The Magical Congress
s it turned out, Jina did not have to say goodbye to her new best friend. In fact, Maj. Marjory was more than happy to let her take the cat to the zoo or anywhere else she wanted. Pimander was, after all, not one of his beasts, and he didn’t seem to be anyone else’s either, so the Major had no qualms whatsoever when the big black cat had followed Jina out of the Magical Menagerie.
“You know, just because he’s acting like your long-lost pet doesn’t necessarily mean he’s yours, or that you get to keep him,” an invisible Fenowith whispered to Jina as they made their way to the zoo aboard the subway — a kind of underground train used by Muggles to get around the city.
“I know he’s not mine,” Jina mumbled, scratching Pimander behind the ear and trying not to think about it. Many nearby passengers — all of them Muggles in those silly masks — eyed Jina and her cat with suspicion, which wasn’t so surprising, given that the subway authorities didn’t really permit loose animals on their trains. The station attendant had tried to stop Jina from passing through the electronic turnstile with Pimander, before Fenowith (cloaked in invisibility) hit the woman with some kind of magic spell. After that, the attendant had removed her mask and grinned from ear to ear, suddenly compelled to smother the “pwitty wittle kitty” with smooches and send him and his caretaker on their merry way.
Like the Mystic District in the middle of Muggle Manhattan, the Central Park Zoo had a secret magical section that the Muggles knew nothing about. Fenowith showed Jina how to get into the magical part of the park just after they arrived, bypassing the Muggle part altogether.
“See that vending machine over there between those two doors?”
“Yes,” said Jina.
“Well, the door on the left leads to a small lobby with a Floo Network fireplace. That’s how most wizards get here and back.”
Jina nodded and said, “Um, okay,” even though she had no idea what Fenowith was talking about.
“The other door leads to the magical part of the zoo. Both doors are magically sealed, but all you need to do to open one is to knock on the other. That’ll make the door you want to open unlock just long enough for you to get through. Oh, and speaking of vending machines, here’s a good tourist tip for you: If you ever lose your Mystic District token, just ask any vending machine in the city for a new one. They all spit out tokens.”
Jina walked over to the doors and found them both locked, just as Fenowith had said they would be. She knocked on the door to the left of the vending machine, then tried the door on the right again, grinning as it swung open. Moments later, she and Fenowith (now once again visible) were strolling through the wizard’s section of the Central Park Zoo.
They started in the Magical Invertebrates exhibit building, where Jina saw more gigantic butterflies and mantises, plus dozens of other oversized insects and arachnids. One exhibit featured an acromantula — a spider so large, it could eat a horse. In another section, she met a semi-sentient slime mold and explored a moving garden of kinetic fungi.
Outside, they saw an even wider variety of extraordinary mammals, bizarre birds, curious chimeras and other fabulous beasts — everything from ambling abraxans (who seemed to have an air of strong drink about them) to Zairian tebos (who were not in fact visible at the time). Also invisible were the protective spells surrounding all the animal enclosures, creating the illusion that all the creatures were free to roam about and mingle with the visitors. Jina learned about the protective spells in a rather heart-stopping way, when an agropelter hurled a large rock at her, and, to her immense relief, it dematerialized in a dazzle of white light, just short of clobbering her face. The protective spells also came in handy to prevent man-eating creatures such as snallygasters and whirling whimpuses from devouring patrons.
Jina found all the animals very interesting, but she was rather disappointed to learn that she wouldn’t be seeing any dragons that day. She’d been hoping above all else to see a dragon, but her hopes were dashed when she found the Dragon House closed for emergency maintenance (and everyone’s safety), after a Welsh Green had gone on a sudden rampage and almost broken free of his corral the night before.
When the time came to leave the zoo and head downtown for Jina’s meeting with MACUSA, it saddened her to no end. She had no idea of what might happen next, and she wasn’t looking forward to finding out at all. She wasn’t even sure if she’d be able to keep Pimander, to whom she’d grown quite attached. He had made the zoo trip even more entertaining by flaunting his freedom in front of all the captive animals, spurring many of them into jealous fits of rage and haughty displays of bio-magical superiority. Now, Jina’s only consolation was Fenowith’s assurance that Professor Rusthorne would be there, to help guide her through the hearing. Perhaps he’d also help to ensure that she wouldn’t have to part ways with Pimander.
