After lunch I picked up Magic Takes Flight, checked in with the status board in the clerks’ room—no new messages from Rory or Nils—and told Urwin that I’d be in my room if anyone wanted me.
Sean hadn’t asked to see me. My father, his future, the militia and everything to do with the complicated situation with humans in the region, I was leaving alone. For now. Istvan and Bataar had a plan.
Upstairs, I could see the river from my window. I dragged an armchair into position, wrapped myself in a blanket for comfort more than to ward off the chill, and indulged in what had once been my occupation: studying. College, in my pre-apocalypse life, felt like it had happened to a different person.
Magic Takes Flight included the marble exercise Istvan had given me. It had study questions attached and references for further reading. I made a note to ask Istvan if I could have access to them. There were other exercises, also, but I ignored them in favor of re-reading the introductory two chapters on magical theory.
Chapter One recognized visualizing your magic to use it, and dismissed the tactic as suited merely to low-level magic users. “Fledglings must be trained out of this lazy approach. It is acceptable if they initially attempt the exercises via visualization, but the trainer must then guide them through completing each exercise via spellwork.”
Spells. The book outlined the theory of spellwork, but failed to provide examples. In their place was a warning. “Magic is dangerous. It must be channeled rigorously. If a fledgling cannot demonstrate the necessary discipline, then they shall be relegated to such low-level approaches as visualization.”
I closed the book and stared at a sailing barge loaded with timber that was coming in to dock.
The book had an arrogant tone, but I’d already learned that griffins rated themselves highly, so it wasn’t the book’s tone that bothered me. Its warning of magic’s volatility reminded me why human mages like me had been oath bound to a Faerene magician. Those who remained unbound, who hadn’t been part of the first experimental hundred that had scooped me in, represented potential danger points.
Spells weren’t constructed by word, tune or gesture, nor any other physical thing, although magician’s could use them as aids to memory. Each was a lattice or framework that the magician cast, then hooked magic to its key quintessences—a concept I couldn’t decipher and which Magic Takes Flight assumed its reader already knew—before flooding the lattice with magic.
I had a full brain and an empty stomach, and I knew the best solution. “Cake.” Specifically, Peggy’s cake.
It was strange, though, to enter the kitchen with the book’s knowledge floating in my mind and altering my perception of reality. Peggy and her goblin family were low-level magic users. Their preference was to tackle tasks without employing magic. That suited them to the conditions of the Migration with magic being rationed. I also kind of understood their choice. Moving the marble by picking it up with my fingers made more sense than pushing at it with magic.
What magic they did use, if the book was correct, they channeled via visualization. Except that I’d heard them using cantrips, tiny rhyming spell chants. Was that merely to help them visualize what they wanted their magic to do?
I couldn’t ask them. Istvan had to be my sole magical authority.
“There is the lean and hungry look of a student.” One of the cheerful sous chefs briskly patted my back.
At her comment, Peggy turned around. “Tcha. That is the look of a new bride missing her husband.”
“I’d miss a man as fine as Rory,” one of the other women muttered.
I blushed.
“There now,” Peggy said. “A bit of teasing is part of the joy of the honeymoon. Speaking of which, you may need to tie that boy to…”
My face burned.
Peggy hooted with laughter.
Dinner preparations were underway, but this was a quiet time, a lull in-between meals. The kitchen crew were ready to be entertained.
“Get out the chocolate cake, Lina,” Peggy said. “Amy’s wedding was so rushed, we missed giving her a hens’ night.”
Oh my.
“I’m sure we’ve all got a bit of advice for the girl.”
One of the guards had been reading in a corner. He tiptoed out.
“Coward, Jerold,” a maid called.
He waved a hand and kept going. In the doorway, he crossed paths with Niamh.
She dashed in. “I got the job! I start training with the police department on Monday. I have to read up on the laws and regulations.” She waved a thin book. “And be fitted for my uniform.”
I stopped any further flow of excited words with a bear hug.
