by Anne Zoelle
I'd sell myself down the river, if asked by one of eight people in the world. I sure wasn't going to let Marsgrove know that, though.
“You know, I don't understand you people,” I said, not waiting for Marsgrove to respond. “Do you think he's going to take over the world on his lunch break? Shouldn't you be more concerned about the motives of other mages. Like your former buddy?” I tapped my finger in echo of his joyless rhythm.
A knock on the door interrupted the beginning of what was likely to be a scathing rebuttal on Marsgrove's part.
“What?” He called in a surly, but commanding voice.
The door opened and his attractive secretary stuck her head in. “Delivery for you, sir.”
He waved her forward and she put a small, package wrapped in brown paper and twine on the edge of his desk.
“Checked and cleared, sir.”
“Thank you, Sylline.”
“Of course, sir.” She exited.
My gaze went to the package, wondering idly what could be in it—the trapped soul of some hapless student?—then shifted back to Marsgrove as he exhaled.
The interruption had caused something in Marsgrove to lose steam. He ran a hand along his face, and for the first time I saw weariness there. Fatigue that was bone deep.
“Miss Crown, you don't understand the game that is being played.”
Fatigue painted across Marsgrove's normally militant features was alarming. I eyed the package again. Maybe it contained magic pills to handle stress. Maybe Marsgrove was hyped on them all the time and needed a recharge right now.
He shook his head, drawing my attention back to his face. For once, his steely eyes looked to me in appeal. Weird. Really weird. Even the air around me was starting to feel freaked out about it.
My eyes immediately returned to the package. I felt compelled to look at it. Another spark of unease shot through me.
Marsgrove reached almost absently for the wrapped paper and twine. “You have no idea what—”
As he reached out, a line of magic materialized around the package—a gold line stretching toward him as his fingers drew closer.
My magic reacted before I even realized consciously what was happening. Marsgrove's chair rocketed backward and the package shot off his desk and hit the wall. The box dropped, clunking awkwardly to the floor. A spent pyramid was rotating in my mind, drawing in more magic in case the package—now pulsing gold—erupted.
But an outside force smothered my magic, shattering my mental construct and yanking away my ability to connect to it. Just before the magic sealed, my scarf tightened, communicating distress to the Alpha team before it too was sealed away from me by Marsgrove's spell.
Marsgrove stood before me, his shields fully raised. “You attacked a dean of this school.” He looked furious, but the emotion was edged with a dark satisfaction. “And it will be my pleasure to—”
“Not...right,” I croaked. Whatever Administrative Magic he was using made it hard to speak. I cast pinched eyes at the package, unable to find the right words or to lift a finger. “Not right.”
The grip on my magic paused.
Marsgrove would be a far less dangerous enemy if he were stupid. He cast an immediate suppression bubble that encased the package, and a flurry of cataloging spells flew toward it even as he watched me. He would be a far less dangerous enemy if he weren't powerful and controlled—I couldn't even hope to split magic and mental focus into multiple streams like that yet, and he did it easily.
He pointed to the package without looking away from me. “What do you see on it?” The Administrative Magic loosened enough for me to speak and focus, but I was stuck to the chair, unable to move.
“Gold.” With an additional thirty seconds to process, it was obvious whose magic was all over the package. “Raphael.”
Marsgrove's expression didn't drastically change, but there was a tightening around his lips and eyes. It reminded me again that the two of them had history. Normally, I wouldn't care, other than to know they hated each other and I hated both of them. But now...
“Why can't you sense it?” I demanded. The package was fairly glowing now. “And how did it get through your security procedures?”
His secretary had said the package had been “checked,” and Marsgrove should have been able to identify the feel of Raphael immediately. He had recognized Raphael's magic on me right off.
Marsgrove was already moving to the door and flinging it open. From my stuck position, I could see Sylline crumpled on the floor as if the strings that had been holding her up had been cut. Her styled auburn hair and neatly tailored gray suit looked incongruous on the cold tiles.
Marsgrove was silent as he checked her, then he finally murmured to her, “Grey will be here in just a minute, hang on.”
He had obviously contacted someone—I was betting on Dr. Greyskull—via frequency.
All of the spells holding me to the chair collapsed and Marsgrove suddenly loomed over me. “Open it.”
I stared at him for a moment, flexing my fingers and toes now that I had the ability back. “No.”
“Open the package.”
“No. No way.”
I waited for Administrative Magic to make me do it, but nothing happened. Bitter relief swept me. He couldn't force me to do something, then, unless I finagled myself into a magical contract like I had with the Provost last term. The magic Marsgrove had just used could only suppress and restrain.
Marsgrove relaxed slightly at my negative response.
Realization bloomed. “You thought I might be in on it.” It wasn't a question.
He didn't respond, making my anger erupt again.
“I saved you. From a package that should never have been able to be delivered. What kind of mail system do you have here? Allowing students and family to be maimed under your watch?”
Even if everything else resolved itself, I would never forgive him for allowing Helen Price's poisonous packages to get into Olivia's hands.
Any previous loosening in Marsgrove's posture was gone. His expression indicated he was past furious and approaching savage rage, but I didn't care.
