"This is Plover's writing room, isn't it?" Penny asked, his face already darkening in disgust.
Quentin shot him a grim look of confirmation as the group fanned out to search. Never in his wildest nightmares would Quentin have thought the wellspring of all magic was to be found in this terrible place. Of course, it made a sick sort of sense, considering the Fillory books had originated here.
"Where would it be?" Margo riffled through papers as Eliot ransacked desk drawers. "We need all the help we can get."
Everyone continued hunting frantically until, quite perceptibly, the atmosphere changed. It was as if the very air had transformed to carry with it a palpable tinge of dread. The hair of Quentin's arms stood on end, and before he could utter a sound, the door to the study flew open.
"Greetings," The Beast growled, his left hand motioning deftly, leaving all but Quentin frozen in place. The door slammed shut behind him and the moths beat viciously around his head, their frenzy creating puffs against Quentin's cheeks as The Beast neared. "This time I thought we should be alone."
Quentin reeled at the speed with which everything was happening. He fumbled, reaching inside his pocket and grasping blindly.
"We're not so different, Quentin," The Beast breathed, his sooty moth-face leaning closer. "You know what it's like to be alone...to be trapped where you don't belong."
"No," Quentin shook his head as he found what his clumsy fingers had been searching for. "I'm not like you." He stumbled backward, despite himself.
"Is that so?" The Beast hovered. "You've never felt as though everyone had left you? Forsaken you?" The hot breath oozed out of his obscured mouth like poisoned honey.
"No...I..." Quentin stammered, his back literally up against the wall. He inched the bottle out of his pocket and held it at his side as he noiselessly flipped the top off with his thumb. Almost time now. "How is taking over Fillory any different from what was done to you?" he managed to respond.
"You don't understand, Quentin."
"Actually...I think I do." Quentin ducked around the Beast and spun to face him, holding the empty bottle with the mirror inside aloft. Closing his eyes and hoping against hope, he yelled the powerful emotion-stealing incantation at the top of his lungs, "Watashi wa anata no ikari o toru!"
As soon as the spell was uttered, the ground began to shake. Then, the moths began to bat crazily around, crashing into each other before exploding into ash. Simultaneously a great wind swept forth, pushing its way into the empty vessel, carrying the powdered moths with it. When the last breath disappeared inside, Quentin re-capped the bottle and slung it around his neck by the cord. As he did, The Beast suddenly began to shrink down. He shrank further and further until his feet were dwarfed by his dress shoes. His jacket sleeves hung several inches past his fingertips and his tie slumped around his spindly little neck. There, amidst Quentin and his now un-frozen friends, stood Martin. Not Martin the Beast, but Martin the Boy.
"What...what's happening?" Martin asked, looking stunned.
Everyone piped up at once: "What's going on, Quentin?" "Where's the Beast?" "What the hell?" and "Isn't he supposed to be a lot older?"
"This is him," answered Quentin, silencing the chorus. Martin just looked down at his oversized clothes.
"B-but he's a kid! How could he be the Martin Chatwin that became –" Penny stopped when he saw the child looking at him with huge, round eyes. It clearly didn't feel right to Penny to call him 'the Beast.' At least not anymore.
"Wait a minute," Alice said. "This actually makes sense. In Fillory, time isn't like it is on earth, right? I mean, we're assuming that time is what aged Jane and Martin. But what if it wasn't time at all? What if it was something else?"
"Like knowledge," Julia nodded, picking up where Alice left off.
"Wait. You mean like the more they learned, the older they physically became?" asked Penny.
"Exactly!" Julia and Alice chimed in unison.
"But, why would bottling his emotions make him younger? You didn't take away his intelligence," Margo protested.
"That's because with Martin it wasn't knowledge that aged him," Quentin answered solemnly. "It was hate."
Everyone looked at each other and then back to Martin again, who, for his part, just stood there with a placid expression on his face. He blinked and pushed his glasses back into place.
Julia prodded, "You know what needs to be done, Q." Then she unsnapped the top of the scabbard strapped to Quentin's side.
"This is getting a little too Abraham and Isaac for me," Eliot whispered, as he turned away from the scene unfolding before him.
"Oh my God, was that a Biblical reference?" Margo asked.
"I'm from Indiana, remember? It just pops back up when shit gets real."
"Here, have a carrot," Margo offered, pulling one out of her pocket.
Eliot grabbed the psychedelic vegetable and chomped into it immediately.
Quentin breathed rapidly as he readied the Leo Blade. Doing this was never going to be easy, but plunging a knife into the Beast when he looked like this seemed damn near impossible. He raised the point to Martin's neck unsteadily and took a deep breath. But just then, a faint sound broke the silence and stopped Quentin in his tracks. It was an eerie, warbling sound.
Martin turned to look at the door, his eyes wider than ever.
"Do you hear that?" Margo whispered.
"You hear it too?" Eliot looked down at the half-eaten carrot. "Damn, that was quick!"
The sound grew in intensity, the singing of a soprano growing louder and more insistent. In response, Martin swallowed hard and seemed to look around for a place to hide. Heavy footsteps drawing near echoed down the corridor outside the door and the opera music swelled.
"Did someone follow us?" Alice asked.
"I don't know," Quentin answered, the bottle suddenly jumping round his neck. The movement startled him, causing him to drop the Leo Blade on the floor, which sent it tumbling under the writing desk.
"No," Martin trembled. His breathing turned ragged and the color drained from his face.
The symphony had reached deafening proportions, shaking the crystal on the nearby liquor cart. Horrified, Quentin looked on as the bottle around his neck jerked again and began to shake. He grasped it while Alice and Julia scurried to retrieve the knife. At the same time, Penny jumped in front of the door to hold it closed as the knob began to turn.
"It's Plover!" Penny yelled over the music. "I can hear his thoughts. He's here for Martin!"
Quentin held the bottle with both hands now, as it vibrated violently. Inside, the red liquid became punctuated with dark streaks. It swirled throughout the mixture until it was pitch black. A high note pierced the din and, at last, the bottle shattered.
"Quentin – here!" Julia knocked the knife out from under the desk with a cane.
The Leo Blade came tumbling to land at Quentin's feet as the black mist escaped into the air. In an instant, it had enveloped Martin, who sucked it in and began to change. Quentin watched as Martin's face contorted into a grimace, and his body expanded to fill the suit once again. Martin no longer, the Beast convulsed in fury.
With one swift hand motion, the Beast blew the door straight off its hinges, taking Penny and Plover with it. He whipped back around with his arm in an arc, knocking Margo and Eliot against the bookcases. Next, he pushed his palms down toward the floor pinning both Julia and Alice there, crushing the air from their lungs.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over – and Quentin was the only one left. In a panic, Quentin reached down and snatched up the Leo Blade, readying it as best he could.
The Beast simply laughed. "I admire your compassion Quentin...trying to rescue me."
Quentin lunged, but was stopped by a vice-like force around his neck. Struggling, he watched as the Beast slowly drew his fingers together in a pinching motion. He felt the ground beneath him leaving as he was lifted toward the ceiling. "Saving...Fillory-" Quentin eked out as his hand lost its grip on the weapon, letting it drop to the hard, wooden boards with a thud.
"Were you?" sneered the Beast, the moths completely encircling his face once again.
They fluttered in and out of Quentin's sight, like the black splotches that now roved across his shrinking field of vision.
No, thought Quentin, as he slipped under into the darkness.
I was trying to rescue myself.