by Anne Zoelle
“That was a flicker.” Olivia's voice was calm, but her arms no longer swung casually at her sides. “The layers thinned in that spot for a moment. It happens sometimes. There are a thousand things that cause flickers. Ordinary people think they are merely daydreams or tricks of the imagination. Keep walking.”
The itchy feeling wouldn't diminish. It was growing stronger. The industrial street around us was packed with parked cars and empty of life.
But we were being watched. I could feel the gaze, and I had neither a weapon nor magic.
“Olivia—”
“We need to join a large group of people immediately. The car's too far to turn back.”
I could hear people laughing, maybe a block away. We picked up speed.
A tall figure stepped out of the shadows between two parked vans. My hand touched Olivia's arm automatically.
The figure sauntered into the light. Dark hair lazily fell around perfectly debauched features. Constantine headed toward us in all of his sexed-up, privileged glory.
“Hey,” I said, sagging in relief. I ran to meet him halfway, giving him a hug. He wrapped long arms around me.
“I didn't think you were going to make it,” I said. “You said you were coming to the house.”
“I was unavoidably detained,” he answered smoothly.
“You missed cake.” I stepped back, beyond relieved that the danger I sensed in the shadows had been Constantine. The irony of that wasn't lost on me.
At Excelsine, his magic was never without a treacherous edge, and I could see that translated to his aura in the non-magic world as well. Fathers here probably made their daughters cross the street when they saw him.
“But the others should be here any minute if you want to come to the club with us?” I said.
I could feel Olivia's eyes boring holes in my back and imagined her mentally penciling down “Talk to roommate” on her pad.
Constantine’s lazy eyes took in Olivia, then dismissed her. “Quaint, but I have to pass. I have little time.”
A butter-soft, dark leather strap vertically hugged his torso, the messenger bag settled against his well-formed backside.
“You didn't need to travel all the way here,” I pointed out. “I'd have seen you in a week or two.”
“And miss the ten minutes I could claim of your birthday, even if you choose to celebrate it in this godforsaken place? Never.” He avoided my friendly pinch. “I was held at the checkpoint. Amusing, but amusements consume time.”
Olivia looked at him sharply, but said nothing.
“Really? What did you bring that caused the hold up?” I eyed his bag, curiosity pulling.
“Eying my assets, Crown?” His expression was lazy and amused. Upon first meeting him I had thought he might be some sort of sex demon. He was completely human, in actuality, but the reality of him wasn't far from my first impression.
“You know me, always ogling fine leather.” It was easy to share in his amusement. “What did you bring?”
The establishment of a firm, friends-only relationship when we'd first started working together had been beyond the right move, and such a relationship made it very easy to get along with Constantine. He was not, and would never be, a nice boy, but he was darkly entertaining and brilliant, and a great business partner.
I tried to peek into his bag. He was tall enough that I had the perfect view. When he didn't object, I stuck a finger under the flap, lifted it, and peered inside.
“Something obviously brilliant,” he said, posture slouched and casual, expression lazily expectant as I searched. “A present to equal yours necessitated a challenge.” Our birthdays were six days apart, with his occurring while we'd still been on campus. The gift I had given him had greatly amused him.
He wasn't avoiding my poking. Which meant that anything good was well hidden. I paused for a moment, examining the interior details. There were a dozen interesting pockets lining the sides and an expensive-looking thin sweater puddled in the middle—possibly hiding a dozen more objects beneath.
I focused my gaze on the exterior hardware of the bag and ran my fingers along the large metal button that secured the front. Magic sparked inside of me, battering against my cuff and seeking an outlet it wasn't able to find.
Constantine twisted the bag away. Bingo! “Patience, Crown.”
“Coming from the master of patience himself,” I retorted, trying to get a better visual on the button.
“You acknowledge my supremacy. Finally.”
“Ha. As if you—”
“We should get moving, Ren,” Olivia said tightly. She was standing to the side, observing us with the unreadable expression she undertook right before she ripped into the prosecution's argument at school.
Constantine didn't look away from me. “What's the matter, Price? You think you'll find yourself under attack?” His voice was honey smooth.
Unease enveloped the atmosphere around us again.
“Idiocy and reckless disregard aren't traits I desire to possess.” She started walking again, obviously expecting me to follow—which I did. “Your little toys won't work here, Leandred, if we are tagged.”
“How could you know what I have up my sleeves, Price?” Constantine sauntered alongside me until we individually squeezed through a turnstile and into the industrial lot, a shortcut that would take us to the club. He cocked a brow in my direction. “I don't remember sleeping with her. Did I, Crown? I must have been drunk.”
Without thinking, I put my hand on his arm and started to send a zap of magic as punishment. Olivia turned immediately and her hand clamped on my wrist, startling me enough that I stopped channeling the energy.
The three of us stood half-interlocked and unmoving in the empty, concrete space. Laughter from the club's entrance around the corner rang out over our silence.
The reverberation of the magic I had to force back down echoed through my arm. I looked at my new control cuff, which had just tightened even more unpleasantly around my wrist.