They took the subway from 5th Avenue to City Hall, then Fenowith escorted her to a huge, gothic-looking skyscraper that was one of the tallest buildings in the vicinity. For a while, they just stood on the sidewalk outside the revolving front door, waiting in silence. Jina was about to ask what they were waiting for, when the revolving door suddenly began spinning so fast, she started looking over her shoulder to see what all the nearby Muggles thought of such a strange sight — but as usual, nobody seemed to be paying any attention. A man then appeared, tall and imposing, with a long black beard and a towering top hat, evidently a MACUSA official. Emblazoned on the breast of his pinstriped robes was an insignia of a blue eagle amongst a field of blue and white stars, red and white vertical stripes, and bright yellow flames.
“No beasts are allowed on the premises,” the man sneered. Then, when Jina moved to hand Pimander to Fenowith, he added, “Cats, however, are fine.”
“Oh, real funny,” Fenowith growled, shoving Pimander back into Jina’s arms.
“Follow me,” said the man, pushing his way back through the revolving door, which once again spun with such force that it blew Jina’s hair back.
Jina gave Fenowith a nervous, uncertain look, but he only grunted and motioned for her to follow the man. Her face fell, and she heaved a sigh. Seeking comfort, she scooped up Pimander and held him close. Then, reluctantly, she stepped into the revolving doorway and pushed on the door handle. At once, the world around her began to spin. She felt no sense of motion, however, aside from her own pace in pushing the door in front of her forward. Within seconds, the spinning world came to a halt, and the building’s interior swung into view — a vast, open vertical space, as though the entire skyscraper had been hollowed out, with all its upper floors removed.
The ornery MACUSA official stood with his arms folded and growled, “Do I have to wait all day?”
He spun on his heel and set off, pinstriped robes billowing in his wake, and Jina followed, clutching Pimander tight and feeling his soft undulating purr against her chest. The official led her down what seemed an endless stretch of staircases and corridors, at last stopping in front of a pair of massive double doors.
“Wait here,” he commanded, and walked away, his footsteps trailing off into silence.
Jina stared glumly at the great double doors.
Where was Professor Rusthorne? Was he already inside, meeting with MACUSA? She had expected to reunite with him before she got this far; had imagined the kindly old wizard escorting her into MACUSA headquarters, not some imperious stranger.
Minutes passed, and the doors remained shut. Jina looked around, but there was nothing to see. No people, no furniture, nothing at all to look at — just a stretch of dark corridor and those two big, imposing doors. She held an ear to one of them but heard no sound coming from within.
Eventually, she sank down along the opposite wall and sat cross-legged on the floor, setting Pimander in her lap and shutting her eyes. Before long, a familiar scene began to take shape inside her head: a clear blue sky . . . cool wind whipping through her hair . . . a landscape of fields and forests, rivers and lakes, hills and valleys, all moving far below.
During this flight of fancy, Jina imagined herself on a broom, chasing after a bright red sun — or wait, it wasn’t the sun at all; it was a red ball — a Quod! She reached out and caught it in her hand. A glowing golden cauldron appeared on the horizon, and she raced towards it. Other people on brooms flew into the scene, trying to knock her off her broom, but she evaded them. She zoomed this way and that, dodging opponents whilst making her way towards the shining cauldron. As it came within range, she raised the Quod over her head, ready to hurl it with all her might into the floating pot, when — BANG!
The sudden sound made Jina’s eyes snap open — it wasn’t the crack of the Quod exploding in her imagination, but a real, audible sound that had just broken the silence. Perhaps it had been the clank of a giant lock, for a loud creaking soon followed as the great double doors before her eased open. Pimander leapt from Jina’s lap, arched his back and hissed at the opening doorway, and Jina hopped to her feet.