Everyone joined in the congratulations, my new bride status forgotten. Peggy was there waiting for her turn at hugging the stuffing out of our new cop when I released Niamh.
I had to blink rapidly and sniff. In the months that I’d known her, Niamh had never been this happy.
Peggy soon had Niamh seated and devouring chocolate cake.
“A better celebration than champagne. Thank you, Peggy. And coffee. Heaven.” Niamh recounted her interview with the police captain, an understatedly scary elf. “I thought my lack of magic would count against me, but Captain Olsen said not.”
“The one thing not lacking in this town are magic users.” Peggy actually sat down at the table with us, along with her kitchen team, rather than bustling around. She drank tea in preference to coffee, having her own special mug and woe betide anyone else who used it.
A stray werewolf moseyed on in and helped himself to cake and coffee and a seat at the table. Callum saluted Niamh with his slice of cake. “Name’s Callum. Newspaper owner, editor and solo journalist. I’m here to interview Justice’s newest police officer.”
“The speed at which news travels in this town, I don’t know why we have a newspaper,” Peggy said.
All of us hurriedly hid our smiles behind our mugs. Even newcomer Niamh knew that Peggy was the hub for gossip in Justice.
Callum grinned at his rival information distributor and, possibly, his best source of news. “Excellent cake. Are you sure you won’t share your recipes in a kitchen column for the paper?”
“Getaway with you.” But Peggy cut him a second slice of cake.
He winked before turning back to Niamh. “Interview?”
“I’ll ask Captain Olsen.”
Callum shook his head at her. “Yes, you’ll fit right in with the law and order types. But off the record…”
“No.” She took a determined sip of coffee.
“Fine.” Callum blew an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll clear the interview with Olsen. I have a sketch artist who’ll illustrate the article.”
Peggy slapped the table. “Not that dreadful cartoonist!”
“Um.” His eyes shifted furtively left and right.
“It’s all very well to make fun of the powerful. Vinnie’s cartoons of Fae King Harold are clever. But you’re not mocking Niamh.” Peggy spoke, but the rest of the kitchen team joined her in glaring at Callum.
Niamh finished her coffee. Her cake was long gone. “I don’t mind.”
Peggy stood, arms folded. Militant. “I do.”
Apparently, the goblin matriarch had adopted our family.
Callum ducked his head. “What if Vinnie made her look sexy?” He fled to the doorway before Peggie could smack him with a tea towel.
“I should go,” Niamh said. “Everyone’ll be waiting to hear if I got the job.”
Her comment reminded me that she’d stopped in to tell me first. “I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks for the cake and congrats, everyone.”
A chorus of “you’re welcomes” and good wishes for her new job answered her.
Callum departed with us. He raised an eyebrow when Berre joined the group.
However, Berre simply addressed Niamh without acknowledging his role as my bodyguard. He congratulated her and went on to discuss policing in a Faerene Migration town, and one complicated b
y growing around a magistrate hall. “With only half a million Faerene on Earth, there is no sense in setting up continental capital cities. Civitas—it’s on Crete—is the location for Faerene government. Fae King Harold, the Fae Council, the Treasury.” Berre grimaced comically. “We pay taxes. A ten percent tithe. Living in town adds a local tax for services like the police.”
“Do people resent the taxes?” Niamh asked.
Callum coughed.
Berre cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Sorry. I fell into old world habits of grumbling. No. The taxes on Earth are much less than we paid on Elysium, and everyone here understands their purpose. Part of the Migration entails us investing in the foundations for our future. People will appreciate the work you do as a police officer. They won’t complain that their taxes are ‘wasted’ on providing law and order.”
“‘Appreciate’ might be overstating things,” Callum demurred. “Faerene test the limits of the law as much as humans do. You’ll get some pushback to your efforts, but Peggy’s attitude will predominate. People believe in what you represent.”
Niamh’s interest and energy sagged. Her voice became clipped. “You mean I’m the token human?”
