Mage

by L. J. Swallow

  "Eat up first," says Zara. "Or I'll finish yours."

  Aidan shoves the cake into his mouth.

  ‘Did you find anything in your loot stash, El?” Zara asks.

  “A potion recipe.”

  She pulls a face. “Nothing useful, then? That sucks.”

  “I think it might be significant, though.” I don’t elaborate in front of Zara and Aidan, but Dean’s face shows he thinks the same as I do: this is important.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll pick the flowers. Then I’ll get the map to the place to make the potion. You don’t have to come with me,” I tell them.

  “We can’t let you do that alone,” replies Aidan.

  Zara munches on her chocolate cake and doesn’t contribute her opinion.

  “I’m not leaving Grunwald until I’m sure that Jay is back and okay,” I reply. “I’ll gather the flowers, check out the quest, and then we can make this potion.”

  Zara shoves back her chair and stands. “And I’ll make more cupcakes. At least those will be tasty and not a complete waste of valuable time.”

  Chapter Thirty

  In the still night outside the tavern, the waning moon offers little light and the lanterns burning outside the neighbouring shops are dim. Zara skips away waving her parchment in the air, exclaiming how many cupcakes she'll make. I cross my arms and watch.

  "Something's odd about her," I say.

  Dean chuckles. "Says the girl who can shoot fire from her body."

  I nudge him with an elbow and catch up to Aidan. “We had an interesting conversation with Ethan, Aidan. You should’ve stayed with us.”

  He pushes hair from his face. “I’ll go back and pick up the quest tomorrow—is the reward any good?”

  Dean glances at me and I nod. “There wasn’t a quest.”

  Aidan tips his head. “Who is he then? A vendor? Did he sell you something to help?”

  My stomach tightens at the need to tell Aidan, but I don’t know how to. Or what words to use. The story sounds madder the more times I replay it.

  “It was sort of a quest,” puts in Dean. “He thinks El’s character is here to carry out a special task to free some people. There are hidden quests and items in the world.”

  “Oh. One of those quests.” He smiles. “You’re good at solving puzzles. Is there a big reward for completing?”

  I stare ahead, mouth dry. “Getting out of here.”

  I will Aidan not to push for more answers.

  “Cool. End game content. At least we’re moving on.”

  “Flower picking,” says Dean with a chuckle. “If this game wasn’t designed by a kid, it was designed by a florist. So much flower picking.”

  “I can unlock a new spell specialisation when I’m level 20,” I add. “Temporal magic.”

  Aidan perks up. “Portals? Damn I hope so. I’m sick of walking everywhere.”

  “As long as it’s a portal out of here,” I say.

  He breaks into a grin, the first I’ve seen on his face in a long while. “I hope your portals are better than when you learned in the Game. How many times did you land our group in a swamp?”

  I flick his nose. “I didn’t know that I couldn’t use the magic as a low level. I was learning the game. Remember you decided to take us to find a rare monster? We spent half a day looking for that bloody dragon. Finally found it. Died ten times and the only loot we found once we defeated him was a few scales and some gold."

  “You loved it,” he says and smirks.

  “Oh yeah, I love all the Aidan lunacy in-game and the cost of armour repairs.”

  "I forget you knew each other...before," says Dean. He gestures between us. "Were you two an item?"

  "Guild mates," I put in quickly.

  "From school. Years back." I detect the tension in Aidan's words.

  "And now we all work together," I say with a smile and link my arms through both guys.

  "Hmm. Apart from Zara,” says Aidan.

  Dean makes a pfft sound. "There's always one. She'll learn once she hits a monster who she can't kill solo."

  "Yeah. We'll stick with you making the decisions."

  I halt and stare at Aidan. "What?"

  "You were wary about the goblins and look what happened when we ignored you. You think things through. Push yourself more, as I always tell you to. I agree with Ethan, and honestly think you have the key to all this."

  "I don't believe that."

  Dean holds my arm tighter through his. "I think Aidan's right. We'll make a leader of you yet."

