Attempt #8

The mood in Josh's bunker was stiflingly grim, pizza-flavored plums notwithstanding. Margo and Eliot stood guard over the gagged and bound Eliza. Penny, Alice, Julia and Quentin had retreated to separate corners. They took turns staring at one another, stricken or enraged, depending on who was looking at whom.

Margo rolled a pizza plum between her palms and looked Eliza over. Eliza glared back. "Nice cape," said Margo. Beside her, Eliot smirked.

Josh clearly wanted none of the paralyzing tension in the room and had retreated into a corner. Quentin watched him tinker with some kind of natural magic. Something related to potatoes, Josh had said. "I really want some potatoes," he said wistfully. "I can't stop thinking about potatoes."

"Potatoes," Quentin had weakly agreed.

"I mean, maybe we can figure out how to get past those battle magic assholes and get back. That would be awesome." Josh had looked around at the fractured group. "But if not, I'd really like to have some potatoes."

Quentin could stand neither the ricochet of angst flying back and forth between himself and Alice nor the onslaught of Julia's anxiety, and he could barely stand Penny on a good day. He got up and joined Margo and Eliot.

Eliza stared at all three of them, her eyes a stormy mix of anger and imploration. The three of them stared back.

Finally, Quentin said, "Maybe we should ungag her."

"Mm." Eliot tapped his finger against his chin. "She might fight."

"I don't like it when she talks," said Margo.

"Still," said Quentin.

They continued to stare. Eliza closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Quentin had not really thought through what they would do with Eliza when they had captured her at Brakebills. Julia had been behind her; as soon as Julia had understood Quentin's intent, things had happened quickly and with surprising ease. Julia had cast a spell to bind Eliza's hands. Quentin had stuffed a scarf in Eliza's mouth. Inelegant, but effective.

"Q," said Margo, "tell me again why we brought her with us?"

"She might be useful," Quentin said.

"How?"

"I don't know! She knows stuff!"

"Well," said Eliot, "so far she's just been a big heavy pain in the ass. If we have to face those battle magic assholes again, I'm dropping her on the ground."

Bound in her seat, Eliza rolled her eyes.

"That satchel of hers is so two years ago," remarked Margo. "Why did we hang on to it?"

"Maybe she has snacks," said Eliot.

They looked at each other and simultaneously grabbed Eliza's bag. She looked alarmed and struggled.

"Hey!" objected Quentin. "You don't need to steal her stuff!"

"If she has food in here, it's fair game," said Margo, rummaging. "I bet those pizza plums give you the shits. Wait, what's this?" She withdrew her hand from Eliza's bag. Glittering in her fingers was an intricately engraved golden pocket watch. "Wow."

Eliza struggled harder, grunting with the effort. "Uh, Margo," said Quentin, "I think that's important to her."

"Well, I'm not hurting it," said Margo. She dangled the watch from its chain. "I can feel it."

"What do you mean?"

"It's humming." Margo held it to her ear. "No, it's singing."

"Let me see," said Eliot. He took the watch from her. "Whoa. What is this?"