Author's Note: The previous chapter has been edited, so hopefully it's better.
This has been one horrible week irl.
Scrooge McDuck paced his office for the hundredth time. Magica had no phone, of course, living all the way out on Mount Vesuvius. Unless Scrooge wanted to fly out there again and risk her toying with him, he had no way to contact her. She was taking her sweet time about reappearing in Duckberg.
The longer Webby lingered in the alternate universe, the more Scrooge worried about her. It was possible that she'd landed in an alternate version of this mansioSn and that version of him was looking after her. It was possible everything was all right and he was fretting over nothing. After all, wee little Webbigail had gotten herself into worse scrapes than this and come out all right. Perhaps he was underestimating her.
It was the uncertainty that was driving him mad. The triplets were morose, sitting in his office and watching him pace. They were worried too, although their anxiety was augmented by guilt. They'd stopped trying to fix the mirror or attempting to help in any way.
Argh, this was ridiculous. He'd have to fetch Magica and drag her back here. Of course, there was the fact that sorceresses rarely agreed to allow someone to take them anywhere. But if he was waiting on Magica's pleasure, it could be months before she kited over here. Anything could happen to Webbigail in months. His stomach clenched and he was sick thinking about losing her for so long. No, he had to have her back, if not just for him, then for everyone who cared about her. An unstoppable force would meet an immovable object-she'd have to come along or be swept away.
"Wanna go for a trip, boys?" he said, stopping in the middle of his pace.
"We're going to Mount Vesuvius, aren't we, Unca?" Huey said and Scrooge sighed.
"Aye, I'm afraid so, lad," he said. "Magica could spite us and work on her schedule, not ours. I can't take the idea of Webby gone for that long."
"You're not going to offer your number one dime, are you?" Dewey asked.
"I haven't decided what I'm doing," he said. He'd have a better idea once he got there. In the meanwhile, he needed to call Launchpad for a lift, if the man wasn't off crashing another plane. He rolled his eyes at that and grabbed the phone to call him.
Before, the boys had questioned whether Webby was worth his number one dime. Now they didn't question it. They stared, downcast, and he reached out to ruffle their head feathers.
"Don't mistake it, boys-I'm still very mad at you, but you're taking this a bit hard," he said.
"We could've...we could've gotten her killed!" Louie burst out. The other two nodded.
Scrooge held up a finger to prevent them from going on and quickly told Launchpad what he needed. He hung up and looked over at the boys, who were genuinely distressed now. They were all talking at once and making it very difficult for him to follow who was saying what. It didn't help that their voices sounded identical.
"Lads, lads!" he implored. "I can't understand you when you all talk at once."
They desisted, though he was disconcerted to see tears glimmering in their eyes. They were taking this hard. Then again, this might've been the worst thing they'd ever done, albeit unintentionally. He drew them closer.
"We don't know what happened to her," he said. "We can't afford to think of the worst case scenario. It'll only upset you more. We have to assume that she's safe, scared, and waiting to be rescued. We can't imagine anything else because we can't do anything about it yet."
"We didn't mean to send her through the mirror!" Dewey burst out and tears slipped down his cheeks. The other two burst into tears as well.
"Boys, boys. We're gonna get her back," he promised. "One way or another, even if we have to go through the mirror ourselves, we're bringing Webbigail back. Now, c'mon. We have an appointment with Launchpad to visit Magica again at Mount Vesuvius."
They were good lads, really they were. They'd made a terrible mistake, but it'd be all right in the end. Scrooge refused to think of any alternate outcome.
They climbed into the Sunchaser and Launchpad took off. The mood was grim again, though the boys had stopped crying. They looked morose and he did his best to comfort them, all the while aware that their concerns might be valid. He wouldn't let himself think of poor Webbigail in distress, but it was hard not to. Now that the boys had brought it up again, it was all he could think of.
As a result, despite Launchpad's attempts to stir conversation, it was a silent ride. Launchpad skidded onto the landing pad and scratched up the Sunchaser's underside, which for him was minor. He hadn't broken anything that would leave them stranded, which was good because Scrooge intended to give Magica a piece of his mind and he didn't want the effect ruined by being stuck here. That and it would be very difficult to persuade her to accompany them if they couldn't actually leave the island.
Again, Poe circled above them as they ascended the stairs to Magica's throne room and he perched on her chair arm when they reached her. She was where he'd left her and was leafing through a thick dusty tome. She didn't look up when they entered. Instead, her focus seemed on the book, as if she didn't even hear them.
Scrooge cleared his throat. She remained fixated on the book and flipped a page.