  I silently disagree and keep walking.

  "Good idea. What should we do tomorrow, El?" asks Dean.

  "What? I don't know. Quest. Explore. Meet up after we eat, by the fountain, and we can compare notes and plan what to do next. I also need to find these flowers."

  "See, leadership." Aidan grins.

  The warming cupcake effect pushes me to grin at them and believe what they say could be true. It's as if the day has been lifted from my shoulders and that if I ran to the town gates, I could run from the game.

  Again, I eye the gates. I could go.

  "This is me." Aidan pauses by the squat building, where the roof overhangs the small black doorway. He explained to me that the warlocks’ rooms are mostly underground but clamped up when I queried him what was inside the warlocks’ lair.

  "’Night," I say with a small wave.

  He shakes his head. "Normally this is the point in the evening that I jump in an Uber and wish the night wasn't over."

  "Or log off," I add.

  His face takes on the same sadness and he scratches at his wrist beneath the band. "If only."

  My spirits sink as the unhappy Aidan steps through the door. I attempt to catch a glimpse of what's behind, but just catch sight of a pale face in pitch black. I haven't had a chance to talk to him about exactly what happened to bring him to Alaria, or how he's coping. I suspect not well.

  Dean unhooks his arm from mine. "So that's goodbye?"

  "I'm tired."

  "You look more alert than I've ever seen you. The smile suits you."

  I roll my eyes and keep walking. "Trying some smooth talk on me?"

  Dean catches up and walks backwards, smiling at me from beneath his messy hair. "We should live life."

  I halt. "Life? In this place?"

  "It's how I live my life back at home. Carpe the fuck out of every diem."

  I walk up to him. "What do you do? When you're not trapped in mysterious places, I mean."

  "I'm in a band."

  I take a closer look at him and the black clothes he hides himself behind. There could be tattoos under there I missed seeing in the catacombs. "One I know?"

  He winks. "Not yet. But I need to get the hell back home and continue my world domination. Well, local bar domination.” He holds out a hand. "May I escort you to your quarters, dear Mage?"

  I chuckle at him. "Sure. If you tell me about your band."

  He takes my hand in a firm grip, and touching another human sends confusing emotions through me. Not only have I not held a man's hand for months, let alone locked lips, but since I've been in the game, I've barely touched anybody. This feels like the final step to admitting I'm physically here.

  And I refuse to do that.

  A lump builds in my throat and I step to one side, into the shadows from an overhanging building. I can't walk out the gates. I won't step into reality. Dean's hand remains firmly in mine. Our eyes meet, and I pray he can't see mine glistening.

  "Guitarist," he whispers. "I play guitar in a band called Raging Thirst."

  He takes my other hand and the tears push harder. Human contact. Warm hands belonging to a caring guy.

  "Bard," I croak. He shakes his head in confusion. "Your class. You should be a bard."

  He barks a laugh. "Slay them with my riffs?" he half-mocks. "I guess I could find a lute and smash some mobs over the head with it."

  "Probably quicker and easier to slash them with your knives."

&n
bsp; He pulls a face. "Thank god for black clothes."

  We remain in the quiet, hands locked together, as if holding on to the edge of reality. "Dean?" I whisper. "Will we get out of here?"

  His fingers squeeze mine harder. "Yes."

  "You sound certain."

  He reaches out and touches my cheek, "Like I said. Teamwork."

  I fight against stumbling back, instead choosing to pretend his hand isn’t touching my skin. I ignore that I'm pulled into the emotion of the moment and desperate for him to hug me.

  “I hope Jay is back in the morning,” I whisper. “He will be, won’t he?”

  I look to Dean, desperate for reassurance and relieved there’s no doubt on his face or in his emphatic words. “Yes. Ethan said he would.”

  I look to the ground. “Why did you tell Aidan that Ethan gave us a quest?”

  “Because it is one.” Serious brown eyes search mine. “I want to believe this is a quest and there’s no truth in Ethan’s words.”

  My skin covers in goose bumps. “Me too.”

