Free Flora Segunda: Being the Magickal Mishaps of a Girl of Spirit, Her Glass-Gazing Sidekick, Two Ominous Butlers (One Blue), a House with Eleven Thousand Rooms, and a Red Dog (Magic Carpet Books) by Ysabeau S. Wilce
Authors: Ysabeau S. Wilce
magick, or both, and I’m sure it has the perfect Working to fix me fine as I ever was before.”
I stared at the book in my hand, stared at the thick slant of Nini Mo’s handwriting. This book she had held in
her
hand; that black lettering had come from her pen. My head knew that Nini Mo—Nyana Keegan—was a real person, that she had once lived and breathed and died, as I lived and breathed and would one day die. I knew people who had known her, seen her, and talked to her. But yet, in my heart she was as fantastic as the stories that were told about her, and thus she seemed completely unreal.
But she had held this book in her hands, as I held it now. This selfsame book. Her flesh-and-blood hands. A small blot of ink followed her signature where her pen had slipped, as mine so often does. She had touched this book before, as I touched it now. These thoughts made my heart feel fluttery.
I flipped through
The Eschatanomicon
's pages, which were as thin as lettuce leaves. The first few chapters were very rangery, indeed. “How to Make a Fire with Rocks.” “Fording a River with a Rope.” “Making a Mule Mind.” “The Charm of Charm.” “Sleeping in a Heavy Rain.” “Tracking Backward.” There were illustrations, too: tiny line-drawings of rangers fording rivers on rafts, rangers riding bucking horses, rangers hypnotizing rattlesnakes, rangers dancing the gavotte, and doing other rangery things.
But then, after chapter 11, the headings changed. “Retroactive Enchantments.” “Sigils to Bind.” “Sigils to Break.” “The A—Z of Banishing.” “Interior Evocations.” “Exhalative Invocations.” “Fun with Charms.” The illustrations changed, too; now they showed rangers making Invoking Gestures, rangers wrestling with dæmons, rangers tossing lightning bolts, rangers turning into coyotes.
I flipped to the index, and there found what I was looking for:
“Restoration Sigils.”
NINE
Waiting. Udo’s Hat. The Elevator Again.
I SAT ON THE EDGE of the Immaculata Piazza, leaning against one of the immense pillars that held up the main dome of Sanctuary, throwing scraps of bread to the doves. The Immaculata Piazza is protected from sun by the looming dome above, and sheltered from wind by large support pillars. It’s a pleasant place to sit and wait for someone, which was good for me, because I had been waiting over half an hour for Udo, who was massively late.
Udo was finally out of the lockdown he’d earned by punching his horrible sister Gunn-Britt in the nose in a fight over the last tortilla. That sounds pretty bad, but Gunn-Britt is a pincher, and I had no doubt she gave as good as she got. There are seven kids in the Landaðon family, and they fight over everything. Seven kids, one mother, and three fathers. It’s a terribly famous love story in Califa, and there was even a play written about it: how Udo’s mamma was wooed by identical triplets and, having no way to decide among them, married all three. Udo’s birth-father was in prison in Anahuatl City with Poppy and died there, but Udo still has two fathers left.
I’ve known Udo since we were tots. When I was too large to be easily portable on Mamma’s trips but not large enough to stay home alone with Poppy, I would stay at Case Tigger (the Landaðon family home), which was fun and friendly, even with all those kids. Case Tigger is not a Great House, and it has no Butler, but it’s homey and clean, and I love it there. But now that I have to Poppy-sit, Udo stays with me to keep me company. He would have done so this time, too, if he hadn’t gotten popped for punching Gunn-Britt.
Although Udo is not destined for the Barracks like me, his parents are just as strong-willed about his future fate as Mamma is about mine, and he’s just as annoyed at their planning as I am about Mamma’s. The Landaðons are all lawyers; Madama Landaðon is on the Warlord’s Bench, and Major Landaðon and Captain Landaðon are in the Judge Advocate
I stared at the book in my hand, stared at the thick slant of Nini Mo’s handwriting. This book she had held in
her
hand; that black lettering had come from her pen. My head knew that Nini Mo—Nyana Keegan—was a real person, that she had once lived and breathed and died, as I lived and breathed and would one day die. I knew people who had known her, seen her, and talked to her. But yet, in my heart she was as fantastic as the stories that were told about her, and thus she seemed completely unreal.
But she had held this book in her hands, as I held it now. This selfsame book. Her flesh-and-blood hands. A small blot of ink followed her signature where her pen had slipped, as mine so often does. She had touched this book before, as I touched it now. These thoughts made my heart feel fluttery.
I flipped through
The Eschatanomicon
's pages, which were as thin as lettuce leaves. The first few chapters were very rangery, indeed. “How to Make a Fire with Rocks.” “Fording a River with a Rope.” “Making a Mule Mind.” “The Charm of Charm.” “Sleeping in a Heavy Rain.” “Tracking Backward.” There were illustrations, too: tiny line-drawings of rangers fording rivers on rafts, rangers riding bucking horses, rangers hypnotizing rattlesnakes, rangers dancing the gavotte, and doing other rangery things.
But then, after chapter 11, the headings changed. “Retroactive Enchantments.” “Sigils to Bind.” “Sigils to Break.” “The A—Z of Banishing.” “Interior Evocations.” “Exhalative Invocations.” “Fun with Charms.” The illustrations changed, too; now they showed rangers making Invoking Gestures, rangers wrestling with dæmons, rangers tossing lightning bolts, rangers turning into coyotes.
I flipped to the index, and there found what I was looking for:
“Restoration Sigils.”
NINE
Waiting. Udo’s Hat. The Elevator Again.
I SAT ON THE EDGE of the Immaculata Piazza, leaning against one of the immense pillars that held up the main dome of Sanctuary, throwing scraps of bread to the doves. The Immaculata Piazza is protected from sun by the looming dome above, and sheltered from wind by large support pillars. It’s a pleasant place to sit and wait for someone, which was good for me, because I had been waiting over half an hour for Udo, who was massively late.
Udo was finally out of the lockdown he’d earned by punching his horrible sister Gunn-Britt in the nose in a fight over the last tortilla. That sounds pretty bad, but Gunn-Britt is a pincher, and I had no doubt she gave as good as she got. There are seven kids in the Landaðon family, and they fight over everything. Seven kids, one mother, and three fathers. It’s a terribly famous love story in Califa, and there was even a play written about it: how Udo’s mamma was wooed by identical triplets and, having no way to decide among them, married all three. Udo’s birth-father was in prison in Anahuatl City with Poppy and died there, but Udo still has two fathers left.
I’ve known Udo since we were tots. When I was too large to be easily portable on Mamma’s trips but not large enough to stay home alone with Poppy, I would stay at Case Tigger (the Landaðon family home), which was fun and friendly, even with all those kids. Case Tigger is not a Great House, and it has no Butler, but it’s homey and clean, and I love it there. But now that I have to Poppy-sit, Udo stays with me to keep me company. He would have done so this time, too, if he hadn’t gotten popped for punching Gunn-Britt.
Although Udo is not destined for the Barracks like me, his parents are just as strong-willed about his future fate as Mamma is about mine, and he’s just as annoyed at their planning as I am about Mamma’s. The Landaðons are all lawyers; Madama Landaðon is on the Warlord’s Bench, and Major Landaðon and Captain Landaðon are in the Judge Advocate
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