by Parker Foye
It didn’t matter. Nothing would matter until Julian found West and shouted at him for wandering off and making him panic. Even if, as he suspected, West’s absence hadn’t been entirely his doing. Julian would find someone to shout at. Colquhouns expressed their feelings at the top of their lungs; driving to Sarnia, Julian had sworn at every red light and fellow night traveler for having the nerve to be between him and his destination. He’d driven with one hand on the wheel and the other raking his hair from his face, so when he finally parked, long blond strands drifted from his fingers.
He didn’t care. There were spells for hair replacement, but nothing could replace a human being. Fevered months ricocheting between laboratory and library, inventing spells on the fly, had confirmed as much.
Manipulating magic into hiding him, Julian dismissed the idea of running into whatever awaited him in the foundry. Panic had been at the wheel when he sped from the lake but, finally at his destination, calm blanketed him like a staying hand on his shoulder, preventing him from colliding headfirst with a bad idea.
Julian could have used a staying hand several times over the years. He didn’t know what had changed in him to feel its weight, but he wouldn’t shake it off preemptively.
Maybe this is what maturing feels like.
He snickered at the thought. If he sounded a little manic, there was no one to hear.
Calming himself with a deliberate deep breath, holding, and expelling it, Julian reached for the local threads of magic, in his mind but with his hands as well, through the open car window to his left and across the seat to his right. Magic ran across the planet like lines on a graph, but nothing as reliable to locate; ancient mages had tried to map the threads and trap them on paper, but later study revealed they moved as Earth did. Only uneducated mages tried to pin magic like it was something as mundane as longitude and latitude.
Two lines currently crossed the building where the location spell said West waited. Julian rolled his wrists, tethering himself to the local magic and teaching it his signature. When he felt the link set, he exited the car and ambled toward the abandoned foundry, pulling out his phone as he did. He shielded the glare of the screen with his hand as he dialed, trying not to ruin his night vision.
“Metaschemata Law Ontario, Heidi speaking.”
Julian sucked his teeth. He didn’t want to speak to Meta Law on his best day, and certainly not after the debacle at his cottage, but he needed a backup plan. With his free hand, he twisted magic into a notice-me-not, dragging an extension of the spell he’d cast on his car. The crude manipulation made his teeth ache, but the magic settled over his shoulders as he walked.
“I saw a mage at the Holmes foundry in Sarnia. Looks like he’s about to lose his shit, sparks everywhere,” he said, allowing himself a smirk even as his voice rose in pitch. “Someone should get down here!”
“Can I take your—”
“Nope.”
Julian ended the call and pocketed his phone. If Meta Law could send agents to stalk his empty cottage, they should be able to send a few bodies to contain an unstable mage. Few others in the meta community presented as much danger to others as a mage in a fit. It would be irresponsible to ignore the possibility, and a liability disaster if anything should happen.
Of course, Julian intended for something to happen. But he wouldn’t get caught.
He never had before.
Smoothing his shirt and tying his hair in a messy bun, Julian regretted being unable to use magelights, but even his notice-me-not would struggle to conceal their brightness in the middle of the night. But he didn’t want to go to battle looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backward. He had standards. He squinted at his image in his phone’s camera, looking for stray wisps of hair in the light of the waning moon.
Let no one say anything about vanity.
Thanks to vanity, Julian caught sight of the meta approaching behind him and didn’t blow her from the pavement immediately. Someone able to sniff him out even under a notice-me-not deserved a conversation.
A short one, maybe, but a conversation nonetheless.
Julian glanced at the building before he turned around, but nothing had changed. Nonetheless, he subtly twisted his hand to extend the range of his shielding magic and encompass the meta. She started when her vision matched her other senses, stumbling before righting herself. Her eyes narrowed, and she flicked her shaggy hair, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. The movement exposed the bruises her bangs had hidden, making her cheekbones sharp.
“Nice bit of magic. Mage Colquhoun?”
Julian acknowledged the title with a tip of his head. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”
“Dana. Of the Hargreaves pack.”