  Dean takes my hand again. "I'm going to help and protect you. Even if you're not the key to all this, you are someone I want safe."

  The glow from the cupcake's effects spreads across my chest, at this almost-stranger's pledge to me. And the attraction in his eyes.

  I vow at this moment that if I ever think I'm about to face something life-ending, I'm going to spend the last hours with Dean. But what about Aidan and Jay?

  "What are you thinking?" he asks.

  My cheeks heat and I place a hand over his to squeeze between mine. "I'm wondering what your reward would be for the quest."

  Dean lowers his voice. "Not the one I want."

  My mouth dries as he looks at my mouth. Why does this feel like the end of a night out drinking, where the cute guy wants to come home with me? That's one weekly quest I haven't tried for a while.

  I shake away the ridiculousness of the situation.

  But hell, Dean’s lips looked kissable before. I mean, to lick the icing off, of course.

  Liar.

  "I hope the reward is something beneficial," I say and step back.

  "I do too."

  Without the kiss hinted at between us, Dean nods and steps into the shadows. "Sing me a song sometime!" I call after him.

  "I'm a guitarist," he shouts back.

  And vanishes.

  I’m more alone than I’d expect; the streets are clear of people and the only ones I see are guards in pairs stationed at street corners. They shout out to people to get indoors. According to my wristband, my stamina dropped five points since I left the inn, but I’m too wired to walk back to the Academy yet.

  Ignoring the buzzing in my head, I walk past the Academy towards the town gates. Why? I don’t know. There’s no point in leaving, and I’m nervous of the dark at the best of times.

  I picture Jay again. Why isn’t he back yet?

  I stand and watch the tall gateway leading from the town for a few minutes. Nobody comes through, and I don’t leave. My band tightens, and I wince as I look down. The screen flashes orange with a command to return to my quarters and I wonder what will happen if the screen turns red or the band tightens further.

  Or if I disobey the orders.

  I don't want to know.

  I hurry back towards the Magus Academy, heart-rate rising at every noise. I may be in a town and safe, but now I have doubts. Each time an image of Jay lying dead crosses my vision, I picture myself beside him.

  As I approach the building, two figures stand in the shadows and hold a quiet conversation. I halt and wish I had Dean's ability to shift into the shadows. Instead, I shuffle into the unlit doorway opposite and peer into the gloom. One figure is tall and robed, the other shorter in leather armour, but that's all I can make out.

  The usual exhaustion hits like a shield to the head, and I sway slightly, attempting to keep my eyes open.

  I need to get into the building.

  Resting against the wall, I yawn and shake my head in an attempt to remain conscious. Earlier, the sugar and adrenaline-pumped jitteriness had me wide awake; this sudden tiredness is unusual. I slump onto the step, head against the hewn wooden doorway behind, the cool stone steps against my robed backside. I attempt to focus on the figures but the world shifts in and out of view in front of me. Hanging out with Dean rather than returning to my quarters on time was a bad idea.

  I pull my cloak around myself and dig my nails into my palms in an attempt to stay awake.

  I need to go inside. I have to find my bed.

  My wristband ticks loudly, illuminates briefly and then fades with my consciousness.

  "Why's one out here?" My eyelids flutter as I fight the heaviness in my eyes and limbs, catching up to awareness where I am. Outside. Cold. Numb arse. Two men, covered by baggy, all-over orange suits stand in the same place as the other men did earlier. One turns his head and I snap my eyes closed again.

  The suits remind me of HazMats, of sci-fi movies where survivors of nuclear war or viral outbreaks prowl the streets, although their tired faces aren’t covered by masks.

  “Malfunction?” ask the other guy. He taps on a rectangular object in his hand. “She’s not on my list to res.”

  “Hmm.”

  By their voices, I presume they remain a few feet from me, and I focus on maintaining my slackened stance against the door. Footsteps approach and I stiffen as a hand takes my wrist. Something beeps, the sound of a scanner, and I fight against opening my eyes to see what's happening.

