“It’s gone beyond that. She discovered that when she went to court. She could still manipulate the power, still use it, but it didn’t repair the damage. I am afraid there is nothing on earth that can.”
“But there has to be a way—”
He shook his head. “Do you think she didn’t look?”
“There has to be!”
“Listen to me.” He dropped his tools so he could take me by the shoulders. “You have your mother’s gifts, as well as mine. There’s no knowing what you’ll someday be able to do—what you can do now, if you only knew. No Pythia has ever held that diversity of talents—”
“Then let me use them to help you!”
“You would try, but you would fail. No,” he said, shushing me. “Not for lack of ability. But for lack of understanding.”
“Understanding what?”
The blond head tilted. “That, sometimes, the only way to win is to lose.”
Chapter Forty-five
I found Jonas around the side of the house, standing by what looked like a Dumpster. Well, sort of. A few random sparks flew up as I approached, and made pinging noises against the lid, which was half up and reflecting a bunch of moving colors beneath.
“Stay back,” Jonas said grimly.
I started to ask why, but then another spark flew out and landed on a paver. Which shimmied and shook—and disappeared. Or so I thought, until I ran into it a second later.
“What?” I asked, standing like a stork so I could examine my possibly broken toe.
Jonas shielded his hand and plucked something disgusting from inside the Dumpster. It was iridescent purple and quivering, like a large piece of fresh liver. It didn’t smell like one, though.
“That doesn’t help,” I said, now torn between holding my nose and my foot.
“Concealment charm. Or it was. You press into it things you wish to hide—jewelry, keys—and it conceals them from detection spells.” He glanced at my foot. “And most people’s vision.”
Great. Like I needed help killing myself. I edged around the sparks. “What else is in there?”
“Junk,” he said, dropping the lid with a clatter. “The magical variety: old wards, potions, and amulets. They’re at the dangerous stage, with too little magic to properly hold the spell, but too much to be thrown away. The lot needs to be disenchanted, to release the remaining magic, but instead . . .”
“Somebody threw them in a Dumpster.”
“Your father.” Jonas glowered at the house. “He enchanted the inside of the receptacle, but it remains a serious risk. Collectively, there’s a good deal of magic in there, most of it unstable. I can’t imagine what he wanted with it.”
“The same thing he wanted from the Black Circle,” I said, sitting on a nearby bench.
“He told you?”
“Enough.”
Jonas sat down beside me.
“It’s a long story,” I said, “but I’ll try to condense it. The Spartoi weren’t affected by my mother’s eviction spell, because they were demigods. That gave them a tether to this world, allowing them to hunt her. Her spirit is an essential part of the barrier spell, so they hoped killing her would bring it down and reunite them with their father.”
“I know that,” Jonas said, sounding impatient.
I ignored him.
“Mother stayed ahead of them for a long time, but they finally caught up with her at the Pythian Court. She got away, with my father’s help, but they had money and connections, and there were five of them. It was only a matter of time before they found her again.”
“So your parents took refuge here.” Jonas looked around at the dense forest, the wet ground, and the silvery moon, riding high above the trees. “There are worse places, I suppose.”