Dark Light of Day

by Jill Archer

  † Spontaneous firestarting

  † Accidental demon killings

  † Sin and Sanction Expert

  † Hyrke Poser

  † Mederi Wannabe

  † Possibly in love with Ari Carmine

  Would my card really include that last line?

  Was I falling in love with Ari?

  I swallowed. As if I needed more to worry about… but yep, it was true. Despite the fact that I still desperately wanted to reverse my magic, it was impossible for me not to be the least little bit emotionally affected by Ari’s unwavering acceptance of me and my magic, as it was. Not as I wanted it—or me—to be.

  I’d expected the fourth floor of Rickard to be like the Rabbit Warren. But the hallway I stepped into was long and infinitely straight. At its far end was a small block of light, one tiny dirty window. The light from this single source was all that lit the narrow hallway. At one time, St. Luck’s enrollment must have been larger. I passed several open doors to empty unused classrooms. The floor had a creepy, abandoned feeling and I wondered for a moment if I had read Ari’s note wrong. Just then my eyes started watering furiously and the unbelievable stench of rotting onions assailed me. I covered my mouth and nose with my hand and stumbled, hoping feverishly that I wouldn’t gag.

  Someone bumped me from behind. Hard enough to knock my bag of books off my shoulder and onto the floor. He kept walking. I bent down to retrieve them, frowning at his back. Just before he stepped into the last door on the right, he glared at me. The young man was short and pudgy, with dull brown hair that looked like it had been cut with pinking shears. A blast of rotten stink like moldering cabbage struck me. I realized it was his signature, so I blasted back, but he’d already stepped into the room. Maybe someday I’d be good enough to reach someone through walls.

  I gathered my books and repacked my bag. I walked to the end of the corridor and stepped into the room. Everyone stopped talking at once and six sets of eyes turned toward me. The largest man among them stepped forward. He was huge, in fact, and his signature felt just as big, like a marble pillar. It was patently obvious that should Quintus Rochester choose to throw his weight, either physical or magical, in my direction, he would crush me.

  “Ah, Nouiomo Onyx,” he said. “You’re late.”

  I frowned. I’d come early on purpose.

  “Where were you after Yule when the rest of the class showed up?”

  I heard a low snicker and dared a surreptitious glance at the source—Sasha. He reached out with his magic to bump me, no doubt meaning to send me stumbling but I shoved it back at him, as easily as flicking a fly off my desk. His eyes widened and he sat back in his seat staring. He’d obviously expected the weak sputtering that he’d felt from me while Peter’s cloaking spell was still intact.

  “I heard Bryde’s Day was the deadline for adding this class,” I said, chin up, unblinking. I sensed immediately Rochester would have no time for shrinking violets.

  “Brunus Olivine,” he said, confirming my guess and launching into introductions without further preamble. He motioned to the man who’d knocked my books over in the hallway. Brunus leered at me and sent a rush of magic up my legs. This time there was no wall to block my return thrust. I sent a blast back at Brunus that I’d intended as no more than a magical slap on the cheek, but my lack of control turned the maneuver into a swift nose jab. Brunus cried out as a thin trickle of blood dripped from his nose. He threw no more magic at me but, instead, shot me a lethal look and left the room, presumably to find a tissue. Under ordinary circumstances I would have apologized profusely and walked him to the bathroom, but I instinctively knew, with this crowd, any apologies for defensive magic, no matter how poorly directed, would be a sign of weakness.

  “Mercator Palladium,” Rochester said, pointing to the Maegester who’d been sitting next to Brunus. Mercator looked like he might be as tall as Ari, but he was thinner, almost gaunt. His hair was nicely trimmed and he wore clothes that were more formal than the rest, a gray linen shirt, black leather vest, and a platinum pocket watch, complete with chain and a half-dozen charms in the sorts of shapes my mother would have approved of (bells, stars, arrows, hearts—but no flowers). His eyes were a striking light gray and he looked like he wanted to wink at me. Instead, he tapped me with his magic. I had no idea what the proper etiquette was, but the gesture appeared to be no more than a magical handshake. Mercator felt like silver—shiny and hard, but something I could probably bend if necessary.