Hargreaves. Julian’s first instinct was to run, but his brain moved faster than his body, and he’d only shifted his weight before the name jolted something in his memory. He stopped, thinking back. Hadn’t West mentioned a Dana?
Confused, he sneered. “Another one? Can’t go anywhere but for falling over your lot. Thought you were more homebodies than that.”
Dana’s nose wrinkled. “Don’t say that like you think you know something. West is a Hargreaves, isn’t he? And you stink of him.”
Julian went cold and his hands twitched, reaching for magic. A defense mechanism, even against things magic couldn’t fix. Dana glanced at his hands and her eyes went wide, but she didn’t move. Julian liked that she didn’t move. It made her an easier target. He twined a strand of magic around his finger in readiness.
“I’m sorry.” Dana seemed to reset herself, straightening her shoulders and tilting her chin. “We got off on the wrong foot. West is a friend, and I want to help him.”
Julian shook his head. “I don’t have time for this.”
He tried to step forward, regretting being diverted from his mission, but Dana stood between him and the building. Julian wanted to shove her aside, but something stayed his hand. Maybe the thought of West learning how Julian had treated his friend.
Christ. Is he my conscience now?
“Please,” she said.
Just like West had said.
Julian’s chest hurt. He moved to rub his sternum but aborted the motion when Dana’s eyes narrowed with too much interest. Turning the gesture into a wrist stretch, he gestured toward the foundry. “West is in there. I think he’s in trouble.”
“He is. On both counts.”
“Then I’m afraid I have to go be heroic. He’s my betrothed, you see,” Julian said, unable to resist despite the dread pooling in his limbs at Dana’s confirmation of West being in danger.
Dana snorted, then paled under her bruises when Julian’s expression didn’t change. “You’re serious.”
Julian tugged on the strands of magic growing impatient in his hands. His hair prickled with energy, and Dana’s lip curled as if in instinctive reaction to threat, before she righted herself.
“If you go alone, the pack will tear you apart.”
Julian raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t realized the Hargreaves pack held West. He hadn’t even wondered. It had been enough to know West was trapped, somehow, and needed Julian’s help.
“The pack?”
Dana’s I told you so expression was easy to read. “Lyle and his boys.”
Of-fucking-course. It didn’t rain but pour.
“Are you sure?”
“I’d know that scent anywhere.”
“It—It doesn’t matter who has him,” Julian said, trying to convince himself. He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Okay, hero. So your plan is to, what? Attack first?” Julian shrugged and Dana sighed, like she’d put up with a lot of terrible ideas in her time. “And what do you think will happen to West then?”
She has a point.
“And you’re proposing to help? How?”
Dana bared her teeth. They were very sharp. “I go in first.”
They’d just met, and not under ideal circum
stances, but Julian wanted to trust her. He didn’t usually put much stock in his instincts—they’d led him to Lyle, after all, and what was with Hargreaves metas and his life?—but she reminded him of West.
What was the worst that could happen? Dana was only one more set of claws, at the end of the day. And Julian didn’t have time to debate any longer. He’d wasted so much time already.
“If that’s what you want, I won’t argue. What’s your brilliant plan?”
“I find out where West is. You come in after. Can you bring your”—Dana waved her hands—“whatever magic this is, so they don’t notice us?”
Seemed simple enough. Julian liked simple. But he shook his head. “It’s locked to the car. It would take too long to make something we can transport. We’re at the edge of effectiveness already.”
“Worth a try. I guess we should move fast.”
Not seeing another option, Julian nodded and motioned for Dana to lead. He fell into step behind her and tried not to breathe too loud, every sense on alert for movement from the building as his notice-me-not stretched to its threshold and began to fray. His heart beat a tattoo in his ears, surely loud enough that Dana must be able to hear. Every breath felt like a scream. Every step a stomp. In comparison, Dana moved surefooted and silent. A predator.
Could West move like that?
They made it across undiscovered, darkness disguising their approach. Next to the entrance, Dana paused to fish something out of her bag and hand it to him. Julian took it automatically, then frowned. “A gas mask?”
