by H. L. Burke
“Well, imagine that!” A familiar voice jerked Auric from his stupor. Inspector Hovawart stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a smile on his thin lips. “What has brought you from your safe haven in Mountain’s Foot, young Spellsmith?”
Heat rose in Auric’s chest. “You know very well. Just because you couldn’t prove your unfounded accusations is no reason to go after my father’s license. Your cruel trick nearly killed him!”
Hovawart’s eyes widened behind his tinted glasses. “Now who is making unfounded accusations?” He clicked his tongue. “The Magic Inspector’s office is a large and many handed organization, and one hand often doesn’t know what the other is doing.” He leaned closer. “Though, as one magician to another, I’m sure my colleagues would be much easier on your father if you were to somehow fix the magical crisis. It’s a shame you have no knowledge of the rift closing.”
Auric gripped his stylus, longing for a burst of Fey energy to send a spell into Hovawart’s smug face.
“Inspector! Just the man I wanted to see!”
Hovawart blanched as Alvin emerged from the back room, arms wide as if he intended to clasp the thinner man in a bear hug. Instead, Alvin clapped Hovawart on the shoulder.
Hovawart staggered forward then pushed his glasses, which had slipped nearly off his hooked nose, back into place. “You again?”
“Didn’t think you’d be rid of me that easy, did you?” Alvin’s impressive gut rippled with laughter. “You know who this is, don’t you, Spellsmith?” He jabbed his thumb at Hovawart. “Declan here is the big cheese on multiple magical oversight committees, including those approving new energy sources.”
Hovawart’s cheeks reddened slightly. “You overstate my importance. I’m simply one of many—”
“Oh, don’t be modest. We all know the councilmen vote at your leading. Bunch of sheep, and you the only shepherd.” Alvin’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “These idiots keep giving me the run around, but you’re a man of vision, aren’t you? My magical bottling process—”
“Excuse me, but I’m late for a lunch appointment.” Hovawart edged towards the door.
Undeterred, Alvin followed him out. “I could use a bite myself. Now, about my process—”
Auric chuckled as Hovawart fled, the persistent Alvin on his heels. Served him right. Auric hoped Alvin talked both Hovawart’s ears off.
Time ticked by. The desk bully called a few more petitioners. Auric etched magical symbols in no particular order until they covered his wax sheet, then rubbed them out and started over again. He was on his fifth round of symbol writing when the desk bully’s shrill cry rose above the quiet room.
“Young lady, if you do not calm yourself, I shall have you physically removed from the premises!”
“But I need someone to listen!” A woman with dark curls and walnut-toned skin stamped a booted foot on the floor. Auric froze in place. Even from behind she was stunning, perhaps especially from behind. Spurning convention, she wore a pair of brown culotte pants and sturdy black boots rather than the slippers and skirts he was accustomed to on women. A short black spencer jacket clung above her delicate waist. Her hair bounced against her shoulders, held back from her face by what appeared to be a pair of goggles, nestled high on her head.
“Fascinating,” he heard himself whisper. He quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard him, but most eyes were on the confrontation between goggle girl and desk bully.
“I’ve come … I have … I mean … Look!” She pushed something onto the desk.
Auric stood and drifted to the front of the room, trying to appear casual rather than as if he were trying to get a better look at the woman—which, of course, he was.
The desk bully jumped up as if she’d shoved a snake at him. Instead, it appeared to be a wooden box with some sort of waterwheel contraption on top of it.
“What is that? Are you threatening this office with some sort of … incendiary device?” He backed away from her.
“What? No? Don’t be stupid!” The woman rolled her eyes. Able to catch sight of her profile, Auric could now discern that she was close to his own age. Her expression, however, did not scream approachable. It did, however, scream challenge, and he suddenly felt every bit a hero, ready to rush to her aid. After all, desk bully had pushed him around enough as it was.
Taking a deep breath, he imagined lowering his voice an octave and shouting, “See here! That’s no way to speak to a lady!”
