by Tess Adair
Just as the first sliver of pink began to peek through the horizon, she heard a footfall behind her. A man with a heavy Russian accent spoke.
“Well met, my little soldier.”
Kostya.
“Well met, Master.”
She turned in time to see him cresting the slope, a gnarled walking cane clutched in his hand. He was a tall, barrel-chested man with a neatly trimmed mustache and long silver hair tied back into a tight ponytail. He was also the strongest fighter she had ever known, apart from herself. But then, he didn’t have demon lineage on his side, as far as she knew.
“I have heard rumblings of late, little soldier,” he said, taking the last few steps to stand next to her. “Tell, have you been asking after me?”
“I have,” she said with a nod. “Did Adele find you?”
Kostya smiled enigmatically in return. “I heard rumblings.”
“Right.” Logan crossed her arms over her chest, sure there was little point trying to figure out what he meant. “I wanted to know if…well, if you were open to taking on a new student any time soon.”
Kostya turned to appraise her, an inscrutable look on his face.
“You have student in mind for me?”
Logan nodded. “There’s a kid I’ve been trying to teach. Mentor, I guess. She needs to learn eira, but…as you know, I never finished my own training.”
“Mm. This is true.” He turned toward the boundary and the slowly rising sun beyond, and he smiled. “But I cannot help you. This burden, I think, must be yours to bear.” He raised his staff and pressed it forward. For a moment, it looked as though it merely pressed empty air, but then Logan noticed a funny ripple spreading out in a small circle from the far end of the staff.
It looked like smoke haze. He was pressing the boundary to show itself.
“Besides,” he continued, “would not be safe for the child. I have been traveling, you know.”
“Traveling. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where.”
Kostya pulled his staff back and rested it near his feet once more.
“Perhaps. Someday.”
“Right.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You came here, though. Are you here as a donor?”
“This is official term, yes.”
Logan tossed him a glance out of the corner of her eye.
“You know what’s happening, don’t you? That’s why you came. You know about the Wolf.”
“I have heard rumblings.” Kostya grasped his staff more tightly in his hands and sighed. “Is not good for us, this man. Is not good for any of us.” He glanced behind them, back at the castle standing stark against the still-dark sky. “I had hoped I would not see you here. I had hoped…you would have sense to stay away from this.”
“You think something’s going to happen at the Summit.”
“I think Atherton is a fool and a liar. His talent lies not in casting or in truth-seeking, but in showmanship and power-seeking. He knows no duty and no honor. And the rest are fools to follow him.” He glanced back at her, his brow furrowed in concern. “You should leave this place. Today, if you can.”
Logan felt a spike of anxiety shoot through her at his words, but she kept her breathing steady, and did her best to keep her mind steady as well.
“Are you going to leave?”
“Perhaps. If disaster strikes, I do not see what you or I can do to prevent it. We might as easily tell stars not to burn, you see?”
Logan unfolded her arms only to re-fold them in the other direction.
“Do you think the Wolf is here?”
“Perhaps he is here. Perhaps he is just outside, howling at gates. Waiting to strike.”
A wolf at the gates. She’d heard that before.
“Well, I hate to disappoint you,” she said, “but I’m not planning to leave. If there’s a disaster, then I need to be here. Even if I can’t stop it, or even help. And especially if Atherton’s an idiot, which he probably is.”
“He is. This is certain.”
Logan felt her mouth unwillingly press into a smile.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said. “It comforts me to know that you’re here.”
“Comfort is a trick of the mind,” replied Kostya. “It makes us complacent. I have never known you to be complacent, little soldier.”
“Mm. Maybe I’ve changed since you knew me well.”
Kostya turned to face her, his brows beginning to knit together. He reached out with the hand that wasn’t currently grasping his cane, brought it to her shoulder, and squeezed.
“Is not merely change, my soldier.” His voice was quiet but steady. “The rumblings I have heard, they were not only about your questions, not only about the Wolf. I have heard tales of you. Far and wide, I hear tales. Some call you a champion. Others say avenging angel.” He cracked a toothy grin. “But I know better than this. I say you are avenging devil instead, yes?”
Logan felt a smile press onto her own face as well.
“I’m not an angel, that’s for sure.”
“Bah, what good are angels anyway?” Kostya tossed back his head with a shake and regripped his staff with both hands. “Ours is not a world for angels. Ours is a world for warriors.” He glanced out at the boundary again, and she followed his gaze. All she could see now was the rising sun, streaks of orange and pink spreading across the sky. Could he see something different?
“Yes, I can see that you have not merely changed, my little daredevil. What is word? Oh, yes. You have evolved. You see?”
Logan stared at him, simultaneously wishing that he would give her more information than that, and that they had met again after all this time under completely difference circumstances—preferably ones where she didn’t want anything from him at all. Somehow, all he’d done was make her feel even more tired and alone.
“I go now, little soldier,” he said, turning on his heel and striking out with his staff. “You heed Kostya, yes? Do not stay here. Leave this place, as fast as you can.”
