by CM Raymond
“The time is almost at hand. The rebellion is real, and a choice needs to be made. Your Boulevard has been reduced to a slum by the Capitol. Your men have all been enslaved by the Academy. And your neighbors are being killed by Hunters and Disciples—murdered in this very street. And still, you run around in the mud, screaming in fear about the imaginary threat of Unlawfuls.”
Hadley could barely hear Parker. All the mystic’s energy was directed toward the crowd. He held every mind in his hand—although, the connection wasn’t strong. He couldn’t change their minds—not like this. He couldn’t tell them what to think or convince them that Parker was right. All he could do was make sure they heard him. The rest was up to them.
I hope you’re not wrong, Parker, Hadley thought.
“You can place your faith in the Prophet,” Parker continued. “You can place your faith in Adrien or the Governor. Or you can place your faith in the true servant of the gods. A woman you have known all her life.”
The crowd remained silent. They hung on his every word. But a small group of Disciples were making their way toward him.
Parker kept his eyes trained on those gathered around him. “There is a fight coming. The question is, will you fight beside her? Will you be brave like she is? Will you fight beside Hannah, the hero of the Boulevard? Because I can tell you this, she fights for you!”
Hadley’s power was strained to the limit, and he had to drop his spell. But it didn’t matter, Parker’s speech had ended—and it seemed to have worked.
The Disciples raised their clubs, shouting for the crowd to join them in destroying the False Prophet. Parker only crossed his arms. He stood resolute, almost welcoming the fight.
They charged Parker’s makeshift stage, but before the Disciples could get there, a plump woman who must have been in her fifties moved in front of them. The scowl on her face could have scared a rearick. She crossed her arms like Parker and spread her feet wide.
“Get out of my way, bitch!” the Disciple yelled. But the woman was a brick wall. The Disciple moved to step around her, but an old man, blind in one eye and leaning on a cane stepped up, too.
Then a young woman of thirteen joined the line. And a mother, holding a baby in her arms. One by one, the crowd moved to stand in between Parker and the Disciples.
The men and women in white took a step back, realizing that the tide had turned against them.
Parker spoke again, this time with only the strength of his own voice. “The choice remains for you, too, Disciples. Give up your false crusade. Give up your reign of terror on these people. Or the Hero of the Boulevard will come—and believe me—she will show you what true terror looks like. She will deliver the wrath of the Matriarch!”
****
Gregory was glad to step out of the brisk winter morning and into the long marble hallway of the Academy. He’d been there for months now, and his heart still skipped a beat when he crossed into threshold—partially from its grandeur and partially because he knew he wasn’t good enough to be there. But today, he wasn’t thinking about his shortcomings.
He had barely slept the previous night. The sun was coming up when he finally put away the plans and called it a night. After his run-in with the Disciples in Queen’s Boulevard, inspiration hit. Gregory knew that he needed to do his part to end the reign of Adrien and win back the people of Arcadia. And he had one gift that only he could give.
And that gift had nothing to do with the classroom.
Gregory marched right past his normal classroom doors and began to make the long climb up the tower stairs.
He had never set foot anywhere higher than the Administrative wing, and yet today, he was taking the stairs all the way to the top. Pushing through the door, he stood in a small foyer outside the Chancellor’s office.
Doyle, the Chancellor’s assistant, stood blocking the entrance. “You lost, kid?”
Gregory just stared at him.
A grin broke across Doyle’s face. “Hey, you’re Elon’s son. Geoffrey, right?”
“Gregory. And I’m here to see the Chancellor. Dean Amelia sent me.”
Doyle’s face softened. “Is that right? Well, in that case, wait just a minute.”
Doyle slipped into the Chancellor’s office, leaving Gregory alone outside. He took a breath and tried to steady himself. This was by far the foolhardiest thing he had ever done. He smiled, thinking about how much Hannah and the others had rubbed off on him.
Doyle opened the door and held it for Gregory. “You should go right in. He’s waiting for you.”
A shudder crossed Gregory’s body as he stepped through the doorway. Adrien stood in front of the enormous windows, backlit by the morning light.
“Welcome, Gregory,” the Chancellor said with a smile as he turned to face him. “Let’s talk about your future. I hear you’re interested in my Scholarship Program.”
****
Hannah sat in her seat, fighting the urge to fall asleep. Professor August had only started class five minutes ago, but his droning in the front of the room already wore on her. What made it worse was the empty seat next to her—Gregory’s seat.
He wasn’t there.
After the raid on Gregory’s parents’ house, and with everything getting more desperate in the streets, Hannah knew that it was important to keep her cover. But for some reason, Gregory chose today of all days to play hooky. She figured he had chosen to stay in his basement workshop, working on Adrien’s plans.
At least he gets to do something useful, she thought. She was stuck learning about physical magic theory.
