by Mary Fan
Wonder what happened to her. Along with everyone else, he’d expected her to graduate at the top of her class and become a famed Defender, but instead, she’d left the Academy a year ago, truncating her once-promising career. According to the Academy, she’d suffered a nervous breakdown. But Flynn had a hard time believing that a girl who had beheaded a spearfiend at fourteen—and apparently ganked the Underworld’s worst creation—would fall to pieces like that. Probably another Triumvirate lie. Go figure.
Realizing that he’d missed the last few snippets of Everett and Williams’s conversation, he pushed his thoughts about the Firedragon out of his head. He wasn’t sure how any of this fangbeast talk could help him, but it had led to Everett mentioning that his office door didn’t have locks. Maybe he or Williams would drop another useful piece of information.
Williams’s next words, though, were rushed with agitation. “And suppose someone borrows your essence. What then?”
There’s that word again—“essence.” The Sentinel had mentioned an essence lingering. But what did it mean that one could be borrowed?
Everett’s response—that Williams was being ridiculous—didn’t reveal any answers, and his sneering tone seemed to trouble the professor further.
“Your overconfidence could lead to disaster,” Williams said, his voice taut. “With the Underworld creatures growing stronger, you should be seeking more ways to terminate monsters, not control them! The last time fangbeast numbers increased this rapidly, the Lord was mere weeks from rising out of the Underworld. These children will be on the front lines if—”
“If nothing.” Everett cut him off. “The Lord was destroyed, understand?”
Who said he wasn’t? An uncomfortable feeling crept down Flynn’s spine. The Lord’s destruction was a fact, as certain as the existence of supernaturals. Not only that, but the Sentinels had sealed the Portal to the Underworld, ensuring that no more monsters could emerge from the dark dimension. The war was over. But Williams’s words and Everett’s abrupt defensiveness suggested something else—that the Lord could rise again.
“Of course, because the Triumvirs say so,” Williams muttered. “Never mind that should the worst happen, the people will be completely unprepared—”
“The Triumvirs dictate what the people know and don’t know, not you!” Everett growled. “If certain information ended up in the wrong hands, everything could be destroyed, so that’s enough!”
A flash of gold light then silence. Everett must have vanished, which meant Flynn had lost his chance to learn what kinds of spells guarded the principal’s office door. But confusion and fear outweighed his disappointment. Could the Lord of the Underworld really return?
He was so distracted, he barely heard Williams’s grumbled “Damn you, Everett,” or saw the second flash indicating that the professor had also goldlighted away.
All this time, the Triumvirs have been telling us that the Lord is gone for good. Flynn didn’t want to believe the nation’s rulers could have lied about something as huge as that. It had to be what Everett meant when he said certain information could destroy everything. The Triumvirs only ruled because people hero-worshipped them for ridding the world of the Lord, but if the people found out that was a lie, they would question their leadership, maybe even challenge it.
Flynn recalled something his mom had told him. “Nothing is absolute, not even the Triumvirate and the truth it claims it’s founded upon.” He’d always thought she’d meant the caste system and the idea that people with magic were superior to those without. Could she have meant something more? Had she known that the Lord of the Underworld could rise again? But how?
She knew Low Voice, and he draws power from the Underworld. Maybe that’s how he knew the Lord wasn’t destroyed, and he told her. What if giving the world that information was the “treasonous” message Low Voice had meant to broadcast using the Eye Stone?
The only way he could find out was to learn exactly who Low Voice was. Which I can only do if I get into Everett’s office and read that damn report.
Frustration churned in his chest. There had to be something else he could do.
The word “essence” popped into his head, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because the term wasn’t often used, and hearing it mentioned twice within a short span of time had made it stick out. In everyday talk, essence meant the very nature of something. Words sometimes took on second meanings when used for magic, but what if, in this case, it was what it sounded like? He wasn’t sure how the nature of someone could linger, but from the way Williams had spoken, it sounded like borrowing one could be dangerous. Why? Because doing so could somehow get a person past magical safeguards?