Berre shoved Callum.
The newspaper editor staggered, barely preventing himself from knocking Niamh over. He spun on Berre with a snarl.
Niamh and I froze.
Similarly, people on Bridge Street slowed to stare at the two werewolves.
Berre grinned. “There you have it. You’re one of our new citizens, Niamh, and we’re protective of you. You’re not a token human for the police, if I understand your meaning correctly. But you are new to town and our culture, and Justice has decided that we want you to succeed.”
“What do you define success as?” Niamh asked suspiciously. However, her suspicion didn’t run deep. She was unconsciously giving Callum a reassuring, calming pat as he shook off his anger and straightened his jacket.
Lone wolf though he was, he didn’t move away from her touch.
“The same as for all of us,” Berre replied gently. “Food, shelter, safety for the people you love. A place to build a future. A place to belong.”
“Well said, guard,” a watching bronze griffin approved before continuing on. At the top of the bridge’s arc, the griffin leapt into the air.
“Berre is right that the town wants you and your family to succeed.” Callum resumed walking and we kept pace with his brisk stride. “That’s why I’d like to interview them about their plans. People are curious, and many are willing to help.”
He sketched the background quickly. “Rory and Amy had the right to bring you here after her wedding. You’re her family and can claim her pack’s protection or even join it. At minimum, Faerene law supports your right to live here. But the townspeople want Justice to be more than that. We want to establish Justice as a town in which every citizen is equal. I’m a lone wolf. I know how dangerous a society can be when it doesn’t enshrine that principle not just in law but in soul-deep belief.”
While Niamh considered Callum’s explanation, I studied Berre. My packmate was a far more complicated individual than the cheerful front he showed the world. I wanted my family, at least, to appreciate him; beginning with Niamh. “That’s why you tried to bump Callum into Niamh, isn’t it? To show her that the instinct of those in Justice is to protect her.”
He shrugged as he flashed Niamh a quick grin. “Your fellow cops will prove that to you.”
The difficulties with the militia, specifically with their abhorrent tactics, had the potential to sour Faerene and human relations in the region. The authorities in Justice, and key people like Callum, were working hard to prevent it.
Bataar could have called off negotiations with General Dabiri, but hadn’t. Instead, we waited. Plans were in motion. Istvan had suggested one of them. I hadn’t realized, though, the extent to which ordinary citizens wanted to be part of shaping a more positive relationship.
I hadn’t realized how lucky we were to have Callum as our newspaper editor.
Niamh reached the same conclusion. “On Monday I’ll ask Captain Olsen if you can interview me. But Jarod, at least, will talk to you now. He’s hoping to do odd jobs around town.”
Jarod was more than ready to talk to Callum, once everyone finished celebrating Niamh’s new job and Callum had convinced Mike that a newspaper article or series of articles wouldn’t raise the family’s profile any higher.
“You’re the only humans in town,” Callum scoffed. “Everyone already knows who you are and are curious. They’re holding off their welcome till you indicate that you’re ready to meet them.”
Craig joined Mike in scowling at the newspaper editor. “How do we do that?”
“You hold a housewarming party,” Berre said. “With all of Justice being new, people haven’t bothered, but I reckon Peggy’ll be suggesting it to you soon.”
Stella was immediately won over to the idea. “Oh, well, if Peggy thinks we should.” Suddenly she scowled. “But Peggy is not to cater it. She’ll be our guest.”
Callum laughed. “Good luck convincing her.”
“I will.” Stella caught Jarod grinning. “And you can answer Callum’s questions while you finish stacking the firewood.” The movers had brought our firewood supply through the portal, but piled it haphazardly. Stella and Digger both demanded higher standards of orderliness than “haphazard”.
Jarod saluted. “Yes, ma’am. Callum?” A wave of his arm invited the editor outside.
“I’ll help,” Berre said.
