Zero Sum (Zero Sight Series, Book 2)

by B. Justin Shier

“Jesus, bud, give me a break.”

  “Speaking of breaks…“

  “Okay!” Dante stammered. “You win. Fine. Whatever.”

  I started to laugh but thought better of it. There was real sweat running down Dante’s brow.

  Leading Dante around back, I managed to find the enclosure. Rei’s sheep weren’t around, and there was no sign of Cumo. That left me with absolutely no clue where to look next. Rei wasn’t exactly open and honest about her nightly activities.

  “Bud, she isn’t here. I promise I’ll take care of the photos. Just…just leave my name out of it, okay?”

  I ignored Dante’s knocking knees. I focused on the cool breeze churning through the blanket of November leaves.

  “I didn’t even take the photos.”

  I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise in unison. It was there if I focused. Lavender. I could smell lavender.

  “I guess it was stupid. No, it was stupid. But, I mean, Dieter, they were nudes, and none of Theodus’ daughters have ever been photo…why are you staring at the trees like that?”

  There was another scent. It was dry and smoky. Something in it made my eyes burn. It reminded me of my father’s coat when he came back from shooting rifles…

  “Do we have a gun range?”

  “Of course. There’s one east of campus near the equestrian park.”

  “That’s where Rei is.”

  Dante hustled after me.

  “Then why’d we walk over here?”

  “I forgot.” I shook off a shiver. The weft-link was acting up again. Why, I had no idea.

  “But the range is outside of the wards. All students have to stay on campus. We can’t go past the gates.”

  “All of them?” I smiled. “I read that bulletin too, Lieutenant Dante. I do believe student officers on official business were exempted. And we’re on official business, aren’t we?”

  “Did you just pull my rank?” Dante shook his head. “I want a new roommate. I’m trading you in for Roster.”

  Elliot College was divided up into four sections with Central Hall at the center of the bullseye. The main gate and the adjacent train station marked the west side of campus. To the north of Central were the dorms, the woods where Jules liked to train, and—in the far distance—a town called Charity. To the south were the faculty lodge and a number of private homes. The east side of campus featured various buildings dedicated to specific magical specialties. Jules had occupied so much of my time with studying and practice that I’d never even considered going on a grand tour. But now that I had a captive, I began peppering him with questions.

  “Those are Gamma and Delta’s research facilities,” he said pointing to the south side of Elliot pond.

  “Delta mages do the herbal stuff and Gamma mages make potions, right?”

  “Yea, but you can hardly tell the two squads apart—except during their annual lager competition.” He gave me a smile. “The rest of the students get to judge.”

  As we walked past the east edge of the great lawn, I spotted a white marble box of a building tucked behind a grove of evergreens. The building had no windows or doors. Heck, it wasn’t even lit.

  “That’s the Epsilon’s building,” Dante explained.

  I knew of Epsilon mages by reputation only. They were considered the most exclusive study group on campus.

  “I’m guessing the enchanters don’t do tours?”

  “Fat chance. Did you hear those jerks raised their prices again? Hole-proof socks cost a month’s stipend now.”

  “Dang, I really wanted a pair of those.”

  Enchanting is both complicated and time intensive. The craft requires years of tedious groundwork to learn, and only a few of the initial crop of enchanters will demonstrate enough promise to earn an apprenticeship. But while their training is a painful struggle, their goods are coveted by the Conscious. A talented enchanter can compress years of spellwork into a single item, and little-to-no skill is required to wield it. Imagine: Weapons that never dull. Rings that can shelter you from storms. Clothing that’ll make you look like Elvis. But that’s not the end of it. Enchanting isn’t the same as charming. Charms wear off. Enchantments never do. Enchantments aren’t temporary coatings. They change the fundamental nature of the object. Of course, that kind of awesome ain’t free. The cost of enchanted bling is astronomical. Even our well-designed Elliot robes are only charmed. We change them out each year.

