Chapter 5

Gina watched as the desk completed another circuit around her room. Minerva slowed by leaning back in her seat and gave her the thinnest of thin smiles. Gina’s face showed no sign of her reaction - not until a tiny crack of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, blooming into a full on grin. “Oh that’s grand,” she said, her cat-green eyes gleaming as she hurried forward to rub her palms along the desk. “Blimey!” She beamed at Minerva. “You made your own broom! Out of Mum’s old desk!”

“H-Heh, yeah, I suppose I ... I didn’t think about who owned it,” Minerva admitted.

Gina flipped her hand. “Pfft, who gives a toss. It’s yours now! You made it fly.” She rubbed her chin. “Mum might get a little cross, but...” She trailed off, then beamed. “We can fly together to the Astral Station at the Fleet Market and catch the straight ticket to Hexgramatica! It’ll be famous!” She threw her arms around Minerva, almost dragging her out of the desk and to the floor next to her.

“You’re not mad?” Minerva squeaked.

“Pff, mum might get a bit mad, and father will definitely throw a fit, but it’s not like they ever use this room. They won’t notice it’s missing for years - and by then, who’ll get mad?” Gina whipped out her wand. Minerva had gotten a few glances at said wand and remained impressed by its ... sturdiness. It had extra jacketing around the midsection and the tip looked like a bulbous steel nail.

Gina flicked her wand once, twice, then spoke with confidence: “Subtrahe Miċelnes So”

The wand glowed.

And the desk trembled and then shook from side to side. “What the-” Gina frowned and stepped close. “Oy! Shrink!” She prodded the desk.

One of the drawers slammed out and bonked into Gina’s shin. Minerva let out a yelp as Gina clutched her shin. “Hey!” She shouted, glaring at the desk. “This is why they don’t make brooms with arms!” She glared at Minerva now.

“I’m so sorry,” Minerva said, hurrying to the desk’s side. She caressed it gently. “She’s just trying to help. Even if she’s being a little ... pushy.”

“Pushy!” Gina exclaimed. “It’s my mum’s desk!”

“Yes, well, it’s my broom now,” Minerva said. One of the folding trays that was meant to be extended to give additional space for holding cups, inkwells, and parchment unfolded itself and brushed against Minerva’s hip, like the desk was attempting to hug her. She petted the top gently. “Now, will you let Gina cast on you?” The desk shivered against her, then clattered and opened its drawers in a rising pattern of clicks and thumps that somehow managed to sound affirmatory. “I’ve never met a broom that’s this bossy,” Gina said, frowning. “Maybe that’s why wizards use brooms and not whatever dang thing you choose.” She rubbed her shin. “Ow.”

“You’ve had worse kicking a football around, Gina,” Minerva said, grinning at her.

Gina snorted. “I don’t take it on fields, I give it,’ she waved her wand, and said the words once more. “Subtrahe Miċelnes So!”

The desk glowed, then shrank and shrank and shrank - growing smaller and smaller with each twitch of Gina’s wand, until, at last, it fit on the palm of Minerva’s hand. She smiled and slid the desk into her purse, caressing it with her finger before closing the purse back up again.

“The perfect crime!” Gina said, spreading her arms, as if to demonstrate.

Minerva glanced about the room and saw the massive, obvious missing space where the ornate, beautiful, and ancient writing desk had sat. She arched an eyebrow. “Of course, Gina,” she said.

The two of them stuck their heads out the door and peered up and down the corridor. Gina nodded. “We’re clear,” she said, quietly. “Mum and Dad are both getting ready to see Parcival off, and that means Roland’s in his room getting ready to trip. Then we just get out, then you can ‘meet’ me in the sky, and that’s our first meeting, got it?” She flashed a warm smile at Minerva, while Minerva nodded. With a confidence that she used in all things, Gina started forward and swaggered down the corridor. Minerva followed, her bag stuffed with books - Gina, it seemed, had used her same subtraction spell to shrink all of her belongings down to fit into the boy style trousers she wore.

They came down the flight of stairs to the main floor - and there, standing in the center of the hall to the door, was Roland Blythe, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Haaa, Roland!” Gina said, backing up, clearly trying to hide Minerva. This resulted in her bumping into Minerva, who almost tripped down the stairs.

