II. In the Dark Backward

In his dream, Cantor was strapping on armor: thick, heavy plates of fire-blackened steel. While pitted and battered, he could still polish it up so it shone. In the distance the roar of cannon grew gradually louder and relentlessly closer. There was a soft wind, a steady creaking sound, and a methodical clatter – steel shod hooves marching on stone.

In spite of his training, Cantor was only rarely a lucid dreamer. Most of the time, he had no conscious control over what he experienced while sleeping. Likewise his dreams usually faded and were forgotten moments after waking – and the fragments he recalled rarely made any real sense.

Now, though, as he tied on his helmet, he frowned. Something was wrong about all of this. Oh, not the whole girding-himself-for-battle thing. That imagery was far too appropriate given the task at hoof. No, the problem was ….

The problem was …

... he wasn’t supposed to be asleep at all!

Cantor paused, looking around himself at the dreamscape – knowing it for what it was. He shouldn’t be here. He should be awake. Preparing himself. He had to wake up.

The dream was already fraying around the edges, so he closed his eyes and focused as hard as he could. In the dream, he spoke aloud.

“I will wake up now.”

The cannons roared.

No, not cannons; fireworks. Cantor’s eyes snapped open. They darted around the cramped interior of a finely appointed carriage. There was still a faint smell of moth-balls clinging to the aged leather upholstery. That part wasn’t surprising – the carriage was his Aunt’s. The pony hitched to the front would be Chester, Providence’s part-time groundskeeper and general odd-body. The slow rattle and creak of wheels and the clatter of marching hooves along the cobbled streets as the carriage (one of who-knew-how-many-hundreds) rolled up to the castle gates mixed with the sound of distant music and singing.

Not a war, but a party. A dance. A gala for the noble, the wealthy, the important. So, perhaps not much different from entering a battle-field, at least from Cantor’s perspective!

Valentina sat opposite Cantor. She was craning her neck and peering out the window at the bursting patterns of light and fire decorating the sky above the royal palace. There was a delighted expression on her face. She wore a little black cocktail dress, one ornamented with layers of honey-golden fringe the same color as her eyes. Between that and the golden-and-black peacock-looking feathers rising from the complicated, decorative knot in her sequins’ covered headband, Valentina looked the spitting image of a flapper from about a century ago.

It was a good look for her. Then again, Valentina had a sort of vivacious presence that could pull off nearly any look well.

Cantor sat up in his seat, stretched, and began using a touch of magic to iron out the wrinkles that had accumulated in his own formal costume during his unplanned nap.

Valentina glanced back at him.

“Sorry, dove …” she began.

“I needed the sleep. I know.” Cantor cut her off. His tone was wryly amused. This was becoming a thing.

Cantor didn’t feel upset or out of sorts. He felt rested, focused … and, he suspected, this was exactly what his cousin Arty had planned. A moment of concentration later, to check on how his reserves of mystic power felt, and Cantor let out a sigh which only carried the lightest of worried notes.

Valentina raised an eyebrow at him. So did Morari, who was scrunched up beside Cantor. Given the close confines of the carriage and Cantors girth, the old ghost was also slightly overlapping the wall.

Cantor’s mouth pursed in a wry expression. “I think this was all Arty’s idea. I hope the precautions he tried to have me make are just him being … well worried. Especially since they didn’t work.”

Valentina blinked in surprise. “What precautions did Arty have you make? Other than having you get dressed early and then having you take a nap in the carriage?”

Cantor hitched up one shoulder and tugged at the cuff of his left coat-sleeve. “Arty was quite insistent that I invoke a kind of fortification spell upon myself. It makes me … well … tougher. Substantially tougher. If I were to have tripped and fallen, or otherwise gotten battered or bruised while it was active, the spell (which had sort of infused itself into my being) would have absorbed the damage rather than my body. The more damage it absorbs, the less of the spell is left. So unlike certain other more traditional, and longer lasting, armoring spells, that one doesn’t always remain until the magic naturally fades. No, it’s a spell that can quite literally be ‘beaten out of a pony.’”

Cantor’s grin was slightly pained, “Which isn’t a pleasant experience, I can assure you.”

Valentina gave Cantor a reassuring pat on the knee as she said, “I can imagine! Sounds like it could be handy, though. Is it one of those ritual magics you can do anywhere, given sufficient time, or is it more like your corpse speaking enchantment – an actual spell you must cast?”

