by Anne Zoelle
My beast moved in jerky motions within the new setting, but each movement grew more fluid as Patrick tweaked the circling code.
I wanted to try my hand at that. Desperately.
A whistle sounded from under the table. “Look at the movement. It's learning every time you poke the scene. Sentience, in a completely new construct.” Asafa's gaze turned to me. “You did that in two days?”
“They are just drawings with a bit of imagination.” I had done enough monster artwork in my lifetime—and Christian and I had always created a backstory for each design—that it was second nature now to mentally assign complete stories to my creations.
And now my magic made those imaginings real. Like Guard Rock... I hadn't consciously chosen his personality—my magic had made it happen and given him free will by pulling on the imaginative practice I had used for years, consciously and subconsciously.
Asafa didn't say anything, but his pliers tapped thoughtfully on his chest. Olivia stiffened next to me, and I automatically sent out a pulse of reassurance along her thread.
We all watched Patrick work for a moment as he pulled one of the robot designs into the air. The monster and robot started fighting under Patrick's manipulations.
“Will would love this,” I said to Olivia, trying to distract her from whatever was aggravating her. “Only his love of physical machines must have stopped him from being a twenty-four-hour gamer.”
“Will Tasky?” Asafa cocked his head, pliers working steadily again and emitting little sparks of magic. “I saw you sitting with him in politics. Had a mech class with him last year and we got into a bit of quality control trouble. Haven't seen much of him this year. Tell him to stop by any time. Could always use more testers.” He gave me a wide grin and a wink.
I grinned back. Having Christian as a brother had made me adore charmers.
Asafa's fingers flashed and energy surged along the wires and connections under the table, then everything disappeared from view with a pop.
Olivia huffed a breath, but relaxed a bit. “Do you have any written terms I can look over?”
Asafa, still on his back, sent a considering glance Olivia's way, charming grin turning into something more serious. Patrick's eyes brightened as he looked at her while his fingers still danced in the images. “The legal gal! We've heard many tales of your wit and prowess.”
“Trick is practicing lines for the game. Ignore him.” Asafa twirled his tool and pushed out from under the table, his eyes never leaving Olivia as he rose. “Olivia Price?”
“Present,” Olivia said crisply.
He passed the pliers from right hand to left and back again, considering.
“Is that a problem?” There was a dark undercurrent in her voice.
He looked between us for a moment, then smiled slowly at her. “No.”
If I didn't know Olivia so well, I might have missed the momentarily taken aback expression that crossed her features before her cool facade was once more in place. “Then shall we get started?” she asked crisply.
I wanted to continue watching Patrick work, but I couldn't use Olivia's time indiscriminately, so I nodded.
Patrick pulled a string of code from a red box on the worktable and encompassed the aerial display, then threw the entire thing at the box. It swept inside and emitted a little chirping noise, saving his progress.
Patrick and Asafa looked at each other for a long moment, holding a silent conversation, then both nodded.
The initial terms were easily laid out. “This folder of Ren Crown's art in exchange for Asafa Frey and Patrick O'Leary's latest and greatest compulsive game controller.” Patrick held up both items, one in each hand, to allow contractual magic to circle and assign them as the contract's properties. Asafa stood next to him, passing his pliers between his hands.
The contractual magic hovered in the air, awaiting my response.
Olivia's fingers clamped around my wrist, halting me from agreeing to the terms.
Trick's mouth curled and his eyes lit joyously. “Ah, excellent. Saf, you ready?” Trick waved a hand so that the couch turned ninety degrees and two chairs popped into existence across from us with a table in the middle.
Asafa sat in the chair next to his excited roommate. “Yes. Go.”
“Negotiation in progress,” Patrick said. The contractual magic spread over our four heads, hovering a few feet above, waiting.
“No decisions until the agreed upon words are uttered by each participant—name first, then the word agrees,” Olivia said briskly.
