Magician Rising (Divination in Darkness Book 1)

by Renée des Lauriers

  It only took her so far before she was forced back to the main roads. She merged neatly, matching the flow of the other cars on the road. Neither of these things stopped the car in the left lane from drifting over her way.

  What the hell? He wasn't even signaling. Jun honked the horn and the Crust let out a squeaky low whine, just in time for the guy to swerve wildly back into his own lane. He squinted his eyes darkly, getting a good look at her.

  The guy lined his Camry next to her at the red light, ignoring ten feet of space in front of him. He lowered his windows and started ranting about her “stupid ass” and the murderous, life-ending qualities of “Asian women.” Well, Jun wasn’t even full Japanese, so at most the words could only be half true.

  She bopped her head to a laundry detergent jingle. It wasn’t bad, actually. Kind of catchy. Maybe it was right. Maybe lavender fabric softener was the thing that was missing from her life.

  “Hey!” The guy got out of his car and started pounding against the door of the Crust Mobile.

  She forced a bored expression onto her face, even as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel so that he wouldn’t see her fingers trembling.

  “Get off the road and go back to your country, you stupid bitch!” He flipped her off with both hands before stepping back into his car. He still didn’t move forward though, just kept his car nearby so that he could glare at her.

  This red light couldn’t last any longer.

  Was he trying to watch her go back to her native soil? Jun was born forty miles from here.

  The car sped off as soon as the light flipped to green.

  Jun reached into her pocket to run her fingers around her knitted merino wool keychain. She took a deep breath and turned up the radio to block out the bleating honks behind her.

  She was fine. Her face in the rear-view mirror was only a tad pale.

  Two blocks and a quick parallel park later, Jun and her box of pizza got buzzed into an apartment complex. A sweaty guy answered her knock. While counting the pizza money out, deliberate and slow, he stared blatantly at her chest.

  “Juun?” The guy tried to read her name tag with a stuttering uhhh in the middle.

  “It’s pronounced Jun. Like the month in summer.”

  He seemed to take this as an invitation for more. It wasn’t. “Pretty name for a pretty little thing.” He thought he was being charming as he smiled too widely and handed her the cash. Though the paper was moist, Jun acted like it wasn’t.

  “That didn’t include tip,” Jun replied, adding it up quickly.

  “I’ll give you a ten-dollar tip if you can help me feel saucy,” he said with an unwanted wink, eyes fixed firmly on her chest.

  God, she didn't get paid enough for this.

  Not all of her deliveries were this gross. She hadn’t known that Feelin’ Saucy had a certain reputation before she got hired. Some of her customers had expectations that Jun did not sign up for. If it weren’t for the food discount, she would have been out the door already.

  “Err... Thanks. I’ll take that under advisement.” Jun was already backing away. Thankfully, he got the hint. Halfway down the hallway, she whispered to herself. “From now on, Mr. Shattuck Ave, your orders are going to the bottom of the pile.”

  The rest of her deliveries went by smoothly without any further harassment, and Jun dropped off the Crust with enough time to make it to her night class. The second she was out the door, she stuffed her work cap into her backpack and replaced it with her knitted hat. Rushing, she threw a jacket over the primary red and blue of the Feelin’ Saucy uniform and zipped it up to keep her work history secret. Normally she would change, but this would have to do.

  The rain made her jacket stick to her skin, but the Business Analytics room wasn’t far. Just a quick walk and she’d be inside. Jun shifted her backpack to a more comfortable position—there was some notebook, pressed at an odd angle. Just a quick tug should fix it. She heard the rip in the middle of the crosswalk, but before she could do anything about it, the strap snapped. Everything spilled out onto the wet pavement.

  She snatched up her crochet needles and yarn first, now covered in muck. Her knitting project was ruined. Reflected in the puddles was an orange flash, warning her that the street signal was about to change with her in the middle of it.

  Where was her cap? Of course that stayed in the bag. She pulled it all into her arms in an awkward hug. That looked like everything. She got it all, right? She looked back behind her.