The large classroom door opened, breaking August’s speech. Hannah turned to the door, expecting Gregory to come bounding in. Instead, it was Morgan, and he was covered in bandages.
The class began to whisper as the formerly handsome young man limped in. She didn’t know how much damage she had done, but his presence surprised her—and it gave her cause for alarm. If Morgan had squealed, then maybe Gregory was being questioned by the Chancellor right now. She took a breath and told herself not to panic.
Keeping his head down, Morgan made his way to a seat in the front of the room, avoiding his normal place in the back. Violet called to him, “What the hell happened to you?”
The room got quiet, and Morgan turned and made eye contact with Hannah. She glared at him, letting her eyes briefly turn red. He quickly turned away.
“It was nothing. Just an accident at the ball… I, um, fell down the steps.”
The room laughed, and Morgan flushed. Hannah couldn’t help but exhale deeply, her shoulders settling from the tension she’d felt since he’d entered. If he had shared the story, it could have unraveled their entire plan. The cocky young man’s pride salvaged everything—for now.
“Too much mystic ale?” a guy next to Hannah asked.
Morgan pushed a grin across his face. “Yeah. Guess so. Hardly remember a thing.” He faked a laugh.
He glanced up at Hannah, and she gave him a little nod.
One problem solved, she thought. Now, where the hell is Gregory?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Winding his way through the Noble Quarter, Adrien kept his eyes trained straight ahead. Everyone he saw smiled and said a word of greeting. He only nodded in response. In his youth, he loved the attention that came with being the Chancellor. For an orphaned boy like him, it was an indicator that he had mastered his world.
Now, attention was only a nuisance—a hollow distraction from the work that needed to be completed.
Standing outside of the house that had belonged to his old friend Saul, he smiled, thinking of their days together before Adrien had “retired” him from the position of Governor. Over the years, he had convinced himself that the killing was necessary—even for Saul’s own sake.
He knocked, and the door opened immediately. The servant from his last visit stood, staring wide-eyed at the Chancellor. After a brief pause, he stepped aside, letting Adrien in. The man had learned his lesson, and Adrien wondere
d if he had been the one who had cleaned up the mess from the prostitutes who died during his last visit.
“The Prophet is downstairs, in his room,” the servant whispered with his eyes trained on the floor.
Adrien stepped by him and made his way to the stairwell near the back of the mansion. The place was quiet, as it had been the time before. He had met the nobleman who now owned the house, but didn’t remember his name or anything about him. It didn’t matter to him anyway.
Most of the nobles were no better in his mind than the scum in Queen’s Boulevard; they only smelled better. The nobles were fat and lazy, though, and that made them easy to manage. When necessary, Adrien only had to institute a festival to amuse them back into their complacent slumber.
Or shed a little blood.
Subtly enforced poverty had worked for years on the slum dwellers—that is, until recently. Hunger had a way of keeping people in their place. The system was strong, but now, with the return of Ezekiel and the rise of the Boulevard Bitch, he was starting to wonder if he had been short sighted in his oppression of the people.
Adrien descended the staircase into the basement, which was well lit with magitech. Standing outside of the Prophet’s door, he exhaled, hoping that things wouldn’t need to get messy again.
“Come in,” Jedidiah’s voice croaked from the other side.
Adrien entered to find the man alone, sitting at a little table with a bottle of mead and book in his hands. It was leather bound and looked as worn as the old Prophet.
Jed motioned to the chair across the table from him, which Adrien lowered himself into. During their last meeting, the Prophet was filled with hubris, intoxicated by his own self-importance. Now, the man looked different, exhausted. Almost humble.
“I used to collect these relics,” Jedidiah said, showing off the book to Adrien. “Harder and harder to find copies from before the Age of Madness. Hell, maybe they’re all gone. Used to lose myself in the old stories.”
Adrien grew impatient with the man’s foolish talk. He cared not about books or even Jedidiah and his damned interests.
“Tell me about the Boulevard. I hear there are problems forming.”
Jedidiah looked back at the book. “This one is interesting. Morality tale from the East. About a kid. Smart kid. Trained in the University. Not much unlike your school, I’m guessing.”
“I’m not here for a damned book report, Jedidiah.”
The old man nodded but continued. “He probably thought he was smarter than he was. That was the thing that got him into trouble, really. The kid worked it out that there were some people, because of their smarts or talents or whatever, that were above anyone or anything. He believed that extraordinary humans were above the law—above all else. You know what this man did?”
Adrien’s eyes narrowed, but his steely gaze did nothing to curb the Prophet’s meanderings.
“Damn kid went and killed an old woman. No reason other than to see if he could get away with it.”
Adrien sighed, deciding for the moment that it was more expedient to play along. “Does he?”
