by CM Raymond
She expected him to blush, but Gregory’s face got as serious as death. For the first time, he looked less like a boy and more like a man. “Life has to be about something more than money. Until I met you, I thought it would be replacing my father. Now, I realize that Arcadia—maybe all of Irth—needs us. If I can be a part of that... well, that’s some freaking purpose.”
Hannah nodded and forced a grin. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, about those new recruits? There has to be someone else who could be bothered to give a damn.”
Gregory shrugged. “Dunno. Let me think about it. Maybe Violet and Morgan?” He said their names with a smile.
Hannah punched Gregory on the arm. “Bastard. I think I’ll pass. With douche nuggets like them on our side, Adrien won’t have to do any work at all.”
Gregory smiled wider as he rubbed his bruised arm. “We’d probably be doing him a favor.”
****
Adrien looked over the letter, swirling the expensive ale of the mystics in a crystal glass. It was news from a paid associate of his from the city Cella to the north—and the message it contained had Adrien floating on air.
Everything was going according to plan. The airship was back on schedule, and they had nearly enough amphoralds to store the power necessary for its test run.
The recruits from Dean Amelia were still trickling in, and they grinned ear to ear when Adrien invited them to be part of his special group. They would be used for their magical abilities—that was the truth. He just didn’t tell them that their power would be drained and poured into the crystals that would power his warship.
And the letter confirmed that the final piece of the puzzle had now been found—the key to his weapon.
He had everything he needed, and yet something nagged at the back of his mind, some threat he hadn’t resolved. He was still paranoid—but for good reason. It was clear that Ezekiel was still at work in the city.
While nearly a month had gone by since the death of his Hunters, the last weeks proved that Ezekiel was putting a plan into motion. A group of Jed’s Disciples was torn apart in the noble district. Some prick from the Boulevard—a close friend of Ezekiel’s new student—had escaped from the factory and was now preaching open rebellion on the streets. These were opening moves in Ezekiel’s game.
Something was afoot, Adrien just had no idea what. Ezekiel and his new puppet were out there, and if there was one thing that Adrien knew about the old man, it was that he didn’t give up.
Ever.
Pacing in front of the window in the auburn light of the setting sun, he walked through the possibilities.
Ezekiel could be raising an army. This seemed all but impossible. He had thought that the mystics would be his recruits, but Stellan, the head Guard, insisted that there was no such alliance. Although the mystics were powerful in their own magic, they were recluses. He had no doubt that the world could fall apart around the Heights, and the mindnuts would continue sipping their ale and meditating as the massacre happened.
But Ezekiel can be persuasive, Adrien thought.
“Doyle,” he screamed, shaking the glass in the windows.
Before he finished his assistant’s name, the man was through the door.
“Sir? Everything OK?”
Adrien glanced back out the window and then back at his assistant. “Something isn’t right, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.” He paused for longer than was comfortable for Doyle. Then finally, he asked, “Stellan and his men, are they... well, normal?”
“Normal, sir?”
Adrien cocked his head. “Yes. Have they been acting odd—out of sorts?”
Doyle searched the ceiling. As Adrien’s long-time assistant, he knew he had to hedge his bets. Get something like this wrong, and the consequences could be dire. “Not that I know of, sir. Seems all is in order. Do you want me to question them again? Maybe Alexandra could have a little conversation with them.”
Adrien laughed. Alexandra, his inquisitor and part-time lover, certainly had a way with men… in more ways than one. But putting her to work on Stellan might be a bit much.
“No. Alexandra might be more than the head of the Guard can handle. She might just ruin the man; she has ruined many before. But, Doyle, do this for me—put someone you trust on Stellan. Nothing too intense, just have somebody keep an eye on him. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’d rather know for certain.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
Adrien looked down at the letter; a wicked smile crept across his face. “Actually, Doyle, I do have something in mind for you. A special assignment that will give you some close, personal access to Stellan and his men. You’re going on a trip North.”
Adrien could hear the man gulp from the other side of the room. “Are you sure you want to send me, sir?”
Adrien’s smile turned to ice. “Are you saying you’re not capable of doing what I ask, Doyle?”
“No! No, sir. Absolutely not, sir. I will take care of it. Whatever you ask.”
Adrien smiled again as the man backed out of the room. He turned to stare out the window—it was nearly dark in Arcadia, and Adrien cursed missing the full sunset. He dropped into his leather chair, placed his feet on the ottoman, and watched darkness take over.