A man’s booming voice filled the chamber beyond, ringing out like thunder. “The council recognizes Hecate Oldretch Venin Grimwar, daughter of He-Who-Must-Neither-Be-Named and his common-law wife, Mulcedra, formerly known as Astraea Stormsgale Venin.”
Jina stepped over the threshold into an expansive theater, which was lit by sunlight streaming down through a hundred large windows situated high along the towering walls. The theater was rectangular, with elevated rows of benches, upon which shadowy figures sat, some in silence, others muttering to their neighbors, and all with cold eyes fixed on her.
A woman said, “Please enter, Miss Grimwar, and sit.”
Jina looked at the chair that was spotlit in the middle of the room — it was small and uncomfortable-looking, situated in the center of a large pentagram on the floor. Beyond it, a red carpet ran up a dozen stairs toward a large golden throne with an emblem on its back — a bird that looked something like an eagle on fire, set behind a shield of stars and stripes. A larger copy of the emblem loomed above the throne in front of a big red curtain. It would have been the theater’s focal point, were it not for the little spotlit chair — Jina’s chair. She swallowed hard and walked over to take the seat, which was cold and hard, and somehow even more uncomfortable than it looked.
Jina scanned the room. As difficult as it was to make out anyone’s face in the darkened hall, it was all too clear that the one person she wanted to see the most — Professor Marley Rusthorne — was not there. Her heart thumped harder in her chest, and she held Pimander close for comfort, but he was no longer purring.
Another set of double doors opened, and the booming voice rang out once again. “The President of MACUSA is here. All rise!”
The shadowy figures all stood, and Jina followed suit. Then a small hunchbacked man shuffled in and sat down upon the golden throne. The man looked rather remarkably like a tortoise, with small round glasses, a drooping face, and a large bald head protruding from a long wrinkly neck. Once seated, he gave a nod, and everyone else sat back down.
“Miss Grimwar,” he said, languidly, “let me be the first to express my condolences. The loss of He-Who-Must-Neither-Be-Named greatly affects us all, though, to be certain, none so much as his own flesh and blood. Please know that, with these proceedings, we do not wish to cause you any undue grief. We seek only to illuminate the unknown circumstances that led to your father’s unfortunate demise.”
Jina blinked at the sound of the last word. Demise? Did that word mean what she thought it meant? Unless she was mistaken in her vocabulary, she had just received official confirmation that her own father was not just missing — he was dead. That was a big deal, a huge deal. The thing was, though, contrary to the President’s expectations — and however odd or inappropriate it might seem — Jina did not feel terribly upset by this news. Perhaps it was because she knew now that her father had been an evil, despicable villain; or maybe it was just because she couldn’t remember him at all, and so she simply didn’t know what to think or how to feel; or perhaps it was a bit of both.
“There are, of course, many who are glad to see You-Know-Who-Else gone,” the President continued. “Wizards all over the country have been celebrating all night and into the day after hearing the news . . . often with little concern about attracting No-Maj attention, I might add.” He scowled for a moment, then relaxed his expression. “You should know, however, that we, the Magical Congress, do not hold your father in such shallow regard. We have always respected his considerable power, and we do not fail, as so many others do, to recognize the many services he provided wizardkind throughout his lifetime. Truly, many of us would not be where we are today, were it not for his influence. Why, heh-heh, I myself might not even be President!”
Jina blinked, wondering if she was hearing right. Did the leader of the Magical Congress — or at least she assumed he must be the leader, judging from his title and his golden throne — did he just attribute his own political success to the most deplorable dark sorcerer the country had ever known?
“Come now, Mr. President. Your modesty betrays you.”
Jina’s heart leapt at the sound of the familiar voice. She spun in her chair, grinning with relief at the one person she’d most wanted to see.
“The council recognizes Professor Marley Rusthorne!” announced the booming voice, and the President scowled again.
“Ahem — Yes, well, Marley, what I meant by that was: the inevitable eventuality may have been a bit . . . accelerated, due to certain circumstances.”
“Perhaps,” said Rusthorne, striding over to stand behind Jina.
“I should remind you, Professor, that your hearing is scheduled for five o’clock, not right now — and while your past service is duly noted — you no longer have the authority to meddle in MACUSA affairs.”
