Wundersmith: The Calling of Morrigan Crow (Nevermoor, #2)

by Jessica Townsend

Ezra Squall had been locked out of Nevermoor for more than a hundred years—kept at bay by police, military forces, and sorcery of all kinds, and, more than anything, by the powerful magic of Nevermoor itself. But he’d found a way to visit undetected, by using the Gossamer Line,

Is that another part of their knack?

Hawthorne looked pleased with himself as he took a big mouthful of milk. “Whassit mean?” Mahir grinned, glancing conspiratorially at Morrigan. “You have a bum for a face.” Hawthorne snorted milk and it dribbled down his chin as the others erupted into laughter. “Serious?” Mahir shrugged. “It’s my favorite romance language.” This defrosting of unit relations made life at Wunsoc infinitely more bearable for Morrigan,

We know the terrible truth about Unit 919. We have a list of demands. If you want your secret to stay a secret, you’ll await our instructions. Don’t tell a soul. If you do, we’ll know. And we’ll tell the whole Society.

Morrigan stared at the wall across the train tracks. She wasn’t thinking about getting expelled. She was thinking about how it would feel to have the whole Society know she was a Wundersmith. Right now, people were curious about her, and perhaps a bit suspicious. But if they knew the truth…

Poor kid can’t catch a break

“We know what it means,” said the green-haired girl. “We also know you’re an illegal. Smuggled in from the Republic.”

😳😳

Each scholar reached out with one stiff arm, as if unable to stop themselves, their movements jerky and unnatural, like puppets on a string. Each hand plucked a star from the air, and turned it on its owner. Each gleaming silvery spike drew closer, irresistibly closer, to a face contorted in horror and confusion. “No,” whispered Morrigan, unable to move. “NO! Put them down. Stop it! STOP.”

That’s what you get bullies

“They pinned me to a tree and tried to make me tell them my knack by throwing stars at my head!” Morrigan’s voice had reached a pitch that surely only dogs could hear, but Miss Cheery was following her every word, biting down hard on her lip. “And then… and then, I don’t know what happened. I felt this weird rush of… something.”

The thrill of power that coursed through her in that moment, that sent agreeable little jolts of aftershock through her even now. She couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. Morrigan swallowed, looking down at her shoes. Was she really a good sort, she wondered? Maybe you didn’t do it deliberately… but some part of you enjoyed it. But wasn’t that normal? Wouldn’t anyone feel that way, if they’d just been attacked and had pointy objects thrown

Thaddea Millicent Macleod. You have a fight scheduled in tomorrow afternoon’s Combat Club, against an unknown opponent. You will throw the fight. If you do not deliberately lose, we will reveal the secret of Unit 919. Remember: Tell no one. Or we will tell everyone.

She’d been so close. So close. She wondered if whoever was sending these stupid notes realized how fully they had torpedoed her burgeoning hopes for a happy life at Wunsoc. Perhaps whoever was blackmailing them hated her so much they’d constructed this perfect way to split her unit in half. But who was it? And how had they discovered her so-called knack?

Francis John Fitzwilliam. You will bake and decorate a Grand Caledonian Coronation Crest and place it on Platform 919 by six o’clock tomorrow morning, and then return to your home immediately. If you do not follow these instructions exactly, we will reveal the secret of Unit 919. Remember: Tell no one. Or we will tell everyone.

Francis looked wounded. “Why wouldn’t someone want me to make them a cake? Have you tasted my cake?” “It is very good, Francis,” Hawthorne agreed. “If I were blackmailing you, I’d definitely get you to make me a cake. And some

“I just mean… these demands are… well, they’re silly.”

Yeah, I’m call it’s the FIVE

She sighed with relief as she swung open the door into her favorite room in the whole world. Her bed seemed to be celebrating the fact that it was at last Friday, and had turned into a giant bird’s nest full of soft woven fabrics in a dozen shades of green, with three huge egg-shaped pillows in the center. Morrigan held out her arms like a bird and fell backward into its cozy depths, landing with an appreciative oof.

How magical for you bedroom to know what you need

If Thaddea was willing to lose to Will Gaudy, and if Francis could

stay up all night long baking the world’s most ridiculous cake, then she could find out who was behind all this.

I love how Mog always tries to do the next best thing within her abilities

Frank won more often than not (his parties were legendary, and well attended by celebrities, the aristocracy, and occasionally even royalty), but his infrequent failures were dreaded by everyone at the Deucalion.