“I knew it!” Roland exclaimed.

“Oh, this is Minerva!” Gina said. “I met her yesterday-”

“You think I’m an idiot?” Roland asked, scowling. One thing Minerva had to say, at least he wasn’t in his actual Ars Magica getup - he was dressed rather similarly to his sister. Which seemed to be at least half the problem as she could see the way he looked her over and shook his head. “The house fae running around doing tasks that no one asked them too, food missing from the larder-”

“I like a snack once and a while,” Gina cut him off.

“You’ve been hiding this this ... this...” Roland narrowed his eyes at Minerva.

“Minerva,” Minerva said, coldly.

“Minerva who?” Roland asked.

“Schross-Sableknight, I’ll have you know,” Gina snapped

“You? You’re a Sableknight?” Roland narrowed his eyes further. Squinting almost. “Wait, there aren’t any Sableknights left - not our age, at least.”

“She’s Sleeperborn,” Gina said, tossing her hair.

“Oh, so, what’s her actual name?” Roland snapped.

“It’s none of your business,” Minerva said, cutting into the conversation. She walked down the stairs, almost getting into Roland’s nose. She scowled at him. “Your sister invited me here and I’ve done my best to stay out of everyone’s way. Now, I’ll be departing, having caused ... no trouble at all.” A guilty twinge hit her at the feeling of the desk in her purse. She could feel it buzzing, like the desk wanted to get out and start bonking Roland right in his face.

Roland frowned at her. He looked as if he suspected - her features weren’t exactly Anglo-Saxon. But they weren’t so obviously Jewish that he looked like he was ready to accuse her of anything.

Then he sighed and the frown collapsed into just ... looking tired. “Hell,” he said, rubbing his palm against his face. “Just get out of here before Dad or Mum hears about this.” He gestured to the door.

“Awww, you remembered you’re not a prig all the time!” Gina said. “Only most!”

“Out!” Roland snapped, glaring at her.

Minerva hurried to the door. She opened it and Gina hustled out. She glanced back at Roland - and tried to not imagine him in pressed black, with a silver pin on his breast. She gave him a polite nod. “And ... Roland?” she asked, feeling almost giddy with relief at having gotten away.

“Yeah?” Roland asked.

Minerva considered saying think about finding new political friends. Instead, she tried: “Thank you.”

Roland waved his hand. “Ah...” he said, then actually gave a rueful smile. “It’s not like we don’t have enough food in the larder.”

Minerva smiled, then closed the door.

Outside, Gina was stretching her arms and groaning softly.

“What a git,” she said.

“He’s...” Minerva frowned. “I hope the nice part of him wins out over the nasty, mean part.”

“Yeah, like I said, a git,” Gina said. “So, basic rules on flying!”

“Don’t do it in broad daylight in the middle of London?” Minerva asked.

“Don’t get caught,” Gina said, reaching into her pocket.

“Which means,” Minerva said, grabbing her wrist. “Don’t do it in broad daylight in the middle of London.”

Gina pouted. “You’re no fun...”

As the nearest underground station had recently been relocated and the new nearest was a nasty walk away, MInerva said: “I guess we take a bus?”

“A bus?” Gina snorted. “Right, sorry, forgot, you’re Sleeperborn.”

She lifted her wand up, and twitched it slightly. “Cidak Charm Man,” she said, then flicked it out - and Minerva goggled at her as a nearly invisible bead of light whipped from her wand. It hovered in the air, twitched left, then twitched right, then finally did a corkscrew and zipped through a windscreen of an incredibly nobby auto, which immediately pulled out of traffic and came to a stop beside Gina and Minerva.

The window rolled down and a handsome, older looking black gentleman looked out, smiling warmly at Gina. “Do you two need a ride?” he asked, curiously - his accent was remarkably odd to Minerva. She took a moment to place it - he was American.

“Is this your auto?” Gina asked, sounding clearly a bit shocked.

“Bought and paid for, ma’am,” the American said, nodding.

“Then yes!” Gina beamed. “We need to be driven straight to Waterloo Station, posthaste.”

