by TR Cameron
Her great-niece knew better. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, her last remaining known relative had the gift. In cultures past, she would have been an adviser to queens, a village’s wise woman, or some such thing. While predicting job promotions and finding lost items for tourists was a far cry from those lofty roles, Emalia seemed content with her life. Well, except where my studies are concerned. Then, it’s all “you can do better” and “why do you want to make an old woman sad?” She laughed quietly and a wave of affection for her teacher and guide swept through her. Not a day went by when she wasn’t keenly aware of how lucky she was to have her mentor in her world.
The lock on the door clicked as the couple exited. The man looked stunned and his apparent girlfriend dragged him along as if in a hurry to get somewhere. Cali ducked past them into the shop. The public room was decorated in black and purple fabric and contained a low table with a crystal ball and three seats around it as the only furniture. Emalia sat in one, dressed for work in a long flowing robe with her grey hair piled perfectly atop her head. Sharp eyes tracked her and the Rottweiler at her heels, and a grin spread across her face. “Fyre, Caliste, it’s so good of you to visit.”
She groaned. The use of her full name was a signal that she’d done something to irk her mentor. The older woman rose at her approach and escorted the new arrivals behind the curtain at the back of the room. Beyond was a small kitchenette, with a well-worn rectangular table in the middle, the yellowing plastic top peeling at the corners. She sat, obedient to Emalia’s unwritten rules, and remained quiet until a steaming cup of rejuvenating tea was set before her. Tentatively, she took a sip and grimaced. “I don’t think this recipe is a step in the right direction unless your goal is to use it as a punishment.”
The older woman sat primly, her posture perfect, and tasted her own beverage. Her lips twisted a little to satisfy the girl’s desire that she share in the pain, and she set it down slowly. “What it lacks in taste, it should balance by restoring your magic.” Cali had long been concerned with maximizing her pool of power, and only in the last month had she learned that it was because the reservoir had been artificially limited by her parents to keep her existence from registering on her enemies’ magical radars. Now, with that restriction removed, she had more than was sufficient. Still, Emalia demonstratively believed it best to ensure it was topped off. The woman’s brow lowered as she stared at her student. “You’re late.”
She pointed at the disguised Draksa curled under the table. “It’s his fault.” The creature snorted chill breath over her feet, and she shivered. “Okay, it’s my fault. I gave Tanyith a hand after work last night and it took longer than expected.”
The other woman nodded. “I heard.”
Startled, she raised her eyebrows in a question. “You did? Already? How?”
Her teacher laughed. “I have my ways.” She lowered her tone and switched to her fortuneteller’s role. “The streets have a voice if you only know how to listen, child.”
Cali rolled her eyes. “Okay, spooky lady. Whatever.” They shared a laugh, and she continued, “Actually, before we do any training, I have to ask you about something.”
“It sounds serious.” Emalia adopted an expression that was overly attentive, and they both laughed together again.
“Stop. It is serious. What do you know about the broken sword piece my parents left me?”
The corner of her mouth quirked. “I know you should visit the library to research it.”
You’d think everyone in my life owned stock in the library given how excited they are about my going there. “It’s in my plans as soon as I have a chance. But last night, we learned that Rion Grisham bought a piece of something that sounds identical to it. And we already know the Atlanteans have a similar piece. That’s too many to be a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
Her aunt nodded. “I would agree. I’ve had a discussion with Invel on that topic, actually.”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “It seems like you’ve found a number of reasons to chat with him lately, Great Aunt.” The Drow was a friend of Zeb’s and a member of the magical council that collaborated on common issues facing their communities in the Crescent City. He was knowledgeable about a wide variety of things by virtue of his position as a buyer and seller of unusual goods, more often than not magical and frequently of dubious sources.
“Pish.” She waved a hand at the suggestion, but the slight curls at the corners of her mouth revealed the truth. Well, what do you know? “He is of the opinion that your piece is a portion of an artifact sword, based on the engravings. Presumably, the others are part of the same weapon since it would be odd for there to be multiple versions.”
“Odd, but not impossible.”
“Of course not. But unlikely.”
“So what exactly is an artifact sword?”
Emalia sighed, took another sip of the tea, and winced. “You do really need to go to the library.”
Cali laughed. “Why? I have you.”
The woman shook her head in mock despair. “An artifact sword has power of some kind infused into it. Many different types exist, and there’s no particular way at the moment to identify which this one might be. Some have the ability to store power for you to draw upon. Others have memories trapped within that can share knowledge. There are even those that have the power to heal, or so I’ve heard. And there are bound to be more than only those. I haven’t made a study of it.”
“So, in any case, I should probably be concerned that both the human and Atlantean gangs are interested in the sword.”
“I think that’s a fair statement.”
She sighed. “Okay. So, we’ll add that to the remaining mysteries of the key, the book, and the other charms.”
Her aunt snapped her fingers. “Actually, I’ve discovered something about the key. Invel recognized a marking on it from the picture I showed him. It’s for a commercial building or a storage unit.”
