Just find the birds

Cyrus frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We are a community, Cyrus. All of us have suffered loss at the hands of The Undertower. Most of us fight back with little acts of rebellion, continuing to practice our art is one way. I think the others will want to help and to be honest, I'm no good to you alone."

Cyrus sat back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and blew it out. "You know for a moment there I wasn't sure you would say yes."

He heard the sound of Eugene's chair scraping, looked up to see the man had stood up, his face set in a determined look.

"I told you when we met we were friends and I meant it. I'm sure the others will feel the same."

Cyrus remembered the group of people who'd been with Eugene when he'd come to the apartment.

"How will you contact them?" Cyrus figured they must have some kind of magic means of communication. Perhaps they sent crows to each other, or magical spirits to deliver messages. 

"I'll email them. It won't take long."

Cyrus snorted out a laugh, "Email?"

"What did you expect? Magic talking-boxes? No, it's much easier to stay hidden if we remain mundane." He walked to one of the reading desks and opened a drawer, removed a laptop. 

When the laptop was powered up, Eugene spent a few minutes typing an email. "That should do it," he said to himself and clicked something with relish.

Cyrus imagined a vast swathe of phones and computers suddenly pinging with a notification. "What did you say?" He asked nervously.

"Just said; A friend needs help, if you are free come to the shop. Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

Cyrus, who hadn't eaten all day other than in Mr Scrivens house and even then it was just a biscuit, realised he was famished. He followed Gene back down to the little Kitchen. She shop seemed to be deserted, the lights were out. 

Gene made them both a sandwich and a cup of tea, set them down on the arm of the sofa. "No food or drink upstairs," he said with a wry smile. 

Cyrus devoured the food almost instantaneously. He thought it might be the best sandwich he'd ever eaten. "That was great," he managed to mumble between chewing. "Thanks."

"No problem."

They returned upstairs where Gene discovered at least a dozen replies. Within ten minutes the first people started to arrive. They came in twos or threes, never alone Cyrus noted.

They all hugged Gene, greeted him like old friends. To Cyrus they were polite but standoffish. Nobody asked him who he was or if he belonged there. Eventually about twenty people milled around in the reading room. 

A mixture of old and young, men and women, they talked quietly amongst themselves. Gene stood up and all faces turned to him. 

"Friends, thank you for coming at such short notice."

"You made it sound urgent, Gene old boy," an older man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket said. 

He glanced at Cyrus, flashed him a smile, but Cyrus noticed the unspoken question when did so. 

"It is urgent, Daniel. Very. We all know about the tree, the return of magic. It's easier to tap now, things work better, stronger."

The group muttered their agreement and Gene continued. 

"This is Cyrus, the man who pulled the tree out of the tower, planted it."

Suddenly all eyes were on him, he could hear them whispering but couldn't make out the words.

An young man, tall with dark hair and well dressed cleared his throat. "Did you really go into the Tower? How did you do it?"

Suddenly people were asking him questions all at the same time. What was it like? How did he get in? Did he have to fight them? Where is it? He couldn't answer any of them because everyone was talking at the same time.

Eugene held up his hands and called for calm. "Please, let him tell you in his own words what happened and why he's here, then ask your questions."

Again, he found all eyes on him. An eerie silence descended on the group and Cyrus felt himself squirm under their gaze. 

For the third time that day, he found himself telling the story of how he'd stumbled into a weird place and found the tree. He told them everything. When he got to Thalia his words stumbled, how could he make them understand how special she was?

He needn't have worried though, the crowd of people listened spellbound. One girl, she must have been no older than 17, actually gasped when he described the bag being pulled over her head, how she'd collapsed. 

She stood up from her chair, her cheeks red and her eyes full of anger. "A hag bag!" she cried out. "Just like with Rupert." She looked around at the others who's eyes echoed similar anger. 

The boy she'd been sitting next to stood, put an arm around her shoulder as if comforting her and sat her down again. 

Cyrus continued, though there was little else to tell. He ended his tale with a question; "I'm going to get her back, even if I have to do it myself. Can any of you help me?"

The girls who'd stood up shouted out immediately. "We will." Her voice was defiant, strong. She looked around and a shade of embarrassment crept over her. "I don't know how much use I'll be though."

Suddenly a clamour of voices rushed over Cyrus. Each and every one of them promised to help him. He felt a pressure behind his eyes as they began to tear up. A great sense of relief washed over him.

Gene silenced the group again and they all looked to him. "First thing's first, anyone got any ideas?"

An old man, sitting at the back, put up his hand. "Jim, you have an idea."

The old man stood slowly, nodded. "The boy said the last thing he saw before blocking out was birds, isn't that right?"

"It is," Cyrus said. "And right before they jumped us I'm pretty sure a crow was trying to warn us."

"Then it's obvious," he said. "You just have to find the birds." He sat back down.