“I thought your mission in life other than to subjugate me, was to hunt him down?” I said. “Shouldn't you have some sort of basic signature detector for mortal enemies, Dean Marsgrove? He was a student here once—with you, probably—and I know the school records student's signatures.”
“I should be asking you about his magic signature.” His tone was bitter. “You are the one who fed him additional magic.”
That was completely unfair, but I gripped the verbal response tightly between my teeth. The mental voice I had incorporated from debating with Olivia said arguing about my guilt and lack of consent during my Awakening would be useless. Marsgrove didn't care about fairness. Not in this, and not with me.
“And I'm the one who just saved you from that magic,” I said. “And now you owe me.”
“Get out.”
“Gladly.” I was on my feet before the end of the word exited my mouth.
I gave the still-glowing package in the corner a wide berth and slipped around his fallen secretary.
I got as far as the grassy center of Top Circle when my journal to Dare shrieked in my bag.
“Ren, perimeter ward failure where Norr is—” The transmission cut off abruptly.
Light exploded behind me. I whirled, along with everyone else on the circle as the Administration Building glowed, pulsed, then went dark, sealing shut. I sprinted between two buildings and to the edge of Top Circle, gasping as I looked down the mountain.
Light exploded, rippling down the mountain, in every direction. A dome sealed over the battle field stands, and a ring of light encircled the Magiaduct. All the ports lit as one, then darkened. I saw a student on the Third Circle run through an arch and emerge on the other side of it, as if he'd passed under a simple decorative stone construction.
My God. I stared at my bag and the dead journal transmission as my brain p
rocessed and shoved together the data that had been hovering.
The combat mages were all at the competition.
The administrators, staff, and professors were all gathered in the Administration Building for planning sessions.
I could see some students walking the grounds, but the vast majority of the population was either in the stands at the battle field or in the dorms watching the competition remotely.
The Justice Squad and the Troop—and even the Neutralizer Squad—had been called to an emergency meeting in the dorms ten minutes ago.
A package had been sent to neutralize Marsgrove.
The perimeter ward had been breached.
The tracking spell Dare had placed on Emrys Norr had registered him at the breach.
Emrys Norr, who Dare had researched, and who had never felt right to him.
I ran, pulling everything I needed from my bag as I sprinted straight for the Blarjack Swamp.
Campus was under attack from the inside, and the only thing that now stood in the way was me.
Chapter Thirty-three: Red Alert
Dare had never trusted Emrys to actually complete the safety checks he was required to do, and although there had been nothing Dare could do about the Troop's presence, he had put a spell on Emrys's tablet to directly track his movements around campus.
I fished out my tablet and simultaneously checked Dare's spell and the state of campus. Minutes ago, Emrys had been logged by the spell at the exact spot where we'd checked the weak perimeter ward less than half an hour before. Then...nothing. The tablet had been either destroyed or taken off campus.
State of campus? Locked down, with all off-campus transmissions and ports blocked.
And all I could think of was Emrys.
Creepy Emrys who was aware of all our security measures—who had been trained to be. Perfectly positioned and operational, he, like each member of the Troop, knew every emergency procedure. He'd also been having lunch with blushing admins and members of the staff who kept operations information.
My imagination was starting to get ahead of me and it was telling me that at any moment on-campus transmissions might be disrupted as well. I pushed the panic button on Justice Toad.
“All hands! Perimeter ward breached, Administration Building sealed, battle field stands and Magiaduct sealed, ports sealed. Isaiah, are Norr and Telgent with you?”
“General Telgent is here,” Isaiah responded immediately, voice dark but commanding. “Every Troop member except Norr is here. And every Justice Squad member but you. We have no outside communication. What is going on?”
“I think...we are under attack. I think Emrys Norr took down the perimeter ward on Eighteen.”
Justice Squad voices shouted back that I was insane, and I could hear outraged Troop voices demanding that I explain myself. They had been suddenly, inexplicably trapped in the Magiaduct because they had been called to a surprise squad meeting, and they wanted me to explain why I thought something bad was happening?
If this wasn't just a notable collection of random events, then this setup had been planned and timed perfectly. Whoever had done so had waited until most of the staff and students were contained and vulnerable.
Everything in me said this was not a random series of events. The question of why—why would someone affiliated with the Department attack campus?—would need to be answered later.
I gripped the scarf at my neck, opening the line of magic that allowed anyone wearing one to hear me. The magic connected to me and pulled on my energy. “Olivia, everyone, Red Status, repeat, Red Status! Anyone free, meet at Rendezvous Point Zeta. I repeat, Red Status!”
I ignored the yelling, expletives, and invectives issuing from my tablet and scarf, as I grabbed Dare's journal from my bag and commenced the spell that would record everything that happened around me in a mass cloud and dump it to Dare when he eventually made it through a blocked port or perimeter ward.
Until then, it was all on me.
No, I thought, as I saw Olivia, Will, Neph, Delia, Mike, Saf, Trick, Kita, Lifen, Bryant, Dagfinn, and five others running toward Rendezvous Zeta—the entrance to the Blarjack Swamp—it was all on us. Anger and relief crashed through me with so much force that I stumbled.
