Time in a Bottle

"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.