Without another word, he began marching away from her, away from the boundary, and back toward the castle beyond.
Logan let out a long, low sigh. She had hoped that seeing Kostya after all this time would bring her some answers, or maybe even some confidence. But if anything, she felt worse now than she had before.
By the time she started making her own way back to the castle, Kostya had vanished out of sight.
When Logan woke up for the second time, her alarm clock told her it was almost noon. She groaned, cursing herself for missing half the day already. Her throat scratched when she breathed, and she cursed herself for the ill-thought cigarette earlier, too.
The room was too narrow for much movement on the floor, so she pressed herself into a downward dog on top of the thin mattress, then moved through a couple of asanas for good measure, hoping to wake up her aching, protesting body. Finally she stood up and shed the boxers she slept in before pulling on sports bra, regular underwear, black pants, and black long-sleeved shirt. She checked herself briefly in the mirror, making sure the majority of her markings were covered. A slim edge of purple-black coloring showed near the base of her neck, but there was nothing to be done about it. As she stared at it, trying in vain to wish it away, she found herself unconsciously clutching the inside of her left forearm, just over her hidden tattoo. A part of her wondered if that, too, might one day disappear under her ever-expanding demon mutation.
Finally she left her tiny sleeping quarters and entered the communal suite beyond. Knatt perched primly on an overstuffed chair, reading a book and sipping from a small tea cup. He nodded at her, then indicated the table before him. A large cup of coffee sat there waiting.
“You’re a magical man,” said Logan in her croaking, cracking voice. “Don’t ever let the bastards tell you different.”
“I doubt anyone but you ever would,” he answered easily, his eyes returning to the book in front of him.
“Well,” said Logan,
considering this as she picked up her coffee, “technically I am a bastard, aren’t I?” She tested the coffee, then took a large gulp. “It’s gone cold.”
“That tends to happen when a cup of hot liquid is left to sit for hours.” He glanced at his watch, sitting neatly beneath his tweed jacket sleeve. “You’re a bit later than I thought you’d be. Perhaps Ms. Ren invited you to a short-notice rager last night?”
“No. Actually, when I got back last night, I found a note in my pocket. It was written in an old Temple code, asking me to meet someone. First thing in the morning, at the western boundary.”
Knatt looked up at her with curiosity writ large on his face.
“Not Kostya Semenov?”
“The very same.”
Knatt placed a bookmark on his page and closed the book.
“And what did he have to say?”
Logan plopped herself down in the chair opposite him and took another hearty sip of her stone-cold coffee.
“That Atherton is a fool, and so are we if we stay here,” she said bluntly. “Not in so many words, but that was the gist.”
“I see.” Knatt nodded sagely, deliberately. “Well, I don’t imagine he’s wrong.”
Logan took another drink and said nothing. Glancing around the room, she noticed that Jude’s door stood ajar, the chamber beyond it apparently empty.
“Where’d the kid get off to?”
“Jude left first thing in the morning to meet with Miss Eliana Blake,” said Knatt. He gave a sidelong look. “Do you mind that I let her go, or have you given up on your paranoia about our gracious host?”
Logan smiled mirthlessly.
“She can do what she wants. I don’t have to trust Blake for that. I trust Jude.” She swirled the cold coffee in her hands. “Do you know what they’re up to?”
“I believe they planned to observe the practical demonstrations today. After all, compared to stiff lectures and obscure research panel talks, a practical demonstration is the more diverting option. For a younger person.”
“Couldn’t rope her in, huh?”
“My enthusiasm was not catching, no.” He sighed deeply and brought his tea to his lips. “She may have had the right idea, in the end. I popped into four lectures myself, and not one even mentioned the Wolf, let alone any plans of action. It may prove pointless attending anything until the donors have gone.”
Logan nodded. “Could have guessed as much.”
“Perhaps.” Knatt sipped lightly at his tea. “I won’t lie, I’m hardly comforted by your report of Kostya Semenov’s assessment. I’m beginning to wonder if your initial instinct to skip this year wasn’t the correct response after all.”
“Please. You’ve never skipped a work event in your life.”
Her tone was light, but even as she spoke, she could feel her entire body clenching. Her spikes felt like they were poking at her skin, readying themselves for a fight before she could even issue a conscious command.
She would stay, of course; she had to. The surer she was that danger lurked, the greater her duty was to see it through to the end.
So she sipped her cold coffee and waited for her own internal tight wire to slacken.
Chapter Twenty
The Shield of Morgana
When Jude had first climbed out of bed in the morning, she was filled with equal amounts of excitement and apprehension. To the best of her knowledge, the night before had been giddy and carefree; once they were alone, spending time with Eliana had proved as easy as breathing, and she knew she’d ended the night on a high note, still tipsy from the bottle of wine Eliana had stolen from a kitchen somewhere.
But when she woke, she found that an uneasiness had settled over her, tainting her gleeful memories with uncertainty. Had she misread something, or everything? What if Eliana hadn’t been having fun at all? What if she’d only done it as part of her host duties?