The Prophet slid a bookmark near the middle of the tome and placed it aside. With a wink, he said, “Guess we’re going to just have to wait and see.” Jedidiah drank from his glass and turned his eyes back to Adrien. “Now, what can I help you with?”
“The Boulevard.”
“Yes, of course. Things are… fine.”
“That’s not what I’ve been hearing,” Adrien snarled. “Sounds like you got made a fool by some damn kid. Were you drunk on the stage again?”
Jedidiah frowned. “Of course not, sir. You know that I’d never do that. It was those damn Unlawfuls. They had some powerful magic at their disposal. They brainwashed me.”
Adrien stared into his eyes, searching for lies. If he was brainwashed, then the mystics are involved.
“I say we leave them all to rot in the Boulevard anyway,” Jed said. “Surely, they can’t be a threat to you.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Adrien said. “Ezekiel is shrewd, and he’s setting all of his pieces in place. Those bastards from the Boulevard—they’re only pawns in his game. But even a pawn can be deadly. And he obviously has something in store for them. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be focusing so much effort to work against you. The question is, what is his next move?”
Smiling, Jedidiah said, “Well, Chancellor, I guess the problem is in your hands then. I’ve done about all that I can. I don’t really see the point anymore. What else is there to do?”
Adrien thought for a second. “Jedidiah, there is something you can do for me, something of foremost importance. Are your followers still loyal, even after today’s failure?”
“Of course! My Disciples worship me. What can we do?” the Prophet asked.
“It’s a simple strategy, one that even your drunken mind can understand. If there is a piece threatening you, you simply remove it from the board.”
“Remove it? But how?”
“Escalation. It is time we remind these rats of their place—show them the true fury of the gods. If Ezekiel and his bitch care so much about the Boulevard, then I want you and your men to burn it to the ground.”
****
Hannah cut around the side of the mansion and entered in through the back. Julianne was sitting in the nook in the corner of the kitchen, drinking tea and staring into nowhere. The teas bouquet filled the room, and Hannah recognized it from the monastery in the Heights.
Even with Hannah’s entry, Julianne didn’t flinch. She sat like a statue—a perfect human form.
“Hey,” Hannah said, a little louder than normal.
Julianne snapped out of her meditative trance. “Hannah…” Julianne said with a dazed look on her face. “I didn’t see you there.”
She pulled out a chair across from the mystic. “Sorry to interrupt. You connecting to the, um, beyond or something?”
Julianne laughed. “Yeah. Guess I was. Didn’t even know it to tell you the truth. Things have been so hectic here; I guess I just kind of slip into the state anytime I can.”
“Really? You don’t even try?”
“For us,” Julianne replied, “it’s almost like breathing. You do something every day for all your life, and your body just does it sometimes. And good thing, too. If I don’t meditate, I couldn’t do what I’m doing all this time.”
Hannah grinned. “I have to make myself meditate, and it’s usually because I know that Zeke will kick my ass if I don’t.”
“He’s right, you know, you need it. We should take some time together. See how far you’ve come.”
Parker and Hadley entered, laughing and talking nonstop like a couple of Academy schoolboys. Hannah raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with the sudden bromance?” she asked.
“Jealous, Hannah?” Parker said with a wink. “I always thought you were a pretty good partner. But this guy…”
“It was nothing,” Hadley replied. “The Prophet just so happened to see a half-dozen dragons. Simple, really, but effective.”
“Ha!” Parker shouted. “Effective enough to get him to run from the square naked and screaming.”
They took the time to fill the ladies in on the day’s exploits, including the crowds’ response to Parker’s speech. While it would take more, they were chipping off the edges of Adrien’s control of the common people. Parker was convinced that they were at the breaking point, one way or the other.
Snorting and huffing filled the room as Karl trampled through the door.
“Speaking of the epitome of gentleness,” Hannah said, nodding to the rearick.
He narrowed his eyes and grunted. “We rearick have our own serenity, lass. But it don’t come from staring at our navels and connecting with ghost energy or whatever. Comes from working hard and kicking ass. And there’s some ass I need to kick right now.”
He dropped a metal rod on the table, which clamored and came to rest. Tossing a letter on top of it, he asked, “You wanna explain this?”
>
“What is it?” Hannah asked.
“That damn runt of a bastard boy of yours. Damn fool has run off. Sounds like he’s going to ruin damned near everything—and get himself killed in the process.”
Hannah picked up the letter and pulled the parchment out of the envelope, whose wax seal was broken. Her eyes scanned the words:
Hannah,
It took a long time, but I’ve finally done it! I’ve deciphered the blueprints you stole from my father’s office. Problem is, it isn’t good news. Adrien’s ship isn’t just powered by magitech. What makes it dangerous is the piece of ancient technology that gives it the ability to fly.