Constantine brimmed with intensity and anticipation. His expression was definitely one of encouragement. He wanted me to try and zap him.
Olivia's lips pursed. “Ren…” The single word was a warning. “Magic use in the First Layer is continually monitored and since you don't have a container, you would both fail and be fined.”
But Olivia wasn't positive I would fail or she wouldn't be holding on to my arm so tightly.
“Unless you have a device to hinder such things,” Constantine said lazily, though his gaze was the furthest thing from idle. “Or are a mage who can tap into the magic of the Layer system. A very rare type of mage. There was strange talk concerning something that happened specifically during the attack on the Library of Alexandria today.”
My heartbeat spiked.
Olivia kept her gaze focused on me as we maintained our motionless, broken triangle. “Such a mage would not want to be registered by the Department, which is exactly what would happen should said mage be caught on the grid,” she said.
They would analyze my magic and my background. I'd be caged or exterminated. To be caught doing magic without the aid of a container in the First Layer would be devastating.
I nodded to her, releasing all intention to channel magic.
Thunder cracked and a green line zipped past my peripheral vision.
The three of us whirled to see a thirty-foot chartreuse dome suddenly encase us. Five men, armed to the teeth, stood just inside the perimeter.
“Hands where we can see them,” one ordered.
Olivia's hand flew to her pocket, only to be ripped away and unnaturally extended a moment later. From the grimace on her face, she was fighting to lower her arm.
“Hands where we can see them, or we start removing limbs. And if you try to escape, the Containment Magic will kill you instantly.” The man’s expression indicated that this would please him immensely.
The Department had finally caught me.
Chapter Three: Danger Re-
engaged
The chartreuse containment field leeched swirls of lime into the concrete and back up into the dome above us. There was a poisonous feel to the curves, as if they were streaked with venom.
And yet there was something—familiar, yet alien, comforting, yet enticing—about the magic. Like a beloved childhood stuffed animal that had resided in another person's house for a few years. The dome's magic looked familiar, but didn't smell right.
I stepped in front of my friends, hands outstretched. This was my fault. And I would take the full blame.
The man who had spoken moved forward as well. He was of average height, with short brown hair and deep-set brown eyes. His left ear was slightly larger than his right. In fact, all of the features on his left side were just slightly larger than the ones on the right, as if he had been created by an uneven hand.
I had seen this man. Earlier today, I had seen him in the library amidst the group lugging the purple boxes. On my way back from grabbing my papers, I had passed them in the hall. Right before the attack.
His unevenly set eyes flashed and focused on the top of my head. His expression faltered, and his gaze dropped to my face. His eyes narrowed as if he were memorizing my features like I had his.
“And who might you be with such an interesting set of shields? Step back with the Leandred and Price spawns. I'll deal with you later.”
His words registered slowly and strangely. They weren't here for me.
Adrenaline surged and I positioned myself fully in front of Olivia and Constantine. Threat to friends was in an infinitely worse category than a threat to me. My brother had died the last time a strange magic user in the First Layer had asked me to step away.
And if this man had been at the library before the attack, he was likely not from the Department at all.
Magic leaped from my core and blasted upward. I had to get Olivia and Constantine out of the dome, or somehow call magical law enforcement to us. I'd be arrested for using magic, interrogated by the Department, and likely imprisoned in magical Siberia. I accepted those consequences.
I thrust my hands toward the men. Expecting a successful outward blast despite the new cuff, I was unprepared for the violent ricochet of failure. Magic exploded inside of me. I stumbled, vision blurring, my organs battered, bruised, and on fire.
In a blink of the eye, bolts of blue flew forward over my shoulder as Olivia attacked in the wake of my failure.
The blasts hit two of the men, sending them sprawling across the lot, but as the leader dove to the side, he spiraled an arm toward his injured comrades. The downed men sprang back to their feet, revitalized and battling once more. The five men separated in a move that bespoke long hours of practice drills—like Christian's football plays of coordinated attack and defense—and bolts of magic flew everywhere.
I pulled myself upright and tried to regain my equilibrium. My new cuff issued a threatening shock to my wrist against using magic again. But Olivia and Constantine were outnumbered five to two.
I'd done magic in the First Layer before, and there had been the unspoken communication a few moments prior between Olivia and Constantine that implied I was capable of doing it again. Something had to get through the cuff if I just tried hard enough.
What was the point of being the monster under the bed, if I couldn't use the monster's power?
Pulling my trusty mental pyramid into rotation, I separated the tip into five points, and let the spiked lines dance wildly around each of the five assailants, trying to lock into position like a fighter jet locking onto its target. Slippery and hard to control, two spikes nonetheless locked on and another one pulled tighter circles—nearly there.
Before I could fire, I was roughly pushed to the ground and my targeting mechanism broke.
Olivia and Constantine each dove to opposite sides of view. On my knees, I tried to shoot magic in the general vicinity of the outspread enemies, regardless of aim.
Nothing. I reflexively gripped my cuff, which was now strangling my wrist and cutting off circulation, and tried to rip it free. I gathered magic and targeted my cuff instead of targeting outward.