“Oh, I’m not meddling, Marion,” said Rusthorne. “I’m merely trying to assist an unfortunate youngster who has suddenly found herself thrust into a very troubling situation. You see, Miss Dare here was —”
“Who?” asked a woman in a burgundy and gold feather headdress.
Rusthorne smiled patiently. “Ah, forgive me. I thought you were all aware by now that Miss Grimwar has seen fit in the last twenty-four hours to change her name to ‘Jina Dare’. I was in fact hoping that the Congress would officially recognize her new name today. Did you not receive my eagle on this matter? I know the postal service is, sadly, not what it once was.”
“We did receive your letter,” said the President, shuffling through a stack of papers and withdrawing a piece of parchment. “However, in it, you failed to explain why you took it upon yourself to race to Miss Grimwar’s aid, knowing full well that MACUSA officials were already well on their way to the scene. You also failed to explain why you placed her on a nine-hour flight to New York, when there are so many other, quicker means of transportation. So, please do enlighten us, Professor Rusthorne. Why did you willfully withhold information on Miss Grimwar’s whereabouts, until finally deciding to send us this most unhelpful communiqué?” He shook the parchment, as though expecting the words to come loose and fall to the floor.
“President Posthurdle, Council Mugwumps, Members of the Longhouse,” said Rusthorne. “While I do concede that I, personally, rushed to the scene of last night’s incident and subsequently initiated a swift and deliberate course of action, it was in no way my intention to do all of this simply to spite the Congress. I assure you, my best interests were for the girl, who is, after all, still only a child — and one who has suffered a cataclysmic loss. We cannot expect her to overcome such a loss in a mere matter of hours, or days, or even weeks.”
President Posthurdle frowned. “We are, of course, quite sensitive to the fact that Miss Grimwar has recently lost her father.”
“That is not the loss I was referring to,” said Rusthorne. “You see, when I found Miss Dare in the hospital, it became clear to me that what she needed most of all was time — time to rest, time to recover, time to rediscover things she now knows nothing about, but is destined to face soon enough.”
“Ah, and you are, here, referring to the child’s alleged memory loss?”
“I am. If I might —”
“Yes,” Posthurdle broke in, with a very unamused-sounding laugh. “Yes, that’s very convenient, Marley . . . especially for one trying to cover up important information. Tell me, do we know how Miss Grimwar lost her memory, as you say? Or when? Or why?”
“No, Mr. President. I’m afraid we do not.”
“But it is true, Miss Grimwar?” asked Posthurdle, now addressing Jina again. “You do attest to the fact that you have no recollection of last night’s events, or indeed of anything prior?”
Jina shifted in her seat. She’d been hoping that perhaps Rusthorne would continue speaking on her behalf, that maybe she wouldn’t even need to say anything to the Magical Congress at all.
“Um, no, sir,” she replied, then, deciding it was prudent, she added, “I don’t remember anything until just before I met Professor Rusthorne and Professor Whitewolf.”
“Whitewolf?” Posthurdle asked. “Winona Whitewolf? Former Headmistress of Ilvermorny?” He turned his attention back to Rusthorne. “I do believe you failed to mention that in your letter too, Professor. Please, enlighten us. What in heaven’s name was Winona Whitewolf doing with you last night?”
“Providing a valuable service,” Rusthorne replied. “I am certain that, had the Headmistress not been there with me, poor Miss Dare would have suffered far longer, and more severely, than she did last night. Her speedy recovery was entirely due to Whitewolf’s exceptional powers. I must admit that my healing abilities are a bit lacking. And, from what I understand, all the mediwizards sent by MACUSA last night were dispatched to the scene of the incident, not to the hospital where Miss Dare was taken.”
The President snorted, looking quite offended. “Had we known that the No-Majs had already pulled Miss Da— Miss Grimwar from the rubble, we would of course have sent mediwizards directly to the hospital in question, if you can even call it that. Surely you’re not suggesting —”
“I’m merely suggesting that, had MACUSA deemed it appropriate to monitor local Muggle emergency communications, I am certain you would have also rushed directly to Miss Dare’s bedside, as I did.”