Minerva held up her hand for a momentary pause, then took Gina’s arm, whispering to her. “Did you ensorcell him?” She whispered.

“Only a little, I mean, who wouldn’t want to give two pretty young things like us a ride?” Gina beamed at her, then slipped into the front car, her voice growing warm and welcoming. “So, what brings a yankee to London?”

“It’s, heh, it’s a funny story actually,” the American gentleman said as Minerva shook her head. She slid into the back seat and goggled as she noticed Gina was actually caressing the man’s shoulder, quite openly.

The car smoothly drove into traffic as the man - Gregory Klamath Utah Smith - regaled Gina and Minerva with the series of improbable adventures, wartime excitement as a member of the millions that had been sent ‘Over There’ by the New World Colossus. “And then I came back and married Francine, just as she asked,” Gregory explained as he took a right. “But ... well, she wasn’t long for the world - it was lung cancer, you know.” He shook his head. “Now, the inlaws are trying to scrape back everything she left me.”

Gina’s eyes were wide and her flirtatious tone was intermingled with actual delight as she said: “Well, I hope you keep it all,” she said as the car came up to Waterloo Station - the biggest, busiest train station in the entirety of London. It looked from the outside like a cathedral of glass and steel. Gregory smiled warmly at Gina and Minerva.

“And I hope you two ladies have a good year of schooling,” he said. “What school was it you said you were going too?”

Gina smiled. “That would be telling, Mr. Klamath Utah Smith.” She reached out and touched his nose with a giggle, then slid from the car.

“Sorry about her,” Minerva said as Gregory shook his head in bemusement.

“No need to apologize, ma’am,” Gregory said, then lifted his left hand in a little salute - it was only then that Minerva noticed it was concealed behind a glove, and several of the fingers were unusually stiff and blocky. She gave him her warmest smile, then slid from the car as Gina stretched her arms. As the auto drove off, Minerva grabbed onto Gina’s arm, her voice low.

“What on earth was that about?” she hissed. “You cast a spell on him!”

“Yeah, but he enjoyed driving us,” Gina said, looking completely bemused. “And imagine taking a bus!”

Minerva shook her head again as Gina led her forward into the station. Trains were coming and going at a steady clip, but the majority of them seemed to be in the midst of loading and unloading. Minerva, who had never been to Waterloo Station in her life, gaped at the sheer number of them and the intense stink of steam, coal, and people.

“There it is!” Gina pointed as Minerva tore her eyes from the teeming masses of Londoners that were getting on and off trains. She whistled slowly as she took in the Astral Express. It wasn’t just a train. It looked as if it had come from the 1960s, not the 1930s. Sleek and curved around each edge, with a steam engine that was contained behind baffles of steel and chrome and brass. The wheels gleamed, while the passenger cars looked as if they had been freshly painted and polished, with windows that looked in on pullmans berths that looked as comfortable as Minerva’s old bedsit. She whistled softly as Gina dragged her forward yet more. They came to one of the numbered lines, where a large stall was set up to take, tear, and return ticket stubs.

Minerva frowned at Gina, but Gina waved her hand. They both came to the teller at the line labeled 4 and the man at the station peered down at them. “Virginia Blythe III and Minerva Schross-Sableknight,” Gina said.

The man looked from them, then down to his notepad. He flipped a paper, then nodded. “Go on through,” he said, clearly bored out of his mind.

“Is he a wizard?” Minerva whispered as they walked through the line, an even more bored looking cop nodding to them as they strode on by.

“No, but someone in the Ministry slips them the names that they’re letting through and adds a little spell to dull any curiosity they have about it,” Gina said, shrugging. “There’s not enough wizards for any of them to be ticket tellers, honestly.”

“We wizards do seem to love that bit of spellcraft, don’t we?” Minerva asked, her voice dry.

“It’s ever so useful, doubly so if a Mundane sees something they’re not really supposed to,” Gina said, missing Minerva’s tone entirely. Then, to Minerva’s surprise, a voice called out to her.

“Minerva! Minerva Sableknight!”