The answer would lie within the Scholars’ library, which contained more books on magic than he cared to count. He wanted to race over right away, but the library would be locked for the night. I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.
He pictured the giant volumes lining the grand library and realized it would take ages for him to find the information he was looking for. What was more, borrowing someone’s essence—whatever that actually meant—probably involved complex forms of magic. He’d need help, and there was only one person he trusted enough to share his secret quest with. I’ve gotta tell Brax.
“Flynn!” Mrs. Miller’s voice, blaring from behind him, interrupted his thoughts. “What are you doing, idling in the hallway? If you don’t get back to work right this instant, I’ll have you locked in detention for a week!”
He flinched. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared about detention, but if he got locked up, he wouldn’t be able to carry out his plan. Everything depended on getting that report—learning about Low Voice, uncovering his mom’s secrets, and maybe even finding the truth about the Lord of the Underworld. So he muttered an apology and rushed back to the auditorium, his mind swirling with ideas.
Chapter 3
Growing Darkness
Flynn was sure that this night would be the longest he’d ever known. He wanted to get moving with his mission, but other than enlisting Brax’s help, there wasn’t much he could do. He and the other Secondstringers were being sent away from the Academy for the night and wouldn’t be able to return until the following morning. Mrs. Miller had kept an eagle eye on him after he’d returned to the auditorium, and he couldn’t do anything else to make her suspicious.
He followed the other Secondstringers to the line of wheeled shuttles that would take them back to their living quarters. They didn’t stay at the Academy, which straddled the Second and Third Rings—the Enchanters’ and the Defenders’ designated zones. Scholars and Cadets had rooms on campus, but Secondstringers were barred from staying in the dormitories. So every evening, the Academy shipped them to a concrete building with tiny bedrooms in the outermost part of the Fourth Ring.
Flynn shook his head, not sure whether he was more disturbed by the fact that people accepted this unfair system or the fact that the government had set it up in the first place.
He spotted Kylie, Brax’s girlfriend, waving from a vehicle ahead, and her smile pulled him out of his glum thoughts. When Brax had first started dating Kylie—who’d been the new girl at the time—six months back, Flynn had worried that his friend would forget about him, disappearing into the world of coupledom as so many seemed to. But instead, Kylie had turned out to be a great friend and trustworthy enough that he was contemplating telling her as well as Brax about his plot to steal the Sentinel’s report.
“Flynn!” Her long blond hair flowed down her shoulders like a sunny waterfall, gleaming under the bluish illumination of the streetlights. Because of her dark-brown eyes and olive complexion, few believed her when she said the color was natural, especially when she mentioned her family’s Peruvian roots. But Flynn knew she’d never lie about something so petty. “Over here!”
Flynn waved back and followed her onto the bus. He ducked to avoid its low, rusty ceiling
. Each of the gray plastic seats he passed was so covered in old stains and scratches, he wondered if they were older than Kylie, Brax, and Flynn combined.
Kylie slid into a seat beside Brax and pointed at an empty one across from her. “We saved you a spot.”
“Thanks.”
Brax put his arm around Kylie and gave her a peck on the cheek then turned his gaze back to Flynn. “So how was wall-scrubbing duty?”
“Sucked.” Flynn sank into his seat.
Kylie leaned toward him. “Have you heard anything new about the anarchist attack?”
“No, but I intend to.”
“Oh?”
“It’s personal,” Brax said before Flynn could reply. “He thinks the guy who called off the attack knew his mom.”
“Brax!” Flynn shot his friend an irritated look. He didn’t need everyone on the bus knowing that he was searching for Low Voice’s identity. If people found out, they might notice when he started doing things he wasn’t supposed to—like reading the Scholars’ books—and report their suspicions. “Don’t be a moron!”
Brax pulled his lips down in a sheepish expression. “Sorry.”
