by Hugo Huesca
“Well, even if it is, there’s nothing lost by looking, right?” Mark told her. He shrugged. Mark was a good guy and a solid friend, but his attention span could use a few extra skill ranks. “So, what do you think about the new guy? Will he be ready to do some questing soon?”
Lisa glanced back. The glow of the laptop reflected on Omar’s glasses while his hands danced across the keyboard and mouse. “Perhaps some low-level jobs until he’s done with the campaign. We could get him to main Ed’s Wizard, but there’s no chance in hell he won’t fuck up until he figures out what he’s doing.”
If Omar led them to a party wipe, Ryan would show him his true colors fast enough, which would only add to Lisa’s guilt about hiding behind the new hire. In a messed-up way, helping the new kid do well was a way for Lisa to redeem herself.
“I doubt our brave leader will have the patience to stick with low-level quests,” Mark pointed out. He then raised an eyebrow while glancing at a point past Lisa’s shoulder. “Oh, speaking of. Time to go look busy by that corner over there, I guess.”
Ryan came down the stairs of his office and stopped a few feet away from Omar. The two of them chatted amiably for a while. Ryan seemed very pleased with himself for some reason, which only added to Lisa’s growing worry about the letter being a prank from him. But Ryan barely looked her way. Instead, he clapped Omar in the back and pointed at the front door. Omar smiled, closed the laptop, and grabbed his jacket.
Lisa frowned and headed back, wondering if Ryan had finally lost it. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Oh, Lisa, there you are,” Ryan said. “I was just telling our friend Omar here he could take the day off and practice his skills. It’s a slow day, after all, no need to kid ourselves. I’m sure that between Mark, you, and me we can keep the store running no problem. Just don’t make a habit out of gaming on the job, okay?” This last part he said to Omar, winking as he did.
“Sure, boss, you’ve got it,” Omar said, grinning knowingly while, at the same time, completely missing the point. It reminded Lisa of a lamb heading happily to the slaughterhouse, thinking it was about to be fed.
After the kid had left, Lisa turned to Ryan. “Only us three? Where’s the rest of the crew?” she asked.
“Ah, I told them to take the day off as well.” Ryan’s grin grew a few inches, and Lisa had the glaring suspicion that she’d just fallen straight into some kind of trap. “After all, it isn’t fair that they have to work hard all day while others get to sit on their ass neglecting their duties and playing video-games, don’t you think?”
What else do you expect people to sit on instead of their ass? Lisa thought. But that kind of attitude was Diana’s domain, not hers. What she said, instead, was, “But you told Omar he could! Why punish him for something you told him to do?”
Ryan brandished an admonishing finger. “What makes you think I was speaking about him?” he asked, smiling cruelly. “No, I was talking about you, Lisa. Who gave you the right to sit around while others pick up your slack, I wonder? That’s always been your problem, you know—I mean, other than being too plain. It’s your personality. People can just tell you think you’re better than us.”
If he’d sprouted wings and a beak, Lisa would’ve been about as dumbfounded as she was now. She could only but stare at him in disbelief and mumble a miserable, “What?”
“At this rate, I’ll be forced to note your lack of team-spirit in this month’s performance review.” What little extra over minimum wage Lisa earned was set as a bonus for “good performance” that Lasershark corporate delivered monthly. In other words, Ryan had decided to dock her wage on a whim. “Lucky for you, I’m an amazing boss. I’m probably too permissive, but I’ll re-consider your review if you close the store on your own this weekend. You think you can manage that without screwing up?”
At that moment, Lisa realized several things. The first was that it was the beginning of summer. The second was that Ryan was dressed for going out. The third was that he’d set her up only because he wanted to bail for the weekend without admitting it.
She could feel the texture of the black letter under her fingertips. Even the paper felt expensive and exclusive. It was the kind of letter that Ryan would receive, not her. Her hand gripped the paper a bit too tightly, as if clutching to a lifeline as she drowned in the ocean.