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
Olivia's fingers pressed briefly and I repeated the word, “Agreed.”
Olivia held out her hand for the controller and Patrick handed it to her. Spells of all sorts twisted out from her fingers and fell over the device, feeling for its secrets. I could tell when she got to the compulsion aspects, because she shot me a look that said we would be having a “talk” later.
“This is your best design?” she asked them.
“Newest and brightest!”
Then, like a switch had been flipped, terms flew back-and-forth in machine-gun fashion.
“The controller, four hours of personal command, upgrades for anything you produce on a controller of any sort in the next six months, and a seven percent stake,” Olivia said.
“The controller as is and a fanlee,” Patrick replied. I wondered what a fanlee was, but didn't take the time to translate it, as Olivia's facial expression said she already knew.
“Trite. The controller, upgrades as previously described, and a ten percent stake.”
“The art, plus fifteen more pieces in the next month in exchange for the controller, any upgrades on it specifically, and a three percent stake.”
“My previous terms modified to a seven percent stake,” Olivia said.
“Three and a half.”
“Bump back to ten, then.”
“You wound me terribly. Four.”
“You shouldn't play at using a sword, then. Nine, and the four hours back on the table.”
“My heart. Battered, fair lady. Twenty instead of fifteen, the four hours back, five percent.”
A small smile hovered on Asafa's lips as the two batted terms in increasingly quick fashion. Patrick looked as if Christmas had come twice in as many weeks.
They started speaking faster and it took great effort for me to keep track of “previous terms” and “modifications” as they morphed and changed into nothing that resembled the initial transaction. Anything that wasn't expressly addressed got rolled in automatically to the next sally. Contractual magic was wildly outside of my experience and skill set. If called upon to say anything at the moment, I'd be dead meat.
Asafa said nothing, but every once in a while when Patrick paused, I saw Asafa tip his head. They were talking to each other via frequency, then.
“Eight,” Olivia said.
“Six.”
“Seven,” she said.
“Patrick O'Leary agrees.”
“Asafa Frey agrees.”
Olivia tipped her head to me, but never looked away from her opponents.
“Uh, Ren Crown agrees,” I said.
The contract magic fell, as if the strings holding it up had been cut. It settled over the four of us.
Patrick handed me the controller and kept the folder. Olivia rose and nodded sharply, then strode toward the door, her heels clicking on the floor.
“Great.” I smiled, a little uncertain as to what I had actually agreed to, but the controller was now in my hand, so at least I had gotten that. “Talk to you guys soon?”
Patrick's smile was blinding and Asafa nodded with a charming grin.
“Yes. And bring her back any time, art mage.”
Art mage was infinitely better than the alternative. And their expressions spoke truth. They wanted Olivia to return. I already liked them both—they embodied my kind of mischief—but their acceptance of Olivia made a huge impact on my emotions. I
felt the beginnings of connection tendrils wrap out toward them.
“Great. We'll be on service duty tomorrow for two hours as well.”
Both of their gazes narrowed, their smiles widening. Plotting. “Good to know.”
Olivia gave me a dark look at the door as I hurried through. We headed up the stairs to the top track of the Magiaduct.
“It's not a secret we have to keep, as to when we are on duty,” I said, trying to reassure her. “It's a club thing, helping out other members, and you are becoming an honorary member now, you know,” I said cheerfully, as her expression turned pained. “Patron defender of mischief makers.”
“We will be discussing this entire venture, Ren,” Olivia said as she looked at the controller in my hand. “What was that idiotic brain of yours thinking?”
“Hey, you loved that.” We strolled along the track, under the early, star-filled night sky. “I saw your face. I know you.”
Something odd and yearning passed over her expression, then firmed back up. “It was an adequate transaction. I shudder to think what would have happened if you hadn't had the sense to bring me along. Honestly, Ren, an O'Leary. They'll lure you with a rainbow and promises of gold, then fleece you blind while you search.”
