conversation—filling the warm cabin. The little thimblefuls of whiskey Mrs. Lyman kept pouring out were the chief fuel of her discourse; the chief subject was a pulp novel entitled
The Man Who Saved Magic
, a highly colored recounting of the adventures that had driven Emily from Lost Pine. Emily was astonished that the book had made it back to Lost Pine before she did.
“Heck, everyone in Lost Pine’s read the book by now,” Mrs. Lyman affirmed as she dipped a string-tied bundle of sage into the chicken stew. “Mrs. Bargett down at the boardinghouse, she raised her prices by a dime just ’cause that stuck-up Dreadnought Stanton stayed in her establishment. Puts the book into the hand of everyone who walks through the door.”
Emily flushed, mortification and whiskey reddening in her cheeks. The book, which had been put out by the Institute’s publishing arm, Mystic Truth, was an overwrought piece of melodrama designed to thrill readers with precisely calculated measurements of excitement and adventure. The particularly thrilling chromolithographed cover featured lions(though to the best of Emily’s recollection, she and Stanton had not encountered a single lion on their trip, much less three leaping with jaws a-froth). It had been carefully crafted to have the maximum impact on the minds of readers like Mrs. Lyman, who dreamed of great adventures and great men to pursue them.
The more powerful people believe we are, the more power we credomancers have
, Stanton had once told her.
Books like
The Man Who Saved Magic
were designed to make people believe that little, if anything, was outside the realm of possibility for the type of Warlock who was to be found within its pages.
“But no one understands why you weren’t in it!” Mrs. Lyman said indignantly, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at Emily, as if the faults of the book could be laid at her doorstep. “There was just some swooning nitwit named ‘Faith Trueheart.’ Who’s that, I’d like to know? What about good old Emily Edwards, from Lost Pine, California?”
Emily bit her lip to keep from commenting on the particular prejudices of the editors at Mystic Truth. It had been their decision to leave her out of the epic retelling. Given that it was Stanton who would be Invested as Sophos of the Institute, they were more concerned with building his power. Indeed, in their eyes, his contribution to the adventure was the only thing of credomantic worth—given that he was the credomancer, after all. No use diluting his share of the glory to give it to someone who’d have no use for it.
“I guess they left me out for modesty’s sake,” Emily said finally. “To keep my name from being sullied, or something like that. People in New York have some funny ideas about ladies and names.”
Mrs. Lyman crossed her arms disapprovingly. “Well, people in Lost Pine have some funny ideas about girls who run off with traveling Warlocks.” She paused. “But since you’re going to marry him, I suppose it all turned out for the best.”
They enjoyed themselves well into the evening, finishing the bottle of whiskey and the chicken stew, laughing until the coals on the stone hearth glowed orange and Emily could hardly keep her eyes open. How she longed to climb into herold bed up in the loft and fall asleep, her belly full and her head pleasantly addled. But she knew that she couldn’t stay even a moment longer. She had to get to Dutch Flat to catch the midnight train back to San Francisco. Mrs. Stanton’s lunch was the next day, and even leaving now, she’d be hard-pressed to make it.
“You sure you have to go, Em?” Pap murmured sleepily as Emily banked the fire. “It’s so late. I wish you could stay till morning …”
“The moon’s full, and you know I can get anywhere in these woods even without it.” Emily tucked the warm Indian blanket around him in his chair, and scratched a fat old tabby, one of Pap’s favorites, between the ears. On
The Man Who Saved Magic
, a highly colored recounting of the adventures that had driven Emily from Lost Pine. Emily was astonished that the book had made it back to Lost Pine before she did.
“Heck, everyone in Lost Pine’s read the book by now,” Mrs. Lyman affirmed as she dipped a string-tied bundle of sage into the chicken stew. “Mrs. Bargett down at the boardinghouse, she raised her prices by a dime just ’cause that stuck-up Dreadnought Stanton stayed in her establishment. Puts the book into the hand of everyone who walks through the door.”
Emily flushed, mortification and whiskey reddening in her cheeks. The book, which had been put out by the Institute’s publishing arm, Mystic Truth, was an overwrought piece of melodrama designed to thrill readers with precisely calculated measurements of excitement and adventure. The particularly thrilling chromolithographed cover featured lions(though to the best of Emily’s recollection, she and Stanton had not encountered a single lion on their trip, much less three leaping with jaws a-froth). It had been carefully crafted to have the maximum impact on the minds of readers like Mrs. Lyman, who dreamed of great adventures and great men to pursue them.
The more powerful people believe we are, the more power we credomancers have
, Stanton had once told her.
Books like
The Man Who Saved Magic
were designed to make people believe that little, if anything, was outside the realm of possibility for the type of Warlock who was to be found within its pages.
“But no one understands why you weren’t in it!” Mrs. Lyman said indignantly, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at Emily, as if the faults of the book could be laid at her doorstep. “There was just some swooning nitwit named ‘Faith Trueheart.’ Who’s that, I’d like to know? What about good old Emily Edwards, from Lost Pine, California?”
Emily bit her lip to keep from commenting on the particular prejudices of the editors at Mystic Truth. It had been their decision to leave her out of the epic retelling. Given that it was Stanton who would be Invested as Sophos of the Institute, they were more concerned with building his power. Indeed, in their eyes, his contribution to the adventure was the only thing of credomantic worth—given that he was the credomancer, after all. No use diluting his share of the glory to give it to someone who’d have no use for it.
“I guess they left me out for modesty’s sake,” Emily said finally. “To keep my name from being sullied, or something like that. People in New York have some funny ideas about ladies and names.”
Mrs. Lyman crossed her arms disapprovingly. “Well, people in Lost Pine have some funny ideas about girls who run off with traveling Warlocks.” She paused. “But since you’re going to marry him, I suppose it all turned out for the best.”
They enjoyed themselves well into the evening, finishing the bottle of whiskey and the chicken stew, laughing until the coals on the stone hearth glowed orange and Emily could hardly keep her eyes open. How she longed to climb into herold bed up in the loft and fall asleep, her belly full and her head pleasantly addled. But she knew that she couldn’t stay even a moment longer. She had to get to Dutch Flat to catch the midnight train back to San Francisco. Mrs. Stanton’s lunch was the next day, and even leaving now, she’d be hard-pressed to make it.
“You sure you have to go, Em?” Pap murmured sleepily as Emily banked the fire. “It’s so late. I wish you could stay till morning …”
“The moon’s full, and you know I can get anywhere in these woods even without it.” Emily tucked the warm Indian blanket around him in his chair, and scratched a fat old tabby, one of Pap’s favorites, between the ears. On
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