"Magica!" he snapped and her gaze flicked to him and then back. She looked disinterested, although her gaze lingered contemptuously on the triplets before returning to study the book.
"If you wanted a date, you could've just asked," she murmured. "You didn't have to bring your grand-nephews."
"You said you'd help me with the mirror!" he snapped. "Do I have to drag you out of here?"
"I am helping you with mirror," she snapped back and looked up. Her eyes were red like she hadn't slept well in the past day. "What do you think this is? Light reading?"
"I thought you knew how to fix it," he said, his irritation fading. He stepped closer to her and the boys stopped, watching them curiously. Again, Magica's gaze flicked to them and then settled on him.
"Contrary to what you think, Scroogie, I do not know everything there is about magic," she snapped. "And I have never repaired a broken magical mirror because there has never been a broken magical mirror before this."
"How long do you think it'll take?" he asked.
"It takes however long it takes," she growled. She glowered at him. "I will rescue your pitiful Webster from the mirror. Do not worry."
"Webbigail," he corrected.
"Whatever," she said. "The pink one. I'll rescue her. But I will do it on my timeline, not yours. You owe me a big favor after this, McDuck, and don't think I'll let you forget it."
"But something terrible could be happening to her!" he protested and the boys agreed. Magica rose from her seat, slammed the book down, and stormed over to him. Her eyes flashed in warning. It occurred to him that perhaps ticking off the one person who could help them might've been a poor decision.
"I am doing this for you," she reminded him. "Not for the brat. I am doing this because I would hate for something to turn you into a pitiful, pathetic shell of a duck and not my worthy adversary."
There seemed to be something else she wasn't saying and her gaze again darted to the boys before locking onto him.
"Go wait in the Sunchaser," he said to them.
"Aw, but Unca Scrooge!" they protested in unison.
"Go!" he said and they trooped off, heads down. He watched them until he knew they were out of earshot and then turned to Magica.
"What don't you wanna say in front of the boys?" he said in an undertone.
"As I say, magic mirror is the first broken mirror I have encountered," she said, matching his tone. "I am reading up on the construction of magic mirrors, but the steps are complicated and the materials scarce."
She met his gaze.
"I do this out of respect for you. But if this does not work, there is nothing I can do."
The pronouncement fell heavy between them. Magica, for once in her life, looked somber. He thought she might actually feel bad about this, which was a first.
"What are the odds of it working?" he asked past the lump in his throat.
"50/50, I am thinking," she said. "If the mirror is not broken on the other side, it is more like 60/40. Travel between two broken mirrors is impossible. Travel through one broken mirror is possible, but…"
"But what?" he demanded.
"Chances are 20/80 you will survive," she said. "Greater chance is of dying in transit. Chances are worse if you take someone with you. This is suicidal, Scrooge."
"I can't just leave her stranded!" he objected.
Magica shrugged. "I am only telling you the odds. You are a betting man, yes? Would you take those odds?"
"Do I have a choice?" he retorted. "I can't leave her alone to die!"
Magica touched his face and it was surprisingly gentle.
"I can't lose her! Not like…"
"Della."
The name fell between them and Scrooge flinched. Magica smiled sadly.
"I know," she said. "I will do my best to fix mirror. But if I do not succeed, then you need to know what to expect."
"Thank you," he said and it felt like he'd swallowed his pride to say it. She nodded, cupping his chin in her palm. Her gaze lingered on him in a meaningful way. His heart thudded.
"I will be in touch," she told him and then she released him. "I will return to Duckberg when and only when I have something. In the meantime, there is nothing I can do. Do not come here again."
Though her voice was mild, the implication was clear. He was intruding on her territory. He nodded, stepping back, and she scanned him.
"I hope, for your sake, that she can be found," she said.
As he was walking away, he realized she hadn't added: "alive". Head down, he trudged back to the Sunchaser. Somehow, Magica's doubts about Webby's well-being hurt worse than the boys' did.
"So, if we can't repair the mirror ourselves and we can't bring Webby back, what can we do?" Huey asked. They were pacing their room in an unconscious imitation of Scrooge. "We can't just sit around doing nothing."
"Wonder what Magica had to tell Unca Scrooge," Dewey said. "He wouldn't tell us on the ride back. But he looked upset."
"You don't think she backed out, do you?" Louie asked and the other two answered in unison, "Nah."
Then Huey voiced the thought that had started in Louie's mind. "She couldn't have, could she? She was using that book to help fix the mirror. She wouldn't have done that if she wasn't going to help."
"Then what did she have to tell Unca Scrooge that we couldn't hear?" Huey protested.
