by Kat Howard
That didn’t seem like a safe thing to do anymore. She placed her hand over the lock and curled her fingers counterclockwise. The lock opened. Lara held her breath, waiting for alarms, for wards, for anything to happen. When nothing did, she stepped inside.
Broken pieces of white plaster were scattered over the floor. She knelt, picked through the fragments—an arm, part of what might have been a wing—then shoved as many as she could find together in a pile. Spoke a word that left a sticky aftertaste in her mouth and clapped her hands together. The fragments re-formed, and an almost-complete facsimile of the Angel of the Waters stood in front of her. Lara folded and unfolded her hands in patterns of magic, but as far as she could tell, there was nothing particularly remarkable about it. She loosed the spell and let the pieces fall back to the floor.
Then she raised her hands, palms out and open, and searched for the presence of any magic in the room. It was a room that should have been rife with it—traces left over from Miles’ practice, from spells being performed. Instead, the room felt as sterile as it looked. Only one place—the cabinet—registered a presence, and even that felt strange. Heavy somehow, a block or lump.
None of it made sense.
The lock for the cupboard was biometric, and while there might be spells that would open it, Lara wasn’t aware of them. She looked around, checking to see that everything was as it had been when she came in, then left, locking the door after her.
Then she texted her brother: We need to talk.
• • •
Verenice Tenebrae had built herself a hermitage in a Brooklyn brownstone. It was full of luxuries—rich colors and sumptuous fabrics, elaborate carpets, leather chairs with cashmere throws. Every room was as well-appointed and comfortable as she could make it. Shadows had not been a place of comfort. Now that she could indulge, she did, and felt no qualms over it.
Even among all the luxury she had gathered to herself, what Verenice liked, more than anything else, was the quiet. The House of Shadows had been loud, had been constant, had pressed on her like a suffocation. There was never any relief, much less peace. She could have quiet here, and she did. Some days, there were no sounds at all in the house beyond her own footsteps, her own breath. Those days, still, were a miracle to her.
She had quiet, but she was close enough to hear the whispers of the Unseen World when she wanted to.
She had thought about leaving the city. About leaving the entire Unseen World behind. Had actually left the day after she signed her final contract for Shadows, had gotten on the first available plane and flown across the Atlantic and then gone to the Isle of Skye because it seemed very far away and because she had liked the name.
Skye had been very far away, and very quiet, and she had stayed there for a year, putting herself back together. She had relearned who she was when there was no one who had the power to force her to be someone else, and then she had decided who she wanted to be. Then she had gotten on a plane again and come back.
One of the things she had learned about herself was that she liked her enemies where she could see them.
Also, she had clung to the hope that someone else would be able to open the House’s doors and walk free. She wanted to be there, to help them negotiate that liminal place between fully bound and not yet free that had felt so perilous and strange to her when she had first emerged. She had waited and waited. For years, and then decades, through two more victories of House Merlin in the Turning, through that House renewing its compact with Shadows again and again, and there had been no one.
When Verenice thought of the House of Shadows, when she woke from the dreams in which she was forced to return, when she sat up, breathless and panicked in her bed, she thought of it as a maw, toothed and hungry and endless. Eventually, she gave up hope of it ever spitting anyone else back out.
Then Sydney.
Verenice lived on the periphery of the Unseen World by design—close enough that she could watch those who lived in it, detached enough that they would mostly forget her existence. Sydney had walked into the center of that world like she owned it. She made the air around her electric.
It was a terrifying thing, having hope again.
Snow fell as Sydney stood on Verenice’s doorstep, turning the branches of the trees to black-and-white sculptures, blanketing the city with quiet. Sydney lifted her face to the flakes, stood as they clung to her eyelashes, as they gathered in her hair.
“You haven’t been out long enough to have seen snow before, have you?” Verenice asked. She watched Sydney turn in a slow circle on her porch, face lifted to the falling snow, and tried to reconcile this woman who looked scarcely out of her teens with the terrifying avatar of power Ian had described to her when he’d visited earlier this week. “It was like channeling all of that magic was nothing to her. I could see the effects of it—she was shedding actual fucking sparks from her hands—but she was . . . fine,” he had said, his eyes focused far away, as if he were still in that room that had gone from living forest to stone statues in the time it took Sydney to stop a woman’s heart.
The images didn’t mesh, but Verenice knew well how little images mattered.
“I left Shadows this summer.” Sydney held out a hand and let the snow pile on top of it, then shaped the snow into a star and flung it—sparkling—back into the sky. “I’d seen snow, of course. There are rooms now, open to the sky—you know how the House shifts. And there was magic that required being outside of the House, especially once Shara decided that if I earned my way out, she was going to use me here in the Turning. It wouldn’t do for me to be ignorant. But being on the island, even outside, and being here, they’re different.”
“Yes,” Verenice said. “They are.”
“I’d never thought snow was beautiful before. It was just another form of cold. This—this looks like feathers falling.” Wonder in Sydney’s voice, her eyes lifted to the sky.
