Chapter 92: Chapter 37: Things that were lost

> “I obtained the only copy of the diaries of Lewis. We will use these to plot our own expedition to the West. Unlike Rita’s trip to New Orleans, for this one, we must not leave anything to chance.”

It took longer than expected to arrange a meeting with Dalia de Wyck.

I thought she’d jump at the chance to finally get back the Compendium that the Guild had been missing for so long, but evidently I was wrong, as Ty informed me via text that her mother was currently sunbathing in the south of France until the end of the month. She said we could meet her there, but couldn’t guarantee we would get through the lobby of her eight-star hotel. So we waited like patient school girls waiting for the headmistress to enter the classroom until she blessed us with her presence in that same boring Midtown conference room that we had first met her earlier this year.

“Ladies,” said Dalia, whose noticeably darker skin evidenced the truth of Ty’s story. She wore a shimmering white spandex workout outfit embroidered in gold with the familiar Thera DeWitt tree featured and several rings that appeared to have the same sigil. Our own outfits and complexion paled figuratively and literally in comparison.

I couldn’t help but notice that Dalia’s brow was dripping with sweat, and I wondered if she had run here from uptown, or had just finished a workout and was graciously fitting us in to her busy schedule. Who would be crazy enough to train the head of a secret magical guild?

“It is good to see you. Both of you.”

“I highly doubt that,” said Beatrice.

“And why is that?” asked Dalia. “Is it because you think so low of this new look you’ve assembled for yourself? I rather quite like it. It’s edgy.”

“Enough of the faux politeness. Your newest member tracked me down and somehow convinced me to treat with you. I have your blank book. What-”

“No, you don’t,” interrupted Dalia. “You don’t even know where it is.”

“Of course I do,” said Beatrice, while at the same time whispering in my head, “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“No!” I said. “Why would I?”

“Do you think I built a successful fashion line from nothing on the side while running the Guild day-to-day without being able to cut through bullshit?” asked Dalia, who walked over to the drink cart and poured herself a glass of what appeared to be the same brown liquid we had drank at our first meeting, before returning to the head of the table. If she could detect our mental chatter, she showed no outward signs, but I didn’t want to chance it.

“Hypothetically, let’s suppose you’re right, and I didn’t know where it was,” said Beatrice.

“Of course, hypothetically,” said Dalia.

“And hypothetically, let’s suppose I could easily find out, if it was worth my while.”

“And what is that?” asked Dalia.

“I imagine the Compendium’s value to you is approaching priceless. If that’s true, then I would imagine that what you’d be willing to trade for it is quite a lot,” said Beatrice.

“I can imagine far better than you,” said Dalia. “But enough dancing around the edges. You plainly want something specific. Name it and let’s be done with this.”

“Fine,” said Beatrice. “I want four things.”

We had discussed three, so now I was curious.

“One, full access to the Guild library for an indefinite amount of time. Two, full immunity from the Guild for any past and future transgressions. Three, your assistance in securing full custody of my son, and…”

Beatrice paused to gauge Dalia’s reaction to her list of demands, but the chair’s stone-cold demeanor didn’t falter.

“Yes?”

“…a copy of 12 pages from the restored Compendium.”

I stared at Beatrice quizzically, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned this before. Did she still not fully trust me?

“Your terms are acceptable,” said Dalia.

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“They are?” I stupidly blurted out, but Beatrice ignored me, perhaps also in shock that Dalia had agreed so readily.

“Yes, with two slight modifications. One, I choose the pages of the Compendium that you will receive.”

“Fine,” said Beatrice, without skipping a beat.

“And two,” said Dalia, “I’m coming with you to retrieve it.”

Beatrice finally blinked.

“Absolutely not,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because I erased the location of the book from my memory. And retrieving it is something I need to do alone,” said Beatrice.

“That’s unfortunate,” said Dalia. “My terms are non-negotiable.”

“Then you won’t be getting your book back.”

“Suit yourself,” said Dalia, taking a sip of her drink. “But when you walk out that door, know that all bets are off.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Beatrice.

“It means,” said the Guild Chairwoman, clenching the edge of the table with her ring-adorned fingers, “that I will retrieve the Compendium from you, one way or another. You choose the way.”

It may have been a trick of the setting sun shining into the room, but I could swear that the trees in her rings began to glow ever so slightly before she pushed herself up and walked to the back door.

“Wait,” said Beatrice, and Dalia turned around to consider her.

“I accept your terms.”