Sitting up in bed, Jude swung her legs out from under the covers and let her feet briefly skim the cold wood floor beneath her, sending a small shock up her body. She got to her feet just long enough to grab an extra pair of socks out of her bag. Then she hid back under her covers, right back into the small pocket of warmth she’d left beneath them.
Her mind started going over the events from the night before, and one moment in particular began to stand out, reverberating through the rest of her, echoing on the surface of her mind and coloring everything it touched.
As Eliana had stepped through a door ahead of her, she’d stopped suddenly and turned around before Jude had a change to register her change in direction. Consequently, Jude’s own momentum had carried through, bringing her right up to her, their faces coming in close—barely an inch away from each other. For one long moment, they both froze, and every cell in her body came alive in the strange thrall of anticipation.
Then a noise from somewhere down the hall broke the surface tension, and they each stumbled away.
It was a perfect moment, she thought. She could feel how perfect it was, how romantic. Couldn’t she?
But…what if it wasn’t? What if…what if Eliana didn’t feel that way at all?
How in the world was she supposed to tell?
With a shake over her head, she wiped blearily at her face, her mind slowly warming up to the day. She knew she had to get going, sooner or later. If she slept the day away, or hid out of anxiety, she’d never forgive herself.
She was pulling on a fresh pair of pants when she remembered that Eliana had asked her if she wanted to meet up in the morning, and suddenly she was struck by a far worse thought.
What if it was all an act?
She caught her reflection in the mirror as the thought rolled through her mind. Even to her own eyes, she looked pale and uncertain—out of her depth in a place like this.
Surely Eliana could see that, too.
She only wants to see me because she’s trying to get something out of me. Jude watched the panic blossom over her face before she had a chance to stop it, or even slow it down.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and to remember that all she was really doing here was jumping to conclusions…and listening to Logan’s unfounded paranoia. Not everyone was out to get her, especially out here. She wasn’t in high school anymore, which meant she had to stop looking over her shoulder for the next school bully.
And maybe she had to stop looking for the next Amy, too.
She let out a long, slow breath, uncertain whether it was a sign of her calming herself down, or simply a sigh. Everything already felt too complicated, and she’d only just gotten there.
With a conscious effort to set everything else aside, she tugged her hair free of the braid she’d slept in and did her best to pull it into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, hoping a change in style might somehow make her both look and feel a little less juvenile. Instead, she just looked messier.
She pulled out the first few shirts in her bag and sighed again. All she’d brought were brightly colored T-shirts. Remembering her chill from the night before, she picked out the only long-sleeved option, which happened to be a muted red. She hoped Eliana wouldn’t think she was trying to match her.
Her boots, at least, had been chosen by Logan, so she automatically felt like they were cool. Even if they were somebody else’s style, at least they were a style. Finally, she made sure her packets were safely secured, grabbed her jacket, and headed out the door.
She met Knatt on her way and let him know what her plans were for the day. For the briefest moment, he paused, and she got the funniest sensation that she had turned into a school girl asking her father if she could go out and play with her friends. Then he smiled benevolently and hurried her along.
Just before she and Eliana had parted ways the night before, Eliana had shown her the route she should take to meet up with her the next day. Now Jude followed their path exactly, each step flooding her with dual doses of anxiety and intrigue.
At last, she reached her intended destination: a short
hallway marking the entrance to the dormitory area. She took a deep breath and looked around.
Maybe she won’t come at all, she thought before she could stop herself.
She closed her eyes, pushed all the air out of her lungs, and began to take in a slower breath, counting to ten as she did so. When she felt her heartbeat start to calm, she let her eyes come open again. This time, she decided to take a moment to look at what was actually in front of her.
As it turned out, what was in front of her was a painting of a man in his late forties, with dark hair and olive skin. He stood in front of a brown leather winged armchair, his back stiff as a board as he stared imposingly down at the viewer. Something about him seemed familiar, though at first she couldn’t say why. Then she read the inscription.
Charles Henry Logan, c. 1999, Shield of Morgana.
Charles, Logan’s father—the man she’d met in the nursing home. The man who had terrorized Logan in her youth.
Without a conscious thought, she took a step closer and peered up into his face. Despite the severe expression etched onto the image of his mouth, she detected a hint of something else. Something in his eyes, something like a twinkle—a hint of mischief, just like she’d seen when he’d pulled out his winning move during their chess match. And could she also see a hint of Logan, there in the determined set of his jaw?
Or was that only what he would have wanted her to see? After all, wasn’t she really looking into the face of an abuser, well accustomed to skirting accountability on the power of his own charm?
Was she so easily duped that a painting could do it?
“Charles Henry Logan,” said a voice, from behind and to her left. “Honored with the Shield of Morgana in 1999. A distinction very few have held during the centuries-long history of the Order.”
It was Eliana, of course. Jude forced a smile as she turned to face her, while her jumpy heart ratcheted up its pace again. The Novice stood serenely in the far doorway, silent as sunlight. Jude hadn’t even heard her come in.