  “Sasha de Rocca,” Rochester said, moving to the next table.

  “We’ve met,” I said, preparing for whatever blast Sasha decided to throw my way. But none came. He sat still, narrowing his ice blue eyes at me, no doubt furiously recalculating stronger means of bringing about my demise. I moved to the person sitting next to him.

  “Tosca Kaolin,” said Rochester. Tosca’s signature was erratic, like the wind. A gale force struck me as if I were the broad side of a barn. I lifted one foot preparing to step back so I wouldn’t fall, but then I sensed the gust was over, blown out. All that was left was the whistling sound of wind at the window. I slammed my shutters. Tosca sat in front of me with two bright spots of color forming on his cheeks. He hadn’t been quick enough getting out and my magic had caught his, pinching it like fingers in a door.

  Last was Ari. I’d been waiting. After all this magic muscle flexing I needed a dose of his warm, therapeutic signature. But when I stood in front of him, I felt almost nothing, just the same low-dose trickle I’d felt last night. Like drops of icy water. Ari looked up from his books as if just noticing me and nodded. What was going on? Was he still ticked off that I’d rather be down in southern Halja with the Mederies?

  Then I remembered that signatures could change depending on what the sender was experiencing. Maybe Ari’s signature felt cold to me because I’d been pushing him away. What was it he’d said the day I touched his demon mark? You could never hide from me, any more than I could hide from you.

  What would happen if, instead of pushing him away, I tried to pull him closer?

  I wasn’t ready to find out. But Rochester was staring at me, as if expecting something. Ari was reviewing his notes, ignoring me. His indifference felt like a challenge. Was it feigned?

  Did it matter? I nudged Ari with my magic. He brushed it off with no more effort than I had with Sasha. I was stronger than that, almost as strong as Ari. I narrowed my eyes, thinking. This class had nothing to do with academics. Rochester wasn’t judging me on how I used my mind, only my magic.

  I realigned my feelings and concentrated on sending out a strong dose of pure magic. I miscalculated. The blast singed Ari’s books, cracked the crystal in his watch, and exploded his pen, splattering ink all over. A creaking sound preceded the shattering collapse of the table behind him. But Ari was unaffected. He made a great show of wiping down his books and then calmly reached into his pack for another pen.

  Brunus returned from the bathroom and all eyes were on me. I knew the next few seconds would establish my rank in the class. Coming in at such a disadvantage, I could hardly afford to lose more ground. Did I dare try to really manipulate Ari? Was I brave enough to reach for him magically using the feelings that were between us?

  Is that what he wanted?

  Suddenly, I wanted to wring his neck. He made me angry. He got under my skin. He made me feel things I didn’t want to feel and he made me afraid. Every time I was around him, I felt agitated and aroused. But I also felt invigorated and energized. Being around Ari, for me, was like lying in the sun. All that warmth and heat, I wanted to feel it on every part of my body. I closed my eyes imagining what it would be like—

  “Stop!” Rochester’s deep voice boomed. “What you’re doing is dangerous. No more,” he said, waving a flat palm through the air. It was unquestionably a gesture of cessation. Woe to any student who ignored it. I slid into the seat beside Ari and dared a quick look at him. My last little magic trick had finally gotten his attention. He stared
at me. At once I felt like a rabbit caught in a snare. Had I gone too far? I swallowed and fought not to twitch my leg.

  “Noon,” Rochester said. My attention snapped to him. “You’ve developed bad habits as a result of insufficient training. You add emotion to your magic to make it stronger but that makes you vulnerable to enchantment. We will work on this.” He walked to the center of the room and addressed the whole class.

  “I have determined new pairings for this semester’s client representation. Noon, you are Secundus now. You and Ari are in opposition. Mercator, you’re Tertius now opposing Brunus. And then Sasha and Tosca.” I gathered from everyone’s reactions that these were the new rankings caused by my late entry. The only Maegester to take it magnanimously was Mercator, who nodded conciliatorily in my direction.