  The hand shifts, fingers against my pulse point. "It's alive. Bracelet functional." The hand releases my wrist. "Didn't make it back to base though."

  A shuffling sound, footsteps, as the second man approaches. "Definitely no injury?"

  "Not according to the wristband stats."

  "Wanna strip her off and take a look," says one of them, voice low.

  What the fuck?

  "Dude, seriously? You want this job or not? You can't abuse them," the other guy snaps.

  "Not publicly."

  "Jesus, man. Sign up to play and find yourself a harem."

  "Yeah, sure, even with staff discount I can't waste my money on that."

  "You're better headed to Downtown New London for that kind of shit anyway."

  Their conversation replaces panic with confusion and the sick twisting inside my stomach becomes something beyond fear. Horror.

  "So, should we leave it here or move to the room she should be in?"

  "Dunno."

  "Call base?"

  "Yeah, I guess. Let's go pick up the ones that need patching first. If they're not back in place by tomorrow there'll be issues. We already fucked up our quotas. She isn't one of ours."

  "Yeah."

  Once I hear the shuffle of feet on the cobbles and distancing voices, I open my eyes to look at their retreating figures. They head towards a bright white light which I would swear are headlights—or would do if such things existed where I am.

  What the hell is happening here?

  My impetus is to run, but I'm damn sure I don't want anybody to see me moving. Apart from the men, nobody else is in the street and the whole place is silent. Not even ambient sounds. I attempt to move my limbs but they're too heavy; no way I could leave even if I wanted to.

  The last time I had a panic attack before my arrival here was a month ago. The third one in less than two days is about to hit, and I concentrate on breathing as my chest tightens. I can't comprehend any of the conversation I heard, because the logic is too much to accept.

  My racing thoughts are interrupted as the white lights approach, and a low hum accompanies a vehicle moving slowly along the street. Head lolled forward, I peer from beneath my fringe at the sight. A black van passes at walking pace, and on the side is the symbol I attempted to remember before.

  The one I saw in Ethan’s house.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I wake the next morning, covered in the familiar scratchy blanket
, lying on the bed in my small Academy room. I sit and wrap my arms around myself, glancing around, as the panic takes hold again.

  Did I dream that weird shit from last night because my mind was on overdrive? Maybe I read too much sci-fi and I now imagine I'm in some kind of bizarre dystopia. I run through the fact about myself in my head. Name. Town of birth. Family. Friends. Job. Address.

  My synapses won't fire. I have a vague image of a flat, but however hard I attempt to grasp the words, I can't come up with an address. My throat tightens, and I run through the same set of facts again.

  Eleanor Walker has a scar.

  I leap to my feet and roll up the leg of my pants, twisting my head to look behind at the skin on the back of my thigh. The jagged scar from when I fell from my bike aged twelve is still there.

  See. My imagination has taken over rationality. I snort to myself. As if rationality exists here—I'm stuck in a fucking game.

  After a bad night’s sleep and needing my brainpower to focus on learning spells and gaining reputation, it's no wonder I'm having difficulty remembering my real world. I tap the bracelet screen. Health and magic energy are at maximum, but stamina and wisdom are lower despite my recent level up. There's a line of text beneath: Not fully rested. Huh. No shit, Sherlock.

  But as I head to the kitchens to hunt for provisions, I slink around people and avoid eyes, worried I might see something I don't want to. Because all I want to see right now is my friends.

  I stroll through the same street where I saw the van in my dreams, pass the trading house, and towards the park I'd agreed to meet my friends in. The sun interferes with my focusing as I approach, shining into my eyes, and I hold my hand against my head for a makeshift visor.

  Jay.

  I halt, and a short guy dressed in a jerkin and pants mumbles his distaste as he swerves around me.

  Sitting on a bench, beneath an apple tree at the town’s edge, besides Zara and Aidan, is Jay.

  I cautiously approach. He looks the same as yesterday—as he did before the fight; clothes and face undamaged. No huge puncture wound in his chest. “Jay?"

  He nods at me. "Morning."

  "But you... Are you okay?"