And that was when Digger and Mike relaxed and returned to their tasks of building a shed and organizing the contents of the barn, respectively. They trusted Berre.
My packmate smiled at me, appreciating their confidence and what it meant to me.
“About church tomorrow,” Stella said.
Craig hastily returned to helping Digger with the shed construction, which left the kitchen as a feminine domain.
Berre and I couldn’t stay too long if we were to make it back to the hall to freshen up before dinner.
Rory’s and my wedding had been held at the Justice All-Faiths Temple, so Stella knew of its existence. The Faerene had a number of different religions, and believers were free to worship separately in buildings or locations appropriate to their faith. However, the all-faiths temple in a town served as a shared space, open to everyone, in which we could connect to one another and believe ourselves to be part of a bigger plan. Faith meant different things to different people, but the fundamental of it was the same: we trusted that life was good. A shared space that served as a touchstone to our hope for the future, our faith that we could build a good life together, was crucial.
“Would anyone mind if we read the Bible there?” Stella asked.
“I’ll see the chaplain and schedule an hour for some time tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll contact you via the mirror with whatever slot is free.”
I was vaguely Christian. The men were like me: we’d go to the temple to support Stella and Niamh, both of whom had found strength in their faith during the worst of the apocalypse.
Actually, I’d say a prayer with them. One of thanks. We had come to safe harbor.
Which is what I continued to believe until Rory and Nils failed to check in with the clerks’ room the next morning.
Chapter 9
Istvan conducted the morning court session with the sort of curtness that any other people would have taken offense to. Fortunately, the case before him involved two unicorn stallions. The issue in contention was which of them had first discovered, and hence, had the right to claim, an undocumented field circle.
Humans called field circles fairy rings. They were natural pools of magic that soaked into the plants that grew there, enriching the power of those plants. Sow a field circle with herbs, and those herbs would be exceptionally potent.
Unicorns prized field circles as places of healing, but also places to conceive and give birth to children. A male unic
orn had to be able to display a field circle to a prospective mate before any female would consider him.
“You’re both idiots,” Radka said, as exasperated as Istvan. “The procedure is clear. As soon as you found the field circle, you should have reported it to a bunker. They would have registered your claim and we wouldn’t be here now watching you two glow at each other.”
The two stallions’ horns glowed red. Chided by Radka, but probably more affected by the whickers of amusement from their audience of unicorns, the two finally ceased snorting at one another and suppressed the magic wisping from their horns. The ruby red glow faded.
“Better,” Radka snapped. Like Istvan, she was worried. And like him, she knew they had to wrap up this case before he was free to translocate home and resolve the new problem that had just landed in their paws.
Istvan had a few choice words he was saving to share with Piros concerning dumping this problem on Rory, and by extension, on Amy, Istvan and the others. They already had more than enough to deal with.
And now Nora was involved.
She had contacted Istvan a few minutes prior to the morning court session with the shocking and unwelcome news that Rory and Nils were at her bunker going through decontamination procedures and a health check, and if they emerged clean, would be returned to the North American Territory Magistrate Hall in the afternoon.
They’d been attacked by an unknown magical creature, had fought and killed it, and had very properly contacted the bunker first to report it and arrange for its collection.
Amy had been told only that Rory and Nils were at a bunker pursuing their investigation. She was smart enough that she’d be worried that she’d been forwarded a message rather than being allowed to speak with her husband.
Istvan clacked his beak.
The unicorns’ horns ceased glowing completely. For the first time they seemed to register that rather than simply being engaged in a legal dispute, they were in disgrace. They’d embarrassed themselves and their families by bringing a unicorn matter before a magistrate.
“I am very tempted to declare the field circle communal property for all who need its healing and strength,” Istvan began. “However, I recognize the particular value of field circles to unicorn society. As foolishly as you have behaved, your descendants shouldn’t be punished for it. You were both under oath to speak the truth, and through question and answer and reference to events, we have determined that Dylan discovered the field circle first. Be quiet!”
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