A drone of murmurs reverberated throughout the hall, and the President’s face began to turn beet red.
“With all due respect, Mr. President,” Rusthorne continued, “I was well aware that you would want to speak with Miss Dare as soon as possible. Therefore, I did send her on her way to New York immediately. Although, given her current state of mind, I thought it only proper to provide Miss Dare with a good night’s rest and the better part of a day to mentally prepare herself.”
Posthurdle scowled. “And that, Professor, is where you overstepped your bounds. It’s not up to you to decide how and when MACUSA conducts its business. Had we been able to speak with Miss Da— argh — Miss Grimwar immediately and without delay —”
“— it would have made no difference!” Rusthorne completed the President’s sentence in an exasperated tone. “The girl has lost her memory, Marion, completely and utterly. I knew this the moment we made contact, and I therefore knew, even then, just how pointless this exercise would be. Still, I also knew that MACUSA would not settle for my word alone — you would also want to question her directly. And so, I had her delivered here to you . . . in due course.”
“Pointless?” Posthurdle bellowed. “You call this exercise pointless? Perhaps if the girl’s memory loss is as complete as you say. But I, for one, question that assumption, Professor, and I shall draw no conclusions on the matter until we have made our own investigation into Miss Grimwar’s state of mind.”
“I assure you, Mr. President, meaning no disrespect, but I do believe myself to be as accomplished a Legilimens as any of your Inquisitors.”
Several murmurs of assent punctuated the underlying drone of hushed voices that had begun to fill the hall.
“Heh. We’ll see about that, now, won’t we?” said Posthurdle, and he turned to a man on his right. “Call them in, please.”
The man motioned to someone behind him, and five hooded figures slipped into the room without a sound. They stood in a semicircle in front of Jina and Rusthorne, facing them, but with features obscured by shadow. Only the tips of a few of their noses were to be seen peeking out from inside the dark hoods. Looking at the figure in the middle, Jina shuddered, just catching a glimmer of two lamp-like yellow eyes before the room began to swirl around her. Her surroundings soon vanished altogether, replaced with image after image of the day’s events and those of the prior evening — the zoo, the Mystic District, the dirigible, the hospital. And then they were gone.
Jina rubbed her temples as the hall came swirling back into focus. The hooded figures still stood in the same semicircle, but they were now facing the President. The one in the middle had pulled down her hood, revealing a pale bald head.
“The Professor was correct in his assessment,” she said in a soft voice. “The child has no memory of anything that happened to her prior to last night. Her memory of the evening’s events, of He-Who-Must-Neither-Be-Named, and indeed of her entire life, has been wiped clean.”
“Wiped clean?” repeated the woman in the burgundy and gold headdress. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. What sort of magic has the power to erase an entire lifetime of experiences?”
“The mind is more fragile than you might expect, madam,” said the bald woman. “Even a simple Obliviation charm, when maliciously or improperly cast, can nullify the entirety of one’s memory.”
“I can attest to that, Edwina,” said a man with a large white mustache. “I witnessed a case during my time at the British Ministry — some poor sap who cast a memory charm with a broken wand.”
Posthurdle protested. “But surely there’s some way to reverse the process? She must retain some shred of her former life.”
“Only general knowledge, sir — language, recognition of certain classes of objects, familiarity with some basic learned concepts . . . that sort of thing, along with more instinctive characteristics, like personality and practiced skills that have become second nature.”
“Then it seems Professor Rusthorne’s claim has been validated, and he was indeed correct to suggest that these proceedings are an exercise in futility,” said the woman in the headdress, and Posthurdle shot her a hard look. “Well,” the woman continued, giving Jina a subtly gracious look that felt quite warm amid the sea of cold stares, “I therefore see no reason to continue putting poor Miss Dare through any more unnecessary hardship. I move to adjourn at once.”
With his arms crossed tight and eyes narrowed, the President sat and stewed, saying nothing. After a brief moment of silence, someone grunted, “I second the motion,” and a few more people voiced their accord.
Posthurdle’s face flushed with anger, and he looked about ready to burst, but he gave in soon enough.