  “No!” Jun noticed the essay she had stayed up until three in the morning finishing just before the signals changed and the line of cars charged over it.

  Jun stuffed everything into the backpack the best she could and held it all by one strap in the crook of her arm. She stood on the curb, fingernails between her teeth, waiting for the light to change back.

  It was too late. The papers were mush, not even solid enough for her to pick up. There was no way to tell that this had even been computer paper at one point. She couldn’t turn this in. Class was starting in five minutes and it would take twice that to get to her dorm and print this out again.

  Jun swung her backpack behind her awkwardly on one strap and ran. She was panting when she threw open her dorm door. Her roommate was hunched over Jun’s last piece of cheesecake, fork halfway to her mouth.

  So that’s why her food disappeared. Jun had her suspicions, but now she knew.

  Suzie scowled, continuing on with her bite. Her eyes were narrowed in a way that was surely intended to be menacing, but instead made her look like she was squinting.

  Jun’s dad had bought that cake special for her from Fournée’s. She was saving it for later today as a treat for turning in her midterm essay.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Suzie said between chewing creamy perfection into oblivion.

  “Umm, you see, I live here. At least on that side.” Jun gestured over to the tidy section of the room, decorated with her knitted blankets and crocheted ornaments.

  “Don’t you have class?” Another bite of cheesecake disappeared forever.

  Jun pointed to the last bit of dulce de leche caramel cheesecake topped with almonds and mousse on a vanilla crust. “That was mine.”

  “Like your broke self could afford something like this.” Suzie rolled her eyes and took another bite.

  “Have you been stealing my food?”

  The fork clattered down against the plate as Suzie got up to her feet. She scraped the chair against the floor and got right into Jun’s space. “Aren't you here on some kind of merit scholarship? If my aunt on the board heard about all your fake accusations, it wouldn't look so good for you. Maybe you should watch yourself.” Suzie smirked, though the effect was ruined by the smudge of cake stuck to her lip.

  “I don’t have time for this.” Jun rushed to the computer, praising all that was good in the world that at least it was still logged in. She clicked on BAmidterm_3rd_edition, and pressed print. The seven pages she agonized over came back into the world. The clicking and swishing sounds of the printer almost blocked out the loud chewing.

  As the last page churned out, Jun stapled it neatly and made a silent promise that she would be better, try harder, and do everything different if she could move fast and get there without anything else going wrong.

  The rain was heavier on the way back. She hadn’t thought about needing an umbrella, and now she was drenched. Jun clutched her bag under her jacket. She wouldn’t let anything happen to her paper again.

  When she stumbled through the doors into the classroom, she found it empty. It was just ten minutes after the start, and there wasn’t a single person in sight.

  “No!” Jun exclaimed to the empty room. “No, no, no, no… I can’t believe this.” She pressed her face into her palm and thought hard. Professor Cartwright must have collected the midterm finals and sent the class home. But his office was one floor up, through a maze of hallways. Jun didn’t even try to make it look like she wasn’t sprinti
ng. She ignored the startled expressions of the people she passed in the hallways, not slowing down until she made it to his door.

  She knocked sharply.

  It opened partway. All she could see was his wrinkled face frowning down at her.

  “Professor Cartwright, my essay.” Jun thrust the paper toward him.

  The professor shook his head. “This is late.”

  Her jaw dropped open.

  Cartwright opened the door wider to scowl at her properly. “My syllabus clearly states that late work is not acceptable under any circumstances.”

  He moved to shut the door, but couldn’t as Jun's dripping sneaker was jammed in the way.

  “Your syllabus defines late as over fifteen minutes. It’s only eight-fourteen now.” She held her essay firm enough to hide the tremble in her hands. She didn't break eye contact with him.

  “Very well.” The professor sniffed as he took Jun’s midterm.

  Jun closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But the standard forty percent penalty applies.”

