Of course, sleep doesn't make problems go away, no matter how much I sotis wish it would. I wake up already running through scenarios of my grandmother hating for being Malaina, or blaming for… actually, no, she's probably pretty pleased by the disintegration of my parents' marriage. That's one less problem, at least? But there's still so many ways she could react that would make living with her for a week very complicated.
It hurts that I have to be concerned about all that, and I can't just look forward to eting my grandmother and having a new family mber like a normal person could. But then, quite likely if I were normal my parents would never have separated and I wouldn't be eting her at all.
And, as I'm currently curled up in bed, I can't exactly say I'm looking forward to sleeping on a living room sofa like my dad.
It's only for a week, I tell myself. And if it is really bad, I can always flee to Ryk and Edward. The logistics of that are a lot more complicated than I'd like them to be: I can't use the Portal Network unsupervised because I'm Malaina, which ans I'll have to get another coach. Which might not be easy to do in the mont, and even if it does work out that ans I'll be trapped with strangers while probably not in the best ntal state.
I suppose I could always summon Lord Blackthorn to teleport . But the artefacts he gave are reserved for ergencies, and I imagine he'd be more than a little annoyed if I dragged him away from the literal Feast of Stars just to get a quick ride between cities. The thought of it makes laugh. I really shouldn't, even if so mad part of wants to.
I eventually crawl out of bed, not helped by the knowledge of all the cleaning we'll be doing today. I suppose the one advantage of such a small apartnt is that it doesn't take so long to clean the whole place. No need for an army of cleaners like the Academy maintains when the two of us and a little magic can have it done in a morning.
That doesn't an I have to like it. My dad doesn't either, so at least we have that solidarity. But I guess wanting to prove to his mother that he's not completely failing at looking after us both is a powerful motivation for him.
We make a surprisingly efficient team. And the magic makes the work surprisingly fun. Sothing about having a broom push itself across the floor is far more entertaining than physically pushing it yourself. My dad is slightly unnerved by it, and flinches whenever I move it too close to where he's dusting shelves. I adjust my patterns to keep out of his way as much as I can, and move more slowly and obviously when that's unavoidable so at least he won't be ambushed.
It also feels a bit like cheating. Like I'm not actually doing my share of the work, even though I am. Just because I'm not actually getting my hands dirty, I suppose. Part of wants to do that as well, but I don't think I can maintain focus on the animation spell while also cleaning ornants and bookshelves.
So I just keep sweeping and try to silence the little voice in my mind that wants to know why I'm sitting around doing nothing instead of pulling my weight. It sounds unpleasantly like my mother's voice. Knowing that even now she still has hooks in my mind and she still shapes the way I think is… disquieting, to say the least.
"Have I ntioned how amazing magic is recently?" my dad asks, climbing off the sofa after dusting a particularly high shelf. "Because this would not be anywhere near as pleasant without it."
"If you didn't have magic, you'd still have doing it the mundane way," I point out. "And yeah – I'm probably better at it with magic than without, but a professional cleaner – then again, a magician specialised in cleaning spells would just be better."
"I hear so magicians can make enchantnts that do it for them, so they don't even have to cast the spells like you're doing."
"Wouldn't surprise ." Lord Blackthorn probably could. I'm not sure he would, though; he'd probably see it as a waste of his precious ti.
"You can't do that yet, though, right?"
"No. Well – I could probably enchant a broom to sweep back and forth – but I'd still need a way of getting it to navigate the room. And a way of powering it."
That's one of the things I learnt about yesterday: how to power enchantnts. The answer is, naturally, it depends on the enchantnt. All of the ones we've learnt in class are powered and activated by channelling magic into them. But then that's not much use if the reason you're making the enchanted object is that you want it to be usable by non-magicians.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
For so enchantnts it's possible to have them draw magic from the ambience, but the best-known ways of doing that are still hopelessly inefficient, so that's only possible for small or very slow-acting enchantnts. It's what powers most ward networks. But for sothing like the enchanted broom my dad is imagining, it would be hopeless.
And storing magical energy is difficult to impossible. Because magic is fundantally unstable, and when you try to store enough of it in the sa place it will make that known. Violently, quite often. Several of the horror stories Electra has told us about what happens if you don't treat magic with the respect it deserves involve attempts to solve that problem.