Cantor clarified, “It’s a bona fide wizardly spell, not a ritual. Which means I can maybe pull it off twice before I need a good, long nap. And I can only do it on myself.” Cantor chuckled and shook his head, “Ah, cousin Arty! The problem is, that was about six hours ago, assuming I’m judging the time of night properly. And the spell only lasts for an hour at most. So, like I said: futile. Wasted.”

“Perhaps not,” Morari added.

Cantor frowned and turned to the haunt, “Pardon?”

“Hmm?” Valentina chimed in. Cantor held up a hoof.

Morari explained, “After first keeping you up all night, keeping you busy all day, and then helping you get into your evening wear, Arty was quite insistent that you invoke that spell. He then got you into the carriage and put you to sleep.”

Cantor blinked, “He what?”

“He cast a sleep spell. Given your exhausted state, I doubt you noticed it. You just dropped off on the bench there and started snoring. What Arty did afterwards was more interesting. He cast an armoring spell on you. Pretty standard fair for unicorn guards. Good as a light suit of mail and much less cumbersome. And then Arty did … something.” Morari rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Something?” Cantor asked.

“Something. It wasn’t a magic familiar to me at all. I don’t know if it would be familiar to anypony. From what little I could make out I strongly suspect that he somehow linked your earlier fortification spell with that armoring spell. Not being able to work magic myself at the moment, I couldn’t check to see.” Morari wore the resignedly annoyed expression he usually sported when his inability to cast spells, due to his spectral state, cropped up.

Morari’s expression grew more serious, “However, I would encourage you to remember, Artorius Clearwater may be ... simple-minded, even child-like, but Arty’s not stupid. He did all that because he thought it was necessary and because he thought it would work. If he hadn’t done something strange, I would probably just chalk it up to good intentions and a fundamental lack of understanding as to the limitations of the magic involved. But I know enough about enchantment to say with some authority that he then intentionally manipulated the spells active on your person. He changed something about them. And he seemed satisfied with his changes. If I had to guess, I’d say it was likely Arty somehow tied the one spell to the other: so long as the armor lasts, that magical augmentation to your sturdiness should remain, and vice versa.”

Morari sighed, “I just wish I knew what he meant about the whole ‘mad’ thing. It seemed to trouble him greatly.”

Cantor looked perplexed. He turned to Valentina and said, “O.k., so apparently after spending most of last night and this morning badgering me with errands, story-book reading, playing dress-up, and otherwise keeping me from getting a good night’s sleep, Arty got me ready for the Gala, lured me out to the carriage, had me do that fortification spell, and then used his own magic to put me to sleep.”

Valentina’s eyebrows both raised. “Really?”

“Really,” Cantor nodded. “But wait, there’s more. He then put a standard armoring spell on me.”

“Standard?” Valentina chimed in, “So, what, you’re now basically wearing an invisible and weightless suit of light chain-mail for the next eight hours?”

Cantor was impressed. “I see you know it!”

Valentina’s expression implied that it was silly (and perhaps a bit insulting) for Cantor to be surprised by this. What she said was, “Of course I do! My mother and sister are both military, you know. While we’re not unicorns, we do know a bit about battle-magic as a result.”

“Quite right,” Cantor was embarrassed. He had forgotten that tidbit. “Anyway, after armoring me Morari says Arty did something strange to the spells on my person. Morari strongly suspects Arty may have somehow linked the two enchantments together.”

Valentina frowned slightly. Her tone was worried, “Do you think you’ll need the arcane protection? And how much longer do you think it will last?”

Cantor shrugged. “In order? I hope not. And maybe two more hours.” He grinned. “A bit of good news: Arty timed his interferences and arcane workings quite well. That nap I had was enough that I feel quite refreshed and restored. While I don’t have that much spell-casting ability at the best of times, at least I’m not heading into the Gala at something like half-strength.”

Then Cantor’s face fell. He addressed both Valentina and Morari much more seriously. “But Arty was clearly deeply troubled about something. Something he had seen, or dreamed, or suspected, or imagined. Something he couldn’t find the right words to make us understand. You saw the state he was in yesterday. All he could say was that ‘she is mad.’ Which, coming from him, could mean any number of things. Angry, sad, frightened, insane … Arty isn’t always good with strong emotional displays or strong emotions in general, particularly negative emotions. It’s all ‘bad’ in his mind, and that defaults to ‘mad.’ Arty was really scared. I just don’t know if what frightened him was some real danger or not.”