  Beside me, Ari’s signature felt like the smoldering coals of a banked fire. I made the mistake of looking at him again. His gaze captured mine, his eyes dark and unreadable. His hair fell in unruly waves, just past his ears, its color somewhere between burnt amber and black coffee. Under the weak, diffused light of the indoor classroom, Ari’s skin looked like stone. But I knew he would be hot to the touch, like lit charcoal. He winked at me, his signature never changing, never giving Rochester a reason to look over at us. A sweet painful burst of something shot through me. My whole body suddenly felt like my jaw would have if I’d bitten down on a thousand lemon wedges. I fought to keep my signature steady and switched my gaze back to Rochester.

  Rochester paced the front of the classroom, his massive bulk moving effortlessly back and forth from Brunus to me. He explained that, as of Bryde’s Day, we would be assigned a real client.

  For a moment I wondered how big a mistake I’d made by waiting to declare. I’d missed nearly a quarter of the class. But by not paying attention now I was only making matters worse so I diligently refocused on Rochester, who was assigning the first case to Brunus and Mercator. It was an Oathbreaking case. Rochester gave us the background.

  “About a year ago,” he said, “a young Hyrke couple, Temone and Finora Greenwald, purchased two annual passes from Western Myst Cruise Line to travel the upper Lethe. Under the terms of the contract, which was printed on the back of the passes and countersigned by the Greenwalds, a full price ticket entitled the pass holder to unlimited access to all outposts between New Babylon and Morkill Steppe, for a period of one year from the date of issuance.

  “The Greenwalds are farmers. Their plan was to stake a claim using one of the Lethe outposts as a base for supplies. They bought their passes to explore the outposts and determine which area would be best to settle in. Because the Greenwalds have limited capital, they worked out an oral agreement with the owner of Western Myst, James Ashe. Instead of requiring full price up front, as the preprinted terms dictated, Mr. Ashe agreed to accept installment payments. The passes were issued, five installment payments were made, and six outposts reached when the level of the Lethe dropped so low further travel was impossible.”

  “Wait!” Brunus interrupted, raising his hand but shouting out anyway. “Where are the demons? I thought we’d be representing demons. This sounds like something for A and A.”

  “Not all of you will be representing demons. But that doesn’t mean Maegester services aren’t required. Listen, learn, live, Mr. Olivine,” Rochester said, giving Brunus a look that would have gelled my insides if directed at me. Brunus swallowed and shut up.

  “After a few months of living tethered off of the Blacken Ridge Outpost, the Greenwalds asked Mr. Ashe to reduce the amount they were paying for the passes that were taking them nowhere. An argument ensued. Ashe called upon Rictus, the Demon of Rules, insisting that the couple pay the full rate as agreed. When the couple threatened to call their hearth demon, Ashe reconsidered and agreed to a fee reduction.”

  Rochester paused, peering down at Mercator and Brunus, gauging their understanding. There was obviously more to the story, otherwise, why would this be a Manipulation case? Something must have happened to set off the demons or this would not be a matter for Mercator and Brunus to handle. Mercator wore an expectant look that told me he was waiting for the rest of the story. Brunus just looked bored and impatient. Rochester continued.

  “A few days later, Ashe introduced the Greenwalds to a seed merchant, who sold the Greenwalds some Mederi-blessed seeds for their future farm. The price of the seeds was exactly the difference between the old pass rate and the reduced pass rate.”

  Ah. The first wrinkle. I felt sorry for the poor Hyrke couple, who I suspected had been swindled. Most Hyrkes weren’t as well-off as Ivy and Fitz and the rest at St. Luck’s. Many were poor and could barely afford the services of a Mederi midwife when their children were born. This couple must have thought Mederi-blessed seeds would be the boon their new farm needed to make it a success.

  “Another month went by, the seeds rotted, and still the Lethe level remained low. In a fit of frustration, the Greenwalds called their hearth demon. The hearth demon arrived, furious with Ashe for taking advantage of his clients, furious with his clients for not calling him sooner, and”—Rochester cleared his throat, alerting us to the real problem—“furious with Rictus.”