“I do have warm enough coats that I can have this conversation outdoors, if you’d like to walk in it,” Verenice offered.
“Thanks. But no—I’ll walk later. I think this is a conversation better had inside.” She followed Verenice in.
There was a fire crackling in Verenice’s library, and she made hot chocolate. “I’m a great believer in embracing comforts, as I’m sure you understand.”
Sydney nodded. “I have blankets. Wool. Down-filled. Cashmere. This antique quilt I found that has stars on it. Because, you know, I could never get warm there. The House wouldn’t let me. Sometimes I pile the ones I’m not using on the end of my bed, just so I know they’re there, that I can reach out and wrap myself in warmth if I want to.”
Verenice kept her back to Sydney. It was the most personal thing the other woman had ever shared with her, and she didn’t want to break the moment. So she offered a piece of her own history as she stirred. “It’s food for me. Sweets, in particular. I can’t leave the house without chocolate in my purse.”
“Still?” Sydney’s voice as quiet as the snow.
“Still.”
Verenice let the silence hold as she finished pouring the hot chocolate, then handed Sydney a mug. “When you emailed, you said you had some questions about magic. Is this about what happened at the duel? Ian mentioned that it was very—intense.”
“Ian? He told you?”
Verenice could see Sydney close off, whatever trust had been earned being replaced by the public mask that slipped back over her face. “He did. He was very worried about you. Had you asked him to keep things a secret?” Verenice raised a brow.
“No, I just hadn’t realized the two of you were so close.” She paused. “He could have asked me. How I was.”
“He was afraid,” Verenice said, setting down her cup.
“Of what?”
“Of you. Of what you had become.”
Sydney reached for the magic, just below her skin, hers and not. She dreamed in green now. “Maybe he should be.”
“I know it isn’t my place to say t
his, but there is a difference between who you are and what Shadows would make of you. Don’t let it take that part of you away.”
“You of all people know that right now I have no choice between who I am and what Shadows has made of me. Not until that contract is gone.” Her voice was bitter as salt.
“Sydney, what has Shara asked you to do?”
Quiet. So very quiet in her house.
“Forgive me,” Verenice said. “I shouldn’t have asked. What did you want to talk about?”
“How much do you know about the spells that are anchored in the Angel of the Waters?” Sydney said.
“Other than that there should only be one?” Verenice said.
“Maybe we need to have this conversation outside after all,” Sydney said.
• • •
The park was quiet. Not empty—not ever that—but thick with solitude, the grey winter sky a blanket. Snow crunched beneath their feet. The Angel was draped in a mantle of white.
“I keep waiting to think this is beautiful,” Sydney said. “This part of the park—the terrace, the fountain, the statue. I know it’s meant to be. But all is see when I look at it is Shadows, sitting behind. Sunset, snowfall, it doesn’t matter. I hate it.”
“I tried to date, when I first got out. Before I realized that I do not, particularly, want to have that sort of physical relationship. But there was a very nice man—he was kind, and he was handsome, and if I were going to want anyone, it might well have been him,” Verenice said. “He took me here—a walk, summer, ice cream. I got sick—physically ill. So no, I have no particular fondness for it either.”
“Do you mind doing magic?” Sydney asked. “I’d like your opinion on what you sense here.”
“All right.”
“Reach carefully,” Sydney said. “It may not be pleasant.”
Verenice took off her gloves and half-closed her eyes. She whispered something, her voice rising at the end like a question. Then stumbled back, sliding on the snow, and fisted her hands closed, breaking the spell. “What is that?”
“A problem,” Sydney said, her arm around Verenice, holding her up until the other woman was steady again. “A big one, I think.”
“It feels wrong—like it’s bound into the magic from Shadows, but that instead of allowing magic to flow through, it’s being consumed. Fed on.”
“I would have said there’s something in there feeding on magic, rather than being fed on, but yes. Wrong. I can’t quite figure out why yet, or if I care to do so.” Sydney rearranged her scarf around her neck, stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets.
“Why not?” Verenice asked.
“Because if magic itself is sick, or broken, or whatever that wrong is, then of course I care. Of course I want to fix it. But if Shadows is, then I plan on very happily watching it die.”
• • •
Miles Merlin’s feet were wet, his loafers ruined. The boat he rode in leaked, leaked alarmingly enough that he had attempted a spell to mend it, to make sure he arrived at Shadows without having to swim there. The magic hadn’t worked. Still, against all expectations, the boat held together until it reached the island. He stepped onto the grit of the shore. The doors to the House of Shadows opened. Shara emerged like a phantom from the darkness inside.
“I thought we had a deal,” he said.
“We did. And Shadows has upheld its end of the bargain.” Shara’s voice was as cold and hard as stone.
“My magic is growing weaker. Again. Our bargain was supposed to fix this.”
“The bargain allowed you to modify the spell that is anchored in the Angel. To have the ability to draw on the sacrifices directly, to have access to their magic for your personal use, rather than simply as part of the spell set up to ease the Unseen World’s use of magic.” She walked closer, close enough that even in the dim light he could see marks carved on her hands. “That spell still holds. Any weakness is in the magician, not in the magic.”