“What the hell is going on, Price?” Bryant shouted as he ran.
“I don't know. Model up with a live feed now!” Olivia barked, as we all converged.
Saf, Kita, and Will slid to their knees and Trick looped their magic together. A model of the mountain grew—constructed as quickly as I had ever seen them model anything, then they forced their collected mass of magic to make it a real projection to track and record where the disturbance—or disturbances—were emanating from. Dagfinn saturated the hologram in Communication Magic aimed specifically at the massed disturbance darkening the Seventeenth Circle, and Delia and Lifen pulled the threads of the communication-enhanced magic through the air and attached them to Olivia's scarf, which activated the magic in all of ours.
“A lovely backdrop for a massacre.” A booming voice burst through the audio enchantment, and the sharp features of Vincent Godfrey appeared in our hologram as he strode dramatically across one of the battle fields with his arms outstretched in the open air. “Look at this view. Almost as magnificent as it used to be in the Third. Let's return some of this beautiful magic back where it belongs.”
“Dear Magic,” Will whispered, horror in his voice. It was a sentiment repeated verbally by at least three others. The voices coming through Justice Toad suddenly changed from condemnation to terror—people trapped in the stands were likely relaying via frequency that Vincent Godfrey was on campus and walking toward them.
Vincent Godfrey—the man responsible for the carnage in Sassraf, and the man who had appeared in the hijacked feed and demanded that the Second Layer concede. Here was definitive proof that this was an attack. But not by the Department—by Third Layer terrorists.
I frantically checked my wrist and the other places where gold glowed—but the color was not pulsing any more brightly than it had earlier in the day, which meant Raphael hadn't suddenly appeared. Terrorists in the top ten must work alone. I let out a strangled noise of relief and Delia looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.
In the hologram, Godfrey gazed into the dome encasing the stands. He smiled and gave a little wave. The campus news feed had reported that ten thousand students were expected to watch the first day of competition live at the battle fields. Ten thousand students.
“Communications up now,” Godfrey said to one of the five minions behind him. His gaze narrowed on the students trapped inside the dome. “And why are they speaking in there like that? Shut down all internal campus transmissions immediately, you idiot.”
“Isaiah!” I shouted over the yelling from my tablet. “Make Telgent t—”
Abruptly, Justice Toad went silent and nearly everyone around me grabbed their ears and throats.
“—talk,” I finished loudly into the silence.
The hologram of Godfrey wavered. The scarf tightened around my neck, and my right knee buckled in surprise as magic was yanked out of me in order to keep the communication of the scarves active and alive.
Most of our assembled group looked at Olivia in surprise as the hologram continued to show the six terrorists in live motion. They slowly removed their hands from the physical points hit by their broken frequencies—looking for an explanation as to why the hologram and scarves were still active when all other communications were not.
“Price, you actually did it?” Dagfinn asked, impressed. “You carved out a block of magic separate from the school's communications?”
“Magic has been made available, yes. Track his channel, Dagfinn,” Olivia said tightly, gesturing abruptly to the hologram.
Dagfinn nodded, smiling, and initiated the magic. I startled again under the pull.
My movement did not go unnoticed this time.
“Price? Dear Magic, Price.” Dagfinn was staring at me in horror, al
ong with the others around him. “The block of magic... Did you hook our communications into her?” Dagfinn whispered oddly.
“Track the channel, Dagfinn,” Olivia said furiously. Her fierce, angry gaze bored into me before switching back to Dagfinn's group. “We don't have time to discuss.”
It was the argument I had used when I'd initiated the leech, and Olivia meant the angry barb for me. She hadn't liked this modified part of the plan at all.
A more aggressive pull began as Dagfinn did exactly what was asked of him. I wasn't surprised this time, and I forced myself to relax and not reflexively grab the streams of magic slipping away from me. If I stopped the magic, we might not get it restarted.
When Dagfinn, a twenty-one-year old communications mage, frequency hacker, and steady delinquent, had suggested hooking the scarves into a separate power source so that we'd be out from under control of “the man,” it had been obvious even at the time that he had been thinking of some sort of hijacked space in the mountain.
We hadn't had time to configure that, so I'd hooked the metaphorical jack up to me with help from Will. With my complete consent offered to the magic and our practical leech experience, it had been ridiculously easy.
The Frequency Grid was powered by magic the government allocated for communication. Anyone trying to shut down communications would, without question, take it down first. I didn't have a frequency like nearly every other student did. I was an island. I was the perfect battery.
“They are opening eight channels. Trying to piggyback now to see if we can get a signal through with theirs, then I'll hold a channel open for us, in three,” Dagfinn said, holding up three shaky fingers. He, and everyone around him, kept shooting anxious glances at me. “Two, one, got it.”
Much of the pull on me lessened as Dagfinn opened a small channel beneath one used by the terrorists. I took a deeper breath.
In the hologram, Godfrey smirked at the men and women lining up in front of him. “This is going to be a day for the books, folks. Let's make the Baileys' print run red.”