Fenestra—who hated water—was furious with Frank over his theme for the evening, and had already threatened to (a) call the Stink, (b) fill Frank’s bedroom with garlic bulbs, and (c) burn down the hotel. She had of course done none of those things, but was hanging threateningly from the black chandelier, hissing and baring her claws at any guests who dared float close enough.

five minutes to six, quietly pushed open the mystery door, and crept through her walk-through Wunsoc wardrobe… only to find the whole plan scuppered, because her station door wouldn’t budge. There was something blocking it from the other side—the blackmailers were irritatingly clever. When the door finally opened, it was too late: The cake was gone, and there was no trace of anybody on the platform.

“If that is the Stealth, you’re not going anywhere near them,” the Magnificat growled. “When Jupiter wants you to know what’s going on, he’ll tell you. Now, off you go—it must be past your bedtime.” “I don’t have a bedtime,” said Morrigan, frowning. “Now you do.” “You can’t—” “Just did.” “But—” “BED.”

“Swindleroads are an old-fashioned tool of scoundrels and highwaymen. A straightforward bit of geographical trickery in which one walks down one end of a lane and comes out the other end in a different location, sometimes miles away, where a band of blackguards would be waiting to rob you. Most Swindleroads have been blocked off or signposted now, but back in the Age of Thieves, there was a whole plague of them all over the Free State.

These are going to come into play at some part of the story

But some of them, unfortunately, have a terrible habit of wandering—they’ll disappear from one spot and reappear somewhere else entirely. So in truth, the official Tricksy Lane map provided by the Nevermoor Council is sometimes a bit useless. Naturally, I prefer the Living Map.

“Because it might have changed. Tricksy Lanes are mercurial—they can shift and evolve over time. Look at your maps. See Perrins Court, over in Highwall? That used to be your basic, everyday ankle-dangler. Last week, one of our more careless fourth-year scholars took a wrong turn onto Perrins Court and found himself swimming through raw

🤮

Because of the health risks, they upgraded the threat level of Perrins Court from a Pink Alert (Nuisance-Level Trickery Presenting Significant Inconvenience on Entry) to a Red Alert (High-Danger Trickery and Likelihood of Damage to Person on Entry) and installed a warning sign.”

I love the way the world and its inter working are be described

We only brick up the hopeless cases. The Black Alerts.” “What does a Black Alert mean?” asked Morrigan. “Death on Entry.”

then it’ll fetch a good price at the next auction, and your reputation will be made. Provided you can deliver again in the autumn lots.”

I think she stumbled on a black market situation

How could she explain that she’d replaced STEP TWO: RETREAT with her own STEP TWO: KEEP PUSHING THROUGH AND STICK YOUR NOSE IN WHERE IT’S NOT WELCOME EVEN THOUGH THIS IS DEFINITELY AGAINST THE RULES?

Love the writing style! It is awesome to hear Mogs inter dialog lol

that people tell each other, repeated so often that it becomes an accepted truth. In this case, it’s a silly myth told to frighten young Wunsoc scholars.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t pay it any heed.” “Told you,” Hawthorne said to Cadence. “It’s not real.” “It’s real,” Cadence insisted. “My mum knows a lady whose great-aunt was taken for the Ghastly Market. They never saw her again.”

The definition!

“You could buy Wunimals?” Morrigan repeated, horrified. “That’s awful.” “Disgusting, isn’t it?” said Cadence. “And not just Wunimals—centaurs, unicorns, dragon eggs, all sorts. Until the authorities shut it down, of cour—” “Magnificats?” Morrigan interrupted. “What about Magnificats?” Mildmay looked at her oddly. “Why?” “Just wondering.”

Oh no!! The missing cub

President Wintersea famously had six Magnificats pulling a carriage… silent, obedient creatures with sleek black fur and studded collars. In light of this new information, Morrigan couldn’t help but wonder where those Magnificats had come from in the first place. Might they have been purchased on the black market? Somehow turned from intelligent, independent creatures like Fen into little more than well-trained transport?

A sea of faces turned Morrigan’s way. A familiar creeping sensation climbed the back of her neck, and in that instant, she realized she’d been waiting for this. Since her first day at Wunsoc, since the disappearance of Paximus Luck, the cursed girl who still lived somewhere inside Morrigan had been waiting for this. The accusation.

Awww and there it is

Morrigan opened her mouth, a strangled noise of shock and fury rising up in her, but no sound came out. Instead, she felt a wave of anger such as she’d never felt before. It crashed over her not like water but lava, molten fire burning her from the inside. The taste of ash sprang to the back of her throat, just like it had when the first blackmail note had appeared. Her sudden rage was a monster, clawing its way up from deep within her chest, from her lungs, searing the flesh of her throat and bursting out of her mouth, igniting the very air around her.