Kylie glanced at him then at Flynn, puzzlement written all over her face. “What are you guys talking about?”
Flynn considered whether to let her in on the secret quest he’d been meaning to talk to Brax about. He could use all the help he could get, and she was smarter than him and Brax combined, especially when it came to book stuff. Besides, she’d probably find out anyway from Brax and his big mouth.
But he couldn’t let the rest of the Secondstringers overhear him. As the driver revved up the engines, he stood. The vehicle lurched forward, and he stumbled. He grabbed the back of Kylie’s seat and leaned down toward her and Brax.
“I need to tell you guys something, but you have to swear to keep it quiet,” he whispered. “If anyone finds out about what I’m about to say, I’m dead.”
They both nodded and gave him their vows of silence. Flynn told them about Low Voice and his plan to break into Everett’s office to find the Sentinel’s report.
After relaying his essence idea and how he needed to look through the texts in the Scholars’ library, he straightened. “So, what do you think?”
“No,” Kylie said. “Just… no!”
Brax bumped her shoulder with his. “Relax! He’s doing it for a noble cause. Well, sort of.”
She ignored him and shook her head at Flynn. “You’re not the only one with unanswered questions! I still don’t know if they got the shifterskins that killed my parents, but you don’t see me turning vigilante, do you? You have to let it go, Flynn. I did.”
“That’s not true.” Flynn braced himself against her seat as the vehicle turned. “You’re angling to get promoted to Cadet. If you became a Defender, you’d get your revenge by—”
“No, I’d keep others from suffering what I did!” Kylie’s dark eyes remained stern. “That’s what you should do if you want some kind of justice, not commit felonies!”
Brax nudged her again. “Don’t freak out. He’s got a right to know what his mom was up to.”
“Thanks.” Flynn realized that by zeroing in on his mom and Low Voice, he was leaving out the bigger picture. “Listen, Kylie, this is about more than just me. I overheard Everett and Williams talking about how the Lord of the Underworld could rise again, and I think my mom and Low Voice knew something about it. Getting to that report is the first step in finding out what.”
Her mouth fell open. “That’s not possible—the Lord is gone. You must have misheard them.”
“I didn’t.” He turned to Brax for support. “What if our government’s been lying to us since the day it was founded? You know as well as I do that they keep all kinds of secrets. What if this is one of them?”
Brax knit his brows. “If you’re right, then the Triumvirate’s even more messed up than we thought, and everything they were celebrating today is a big, fat lie.”
“Be quiet!” Kylie looked fearfully around. “If someone hears you, they could report you for treasonous speech, and you’ll be arrested.” She turned her gaze to Flynn. “If you’re wrong about the Lord, the only thing you’d find in the Sentinel’s report is the low-voiced man’s name. That won’t tell you how he was involved with your mom.”
“A name is better than nothing,” Flynn said firmly. “If I know who my mom was meeting the night she died, maybe I’ll understand why she put herself in danger… and why she left me.”
“Wow, that’s deep.” Brax’s tone was somehow sincere and sarcastic at once, as though he meant what he said but was amused by the words.
“So you’ll help me?”
Brax dropped his usual carefree demeanor for an uncommon display of seriousness. “Hell, no.”
“What?” Flynn had been certain that Brax, who’d stuck by him for years and had never been afraid to flout the rules, would agree to the mission.
But Brax held up a hand before Flynn could say more. A solemn expression hardened his hazel eyes. “First of all, Everett’s one of the most powerful Sentinels in the Triumvirate. You can bet he’s got the best security in existence, so even with the whole essence thing, it can’t be done. Secondly, Everett’s one of the most powerful Sentinels in the Triumvirate. He’s had people sent to the mines for pissing him off, and if you got caught, you’d be next. So forget it, Flynn! I don’t wanna see you black-bagged!”
