by Sacha Black
“We’re not going to abandon you, Titus. Nyx means everything to me; you’re both family.”
Titus nods, his eyes wet as he pushes the ballroom door open. It creaks as it swings, as if it too, is reluctant to show us the devastation waiting inside.
I blink as we enter, my heart hammering in my chest. The hall is a mess. There are Guild Sorcerers milling around, a cluster at the back embroiled in a deep mumbled conversation. Another Sorcerer is standing by a table that runs along the side of the room. On top of the table is a medley of smashed glass, broken stands, and jumbled cutlery. Pieces of paper are scattered everywhere, torn, crumpled, and sprayed in dark red. I swallow hard, realizing it’s not paint. Strings of lights that once adorned the ceiling hang low like a willow tree’s branches. Most of the bulbs are smashed, and glass is sprinkled across the floor like confetti. A broken ladder is abandoned at the far end of the room. But the thing that makes the hairs on my arms stand up is the patch of blood in the center of the room. A hand print smears it out in a long, violent streak like someone was dragged. Images rip through my mind: flashes of Nyx screaming, her attacker pulling her, legs convulsing as she tries to escape. I swallow down the swell of nausea.
“Are you okay?” Trey says, placing his hand on my back. Where his palm touches my skin, a warm pulse flows through my skin and attaches to my essence like a calming massage.
“I’m fine. Really,” I say, and I am. Right now, the only thing that matters is finding whoever hurt Nyx and wiping them off the face of Trutinor. I kneel by the patches of blood, examining the marks on the floor around them. There’s a trail of tiny red paw prints that track a few feet away toward the door, then stop suddenly. She must have shifted and tried to make a run for it. The paw prints are uneven like every third step was stumbled.
“She’s injured her leg,” I say, more to myself than Titus and Trey. For Titus’ benefit, I add, “But there’s not enough blood for this to have been fatal.”
My fingers skim the floor, crumbs, tacky liquid, and glass pressing into my fingertips as they move over the flooring. There are a series of gouge marks in the tiles. It looks like a knife was responsible, or maybe a set of sharp claws. I close my eyes, seeing the play-by-play again. A paw swipes at Nyx; she ducks, the paw misses and takes a chunk out of the tiles instead.
My eyes trace the lines and dips until I notice a clump of fur. It’s not black and short like Nyx’s cat fur. But long and speckled grey-brown like a wolf. I sit bolt upright, the color draining from my face.
“What is it?” Titus asks.
“Who’s in charge?” I say, “I need Forensic Sorcery.”
Titus scans the room then shouts, “Winston.”
A short round Sorcerer wearing equally round spectacles leaves the group of investigators at the back of the room and wanders across to us. He has a mustache that despite filling his upper lip, also appears to be round.
“Can I help?” he asks.
“Have you taken samples?”
“Of course,” he says, raising a bushy eyebrow at me.
“Show me,” I say standing, “because I need to know if that fur belongs to who I think it does.”
He leads me, Trey, and Titus, over to the group who part to let us in. In the center of the huddle on the floor are several CogTrackers analyzing different samples. From each Tracker, a holographic projection beams up into the space between the Sorcerers. Their wands are extended out, prodding and poking at the images digging deeper through the analysis. A taller female Sorcerer with a mop of mousy colored hair uses her wand to direct the projection containing the fur toward us. She pokes a translucent button on the projection, but it’s still analyzing.
“Keep it there,” I say, reaching to stop her flipping past it. “I want to see what the fur analysis says once it’s done.”
She cocks her head at me and glances at Winston. He nods approval, so she shrugs and drops her wand. I skim the lines of text appearing as the analysis runs. The graphs dissect the fur variations and the strands of animal hair and DNA until my eyes settle upon a single word that confirms what the gnawing in my gut is telling me.
Fur analysis complete: Victor Dark - deceased
A shocked gasp echoes around the group.
“I knew it.”