“Oh, very well. Council Mugwumps, Members of the Longhouse, and honored guests,” he glowered at Rusthorne. “I declare this session duly adjourned.”
Everyone in the theater rose and began speaking to one another, filling the room with a sudden hum of background noise. Rusthorne patted Jina on the shoulder. “Well done, Jina! Very well done.”
“But — But I didn’t do anything,” she replied, feeling a strange mixture of relief and anxiety.
“On the contrary,” said Rusthorne. “You told the truth, and you handled yourself quite well under pressure. Many people have fared far worse, being subjected to a MACUSA Inquisition. And not just the guilty, I might add.”
Jina wondered what sorts of trials and tribulations those who came before her must have endured at the hands of MACUSA. She held Pimander closer, and he started purring again — a gentle rumbling that helped to loosen the tightness in her chest.
“And might I ask: who is this magnificent creature you are holding?” said Rusthorne, giving Pimander a pat on the head and scratching behind his ear.
“This is Pimander. Isn’t he the greatest?”
“Achoo!” Rusthorne sneezed. “Sadly, I am rather severely allergic to cats. However, Pimander is no less great in my opinion.”
Smiling behind his frizzled beard, Rusthorne blew his nose as Jina put Pimander down on the floor, watching the MACUSA officials on either side of the hall as they began to file out through the big double doors.
“Um, so what happens now, Professor?” she asked.
“Now we must, once again, go our separate ways. I’m afraid I cannot stay to chat, and neither can you.”
“But . . . where are we going? Where am I going? Am I going home?”
“For now, just follow me. I shall explain as we walk.”
Jina exited the hall alongside Rusthorne, wondering what laid in store for her. Was she going to see Fenowith again? Was she about to meet her mother?
“Jina,” Rusthorne began, and something about his tone made her feel uneasy. “I trust that our discussion with MACUSA was not the first you’ve heard of your father?”
Jina’s brow tightened. “Um, no, sir. Fenowith filled me in a little. And I read a bit in the newspaper,” she said, realizing at once that she’d accidentally left Fenowith’s copy of the National Scryer back in Marjory’s Magical Menagerie earlier that morning. She’d been so enamored by Pimander and all the other animals that she hadn’t even thought twice about setting the paper down (or thought once about picking it back up). Somehow, all the day’s distractions had made her forget about her intention to finish reading those two articles about her parents. She groaned under her breath, but Rusthorne took no notice.
“Then you must know, or at least have some idea, that he has been called the most powerful dark wizard of this age. One very much feared and reviled by a great many people, having committed a vast number of crimes . . . including murder.”
Jina’s eyes widened at the sound of that last word: murder. While she’d already come to grips with the idea that her father had been a wicked person, she hadn’t yet given much thought to any of the actual, specific crimes he might have committed, aside from maybe stealing things and just being mean. Her father had killed people, probably innocent people, and probably more than a few by the sound of it. He was not just a bad man . . .
“He was a monster,” she whispered, her heart sinking like a stone in an ice-cold lake.
“Yes. Or so he became, over the course of many years,” Rusthorne clarified. “So, forgive me, but am I also to understand that you are aware that your father is now —”
“— dead?” Jina filled in the last word. “Yeah, I knew that too.”
Rusthorne said nothing for a moment, but then he asked, “And how does that make you feel?”
“Oh, um, I don’t know, really,” said Jina, pausing a few seconds to consider the question. “I mean, I’m not feeling sad or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. I guess, it’s, like . . . I kind of don’t feel anything.”
Jina frowned — it sounded so cold, so heartless. She wondered what Rusthorne must think of her.
“Professor,” she said, bracing herself before posing a tough and awkward question. “Am I . . . evil?”
Rusthorne regarded her with a thoughtful look. “In my opinion, evil, like good, is not something we are, but something we do — or more precisely, something we choose to do. And in your particular predicament, I believe it’s what you choose to do from here on out that matters the most now.”
The answer didn’t sit well with Jina, but she said nothing.