There was a particularly loud and ongoing series of explosions during Cantor’s pause. The fireworks were heating up again. From overhead, atop the carriage roof, Cantor distinctly heard Magpie’s enthusiastic “Woo-hoo!” followed by Fairweather’s slightly cross, “Do sit down, young filly!”

Valentina was looking out the window again. Her smile had returned, and she was back to her usual bubbly, ready-for-anything attitude. “Well, la, if there is a scrap, at least this time you’re going in properly prepared for it!”

Cantor laughed. “True! Now if only such protections could save me from the mental and emotional discomfort of dealing with large crowds of ponies!”

The carriage was rattling over the bridge and through the outer gates. The sound of the party was rising. There is a very particular sort of noise made by a gathering of posh, sophisticated, and upper crust revelers. That noise was now everywhere.

Valentina began to look back at Cantor, her eyes twinkling. But before she fully opened her mouth to reply she caught sight of something in the distance. She thrust her head out the window and blinked in surprise. She raised a hoof to her eyes and squinted.

“Valentina?” Cantor’s tone was both questioning and worried.

“Hey! Up top! Anything amiss?” Morari stuck his head through the wall and yelled. Only Cantor and the other two ghosts could hear him.

“All is well.” Fairweather replied.

“Look’s like fun ‘ere! Well ‘cept fer the flock of fuddy-duddies!” was Magpie’s answering shout.

“Well, shit!” Valentina said, softly. Her tone was more surprised than anything. Cantor couldn’t hear any traces of upset, anger, or fear there.

Valentina squinted again. She then swung the carriage door open and leaned out of it for a better view.

“What’s Valentina looking at?” Morari asked, again loudly enough for the other haunts to hear.

Fairweather obligingly replied. “She appears to be looking towards the gates. I see what I assume is a usual crush of ponies entering the palace for the Gala.”

Magpie was silent for a moment longer.

“She’s starin’ at some old geezer up there. Unicorn. All in white. Top hat ‘n’ … is that a wand?”

“I see him now,” Fairweather added. “He holds a baton. The white does stand out. He shines.”

Valentina stared at the distant unicorn. Once again she said, “Shit.”

Cantor thought she sounded pleased. Even delighted. He cleared his throat and caught her attention. He raised an eyebrow. Her eyes widened as she met Cantor's gaze. Mischievous delight chased grave concern across her face. Valentina glanced outside again and rapidly took in the crowd, the fireworks, the bonfires burning in elaborate metal urns around the courtyard, the banners, the flags, the distant music, and the slow, regular pace of the approaching carriages as they dropped off one set of party goers after another.

She looked back at Cantor. Cantor couldn’t recall the last time he had seen somepony so amused and so distraught at the same time.

After a moment’s hesitation she spoke. Her tone was serious, the laughter thoroughly buried, as she said, “We’ve got to run. Now.”

She leapt from the carriage and held out a hoof. Cantor followed, and managed not to fall. Morari fell into line with him and his “We’re leaving! Come along now!” got both Fairweather and Magipe down from the carriage roof in a trice.

Valentina was sticking close to Cantor. He shot her a confused look, but saved his breath. Both of them had spent the past week studying the layout of the castle and the grounds.

“Side entrance, through the gardens. Hurry!” She kept glancing over her shoulder at the front doors.

Without saying a word, Cantor lurched into a canter. His top hat blew off. Valentina caught it with one wing and tucked it against her side.

Valentina was surprised. The fastest she had ever seen Cantor move before was a rather slow trot.

Cantor knew he couldn’t keep up the pace for long. Worse, this was just asking his bad leg to give out and send him sprawling. Ahead, the garden gates stood open. A small crowd of stately ponies lingered there. Along with two royal guards.

“Move those hooves!” Valentina called out in a sing-song tone, her shoulder nudged his to keep him on track. Cantor’s bad leg kept throwing off his gait, causing him to veer wide. Twice it had started to buckle completely, both times the leather and steel of his leg brace had been enough to keep him upright.

Cantor lowered his head and broke into a full gallop. Valentina briefly fell behind, mostly because she hadn’t thought her friend capable of achieving that pace, even for a minute. She was laughing with delight.