ITS ABOUT TO GO DOWN! No one messes with Miss Cherry

She pulled the sleeve of her pullover over her hand and reached out to wipe away a trickle of blood, but Miss Cheery flinched… then gave a weak, apologetic half-smile. Morrigan felt tears prickle and drew in a sharp breath.

Poor Mog

Dearborn cracked her neck again, hunched her shoulders, and drew in a deep rasp of a breath. Morrigan felt a familiar creeping horror, and even the adults in the room seemed to cringe away from the Mundane Scholar Mistress as she began to warp into her Arcane counterpart. It was like watching the wilting of a flower on fast forward. The gnarled, milky-eyed Murgatroyd emerged, brown teeth bared, and fixed her hollow gaze on Morrigan. “I told you,” rasped Murgatroyd. “She ought to have been in my school. Dearest Dulcie is correct. This is a failed experiment. But it is not the beastly girl who has failed. It is all of you who have

Stupid

“Did you—” He broke off. “Morrigan, did you know you could do that? Did you know you could… breathe fire?”

No! She isn’t being taught anything and just learned she was a magical creature a year ago

she was oddly grateful that this, at least, was normal. That Hawthorne could still ask silly questions, and she could still be annoyed by them. “Don’t you think I might have mentioned a small detail like that?”

“For now, Miss Crow,” Elder Quinn continued, “you shall continue your individual studies with Professor Onstald, who will travel to your home at the Hotel Deucalion and conduct your lessons there. Your direct access to Station 919 will be temporarily revoked.

Homeschooling nightmare

And she told him how she was the only one in her unit—maybe in the whole Society—who was immune to Cadence Blackburn’s mesmerism (he, of course, needed several reminders of who Cadence Blackburn was). And how she was the best in her Decoding Nevermoor class.

Awww proud girl good

“Cadence!” said Morrigan, unable to hide her surprise. “What are you—” “It’s real.” Cadence’s eyes blazed with fear and excitement. “The Ghastly Market! Morrigan, it’s real—and it’s happening now.”

Oh boy it has begun

DEVILISH COURT BEWARE! BY ORDER OF THE GEOGRAPHICAL ODDITIES SQUADRON AND THE NEVERMOOR COUNCIL, THIS STREET HAS BEEN DECLARED A RED ALERT TRICKSY LANE (HIGH-DANGER TRICKERY AND LIKELIHOOD OF DAMAGE TO PERSON ON ENTRY) ENTER AT OWN RISK

The customer leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “Listen, I’ve uh… I’ve come for that big item. You know the one I mean. And I’m planning to bid high. My money’s as good as anyone else’s.” Morrigan and Cadence exchanged a look. Big item. Could it be one of the missing people?

Mrs. Duffy had taught Morrigan a song, and whenever Morrigan failed a quiz, or misbehaved, or spoke out of turn, she would make her sing it. Over and over again, until the tutor told her to stop.

That’s NOT THE SONG she should use. How depressing

She was holding Wunder in the palms of her hands, as if she was born to do exactly that. But a different sensation was stealing upon her, a sense that she was no longer holding Wunder. That it was, in fact, holding her.

“Mog!” he bellowed from a distance. “I’ve come to bust you out!” Morrigan watched his broad grin fade to confusion as his eyes dropped to her other hand, where she was absent-mindedly—and expertly—lacing a golden thread of Wunder through her fingertips.

🫣🫣

He didn’t create a Fiasco. He created something wonderful—for a small, deserving group of people. For the children of Gresham, who’d never had anything like this before. Right here in the middle of Nevermoor’s poorest neighborhood.

With a long, wheezing breath, Onstald opened his mouth to respond, a trail of spittle stretching between his wrinkled lips. “I… revised.” “You LIED!” Morrigan was shouting now. She couldn’t help it. “You’ve been lying this whole time. You tried to make me believe that all Wundersmiths are evil. But you knew that wasn’t true, didn’t you?”

Mildmay was breathing as if he’d just run a marathon, pressing one hand to his chest. “Good grief. I had no idea….I always assumed Professor Onstald was Mundane. I didn’t know he was a Timekeeper. I didn’t know there were any Timekeepers left in the Unnamed Realm.” “What’s a Timekeeper?” “A very rare knack,” said Mildmay.

That sneaky old geezer

He paused, considering for a moment. “Wunder is both intelligent and impulsive. Wunder wishes to be used and directed by the only people born with the ability to use and direct it, but if we’re not careful—if we allow it to express itself too freely—it will use us, instead of the other way around.”

Wow! What a take on free will God gave us

“I am saying that for one shining, triumphant moment you became a dragon,” Squall continued, “because Wunder grew tired of you being a mouse.”

Pride, anger, resentment