My body slammed flat into the ground, shattering my concentration. Silken threads snaked over me, binding me to the pavement, as firmly as any spider wrapping a fly. The parking lot lit with magic—electrified jolts illuminating the industrial buildings around the lot like the set of a horror movie.
A horrific nightmare trapping me.
The leader crouched next to me—the battle raging around us in a rippled, bolting chaos. His asymmetrical eyes were narrowed. He looked at the top of my head again, and his expression lost the last edge of confusion and turned straight to fury as his eyes flashed again.
“Verisetti.” Anger and disgust didn't completely hide the fear in his voice as he said the name. “Playing his own game? I'll dissect you myself for the answers.”
Two blasts thrust him backward. Constantine was suddenly at my side, launching into battle with the man. Any panic-stricken thoughts of the man mentioning Raphael Verisetti were firmly pushed aside by terror for my friends as full on warfare ensued. Olivia crouched, holding the edges of a shield to deflect their attacks, then raising the shield at intervals to send out beams of her own. One of her beams connected and thrust a man twenty feet through the air. His body bounced off the dome and joined another downed enemy at the edge.
Olivia was a powerful mage, but the kind of reflexes and quick lateral strategy that combat mages needed in battle weren't Olivia's strengths. She was a precise, exacting mage who deliberated extensively before she cast. Her magic was always perfect, but her methods took time. If her shield went down, she was toast.
And the men were expending huge amounts of magic without any sign of lessening their siege. With their coordinated movements, they easily revived their downed companions. Like Alexander Dare and his team of combat mages, this group moved together cohesively—almost as if they were synced.
Why wasn't anyone running in to arrest us? Members of the Department, Marsgrove, anyone?
Painstakingly, I tried to peel the edge of the net from the ground, but it held firm. Any magic I tried to channel sparked fruitlessly, like a gas stove unable to light.
Constantine, like Olivia, was also under attack, but he casually deflected anything aimed his way without bothering to return fire. His smirk was lazy, but his gaze was sharp and kept track of me, his defensive movements never taking him far.
Neither Constantine nor Olivia attempted to fight together or pool resources. Both would run out of container magic soon.
I watched, helpless against the ground.
Olivia's shield flickered suddenly and a penetrating wave of buttercup yellow hit her, making her lurch to the right. Her shield pulsed.
Help her, not me! I tried to yell at Constantine, but no sound emerged.
I pushed and pushed at the net strands, anxiety making my caged magic frenzied, but impotent. Nausea rose within me at my complete inability to move or act.
Then Olivia fell. A scream rose within me. The sound and feeling of it choked my silent throat. A net engulfed her and she too was forced motionless beneath it, her face turned away.
Concentration turned en masse to Constantine, who stood in front of me but slightly to the side.
A device in the leader's hand was aimed at Olivia’s head. “If you move,” the leader said to Constantine as the others prowled closer. “The Price girl dies.”
“Kill her then.” Constantine's voice, usually dripping with false charm, was ice cold.
My throat constricted with the sounds I tried to make.
One of the men holding a net device edged close enough to grab Constantine's arm. As soon as his fingers touched Constantine's skin, the assailant shrieked—a high-pitched animal noise—and fell to his knees, screaming in absolute agony. He clutched his hand, wildly shaking it as if attempting to dislodge acid.
A compatriot grabbed his collar and scrambled backward with him— away from
Constantine—while he rapidly cast healing spells on the man's hand, a hand that looked like it was crumbling.
Constantine smirked.
Sitting in his room making diabolical mixtures and practicing sex spells probably didn't engender a lot of tactical fighting savvy. Other than his blasts at the leader when he had knelt next to me, Constantine had been solely diverting magic aimed his way in the perennially bored manner he exuded outside of his workshop. But Constantine was Professor Stevens' protégé and a genius with materials. Whatever personal shields he wore obviously worked in the First Layer and had vicious defensive properties.
With his perpetual arrogance, though, Constantine was watching the pain he'd caused and missed the leader's asymmetrical features morphing in fury.
A huge wave of blackened purple flew from the man's hands and exploded against Constantine's face. Constantine stumbled, and magic peeled away like destroyed skin, eating away his shield set and exposing what lay beneath. A horrifying set of crisscrossing patterns twisted across Constantine’s face.
His head bent toward me and I could see every disfiguring violet bloom. His expression twisted into something violent and lethal and his fingers gripped a jagged metallic star on his belt then threw it. As it coursed through the air, the metal changed properties, becoming silver mist. It attached like a web to the asymmetrical man, who fell to his knees, holding his throat, gasping the last breaths of a gutted fish.
Active magic and sound ceased completely and the parking lot lights eerily illuminated the deadened space.
Constantine's fingers slipped under his own shirt to grip his stomach. The disfiguring violet marks turned nearly black then receded, leaving clear, unmarked skin behind. His expression promised death, but whatever he had done to heal himself had taken its toll. The hand lifting from his shirt shook.
The other was gripping a second metallic star.
Above his mocking smile, Constantine's deadly gaze pinned the remaining two men—promising to give one last death before he was put down. “Who will it be?”