Something isn’t right, he thought. His plan was nearly perfect, and its completion was imminent. Still, something chewed at his gut—that something was his old mentor.
If I were him, I would have someone on the inside. But who?
Adrien pushed the thought from his mind. The airship was nearly complete. Doyle was too much of a coward to screw up his assignment. And Ezekiel wouldn’t be able to stop the progress.
Once the machine took flight, no magician in all of Irth would be able to stop Adrien’s plans.
CHAPTER THREE
“Magitech is the future for Arcadia…”
Another day, another boring ass class, Hannah thought as she struggled to stay awake. Yesterday had been alright—she couldn’t deny that turning wood and stone into glass was a pretty cool skill—but today was class with Professor Nikola, which meant it was a lecture on magitech, which meant it was a total bore. How the hell could magic be boring? And yet, Professor Nikola had a way of putting students to sleep even when talking about the most exciting content.
She found her mind wandering, trying to imagine what the day could have been like, running around the streets with Parker, making the Prophet look like an idiot. Instead, she was stuck at a desk, surrounded by students she despised.
Well, she didn’t despise every student.
Hannah looked over at Gregory who was studiously taking notes. He wasn’t bad for a noble—hell, he wasn’t bad by Boulevard standards. The truth was that Gregory was a good man—if only he had some more confidence. Either way, she was glad to have made at least one friend here, even if his magic work was for shit.
Thankfully, Nikola was a stickler for time, and he ended his lecture without going over. Hannah couldn’t wait to get out of the stuffy classroom. She grabbed Gregory’s sleeve and bolted for the door. But as they stepped into the hallway, a voice behind them called out.
“Gregory, do you have a second?”
They spun to find Professor August standing outside the classroom door. He must have been waiting for them. His face was serious—which was more than unusual for the smiling man—and Hannah wondered for a minute if he had figured out that it was her that had changed the elephant and not Gregory. She glanced at her friend who was stiff as a board. He was thinking the same thing.
“Sure,” he said, walking toward the professor.
Hannah went with him. She knew that in a pinch, Gregory was pretty much useless. Not to mention, she was the one willing to do the dirty work that might have to happen if things went really bad.
“It’s about yesterday, Gregory,” August said.
“Yes, sir?”
Finally, a grin cracked across his face. “Well, all these months, we’ve been expecti
ng a lot out of you—with your father’s position and all. And it probably wasn’t fair. Hell, I’d hate to be in your shoes. But then there was your work yesterday.” August pursed his lips and shook his head. “It was just so damned good.”
“Well,” Gregory said, stealing a glance at Hannah, “thank you, Professor. I’ve been practicing a bit.”
“I’d say. Now, there’s a little matter of business I wanted to talk with you about. You’ve heard of the Chancellor’s Scholar’s Program?”
Both students shook their heads, faces lacking all expression.
August continued. “I’m not supposed to make a recommendation for first years until the end of the term, but I thought what the hell…”
“Sir?” Gregory asked.
“I’m putting your name in. Tomorrow. If you want me to, that is.”
Gregory’s mouth dropped wide open. Hannah jumped in, saying, “Does that mean he won’t be in class with us any longer?”
August finally looked at her. “No. No, he probably won’t. That is, if he’s accepted. And, Deborah, I think this could be a good thing for you. I’ve noticed that you’ve been leaning a bit too strongly on your new friend here. Maybe Gregory leaving could be the shove out of the nest that you need. You haven’t shown much, well, potential as of yet. But I know your father is a man of great influence.” He turned back to Gregory. “Let me know tomorrow, will you? I’ll give you a night to think it over.”
August turned and left them standing in the hall.
“Asshat,” Hannah said as he left.
“Nah. He’s a good one,” Gregory responded.
She shook her head. “There aren’t good ones in the Academy. If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the bloody problem. August has chosen to side with Adrien. That makes him an enemy in my book.”
They walked out into the quad, each thinking about the conversation that just transpired. Hannah’s ego was a little bruised, but the professor’s words showed that her ruse was working, at least on one person.
Finally, she said, “You really suck at lying, don’t you?”
“Sorry.”
Hannah laughed. “It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. I know I can trust you, so that’s good. Now, these two douche nuggets on the other hand.” She nodded toward Ben and Jonas. Hannah and Gregory had spent the night running through the names of students and they landed on those two as good options. At least they weren’t complete numbnuts, which was a start.
