I really didn’t like the emphasis on the word consequences. Neither did Lena, judging by the way she edged closer and shifted her stance.
“Isaac could still help us,” Pallas pointed out. “Even without magic.”
Gutenberg tilted his head in acknowledgment. “You assume it was my choice to dismiss him from the Porters, but Isaac made that choice before we arrived. Didn’t you?”
I straightened, determined to face this head-on. Locking my magic had been the first step, and it had saved me from madness. But Gutenberg wouldn’t stop there. Having determined that my memories were of no use to the Porters, he would take them from me as well. I would be erased from the Porter archives, and from the minds of my peers. No wonder he hadn’t worried about holding this conversation in public; when he was finished, nobody else would remember it.
Lena stepped in front of me and kicked at Gutenberg’s hand. He dodged and stepped back. Before Lena could follow up, I grabbed her in a bear hug from behind.
“Are you insane?” I whispered. She could have broken free with ease, but she held back, presumably to keep from hurting me.
She turned in my arms to face me. “He’s going to take your memories.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” Lena was crying now. “Think, Isaac. None of the Porters will even remember your name. I won’t remember you.”
I hadn’t realized until now what that meant. Whatever independence or freedom she had gained from being pulled between Nidhi’s desires and my own would be lost. “I’m so sorry, Lena.”
The other Porters were shifting and muttering uneasily, all save Nicola. They didn’t understand. Few among us knew the truth about how Gutenberg dealt with those he considered criminals.
Gutenberg sighed. “I don’t do this to be cruel, Isaac. You acted to protect your home, using the best judgment you could. I understand that. I hope you’ll understand I’m doing the same.”
I kissed Lena, then pushed her toward Nidhi. I watched Gutenberg raise his pen and approach once again. If he was going to rob me of everything I loved, he could damn well look me in the eye when he did it.
The touch of the pen was like a syringe jabbing through my skin. Cold tingled over my body. Every muscle clenched painfully tight.
Gutenberg jumped back, and for a second, I thought I saw the shadow of Bi Wei standing between us. He flung the pen to the ground as if it were on fire.
He studied me, eyes flitting side to side as if I were an enormous newspaper. “It would appear you’ve made a friend.”
I sagged in relief, and might have fallen if Lena hadn’t caught me.
“Very well.” Gutenberg retrieved his pen and tucked it back into his pocket. “Perhaps as you see the damage caused by the forces you’ve allowed to escape, you’ll change your mind about aiding us. In the meantime, we will be watching you, Isaac Vainio.” He turned to Pallas. “I’ve given the other Regional Masters a summary of what we’re facing, but we’ll need to gather and share as much information as possible. First, we need to make sure this site is fully neutralized, then do what we can to control the rumors.”
“Why bother?” Knowing Gutenberg couldn’t take my memories had made me bold. Or stupid. Probably both. “The students of Bi Sheng are free. You think they’re going to worry about keeping your precious secrets?”
“What do you suggest?” Gutenberg asked, his words deceptively mild.
“I lost friends today. Their families deserve to know why. They deserve the truth.”
“You don’t know what the truth would do,” he said softly. “I’ve seen how they respond to truth. I’ve lived through the Inquisition and the witch hunts. I’ve watched my loved ones burn.”
“Sir,” Pallas said, “whatever we do, we should act soon. I’ve called for healers, and can split the rest of our forces into teams.”
Gutenberg nodded and stepped toward the edge of the grove. He turned around to look at me, his expression unreadable. “Farewell, Isaac Vainio.”
The Porters did their best, but they couldn’t manipulate the minds of an entire town, let alone everyone who had seen or read about the story online. A photo of the dragon smashing its way into town had gone viral, and a six-second video of a wendigo at the ice cream shop kept popping up on various social media sites no matter how many times the Porters tried to take it offline.
Nor could they find and destroy the remains of every one of the hundreds of metal insects and other creatures Harrison and Deifilia had sent to attack us. They did their best to track down the wendigos, but I had no doubt we’d be seeing more “Bigfoot sightings” for months to come.
The Porters had trapped a fair number of wendigos, but they hadn’t found them all. Nor were any of the people they restored to human form associated with the students of Bi Sheng. I knew Harrison had transformed some of his own people, but Bi Wei and her friends must have hunted them down, saving their own and making sure they couldn’t be captured and used by the Porters.
None of which was my concern anymore.
I sat in the grass, my back against one of the outer oaks of Lena’s grove, and tried to read. I had picked up Gaiman’s latest, but I hadn’t managed to get past the first two pages. Not because of any problem with the writing, but because when I read his words, I felt nothing.
I knew there was magic here. Given Gaiman’s fanbase, I should have been able to touch this book’s magic in my sleep.
I sighed and set the book aside. Maybe I would be better off rereading an old favorite. Preferably something light. Pratchett’s Discworld series would keep me busy for a while.
Lena had somehow shrunk the surrounding oaks of her grove to a more reasonable height, and was currently clearing a section of the canopy, folding the branches back to allow us a better view of the stars and a distant comet that should be visible through the telescope later tonight. I had a new eyepiece for the scope that I’d been wanting to try.
I pulled a crumpled piece of green paper from the pocket of my jeans. The front was an advertisement for a book club that had met at the library over the summer. On the back, I had done my best to recreate the lines Gutenberg had engraved into my skull.
Sileo. Latin for I am silent.
“Any progress?” Lena asked as she emerged from the grove.
I shook my head. “It’s not a form of libriomancy I understand. If he had written a longer phrase, I might be able to find a source, but this is just a single word. It could refer to anything. I suspect the pen is as much a part of the magic as the writing. I’d give half my books to get my hands on it.”
I didn’t tell her about the e-mail I had received from Nicola Pallas yesterday. I hadn’t told anyone, though I had reread it until I memorized every word. I was certain Nicola had broken some rule or another in sending it, which was amazing all by itself. Or maybe there were simply no rules for a situation like mine, and she had taken advantage of that omission.
The e-mail had been short and businesslike. Pallas began by reminding me that I was no longer a Porter, and that any attempt to access Porter resources or data would be ill-advised. Because of my service to the organization, she thought it only fair that I receive my final paycheck. It would be deposited into my savings account at the end of the month, and that would be the last time they contacted me.
Then, at the very end of her message, she warned me against trying to undo Gutenberg’s spell, explaining that historically, almost all such attempts had ended badly.