  Heat flushed to her cheeks; her heart was pounding. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Sir, you don’t understand. The paper was finished on time, but I dropped it and it got run over by a car. I had to reprint it and I got here as fast as I could,” Jun rambled. She was seeing bright spots; the edges of her vision were blurring. Just what she needed was to start crying right now.

  “There’s always going to be a reason why things are late. That doesn’t make it acceptable. In the words of Benjamin Franklin, ‘You may delay, but time will not.’”

  “But, sir.” The professor hadn’t heard her. The wrinkled arm disappeared into his office, taking her essay away with it.

  Jun turned, staring blankly at the wall, taking deep breaths. She would have turned to knitting to calm herself if it wasn’t all the way back at her dorm, covered in mud.

  It wasn't fair. Could she do anything about it? How much damage would this do to her GPA?

  She did a quick mental calculation—it was enough to drop her grades below the minimum she needed to maintain. What would happen if she lost her scholarship? Her father would want to help of course, but how could she let him? She had whittled away at his retirement funds enough already.

  Jun tried to take a step away, but she felt heavy. A headache flashed brilliant, pounding and aching in the back of her head.

  “This day needs to be over already,” Jun groaned. “It can’t get any worse. It can’t.”

  And that was when the earthquake started—a tremor below her feet.

  Her heart dropped, exactly as it had the one and only time she went on a rollercoaster. The shaking got worse. She reached for a wall, and unable to keep a steady balance, she slid down. There was nothing to hide under. Wasn’t that what she was supposed to do? Hide under something? She lifted her bag over her head.

  A sharp cracking noise split through the air. The rumbling continued as if it would break through the floor. Something heavy fell. The tiles around her cracked, and Jun realized how foolish it was to stay here. But once she crawled to her feet, trailing her hands along the walls, the tremors slowed, stopping completely at her first step away.

  Jun stood some moments, shakily, with a strange buzz in her ears. Someone faraway yelled. There was always the possibility that part of the building could collapse. They would have to evacuate. Professor Cartwright, she realized, was still in his office and might need assistance.

  An ear-splitting wail went through the halls as the fire alarm sounded. Jun went over to the door and pushed it, as there was some resistance. “Professor?” Jun had half the door open. “Are you...” Her words fell away at the sight of the hole taking up nearly half the office floor. It was impossible to look without risking following him down.

  “Oh, God.” She backed away from the room. “Someone help!”

  Her words were swallowed by the alarm. Some faculty members and students scrambled for the stairs, while a few other were barking orders, trying to be heard over the alarms. When she tried to get help, no one could hear her and Jun went down the flight of stairs, hoping that someone below was already assisting her professor.

  There were people there, a small crowd gathering in the room directly below her professor’s as fellow students ignored the shouts to vacate the building. Some were taking pictures, and even filming it on their phones. Jun went closer. She was nearly elbowed in the face by an older senior, and her hat was knocked off and stepped on. When she bent to pick it up—more wary now of the much bigger bodies—she saw through their legs the collapsed desk and Dr. Cartwright sprawled atop of it. His elderly body seemed to be bent at an unnatural angle.

  Other students were being forced to leave, and Jun jumped back before they could step on her. She went with the others outside. The blare of the fire trucks’ sirens and lights hurtled through the night streets. Other students were pointing up. A bright light behind the scattered rain clouds seemed to glow iridescently above them. It was the moon. Except the moon was already an accountable crescent in the other end of the sky.

  Her fingers hadn’t stopped trembling. She gripped her knitted keychain.

  None of it made any sense.

  3

  The Uber dropped Nikolai off in front of a multi-use apartment in a commercial shopping plaza. The stores were generic enough—UPS, laundromat, nail salon. There was a bagel shop that could be problematic, judging by the amount of foot traffic it was attracting. Otherwise the location was discreet. Clear lines of sight without foliage obstructing the view. It would do.

  He rang the cracked doorbell for 1306 Durant Ave and listened to the thud of heavy feet moving downstairs. A man with hooded eyes and a tribal tattoo peeking out along his collarbone answered. He moved aside, allowing Nikolai in.