Cantor wasn’t strong. But he was quite round. He might look like a marshmallow of a pony but there was substantial weight there. More weight than he was personally comfortable with, truth be told. But right now that weight and speed meant that those nobles who didn’t hastily get out of Cantor's way were bowled over like pins. One of the guards was sent sprawling as well. Valentina followed a pace behind through the hole in the crowd that Cantor had made.

Once through the gate Cantor locked all four legs. He skidded into the gardens, through a small hedge, and wound up briefly tangled in a small fruit tree. Rather a lot of song-birds made their indignant and hasty retreat from his far too sudden arrival.

It was quite a lovely garden. All the flowers were in bloom, a riot of scents … and of colors that put the fireworks overhead to shame.

Valentina caught up with Cantor. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Not from the run (as a quick burst of athletic activity was a pleasant diversion for her) but from the laughter.

“I can’t …” she began, “… you really …” she added. Then she just delightedly clapped her hooves together and threw them apart as she said, “Boom!”

In the distance, near the front of the castle, there was a sudden, orchestral surge of music. A burst of happy song. Cantor felt a tingle pass through his body at the sound.

Cantor carefully untangled himself from the … was this a pear tree? He thought it was a pear tree. He began to use a touch of petty magic to smooth his coat-tails, extract the twigs and leaves, and mend a few minor tears. He was also focusing quite hard on getting his gaspy breath back under control. It took him a minute or two. If one were to be remarkably kind, one might say Cantor was built for endurance rather than speed, and regardless, running really wasn’t his forte.

Now the picture of dignity, Cantor held out his left fore-leg, offering it to Valentina.

Still the image of grace and beauty, she took it.

“Sir, madam …” it was one of the royal guards from the garden entry. The one who hadn't been bowled over. A pegasus. He looked mildly confused. Given how well trained even the most novice royal guards were, that slight waver from the usual stone-faced stoic expression said quite a lot.

But before his expression said these two party crashers were in real trouble, Cantor reached into his vest and removed a distinctive, golden ticket. Cantor’s expression was haughty. This was a mask he had practiced all week, and donning such social masks (acting a part) was another talent with which he had considerable skill. Part of that was innate, but part of it was due to long practice. As a result of all this, Cantor looked, more than ever before, like a vaguely foreign noblecolt of considerable importance. He held the ticket before the guard’s face.

A slight twist of his hoof and the second of their two Gala tickets was revealed.

Cantor fanned himself with the two slips of paper while the guard blinked in surprise.

“Good fellow, do take this to the cloak-room if you please. I’m rather late for an important engagement.” Cantor’s tone matched his expression. There was a slight accent to his speech. Cantor casually tossed his hat onto the end of the guard’s spear.

“… er …” the guard said.

“Mind you don’t muss it up,” Cantor added as he turned away and set off at a dignified pace towards the shining lights of the castle.

“Yes sir!” the guard instinctively replied, snapping to attention. He trotted off.

Admiral Fairweather’s haunt gave Cantor an appreciative slow clap.

Cantor gave the ghost a slight nod of his head and then quietly added, in his usual accent, “You three, stick near me. In my shadow – and I mean that literally right now.”

“Good idea,” Morari muttered. He was eyeing the air and the stones around them with considerable worry and suspicion. He even glared at the plants and flowers. Everything here was soaked in magic. Bathed in it. And, given how many ancient wards were at work here, Cantor’s shadow felt much more welcoming to the three spirits than the lamp-light illuminating the gardens.

As they drew closer to the side ball-room, with its massive windows fronting the edge of the gardens, Valentina shot Cantor an appreciative look. A moment later she added, "I'm a bit surprised you didn't ask why we needed to run."

Her tone was grateful, but there was also a hint of surprise there. Cantor caught that hint and frowned to himself. Her surprise, he realized, was something that needed to be explicitly addressed. And addressed now, before they got into another tight situation.

So Cantor paused there, beneath a rose-covered trellis. He turned and looked Valentina in the eyes. His expression was serious, tone firm, as he said, “I'm curious of course, but there was obviously no time for questions. Valentina, if I haven't made it clear before now then let me be frank: I trust you.”

Cantor took one of her hooves in his own as he continued, “So, if you tell me we need to run, then I trust that we need to run. You know why we’re here and what we need to do. You know the dangers we face. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, probably better than mine, so when you say something needs to happen; right then, right there, no questions asked, then I’ll follow your lead. I won’t second guess you."