“I’ll do my best,” she said blankly, as she marched for the broom closet. “Have a nice trip,” she called over her shoulder. Her words carried just a hint of mockery. Her attitude surprised even herself. Perhaps she had more of Diana in her than she’d like to admit.
“You better,” Ryan said. “And watch that attitude, Lisa. Hot girls can get away with that, but it just makes you look like an ass. All right?”
Lisa opened the closet and buried her face inside so he wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. “Fucking asshole,” she whispered. Was that the best he could come up with?
On first glance, the letter didn’t seem to be one of Ryan’s jokes—which was all the better, because Lisa was sure she’d have gone murderously insane if it were. On the other hand, there was no guarantee it wasn’t some kind of idiotic—or even dangerous—scam.
Whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t a conventional job offer.
Dear Lisa.
Do you find yourself stuck? Has your life turned stale?
We can offer you hope.
How would you like to have an entire world at the grasp of your fingertips?
This is a new chance to get things right.
To get the respect you deserve.
All this can be yours if you prove yourself worthy of working with us.
You have a glowing recommendation, and we only need proof that you’ve got what it takes to excel in a highly competitive environment.
We’ll be watching you with great interest.
Yours,
Mr. K. Posseur,
The Dark.
There were no directions, and no number or email for her to contact. There was no mention of what she was supposed to do. Not even pyramid schemes were this cheeky.
Lisa re-read those few lines repeatedly, her confusion growing by the second. What kind of job offer was that? We’ll be watching you? That sounded more like a threat than anything else. She shuddered and hid the letter in the pocket of her apron as she carried the cleaning instruments out of the closet.
We can offer you hope.
For a while now, she realized, she’d given up on hope—she’d even stopped looking for a new job. The worst part about the deranged letter was the implication that they were, indeed, giving her hope despite her desperate attempts to quench it.
And what kind of company named itself The Dark, anyway?
17
Chapter Seventeen
Branching Endings
Lavy’s laboratory was a two-story circular chamber covered in shadows and cobwebs, filled to the brim with strange devices and dusty pieces of furniture. Ed and Klek navigated through a maze-like series of shelves and bookcases that rose up to the ceiling. Leathery tomes loomed above Ed as he went, and small animal skulls hung in groups of three from the ceiling, with tiny fragments of magical torches burning from inside and setting the empty sockets ablaze with menacing fire.
Klek took one look at Lavy’s decorations and shivered. “Scary ladies live in scary homes,” he muttered to himself. Near a corner, a centipede as long and thick as a human arm skittered out of sight.
“At this point,” Ed told the Spider Rider, “I’m sure that she does it because her Witch apparel gives bonuses to her Hex magic.”
“Is that true?” Klek asked, his eyes widening.
Ed shrugged apologetically. “It would explain a lot of things.”
They found Lavy sitting on a cramped workbench partially hidden by a stack of parchment rolls, several menacing brass contraptions, and a mercurial magic ball as big as her head. She was resting her head between her arms and didn’t acknowledge their presence. Next to her ar
ms on the table was a huge human skull, which was missing several teeth and was cracked in several places.
“Lavy?” Ed asked.
Lavy sniffed and jerked to her feet, her hands crackling with sparks of Hex energy. “Dunghill!” she exclaimed, blinking several times as the energy dissipated. “Ed! Didn’t anyone tell you to knock? You scared me.”
Ed and Klek exchanged a confused glance. Lavy looked like hell. Her hair was a frizzy, tangled mess, her eyes were sunken, and oily liquids stained her purple dress.
“The batblins said you had something to show us,” Ed told the Witch. “Perhaps we should come by later?”
Lavy blinked again. “Ah. Of course. I called for you.” She gave them one of her famous Lavy grins. “You’ll want to take a look at this. Lavina’s amazing genius triumphs once again!” She rested a hand over the cracked skull and bent forward, smiling like a madwoman. “Remember the Lenses quest? I’ve made huge progress on it. There is now a working prototype.”
Klek looked at Lavy, then at the skull. “Is that… is that the prototype?” he asked.
