Vespertine
Chapter XVI: Margarette

When Caiden awoke, he saw Quinn curled up on the floor near the window. The curtains were drawn, and her head was bowed, staring at the leather journal she clutched in her hands. She evidently hadn’t opened it yet.

Caiden got up and quickly washed his face to wake himself up before joining her at the window. She didn’t look at him, but she began to talk.

“You know, when my parents died, I wasn’t angry. I was just sad. I was younger, and Sal kept me grounded. I remember how he held me when he told me. He didn’t cry. And he promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. So I wasn’t mad, only scared.”

Caiden scooted closer, raising his eyebrows appraisingly. “Why are you telling me this?”

Her jaw tightened, and she ran her fingers over the book. “Because I’m angry now. And I don’t know if that makes me different. When they died, I started training religiously. I was a mortal. I was fighting for my mortal parents, killed at the hands of sorcerers. I was fighting for justice and equality and I don’t know when I stopped being scared. But now I’m not mortal, anymore. The V’s have turned me out. I could go live the life I was fighting for. Yet I’m still angry.”

Caiden was silent for a moment, and then he shook his head. “Open the damn book.”

She glared. “Thanks for the consolation. You should really be a therapist. Or write your own advice column.”

He shrugged. “Consolation’s not what you’re looking for. You want validation. You want me to tell you that you have a right to be angry.” He reached for the book, but Quinn snatched it back and held it above her head.

“Don’t I?” she challenged. He crossed his arms.

“Yeah, of course. Your brother’s dead. You’ve been lied to your whole life. You make things explode when you get pissed. No one even likes you anymore. You have no family, no fallback. No sense of purpose.”

Quinn looked at him incredulously. “Wow, I had no idea that your aptitude extended so far.” He lunged forward suddenly, trying to grab the book back, but Quinn leaned backwards and kept it out of reach.

“My point is,” he said, still reaching forward, “your life sucks. And so does mine. I’ve been locked up for as long as I can remember. I never had any real family, or freedom. People use me for my power and they want to make me kill when I don’t want to. But I’m not angry. Does it make us different?”

Quinn looked at him in confusion, and he seized his chance to tug the journal out of her hands, and sat back down in satisfaction. “I don’t get it,” she muttered. “Doesn’t it?”

He rolled his eyes, “We’re sitting in a hotel room on the run from people we’ve known our whole lives. People who used to be on our sides. We’re now both on the same crazy path your brother was on. Doing it ’cause it’s right. We even went scarf shopping together.” He said the last part with a touch of sarcasm. “You tell me how different we are.”

He flipped open the leather cover, and Quinn said nothing more. She shifted so that they were next to each other, and they both silently read the contents of the first page.

Dear Quinn,

I’m assuming that if you’re reading this, I’m dead. I had hoped that this wouldn’t happen, but I guess at least you found this journal.

I know I never specified my exact plan while I was alive. Don’t worry, you weren’t the only one kept in the dark. Riana, Marissa, Tanner, Josephine—none of them have any true idea, either. The only ones that know are this journal and I.

When Mom and Dad died, they presented me with a problem, seeing as they never specified their plans with the V’s, either. But they told me enough for me to do some research, work backwards and eventually figure out what they were aiming for.

The government is just one little part of our world. Taking it down, putting mortals in positions of power, helps, but it doesn’t solve the problem. And beyond our country, the same problems remain. Dismantling this framework would take hundreds of years if we include general conditioning of the younger generation. People are primed to hate, Quinn. Prejudiced from birth. So we needed a bigger plan. Something more instantaneous and impactful.

Not sure if you ever paid attention in physics, but there’s something called a reversal. Every 100,000 years, Varcuria’s magnetic field undergoes a reversal. North magnetic pole becomes South, and vice versa. During this time, the strength of the field is diminished to only 5% of its original strength. There hasn’t been a reversal in recorded history—this is all based on studies of the poles and evidence that suggests there was a reversal at one point.

However, that isn’t the point. The point is that magic flows through our world in much the same way—through a flux field. And just like the magnetic field, the flux field will flip. Except unlike the magnetic field, the flux field will flip in the very near future, according to scientists. They approximate that it will be sometime in October or November, this year.

Caiden raised an eyebrow. “It’s already October…what? 20th?”

“21st,” Quinn said, frowning. “They probably have closer estimates now than they did when Salvatore was writing this. Look it up.”