That drew a pained groan. “There are how many storage places around New Orleans? I’ll never find it.”
Her mentor nodded. “That would be a challenge. But I bet you could narrow down other kinds of commercial buildings. There are probably only a few located at a 1601 address anywhere nearby.”
Cali considered that, then agreed. “You’re right. That’s not too bad. I can check that on the Internet after work. But if it turns out to be a storage unit, we’ll need an army of volunteers to find the correct one.”
“Then let’s hope it’s not that. Are we done with the questions?” She nodded. “Good, finish your tea so we can head upstairs.”
They’d taken to using Emalia’s dressing room as a teaching space. Cali found it the least distracting chamber in the small dwelling, and it offered the most area to move around in. Since moving into the apartment next door to Dasante, her expectation that her new living quarters would be a perfect place for magical training and practice had proved false. Tanyith still crashed on her couch but claimed he’d leave inside the week. Which is good, because I’m not really the long-term houseguest type.
Fyre snorted, and she looked at him. He currently circled much like a cat as a prelude to laying down in a safe corner. His ability to read her emotions seemed to have improved of late, almost to the point where he could understand her thoughts. She willed the idea of “bratty lizard” to him, but he didn’t react.
Emalia stood at her wardrobe, her arms folded, and focused on where her student sat before her dressing table. “So, telepathy first.”
Obediently, she locked away the distractions in her mind and reached inside for her magic. She sent out an intention to her great aunt to prime her to listen and be receptive to the message she was about to send. Then, she pushed her thoughts forward. Your shoes are on fire.
The woman glanced down but shook her head. “That is too much like a distraction. I didn’t get the idea as a thought but as a feeling in my feet. You need to separate those two approaches.”
She frowned as she tho
ught the critique through. “Okay, let me try again.” This time, she focused on the words themselves rather than the ideas behind them and pictured the letters in her brain.
Emalia grinned. “So much better, and yes, Invel is attractive and also, stop it.”
Cali laughed. “Never.”
“Try it with Fyre.”
She twisted in her chair to face the Draksa and concentrated on sending him a message. He raised one lazy eyelid and winked at her, confirming he’d heard her request to do so. “Okay, I think I’ve got it. Will I be able to communicate over a long distance?”
Her teacher shrugged. “Maybe. That’s up to you. You have the key now, so practice will make all the difference.” Her tone conveyed pride at the achievement, then turned serious again. “Good. That is one thing accomplished. Let’s move on to more direct mental influence.”
“I discussed this with Dasante.” She chuckled. “He said it sounds very much like cantrips from Dungeons and Dragons.”
“I have no idea what that means. But do you think you should share everything with him?”
Cali nodded. “He knows all my other secrets. It’s a little late to hide anything now.”
“I’m sure you know best.” Her tone suggested the opposite, but she had heard that caution often enough that it didn’t really faze her anymore.
“I gotta trust someone or I’ll wind up alone like some other people I know.”
A small smile surfaced, only to be quickly banished with a scowl. “Impudent whelp. Let’s get on with it. Prepare your mind as if you were about to cast a distraction but this time, instead of going the subtle way around your opponent’s mental barrier, you’ll use focused force to pierce it. When I do it, I imagine my will is a needle stabbing through a balloon with enough precision to not pop it.”
The girl frowned. So much of mental magic had turned out to be building one’s own metaphors and often, hers were not in alignment with her teacher’s. Still, it was a place to start. She pictured Emalia’s mind before her as a balloon, stretched her will, and focused it into a sharp point. When it reached the edge, the barrier’s resistance held her at bay. She began to search for the spaces between as she’d done before, then stopped and forced herself to refocus.
With intense concentration, she pushed against the resistance and suddenly broke through the outer seal. Two more pushes took her inside. Again, she returned to old habits, tried to make Emalia’s nose itch, and cursed inwardly. She imagined her great aunt’s mind as a computer waiting for a program and told her brain to make her sneeze.
The loud noise snapped her out of her inward focus, and she grinned as Fyre jumped, startled by the sound. Her aunt raised an eyebrow as she dabbed her face with the handkerchief she always had hidden somewhere on her. “It’s exactly like you to choose something so messy.”
Cali grinned. “I thought if it was against your nature it would be harder.”
Her teacher laughed. “Lies. You did it because you’re a brat.”
She stood and stretched. “Yeah, okay, you got me.”
“Are you headed to the library next, then?”
“No, homework this afternoon and work tonight,” she replied and sighed. “I’ll try to get there tomorrow after the dojo.”
The older woman crossed the room and wrapped her in a hug. “You’re over-committed. Maybe you should give something up now that you have extra money from your parents.”
Cali squeezed her in return, then released her and stepped back with a smile. “I wouldn’t know what to do with free time. Keeping busy keeps me from worrying, which is all good.” She snapped her fingers, then growled impatiently. “Fyre, come on, lazybones.” He struggled to his feet and she summoned a portal to her new apartment. When he sauntered through, she rolled her eyes at his attitude and gave Emalia a mischievous grin. “Say hi to Invel for me,” she called as she stepped into the rift and closed it behind her to cut off any reply. Heh. It’s nice to have the last word for a change.