"Probably some gross girl stuff," Louie said, though they remained unconvinced. If Scrooge wouldn't tell them, they certainly couldn't return to Vesuvius and ask her themselves. They were stymied for the time being.
"You know, maybe we oughta try being nicer to Webby when she comes back," Dewey suggested. "We've been kinda mean to her for a while now. She can't help being a girl."
"Yeah…" the other two echoed.
"And she could've been hurt or worse in that other universe. When she comes back, we've gotta apologize to her," Dewey added. "And maybe we shouldn't be so quick to chase her off or scare her."
"Yeah…" the other two echoed.
"You think there's a way to get a message through the mirror, even if it's broken?" Dewey said. "We could send her a note and apologize. We should write it now."
Huey and Louie nodded and they set to work finding paper and pencil to write their note. After much deliberation, they decided to start with the apology and then add how much everyone missed and loved her. Even the boys, who weren't always fond of her, missed her. She could be a real sweetheart and they were sorry, again, for forcing her into the mirror by proxy.
Unfortunately, getting the note in was harder than they'd thought. Duckworth was standing guard by the archive room to prevent them from messing with the mirror, as they'd already done enough damage.
"Can't we just send the note?" Dewey pleaded. "We won't touch the mirror. We won't go through it. We promise. Please, Duckworth."
"Very well," he sniffed and permitted them access. As they entered, they stared at the shattered glass, lying on the floor and still in the mirror frame. They felt dreadful, completely wretched. What if Webby had been on her way back through the mirror when they'd shattered it? What if she was lying somewhere, shattered too?
"Webby, we're sorry!" the triplets cried in unison. "We're so, so sorry! Please come back home!"
They pushed the note through the note through the mirror and waited with bated breath.
"Hello?" another voice answered and they startled.
"Hello?" the triplets chorused.
"She was right," a male voice said. "They do speak in unison."
"How do you know? I mean, we can't see anyone."
"Maybe it's not us. Maybe it's just some random bunch of kids on the other side."
"Identify yourselves!" the first voice commanded.
"We're Huey, Dewey, and Louie," Huey answered and heard, from three different boys, a group groan.
"Hey, stop that!" the other side of the mirror snapped, also in unison. "Argh, not again! Twice in one day? This is ridiculous! STOP! Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious! Seriously, guys?"
"Man, I hate when we do that," the second boy complained. "It's like we get stuck in some weird loop."
"We're a giant feedback loop," a third voice said. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Dewey Dew-night?"
"Webby said she wouldn't tell!" the second boy said, scandalized.
"She didn't," the third boy assured him. "I found your set. Man, you really need to change the combination on that lock."
"No one gave you permission to go through my stuff, Llewellyn," the second boy snapped.
"That's a low blow, Dewford," the third boy said. "Why did you have to say my full name? I hate my full name."
"Guys, guys, knock it off," the first boy protested.
"Are you...us?" Louie ventured and the other two stepped up to the glass without touching it.
"You mean do we all speak in unison with the same voice and wear matching outfits? No. We don't. What are you guys, six?" snapped Llewellyn (who would've hated being referred to by that).
"How do you know what we're wearing?" Louie protested.
"I don't. But you sound like you're wearing the same outfits," came the response. They couldn't see anything but broken images through the glass and the shards were too small to provide any semblance of a full picture.
"Look," said the first voice, assuming command again. "You're probably here because you're worried about Webby, your Webby, right?"
"Yeah…" they chorused.
"Could you not do that?" Llewellyn groused. "Ugh, it's so embarrassing. It's like you're a hive mind."
"She's okay," the first voice said. "We just have a little situation. But we'll fix it."
"What kind of situation?" Dewey asked, suspicious.
"A Doofus Drake incident," said Dewford. "Uh-oh. Guys, I think Uncle Scrooge is coming this way."
"What was your first clue? The door opening or the fact that he's standing there, glowering at us?" Llewellyn snapped.
"When you see Webby, give her this," Louie said and pressed the note through the mirror.
"Confetti," said Llewellyn, sarcastic. "So impressive."
"Didn't I tell you not to go in here, especially after what happened to Webby?" Scrooge said. "C'mon."
"Wait!" Louie pleaded. "Where's our Webby?"
"She's a little...tied up at the moment," Dewford said, reluctantly. "Nothing we can't handle."
"Or that Webby can't handle," Llewellyn muttered.
"Out!" Scrooge bellowed and the connection, whatever was creating it, seemed to fade away. The triplets sighed.
"Least we know she's alive," Dewey said.
"Yeah, and that's all we know," Huey pointed out.
"Better than what we knew before," Dewey countered.
But not really by much.