Twenty
‘The separation of life and death is a thin veil covering the soul. The soul rarely sees the difference, noting only the presence or absence of its Balancer. But absence it must feel. For that yearning is what guides the soul to finding its Balancer in the next life. This is why the folds and fabrics of Obex must prevent the live from finding the dead, not out of malice or Imbalance but for the protection and longevity of their Binding.’
Excerpt - The Book of Imbalance
“Titus, we have to go,” I say, turning on my heel, grabbing Trey, and heading out of the ballroom.
"Wait for me," he shouts, catching us up. "Do you have a plan?" He's shaking and pale. I would be too if it was Trey that was missing. I hug Titus and whisper that it's going to be okay. He sucks in a breath and gathers himself together.
“We will go to Hermia’s shop first because Kato headed there last night. They’ve been working on a tracking program to find Victor. We need to know whether they’ve located him and make a plan to hunt the bastard down. This time, I’m going to finish what I started.”
“Eden, wait,” Titus says, grabbing my shoulders. “I should go, I should be the one to kill him.”
“Titus,” I say, gripping his arm, “We don’t know what he’s capable of, let alone what he is.”
I love Titus dearly, but as a Steampunk Transporter, he isn't trained for combat. If anything happened to him, I'd be heartbroken.
“I’ll tell you what he is, a walking dead guy that’s about to get a lot deader,” Titus says, and the first spark of fury lights in his eyes. “Victor’s taken enough from us. He’s not having Nyx as well.”
“I know. But, Titus, please, I need you to take the train to the Guild of Investigations and find Arden…”
“Why? I’d be an asset.”
“You would, but we will need supplies, and you’re the only one that can drive the train.”
Titus hesitates, staring deep into my eyes as he weighs up his options. “Okay,” he says, “but when you find him, you stick it to that son of a bitch for me.”
"I can guarantee it," I smile. "Tell Arden to gather a team ready to track Victor. Even if Hermia and Kato haven't zeroed on his exact location yet, they should have an idea of what State he's in. They can send us specific coordinates while we’re on the move," I pause, trying to control the stream of consciousness. "We don't know what back up Victor has. So can you ask Bo to bring The Six? The more back up we have, the better."
Titus stands a little straighter. The spark in his eyes is now a roaring furnace. He's ready for the fight, and so am I.
"When I get them, I'll send the coordinates to your CogTracker," I say.
“Okay,” he says, pulling me in and kissing my head. “I’ll take the private lines so I can get back from the West in time. I’ll meet you at the nearest station to Hermia’s shop.”
"Perfect. There's a station two streets up; I think it’s called Light Street station.”
“Okay,” he says, “I’ll be as quick as I can.” Then Trey and I leave.
Hermia set up a shop several years ago after her husband died. Trey said she called it insurance should the First Fallon ever sack her, but he didn’t believe her. He thinks Hermia uses the shop as a front so she can try and track her husband down in Obex because she doesn't believe he crossed over into the next life. Trey and I had the unfortunate opportunity to be in Obex for a few hours during the summer. While we were there, she explained that Obex constantly moves and shifts. The streets are never in the same place for long, so even if you wanted to find a loved one, it's almost impossible. It's as though Obex itself tries to stop you finding them. Like the Balance plays one final cosmic joke, only allowing you to reun
ite with your soul mate in your next life. And yet, despite knowing full well the chances of finding him are infinitesimally small, she won’t give up.
We take the skybridge route as it's faster and more direct. In the center of Element City, the bridges between the buildings are solid metal, with glass roofs, like the towers themselves have arms sticking out. But the further out of the center you get, the less sturdy the bridges are. The view of the pavement hundreds of feet below on the glass bridges used to make my stomach coil. But today, I sprint across them with Trey trailing behind; I'm too desperate to find Victor to care how high up we are. As we reach the city perimeter, the bridges turn from glass to wood, so I slow down because they creak with every footstep making them more perilous than sturdy. We step across the slats of a bridge between two dingy residential sky scrapers when I halt mid-stride. Scanning the ground below, I realize we're already deep inside the Eastern district, and we need to get to the ground to locate her shop.