“It does look like a bomb!” someone piped up.
“No, I mean … I know how to make bombs, and this looks nothing like one,” the woman said, apparently thinking this would comfort those present. A murmur swept across the room.
Her eyes darted from one unfriendly face to the next before resting on Auric. He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. She blinked at him, her brow furrowed.
Picking up the device, she held it before her. “See it’s a … I mean, this turns … or it will if water goes over it and that makes the … the insides spin, and there’s a magnet which means there’s a field …” Her chest rose and fell in quick, panicked breaths. Her hands holding the device shook.
“Get out of this office, or I will call a peace officer!” the desk bully ordered.
Now was Auric’s chance. He strode forward, right to her side. Her eyes remained locked on the desk bully as if Auric didn’t exist. Auric decided to try anyway. “See here!” he announced. She yelped and spun about. The device bounced off his chest before clattering to the floor. The wheel snapped off the box.
A whimper escaped the woman. Her gaze shot from her broken device to Auric, then to the crowd around them. She bolted from the room.
“Wait!” Auric started after her, but the other men pressed in, nudging at the broken wheel and box with their toes, still acting as if it might explode at any moment. Fearing the delicate looking device would be crushed, Auric scooped it up. “It’s harmless!” he said, exhibiting the wheel to a gaping spectator. “Miss!” But she was gone.
Auric hesitated as the other men returned to their benches. Should he run after her? Catch her in the hall and apologize for his part in breaking her … whatever it was?
“Number fifteen!” the desk bully called before he could decide. Still gripping the device, Auric followed a page boy out of the room.
Chapter Ten
Lotta burst out of the congressional offices at full speed. Her heart pounded painfully, but she couldn’t stop. She had to get away.
What on earth had made her think those men would listen? Hadn’t she sent letter after letter only to be ignored? What did she care if they didn’t use her generator? If their factories stayed empty and silent forever? Oh, but Father had wanted her to do this one thing. It was practically his last request … if she didn’t count the “Run, you disobedient girl.”
She stopped her flight and glanced back at the building. Her arms felt empty without her model, but she still had her notes and schematics. Maybe she could try to state her case again.
Not today, though. After the scene she’d made, no one would take her seriously. Silently, she cursed herself for not being able to control her nerves. Still, with all those men, looking at her, it had been all she could do not to collapse on the floor screaming.
Lotta caught sight of the bank’s clock tower across the street. Barely eleven. She’d told Uncle Ezra to pick her up at noon, expecting to be involved with her business much longer than five seemingly endless minutes. Huffing out a breath, she trudged across the courtyard. It was only about a mile to Ezra’s home. She could handle that. Good thing she’d worn practical shoes.
Keeping to the edge of the sidewalks and avoiding eye contact with any she passed, she hurried through the busy capital streets. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice her, other than a few women who gave her sour-eyes, probably over her manner of dress. Lotta had never seen what was so scandalous about trousers. After all, no one could peer up them, and they didn’t drag in the mud collecting God-only-knew-wh
at like the filth-sponges other women called skirts.
She made her way out of the commercial district and into the old but well-kept residential district where Ezra kept his modest flat. After several minutes, a prickly feeling crept down her spine. The streets were now mostly empty of pedestrians. A few children played in mud puddles while their mothers leaned out of kitchen doors conversing with neighbors, but fewer folk trod the wooden sidewalks.
What was wrong?
Lotta concentrated. There, a second set of footsteps echoed on the path, consistently in time with hers, so much so that they blended with her own other than when she hesitated—then that second set would falter, pause, then resume a rhythm identical to her own.
As she whirled about, her eyes met those of a tall, blonde woman with a stern face and a fashionable veil shadowing her eyes. Black feathers rose from her hair like a rooster’s crest. She wore a black dress with a collar all the way up to her chin but a skirt that fell only to knee-length, showing black boots beneath. A cruel smile crept over her face.
Lotta’s heart leaped painfully. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt like a mouse staring down a vicious house cat.
