Rebellion

by CM Raymond

  “Yes, I am Hadley,” the man said as he gave a perfect smile. “Now, let’s get you off your drunk asses and back to Arcadia. My dear friend, Hannah, is expecting me.”

  ****

  Growing up in the Boulevard, Hannah didn’t know anyone who lived in a house more than one story high. Now, she was on the third floor of Gregory’s parents’ house. She worked the map that she had memorized and twisted and turned through the long corridors. All the doors on the floor were empty, and besides the sound of mad sex coming through one of them, all was quiet.

  At the end of the hall was Elon’s office—its ornately carved doors clearly setting it apart from the rest. She tried the knob, but it was securely locked. Gregory told her that her dad had designed some sort of magitech lock for the door, making it foolproof for anyone without the key—one of the reasons why Gregory couldn’t break in himself. Hannah didn’t have the key, but she had other methods at her disposal.

  Her eyes flashed red as she centered herself, focusing completely on the office in front of her. Gregory had explained it in detail, and she knew exactly where she was aiming. She spun her arms in a circle, and with a whoosh and a crack, made the jump through the solid wall.

  Teleporting like that was a noisy affair, but she was hopeful the sound of the party downstairs would cover her tracks. As she reappeared in Elon’s office, a rushing wind swept around her blowing papers off the Chief Engineer’s desk. Hannah decided not to worry about the mess. He would know there was a break in soon enough.

  Elon’s home office was exquisite. The walls were covered in a rich wood, probably harvested from the edges of the Dark Forest. The floors were perfect, black marble, but a thick, bear skin rug covered most of it. Hannah paced the perimeter of the room. Encased in frames were architectural drawings of outrageously tall buildings. They looked like the tower she and Ezekiel lived in if it were covered in glass and extended into the heavens.

  She read the words beneath two of them:

  Burj Khalifa, Adrian Smith (2009)

  One World Trade Center, David Childs (2014)

  If the artifacts were original from before the Age of Madness and the Dark Ages before that, they’d be worth more than the entire Queen’s Boulevard—if there was anyone stupid enough to pay for them. She laughed at the thought as if there was a huge market for ancient architectural drawings.

  Gregory told her that his dad had spent a lot of time pouring over documents from the old days. He seemed to think that it would enhance his magitech—which was a terrifying thought, considering the old world nearly blew itself to pieces.

  Wasting no more time, Hannah made her way over to the south side of the room. Finding the middle wooden panel, she pushed. Just like Gregory had said, it clicked, and sprung out toward her, exposing three smaller locked cabinets. They glowed blue, and Hannah could tell that they were also secured via magitech.

  Bingo, she thought. But which one is the right one?

  Hannah smiled. She had the means to figure that out as well.

  She closed her eyes, letting her mind empty. She forgot about Adrien, about the dance, about Parker off risking his life in the Heights. She let it all go, then she filled the empty space with the bottom cabinet, trying to draw herself into it. She was subtly aware of her lips moving, speaking some sort of gibberish that contained tremendous power. Just like practicing in the basement, she was suddenly somewhere else.

  While her body remained kneeling on the ground, her mind was now free to wander Elon’s vault. She looked around the space, illuminated by the blue glow of the magitech. The bottom locker was filled with gold coins—an impressive stash, but not what she had come for. She repeated the process with the middle cabinet. It contained several small magitech devices—probably another secret killing machine that Elon was working on. Then, in the topmost cabinet, she found her mark.

  A thin stack of papers covered in intricate lines and numbers. The plans for Adrien’s warship. It was all foreign to her eyes, and she couldn’t make sense of any of it. But she knew someone who could. Her job was to get it to him.

  She blinked back into the room and reached for the top cabinet. She pulled as hard as she could, but the magitech lock wouldn’t budge. It was time to try the riskiest portion of their plan.

  While preparing for all of this, Gregory had taken the time to explain magitech in detail to Hannah and Ezekiel. While the young noble wasn’t very good at magic, he had a wicked smart understanding of how things worked. Every piece of magitech was fueled by an amphorald core, that was in turn charged with energy by a physical magic user. The larger the core, the more powerful the device—but even small amphorald cores could contain a punch. Normally, that power was then channeled outward in a safe manner, powering the machine. But, if the core became compromised... the whole thing could blow.

  That was the key to Gregory’s master plan—use the magitech lock to break the safe.

  Hannah spread her arms outward like she was preparing to dive, then brought them close to her body and pushed them toward the safe. Gingerly, she placed her hands upon the smooth, cold metal. Her eyes flashed red, and the metal soon followed suit. Heat from her hands radiated into the thick door of the safe. Hannah could produce a tremendous amount of heat; the rage inside of her after the death of her brother fueled it. But burning through a safe like that was out of the question. It would take hours—if she could sustain it.

