Intellect and imagination, that was what it had to be. That was what it seemed to come down to. Somehow she had to use both. No wonder Fire was supposed to be the most dangerous of the Elements!
And the most seductive; anger was intoxicating, she knew that already. And when anger ran out—
Another branch on the Dark Path—Despair. Oh, I know the taste of that. Despair, because it's Self Hate; yes, that belongs here in Fire, too. Like Fire, Despair devours what sustains it. . . and Despair can coil you right back to Anger again, unthinking Anger, the kind that just lashes out.
She almost wished she had never picked up that book; never read what was in those pages. Sarah's way had been so much simpler]
Sarah's way would never have gotten me where I need to go.
She had to become a Master if she was going to break Alison's hold on her. She was beginning to think that there were masters and there were Masters—those who used their magic, and those who really, truly understood it. And maybe Alison hadn't gotten to her Mastery by following this course, but—
But if she hasn't, then that may be her weakness. If she's gone the simpler, most direct route to power, it means she's left all those other paths that are still there unwatched, unguarded. It's like having a fortress and leaving all the windows open while you carefully lock the only door.
Eleanor finished her breakfast and tidied up, her mind still turning over all the things she had studied. Fire is Swords, in the Tarot deck; there's Mars again. So that's my weakness, the one she'll try to exploit, because if there's one thing she really does understand, it's how to use someone's weaknesses against him, and how to turn a strength into a weakness to exploit. Anger, hate, and despair—
She stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen and clapped her hand to her mouth as a sudden revelation hit.
She already has] She already has! The night we got the news about Father being killed! I was in despair, and she pounced on it!
And the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to her that Alison's spells always got stronger the more depressed that Eleanor was. The question was, did Alison know about the alchemical philosophy, or was this a case of something else—the simple siphoning of dark power from someone who was generating a lot of it?
The sooner she knew the answer to that question, the better off she would be.
And—Imagination and Intellect—the answer just might be right under my nose. . . .
18
May 2, 1917
Longacre Park, Warwickshire
REGGIE HALF-WOKE SEVERAL TIMES DURING the night, responding to a vague feeling of presences in his room with him. Most narcotics and soporifics actually had the effect of taking down the mental barriers between even ordinary folk and the Unseen, but Doctor Maya had seen to it that Reggie's prescriptions had added components to them that had the opposite effect. Or so he assumed, anyway, since after he had started taking the drugs that she had prescribed, his sleep was no longer troubled by unwanted visitors.
So the feeling of presence was never enough to trouble his dreams or fully wake him out of slumber. The painkillers did their job, and he woke late in the morning of the second of May feeling stiff and sore, but not half-crippled. He dressed without assistance, and made his way down to breakfast with only the aid of a cane.
There was an odd addition to the usually spartan breakfast menu. Tea-cakes, split and lightly toasted, in place of actual toast, scones, or crumpets. He eyed them with amusement; it seemed that there were still leftovers from the School Treat.
"Waste not, want not," he said aloud, and treated them like toasted crumpets or scones. His mother, always an early riser, had long since had her breakfast, and was probably out with the gardener, dealing with the inevitable damage done to the gardens by the children. There were always accidents, and little ones too small to know any better who would tear up flower beds making bouquets. Fortunately the famous roses were perfectly capable of defending themselves, the herb garden was in a walled and hedged space of its own that was off-limits during the school treat, and the current gardener was not likely to threaten suicide over some torn-up plants.
After a quite satisfactory breakfast, he went to the windows of the terrace and spotted her, as he had expected, pointing to places in the flower beds and presumably talking over repairs with the gardener. It was too far for him to hear what they were saying, but when he went outside to the balustrade, she saw him watching and waved, and shortly thereafter joined him upon the terrace.
"The little terrors]" she said fondly. "The primroses are quite decimated, and the tulips and daffodils as well. Luckily they did not actually tear up any bulbs this year, and we planned for this, at any rate. There are more than enough plants coming along in the greenhouse to cover the damage. In two days no one will know they were here."
"Hmm," he replied, giving her a sideways glance. "I seem to recall a certain little boy who presented his mother with a May Day bouquet of all of the exceedingly rare double-ruffled tulips that the gardener had been cosseting over the winter in hopes of finally getting a good show out of them."
"And very lovely they looked in a vase on my desk, too," she chuckled. "Furthermore, despite all predictions to the contrary, they gave just as good a show the next spring. And the times being what they are, I would rather have happy children than a perfect garden."
"You're a trump, Mater," he said warmly, bending down to kiss her cheek.
"I have my moments," she agreed. "Oh! Your aunt is definitely coming, and I must say, I am glad of it. The Brigadier offered to bring her in his motorcar, so they'll be arriving together."
"Good! And we ought to start having small parties with some of our neighbors, too," he said, even though that was really the last thing he wanted. He was going to enjoy having the Brigadier here, and his aunt would be good company for his mother, but—
But the truth was, he would have been a great deal happier with no more than that. Aunt has an instinct for when I want to be left alone, and the Brigadier does a good job of keeping himself to himself. But some of the neighbors. . . .