‘There’s a solution here somewhere,’ said Dot.
‘There is none,’ said Theodora. ‘I have simply built an empire of twigs and twine and spit, and now I must watch it fall to the wind.’
‘Surely there is a way,’ said Dot.
‘There isn’t,’ said Theodora. ‘You have no idea how many years I’ve spent locked up here in the attic, trying to slay the ghost that haunts me.’
‘There has to be something,’ said Dot, casting her gaze about. ‘I’m not suggesting we should. But ifsomeonekilled Sal—’
‘I will stop you before your sentence is finished,’ said Theodora firmly. ‘Plotting murder does not suit you, Dorothy. Besides, thedaemotion might reduce Salamander’s ability to wield magic, but it does not make him any easier to extinguish. And besidethat,magical contracts are not so simple. In arcane terms, my life is tied to Salamander’s. So is Casimir’s, and every one of those spirits in his employ. If Salamander died, I would still be a conduit. My employment would transfer to his second-in-charge. You remember that foul, blobby fellow who was speaking to Casimir? Marcidus? He would be no kinder than Salamander.’
‘But Casimir is third-in-charge,’ said Dot. ‘So, if something happened to both Salamander and Marcidus—’
‘Cas might be third-in-charge in name,’ said Theodora, ‘but Salamander would never trust a human with his contracts or his enterprise. Casimir would stay right where he is, while a retinue of nasty spirits would squabble over and then seize the top two spots.’
Theodora exhaled heavily and then went on. ‘It took five hundred of the United Allies’ spirits to daemote Salamander. Hundreds, Dorothy. That is the kind of magic we would have to defy in order to stop all of this.’
Dot let her head fall forward, one hand kneading her temple. A thousand questions bustled, tripped over each other, fell against the walls of her mind.
‘I can see you riddling there, Dorothy, and I am telling you – there is no point. Besides, I’ve been far more focused onyouin recent weeks.’
‘Me?’ asked Dot.
‘Your affliction. With every hour, you lose a day; with every spell, you lose a decade. There may be no solution for me but there has to be one for you. I will find it. That’s what I’ve been doing; scrying for Archie in the South Sea, sending letters to researchers.’
‘And yet you were prepared to sell my blood to Salamander?’ asked Dot.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Theodora. ‘I wanted more time. I told myself that I would come up with some clever alternative when we got there, that I would stop him right before he touched you. I was wretched and panicked and I am sorry. Youshouldbe furious at me. I don’t expect your forgiveness.’
With that admission, Dot deflated.
‘In so many ways,’ said Dot, ‘you are my opposite and my twin.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Theodora.
Dot looked down at her strange hands. She had never expected to find another person who had an Emily of her own.
‘I think that people who are hurt in similar ways,’ said Dot, ‘have a tendency to find each other. Perhaps, we can only understand our own tragedies by seeing them through the lens of another.’ She looked at the forlorn witch. ‘Maybe that’s the only way we can experience the compassion that we are otherwise unable to give to ourselves.’
‘Good lord, Dorothy,’ said the witch, sniffling. ‘Who is it now with the poetics?’
‘Your sarcasm means I’ve struck a chord,’ said Dot.
‘Of course you have,’ laughed Theodora. ‘You’re being kind when you should hate me.’
‘I couldn’t hate you,’ said Dot.
‘I can’t even teach you magic. The one thing you wanted from me.’
Dot dipped her finger then into the cold, leftover broth of a noodle bowl and scribbled a soupy rune against the floorboards. Every night since her lessons had begun, Dot had practised the runes – placed her right hand down and squeezed and pulsed and tried to force the magic from her fingers. Hundreds of runes she’d memorised, and yet no magic ever came. This time, however, wrought with worry, the words of the contract miserably lancing at her, it was easy for Dot to focus on the barrelling cold of the magic that came from her afflicted hand. It was desolation, manifest.
‘Dorothy,’ gasped the witch as she realised what Dot was about to do.
Dot shoved her afflicted hand down against the rune and closed her eyes and threw herself to the cold of the ocean. At last, she felt the buzz of magic. It was dull and almost imperceptible, but Dot reached for it within herself and the sensation of ice flooded up her arm.
‘Stop,’ came the witch’s voice, and Dot opened her eyes just as Theodora snatched her hand from the rune. Yet, the spell was already cast. All of the plates and bowls and little side dishes rose shakily to the air and flew toward the trapdoor, which opened. They heard distant crashes and the kitchen tap turning on. Then, at last, a cry from the living room.
‘I knew it! You had dumplings up there!’
