“The more Bram’s magic is used on a place, the thinner it gets,” Edgar says. “Though some places are just naturally thinner than others. There’s no real rhyme or reason to it sometimes.”
As are all things pertaining to The Underground, it seems.
As he says this, I spot The Academy of New York Mages once again. Butterflies take flight in my stomach.
The thin veil does more than just give us sight into the other world. As it thins again, the more we are able to interact with the world around us. It is no longer the shapeless, thick-as-molasses air that dominates most of the area directly surrounding The Underground. But the better I can see, the more I can tell that something else is wrong.
Now that we stand directly in front of the academy, the veil so thin that I can almost feel the air on the other side seeping through, I realize what it is.
All the world, the steps, the ledges, the windowsills—they are painted with white snow. This might not be too surprising for the end of October, early November, but I didn’t think we had any snow on the forecast the last time I checked. It might have been cold the other night, traipsing down New York City’s streets looking for Voodoo shops, but it wasn’t snow cold.
I turn to Edgar, a growing pit gnawing at my insides. “How much time has passed since Halloween?”
He just shrugs. “Does it matter?”
I look back and shrug up my shoulders against the cold. “I don’t know yet.”
Flynn’s eyes scan everything with analytical precision. If he could, I know he would stop and pull out whatever other hidden notebook he is likely carrying and take note for his own research. I, for one, am more concerned with what this passage of time might have done than the actual passage of time itself.
“Come on,” I say, stepping forward and up the steps—surprised to find them solid enough between my feet to climb up. Bram must visit this place very often indeed. I wish I could ask Edgar more about the exact mechanics of Bram’s abilities, but I doubt he would tell me even if he knows.
He seems to be the kind who tells us all exactly what we need to get the job done, and not a smidgeon more.
Smart man.
Without any real idea of what we’ve gotten ourselves into, and fueled by the knowledge that we may already be too late to change anything that matters, we step through the door and inside.
11
Octavia
I like to imagine that Harvel and Drummel sense us as we pass under them in the entrance hall. They tower over us, their massive stone sides as still as unenchanted statues at first. The only thing that looks out of place is the look of utter boredom on their faces.
It’d be nice to leave some kind of message for Wednesday—though I’m not sure I have any clothes to spare in exchange for the favor. If I was sure that they wouldn’t immediately alert all the campus to our presence, I might even try to see if I could interact with them.
On one hand, we are mostly prisoners of The Underground, unable to leave and forced to do their bidding under the guise of ‘proving loyalty’, but also, we are still in need of their protection. At least until we come up with a better plan.
This place, once a sanctuary for all of us, is now the most dangerous place for Flynn and me to be. I have to remember that. We didn’t run to The Underground without good reason.
A mage surprises us all by bursting through the door behind us. Unlike us, he actually has to throw the doors open to do so. The noise and the flurry of motion startles even the statues, who crane their necks down to watch him sprint past and down the hall.
There is a single moment when I am sure, somehow, Harvel sees me. But then it passes, and he joins Drummel in shouting alternating praise and caution at the mage’s disappearing back.
“God,” I whisper, “I didn’t think I’d miss them too.”
“Well you shouldn’t,” Flynn says, “They’re only statues.”
Although that dark veil still lies between us and our old school, the sound of our feet echoing in that preternatural way they do in the in-between almost sounds like the same ringing of footsteps on the marble floors of the academy. For a second, I can imagine we’re back here, just the two of us, without a care in the world.
But there is something wrong with it, I realize, as we come to stop in front of the Ritual Chamber.
I’ve never had a moment like that, not since I first arrived at the academy. From my very first moments here I’ve had nothing but “cares”. I know I’ve felt the same before, but I really am starting to think that these aren’t just a set of unusual circumstances—but what my life is now.
The Ritual Chamber is so dark on the other side that between the lack of light and the veil itself, it takes me a moment for my sight to adjust. I’ve found myself here on two occasions now. Each time marked a new chapter in my life—and today, the third time, is no different.
Arguably, it is the biggest marker of all. It is the day I first officially participate in the dealings of the largest and most notorious crime syndicate in New York. It is the day I can no longer be considered just an innocent bystander.
The closer we get to the tear between the planes, the thinner the veil between us and the chamber grows. I feel it in the air first. It grows colder and sharper, then the texture underfoot becomes somehow more solid. I think, for a second, that I smell that scent that is unique to this building and I know, somehow, that we’ve reached it.
Edgar throws out an arm to stop me accidently stepping right through.
“Remember,” he says. “I’ll be watching everything you do from this side. If I see you starting anything that isn’t according to plan, Bram will know.”
“And what if there are any…complications?”
The room might look empty, but I doubt it will remain so long after we step through the veil.
I take a second to take in the sight of the artifacts again. The block of eternal Ice, the Orb, and the Spindle. Even the dullness of the veil cannot make them any less impressive to behold.
They represent generations of tradition and magic and power. They represent everything that the tribunal stands for. In a way, they are symbols of mage society itself. The same society that has rejected us.
