head on those shoulders, mmkay?"
"Will do. Love you too," Matilda responded, then broke the hug to grasp Harry's arm, waving goodbye as they orbed across the hemisphere to Camp Wanaka in the Southern Alps of New Zealand.