Hannah took a breath and turned to approach them, but Gregory grabbed her arm. “Be careful,” he said.
“I know what I’m doing, Gregory.” Her tone was short, and she pulled away from him. This would be a piece of cake.
As she approached, the two men froze, stopping their conversation mid-sentence.
“Hey, guys,” she said. “How’s it going?”
They were both skinny—although, after that their similarities ended. Ben, the taller one, had a pimply face and shockingly bushy eyebrows. Jonas was in the process of growing a beard—a few years too early. Neither looked like rebellion material, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Um, hi, Deborah,” Jonas said, stroking his non-existent beard. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Hannah said with a smile. “I’m just bored after Professor Nikola’s lecture.”
Hannah tried her best at making casual conversation. She had been working with Maddie to work on her tone and mannerisms, but it was the difference in content that made talking with them so difficult. But, she made the right comment because Ben went off when she mentioned Nikola. Apparently, he didn’t like the prof much either. She was hardly even aware of what he was saying, however. Her focus was elsewhere.
Her intentions were directed past their words—into their minds. It was difficult, keeping up her illusion work while delving deeper—all while maintaining a smile. Since Ben was doing the talking, she decided to focus on Jonas. She had to empty her own mind and pull in the thoughts of the boy in front of her—letting them fill her. Finally, the words bubbled up inside of her, and she whispered them under her breath.
Immediately Jonas’s voice was inside her head.
Man, what I wouldn’t do for just one night with her, he thought. She’s so damn hot for a country girl. I could show her how we do it in the city.
As Hannah listened to the boy’s thoughts, anger began to fill her, pushing out the connection. The words became harder to hear.
...make her scream... why she’s hanging around with that needle-dick Gregory…
The anger inside Hannah pulled up, but she couldn’t contain it. Suddenly, Jonas grabbed his head and screamed. “What the hell?” he yelled, clutching his temples with his hands. The pain drove him to a knee.
Ben gaped at his friend, then turned back to Hannah. “Hey, what’s wrong with your eyes?”
Hannah blinked and looked back at the boy. It was as if she had just woken up. She must have lost focus on her own illusion, which means that her bright red eyes would have started to shine through—definitely not a normal sight amidst the “civilized” company.
She looked down at Jonas who was still rubbing his head. Shit, did I do that? she thought.
“I’ve got to go,” Hannah blurted, as she turned and rushed back to the other side of the quad.
As she left, she caught the last trace of Jonas’s thoughts. What a freak! What the hell kind of people are they letting in here now? I’m going to talk to my father about this.
Hannah cursed herself again, grabbed Gregory’s arm, and pulled him away from the school.
****
The sound of loud men shouting to one another filled Julianne’s ears as she laced up her boots. Of course, they weren’t her boots, and she wasn’t really lacing them. The whole thing was an elaborate illusion designed to fool her new “companions” in the Arcadian Guard.
Julianne had been playing dress up as Stellan for weeks—ever since Ezekiel killed the man in the Heights. As Stellan’s dead body cooled on the Temple floor, Julianne knew she had only one choice. She was the only mystic capable of perfectly mimicking another person. And if Stellan never returned, Adrien would attack her people in force. So, she put on the “uniform” and joined the Guard.
She missed her mountain home, and as far as the day-to-day went, pretending to be the brute was just on the bad side of tolerable. But, there were many parts of the mission that were downright terrible.
Like the bathhouse.
At the end of each shift, the Guardsmen were expected to hit the house, where most of them enjoyed a steam bath and would rinse off with a cold shower. It would be unusual for Stellan to skip the ritual, which meant that Julianne spent her afternoons surrounded by sweaty asses and shriveled dicks.
Far from ideal for the head mystic. She hadn’t spent her life training in the mystic arts for this—but she was faithful to the cause.
Keeping up the illusion as Stellan was taxing for the mystic. It was a constant, strenuous labor. Creating the illusion sapped her mental capabilities to the point that some evenings she was all but worthless once she was back in the safety of the mansion. Not only that, but it was also emotionally taxing. It was more than just looks; she had to be Stellan.
Playing someone else for a few days wasn’t bad—it could even be enjoyable. However, not being yourself for months was enough to break lesser mystics than Julianne.