Gina looked around, then gaped in shock as, striding through the crowd, looking impressive as one can be in his school uniform, was Harry Arthur-Perry. He was just as tall as Minerva remembered, but he had done a shave, a haircut, and a comb making him strikingly handsome - if more cold and distant than the mussed mess that he had been before. He beamed down at her, while Gina started to gibber like a mental patient.

“I’m so glad you made it,” Harry said.

“H-H ... Ha...” Gina stammered.

“Hello Harry,” Minerva said, casually. She wished she could have felt half the bubbling in her belly as Gina seemed to be. Or a quarter. It felt so ... so ... so rude to Harry to not be throwing herself at him. Instead, she gestured to Gina. “And this is Virginia Blythe, we’re ... mates!” She slid her arm around Gina’s shoulder, squeezing.

“H ... Hi!” Gina said, her eyes shining. “Oh my goodness, you’re Harry Perry!”

“That I seem to be, yes,” Harry started.

“Is it true you and your uncle went all over Europe battling monsters and beasts!?” Gina said, her eyes shining. “I’ve heard you’ve cast more magic in battle than anyone but a veteran! And not even some of them! Is it true your uncle broke the back of the Roter Hexenzirkel in 32?”

“Y-Yes, uh ... it was in the papers...” Harry looked somewhat discomforted. He rubbed his palm against the back of his neck. Minerva arched an eyebrow - Harry hadn’t mentioned any of this. Of course, she wasn’t sure if she could blame him. He continued. “It was all a bit much, but, well, it was a ... a learning experience.”

A shrilling whistle blew and a conductor, his voice pitched to carry, called out: “The nine AM to Sheffield is departing in five minutes. Five minutes for the nine AM to Sheffield.”

“That’s us!” Gina said. She reached out to take Harry’s arm, but before she could, another girl had snagged it. And this girl was also familiar to Minerva: Charlene Cindercarus-Colette. The brunette girl beamed at Harry as she pulled him bodily towards the train car.

“Come on, Harry, we have to get a berth!”

“I, ah-” Harry stammered, shooting a glance Minerva’s way - one that read somewhere between helpless and hapless.

Gina muttered under her breath. “Oh boy, Cinderella has her hooks in him.”

“I don’t think they’ll sink too deep,” Minerva muttered. At Gina’s dour expression, she chuckled. “Did you have your heart set on snagging Harry Perry?”

“He’s the son of a famous war hero, the adoptive son of the head of Ars Magica, he’s bloody gorgeous to boot, and he’s had more adventures since he was twelve than any of us have ... ever!” She said, shaking her head. “Basilisks? Slain. Hippogriffs! Tamed! He’s traveled beyond the Silver Veil, he joined the Ordo Phoenix before he was sixteen, he was with his Uncle when they captured the Dogstar Killer!” She turned to face Minerva. “Do you have any idea about how famous and amazing he is?”

“I ... had no idea,” Minerva said, dazedly. “He ... didn’t seem to like talking about it.”

“And he’s humble too!?” Gina groaned. “I just want to chew his knickers off, I swear.”

“Gina!” Minerva exclaimed.

The two walked past the conductor, who gave them both a nod. They came into the train and all thoughts of Harry vanished from her mind as she stepped into a massive, gorgeous ballroom hall. A chandelier glittered overhead, while there was enough room for three parades to go by in unison. Stairs went up to the second story, while doors led left and right. Glittering, lovely house fae walked by, dressed in naught but their smiles and their exotic skin colors - gold, silver, white, ebony black - holding trays of refreshments, while men and women of Miranda’s age stood about, laughing, chatting. She saw Harry in a knot of them, looking miserable.

“Is it true your uncle took on sixteen witches at once?”

“You really slew a basilisk by yourself? At thirteen?”

“I-It was nothing, it was nothing.” Harry said, again and again - though he looked quite poorly to Minerva.

Then Minerva saw Katarina. The burly woman made her heart skip and flutter - she was dressed in nothing but her button up white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. She had a wand tucked into her belt, but something about it looked off. She was also glowering at Harry with a venom that Minerva hadn’t seen last time.

Of course, last time, she only had eyes for you ... Minerva realized as Katarina took a glass from a passing fae and downed it with a quick gulp, before she started to walk purposefully towards the besieged Harry.