A quick search on Caiden’s phone showed that the reversal was actually big news, plastered over every news outlet. Apparently, the diminished strength of the field meant that no sorcerer would be able to access their powers. And it was set to begin on the last day of October. 10 days. “Maybe that’s what Salvatore is aiming for?” Caiden suggested. “Wait until all the sorcerers are powerless to make some kind of strike?”

Quinn shook her head. “I don’t know. Let’s keep reading.”

I’m afraid the rest you’ll have to figure out yourself. I’ve given you enough here—you might be wondering why I don’t just tell you everything, but the truth is it’d be redundant. And also, if anybody else ever found this journal, I have to make sure I don’t lay out the entire game plan in one place, right?

Good luck, Quinn. Stay safe.

That was it. No I love you’s or anything sentimental. His tone was completely businesslike, and though they had just acquired a wealth of information, he could tell that Quinn was a little disappointed.

She scowled. “What does he mean, I have to figure out the rest myself? How am I supposed to that?”

She flipped the page, but there wasn’t anything on the back. She rapidly flipped through the rest of the journal, which was blank until the very last page.

Her scowl deepened. “And what the hell is that?”

The page was filled with nonsensical letters, grouped in pairs. They were spaced so that there was enough room to write under each row of paired letters. Under the first row, it read, “Go see Marga-“ before it cut off. On the adjoining page, there was a simple, blank five-by-five grid.

Caiden took the journal from her and examined the pages closely. “It’s a Playfair cipher,” he said, excitement creeping into his voice. “We need to decode it.”

“A what?”

“A kind of code,” he explained. “He’s given us just enough of the decoded message to figure out the rest.” He looked down and traced his finger across the letters, and then the grid. “I need a pen.”

Quinn looked at him suspiciously, but handed him a pen off the desk. “How do you know how to do this?”

He shrugged innocently. “I read. A lot. They used this cipher in Take the House.”

“That’s Salvatore’s favorite book,” Quinn muttered. “Of course. He’s been trying to get me to read it for ages.”

After about ten minutes, Caiden proudly held up the book, and copied the decoded message onto a notepad.

Go see Margarette at 541 New Treiol Rd, Bostania, Coralis.

“An address,” Quinn said softly. “At least we’re already in Coralis.”

Caiden nodded. “Ready to meet Margarette?”

“Hope she’s home,” Quinn responded.

The address led to a bar somewhere near the center of Coralis, according to the map they had bought at a newsstand, and Caiden’s possibly questionable navigational skills. They looked at each other, and then Quinn shrugged and pushed open the door.

The bar was practically empty, seeing as it was midday. There was an older woman behind the bar, wiping it down. She glanced up as they walked in, and then her expression immediately darkened.

“Quinn Vespertine,” she said, before they had the chance to say anything.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. “Have we met?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’ve met your brother.” She smiled sadly at them. “I’d hoped I’d never meet you without your brother by your side. He told me that if you ever showed up unaccompanied, it meant that he was gone. Is it true, then?”

Quinn gave her a tight nod. “You’re Margarette, then?”

Margarette nodded. “Yes.”

“So why am I here?”

She stepped out from behind the bar and beckoned the two of them over to a backroom door. “Salvatore gave me a box for safekeeping, said it had things in it to help you when you came asking. I’ll show you what he left.”

Quinn and Caiden followed her into the storage room as she flicked the lights on, and then pointed towards a small shoebox near the end of the room. Quinn made her way over to it, Caiden on her heels. Inside, there was a folded piece of paper, a fake ID, and cash. She smiled.

She unfolded the paper, and realized that it was a map, but whereas the one Caiden was holding was just of Coralis, this map was larger in scale, illustrating all seven cities.

She turned to ask Margarette if he had left anything else when she heard the lock click. The smile faded.

Silently, Caiden touched her back, a warning on his fingertips as they watched Margarette, facing them with her hand still on the lock. Quinn handed him the box slowly, behind their backs.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked suspiciously.

The welcoming look had disappeared from Margarette’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But the two of you are fugitives, and there is a very big reward out for your capture. Last words before you’re off to prison?”

“Duck!” Quinn yelled, and the two of them scattered as a wrench came flying towards them.