  The room fell silent. Brunus’ bored look was gone, replaced by one of near rapture. He’d be one to watch if he enjoyed the idea of demons fighting. It was exactly what Maegesters were bound, by law and scripture, to prevent. Squabbling among demons, no matter how petty, had to be stopped at once. No one wanted a small feud to turn into a full-fledged war, which is what might happen if demons were allowed to work out their own differences. Demon dispositions being what they were, one minor argument might lead to demons gathering armies, making attacks, and laying siege, an eventuality that Halja could ill afford. Our world had already sacrificed its future for an uneasy peace. Two thousand years ago, we’d won the Apocalypse but in so doing had destroyed Heaven and, some believed, our own souls. Another war, therefore, was Halja’s greatest fear. For these reasons, the Council had long ago established their “zero tolerance policy” for demon infighting. It was easier to stop the war that never got started.

  Rochester looked around, satisfied that each of us understood the gravity of the situation. Though the matter was to be handled by Mercator and Brunus, it seemed that Rochester wanted us to learn from the others’ assignments. So I assumed we could comment and raised my hand.

  “Who brought the matter to St. Luck’s for representation?”

  Mercator nodded. Brunus frowned at me.

  “The Greenwalds,” said Rochester. “They’re still stuck at Blacken Ridge, but they wrote to request representation. It seems they were… worried… about the extent of their hearth demon’s fury.”

  In spite of the seriousness of the situation, a few of us laughed. “Worried” was likely a euphemism for “horrified.” Mercator picked up his pen and leaned forward in his seat, his signature heating up with interest.

  “Has the hearth demon made any specific allegations about Rictus?” Mercator asked, “Or is he just blustering about, unhappy that his clients ignored him for too long?”

  “Good question,” Rochester said, his voice deep and rumbling, like an avalanche of boulders. “Specific allegations have been made. The hearth demon, whose name is Yul by the way, accused Rictus of hypocrisy.”

  Sasha gaped and Tosca made a grunting sound that seemed to indicate surprise or amusement. Maybe both. Hypocrisy was a severe accusation. It would have been taken badly by any demon but the fact that it was leveled at a demon such as Rictus, whose honor was bound up in being the strictest of the strict, made it that much worse.

  “Yul claims that Ashe designed the seed trade to recoup what he’d lost when he agreed to reduce the Greenwalds’ annual pass rate. Yul accused Rictus of encouraging, or at least tacitly agreeing to, the seed-trade scam. According to Yul, this means Rictus was involved in a deception designed to thwart an agreement. In other words, he broke the rules.”

  I saw how easily one small Hy
rke disagreement could spin so out of control that Maegester services were required. One moment, a couple of Hyrkes are arguing about money and the next, one demon is accusing the other of hypocrisy and rule breaking.

  “Was the seed trade really a scam?” Brunus asked. “Or is that just Yul’s position?”

  Rochester nodded, acknowledging another question well asked. Apparently even Brunus was capable.

  “Interestingly, Rictus takes no position on the seed trade. But he is enraged about the hypocrisy claim and wants immediate restitution. Rictus’ position is that his client, Ashe, scrupulously followed the rules. Per the contract, the full price of the ticket was to have been paid up front. It was not. Ashe considerately agreed to payment in installments per the Greenwalds’ request. Later, the Greenwalds used seasonal fluctuations in the Lethe’s level and the threat of their hearth demon to strong-arm Ashe into further price reductions. If anyone was guilty of breaking rules, Rictus claims, it’s the Greenwalds, who ignored, thwarted, and breached their contract with Ashe at every opportunity.”

  What a mess. I considered how I might handle the matter if it were assigned to me. The seed trade was clearly a scam. No Mederi-blessed seeds would rot in a month. The legal solution was to argue fraud and make Ashe reimburse the Greenwalds for the cost of the seeds. The demon part of it, what we Maegesters were really paid to do, was a little less clear. I thought for a moment. What would appease the demons and make them back down? Yul was furious because he’d lost adoration from his clients. The couple had bought bogus seeds to start a new hearth instead of making a sacrifice to him. I would advise the couple to immediately make amends, appease their hearth demon, and pledge no further loyalty breaches. If I were forced to represent Ashe, I would chastise him soundly for the seed debacle, force him to honor the oral amendments he made with the Greenwalds, and advise a hasty sacrifice to Rictus for his troubles. But all of this would still leave the Hyrkes stranded at the dock.