If I knew what I was doing, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.
There is one mage that continues to interest me, however. It’s the one who lost the sword fight with Edgar.
He must catch me staring as Acacia tries to explain all the ways that a mage can come about their powers without the Ritual, and he makes a stern face at me as if to challenge me. A last arrow lifts from the table without his even looking at it and flies across the room to hit the dead center of its target—narrowly missing another mage in the process.
Edgar catches sight of it and rather than scolding the boy who is now hurriedly stalking towards us, calls out the other mage for getting in the way.
“What do you want?” The boy asks, as soon as he is close enough for us to pick out his voice above the others.
He’s even smaller up close. If I were to guess, I’d place him at about twelve or thirteen. Fourteen if he’s a really late bloomer. No matter how much he tries to steel himself up to look bigger than he is, I can’t make myself take him seriously because he’s so young.
“Nothing,” I say. I nod towards the practice ring, where Edgar is now trying to get Draven to participate in a hands-on match. For someone who claims never to have been here before, it’s kind of suspicious that he seems to know some of the others so well. “You did good back there. Are you one of the new recruits?”
“Hardly,” he says with a snort.
Acacia doesn’t let his words hang in the air for even a second before she corrects him. “Michael is one of the new recruits,” she says. “He just doesn’t like to be lumped in with the rest of them.”
“Because I’m so much better than them,” he says without a hint of sarcasm.
I look this one over again, not sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. I settle on a little of both. “Oh yeah,” I say. “Why’s that, do you think?”
“Natural talent, obviously,” he says.
I think I’ve made up my mind. It’s annoying.
I’ve never been very good with children. I try turning my back to him, hoping he’s get the picture that I’m not in the mood.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says, his voice immediately turned to a high-pitched whine.
I decide the best course of action is to just ignore him. “Where were we?” I say to the others.
Only, he doesn’t go away. He repeats the same thing again.
This time I turn halfway round and fix him with a disinterested stare. “Why don’t you go back and playing with the swords while we deal with the stuff that actually matters?”
“What do you mean?”
I look back at him, my annoyance growing. “Nothing,” I say. “Now if you don’t mind…”
I’ve had enough.
I use my Psychic Magic to tug on the hood of his shirt. His eyes widen a bit when he tries to dig in the heels of his boots, but my magic ultimately wins out. He only stumbles back a step, but I can tell he takes it as a personal affront.
As soon as I let go, he’s got an arrow in his hand.
I’ve never seen people move so quickly. One second, Draven is across the room and the others are behind me. The next, all three of them stand between me and little Michael with his arrow.
Michael’s face turns red. “You’re a coward, letting them fight your battles for you.”
I force myself through the wall of their bodies, brushing away Flynn’s touch as I do. I crouch down a little so I’m at eye-level with the boy. I can tell it’s doing exactly what I meant it to, as his face turns an even more brilliant shade of crimson. “The last time I fought my own battle, I learned I have control over time,” I say. “And then the next, I performed the very ritual that is the reason you’re here today.”
I catch sight of a piece of lint on his shirt and a calmly reach out, past the arrow still pointed at my face, and brush it away.
“So, remember that the next time you call me a coward,” I say. “Or I might feel the need to try something like that again.”
7
Octavia
I thought I’d scared him away for good, or made an enemy, or something. But we are barely out of the training hall later after actually doing a bit of practice when we hear footsteps running after us. Once again, Flynn winces a little at the loud noise.
He didn’t dare reach for his own powers during the last couple hours, so rather drifted off to the wall of books in the corner. He might’ve done so anyway. The collection here is much larger than the academy, so I doubt he feels bothered in the slightest about this turn of events.
A little time must have given Michaels some perspective, because this time when he runs up to me, there is no pride or anger on his face—only curiosity.
I’d forgotten for a minute how much younger he was than the rest of us, and I’m more than a little embarrassed by the fact that I singled him out, of all people, to pick a fight.
But he isn’t here to relive that particular moment.
By the time he catches up to us, he’s out of breath. His training session has exhausted him, but I get the feeling that he only left in the first place to catch up to us.
“So you’re unbound too? I always knew it wasn’t a bad thing like everyone else said.”
I stop and turn to face him. “Who said that?”
He shrugs. “I overheard some of the other mages.” He makes a little scoffing sound. “And you can see why, too. Most of the others can’t even do something as basic as hitting a target.”
But he doesn’t stop there. “I’m glad I’m not the only powerful one that didn’t go through that stupid ritual.”
“Sorry buddy,” I say, cutting him off there. “I did go through the ritual. I just got more than one affinity.”
He looks at me puzzled, and then at all the others for confirmation. They just give him blank stares in return.
“I’m new here and even I know that’s impossible,” he says.
“Well, you’re supposed to be impossible too. But here we are.”
He thinks about that for a second, but then seems to accept it. “Well then, I’ll see you later,” he says. He darts off and down the hall ahead of us towards the bustle and clink of the dining hall. I’m starting to lean towards my first guess at his age, probably closer to twelve than fourteen.