  After passing a few more buildings dedicated to graduate level research, we reached Elliot’s eastern gate. The perimeter of Elliot College isn’t much to the eye. Only a short, two-foot wall of rock surrounds the campus. You need to think in terms of magical circles to understand what you’re actually dealing with. Dante handed our IDs to the lone DEA man guarding the gate. He was bundled up in giant parka.

  “We need to pick up some more extension cords from the field shed,” Dante explained.

  The guy readjusted his glasses and let out a sneeze. His spittle stream caught me right in the face.

  “Sorry,” he said through his stuffy nose. “Can’t seem to shake this flu.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Immune system strong like bull.”

  “How nice.” He let out another sneeze. “Sign here.”

  “Anybody else come through here?” Dante asked.

  “Just Albright’s pet.” The agent shook his head in disgust. “I’m more than happy to let her out. It’s the letting her in part that bugs me.”

  “Don’t be too long,” the old guy grumbled. “I don’t want to have to go hunting after you two.”

  The wind in our faces, we cinched up the toggles on our robes. The crack of a rifle shot echoed past us. Dante gave me a surprised look but didn’t say anything.

  “How far?” I asked.

  “About a half-mile.”

  So we trudged. It was cold, it was dark, and I couldn’t see for shit.

  “I can’t see for shit, Dieter,” Dante said from somewhere behind me. “We’re walking straight into dead space, Dieter.”

  “Dead space?” I asked. “What manner of Magi lingo is this?”

  “Seriously?”

  I gave him my usual confused puppy look.

  “Monsters love chomping on Ki, and we Magi have the juiciest ones. They look at us and see giant walking Reeses Pieces.”

  “I thought you were gonna say, like giant grilled squirrels.”

  “Ass—at least I didn’t grow up eating cactuses.”

  “Cacti. The plural of cactus is cacti. And prickly pears are delicious.”

  “Anyways, monsters want our gut parts, but they can’t just barge into our homes. We magic folk are darn good at defense. We have our wards. We have our leylines. We’ll mess you up good if you come straight at us.”

  “But we can get clobbered if our pants are down.” I nodded. “Basically, if we don’t have wards and leylines backing us up, we’re just normal humans, soft tissue and all.”

  “Right. Plus, some places are just…skewed.”

  I didn’t get what Dante meant at first, but then it hit me.

  “You mean like the place Jules and I train in the forest. She calls it the Woodworks. Healing spells are just…easier there.”

  “Sort of. That place you and Jules train at is an example of a hallowed ground. Certain crafts are enhanced by the nature of that place’s character. But there are other places that are downright dangerous. Dark alleys, deep caves, creepy houses, they’re the kind of places that give off that nasty vibe even the Imperiti are aware of. You know, like a knife is being dragged across your spine? Those we call fouled grounds. A normal human might not even trigger the nasties—but if a mage wanders into a fouled place? Bud, the creeps all come pouring out. I stumbled into one as a kid. Makes me want to piss myself just thinking about it.”

  “Dante, stop being such a drama queen. We’re right outside of the wards. The only thing foul out here is your breath.”

  “Dieter, you ever notice how lions follow herds?”<
br />
  “What are you…oh, sucks to be us.”

  “That’s what I keep telling you.”

  The air shook as another shot echoed through the forest. Bits of snow filtered out of the trees.

  “This is close enough,” Dante whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “Just watch.” Dante scraped five crosses into the snow. Then he broke off a tree branch and forced some mana into it. He bit off a piece of the branch and gestured for me to do it too. I obliged. (It tasted barky, but I can swallow a bit of wood if necessary.) Finished with that, Dante tied one end of his scarf around my neck and the second end around his own. Then he started mumbling yokel nonsense. I could never make heads or tails of Dante’s craft. All I knew was that it worked. After a minute of focus, he let loose a spell into the scarf. The colors of the world drained away. Only Dante was left fully visible. That was one of the side effects of shrouding. No one outside the shroud could see us, but we had to give up seeing colors.

  “The bark is part of a new spell,” he whispered. “It should hide our scent from Ms. Fangtastic. But you have to be quiet. I can’t mask sounds—yet.”

  I smiled. Dante could be timid, but when it came to his spellcraft, he was one ambitious little fuck.

