My theory is simple: there’s some sort of parasite feeding off our magic. Whether it arose naturally somehow or was planted there, who knows? But it’s buried itself somewhere deep inside of us, and now it’s lingering in our minds and occasionally lending us its extraordinary powers.

And our accepting that loan is a very dangerous thing to do, because it comes at a cost: influence over our minds and bodies. And we have no understanding of what it could want. If it even exists.

“If it was planted there – stars. I don’t know who could possibly be capable of something like that, but… the idea that someone could have that sort of influence over us, and what they could make us do…” Edward shudders.

I don’t need the worst-case scenarios for something like that explained to me. “And if it’s natural… well, natural parasites want to survive and reproduce. Actually – what if that’s why it’s both of us? It spread from one of us to the other?”

I like that theory. The idea that it’s not anything special about me, not really, just that I happened to be sufficiently close to Edward.

“It’s possible. Testable, as well – though we’d have to be careful not to give away what we were doing to them, I’d need to think about how best to do it – “

“Hold on,” I say, with a sinking feeling. “What exactly are we – “

“If it is infectious, then likely it will have passed on to one or more of your other friends, so – “

“No,” I say immediately.

“It’s for a good reason – “

And I promised not to do evil in pursuit of a greater good. I can’t tell him that, though. There has to be a connection between what Amara told me and what we’ve just discovered, I realise, but it’s not one I can talk to Edward about. Not one I can talk to anyone about – Amara was immensely helpful, but she was also very open about her ulterior motives for helping me.

“No,” I repeat instead.

“This is one of those things that makes you a good person, isn’t it? Not wanting to experiment on your friends without their consent?”

I ignore his implication that he’s not a good person, because it’s more important to make him understand my other objections in the hopes he’ll take them seriously instead of going behind my back. “That’s not the only reason it would be unethical,” I say. “The sort of situation you’d have to engineer… failure and frustration…”

“I’d go through failure and frustration a thousand times for powers like this.”

I shake my head. “You would, but… most people aren’t you, Edward.”

Edward takes in that shocking revelation in silence. “Fine,” he says after a long pause. “No experimenting on your friends. Got it.”

“Good.” I don’t think he’ll go back on his word. Even if it is only because I care about it rather than because he actually understands the ethical considerations. I don’t much like the idea that I’m Edward’s conscience, but it’s an awful lot better than his not having one.

“If you’re right about it being some form of possession, though… we need contingencies against our minds and bodies being influenced.”

That is a sensible point, but it’s also such an Edward thing to say that I can’t help laughing a little. “Does the Ministry for Intelligence not have standard procedures for this situation?”

“The existence or otherwise of standard Intelligence procedures for any given situation is classified.” His lips are twitching in amusement, though.

“Okay, no applying standard procedures, then. We have to design our own. It helps that we know each other well enough we could notice if the other started acting strangely.”

Edward nods. “We don’t know the specific form this possession – if it exists – could take, though, which makes things a lot more complicated. Kill switches are always a good idea, I suppose, but…” he breaks off as he sees my horrified stare.

“Tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means,” I say. As he opens his mouth to reply, I add hastily “Truthfully.”

“Oh.” He stops. “Yeah. It’s what you’re thinking. It does get messy though – we’d really need one made by someone who’s a good enough enchanter that we couldn’t disable them if we were possessed. If we assume that it doesn’t have knowledge beyond ours… I could probably make one for you – though that relies on – “

“Stop,” I say, trying to work out whether I’m amused or horrified. I settle on both. “Generally it’s a good idea to ask someone whether they agree that something like that is a good idea and whether they’re okay with you having the power to, well…”

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He pauses for a second. “Yeah. Fair point. Do you, and are you?”

Well, I suppose at least he’s trying. “…I don’t know,” I say. “Give me time to think about it.”

Edward nods. “Time to think. We both need a lot of that, don’t we?”

“Yup.”

“Speaking of time, though…” He points to the clock on the meeting room wall, which reads one and twenty after noon. “We should get lunch.”

I am hungry, I realise as he mentions it. Has it really been all morning? It feels like it’s been at once an eternity and an hour at most since the day began. It seems almost silly to be worrying about food at a time like this, but as I’ve learnt the hard way we can’t get away with skipping meals.

“I shouldn’t need to say this, but we’re not talking about anything to do with this in public.”

“You don’t need to say that,” I agree.

Robin is sitting on her own in the dining hall, absently munching at her bread roll as she stares at the parchment that sits on the table next to her plate, when we arrive. She doesn’t notice my attempts to attract her attention, so we resort to just walking up to her with our trays.

“What are you working on?” Edward asks.