“We should find a room before all the nice ones are taken,” Gina said, not even noticing the brewing storm. Minerva felt like she was frozen in amber. She forced herself to shake, then started forward.

Katarina was building up speed.

Minerva got between her and the crowd. She placed her hand on one sleek, muscular arm. The feel of Katarina’s warmth sent a warm buzz along Minerva’s spine as she frowned and said, primly: “Oh. You.”

“Minnie,” Katarina said, her voice cold. Furious.

“Tell us about the German adventure!” A boy said, laughing.

The glass in Katarina’s hand shattered. Glass and blood slid along her knuckles and she barked out a fierce, braying laugh. “Adventure! Hah! This is an adventure, yes! Yes! What an adventure!” She said, as Minerva felt her arm trembling. Minerva tried to hook her arm around Katarina’s arm, but the burly woman was already stepping forward. “Tell them how your brave uncle worked with the Sturmabteilung and Röhm! Tell them how he dropped some wards and blocked up the escape ways so that the brown shirted men could go in with their machine guns and shoot women and children!”

Her voice was getting hotter and louder with every word. Other students stepped away from Harry, who was looking stricken. Minerva yanked back, hard, on Katarina, her voice soft and firm. “Katarina,” she said, softly. “Katarina, your hand.”

Katarina opened her hand. Glass stuck from the palm. She closed it, then let herself be dragged away. Minerva looked back and saw that Harry’s hands were shaking. He lifted a quivering hand to his face, his eyes hollow. In the ringing silence of the dining hall, his voice was a dead man’s rasp. “I-I ... need to ... t ... t ... to...” He turned and he walked away, head ducked forward.

The silence remained until the door shut.

The corridors leading to the chambers within the passenger cars were just as opulent and large as the ballroom - all of it was so impossibly massive and so impossibly stable, but Minerva had no thoughts for that. She was torn between cold fury and a deep sickness - she had known that Harry’s adoptive father was a fascist. But not quite so ... on hand with the stormclouds gathering in Europe. But she knew that he didn’t like his uncle, nor his actions. And it didn’t take a psychologist to tell that Harry had been distressed, not delighted by his...

Adventures.

Minerva shook her head and tugged Katarina into one of the passenger compartments. It was less of a pullman’s berth and more of a mobile hotel room, with adjoining chambers and a large window looking out at the city of London as it rolled by - the train clearly picking up speed. There was the faintest feeling of motion. Minerva thrust Katarina down into a comfortable chair in the sitting room of the passenger car, and sighed intently.

“Open your hand,” she said.

Katarina looked surly. But she opened her hand. Minerva dragged her chair over, sitting down. She leaned in close and frowned as she examined the jagged chunks of glass thrust into the tough callouses. She started to pluck them out, careful to withdraw them with as little pain as she could. There was a small ashtray on the table, which served well enough as a container to hold the blood glistened glass. As each tinked in, Katarina’s fingers twitched.

“Tell me about the ... Roter Hexenzirkel?” Minerva said, looking up at Katarina. Katarina looked aside. “Your ... father was a member, wasn’t he?”

Katarina nodded. “Ja,” she said, softly. “They backed the KPD.” At Minerva’s arched eyebrow, she added. “The communists.”

“Ah,” Minerva said. “And the...” She puzzled at the German. “The Red Witches?”

“That’s them, yes,” Katarina said, softly. “They tried to block the Nazis wizards. Did a good job of it too. Most German wizards would rather have drunk rattlesnake venom than work with Hitler. Only good thing you can say about the bastards.” Minerva stood, rummaging around. When she returned, it was with cloth and a glass of water. She daubed the cloth into the water, then began to gently clean the wounds. Before her eyes, Katarina’s skin was already scabbing over. The blood had stopped flowing entirely. Minerva drew her hand back, eyes widening.

“They thought an Austrian upstart was an affront to their Prussian hexenverking, bah!” Katarina shook her head, her hand still held out for Minerva to examine. “But did they work with the KDP? Did they do a thing when the brownshirts came for the communists and the queers? No. they said ‘ah, well, we may not like their methods, but, they had it coming, did they not.’’ She growled, her eyes bright gold.