  We picked our way through the bramble as carefully as we could. I began to hear a strange pinging noise as we got closer. It reminded me of the metronome they used to use in orchestra. When we found the treeline, the two of us knelt down in the snow.

  “Whoa, nice digs,” I whispered. Elliot’s gun range was posh. I was accustomed to the range my father visited in Vegas. It was a large swath of untended BLM land far out in the desert. You had to drive for forty minutes on dirt roads to get there. Rusted out cars decorated the field, and a wash embankment served as a natural backstop for the bullets. Elliot’s rifle range was another story. It occupied a half-mile of low cut pasture and had covered shooting stands with heaters. There was overhead lighting and a set of bleachers, even a giant scoreboard to the side. A series of 10’s sat next to the initials RAB. A layer of mist had settled in the sunken field. A single shooter lay still in the snow.

  “Wow,” I whispered. Rei was cradling a rifle large enough to splinter tanks. The rhythmic pinging of a metronome was playing on the range’s speakers. Rei’s left finger tapped along to the beat.

  “It looks like a modified Remington 700,” Dante whispered. Two legs extended from the rifle’s giant barrel. I guess you couldn’t hold it up without some help. “It’s even got a box magazine.”

  “Yea, but what’s up with the metronome?”

  Dante shrugged as a single ping sounded one octave higher. Rei’s finger tensed, and the snow in front of her rifle caved in and scattered. A few moments later, the harsh crack of her shot reached us. The scoreboard reported a nine, meaning the shot was a fraction outside of the bullseye. Rei shifted the bolt and kicked out the cartridge. The huge spent tube sizzled as it met the snow.

  “Okay. Wow. The vampire is shooting magnums.”

  “Magnums?” I asked.

  “A normal Remington 700 fires NATO 7.62 rounds. Those can reach about 800 yards. Firing magnum rounds about doubles the distance, but you’ve gotta modify just about everything for that.” Dante shook his head. “And she has it rigged southpaw. Do you have any idea how much a custom-order like that costs?”

  “One m-i-l-l-i-o-n dollars?” I asked with just a bit more snark than necessary. “Fascinating stuff, Dante, but don’t rifles usually have scopes?”

  “Oh, shit. She’s not using a scope.”

  “See, she saved money there.”

  “Truth,” Dante whispered. “And might I add that shooting a rifle bareback is totally hot. I just wish she’d stop wearing those baggy black fatigues all the time. Can’t you picture her in one of those nice American flag—”

  I elbowed Dante in the ribs, the metronome shifted pitch again, and Rei let loose another shot. Another nine clicked up onto the scoreboard, and Rei slammed her fist against her shooting mat.

  “Fasz kivan!” she shouted.

  “So vampires come in Type A too,” Dante noted.

  Ignoring the pings, Rei finished out the rest of her ten shot set in a hurry. A seven, a nine, and five appeared on the scoreboard. Finished, Rei set down her rifle, stood, and kicked a shell casing across the field. Minor freak-out complete, Rei ditched her earplugs and walked over to the covered stands. A match lit up the night as she did. A man was sitting on a bench. He lit a gas lantern and turned up the flame.

  “Hey, that’s Albright,” Dante said.

  Our dean was wearing an understated tweed jacket under and a heavy brown overcoat. In one hand he held a small set of binoculars, in the other, what looked like a newspaper. He said something to Rei, and she gestured emphatically at the scoreboard.

  “I’ll amp it,” Dante said. He took out a blank sheet of paper and wrote a series of sigils on it. Folding it into a tube, he pointed in the direction of the Bath-meister. Dante pushed some of his mana into the paper, and Albright’s voice erupted right next to us.

  “…lies ahead, Rei Acerba. Mistakes lie behind. You can only aim at one at a time.”

  Rei shoved her hands into her pockets.

  “I understand this, tisztelt tanár, but why must I wait for this silly tone?”

  “Dieter, what does tisztelt tanár mean?” Dante asked.

  “Dude, do I look like I speak Vulcan?”

  Albright leaned forward and warmed his hands next to the heater.