“Do you know what they did here?”
Julian shook his head. He hadn’t thought to look, more concerned with finding West than reading up on local history.
“It involved a fuckload of asbestos,” Dana said.
“Gas mask it is.”
As Julian yanked on the gas mask, breathing shallowly through the rubber stink, Dana dropped her bag and toed off her shoes. He watched her in confusion as she unfastened her flannel shirt, before jerking and spinning around when she started to shuck her pants as well.
“Is this really the time?” he asked, his voice strange in the mask. The plastic visor obstructed his vision as he tracked Dana’s movements, grateful for the light of the moon.
His answer came in a growl, making the hair prickle at the back of his neck as his lizard brain registered a predator. Slowly—oh so slowly—Julian turned around. A wolf stood in Dana’s place. With glossy gray fur and clever amber eyes, she nearly reached his hip. Her teeth seemed enormous. Julian hoped he didn’t smell like lunch.
For a fraught moment, they stared at each other. Julian tried not to think how pissed West would be to find out Dana had eaten Julian. Though he hoped West would be at least a little upset. Then Dana flicked her tail with a wolfy huff and headed nimbly through the doorless frame. Shouting started not long after, quickly descending to growls. Julian made fists of magic and counted his heartbeats. How long until he should go inside?
This long?
Readjusting his gas mask, Julian figured it had been long enough. The night couldn’t get any darker. Touching the remnants of his bonding ache like a talisman, he slipped inside, keeping his steps light. Puddles of dirty water reflected the moonlight, showing years of graffiti layered in different hands. Scraps of metal dangled from support struts across the ceiling, making the place seem like an eerie art piece.
Screams echoed from farther inside the building, making Julian flinch. He crept forward, magic wrapping around him in a caress as he moved through the empty rooms. Where was West? Where had Dana gone? What if it wasn’t Hargreaves at all, but some kind of double cross? Julian rubbed his sweaty hands against his jeans, stretching his human senses as far as they could go. His neck itched like someone was watching him, but when he looked, no one was there. Moonlight turned the puddles to mercury, as bright as Lyle’s eyes when he’d taken Rabid the first time, laughing at Julian like he’d done something spectacular.
“We’re gonna be rich,” he said, kissing the back of Julian’s neck. “You and me. This’ll change everything.”
“No! That’s not what it’s for. It was a mistake.”
Julian ducked away from Lyle’s kisses, hugging his notebook to his chest. Lyle sprawled back on their battered couch, his lopsided smile seeming cruel for the first time.
“You need to make more,” Lyle said. When Julian shook his head, Lyle sneered. “Then what use are you to me?”
The memory still stung, even after time and therapy and an inadvisable amount of sleepless nights. Julian knew he wasn’t responsible for Lyle’s actions, but that didn’t absolve him of his own. He’d created Rabid, and he needed to destroy it. He needed West to help him achieve that goal—and for more than that. He needed West.
“Where is she? Get her!”
Lyle Hargreaves. Julian recognized his shout. No one answered, and Julian straightened from the crouch he’d been in, even as the tangled chaos of howls and bellows grew closer. Fear tried to creep into his heart, but he refused to indulge it. Tugging on the magic trailing him like ghosts, he tilted his chin.
Mages didn’t sneak.
Grinning behind his gas mask, disappointed there was no one to see, Julian reached for the shadows and gathered them close. Closer. Until he couldn’t see anything but a thin slice of moonlight, guiding him forward. Destination locked, he moved like a shadow himself as he sprinted toward the direction of Lyle’s shouts. Thump-thump-thump went his booted feet over the ground, splashing through grimy puddles, until he burst into the open room daubed in generations of graffiti and stinking of blood and sweat. Knock-off magelights spotted the far corners, glowing dimly.
The closest members of Lyle’s pack turned at his approach, while others continued in their struggle to contain Dana’s fury, crowding her against the far wall. The pack’s eyes were wild with Rabid and confusion, their noses telling them things their eyes refused to see, unable to understand Julian’s shadows or the man traveling within. Regret stung Julian. He’d created Rabid, and it had brought them to this.