Stepping out of the skyscraper, the heat hits us like a rush of dry sauna air. The bridges were high enough that what little desert breeze there was, could at least blow the sand off your face and dry the sheen of sweat.
It's late afternoon, and ground level is sweltering. The buildings are packed even denser in this region than in the center of the city, and at this time of day, the desert has had plenty of time to oven roast the buildings. Heat has stolen its way into every corner and alley, and it's stifling.
We walk in single file through the dark and oppressively narrow streets. Sand carried on the air sticks to my skin and what falls away, rolls in dusty clumps over the pavements. I crane my neck up. Daylight struggles to reach the streets, but every so often a single shard spears between the buildings like an arrow to illuminate a patch of the road ahead.
Awnings jut out of street-level windows, with trinkets, incense, and magical devices hanging from them. Under the smell of magic is the aroma of cooked spice, and it makes my stomach growl. There's a high population of air Keepers in this part of the city, and it gives the sandy air a hum like bees are buzzing in my ears.
By the time we reach Hurst Street, we're both an exhausted mess, and I'm in desperate need of food and water. Hermia's shop is in the center of the street. The block is a long residential tower, with the ground floor devoted to shops and trading services, most of which look suspiciously like they're selling Imbalanced magic.
Her front door is cut in two, like a stable. The lower door is for the Elves who must frequent her shop and the outer door for everyone else. There’s raucous laughter coming from inside the shop and the clattering of objects. I turn to Trey who raises an eyebrow and holds the door open.
Hermia's shop is as dim as the street outside. When my eyes adjust, I see just how full her shop is. There are gadgets and devices everywhere, only a small number of which I can identify. There are bottles and boxes with different signs and symbols on them and a shelf full of herbs and ingredients. Below it is a cabinet, that's locked and full of what I think are tracking devices. I spot a tuft of curly orange hair under the cash desk. But there’s no head and no body attached to the tuft. Kato, however, is standing, one leg raised, on top of the cash counter, his glass full of a blue liquid, his blond hair in disarray and a distinctive rosy tint to his cheeks. When he notices us, his leg drops, and he slides the glass behind his back.
Hermia's head pops out from under the till as she launches something round into the center of the shop floor toward a glass bowl. It clips the bowl and shatters the side, spraying glass everywhere. Three tall glowing candles balanced on a stand at the back illuminate the shop in an eerie evergreen color. It makes the cluttered store and the explosion of glass look more like the place was just burgled than a professional storefront.
“Weeeeeey,” she cheers, slamming her other hand, holding a glass full of the same blue liquid, down. It sloshes over the counter, and then she spots us.
“Oh, fu…” she starts
“Hermia?” I interrupt. “Did you, by any chance, get Kato drunk?”
"Nope," he says, sliding off the counter and grinning at me. He walks - or staggers is more accurate - up to me and gives my cheek a gentle tap, "Not drunk. Tipsy, perhaps. But swear to Trutinor, this is my first. It's just happened to be a strong first." He plonks a sloppy kiss on my cheek.
Trey slaps him upside the head, “Watch where you’re putting those lips, Luchelli.”
“Oi,” Kato says, swiping for Trey and missing, “we’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating?” I ask, “did you find Victor?”
“Oh,” Kato says, his face falling. “No, not yet although I’m narrowing the search parameters as we speak. I did, however, quit Stratera.”
“You did what?” Trey bellows. He grabs Kato’s glass and dumps it on the counter.
"Yeah. We're going into business. Hermia and me," Kato says. "Hence the celebratory toast. We're the ultimate dream team. The dog's boll…"
"That's enough," Trey says, and Kato falls silent. "We’ll talk about Stratera later. Right now, we have a problem, and you need a clear head to deal with it.” Trey turns to Hermia. "Eden and I just walked from her tower; I don't suppose we could have some food and water?"