Cantor realized that Fairweather and Morari had both grabbed Magpie and were forcibly holding her mouth shut. While unable to introduce one of her naughty comments, the ghostly filly did manage an eyebrow waggle that verged on the scandalous.

Valentina was blushing. Her eyes shone with gratitude. What she said in reply was, "How delightfully refreshing!" She took his foreleg and the two began walking towards the doors again. After a moment she added, "I’ll tell you once we're inside and have a few moments to ourselves."

"Good! I am dying to know why you thought my trampling those poor ponies back there was a fine course of action."

Valentina rolled her eyes, "Did you see that mare's dress? It was in terrible taste! Trampling it was doing her a favor! It's just a pity you couldn't do anything about her brooch. I tried to stomp on it in passing, but missed!"

Cantor couldn't tell if she was joking. He did smile though.

"Just a moment," Cantor continued, as Valentina's comment about jewelry sparked an idea. He glanced at the droplets of sweat that had formed on Valentina's face as a result of their little jog. Cantor had been using a touch of magic to cool himself off. Now he turned that magic on her, but refined and altered it.

Valentina blinked in surprise at the sudden touch of cold. It felt like snow had just fallen upon her head. She glanced at her reflection in a nearby window and gasped.

Cantor had shaped and frozen those droplets of sweat so that they looked like a tracery of clear gems laid upon her brow. It was beautiful. She looked back to Cantor.

"It'll last maybe a minute, and only while I concentrate on them," Cantor explained. "But I thought you might like some jewels as you made your entrance. Something more than just your smile, that is."

Valentina gave him a sharp nudge in his ribs, "You smooth stallion! Your flattery is doubtless as fake as your diamonds!"

Cantor snorted in disagreement as he adopted his haughty expression again. They had reached the doorway.

Now on the threshold of the castle itself, Cantor again drew himself up. His voice once again carried the hint of an accent as he addressed one of the two royal guards at the french doors. "Sirs, you can, I trust, grant us admittance to the gala? You have that ... how do you say ... authority?"

The more senior of the two replied, "If sir and madam have their tickets, then yes."

Cantor produced the two slips of golden paper, as he replied, "We are here. We have our tickets." He stepped forward, as did Valentina. As they did so, they drew slightly apart. Between them, in their overlapping shadows, stood Morari and Magpie, with Fairweather hovering slightly above them.

The guard took the tickets, stamped them both, and handed them back. Cantor's broad wave took in Valentina, himself, and (unbeknownst to the guards) the three haunts. From a magical and security standpoint, Cantor's next questions were the important ones, "We are free to enter the palace? We are invited? We are welcome?"

"Yes, sir. You are free to enter the palace. You are invited and welcome. Enjoy the gala." The guard glanced in the direction of the garden gate, "But perhaps with a touch less ... enthusiasm, if you please, sir."

Cantor and Valentina entered the ballroom. So to did the ghosts.

After crossing the threshold, Morari breathed a sigh of relief and commented, "Good! Nicely done." He trotted out of Cantor's shadow and paced around the ballroom itself for a moment before returning to add, "Much better. Much, hmm, freer. Being officially allowed inside by somepony with the authority to admit guests, even if he didn't realize he was including us three in his invitation, appears to have greatly dulled any magics intended keep out things like ghosts. I think we'll be able to navigate the palace as freely as the living. At least for a bit!"

Cantor nodded, "Good!" he said to Morari. And, "It worked," was his follow up to Valentina. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Cantor ensured that as the petty magic that had formed the false jewels on Valentina's brow faded, the diamonds themselves evaporated into sparks of golden light and drifted away. That earned Valentina jealous looks from half a dozen mares. And it made her own lack of jewelry seem somehow much more natural and intended.

Valentina wasn't wearing jewelry tonight, Cantor knew, in case things went as planned. When they reached the cloak-and-dagger stage of sneaking into the catacombs, then the honey-golden frills on her cocktail dress could be slipped off and tucked into her purse, leaving her clad in much more stealthy black.

His own attire had been crafted with something vaguely similar in mind. The outer coat could be discarded if needed, and the under vest and shirt were both shades of black. Admittedly, the couturier hadn't been in residence at the Canterlot Carousel when Valentina, Cantor, and Jon Quill had called there earlier in the week. But the manager, Miss Saddles, had been able to assemble a nicely customized wardrobe for each of the three out of existing patterns, cloth, and pieces which were in stock. So, while not entirely haute couture, their dress was at least bespoke tailoring!

