by Jill Archer
Rochester carefully folded his hands across his belly, contemplating me.
“You and Mr. Carmine will have to tell us,” he said finally. “That’s part of your assignment—determining the truth of the accusation. What really happened to the fishermen? Is a demon responsible? If so, which one? Needless to say, any demon that is found guilty will have to be dealt with on-site.”
“Dealt with?” I said, my voice steely. “Don’t you mean executed?” This assignment wasn’t about testing my academic skills or my magic. This assignment was about testing me.
Could I? Would I?
Bizarrely, an image of the taupe-eyed Angel’s contemplative gaze from yesterday popped into my head. Underneath my desk, I dug my fingernails into my thigh.
“That’s exactly what I mean, Ms. Onyx,” Rochester said. I didn’t nod. I couldn’t. I just sat there, staring at Rochester, who stared back at me.
The classroom was eerily silent. Sure, half my classmates resented me (I’d joined this class late in the first semester and, due to circumstances I’d rather have avoided, had been involuntarily catapulted into the Primoris position), but even the most resentful of them must have realized the gravity of the situation. First, the trip to the Shallows would be dangerous all on its own. Traveling conditions had improved only slightly in the last four hundred years. Sickness and hunger might not be a problem, but rough waters, rogare demons, and other unseen river dangers were still very much a threat to any party sailing the Lethe. Second, no demon would welcome Council involvement in outpost affairs. Sure, Vodnik would be obliged to put us up and allow us to investigate, but he was a demon. He would be planning all sorts of cunning ways to make our deaths in the Shallows look accidental. And, life being what it was out there in the eastern hinterlands of Halja, staging an accidental death would be all too easy. Third, and worst by far, was the fact that the assignment wasn’t random. If my investigation proved that either Vodnik or Grimasca (if such a demon even existed in the first place) was guilty, I would have to execute it.
“You won’t be without help,” Rochester said. “In addition to Mr. Carmine, who’s had some prior field experience, your captain, Ferenc Delgato, will also act as a guide and mentor. Delgato is an old friend of mine. He’s going to continue your Manipulation training en route.” I swallowed and nodded slowly. I was glad to hear there would be a more experienced Maegester accompanying us.
Rochester rummaged around in his desk, finally pulling out a silver vial on a silver chain. He walked over to my desk, the tiny vial swinging gently from his finger.
“Is there a demon in there?” I said, eyeing the vessel suspiciously. Last semester, Rochester had delivered a demon familiar to me in a silver filigreed ball that looked disturbingly similar to this piece.
“Even if there were, Ms. Onyx, you’d be bound to accept what help I offered you.” When I still didn’t reach for it, he grunted and said, “It’s an alembic full of waerwater.”
“Waerwater?” I said, reaching for the vial. “Never heard of it.”
“Let’s hope not,” Rochester said. But instead of handing me the alembic, Rochester unclasped the chain and motioned for me to turn around. I did and a moment later Rochester had fastened the chain around my neck. I held up the silver vial, examining it more closely. There were no filigrees or scrolls. Nothing etched on its surface. The whole thing was as smooth as a mirror. I dropped the alembic and it thudded heavily against my chest.
“Waerwater is a type of truth serum,” Rochester explained. “Any demon accused of a sin punishable by death has the right to request trial by waerwater. Have you used waerwater before, Mr. Carmine, when you were working for the executive?”
Ari nodded grimly.
“Good. Then you can instruct Ms. Onyx in its use should the need arise.” But instead of nodding again, Ari just looked at me warily. I had the feeling I wouldn’t like hearing what Ari had to say about using waerwater. The alembic suddenly felt even heavier around my neck. But Rochester was moving on. Class was almost over.
“The last bit of assistance,” Rochester said, returning to stand at the front of the room, “will be provided by the Joshua School.” He addressed everyone now. “This semester, each of you will have a chance to select a Guardian Angel to work with during your field assignments. Your Guardian Angel will travel with you and train with you. Select carefully. Some of these pairings last for a lifetime.