Patrick wasn't short, but he had mischievous eyes that lent themselves to the appearance of puckish deviltry. “Are you telling me Patrick's some sort of leprechaun?”
She snorted. “Don't be silly.”
I hadn't really been joking. Not in this world.
Olivia's stride shortened, allowing me to keep up more easily. “The negotiation, while briefly invigorating, was to our favor. O'Leary let his admiration show verbally before the negotiations began. They both made positive comments when they could easily have kept any positives silent via frequency. Frequencies are easy to hack except when under room wards shared between the two frequency users that are connecting. Insults are the normal gambit when first looking at a bargaining chip. Neither was willing to offer any offense to your product, which means they'll want more of your designs and are willing to let you know you have some power.”
“Great! I like them and I want to make more. I'm totally going to play those games when I get some free time.” I'd have free time. Some day.
Olivia rolled her eyes, but she said nothing further until we reached our room.
“That.” She pointed at the controller as soon as we were under the security of our own room's wards. “Explain. Now.”
“I can,” I said, nodding.
“Good. Go.”
“I have an explanation.”
“And I'm waiting for it.”
I tried to give her a winning smile. It came out as a cringe instead. “Constantine and I are going to use it. To compel magic, not a faceless victim, I swear.” I was not faceless. And we were going to put in safeguards.
“Ren...”
“Olivia,” I said brightly.
Her lips pressed together. “How?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. I knew how poorly this would go over—anything to do with Constantine went over poorly—but it was better for all of us to be on the same page. Sharing the knowledge would make it safer for everyone—a lesson I’d learned well last term. “We are going to make a series of leeches, trying them out on me one-by-one, then we will attempt one that works from afar,” I said into my fist, speaking quickly, “in order to reverse engineer or undercut the existing one.”
“No.”
“I'm serious. That's truly the plan.”
“That's not what I'm saying no to, Ren!”
“Yeah.” I tightened my ponytail and didn't look at her. The “try each one on me” and “from afar” parts hadn't been part of my last presentation to her on the topic.
“You are not invincible.”
“I know.” No matter what I was capable of, or how much better I became from training, there was always, always, danger. Terrible danger, to me and to others. It was impossible to forget the feeling of my magic caged beneath my skin. Or of it being ripped away, out of my control.
“But I have very little time, Liv,” I said quietly. “The installation that was destroyed today—I don't know how fast Raphael can recharge, and what might be next? I have to do this.”
She said nothing for long moments, and I wished I could read her mind in that moment. She shook her head. “There is nothing I can say to dissuade you from this course of action. You have made up your mind to trust Leandred. You trust too easily.” The corners of her eyes tightened.
“Constantine says that too.”
She zapped me through the room's wards.
I rubbed my arm, and couldn't stop the smile that was tugging my lips. “That just tickles now, you know.”
She sent another, but I avoided the second zap with my sweet new magic dodgeball moves, courtesy of Dare and the simulation room.
I saw a small smile tugging her lips too.
“But seriously, thanks for worrying, Liv. Will is working with us and he'll tell you about it as soon as he gets here. You don't need to imagine horrible, sketchy things happening in Constantine's lair.”
“Too late,” she said darkly.
Will and Neph took that moment to arrive. Neph looked between the two of us, taking in Olivia's tight expression and my eager one. Neph sighed.
Will leaped onto my desk chair and started spinning. Neph gracefully sat in lotus position on the end of my bed. And Olivia...Olivia outlined what we had just been talking about and worked herself back up to a rant.
“Does no one else think this is a bad idea?” Olivia demanded, looking specifically at Neph. “This project, and the three of them working together? Where is Givens when I actually need him? He'd never allow this.”
She was probably right. Mike was pretty protective of Will. However, he was outside of this set of secrets that only Olivia, Will, Neph, Constantine, Raphael, and I knew.
“Leandred trusts no one, but he obviously treats Ren differently,” Neph said soothingly.