Chapter Three
Zeb wiped the bar carefully and made sure the polishing cloth touched every part of its surface. Unknown to anyone who lacked the requisite experience to identify it, the wood was not from Earth. He’d brought it over himself by direct portal into the Drunken Dragons tavern with the help of his only brother, who held a similar position at a similarly named inn on Oriceran. The unique piece of furniture connected them and grounded him in his new home without sacrificing his attachment to his former one.
He was sure some of the council members were sufficiently savvy to recognize it but also assumed they’d understand. Not that he particularly cared what others thought—with precious few exceptions—but he did have some significant pride wrapped up in the bar. In another decade or so, the timber would be suitably saturated with the oil he used and be ready for carving. He looked forward to spending his empty moments working on it. Although, if the business continued to be as steady as it had been that night, he might not live long enough to see it completed.
Cali made a circuit of the last lingering customers, all of whom should have been out the door ten minutes before when the tavern’s official closing time came and went unnoticed. He shouted, “Okay, away with y’all. The girl has studying to do.” She scowled at him for reminding her. That’ll teach her to complain where I can hear her. He offered a wide grin in reply, and she shook her head and began to verbally and sometimes physically push their patrons toward the exit.
The dwarf locked the door behind her fifteen minutes later, which left barely enough time to get ready for the meeting. A quick series of words invoked the wards around the tavern, which he’d added to since the human and Atlantean gangs had become interested in it. He bustled downstairs and levitated several crates out of the way, then placed his hands on two small protrusions and muttered a command. The wall slid away to reveal a room beyond it, dominated by a large round table. Seven chairs and seven glasses were already positioned, as were the casks of red wine, white wine, and his own autumn mulled cider.
He opened the hole in the magical defenses protecting the building and a portal appeared immediately. Malonne the Light Elf, first to arrive as always, stepped through with a nod and headed to the refreshments. New portals materialized on schedule, one per minute, until the group was assembled.
Small talk accompanied the filling of glasses, but a diffuse sense of urgency inspired everyone to take their places quickly around the table. When he lowered himself into the final seat, the eldest of the council, Vizidus the wizard, spoke with what sounded like deep concern. “Thank you all for coming tonight and as always, thank you to Zeb for hosting us.” They exchanged nods, and the old man pushed a stray hair from his white mane out of his face. “Events move in the direction we expected and may soon require a response from us. It would be prudent to share our perspectives now, rather than when time is an urgent factor.” He gestured to his left and invited the next being to speak.
One of the things Zeb found interesting about his compatriots was their habit of choosing a different chair each time they gathered. It was not something he saw often in the tavern above, where most of his patrons had a favorite seat and didn’t change unless forced to. He always made sure to be the last to sit at the council gatherings, which allowed him to observe their choices. Tonight, Scoppic was in the chair to Vizidus’s left and looked decidedly bookish with his round glasses, neatly braided white beard and trimmed mustache, and soft face. His long wavy white hair and ornate burgundy waistcoat completed the look. The latter’s gold buttons winked in the flickering light from the fireplace. The gnome coughed once before he spoke, his voice thin and high-pitched. “Our neighborhood has not been affected. Still, we see the gangs on the streets and in the shops and know it’s only a matter of time until someone comes to us.”
Zeb nodded, as did several others. The city’s gnomes lived mainly near the library and museum in the most affluent section of the Garden District. The area wouldn’t be on the front edge of the territori
al expansion, but neither would it escape the determined forces that wrestled for control of the city. Beside Scoppic sat Delia, an aggressive witch who was rumored to be quite powerful. He’d never seen her in action, but the intensity in her eyes added weight to the stories that people he trusted had shared. She was clad in a Loyola sweatshirt and black jeans, and long sparkly earrings dangled within the rock-and-roll-messy black hair that tumbled over her shoulders and covered part of the school’s logo.
The woman’s voice was hoarse and sounded like every word had to be forced from her body. “Well, we are everywhere, and both the damn gangs are in our business on a daily basis. My people are seriously flipping tired of it. If we don’t do something collectively, you can be damn sure me and mine will do something without you.”
Vizidus shook his head gently, which made his own long hair—far stringier and whiter than hers—float about momentarily. “Surely it has not yet reached that point?”
The witch shrugged. “We have different opinions about what is tolerable, old friend. And my tolerance for their nonsense is rapidly reaching its end. With the power those at this table can bring to bear, we could eliminate both gangs easily.”
Brukirot, the hulking Kilomea with the unexpectedly soft voice, nodded. “It’s become clear that both the Zatoras and the Atlanteans will definitely not content themselves with taking territory solely from the human residents of the city. While my people are unlikely to be intimidated by any show of force that may emerge from either group, we must acknowledge that protecting all magicals from the humans’ delusions of might and the Atlanteans’ overreach is necessary. I suggest a concerted effort to take their soldiers off the streets in secrecy. In doing so, we could weaken both groups and frame the other for the action.”