“Oh – nothing that important, just an attempt to apply the Tiller-Morgan theory of elementary ritual-work to more modern problems. It doesn’t seem to be working that well, though.”

“That’s because Tiller-Morgan is half a century out of date,” Edward says immediately. “What you want to be looking at is…”

However great a magician I apparently could be, following the resulting conversation is beyond me, so I don’t even try. That means there’s nothing to distract me from my thoughts except the food, which while filling enough is bland and dull.

I understand what’s happened today – more or less, except for the parts no-one can understand. I just can’t get a sense of what it really means. Or why it’s me of all people. I was never supposed to be special. I was going to be a lawyer, stars.

That’s the difference between Edward and I, I guess. He always knew he was special and that he was going to be a great magician. He always knew people would want to use and manipulate him. Today’s revelations don’t change his entire life, not the way they change mine. That’s why he can just have a perfectly “normal” conversation about magical theory now. Whereas I repeatedly find my eyes straying to the high table where the teachers sit, those of them that haven’t left for the holidays.

Where, in particular, Electra is sitting. She doesn’t seem to be watching me, and I doubt she’ll come up to us – especially with Robin here – but there’s still an unspoken tension between us.

Edward and I agreed just before breaking for lunch that it was best to speak to her before trying any tests – he’s worried that doing it on our own could be dangerous, and if he thinks a magical experiment is dangerous then I’m inclined to believe him. But we still haven’t decided exactly how much we’re prepared to tell her, what we’re prepared to bargain with, and we can’t talk to her until we know that.

That feels like something I can do, more than magical research or trying to understand the impossible. Edward might know magic, but I know people. I never thought understanding how normal people think would be this important – though then again, Electra probably doesn’t count as a normal person. Understanding how she thinks is a completely different challenge.

I turn the problem over in my mind until we’ve finished eating. Well, until I’ve finished eating: Edward and Robin are sufficiently caught up in their discussion that they seem to have forgotten the existence of their food, or that there’s a third person sitting with them.

I don’t interrupt. They’re enjoying themselves, and losing himself in magical theory is probably helping Edward. I know it would help me to have a similar conversation about the First Civil War – if only Elsie were here –

Stars. Elsie.

Do I tell her? She told me her secret, which was just as precious and dangerous as this. And if she can use what Amara told me to learn the true gift of prophecy, then maybe she could get us the information we need without the need to go through an established power –

Stars. No wonder she’s so terrified of being used. How easy it is for me to think it’s a good idea, because I have a great enough need. Elsie told me because she trusted me not to do that, to help her instead of using her to help myself.

But… oh, Edward seems to be trying to extricate himself from his conversation with Robin: “Tallulah and I are working on our own project, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” she asks, looking faintly disappointed. “Can I ask what it’s about?”

“You can,” Edward replies, “but I won’t tell you.”

“Blackthorn family secrets?” Robin guesses.

“Yup.”

Well, I imagine him telling me in an attempt to justify why he’s not lying to her, it’s my secret and I’m part of the Blackthorn family, so by definition… I bite my lip to prevent my laugh from escaping and attracting awkward questions.

“If you decide you’d rather work on helping me apply the updated Cavendish-Morgan-Allen theory of elementary ritual-work to modern problems – thank you so much for walking me through the basics of that – then you know where to find me.” Robin smiles. I don’t think Edward picks up on the hint of sadness in it, but I do.

“Sorry,” says Edward as we’re returning to the meeting room. “I know you were a bit lost there.”

“It’s hard to get lost without even trying to follow you,” I say, teasingly.

“Fair. But… yeah. Using an out-of-date theory aside, she had some very interesting ideas. I hadn’t realised she was quite that good at magical theory.”

“You should tell her that,” I say without thinking.

“Should I? Why?”

Stars, how can someone be at once so understanding and so blind? “…because telling people they’re good at something – assuming they actually are – is generally a good thing?” I can’t explain why in this specific instance it would be good for Robin to hear that from Edward, though. Why can’t my friends just sit down and have honest conversations with each other?

“If you say so.”

I think this is one of the times when Edward’s pretending not to understand things to mess with me instead of one of the times he actually doesn’t understand them. It’s very hard to tell. We both have bigger things to worry about, though.

We take the precaution of using a different meeting room to the one we were in earlier, just in case anyone saw us this morning and placed eavesdropping magic hoping we’d come back. I watch Edward more carefully than normal as he chalks the privacy wards. That isn’t sufficient for me to replicate them, of course – but it might be sufficient for my strange new powers to let me replicate them.

If I could summon them at will. If it wasn’t so potentially dangerous to use them. The thought is there in the back of my mind, though: I could take that shortcut to solving a major long-term problem before the need becomes more urgent than it already is.

I shouldn’t, but I could.