He took a breath and released the shadows.
Most mages relied on spells, needing a focus to bend the primal force of magic to their will. At a certain skill level, however, will grew strong enough to manipulate magic without needing crutches. Julian could make magic do a lot, but in the old foundry building, he didn’t do anything except nudge it into action and let the memories of the building do the rest.
Abandoned buildings were eerie places, full of ghost stories.
Julian’s shadows wrapped the wolves in long fingers of darkness, pulling them into places where light didn’t reach. Wet sounds and blunt cries accompanied them, sounds Julian would hear in his sleep. With a burst of effort, he encouraged the shadows to act only to unconsciousness, but when the sounds grew sloppy, he started calling them to return. He wanted the pack scared, not dead.
He should’ve been more concerned with himself. As soon as Julian diverted his attention, Lyle struck. Retaining his human form, he sank his fingers into Julian’s hair, yanked him off-balance, and threw him to the ground. Julian yelped as he tumbled, cracking his elbow on the unyielding stone floor. His eyes blurred with pain, blurrier still from the smudged lens of the gas mask. His breaths came harsh and loud. Lyle pinned him with his knees at Julian’s hips, taking advantage of Julian’s daze to capture his hands.
“Not so clever without these, are you?” Lyle underscored his words by smashing Julian’s knuckles to the ground. His Rabid-red eyes were wild. “Call them off!”
“I was trying, you buffoon!”
Julian’s words were muffled with the mask, but Lyle heard well enough.
“Try harder.”
Julian hoped Lyle could at least smell his disdain, since the mask disguised his sneer.
“No. Where’s West?”
“Call them off!”
A damp crunch sounded much too close to them, and Lyle flinched bodily. He smashed Julian’s hands again, leaning cl
ose enough that his bloody saliva dropped onto the lens of Julian’s mask. Over Lyle’s shoulder, he could see one of the pack trying to claw shadows from her face. They covered her like liquid, leaving only her pleading eyes. Too late, Julian realized his magic had tangled with the Rabid spell to become something else entirely.
Fuck. This isn’t what I intended.
In the back of his mind, a mutter. I’ve heard that one before.
Shoving against Lyle’s weight, Julian snapped his fingers and slammed his heel against the ground, demanding the shadows to return to him. They resisted, making him feel stretched with effort. He gritted his teeth against the pull and slammed his heel again, taking advantage of Lyle’s destabilized position to shove him aside and scramble to his feet.
Julian appreciated his freedom for all of three seconds before the shadows hit like a truck. Bile burned his throat, and he swallowed against it, vision going hazy as he spooled magic into himself, executing a jeté as awkwardly as a broken marionette. He didn’t want to dance, but magic demanded it, and each gesture felt like a bruise, a scrape of claws, a bite, until he pulsed with overload. Landing heavily from a straight-legged jump, Julian dropped to his knees with a sick crack. He didn’t move from where he’d fell. Couldn’t.
The howling had stopped some time back, and the absence seemed louder than the noise had been. Julian’s soul rang with it. Steeling himself, he shoved to his feet, his knees protesting every shift of weight. The magelights made shadows long and jagged. Lyle watched him warily, his pack recovering from the assault and staggering into formation behind him.
Julian didn’t want to attack again—didn’t think he could, without losing control—but he needed West back. He’d made his point.
“Where—” Julian heaved a breath. Sweat dripped down his face and steamed up the mask. “Where’s West?”
“Don’t move! This is Metaschemata Law!”
Julian and Lyle were reflections of confusion. All movement stilled in the building for one second. Two. Then the pack burst into motion as each tried to save themselves from the masked Meta Law agents pouring into the building. Magic sang broken notes as red-robed mages flowed in behind the agents, subduing and assisting in equal measure, scattering powerful magelights to illuminate the space. Julian squinted in the glare, raising his arm to shield his eyes.