In fact, the best known magical storage device is a magician. Edward was the one who told horror stories about what happened when one of his ancestors tried to explore the implications of that idea; suffice it to say the incident created at least one mala sia and a law prohibiting the repeat of the experints involved. Edward seed more disappointed at his ancestor's lack of sense in the way he went about it than the utter moral heinousness of the act.
I do occasionally wonder whether Edward is a bad person. And then I rember all the tis when he's been there for when no-one else was, the only thing between and a Malaina episode. I rember how awful he still feels about the man he killed. And I know that he's not.
I finish the sweeping with my very much un-enchanted broom, and then we move onto the kitchen. That requires a break to clear out the cupboards and make a shopping list. My dad is nervous about his mother's food preferences; he rembers her being a picky eater when he grew up. But still an outstanding cook despite that limitation, he hastens to add. His tomato soup recipe ca from her.
I don't think he has too much to worry about. Listening to him, he seems to have a pretty good idea of what not to get. But he's nervous about our visitor, and I can't bla him with the way I'm feeling myself.
The shopping list is quickly made, and so mouldy vegetables are dug out and thrown away. My dad gets to levitate them into the bin so that neither of us have to actually touch them. Another perk of magic. Then we're back to scrubbing the kitchen surfaces, my dad by hand and by magic.
We can't mop the floor while one of us is still inside, so once that's finished he goes to clean the toilet. I don't protest too much at his volunteering to do that, though part of feels like I should. I just lean against the wall and watch the mop that's dancing around the kitchen. I… may have got a little more creative with the animation spell while my dad can't see . It's surprising how fun magic can make even cleaning.
It's about lunchti by the ti we're done mopping and scrubbing and dusting.
"And now we get to make a ss of the kitchen all over again," my dad says with sarcastic good humour.
It is indeed slightly soul-crushing to think of the ss our lunch will make of the room we've just cleaned. But it'll still be in a far better state than it was, and hopefully a state my dad won't be ashad to have his mother see. I don't think he had anything to be ashad of even before our cleaning spree.
The bacon rolls we eat for lunch do make quite the ss, but it's contained to a small area and my dad makes sure the stray globules of fat are wiped away. Then it's shopping ti. I'm only needed because my magic makes it easier to carry the heavy bags, so I have to explain to my dad why being careful who sees casting is important.
I hate the look in his eyes when he gets it. The frustrated, helpless anger.
"I can still carry the shopping? It's probably safe to use magic for it, at least a little. Just – I thought you should know the risks."
"Yeah," my dad says numbly. "I do, now. Thanks."
I focus on lacing up my boots.
The shopping expedition is a successful one. We have to visit a dozen different market stalls, but we get everything we need. And we're able to carry everything without resorting to magic, though my aching arms wish I hadn't insisted on doing it the mundane way. I probably could have cast another subtle levitation spell and got away with it, but the risks just weren't worth it.
I make up for it by levitating tins and jars into the cupboards. Very carefully. Honestly the risk of sothing smashing makes this worse than just using my hands, but it's good practice for and a good demonstration for my dad.
It's about two after noon by the ti we're done with that. My dad decides he needs a nap. I can't bla him. I retreat to my room – not enjoying the reminder that it won't be my room tomorrow, and I still need to move my stuff out of it – and curl up with a book.
I accomplish nothing productive for the rest of the day. I try to convince myself that that's not a problem, that I need the rest, that it's nearly Holy Days. It's not really enough to shake the feeling that there's sothing else I should be doing. Whatever it is, though, I remain buried in history until bedti.
My grandmother's coach is scheduled to arrive at eleven after midnight the next day. That gives a couple of hours to move my things. It doesn't take that long; I've kept most of my clothes and books in my trunk, so it's mostly just a case of finding a place in the living room where it won't be too in the way and choosing which sofa I want to sleep on. Not that there's really much of a choice: we have two, and my dad has already installed himself on the other one. I don't want him to have to move.
I test out the sofa by lying down on it and stretching out. It's not bad; soft enough that it'll be comfortable, and I think the cushion will make a good pillow. The only problem is that if I wriggle too much there's a good chance I'll fall on the floor. I try not to think about that possibility too much as my dad helps pick out blankets to sleep under.
Making a nest of blankets on the sofa is surprisingly satisfying. Though it does an I'm imdiately tempted to spend the rest of the day curled up beneath them, which I sadly shouldn't actually do. But I soon have it arranged to my satisfaction, and not long after that it's ti to go and et the coach.
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