  Luckily, the magitech lock was located within the outer door. It was the first place the heat from her hands would travel to.

  Sweat covered her brow, and she gritted her teeth as the physical magic she was using began to drain her. She knew that if this didn’t work soon, they’d be in trouble.

  But Gregory knew what he was talking about.

  A low-pitched whistling began emanating from the safe—like a teakettle after the water has begun to boil. Then smoke started to pour out from the safe’s seams. That’s when Hannah knew she had done it.

  She darted away from the locker and ducked behind the desk just as the core exploded. The bang was louder than she had expected, but no shrapnel or anything. Gregory had warned that the explosion might be violent—but probably not.

  When the smoke cleared, she saw the safe as it was before—largely intact—except its door hung wide open.

  She smiled. You’re a damn genius, Greg.

  Hannah ran to the safe and grabbed the plans. She rolled them up and slid them into the hidden pocket that Eleanor and Maddie sewed into the side of her dress. She closed the broken safe as best she could, replaced the secret panel, and turned to the door.

  There was a mirror on the far wall of the office, and Hannah caught a look at herself. Her hair was brown and disheveled, the red in her eyes was fading, and she was covered in sweat. But she was herself, and it made her smile.

  She took a breath, focused on the image, and then once again, she was the beautiful nobleman’s daughter.

  ****

  The hallway was still quiet, and Hannah retraced her steps back toward the main dance hall. Even the lovers had finally calmed down behind the door in the middle of the hall. She hoped that they hadn’t heard her break in. She was exhausted from the huge expenditure of magic, and she wanted nothing more than just to go home.

  But as she turned to descend the grand spiraling staircase toward the second floor, a voice interrupted her.

  “What the hell are you doing up here?”

  Her heart leaped into her throat, and Hannah spun to find Morgan, the know-it-all douche rocket from her physical magic course.

  “Just checking the place out,” she said. “It’s larger than my damn house, and that’s saying something.” Hannah smiled big, hoping her dimples would win the day.

  “I’m sure everything here seems big to a country girl like you,” he leered. “The men are bigger here, too. Not that you would know it, hanging around that limp-dick, Gregory.”

  She froze, swallowing the bile in her throat. She forced a laugh. “It’
s a fair arrangement. He helps me with my studies; I let him twirl me around the dancefloor.”

  “I bet you two do all sorts of dances together.”

  Hannah stepping in close enough to smell the ale on his breath. “Why, Morgan, exactly what kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “I know exactly what kind of girl you are... it just so happens to be the kind of girl I like.” His eyes wandered up and down her body. She had to fight the urge to shudder.

  “Hey, what’s that?” Morgan asked, pointing at the roll of paper sticking up through her dress. In her haste, she had forgotten to secure it. “Is that—”

  She placed her index finger on his lips to quiet his question. “That’s nothing. Just some notes that Gregory promised to pass me. Like I said, we have an arrangement. He really is good. With magic, I mean. But there are just some things that... well, how did you put it? ‘A bigger man’ might be able to help me with.”

  As she said it, she moved her hand down from his lips to his arm. She gave his bicep a squeeze.

  “Well, in that case,” Morgan whispered in her ear. “You should come by my dorm room sometime. I’d be more than happy to give you some private lessons. I’ll show you how things are done in Arcadia... You can show me a bit of your countryside.”

  “Why wait?” she smiled, this time it took no effort at all. “I’m sure we can learn a lot from each other right now.”

  Hannah grabbed his hand and led him back down the hall. Within a couple of tries, they found an empty guest room. The magitech lights snapped on as they entered.

  “Hope you know how to shut those off.” Hannah nodded to the bulbs along the edges of the ceiling. She backed him up to a window seat that overlooked the city.

  “So,” Hannah said with a smile, “tell me more about the Academy. How do I make sure I pass along to the second year?”

  Morgan laughed, his eyes looking her up and down in her evening gown. At that moment, all Hannah wanted to do was get as far away from any of the noble monster as possible. But she had more pressing matters to attend to.

  While he prattled on, she tried to get inside his mind, trying to erase his memory of seeing Elon’s stolen plans. It was a long shot—Julianne had only scratched the surface of explaining this kind of magic before she left, and Ezekiel wasn’t exactly the best at it. Still, Hannah had to try. Once word got out that the plans were missing, she expected Morgan to go running straight to the Chancellor.