Cantor sported a vaguely foreign, obviously important, and more-than-a-little mystical look. His cousin Arty thought he looked like a storybook magician. Each of the many silver buttons on his coat were of some different arcane symbol. Cantor rather wished that the top button on his coat-collar wasn't a skull, but Valentina had never gotten around to switching the buttons around to replace it with something less unsettling ... and perhaps less appropriate.

Cantor popped in his monocle and, with Valentina on his foreleg, they began to mingle around the edges of the ball room to their first target. It was a small closed door with, once again, one of the royal guard by it. That would be complication number one.

While Cantor hoped this would work out, if it didn't it wouldn't be a fatal end to their enterprise. For the past week they had been preparing for this night. They had identified at least a dozen possible routes from the public areas where the gala was being held to the ancient crypts beneath the castle where one of the trotting dead, a ghostly apparition still bound to it's rune-carved bones and trapped in a seething vortex of terrible, evil power, screamed and thrashed and strove to break free. It had been walled in by the royal guard, Cantor knew, so they'd need to smash through a brick wall once they found the right place.

Polite noises, restrained and appreciative nods, the careful dance of who-ought-to-get-out-of-the-way-of-whom, and a few minutes after entering the ballroom Cantor, Valentina, and the haunts were near that door.

Admiral Fairweather and Magipe ghosted through it together. Morari stayed by Cantor and Valentina, helping to keep an eye out. Still no sign of Jon Quill or Providence. Those two had ridden with one of Providence's friends, and their carriage should have arrived here half an hour or more ago.

Valentina's voice was pitched low, "I saw an old friend at the door."

"Hmm?" Cantor's tone was distracted.

Valentina gave a brief sigh. "I said, I saw an old friend at the door. That's why we ran."

Cantor was confused, but all he said was, "Oh?"

Valentina smiled slightly at the inquiring tone. She answered, "You know that I'm from a military family. Naval fliers for Albion, and quite a linage of them. Having seen your Aunt Providence's manor, I know that you know at least a thing or two about that sort of thing ... even if it sounds like your father dodged a life of service to Princess and Country to instead run off with some ghastly gypsy who (horror-of-horrors) was also a muddy earth-pony!"

"Aunt Providence is not terribly shy when it comes to her prejudices, as you've noticed," Cantor commented, with a wry expression on his face.

Valentina nudged him, "She's a dear! One must expect a bit of stubborn and occasionally wrong-minded bull-headedness from any of your relatives after all!"

Cantor blinked, "Compliments now? Why Valentina! You'll turn my head."

She grinned, "Anyway, as a child we moved around a lot. Once, when I was about knee high, we were stationed on the continent ... not here in Equestria, but yonder ... anyway, with considerable difficulty and expense my parents secured ballet lessons for my sister and I from a very old, very knowledgeable, and very magical unicorn music and dancing master. I don't know that I ever knew his name, but he's called 'The Maestro.' I'm quite pleasantly surprised to see he's still alive. He is here tonight, and I could tell that the was preparing to perform at the palace entry."

Valentina's grin grew broader, "He specializes in a very peculiar kind of magical performance art."

Cantor raised an eyebrow, "Really? And for this we had to flee?"

Valentina face grew solemn, but her eyes shown with merriment, "Why yes! Unless you wanted to be part of a spontaneous musical number."

Cantor shuddered. His voice dripped unfeigned horror, "Sweet Celestia, no! That sort of thing used to happen around Ponyville occasionally. Since I was good with both enchantments and singing, sometimes ponies thought I was somehow responsible for kicking it off. But no, while I can sing, I can't dance. Even before my leg was injured." Cantor then blinked. "Wait, he specializes in that magic? I only know the broadest outlines and most general theory about how that sort of enchantment supposedly functions. It's rare to find anypony who can understand it, much less control it!"

Valentina nodded, "Control it, invoke it, predict it, sculpt it, shape it. Music and magic, the Maestro directs it all." She grinned, "He's odd! Odd as you, even. Maybe odder. I think you'd like each other. I may have to arrange an introduction."

Fairweather and Magpie ghosted back through the door. Fairweather shook his head, but Cantor had already seen the bad news from the expressions on their faces.

Cantor offered Valentina his foreleg again. "No luck. That route's blocked. Next stop on the tour it is."

Valentina nodded and chimed in with a bubbly, "The night is young!" Together they moved off to the next door on their list.