“Your father, for example, has done many unfortunate things in the past decade, some quite terrible and horrific things. And yet, even still, I’m not so sure it’s proper to consider the man himself an embodiment of evil. If that were the case, I very much doubt your mother would have stuck by him as she did. And speaking of — what, might I ask, have you learned of her?”
Jina gulped, thinking that she still knew very little. Was it even reasonable for her to expect that she might be on her way to meet her mother right now?
“Well, Fenowith told me she goes by Mulcedra, but I guess her real name is, um, Astraea?”
“Yes,” said Rusthorne. “Your mother’s real name is Astraea Venin, although most people today know her simply as Mulcedra — a moniker she gave herself soon after your father, Eldred Grimwar, adopted his own new alias.”
Jina noticed Rusthorne wince slightly, presumably in response to the wave of pain induced upon uttering her father’s name. She thought about asking him why her parents had both decided to take on new names, but then she stopped herself, thinking of her own decision to keep the new name she had just acquired.
“Um,” she said instead, “Fenowith also said she’s, like, some kind of hermit or something?”
“True,” Rusthorne confirmed. “She has rarely been seen or heard from for many years.”
“But why?” said Jina, yearning to make sense of it all.
“Well, your mother has always made a concerted effort to remain hidden in the background — ever elusive, always lurking somewhere behind the spectacle of your father’s grand campaign. Hence her popular nickname: the Lady of the Shadows.”
Jina frowned, thinking her mother was doing a pretty good job of staying true to form. “She’s not coming for me, is she?”
Rusthorne sighed. “I’m afraid I do not think so, Jina. Not anytime soon.”
“But why?” Jina asked, feeling a sudden urge to cry and trying hard to hold back the tears. “Doesn’t she care about me?”
“I would say she does,” said Rusthorne with a compassionate smile. “At the risk of condoning her behavior, which I do not, I still can, on some level, imagine her predicament — and I’m quite certain: it is not you, but everyone around you that your mother is so keen to avoid — especially at this particular point in time.”
“I — I saw a picture of her in the newspaper this morning,” said Jina, suppressing her sadness, which soon gave way to curiosity. “I guess she stole some kind of . . . Emerald Thingy?”
“Allegedly,” Rusthorne clarified. “All of the known witnesses were portraits, who see through painted eyes. Their view of the world is even more subjective than our own, only as complete or as accurate as an artist’s rendering.”
Jina took some small solace at the notion that maybe her mother hadn’t committed a crime after all. But then again, what difference did it make? Either way, she wasn’t there — and that felt like the greater crime. She had abandoned her own daughter, left her to rely on the kindness of strangers like Rusthorne, Fenowith and Professor Whitewolf. Without her, and without her father, Jina was, it seemed, as alone as one could be in the world . . . unless . . .
“Um, Professor,” she said, pining for a ray of hope. “I have — I have kind of a dumb question.”
“Oh, I am quite sure there are no dumb questions, Miss Dare,” said Rusthorne. “Ask away.”
Jina paused a moment, then asked, “Well, I was just wondering: Do I have any brothers or sisters?”
Rusthorne shook his head. “No, you do not. None that I am aware of, at any rate. I am sorry, Miss Dare.”
The answer made Jina feel a bit let down. She’d been rather hoping that perhaps she did have a sibling, someone who might help her fill in some of the blanks later, whenever she got to . . . wherever it was she was going. Another question surfaced in her mind, one that a moment ago she would have also classified as silly.
“Um, sir,” she said. “I was also wondering. Where do I live?”
Rusthorne nodded. “Ah, yes. Many people, including myself, would very much like to know the answer to that question. Thus far, you have made your home at Gravengard, your father’s secret base of operations. Precisely where that is, however, I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“But then, who does know, sir?” Jina asked.
“Hmm. Well, at this juncture, I imagine only your mother knows.”
Jina hung her head, all at once feeling utterly forsaken — having no father, no mother, no siblings, no place to go, not even any real sense of belonging to the world around her. She heaved a sigh, and tears began to well in her eyes.
“So, I guess that makes me an orphan, then . . . or as good as one,” she thought aloud. “I have no family, and I have no home.”