Another flick of Margarette’s wrist, and everything metal nearby converged on the spot Quinn had just been as she rolled out of the way. Her other hand shifted slightly and Caiden narrowly avoided being hit by a blender of some sort.

The shelves in the storage room started moving, and Caiden quickly realized that they were about to clamp together and pulverize him unless he managed to make it out. This highly motivated him to start moving, and he slid out between the shelves just as they smashed together.

Quinn had managed to get close to Margarette, but every time she started forward for the old woman a metal object would come flying at her and she would be forced to focus on defending herself.

“She’s a polarity user!” Caiden shouted, and then ducked as five metal shot glasses made a beeline for his head.

“That doesn’t help me!” Quinn yelled back, hitting a can out of the air with her gun. Her staff and knife, both metal, were grasped in Margarette’s hand. She smiled warmly at Quinn before hitting her in the back with a can opener.

The shot glasses seemed to have honed in on Caiden, because no matter how he dodged, they would just jump around the obstacle and aim for his head again. “How does she do that without even looking at me?” He muttered, backing up against the wall and ducking just as the glasses came towards him, and they smashed into the wall as he ran away, but a couple seconds later, they were right behind him.

He rounded a corner and came back to where they had started, and saw that Quinn was still struggling with Margarette. As she spotted him, she straightened her index finger and all of a sudden, there were nails in the air, mingling with the shot glasses.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Caiden said, backing up. “Quinn, a little help here? I don’t have much experience fighting inanimate objects.”

“You say that like I do,” she grunted, swatting away a large brownie pan. “I swear to god, I’m only using ceramic utensils from now on.”

Caiden didn’t respond, seeing as being in Margarette’s line of sight allowed his followers to gain on him more accurately and quickly. He dove behind another shelf and scrambled for a piece of styrofoam that was lying on the ground, turning just as the nails embedded themselves in the styrofoam.

The shot glasses, however, bounced off the foam. Caiden threw it down and continued running, raising his voice. “Seriously! Help me!”

“How?” She yelled back.

“Uh, make something explode?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, as if she had just remembered. “I can do that.”

A soft whump reverberated through the room as Quinn produced a shockwave that blew Margarette back, and even Caiden had to struggle to stand his ground. He was still clutching the box tightly, and leaped over a fallen shelf and grabbed Quinn’s hand, pulling her out of the room through the hole she had created. Margarette was stunned, collapsed against the door.

“One second,” Quinn said, and darted back, prying her knife and staff from Margarette’s hand. Then, for good measure, she flipped her off, though Margarette was close to unconsciousness.

“I was going to hit her,” she grumbled. “But I figured that was a mean thing to do to an old woman.”

“Personally, I wouldn’t have minded,” Caiden replied as they walked quickly out of the bar. Quinn frowned as they reached Scarlett’s car.

“We should ditch it,” she said. “Now that we know people are out there looking for us, they’re undoubtedly on the lookout for her license plate.”

“Same with your bike,” Caiden pointed out.

Quinn gave her bike an endearing, reluctant pat. “You’re right.”

“I’m sorry and I love you very much, and someday I’ll be back for you,” she whispered to the bike, removing her bag of belongings from the compartment under the seat.

Caiden hid his grin of amusement. Then, they quickly headed out of the plaza and blended onto the busy streets, Quinn wearing sunglasses and Caiden with a cap pulled low over his eyes. They were both still wearing the scarves, and in the crowd they looked just like everybody else.

Quinn nudged Caiden lightly as they turned down another street. They had been walking at a regular pace to nowhere, but Quinn’s step quickened, and so Caiden lengthened his strides to match hers. “What’s going on?”

“I think someone’s following us,” she murmured, and then elbowed Caiden as he looked back. “Don’t look, dumbass.”

“How am I supposed to tell if someone’s following us if I don’t look?” He grumbled, but turned forward nonetheless.

“You look when you turn corners,” she responded. “There’s a girl, I think. In that brown leather jacket. I think she’s been following up for a couple blocks, maybe more.”

“Turn down an alley, then,” Caiden suggested. “See if she follows. If she does, we’ll be waiting for her.”

Quinn nodded in agreement, and the two of them slipped into the nearest alley, amongst garbage bins, between two relatively short buildings.

There, they waited for a couple seconds, and then a teenage girl rounded the corner, and stopped short when she saw that Quinn and Caiden were waiting for her.

Quinn was on her in a moment. “Who the hell are you?”

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