He wouldn’t allow that to be possible. “There has to be something else I can do.”
“I was so hoping you would offer.” A smile like the surface of a frozen lake cracking. “Allow Shadows to be an actual part of the Unseen World. Give me real power, and I will redo the spell myself and happily channel an ongoing supply to you. As you know, brother, there are all sorts of ways that Shadows can be useful.”
“Get me through the Turning,” he said. “I just need enough magic for that, and then we can discuss things.”
“We discuss it now. People without magic can’t hold a House, Miles. You know this.”
Shadows’ walls pressed in close. The air thickened, and the effort of breathing rattled in his lungs. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. If House Merlin is ranked at the top of the Unseen World at the end of the Turning, I will insist on Shadows being brought in, given full power.”
“Excellent,” Shara said. House Merlin had held the Unseen World for every Turning since Shadows had been established. If her other plans were unsuccessful, aligning herself with her brother’s House was a good option, even with Miles as diminished as he was. “There’s just one more necessary thing.”
“What else could you possibly want?”
“I need you to sign this contract.”
By the time the boat—even more leaky, if such a thing were possible—deposited him back on the shore of the reservoir, Miles were certain his feet were frozen inside his shoes. His toes burned with the cold. He risked the smallest of spells to unfreeze them, then hopped and stuffed his now-smoking feet into a snowdrift.
Back in Shadows, he was certain, Shara was laughing at him.
She could not be let out.
His shadow ached from the ridiculous ritual she had put him through, one more way to gloat, when a normal signature or even blood should certainly have sufficed. But it did have the side benefit of making him consider who else had signed contracts to Shadows, who else might have owed debts.
He knew what happened when a Shadow got out.
Sydney still owed a debt of magic to Shadows. It was possible—or at least believable—that the magic she was using to such success in the Turning should have belonged to the House of Shadows, and therefore to the Unseen World. The fact that she was walking free and using it, well, no wonder magic was failing if there was so much power missing. And if she were to die—since everyone knew that a death during a Turning canceled that House’s obligation—it made sense to think that her magic would return to Shadows, that magic would stop failing.
It sounded very logical, and really, he only needed one person to believe it. This was a Turning, and anyone could die.
• • •
A chill breeze blew through Ian’s apartment. His wards were still up, but his back door was cracked open. He walked through the room slowly, an almost-complete defensive spell held in his hand.
Sydney stood on the balcony, wrapped in coat and scarf.
“Do you not believe in knocking? Or waiting until someone is home to let you in?” he asked, releasing the stored magic.
“I like to be sure I can get out of a place if I need to,” she said. “If I can get in on my own, I can get out again.”
“That does have a certain odd logic. So what brings you to my balcony?”
“It’s a good view.” She turned from it, to look at him. “And Verenice said you were worried about me.”
“I was,” he said.
“I’m not used to being worried about.” She shrugged. “I didn’t know I was supposed to check in.”
“You’re not supposed to. It’s not like I have some sort of claim on you. But I’m glad you did.” He paused. “So, we never did have popcorn and a scary movie. I could probably come up with both.”
Tension slipped from her. “I promised to hold your hand, didn’t I?”
“We could skip that and go straight to the making out if you want. I’m easy.” He smiled, and held his door for her.
She walked into his apartment. Stopped. Turned. “Here
’s the thing. I was supposed to die. I was given away to suffer, to be used up, and then at the end, I was supposed to die, so that everyone could forget about me and forget what Shadows is. What it does. How fucking little they get from it.”
“Sydney, I—”
“Let me finish. When you’re supposed to die, there is no one to check in on you. There’s no one who cares what happens. You are alone. And that’s fine, because I am good at being alone. I know who I am and I trust myself, and I do not need to trust anyone else. I actually prefer not having to.
“And you, you are the worst possible person to trust, to need to check in with, or whatever, because this is a Turning, and one of us could wind up killing the other.” The words simple, brutal truth.
“Sydney.” He set his hands, very gently, on her shoulders, looked straight at her. “I would never.”
“You can’t know that,” she said. “You can’t know where a challenge might come from.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I can’t. But that is not the problem for tonight. The problem for tonight is popcorn, and a scary movie, and, Sydney, if you let me, I’ll hold your hand the entire time. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
• • •
It was the last nonmortal duel. Held at the Dees’ again, the close a nod to the open. The crowd was as glittering as before, but thinner, and the sparkle had taken on a hard edge. This was no longer a room full of champagne bubbles and gossip, but a room full of strategy and teeth.
Eyes full of awareness followed Sydney this time as she made her way through the assembled magicians. Space cleared for her, voices dimmed.
“And I’m not even the evening’s entertainment.” She slid into place, next to Laurent, nodded at Grey on his other side. “How do you like being the next big thing, Laurent?”
He raised his glass, the light gilding his champagne. “I like it just fine. Thank you for getting me here.”