Brax’s uncharacteristic seriousness made his words hit home. The mines… Black-bagged… Flynn looked away as the full impact of the possible consequences hit him. Having a sack shoved over your head so you couldn’t tell where the patrolmen were taking you… no one ever hearing from you again… It was what happened to people the Triumvirate considered a threat, people like Secondstringers seeking to prove that the government was founded on a lie. Some believed that those who were black-bagged were sent to the mines, along with ordinary criminals like thieves and scammers, and lived the rest of their days in prison camps. Others said they were quietly executed.
Either way, Flynn had no desire to find out firsthand. Though he hated to admit it, Brax had a point. Plotting to break into Everett’s office wouldn’t merely get him extra shifts or detention. If he was caught, his life as he knew it would be over. And so would those of anyone who helped him.
Suddenly, expecting Brax and Kylie to risk it all seemed incredibly selfish. He wished he’d never asked for their help. If any harm came to his friends because of him, he’d never forgive himself.
“You’re right,” he mumbled. “Forget I said anything.”
“You’ll find another way,” Kylie said gently. “Maybe you can ask the patrolmen.”
“Maybe.” Flynn chose not to point out that the last time he’d tried that, he’d nearly been shot. He returned to his seat in silence.
I guess it’s just me then. As much as he yearned for the truth, was it worth losing everything? What good would having answers do him if he got himself imprisoned or killed? He might not even find what he was looking for.
He gazed out the window as the vehicle entered the Fourth Ring, which flickered under electric lights—a stark contrast to the bright floating lanterns illuminating the Enchanters’ sector. Everything in the Fourth Ring looked darker and plainer than it had in the Defenders’ Third Ring and very run-down compared to the Enchanters’ Second Ring. Whereas the Second Ring contained beautifully constructed stone structures, and the Third Ring held simple yet well-designed architecture, the Fourth Ring was uniformly dull. The concrete buildings looked as if they’d all been poured from the same boxy mold. The dusty walls were a sickly brownish gray, and rust covered exposed drainpipes.
Flynn wondered how the Triumvirate could get away with giving so much to those they favored and leaving next to nothing for everyone else. The vehicle rolled past a courtyard, in which people danced in pairs, und
oubtedly as part of some Day of Glory celebration. The colorful dresses and suits they wore, probably their holiday best, were a far cry from the opulent outfits he’d seen on the Enchanters and Sentinels. In fact, they looked cheaper than what some of the Scholars wore to class. But those people seemed content nonetheless. They represented the Triumvirate’s idea of what Norms should be: perfectly satisfied with their low-class lives, always knowing their places and never wanting more.
Flynn almost wished he could be like that. It would be nice not to be pissed off all the time.
The bus came to a grinding halt, and he lurched forward. Screams filled the air—cries of terror muffled by the bus walls. Flynn whirled toward the window, trying to see what the hell was going on. People in the courtyard scrambled to escape the three dark figures swooping down from the sky.
Wraiths. His chest tightened. Fangbeasts may have been the most fearsome of the Lord’s corporeal creatures, but wraiths were the worst of the spirit realm. They were what specters evolved into once the Underworld consumed the last shreds of their souls, vicious beings that sucked the life from people with no notion of temperance or mercy. Each had the shape of a cloaked, translucent being that soared across the courtyard on bat-like black wings spanning at least twenty feet. Menacing red eyes burned from the voids where their faces should have been above glowing, decaying teeth that looked as if someone had erased every part of the human skull except the cruel, lipless grin. Their bony hands, loosely covered in gray flesh, looked like the hands of drowned corpses and reached out from beneath the wraiths’ long, tattered black sleeves.
Flynn stared at the approaching wraiths, balling his fists to keep from quivering. He’d heard plenty about them, but seeing one in person was far more frightening than he’d imagined. But the last known wraith attack had been over twenty years ago, and the Triumvirate had declared them extinct. How were they back? And how did they get past the Capital’s perimeter? Is this what Williams meant when he said the supernaturals were getting stronger?
