singular mineral.”
That was all. Emily looked up at Stanton.
“Native Star?”
“Found in a gold mine,” he said. “Cobalt blue, crystalline white filaments. Absorbs magical energy.”
Emily contemplated the stone in her hand as Stanton continued.
“When you touched those zombies they fell down instantly. The stone in your hand must have absorbed all the magical force animating them.”
“That’s all well and good,” Pap said, “but none of it answers why the stone worked its way into Em’s palm in the first place.”
“Or how to get it out,” Emily added.
“That will require further research. Research which cannot be performed in Lost Pine.” Stanton closed the book. “Miss Edwards must consent to be examined by professionals.”
“What?” Emily didn’t like the word “examined,” or even “professionals” for that matter.
“I have no doubt that the professors at the Mirabilis Institute would be extremely eager to study this case,” Stanton said.
“I most certainly am not a case!”
“The Mirabilis Institute—that fancy institute you studied at?” Pap frowned. “You can’t mean she’d have to go all the way to New York?”
“Not at all,” Stanton said. “There’s an extension office in San Francisco—that’s less than a week’s ride. The Institute would assume all expenses of the journey, of course—”
“San Francisco?” Emily said. “Are you kidding? I can’t go to San Francisco!”
“With that stone in your hand, you can’t do anything else.” Stanton looked at her. “You certainly can’t do magic.”
He paused, absorbing Emily’s glare with equanimity.
“Remember last night, when we were trying to light the dynamite?” Emily saw Pap’s eyebrows rise. She hadn’t mentioned the dynamite part to him. “I should have been able to light the fuse easily. Flamma.” He snapped, and a little tongue of flame dazzled at the point where his thumb and forefinger met. He spread his fingers and the flame disappeared. “But while you were holding it, the spell did not work. It did not work, in fact, until you threw the stick of dynamite to the ground.”
“You said yourself that you’d just blown two dozen zombies into gold dust and were too drained to do anything else,” Emily countered.
“I certainly wasn’t too drained to produce a tiny flame.” Stanton was scornful. “If I had been that incapacitated, I wouldn’t have been able to hold off the undead at the mouth of the mine so that you could throw the dynamite at them.”
“You were throwing dynamite?” Pap’s eyes followed their voices back and forth.
“Look, I didn’t want to put such a fine point on it, but you’ve left me no choice.” Stanton did not take his eyes off Emily as he spoke in Pap’s direction. “Mr. Edwards, you can still cast a levitation, can’t you?”
Pap blinked, apparently still trying to get past the dynamite. Finally he nodded.
“Haven’t done one in years. Ain’t much use in ’em when you’ve got two good strong arms. But I reckon I still can, if required.”
“Will you do one for me now?”
Pap rolled up his sleeves. “Em, get me my things.”
Emily was turning to comply when Stanton got up quickly, reaching past her.
“You’d better let me,” he said. He gathered Pap’s athame and charm cap from where they hung above the fireplace and placed them before the old man. Then he took down a green glass bottle from the windowsill and placed it on the table.
“Miss Edwards, hold his hand while he attempts to levitate that bottle.”
“Oh, honestly!” Emily sniffed, but she sat down next to Pap anyway, taking his light, dry hand in hers and giving it a squeeze.
First, Pap took up his charm cap—a jaunty affair constructed of purple velvet, covered with glittering bric-a-brac, feathers, and small bird bones—and placed it on his white hair at a rakish angle. Then, using the tip of his athame, Pap traced a shaky circle around the bottle, clearly
That was all. Emily looked up at Stanton.
“Native Star?”
“Found in a gold mine,” he said. “Cobalt blue, crystalline white filaments. Absorbs magical energy.”
Emily contemplated the stone in her hand as Stanton continued.
“When you touched those zombies they fell down instantly. The stone in your hand must have absorbed all the magical force animating them.”
“That’s all well and good,” Pap said, “but none of it answers why the stone worked its way into Em’s palm in the first place.”
“Or how to get it out,” Emily added.
“That will require further research. Research which cannot be performed in Lost Pine.” Stanton closed the book. “Miss Edwards must consent to be examined by professionals.”
“What?” Emily didn’t like the word “examined,” or even “professionals” for that matter.
“I have no doubt that the professors at the Mirabilis Institute would be extremely eager to study this case,” Stanton said.
“I most certainly am not a case!”
“The Mirabilis Institute—that fancy institute you studied at?” Pap frowned. “You can’t mean she’d have to go all the way to New York?”
“Not at all,” Stanton said. “There’s an extension office in San Francisco—that’s less than a week’s ride. The Institute would assume all expenses of the journey, of course—”
“San Francisco?” Emily said. “Are you kidding? I can’t go to San Francisco!”
“With that stone in your hand, you can’t do anything else.” Stanton looked at her. “You certainly can’t do magic.”
He paused, absorbing Emily’s glare with equanimity.
“Remember last night, when we were trying to light the dynamite?” Emily saw Pap’s eyebrows rise. She hadn’t mentioned the dynamite part to him. “I should have been able to light the fuse easily. Flamma.” He snapped, and a little tongue of flame dazzled at the point where his thumb and forefinger met. He spread his fingers and the flame disappeared. “But while you were holding it, the spell did not work. It did not work, in fact, until you threw the stick of dynamite to the ground.”
“You said yourself that you’d just blown two dozen zombies into gold dust and were too drained to do anything else,” Emily countered.
“I certainly wasn’t too drained to produce a tiny flame.” Stanton was scornful. “If I had been that incapacitated, I wouldn’t have been able to hold off the undead at the mouth of the mine so that you could throw the dynamite at them.”
“You were throwing dynamite?” Pap’s eyes followed their voices back and forth.
“Look, I didn’t want to put such a fine point on it, but you’ve left me no choice.” Stanton did not take his eyes off Emily as he spoke in Pap’s direction. “Mr. Edwards, you can still cast a levitation, can’t you?”
Pap blinked, apparently still trying to get past the dynamite. Finally he nodded.
“Haven’t done one in years. Ain’t much use in ’em when you’ve got two good strong arms. But I reckon I still can, if required.”
“Will you do one for me now?”
Pap rolled up his sleeves. “Em, get me my things.”
Emily was turning to comply when Stanton got up quickly, reaching past her.
“You’d better let me,” he said. He gathered Pap’s athame and charm cap from where they hung above the fireplace and placed them before the old man. Then he took down a green glass bottle from the windowsill and placed it on the table.
“Miss Edwards, hold his hand while he attempts to levitate that bottle.”
“Oh, honestly!” Emily sniffed, but she sat down next to Pap anyway, taking his light, dry hand in hers and giving it a squeeze.
First, Pap took up his charm cap—a jaunty affair constructed of purple velvet, covered with glittering bric-a-brac, feathers, and small bird bones—and placed it on his white hair at a rakish angle. Then, using the tip of his athame, Pap traced a shaky circle around the bottle, clearly
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