“Okay, that’s it for today. Later tonight, read your case files. Everyone leaves in three days, immediately after Angel selection.”
There was no time after class to speak to Ari privately. Instead, we walked to our lockers among a sea of students. I didn’t want to talk about the Carne Vale or our assignment. Or what Ari had been doing before class or my lunch with Karanos yesterday. For now, I just wanted Ari to know I was glad he was back. When I shut my locker door, he was behind it, waiting for me. My gaze met his. On impulse, I reached my hand behind his head and pulled him toward me. I stood on my toes and pressed my lips to his for a long moment and then released him, glancing around self-consciously. Possessive displays weren’t my usual habit, but the look on Ari’s face assured me it was the right move. His expression softened and he gave me a slightly wondrous smile.
I always thought that Ari softened my edges, but sometimes it was the other way around.
Chapter 4
After Manipulation, we had Sin and Sanction and then Oathbreaking. That meant sitting through another four hours or so with almost a hundred other people—mostly Hyrkes, because Ari was the only other Maegester-in-Training in my section—who had no idea we’d just been given the Assignment of Death. In between Professor Telford’s dry lectures on anticipatory repudiation and the ensuing duty of mitigation, I decided to satisfy a different duty that evening—my duty to my own curiosity.
They say Curiositas killed Cattus.
But no one really knows.
Curiositas was a fairly youngish demon living in the twelfth century, only a few decades old, when he met the gorgeously supple and fiercely feline demoness Cattus. When he asked her what she most wanted to do on their dates, Cattus kept telling Curiositas, “You don’t want to know.” But Curiositas, being Curiositas, kept at Cattus day and night, although mostly by night, because Cattus was nocturnal. Curiositas, on the other hand, was a day creature, all flecked with gold and shining brilliance. His preferred haunt was the Lethe and the two met at the docks every day at dusk.
Cattus would stare into the great murky depths of the Lethe, searching for any sign of Curiositas. Sometimes her ears would twitch. Sometimes her tail. Sometimes her eyes would grow big as saucers and her haunches would wriggle in anticipation. Curiositas never fully breached the surface of the water. He liked to tease Cattus, as she teased him. He gave her glimpses only of himself: a tiny bit of fin, a stream of bubbles, a patch of orange gold twisting just beneath the surface, sparkling, shimmering, just out of reach.
There’s a romantic version of the story the Hyrkes like to tell. Some nonsense about the two demons being doomed lovers. But that’s not the version I was told, nor is it the version I believe. Unlike the Hyrkes, I don’t have any romantic notions about demons. They’re much worse than Maegesters. Much. And that’s why I know—although I wish I didn’t—what Cattus most wanted to do with Curiositas. And that’s why I believe the version that puts an end to Cattus’ hunger.
Ivy, my Hyrke roommate, never gets my version of the story.
“Ends Cattus’ hunger?” she always asks, frowning and exasperated. “What does that mean? Did Cattus finally catch Curiositas? Or did Curiositas really kill her?”
And, every time, I always wink and tell her:
“You don’t want to know.”
Yep, I thought, strolling with Ari to the very docks where Cattus—or Curisoitas—had been killed, there are lots of things I don’t want to know, about myself, about others . . . But surely, knowing what sort of person our new teacher, Captain Delgato, would be wasn’t one of
them.
After all, forewarned was forearmed, right?
* * *
We skipped a cab ride in favor of a brisk walk to the docks but the humidity and my high-collared shirt meant that ten minutes in I felt sticky and gross. New Babylon was a major urban city, with tightly packed, tall buildings and loads of people—most of them Hyrkes. I followed in Ari’s wake, elbowing my way through the congested streets, grateful that I’d stashed my books in my locker before I’d left. As we got closer to the docks, the crowd thinned. The commuter ferries docked farther west than the outpost boats, so before long it was only us and the gulls. They flew high above us, their raucous cries competing with flapping sails, lapping water, and squeaking ropes. When we finally reached the edge of the Lethe, I stood by Ari’s side, my hand shielding my eyes from the brilliance of the setting sun flickering across the water. Tonight’s Lethe wasn’t dark and murky; instead, it shined like fire, although little difference it made to anything hiding beneath its surface.