A trilling noise rose from the woman, but not from her mouth. A pewter monkey swung around her waist, then perched on her shoulder, chattering noisily. The woman reached into a pouch hanging from her wrist and pulled out a nut. The monkey took it, cracking the shell with powerful jaws. The creature’s eyes glinted, cold and white, at Lotta.
Quivering, Lotta backed away. Yes, the woman was fierce. Yes, she appeared to be following Lotta, but couldn’t it be a coincidence?
Uncle Ezra’s house was only a few blocks away. Lotta would get inside, lock herself in her room, and pretend today had never happened.
She spun around and resumed her course at a quicker pace. The woman’s boot heels clicked behind her, now joined by the quiet chattering of the monkey.
Lotta turned onto a side street. The woman wouldn’t follow her down here. No, there was no reason to go down this sleepy lane, other than that it connected to the other sleepy lane where Ezra lived. Still, the moment the corner of the building blocked Lotta from the woman’s sight, Lotta ran.
Halfway down the street, an old rain barrel sat. Lotta ducked behind it. Water dripped from a spout into the barrel with a consistent plinking. It smelled of damp wood and wet cobblestones. Pressing her cheek against the side of the building, she could gaze through the crack between the barrel and the wall without, hopefully, being visible.
The strange woman strode into view.
Lotta stiffened.
Her gaze narrowing, the woman scanned the empty street. “Baltazar!” she snapped.
The monkey chirped, leaped from his perch, and scampered down the street, his long tail snapping behind him like a whip. Unlike his pewter body, his tail appeared to be made of leather. Lotta’s breath came in quick gasps. She had to get out of there. What could she do? What did this woman want?
Baltazar sprang onto the rim of the barrel and balanced around the edge until he stood right over her. He grinned, flashing mother-of-pearl teeth that looked eerily human.
Lotta shoved her whole weight against the side of the barrel. It rocked. Baltazar shrieked, then toppled in with a splash. She bolted.
“Stop!” the woman shrieked.
Nope, Lotta thought. Something whipped about her, a band of pure light. It jerked her to a halt, snapping her head back painfully. She crumpled to the ground.
The lasso of pure energy faded. The woman now had a magician’s tablet in one hand while the other grasped a small glass jar filled with glowing specks.
“I didn’t want to waste my reserves on you.” The woman dropped the jar as the sparks within it died. “It dissipates so quickly once the seal is broken.” She pursed her lips in an exaggerated pout. “Only enough energy left for one spell, I’d imagine. How about a breath stealer? Complex, but deadly.” The monkey pulled himself, dripping, from the barrel. He hissed at Lotta. The woman began to sketch into her tablet.
Lotta stumbled to her feet, only to trip. Her fingers met with something cold, smooth, and hard: a loose stone. She palmed it, finally managing to stand. With all her might, she hurled the stone at the woman, knocking the stylus from her hand. The woman cried out and dropped to her knees, fumbling for the rod.
Lotta sprinted away, all of her remaining energy focused on speed. She rounded the last corner and darted into the house. Slamming the door and quickly doing the bolt, she collapsed onto the floor, every bit of her shaking.
Someone had tried to kill her.
Why?
Chapter Eleven
Jericho lay on his side, next to his sleeping wife. It had taken him nearly an hour to convince her to nap, even though she was nodding over her embroidery. The offer to rest with her had finally won her over. Now, he stroked her hair, wondering if getting up would wake her. She shivered, so he reached for the light blanket at the bottom of the bed and draped it over her shoulders. Jaspyr, who lay at her feet, opened one eye before yawning and tucking his nose between his paws again.
As Jericho withdrew, he brushed his hand down her arm before resting his palm on her stomach.
Are you really in there? Boy? Girl? Will we like each other?
Even with the changes in her habits, it was hard to wrap his head around the existence of their child. With everything else going on, he’d pushed it to the back of his brain, to be considered later. In the quiet, however, doubt chewed at him.
