#main plot

When Lil had reached out with the concept of a sort of battery for the magic in Wicked’s Rest to replace whatever demon (sure, absolutely, why not?), Zack had immediately been on board. While the blackouts were more of a nuisance to him than anything else, he knew that it was far worse for shifters, and the undead, and fae. Not to mention spellcasters like Rosemary who actually used their magic. And Zack didn’t want to find out what might happen to the town should the magic degrade even further. There was no telling what parts of Wicked’s Rest depended on magic and how big and bad the consequences of losing parts might be.

It just lucked out that Zack had begun poking at the idea of the origins of magic on his own. A lesson with Rosemary had brought the question to his mind: What exactly was the ether, the astral plane, where magic apparently lived and existed. And if it was always there, what exactly was going on with Wicked’s Rest? Was the town more like a spellcaster, an entity that had the ability to reach out an access magic, than a source of magic itself?

The picture had come together more clearly in the history that he hadn’t been present for: the greater demon and its connection to Wicked’s Rest, to magic, to Netherville. Of course it was all connected, like a cycle. Like a body of water that rippled out and out. While what the exact magical source would end up being was anyone’s guess, they could at least get to work on the battery that would get its energy from said source. And Zack had a syllabus already in place.

Armed with a collection of books on magical theory and the intersection of magic and human technology from sections of the library he maybe wasn’t technically allowed in, his next stop was Rosemary. Settling at her kitchen table with two cups of tea and Zippo dozing nearby to discuss the finer points of magic had become a comfortable routine, lately. With this project, though, Zack was thrilled to be something closer to a colleague with his teacher. He wouldn’t say equal, not when Rosemary had a whole lifetime of magical knowledge behind her, and he was basically just starting out. But they were both working at a disadvantage to discover the possibility of a magical battery. It was a lot of collaborating, back and forth. Some late nights that Zack imagined might be like what cramming for an exam would be like, had he gone to college. In the end, there was only so much they could discover on their own. 

There was the proof of concept that magic could in fact be combined with human technological components, that, with some tweaks, you could use magic as the fuel powering some sort of battery cell. And the beginnings of a sketchy list of components that would potentially help to siphon and channel the magic off whatever the eventual source would be. But it seemed they were up against an issue that hadn’t occurred before, which meant all attempts at remedies were untested. At least, Zack himself couldn’t locate any resources that provided any evidence to the contrary.

—

A battery wasn’t a bad idea. Rosemary had agreed to help almost instantly. There was too much at stake, with magic’s presence in the town slowly circling the drain. Every single person the witch cared for who resided in that little coastal town would be impacted by it’s loss. They’d be in danger- whether for their appearance, or for the control that would slip through their fingertips. People would get hurt… What was more- she found herself with a refrain of a thought that whispered at the back of her mind. She knew the spell to bring Owen back had worked. But what if, when magic vanished entirely from that little town, the tether that tied Owen’s life to her own vanished with it. She’d had more than enough loss in the last year. If building a battery could help prevent more, she was all for it. 

Late nights spent scouring through materials with Zack became commonplace. The radio hummed in the background as the pair poured over pages of information, the noise a reminder of who she was doing this research for. Rosemary hadn’t always been fond of group projects. She’d always been the sort to tie back her hair and hunker down, content to do the work herself if she knew she’d get the work done correctly. But they couldn’t do this just the two of them. Her knowledge of magic only extended so far. Teaching Zack had refreshed her knowledge of the fundamentals, but there was so much that she didn’t understand. So much wisdom she’d let pass her by in the pursuit of something she’d been led to believe her entire life was somehow greater. 

And the extent of her magical knowledge was truly only half the battle. Despite the fact that the magic she worked could be compared to the works of science fiction, she didn’t have the scientific know-how that Doctor Victor Frankenstein had as he’d toiled away with his creation. She had been taught by a caster who was infinitely more ritualistic, more intuitive. As such, her practices reflected those of her mentors. Everything had meaning. There were no calculations, no equations that she had to solve when she was casting. It was more artistic than that. And magic aside, she’d never been fond of science in school. Rosemary didn’t have the slightest idea as to how to build a battery. 

“There needs to be more than just us building this thing.” She’d grumbled to her friend in a two AM haze, her laptop glowing with instructions on how to construct a battery out of a potato!, an article that, despite its simplicity, was completely lost on the witch. She was brewing them another pot of coffee as her mind drifted from the battery itself, to the people who might have the resources to help them, or at least, know how to find them. Rosemary had groaned loudly into her fourth cup of coffee as the answer occurred to her. 

It didn’t much matter if the man hated her for the things she’d done, or for how her words and actions had hurt for someone Rosemary was fairly certain he cared a great deal for. Library Guy might be the answer to their problems, as far as further guidance went. She’d dragged herself into the library where Henri O’Dea worked, and humbled herself for the sake of knowledge. She’d brought coffee, hoping that at least the promise of caffeine to a graduate student would keep him from kicking her out of the library on sight. “We need help. If we can make this battery, and it works- Henri, think of all the people this saves. Think of all the good this does by keeping the town from spilling into fucking chaos.”

__

Once Rosemary had finished explaining that they had found a way, perhaps, to restore the magic in Wicked’s Rest, and prevent, perhaps, another one of these deadly blackouts, Henri had remained silent for a while, his eyes scanning through the notes he had taken, notes that would be essential to him, notes that would let Rosemary know that she had been heard, that he was listening and that he was taking every word that came out of her mouth with the seriousness it deserved. 

He did not promise anything. He never promised anything. Especially not after what happened with Jenny. 

But if there was something he had learned from that dreadful month of research, it was that it didn’t matter how much time he spent looking, if he was not looking in the right place. “Magic isn’t my specialty, but…” Henri looked her in the eyes then. 

Like her, he had people he cared for, people who would either cause pain or be victims of the violence, if the blackouts didn’t come to an end. He thought of Eve, who had spent the last one posted on a rooftop with a sniper rifle, keeping people safe as best as she could. He thought of his parents. Of his sister. His cousins. He thought of Estella, who had spent the longest of hours sheltered behind closed doors, scared, helpless, waiting for everything to be over, not even aware of what she was being kept away from. He thought of Mickey, of hours that passed by, hours you lost count of, just like he must have lost count of the people passing through E.R. And he thought of Emilio and how he must have hurt in the wake of those blackouts.

“I will need your help, but I’ll do my part,” and he was already gathering his things as he told her so, putting away his laptop, the keyboard Eve had gotten him, which he found less and less confusing nowadays, and the few documents she had brought along with her. “I’ll reach out to you in a few days, once I’ve checked all my sources,” and though that was no promise, he assured her then that he would be looking, and that he would do so with the same relentlessness he awarded Jenny’s life. 

The hunter took the coffee cup with him, and left the library in a hurry, dialing the number that had been given to him, a month and a half ago. 

The Scribes picked up immediately. It made him wonder if they were watching, or how they worked, and though now was not the time for curiosity, Henri knew he wouldn’t always be able to pretend he wasn’t intrigued.