I glance at Edgar. All of us.
I can see why Bram wants them.
Edgar shifts and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “Bram set up a second tear in the what is it…the fortune telling room?”
“The divination room,” Flynn says, with a nod.
Jeeze. Just how much was Bram watching us? Other memories flood my mind, and my cheeks turn red. Flynn misreads this for anxiety or something and attempts to awkwardly console me with a pat on the shoulder.
“Well,” I say, before I can follow down that line of thought too far, “Let’s get this started.”
Though I say it with as much confidence as I can muster, I actually feel very little. This task, just stepping out of one plane into the other to snatch the artifacts and stuff them into a bag before we’re noticed—it’s too easy. Things that appear too easy rarely actually are.
Before my instincts can get the better of me, I brush past Edgar and Flynn and step up to the tear in the veil. All I can do is step forward and trust the one person I trust the least in the world.
The shift is different this time. Stepping from the real world into Bram’s in-between feels like entering a dream. I left behind the palpable world and entered a surreal one. I think this made it easier to handle, because as much as I tried to process it—it just didn’t feel quite real.
But this, this is different.
It is waking from a nightmare only to discover all of it, the very worst parts of it, are all true.
Just for a moment, that very worst part is the fact that I am entirely alone. Edgar and Flynn and all the rest exist in a different plane. As far as I am concerned, it’s a different world. If something were to happen to them, I’d be helpless to stop it.
This is why Bram sent me here—to remind me how
small I am. I might one day control time, but Bram controls me.
I can’t mess this up.
Before I do anything else, I mark the spot where I stand. The tear is even more difficult to see from this side, and I’m going to have to stand in exactly the right spot in order to pass back through.
As soon as I step forward, Flynn follows behind me.
His eyes brighten and scan the artifacts in front of us greedily. He doesn’t hesitate to fly to their side, doing everything but actually touch them right away. I think he’s actually looking forward to stealing them—if it might mean he gets the opportunity to study them closer.
I can’t fault him for that. Out of all of us, The Underground might actually be good for Flynn. He’s the only one who hasn’t seemed to change at all since we arrived. If anything, the abundance of books and the ability to observe and practice magic that wouldn’t otherwise be allowed—or even be possible—must be thrilling.
Just watching him like this for a moment, it almost banishes that nagging sense of dread that something terrible is about to happen.
Almost.
It is that almost that drives me to put one finger to my lips, signaling to Flynn to remain silent as I, at least, cautiously close the last few steps up to the first artifact. The Ice artifact is arguably the largest, and surely, the heaviest. I should have thought ahead and worn gloves to protect my hands from the Ice, but then again, if Bram is right about the protection spells on these objects, the burn of cold is the very least of my troubles.
Flynn circles the pedestal to stand on the other side.
His lips are slightly parted, and unless I am mistaken, he’s begun to pant slightly. He kneels down so he can examine it more closely, still careful not to lay a hand on even the pedestal it sits on.
“Now is not the time to be getting all hot and heavy about a little magical item,” I whisper, forcing him to look at me instead. “Let’s just take it and go.”
My nerves are almost made worse by the fact that so far, it doesn’t feel like we’ve triggered anything. No alarms. No magic. Just…nothing. The silence feels more dangerous somehow.
Flynn and I make eye contact, and at the same time, reach forward to try and hoist the artifact off the pedestal.
As soon as my hands touch the Ice, I understand why. My fingertips do not burn as I might have expected them to; instead, a numbing starts to spread from the end of the fingers and up the length of my arms. It grasps at the core of magic within me and latches on.
Whatever spell has been put on these artifacts must be strong enough that no mage was ever expected to be able to carry it out alive.
They must not have anticipated mages with our specific kind of resistance, however, because after a moment…nothing else happens. I’m not convinced that’s the last of it.
Before whatever charm is on this artifact does any further damange, we manage to shift it to the edge of the stone and, thankfully, into the large leather bag.
There is a split second where I think we’ve miscalculated and the Ice is going to fall and shatter into a thousand tiny magical pieces—but it doesn’t. Flynn and I each grab the top of the bag with both hands, bracing our arms for the inevitable weight of the thing, but all we feel is a soft rustle as it hits the bottom.
Bram’s enchantment rings true. It’s so light now, I can barely tell it’s even inside.
Even though I no longer touch the artifact, that numbing sensation has continued to spread. It’s taken over my entire body, and though I feel no pain, I hear a familiar dull hum at the edges of my hearing.
One quick glance at Flynn, and I know he feels the same.
The Orb is easier. It is not so massive as the one Dr. Fashu had sent to the divination chamber in order to trick me into seeing his twisted vision. This one we steal with ease—so much so that it makes my sense of guilt increase.
So does the hum.
The numbing sensation in my body increases. I try to ask Flynn if he feels the same without actually saying anything, but no matter how many times I wiggle my eyebrows, he cannot understand.
Finally, after a couple more seconds of my facial expression pantomime, he can take no more.
“What is it?”