A knot formed in his stomach. His own childhood had so little happiness, and the only lessons he’d learned about fatherhood involved what not to do. How could he be a dad with only that negative example? He had no doubt Rill would be an excellent mother: she was kind, nurturing, patient. Jericho? He felt confident he could be better than his own father, but refraining from beating one’s child seemed a low standard.
A door opened outside of their bedroom. Jericho sat up. Was Auric back already? Wanting to be able to slip out without disturbing Rill, he’d left the door cracked. Now he strode over and glanced out.
Cordon Styles stood in the center of the room, picking through the papers Auric had left on the table.
Jericho scowled. There was nothing confidential in there, but the nerve of Styles poking through their private things made his jaw tighten.
After a moment shuffling through the documents, Styles grunted and set them down. He then put his hand on the knob to Auric’s bedroom.
Jericho stepped into the sitting room and crossed his arms. “Hello, Styles.”
The man spun about, first blanching, then flushing. “Oh … Carver, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Were you looking for something?” Jericho allowed his gaze to sweep over the file before returning to Styles.
“I thought you were out.” Styles straightened his bow-tie.
“That wasn’t what I asked.” Jericho narrowed his eyes. “Were you looking for something?”
Styles shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you had all you needed. Trying to be a gracious host and whatnot.”
“We’re fine, thanks.” Jericho stepped closer. “What were you doing in Auric’s papers? Those are private.”
“Didn’t he tell you?” Styles raised his eyebrows. “He asked if I could look over the case with an eye towards Capital politics. It’s a skill of mine: placating bureaucrats.”
Jericho nodded slowly. That sounded like something Auric would do, unfortunately. Why couldn’t he just trust himself and Jericho to handle it rather than bring in an outsider?
Styles drew himself up. “Where’s the lovely Miss Spellsmith?”
“You mean the lovely Mrs. Spellsmith-Carver?”
“Pity, that.” Styles sighed. “How did you manage?”
“Manage what?” Jericho stood taller.
“To ingratiate yourself with a good, old magic family like the Spellsmiths.” Styles crossed his arms, mirroring Jericho’s body language perfectly. “I know Auric. We went to school tog
ether. He’s a good sort, a little trusting and malleable, but not by any means the type of man who could get roped into some anti-magic plot to close the rifts, no matter what his father’s politics are. You, however, you’re an unknown, and for some reason, you have Auric’s trust.”
“So your goal is to protect Auric from my meddling?” Jericho raised an eyebrow.
“I’m simply aware how politics work. Someone needs to take the fall for the rifts closing. You’re a better candidate than Auric: a pauper tradesman who managed to trick his way into the home of a magician and the bed of that magician’s daughter? Easy to see how a man like that couldn’t be trusted with power.”
“And your interest in this is purely altruistic, not at all due to the fact that your family’s wealth is tied into leeching Fey energy off the rifts?” Jericho scoffed.
Styles’s face darkened. “My family’s business has always been for the good of the Republic. It’s more than our fortune: it’s our legacy. If you care for either your bride or her brother, do them both a favor: turn yourself in and reveal how to reopen the rifts. I can tell Auric knows, but for some reason, he won’t talk. Make it right.” A smile crept over Styles’s face like a spider crawling across his lips. “I gather your union with Trillium is still fresh. Probably not too late for her to get an annulment once you’re locked away—or better yet, they’ll hang you, freeing her altogether. Though I would be willing to take her under my protection, even if she were still legally tied to you. I’m generous that way.”
Jericho’s fists clenched. “If you go near my wife—”
“Your wife?” Styles laughed. “Here in the Capital a man like you would never be with a woman like her—too much competition. You stepped out of your place, Carver, and it will give me great pleasure to put you back into it.”
Heat raging in his chest, Jericho started forward only to have a bronze bolt leap from behind him with a high-pitched growl.
Jaspyr collided with Styles’s knees, knocking him off balance. The fox scrambled up to the man’s chest, scratching and snarling. His metal teeth snapped at Styles’s face.