“Oh, this? No, little guy, this is a personal project of mine.” She patted the skull distractedly, with something akin to fondness in her expression. “It’s a trophy, like Ed’s in the War Room. It belonged to a guy named Rolim. He was a very strong son of a bitch, built like a minotaur. I want to raise his spirit and put it inside a golem, to see if that could somehow improve the golem’s physical stats.”
If anything, Klek seemed more confused. Lavy pursed her lips and straightened her back. “The prototype. Right. Follow me, guys, and prepare to be amazed.”
She led them past a huge stone oven embedded in the wall, which was surrounded with iron shelves and tables strewn with pots filled with clay dust and crystal vials full of bubbling liquids. Near a corner, a huge crystal dish hung from the ceiling by a pair of thick ropes. It was as big as Ed’s torso, and it seemed to be engraved on the inside with an array of fine brass and copper lines that vaguely reminded Ed of circuitry.
Lavy stood proudly next to the dish and beamed. “Isn’t it amazing? I did it myself. I mean, with a bit of help from drone transmutation, of course.”
Ed walked closer to the dish to study the engravings. Upon closer inspection, he was sure the shapes traced by the connections between the lines reminded him of the glyphs often found in a rune. “Lavy, this is great work, but… when did you find the time?”
“Well, a Witch has her ways,” Lavy said. Ed was sure he saw a faint twitch in her left eyelid.
“When was the last time you slept, scary lady?” Klek asked her, his ears straightened with concern.
Lavy grimaced. “Three minutes ago! Not that you should care. The Haunt cannot afford to lose eight hours of my mind every night!”
“Didn’t you say once that not sleeping makes people age faster?” Klek asked.
“Well…” she said, then pursed her lips. “You want to see what the damn thing does or not?”
“Just—just promise us you’ll take a nap afterward, okay? Don’t push yourself too hard,” Ed told her.
The Witch made a vague, non-committal gesture with her arm, and then rummaged through the ribbons of her dress until she found a small trinket. She held it up for Ed and Klek to see. It was Zachary’s looking glass—the one that had failed to stop Jarlen’s hypnotic gaze. “Warlock Chasan once told me that, with spellcraft, you can learn more by studying someone’s mistakes than from their successes. Well. More like, he mumbled it to himself while he worked, and I happened to be in the room.” She frowned. “So, the first step of my quest was to ask myself, why did this lens fail? Simple: Zachary and Brett are not spellcasters.” She raised one finger. “Sure, Zachary can cast a few spells, because he’s a Priest, but that’s not the same thing. A spellcaster is a trained specialist that knows the theory of magic. There’s a world of difference between using something and knowing how it works. In this case, Zachary simply assumed that by piling a bunch of minor divine blessings on a glass, it would be enough to counter Jarlen’s spell. That’s a common misunderstanding of magical theory, so of course it instantly unraveled when tested. It would be like throwing a splash of water and a piece of ham into a pot and hoping for stew.”
Ed decided not to point out that she hadn’t voiced any complaints about Zachary’s experiments, either. He knew that Lavy’s self-esteem was more fragile than she let on, so he let small details like that pass… as long as she wasn’t a dick about it, like she’d been when they first met.
“You need fire to make a stew. The ingredients need to meld together, or you’ll create a useless mess,” Lavy went on, gesturing with her fingers over Zachary’s trinket like a Chef working on a dish. “Same thing with spellcraft. To create an enchanted object, it isn’t enough to just throw a spell on top and call it a day. You need the fire that melds the magic and the object.” She pointed at the brass lines inside her giant version of the lens. “I made these using the engrave rune talent. You’re looking at an enlarged version of the inside of a rune, actually. The reason it had to be so big, well, it’s because engrave rune is designed to work with runic stone, not with glass. But I’m sure I can make smaller versions with more practice.”