His words are too loud in the empty room. I freeze, adopting a position that will allow me to dart over to the tear in the wall should anyone suddenly appear, flames pour down from the ceiling, or massive enchanted spiders try to catch us up in a web.
But nothing happens, and after a few more long moments waiting awkwardly until my thighs cramp, I finally straighten up.
“I just wanted to know if you’re alright,” I say, still keeping my voice to a whisper, just in case.
Flynn nods, but even as he does so, I know the protection spell is affecting him more than me.
“Let me get this one,” I say, reaching for the Spindle myself. I have more resistance than him, I think, and I don’t have one of my paired mages shooting mental daggers at me at all moments of the day.
As much as I am unable to believe it, removing the golden Spindle still does not trigger any alarms.
The humming sound increases in my head, and the numbing sensation turns to something pricklier. It’s like a thousand tiny needles gently prodding me, not quite breaking the skin.
I can’t imagine what a normal mage would be feeling right now. Probably enough to stop them stealing one, let alone all three, of these artifacts. Maybe enough to knock them out, if the near deafening hum in my own head is any indicator of the spells intended power.
But as it is, I blink and take a few slow breaths and nod towards the tear. I still can’t believe it was this easy.
“I guess…we should go.”
Flynn nods vigorously. “Before anyone catches us.”
But neither of us moves to go right away.
I don’t know when, or if, I am going to get another opportunity like this. I may be angry, furious, even, with Kendall right now…but I do owe it to him to at least try to find some information about Wednesday.
Traipsing around the hallways with all the ritual artifacts in a sack slung over my shoulder isn’t exactly an option, but I have an idea.
I balance the weight of the sack over one shoulder and use my free arm to fish in my back pocket. Damn. I didn’t bring my phone with me. I must have left it in my purse—which speaking of—may have disappeared the night we first arrived. I hope whoever stole it is enjoying the cell phone that doesn’t work and the couple of emergency tampons, because that’s all they’re going to find.
“Give me your phone.”
Flynn doesn’t move right away, so I shove the bag of artifacts in his hands and reach around to his back pocket to get it myself. It might be the adrenaline kicking in, but I tap his buttocks a little, just for kicks. His face reddens.
The screen on his phone takes a moment to turn on.
“What are you doing?” Flynn whispers back, his voice clearly revealing how bad of an idea this is.
I tap one foot impatiently on the floor. “I just have to see…”
At long last, the screen does light up. This time, rather than some nonsensical number, it does actually display the time. I breathe a sigh of relief while I wait for the data to load enough for me to see if, over the last sixteen hours or so, Flynn’s received any messages that might be of use to us. That sigh of relief is cut short.
Flynn is at my side in an instant. He tries to grabs the phone from me so he can see, but I hold it tighter.
“What is it?”
I don’t move right away. I just stare, stare at the little numbers under the time.
“Did Wednesday message me?”
She should have last night, but I don’t know yet. The little loading icon is still lit up, the phone searching for the connection I thought it lost only a few hours ago.
But no.
“There’s been a development,” I say, pointing my shaking thumb at the date. It seems we were right to be concerned earlier. Temperatures
did not suddenly plummet the day after we disappeared, but rather, much later.
We’ve been gone less than a day in The Underground but here, at the academy, it’s already been weeks.
12
Octavia
Where we thought some protection spell would be our undoing, it is instead, the simple act of me checking Flynn’s phone.
Here we stand trying to process how, over the span of a couple of hours, nearly two weeks have passed here in the real world, when that dreaded thing we’ve been worried about actually happens.
We hear the sound of a door opening.
Rather than ducking through the tear and straight out, as we should, I instinctively drop to my knees and try to scurry behind the now empty pedestals for cover. Though Flynn grunts his disapproval, he does the same.
There is a brief moment where I feel a terrible prick of a headache, and then suddenly Flynn doubles over beside me. It takes everything in me to stay quiet as I pull the bag of artifacts closer and force Flynn’s head back down below the pedestals.
He gasps a bit, and I realize he must have been trying to use some kind of Psychic Magic. Once again in close proximity to his paired mage who hates him, it’s backfired. I’m just lucky that this time I wasn’t also trying to draw on his power, or else I’d be in terrible pain as well.
I close my mind off to him and that headache dissipates. The hum and burning sensation still threatens to overwhelm me, but not too much for me to lie very still, one arm still over Flynn, the other focusing very carefully on one of the lessons I managed to tackle before being so rudely told all my practice was for nothing.
I am just barely able to pull a half-assed illusion of invisibility over the two of us before a small group bursts into the room overhead. Good. I’m not sure my hasty disguise would hold up to close scrutiny if they’d come in downstairs.
Though I can tell that Flynn is still in pain, I force him to start crawling, half dragging, half stumbling, towards the doors closest to us here on the first floor. We are just far enough away, our movements muffled by their own thunderous footsteps on the stairs and our poor cloak of invisibility disguised by the darkness, to not get trampled by the time they reach the bottom.
Abandon: Book Three of the Forgotten Affinities Series Page 6