Who would have thought that darkness and fire could be equally obscuring?
I dropped my hand and lowered my eyes, fishing in my pocket for the envelope Rochester had tossed me. Somewhere inside of it would be the name of Delgato’s boat and its dock number. But instead of the envelope, my hand found Alba’s onion and I withdrew it. In the warm honey glow of the setting sun, it looked grayish purple instead of black. Funny that I couldn’t use it now even if I wanted to—I’d never sailed the Lethe. Sure, I’d traveled the width of it countless times, but never its length—and never on a boat with a sail.
“What’s that?” Ari asked.
“A black onion,” I said. “A real one. Alba gave it to me.”
Ari’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Are you sure it’s real?”
In answer, I held it out to him in my palm. He didn’t reach for it, though, just watched. When it was clear it wasn’t going to rot, he nodded and smiled.
“I guess you won’t have any problem with this semester’s assignment,” he said, laughing. “Just ask the black onion what happened to the fishermen.”
I frowned. “Execute a demon based on a few words revealed to me by one tiny vegetable? Would you?”
He shrugged. “Magic doesn’t lie.”
“Maybe not. But it distorts the truth all the time.” I slipped the black onion back in my pocket and reached for the other divination tool I’d been given recently, the alembic full of waerwater.
“Tell me about this,” I said, sliding the vial gently back and forth on its chain. “Rochester said waerwater is like a truth serum. Do demons just drink it and then the magic forces them to answer questions truthfully?”
Ari grimaced. “A waerwater trial is as brutal as a Carne Vale. But it’s the demon’s choice. And anyone who survives it is set free.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Waerwater trees are old, rare, and very strong. They grow out of ancient tar pits and their bark is like iron. They’re so strong, in fact, that waning magic has to be used to drive the spile into the tree’s base in order to tap it. Waerwater is the tree sap. You have to be careful when collecting it, though, because it will burn right through the skin of any waning magic user.”
I dropped the alembic and reached up to unhook the clasp, but Ari stopped me.
“It won’t hurt you in the alembic. And if it’s around your neck, there’s little chance that you’ll lose it.”
“What do you mean that anyone who survives it is set free? If it burns right through a demon’s skin, what do you do with it?”
“The accused drinks it. Voluntarily. It’s not a punishment. It’s a right. Legend says some demons have survived. And anyone who does must be set free.”
“What? Why?” I said, outraged. “Just because they were brave enough—or stupid enough—to play with magic and not get burned?”
Ari’s look was piercing. “No, they’re set free because their survival is considered evidence of Luck’s divine intervention.”
“Do you believe that? Do you believe that a demon who survives drinking waerwater is automatically innocent of the sin he was accused of?”
Ari took a long time to answer.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”
“You told Rochester you’d used waerwater before. Have you seen a demon die after drinking it?”
He nodded.
“How many?”
At first I thought he’d refuse to answer. In the past, Ari had been reluctant to tell me much about his days as a demon executioner. But then he said, “More than a few.”
“Have you seen any live?”
He shook his head.
“So it’s really just an offer to let the accused fall on a sword?”
Ari just stared at me, his signature dimming. Around us, the wind kicked up. My black hair streamed out behind me like a flag as the myriad boats, tugs, dinghies, and dahabiyas that were tied at the water’s edge bobbed up and down.
“Was Jezebeth offered a trial by waerwater?”
“Yes, but Ynocencia talked him out of it. Trial by waerwater is a painful way to die.”