  “Come here, Rei Acerba.”

  Letting out a giant sigh, Rei plopped down in front of him.

  “This task is pointless. Find me another one.”

  I smirked. I could sense Rei’s displeasure from across the field.

  “Hold your horses, Rei Acerba. Subjects might listen, but you cannot command your way through life. This training is about letting go. You must surrender your body to this task.”

  “Tanár!” Rei said in a breathless whisper. “Think better what you say. Surrender is sacrilege.”

  “No, Rei Acerba. Submitting to an opponent is sacrilege; relinquishing control is the essence of faith.”

  “And now you are being unclear,” Rei said with a huff. “Explain this better.”

  “Think of dancing.”

  “Dancing?”

  “What does dancing require above all else?”

  “Coordination, of course.”

  “No, Rei Acerba. Above all else, dancing requires trust. You must trust in the pacing of the musicians. You must trust in the lead of your partner. If you doubt either, you’ll tangle your feet and tumble.”

  Albright pulled Rei to her feet. Switching the metronome back on, he led Rei through a simple box step.

  “Find the rhythm, Rei Acerba. Wait for your partner’s tug, and then put everything into the motion.”

  Albright’s feet were sure. I’d taken AP dance in high school, so I could tell that Albright was well practiced. Rei, on the other hand…Rei sucked. Her steps were clunky, and she kept trying to lead the motions. Seemingly flustered, she pushed him away and crossed her arms.

  “This is foolishness! Why must I do such a silly thing?”

  Albright let loose a laugh, and my face suddenly felt very warm.

  “So Rei’s hot for teacher,” Dante said with a snicker.

  “Because working with mana is the same, my little shadow dancer. Mana is a partner, not a slave. We build images to guide the mana’s path, but when mana moves through our bodies, we must be the passive ones. In magic, second thoughts breed disasters. They distort the image and disturb the flows. Our craft lies in the opposite direction. We must trust in the singular vision we’ve created. We must surrender our very being to our casts.”

  Dante and I found ourselves nodding. The dean was right. Channeling mana did require a sort of surrender. It wasn’t the cowardly variant Rei was thinking about. It was that absolute commitment to an idea, that kooky confidence that the forces surging throu
gh your body were going to do exactly what you hoped. Thinking too much during a cast was a no-no. That was why Jules had spent the first few months training me in meditation. You had to give yourself fully to the process—doubts and distractions guaranteed disaster—but Albright’s words only soured Rei’s mood further.

  “I have completed the readings for both the first and second year curriculums, I have bested all but one peer on every single test, and yet you have me sitting here doing these menial tasks every single evening. Tisztelt tanár, I do not understand this, I do not like this, and I fail to see the point of dabbling in this…surrender.”

  “You will, child of Alastice. And the same technique will keep you sane during your first manifestation.”

  My body tensed. An avalanche of primal fear through me.

  “I would never dream to!” Rei balled her fists. “Tisztelt tanár, my father’s wishes are quite clear on this topic. And besides, you are nothing but a mage! What could you possibly know of this topic?”

  “What’s a manifestation?” I asked Dante.

  “Weird Nosto religious crap.”

  “Of manifestations?” Albright asked with a chuckle. “I know enough to stay out of the way.”

  “No fucking way,” Dante whispered. “That’s supposed to be a myth.”

  Rei looked flummoxed. She walked over to Albright’s bench and plopped down in front of him.

  “Explain.”

  “Things were not always as they are, Rei Acerba.”

  “You speak of the time before the Treaty. Those times are gone, tanár.”

  “Are they?” Albright looked off into space. “This appears to be a discussion for another time, Rei Acerba. Simply know that a wise woman once told me that working with mana and working with the blood are not such different tasks.”

  “What woman?” Rei looked up at him. “Tanár, you couldn’t mean…”

  “The messenger is not important, Rei Acerba. The message is. To generate a cast, a mage must create an image. To generate a form, a Nostophoros must do the same.” Albright picked up the walking stick resting beside him and drew a circle in the snow. “But before you do either, you must loosen your grip.”

  “I fail to see what—“