“That's the problem,” Olivia said darkly.
“And Will is perfectly capable of spotting deception,” Neph said, however, her voice wasn't quite as strong on that point.
“I'm in the room, you know,” Will said as he whirled in my chair. He managed to get in an eye roll exchange with me. “I do have some self-control not to get caught up in a project completely.”
Neph and Olivia stared at him without response.
He sighed and stopped the chair's rotation. “Ren, tell them we'll give them nightly updates.”
“Full updates,” I said reassuringly. “With graphs and charts and popcorn.”
“Fine. After you agree to a few things. With magic,” Olivia said.
Eyes wide, I listened as she outlined a number of rules that started with the phrase, “When with Leandred, I will not...”
Compiling that list took all night.
Chapter Twenty-one: Reminders and Persuasions
The next afternoon, I strode purposefully to the art vault to meet with Stevens for our Thursday session.
Olivia and I had spent half an hour in our room after my engineering class rehearsing arguments and debate tactics to convince Stevens to increase my paint practice and production schedule. The vault was one of two places on campus that allowed me to touch paint—even store-bought paint—without adding hours to my community service total, and I hoped that presenting my argument in the heart of the vault would make it more compelling.
My overall paint supply was dwindling steadily, and there were three forces actively working against its replenishment. First, in order to produce extraordinary things, I required magical and personal input in my painting supplies—store bought paint was useless to me.
Secondly, because of Marsgrove's restriction on me, I could only make paint in the vault. Although I could use paint in the Midlands, weird things happened when I tried to make it there. The bad kind of weird things—I had nearly blown up both Guard Rock and myself in one attempt
. Something about the enveloping chaos of the Midlands sucked contaminated intentions into the mixture. So, I needed the vault, and the vault meant Stevens.
And thirdly, I needed someone with a high degree of materials or creative knowledge to supervise my mixing—Stevens or Raphael.
I had to convince Stevens. And to do so, I needed to let go of caring about how she knew Raphael. I could do that. I could separate.
With renewed vigor and determination, I turned the corner. Stevens was standing in the small clearing in front of the vault door. Her back was to me and she was talking to someone I couldn't yet see.
Debate lines scrolled through my head in a steady litany. I had practiced perfectly reasonable arguments without allowing a hint of emotional turmoil to seep through. I had memorized the kind of arguments that should work on rational, cooler-headed individuals like Stevens and Olivia—arguments presented with logic and thought, and completely alien to my natural inclination to jump in feet first when my brain said that something needed doing.
Taking a moment to listen to the What-Would-Olivia-Do side of my brain was my gift to the world.
I would focus on the paint issue in clear, concise, rational terms. I was prepared. I could do this.
Professor Stevens stepped to the side, and in that split second every nuance, argument, and justification unraveled as the person she was speaking to was revealed.
Helen Price.
Kill.
Horrifying offensive magic swirled inside me. My cuff pulsed painfully. Uncontrolled magic combined with bad intentions viciously activated the latent control properties in the metal. I clutched at it and gritted my teeth. Deep breaths. I struggled to keep my violent thoughts in check.
Olivia’s mother was on campus. Chatting with Professor Stevens like old friends.
The media had reported that the Department had called in all free hands to deal with the destruction they had suffered so personally. If their focus had been to find and eradicate the terrorists before, it was at an all-time high now.
So Helen Price was on campus discussing...what?
Whatever it was, she'd no doubt leave a little present for her daughter on her way out.
I stumbled into the copse of trees that circled a series of benches and tables and shakily removed the paper wasp I had created before Engineering. Using it would mess up my plans for the day, but I struck “Pleasing Dare with Magical Prowess” off my list and held the wasp close. The amount of constrained magic wishing to wreak vengeance leaped and morphed into a new, consciously directed command. The wasp had been created specifically to use its senses for close reconnaissance and recording. I had been planning to give it to Dare to use on the Department devices.