Dalia’s stoic features finally relented into a grin, and she returned to the bar cart to grab two more glasses and the decanter of the magic brown whiskey, which she poured for each of us.

“To new beginnings,” she said, holding her glass up. We raised ours in response, but I could see the hesitancy in Beatrice’s face, as if she was already regretting this deal. The whiskey tasted just like last time, the explosion of contradictory flavors and textures hitting a different note than Svetlana’s spiked concoction.

“Now what?” asked Beatrice.

“Let’s go,” said Dalia.

“Right now?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “The Guild meeting is nearly upon us and I want the fully restored Compendium in my hands ahead of time so I can rally the last few votes.”

“Fine,” said Beatrice. “As I said, I have no idea where we will eventually need to go, but the first leg should be relatively short.”

She unclasped the necklace that I hadn’t noticed before from around her neck and set it on the table. At the end of its chain was a silver key with a large green stone inset in its base.

“Wait,” I said, the significance of the jewelry become immediately apparent, “you had the memory of the Compendium’s location with you this whole time?”

“I never told you I didn’t,” she responded, glowering at me for saying too much. “And so what if I did? Do you think that makes you entitled to it because we didn’t have to go on a worldwide quest to find it?”

“No,” I said, sufficiently chided, “but-”

“It’s not the hiding place that was the burden. It’s what this is.”

“Just looks like a trinket to me,” said Dalia, and I almost grabbed Beatrice’s hand to stop her from doing something stupid.

“It is not,” said Beatrice. “It is the push gift I was forced to buy for myself after Jack-Jack was born after my idiot husband couldn’t be bothered to get me one. Or be home for even a few days before running back to the office so he could get fucked by his boss.”

“So?” said Dalia. “Your husband is terrible. News flash, lots of men are terrible. That doesn’t mean you deserve a prize. If it did, the entire Guild headquarters would be filled with mine.”

“This isn’t helpful,” I said. “You don’t have to-”

“She started it! She started all of it!”

Beatrice smashed her half-full glass onto the floor, sending shards of crystal everywhere, but not the whiskey, which pooled into neat little beads, like brown marbles. If Dalia was fazed by Beatrice’s tantrum, she buried her reaction deep within her, because instead of erupting into an equal fit of rage, she calmly walked to the corner of the room, pushed forward into the wall, and withdrew a broom and dustpan from the hidden closet. After a few aggressive sweeps, the floor was clean, and we were all back at the table as if nothing had happened.

“What do you need to unmake that?” asked Dalia.

“Just this,” said Beatrice, who retrieved a piece of parchment out from under the back of her Lycra workout shirt and placed it next to the necklace. The little key began to wiggle back and forth as if being pulled by an invisible magnet, and a few moments later, it zipped toward the middle of the paper before melting in a pool of silver. The liquid metal spread out over the page until it was covered with several lines worth of cursive handwriting.

Beatrice picked up the vellum, causing the now-orphan green stone to tumble onto the table. She began muttering the written words to herself under her breath, perhaps hoping that it would be enough to stave off reliving the forgotten memory. Except her plan didn’t work, and her eyes blinked out as if the rest of her had been transported to a journey to a far-off place. And when she finally came to, there was no sense of relief on her face, no jubilation at having the last piece of herself back in her head. Instead, she grabbed the emerald jewel and walked over to the window to stare down at the honking cars below.

“Well?” I asked. “Where do we need to go?”

“Fort Totten, in Queens. You ever been?” Beatrice directed her question at Dalia.

“Can’t say that I have,” she said.

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat. It’s an abandoned Civil War fort built on the real Willets Point, not the repurposed one they came up with later for that junkyard craphole and its matching baseball team.”

“Excellent,” said Dalia. “Then I won’t have to cancel my dinner reservation tonight at Masa.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Beatrice. “Not sure you are going to be in the mood for it after we’re done.”

“What?” I said. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“I need to show you,” she replied. “But not until we get there.”

“What fun,” said Dalia, stowing the whiskey back on the cart. “I can’t wait to hear the bad news in the middle of nowhere.”

“At this time of day, it will take us hours to get all the way out there,” I said, pulling up the fort on my phone. “Can’t we just go tom-”

“Do I look like the type of person who is going to suffer through bumper-to-bumper traffic in the back of an Escalade with the two of you? The answer is no. Now, let’s go. I don’t want to keep Frederic waiting.”

“Who the hell is Frederic?” asked Beatrice.

“My pilot,” said Dalia. “He’s already warming up the chopper at 34th Street. Onward and upward, ladies.”