“More painful than a Carne Vale? How do you know all this anyway? Did you and Ynocencia have a heart-to-heart just before you dropped her back off with her abusive husband?”
The words just slipped out. Until then, I’d ignored all of my conflicted feelings over yesterday. But now that I’d voiced them, they sounded more vicious than conflicted. It wasn’t fair, really, grilling Ari like this. He’d only done what he’d had to do. What the law required him to do. What the executive—my father—had ordered him to do. Hadn’t it been mere hours ago that I’d actually been worried about him? Worried that his covering for me at the Carne Vale would get him in trouble?
Ari blew his breath out. He looked out across the Lethe and then finally back at me. In the deepening twilight, his eyes glistened like two pools of black ink.
“I didn’t take her back to her husband.”
Maybe it was how he said the words, or maybe it was the fact that his signature was now as tightly wrapped as I’d ever felt it, or maybe it was his defensive, closed stance, that had me look at him anew. And really see him for the first time that night.
Ari was exhausted—physically, magically, and emotionally. Dark circles ringed his eyes and a day’s worth of stubble covered his chin and cheeks. His eyes had a slightly haunted look. Like he’d only just realized how much he had to lose. That missteps had consequences that went way beyond himself.
“Where did you take her, then?”
“Somewhere he’ll never find her.”
“But . . . ?”
“You think I should have done what your father asked?” he said quietly.
Yes. No! Luck, I didn’t know. For an instant, I was just glad I hadn’t had to make the decision. And then I was struck with the most horrifying shame I’d ever felt. Because—again—Ari had thrown my stones for me. The only reason he’d been asked to take Ynocencia back was because of something I’d done (or failed to do). I covered my face with my hands and just stood there, feeling angry, embarrassed, and weak.
Minutes passed and Ari did nothing but stand beside me. But it was enough. More than enough. Because, Luck knew, I wasn’t perfect. Far, far from it. And he’d always stood by me. I finally lowered my hands, happy that my eyes had stayed dry.
“I’m sorry,” I said, stepping close. Ari’s heart beat wild and fast, despite his darkly serious expression. He moved his hands to the base of my neck. Lacing his fingers together, he then used his thumbs to gently tip my head back. His face was no more than an inch from mine or I might have missed his next word.
“Nouiomo.”
When Ari’s lips met mine, his signature released, as if he’d been holding a deep breath and had just exhaled. Unbidden and slightly out of control as always, my magic responded to his. Suddenly, I felt as if I’d just swam from Etincelle to New Babylon—underwater. I gulped and Ari slid his hand down so t
hat it rested gently against my heart. Beneath his palm and the linen of my shirt, my heart beat madly and my demon mark stung like I’d just been shot with Eros’ arrow.
After a few moments, I reached my arms behind Ari’s back and clasped them together. I pressed my cheek into the coarse cotton of his shirt, smelling sweat instead of the clean, vanilla-laced scent I was used to. I didn’t care.
“You know when I first fell in love with you, Noon?”
His words were low and muffled. I pressed my ear tighter against his chest and shook my head.
“Last semester when you killed Serafina.”
I stiffened immediately but he put his arms around me. Serafina had been the small demon familiar that my father had sent me to “practice” with. Within a day, I had roasted her into oblivion.
“She deserved to die,” said Ari. “She’d burned one of your friends, a defenseless Hyrke, right in front of you.”
I remained mute. What he was saying was true, but it was only half the story. The real reason Serafina died was because I couldn’t control my magic well enough to control her. Killing her hadn’t been necessary; it had been a mistake.
“I’d never met anyone whose magic was so strong . . .” Ari said almost wistfully, “but whose heart was so soft.”
I didn’t think it was possible to stiffen any further. Ari had to know his words were making me feel worse. This was the story of how he fell in love with me? He’d just scored the hat trick of insults: Reminding me I’d killed something; reminding me I’d done it out of ineptitude; and then telling me I was really soft on the inside . . . That my heart had the strength of a soft-boiled egg.