“Someone needs to tell that kid to take it easy,” I say, “before he goes and gets himself killed.”
“I think you’ve made a friend,” Draven says.
I groan a little when, sure enough, Michael waves at us inside the dining hall—beckoning us to come sit beside him.
“Not on purpose,” I say. “Trust me.”
It’s hard for me to get an accurate understanding of just how many people are a part of this organization, since it seems that there are really no set hours or rules or schedules where everyone is gathered together. Even now, when Edgar appears at my side and puts a hand on my shoulder, I can still see some of the breakfast dishes still out even as lunch is served.
As much as I would like to join the rest of them for dinner, Edgar seems to have other ideas.
I tense at his touch, but he is quick to tell me he is not here on his own volition to pick a fight.
“It’s Bram,” he says. “He’d like to speak with you.”
Cedric, Flynn, and Draven exchange a glance. They start to rise from their seats but Edgar stops them.
“Alone.”
He doesn’t try to make conversation on the short walk from the dining hall to where Bram left me last night, and for that at least I am grateful. I don’t expect for Edgar to take some misguided liking to me like Michael has, but I’m not about to try and get on his bad side either. At least not any more than I already am.
We stand there in the hall for a few long, long seconds, neither of us saying anything to the other while we just stare at the blank wall until I feel that tearing, rippling sensation, and a part of the wall shifts. This time I am meant to step through.
Edgar does not follow.
His office is more like a combined study and bedroom. Unlike the opulence of Cedric’s family and the other mage council leaders, the leader of The Underground has much more simple tastes.
It isn’t until I hear a quiet scraping, the sound of pen on paper, that I spot him sitting at the desk in the very middle of the room. I don’t know if I didn’t see him at first because he sits very, very still, or if it’s that he wasn’t there at all a moment earlier. Either way, my heart races a little at the sight of him.
He beckons me over without glancing up. There are no chairs to sit in, so I am forced to stand in front of him. I try not to let my eyes wander onto the many papers on my desk, but even when they inevitably do, I can’t understand much of anything written there.
Once he has finished writing, he takes his time signing, folding, and sealing the letter into a thick white envelope. Only then does he stretch his neck first to one side, and then the other, and look up at me.
“Octavia Hadley. My Time Mage.”
The possessiveness with which he says it makes my skin crawl.
“You called for me,” I say, carefully. I might have been snarky once or twice with Cedric’s father when he was the principal at the academy, but I don’t want to see what that kind of tone would bring from this man.
“Yes. Have you settled into the complex?”
I nod, and then hastily add, “Thank you, for earlier.”
He blinks several times. “For what?”
“For Kendall…never mind.” I swallow and wonder if I shouldn’t have brought it up.
“Oh, yes. The Earth Mage.” He waves a flippant hand and sits back in his chair. “I’ve already told you. He is your responsibility. I am sure it won’t happen again.”
My stomach knots up at the hidden threat and the reminder that I am the one in charge of keeping them in line, somehow. “It won’t.”
“Good,” he says. “Then let’s stop wasting time. I brought you here for a specific purpose, though I’ve since learned there may be some trouble on that end.”
That same knot twists tighter. “My Time Magic is a little…fickle.”
His eyes bore into mine, showing neither compassion nor anger. “I forget, sometimes, that the mage academies are no longer equipped to help your kind.”
“And that is?” I ask. “I mean, my kind?”
“Those with special abilities,” he says. “Like myself.” He stretches out his fingers as he does this, and instantly reaches towards the cane leaned up against the side of the desk, though he does not grasp it. “Fortunately, where they are lacking, I come prepared. We will work on your abilities later. For now, I have a task for you.”
I lean forward a little, grateful that he isn’t about to banish or kill us because he’s found out I can’t perform my Time Magic yet, but also uneasy at what kind of task a man like this might have for us.
“A test of loyalty,” he says.
“Haven’t we already shown that?” I ask. “We called you.”
“In your time of need,” he reminds me, and I hastily shut up. Bram gets to his feet, very slowly. He doesn’t move with the ache of age, but rather with the movements of a man who knows he doesn’t have a care in the world. The ability to simply phase in and out of existence, I am sure, helps with that.
“Organizations like mine require constant proof of loyalty,” Bram says, as he moves towards a pitcher of water at the other end of the room. I realize that he could probably call it to himself using any one of his magics—and then I realize I don’t really know anything about Bram’s magic at all. He could be like me, with all three affinities, or just two or, for all I know, none at all, like Michael.
“Because I value power, the mages I bring in can be something of a…liability. I don’t expect you to be undyingly loyal for no reason, but I do expect you to either respect me or fear me.”
“And this time?”
Bram finally looks back at me through the stream of water pouring from the pitcher into his glass.
“We’ll just have to see, shan’t we?”