  “You don’t have to worry about passing,” Morgan said as he leaned back on the window sill. “Girard is your freaking father. You could shit the bed on exams and make it, no problem. They control magic, remember? And people like us, we’ve got nothing to worry about. Always been on the inside, always will.”

  We’ll see about that, she thought. She pried deeper in, past the filth that was really on his mind. But she was exhausted, and it was hard to focus.

  Morgan grabbed her hands and pulled her toward him so that she stood between his spread legs. “But enough talking, how about that private lesson?”

  Hannah sighed, it was looking like brainwashing wasn’t going to work. Morgan was just too focused.

  “On second thought, maybe now’s not the best time,” Hannah said as she inched back. “Plus, Gregory is probably waiting for me.”

  He laughed. “Let him wait. I’m the one with the goods. And you’re exactly my type.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” Hannah said, her voice as cold as ice—exactly how she felt. She tried to pull her hands away, but Morgan was strong, and he wouldn’t let go.

  “Ooh, a feisty one. Most of the other girls don’t resist, but I don’t mind a little foreplay first.” He pulled her in closer.

  Those words. They were almost the exact words that the Hunter said to her in the alley, on the day that changed her life forever.

  She had made a vow that day, one that she was prepared to keep.

  “Get your damned hands off me,” she yelled.

  As she spoke, the power beneath her skin rushed around her body, sending a chill up her spine. Her eyes flared red, but her hands began to freeze.

  Morgan released her and shook his hands. The cold hurt. “What the hell is wrong with you? And your eyes...”

  Magicians’ eyes in Arcadia never turned red. She had shown him a bit of her true self, and that kind of knowledge in the hands of the wrong people could have disastrous results. Since brainwashing was out of the question—she knew of only one other method to ensure his silence.

  She let her mental magic change her appearance. No longer was she “sweet Deborah.” Her face took on the appearance of a demon—exactly the way Ezekiel looked when she first saw him.

  “You wanted to get to know the real me?” she asked, her voice now sounding like a low growl. “Well, here I am. I am Hannah, the Bitch from the Boulevard. And I am not someone to be fucked with.”

  As Morgan’s eyes widened in fear, he opened his mouth to scream. But Hannah was too fast. With nothing but cold hatred rushing through her body, she raised her hands and threw them forward. Ten needle-like daggers of ice shot from her fingertips. They sunk in across his body, landing on his face and chest and groin.

  The force of her attack drove the nobleman backward. He screamed, but it was soon lost to the sound of breaking glass and rushing wind.

  As her red eyes faded back to brown, she looked up.

  Morgan was gone.

  On the day that Hannah had first done magic, she swore that no man would ever touch her like that again. As she stared out the shattered window into the night sky, she knew that she had kept her promise.

  And justice was sweet.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The three men traveled back to Arcadia in silence. Hadley spent the time thinking about Hannah. Parker thought about Hadley—and Hannah. And Karl mostly just stewed in silence over the state of his fellow rearick.

  Their response should not have surprised him. Karl loved his people and knew that deep down, they were good, honest, and loyal folks. Nevertheless, the life of relative opulence provided by their trade with the Arcadians had lulled them into a life of compliance.

  Grinning, he thought of the old days, when he followed Krayton into battle in the Madlands, expecting certain death—and welcoming the glory of it. Nothing had shaped him into who he was more than those days of fighting for his fellow rearick—and for all of Irth. Something deep inside told him he could be like Krayton—the strong and charismatic rearick that called his brothers to arms and led them to victory.

  All this trip afforded him was a head wound from a bar brawl and the company of an airy-minded mystic.

  Hadley finally broke the silence. “We all go on pilgrimage a few times during our lives. Sometimes it’s short—just around the Arcadian Valley. But sometimes, mystics travel as far as they can, meeting people all over Irth. Two of my brother mystics, Volney and Larick, decided to go as far West as they could. No one’s heard from them in months. Who knows, maybe they’ll never return. But despite the risks, it’s worth it.” He paused as if waiting for one of the other two men to ask a probing question. When he was met with silence, he continued. “I went on my first one when I was still pretty much a kid. Had the delight of going with Selah, our old master. He was the one that Ezekiel had trained in mystical arts in the first place. Leaving was tough, but it was important.”

  Nothing inside of Parker wanted to interact with the mystic, but his curiosity was fueled. “So, why’d you go?”

  “Selah taught that we went for two reasons. First, it was our responsibility to find and recruit those that belonged in the Heights with us. We’d travel to the furthest reaches of Irth to find new mystics. Most pilgrims would come back alone—there aren’t many like us in the world, but a few times a year, someone would return to begin the monastic life.”