She traced the path of one brass line with her fingertip. “A rune is created by mixing engrave rune with the spell you want to use to charge the rune. Engrave lets you design the artificial ley lines, and the spell both shapes the lines and powers them with enough magical charge to use the spell. In this, craft imitates life, because the body of a magic user works in much the same way. All living creatures have a system of biological ley lines inside ourselves—some Clerics believe this is our soul. Pouring experience points into the spellcasting talent allows these ley lines to develop, to grow in complexity so we can, in turn, cast more complex spells—what we call Basic types, and later Improved, Advanced, Heroic, and so on. To power each spell, the ley lines use the body’s internal magic supply, which replenishes every day as long as you’re well-fed and well-rested. This supply is limited by your size and your species, of course, which is why we can cast only one or two spells when we start our training. It only grows when upgrading your talent past the Basic type, but with practice we can teach our body to be more efficient in its use of our supply, so we can cast more spells with the same amount of energy. That’s what increasing the spellcasting skill does.” She finished her explanation and crossed her arms, looking proud.
She has a right to be, Ed thought. She was a world ahead of the apprentice she’d been when they’d first met, both of them confused and barely understanding what was going on around them. It was amazing to see the speed at which she was learning, now that she had the right tools and a nurturing environment for her self-esteem to develop.
Almost immediately, he realized as well that she—and Alder and Kes and the rest of the Haunt—had done the exact same thing for him, with no one realizing it.
“Still with me?” Lavy asked.
Klek glanced at his belly, then at the giant dish, as if expecting to find the ley lines growing out of him like vines. He nodded dubiously.
“Sure, Lavy,” Ed said. “And thanks for the lesson. You’ve taught me a lot today.”
She beamed at him. “I was worried I was talking too much.” She patted her dish again. “So, how about a little practical test? The dish is engraved with a specific counter for your minor order spell, Ed. Since the ley lines are built as a countermeasure, they need no charge, but they only work on that specific spell. Let’s give it a try, all right?”
Before either of them could raise any objections, Lavy had already ushered them into place. Klek stood with his back to the wall, staring nervously at Ed past the softly swaying crystal of the glass between them. The dish’s surface slightly distorted the batblin’s figure.
“This should be pretty straightforward,” Lavy advised. “Ed, simply cast minor order on Klek. Klek, if my lens works, you shouldn’t even have to pass a Spirit test, so just… s
tand there and look pretty.”
Klek’s snout trembled with worry, but then he steeled himself, and the Adventurer Slayer replaced the scared batblin. “Do your worst, Lord Ed,” he said.
Ed gave him a thumbs up. “All right, then. Here I go.” His Evil Eye blazed green as he focused his will to cast minor order. “Jump!” he ordered, his voice booming.
The air around the dish rippled, like a stone breaking the surface of a lake. Klek tensed. For an instant, a green gleam danced through the glass like a reflection from a candle, and then it was gone. Nothing happened.
“Did you pass a Spirit test?” Lavy asked the batblin. Ed shook his head at the same time Klek did. There had been no clash of wills at all. “Yes! It worked! Damn, I can’t believe we didn’t blow up—” She began to cackle, caught herself, then said, “I mean, of course it worked. I knew it would. This just proves it, is all.”
Klek raised an eyebrow and shuffled away from the dish.
“Well done, Lavy.” Ed patted the Witch on the shoulder and walked closer to the copper array. He set his normal hand on the surface of the glass. It was warm, but cooling. He did the same with his skeletal hand, though he found nothing out of the ordinary. He’d hoped that the dish could “store” the charge of his spell, like a rune or a battery, but he suspected the Haunt’s research wasn’t anywhere close to that yet.
“Sadly, it’s too large to use against magical gazes,” Lavy said, full of fake humility. “But I was thinking we could use the design to improve the Scrambler Towers? Divination is outside my area of expertise, though, so we may have to find a Diviner to help.”
“Great idea,” Ed said. “We’ll see if we can hire someone through the Thieves Guild.” It would have to be someone who didn’t ask too many questions about having to work on a very obvious Dark design, though, but it shouldn’t be much of a problem. It was incredible what people failed to notice if the pay warranted it.