He takes a sip, and finally tells me of my first task. “There is something I want you to acquire,” he says. “Several things, really.” He takes a sip of the water, letting the anticipation of what is to come drag on moments too long.
“And?”
“You will steal the affinity artifact s from the New York Academy of Mages.”
8
Octavia
Whereas up until now, most activities in the complex here have seemed chaotic at best, when it comes down to actually making plans, Bram is intensely methodical. For the next few minutes, he lays out exactly how he expects me to carry out the mission. Fortunately, I’ll not be going alone.
This particular engagement is not a test of my skills, I know, but something about it still makes me restless. I am used to working against something, hatching plans in secret, and having to keep others from finding out what I am doing. But Bram gives me full freedom to share his plans with the others, as well as anyone else that I like.
“After all,” he says, tipping his hat to me as I leave at the end of our conversation, “It isn’t as if anyone is going in or out without my knowing about it.”
Before I go slip away he adds, “And even if they did, I’d like to see them try and stop me.”
Draven said something similar once, and though people tried, they couldn’t stop us either. They drove us here, but they could not separate us. I step out into the main hall and am once again enveloped with that cold air that is unique to large concrete spaces.
A steady stream of mages pour out of the dining hall from lunch. I have to push against them in order to step inside, and once I do, I almost immediately spot three of my own sitting anxiously at the table where I left them.
Flynn gave up his studies. Draven gave up his freedom. And Cedric gave up his family and his fortune. No, the tribunal couldn’t separate us, but we’re doing a damned good job of separating ourselves.
I squeeze onto a bench between Flynn and Cedric. I don’t have to explain to them that there’s something wrong—they can see it on my face. Though maybe ‘something wrong’ isn’t quite right.
“What was that about?” Flynn asks.
I hesitate, and Cedric reaches over to rest a hand across my shoulder.
For a moment when I left Bram’s office, I thought the pit in my stomach was anxiety. I didn’t think I wanted to participate in his scheme. Even seeing the boys here at the table and thinking about all that they have lost, it makes me feel like I’ve led us down this path towards nothing.
For all Bram’s promises to protect us, the very first thing he’s doing is sending me right back into the place that I needed protecting from in the first place.
All three of them bolt upright when I tell them. Draven glances nervously to either side.
“You better be careful Octavia…”
“Don’t worry,” I say with a quick wave of my hand. “I’m not talking about going behind anyone’s backs. It’s on Bram’s orders.”
Draven leans back, relieved, but Cedric only leans closer.
“What do you mean, Bram’s orders?” He asks, his brow furrowing. “What’s he want with the academy?”
I pause for a second, realizing this may be more of a touchy subject than I anticipated. Cedric tries hard not to let on, but I think he does actually enjoy being so involved in the goings-on at the New York Academy of Mages. Or did.
“He wants us to go in and steal something to prove our loyalty.”
His brow only furrows deeper. “This sounds like a slippery slope.”
“No slipperier than the one we’re already on,” I say, finally reaching for a tumbler of something I pray to god isn’t Salamander Brandy. I take a sip. It’s just soda. “Besides, it isn’t like we exactly have a choice.”
Draven leans even further back in his seat. “So, when do we go back?”
I splutter a littl
e. “Oh, sorry, we aren’t all going. Just me and Flynn.”
So far Flynn has stayed quiet. Now he sits forward as well, his eyes flitting over to me.
“Why me?”
“Because of your magical resistance,” I say, matter-of-factly.
The chair under Draven nearly gives way, and he suddenly tumbles forward almost face-first onto the table. Once he’s gathered himself together enough to speak, he says, “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“What kind of resistance are we talking about?” Flynn asks.
My eyebrows raise. “The kind Fashu tested us for. The kind that lets us take more magical damage than other mages.”
Cedric just shakes his head again. “Whatever he’s having you do Octavia, we should all be there with you—magical resistance or not. It isn’t safe. Speaking of all of us,” his neck cranes around the room, searching out the dark corners between the cabinets, “Where’s Kendall? I haven’t seen him since last night.”
“I don’t know,” I say, too quickly. Draven and I avoid eye contact. I don’t want to tell them exactly what happened, not yet, not until I’ve figured it out myself. Somehow, the message still gets across, at least to Cedric.
Flynn, on the other hand, seems completely oblivious. “We should find Kendall and tell him. He might have a message to pass on to Wednesday if we get the chance.”
I cringe a bit. I hadn’t thought of that.
“Well maybe but—”
“I’ll text him now.”
Flynn pulls out his phone, frustration almost immediately taking over his expression. After a second, he throws it on the table with an exasperated sigh.
“What is it?” I ask.
“No signal at all.”
I am slightly relieved. I’m not ready to face Kendall again just yet.
“I still want to know why he’s having you go back in the first place,” Cedric says, gratefully changing the subject without knowing I wanted it changed. Stat.
Abandon: Book Three of the Forgotten Affinities Series Page 4