She points in the direction of a door in the corner of the shop.
“So… Eden… Long time no see," Hermia says as we enter her living room, her eyes darting from Trey to me.
"He knows,” I whisper, “Kato doesn’t.”
Hermia nods, satisfied, but I’m sure I hear her mumble ‘about bloody time’ under her breath. I choose to ignore it because I still have to convince Trey to tell Kato. Kato drops onto Hermia's sofa and leans back on the pillows as if he might fall asleep. Trey sits opposite him. Hermia's already in the kitchen making a racket.
Three green sofas fill her modest sized living room. All of them made of old leather and covered in throws the same orange as her wiry hair. The walls are littered with what looks like broken or defunct prototypes. I've never been in Hermia's house. I knew about her shop, but I didn't realize her house was attached to it. Behind one of the sofas, is a photo. The only one in the room. It's another Elf, with short orange hair –orange hair like Hermia's. But where she has bright green eyes, his are ocean blue. He's smiling, but the photo is aged and faded.
“Is that her husband?” I whisper to Trey, glancing at the kitchen door.
“Yes,” he whispers, “his name was Bellamy.”
I take a seat next to him as Hermia returns bringing drinks and food for everyone. She lays out an enormous range of odd-shaped fruits and bread on the coffee table between the two sofas and shoves two glasses of water at Trey and me, "Here you go then, killjoys." She digs Kato in the ribs, "Oi, wake up, lightweight.”
He sits bolt upright, his face fading to an unhealthy shade of green.
“I had like three sips of that stuff. It’s factually impossible that I’m drunk.”
"Oh, for Balance’s sake," Hermia says, "drink this before you puke on my blankets." She hands him a frothy mixture and then swallows the other glass of it down in one.
Both their faces twitch as they gulp the liquid. Kato grabs his head and moans for a good ten seconds before looking up at us, his eyes fresh and perky.
“What in the name of holy Obex was that?” he says.
“Rapid hangover inducer and cure. Now,” she says, turning to Trey and me, “what’s going on?”
“Victor’s taken Nyx,” I say.
"Kato, get the CogTrackers," Hermia says, piling the fruit and bread back onto the tray. I grab various bits of food, throwing a chunk of bread and three pieces of fruit at Trey before she lifts the pile off the table and places it on a chest of drawers in the corner. Kato returns, grinning as he brandishes what looks like his old tracker, only now it's been supercharged. It's twice as big as it was, with six cogs and various dials and aerials attached.
“Has the program finished running?” Hermia says as he places it in the middle of the coffee table.
"This," Kato says, brandishing his tracker, "is the reason we're going into business. It takes Hermia's skills in locating essences and injects them with my programming skills. It's like tracking on steroids. This puppy is going to make us millions."
“Kato,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “You already have millions.”
“Not the point, Eden. Not. The. Point.”
“So it’s reading all the data, combing records, and combining them with the dead spots Hermia located?”
“Exactly. Then it uses statistical probability and a program I designed to read essences and predict locations based on all the data.” Kato taps various screens making the lines of data speed up.
“How accurate will it be?” I ask.
“It won’t be perfect. Not to start with at least. But we should be able to pinpoint it down to a mile or so.”
“That’s still a big radius if we’re on foot.”
“Would you rather scour the entirety of Trutinor?” Kato asks, and I fall silent.
“Right, quit bitchin’ and check this out.” He prods a sequence of three keys. The data lines stop and swap to a map of the North State.
“Well, well, well,” Kato says, folding his arms, “somebody decided to go home.”
Victor’s home mansion towers out of the mountainside. Tall dark turrets jut into the clouds like swords. The rest of the projection is just miles and miles of mountains, all barren and rocky and covered with snow.
Kato frowns and presses a few more buttons, and the image races forward deeper into the Eris mountains.