  The apartment was bare, save for an old sofa, a card table with folding chairs, and the lingering smell of paint. Leaning against the tile countertop of the combined kitchen and living space was a man that Nikolai had never met, though he had heard of him.

  “So you’re it, then?” He was an older man for this line of work—his curly red hair was graying at the temples. Nevertheless, his reputation preceded him. Roman Walker. His team took out the Florida fire-eater about two years back. “I asked for someone experienced. How many have you taken out?”

  Was this guy serious? “Do you mean in total, or just this year?” Roman didn’t respond, just waited for an answer. “Forty-three. Last one was causing all those power outages.”

  “Oh, that was you, was it? Heard that one was a nasty piece of work. How did you do it?”

  In response, Nikolai flicked out a blade from a panel hidden in his sleeve.

  Meteorite iron dampened most magic. Some in the business had modern creations, but these had been in Nikolai’s family for generations.

  Roman leaned closer in interest. “I’ve seen knives like that once before. You wouldn’t happen to be related to Mikhail Vasiliev?”

  “He was my brother.” Nikolai sheathed the blade.

  Roman nodded, as if he was considering him and didn’t find Nikolai lacking. “What with housing costs being what they are around here, we could only get a three bedroom. I’ve got the master. Pistachio—he’s registering us with the college right now. He’s got seniority. That leaves you and David here.” Roman nodded toward the man with the shoulder tattoo who was following the conversation with interest. “You two could fight for the room. First drawn blood is the winner. Nothing incapacitating, of course.”

  Nikolai didn’t come here to play games. “You can have the room. It doesn’t matter to me.” He threw his suitcase on the old sofa. As the bag thudded against scratched sofa leather, David stopped right in the middle of cracking his knuckles.

  Though the earthquake was over a week ago, Nikolai might find clues yet. “I’m going out. Text me if you need me.”

  Nikolai dressed for the hunt. Everything was strategically nondescript—clothes with no logo
s, neutral colors. Nothing that would stand out and make him noticeable. Wearing all black was asking for trouble. Might as well throw on a ski mask and gun and tell the world that you’re out to rob a gas station.

  He worked out which building it was from the corner of a picture from a newspaper article. It was only three letters and a bit of scaffolding, but it was enough. The caution tape at the front doors weren’t exactly subtle either. The area was blocked off and filled with construction workers.

  Nikolai was forced to wait on a bench under the shade of a redwood preserved from the original forest that stood here before the school. The afternoon sun faded, and the light muted into gray.

  He tried to guess at the level of repairs from all the loud hammering, trying not to imagine what they could be doing with the evidence. Hunks of concrete and garbage bags were loaded on a dump truck. He noted the license plate in case he had to follow the truck later. Spending the night going through rubble wasn’t ideal, but he would do it if it meant finding a lead.

  As the last of the construction workers stepped out and the dump truck drove away, Nikolai sidled up to the lock on the door. It was a common pin tumbler lock. His tension wrench and pick unlocked it as smoothly as if he had a key. He slipped his tools neatly back into his pocket and stepped inside.

  The lights in the hallway were motion sensor activated and switched on as he walked, flooding the surrounding area with a dull fluorescence. The hallway was oddly pristine. Through the door’s glass panel, everything in the classroom was in order. Chairs and desks were lined in straight rows. The podium was upright at the front of the room. The other rooms were much the same. If he hadn’t personally watched the construction crew haul things out, he would’ve sworn he was in the wrong place. He pushed through the hallway doors, and the normal scene slid away.

  The cracks started on the stairway, leading up to the second floor where they spiderwebbed across the wall in thin lines. Nikolai held his finger just up to the edge of one of the lines, short of touching it, and followed the thickening mark of damage around the bend until he got to a door that was sealed off with caution tape and locked. Curious. Nikolai unlocked it and slid underneath the yellow plastic. Inside the room, there was a gaping hole like the mouth into hell. It tore through the bottom of the floor, and hunks of concrete remained littered across the room below. Nikolai could see straight down into a lecture hall.