Shadow Mage

by Sarah McCarthy

  Agnes examined her nails. “So, what’s Jerald like?”

  “Jeremy.” Damn it.

  Agnes grinned and rolled over again. Sarai’s cheeks warmed and she glared at her. “He’s just a friend.”

  “I see. Right. Totally.” Agnes produced a bit of thread and played with it idly. “So, you work for him.”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?”

  Agnes glanced at her, weaving a delicate gossamer spider web between her fingers. “Why don’t you just work for yourself?”

  “I don’t’ like talking to people. And I need to not be recognized.”

  The clouds grumbled overhead, and the rain poured down heavily around them.

  “So, write letters or something. Hire a messenger. Wear a disguise. How much does he get paid and what’s he paying you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He doesn’t tell you?”

  “I’ve never asked.”

  Agnes glanced at her, her eyes sharp and perceptive, her face illuminated by the flickering purple light. “How long have you been working for him?”

  “Since I was a kid.”

  “You’ve been murdering people since you were a kid?”

  Sarai snorted. “No, I was a pickpocket. I stole something from him. He tracked me down. I thought he—but he was just impressed. Wanted to hire me.”

  “And he trained you up.”

  “Yep.”

  “Ever thought about branching out on your own?”

  “Nope.” Sarai turned around so that her back, which was still wet and cold, was turned towards the heat. She glanced over her shoulder at Agnes. “Jeremy has all the connections. He knows everybody. He knows how to get jobs. And he has tons of people working for him.”

  “I’m sure you could get jobs, too. And, have you ever met any of these other people who work for him?”

  “No. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Convenient.”

  “Why are you asking me this? You’ve never even met him.” She stared off into the dripping trees.

  “You’re my friend.”

  Sarai glanced at her. It seemed premature, especially given that Agnes had seen her murder Finn. Or, try to.

  Agnes continued, her tone bossy. “And I think he’s taking advantage of you.”

  Sarai waved a hand. “What? Based on what evidence?”

  “You’re way too obsessed with our food here for someone who’s being paid well,” Agnes said calmly, adding a strand of pink to the web around her fingers.

  “First off, your food here is insane. And second, I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”

  Agnes pushed herself up onto her elbow and dropped the threads into her lap.

  “Sorry. I’ll stop interrogating you.” She bit her lip, and it was clear she was trying to hold something back. “OK. I will. I totally will. I just have to say one more thing.”

  Sarai pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. Agnes was clearly going to say what she was going to say.

  “You’re right that I don’t know him, and I’ve never met him.” She lifted her hands. “I know, I know. You don’t have to believe me. Just… will you promise me one thing?”

  “What?”

  “Next time you’re back in Westwend, just… use some of your spy skills and see what you can find out about him. Find out how many other people are working for him. How much does he pay them? Who pays him and how much? That sort of thing. It can’t hurt to know. I mean, what if he dies? Right?”

  That wasn’t a bad point. They were in a dangerous business.

  Agnes could see she’d scored a point, and she sat back smiling.

  “OK. Done. No more. I promise.” She stuck her lips out thoughtfully. “OK… except… one more thing. He’s super cute, right?”

  Sarai wanted to shrink into herself and disappear. She grimaced, looking away, her face getting hot.

  “I’m just guessing because, I mean, of all the possible reasons to stick around… that’s an understandable one. Not a great one,” she amended. “But, like, I get it.”

  Sarai tried to arrange her face back into its usual unreadable mask of darkness. It wouldn’t go.

  “Cause, like, while I’m not on board with him taking all your money, if you’re sticking around ‘cause you like him, well, we should do something about that.” Agnes eyed her for several seconds. “You know, you’re super pretty. In like, a terrifying, dark kinda way.”

  “I absolutely am not,” Sarai managed to choke out.

  “No, really.” Agnes’s practiced eye swept over Sarai’s tunic. “You’re kinda… utilitarian… which, hey, I totally get. I mean, you’ve got stuff to accomplish. And, like, it super works for you. But…”

  Sarai did not like the look that had come over Agnes’ face. The slightly manic gleam of someone with a project.

  “I’m not wearing a dress.” And I’m not making an idiot of myself trying to impress Jeremy. He’d laugh.

  Agnes gestured to her skintight body suit. “Do I look like someone who’s going to make you wear a dress?”

  “I’m not wearing that, either.”

  Agnes chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.

  “No, but, like, you’ve got this… sort of dark elegance thing going on. I think if we made you some kind of wrap thing…” Tendrils of thread wormed their way into existence around Sarai, wiggling towards her.

  “We have a murder to plan. We do not have time for this.”

  The threads disappeared, and Agnes laughed. “Fair enough. Man, you are super committed to your job. You sure? I always find that, if there’s a problem I can’t quite solve, sometimes changing something that doesn’t really seem like it matters helps. Like, this one time, Eric was being a jerk and I made myself this ridiculous giant poofy ball gown and ignored him.”

  “And… that helped?”

  “I mean, to be honest it didn’t make a difference either way. But I felt better.”

  “I’m good.”

  Agnes shrugged. “All right. Well, if you change your mind…”

  “I won’t.” But Agnes’ description stuck in her mind. She saw an image of herself, returning to Westwend, in something dark and form-fitting. Taller maybe, her hair… well, something done with it. And Jeremy seeing her, and… no. It was stupid. She should stop thinking about it.

  15

  Kel

  The night was warm, and the heat from the day still radiated up from the paving stones. A light breeze blew through the trees, lifting leaves and bending stalks of grass in the darkness. Kel sat in a far dark corner of her garden, kneeling on a retaining wall and peering down into a bed of mushroom starts. A fountain trickled a few feet from her, the start of a small rivulet that coursed, stream-like, through a patch of crocuses.

  The mushrooms had been slow to grow and had been largely uncommunicative during the day. She’d wondered if they disliked the sun and had come out here at night to see if they would be more forthcoming. So far, there still crouched silently, almost irritably, their little rounded heads just poking above the dirt.

  What are you needing? Kel asked them, but the response was confusing, impenetrable. Damp.

  She frowned, pressing a fingertip into the soil and feeling the cool moisture. It was wet, but not too wet.

  From far away, a rumbling sound reached her ears. She lifted her gaze, saw the wires overhead vibrating. A wind runner was approaching. Her frown deepened. Finn hadn’t mentioned anything about more visitors.

  Kel stood, brushing the dirt from her hands, which were shortening and widening, feathers sprouting along the backs of her upper arms. Her legs thinned, her shoes became pale and scaly, and talons pushed out from the ends of her feet.

  She was in the air, the ground rushing away from her, her vision sharp, even in the dark. A current of warm air lifted her, and she let it carry her up above the Table. She winged once around the tower, then glided down, following the cables she saw
shivering.

  A wind runner was coming from the Uplands.

  Keeping her distance, angling her head to peer into the enclosure, she saw a single figure, sitting in the dark, his hands clasped on his lap, his boots planted firmly on the floor. There were no lights to illuminate his face, and the night was cloudy and starless.

  She circled it once more as it approached, the half-moon beacon sending waves of color across its shining surface, but the figure was still in darkness.

  Kel alighted on a tree branch, folded her wings in, and watched as the carriage docked. It swayed slightly as the occupant stepped out.

  His boots clicked on the glass and metal, and he came slowly out, standing on the stage, his hands deep in his pockets.

  “Hello?” he said hesitantly. He pulled a hand from his pocket, lifted it, and a ball of flame appeared there, the light illuminating the dark gardens.

  A squirrel sleeping in a nearby tree shifted, peering at him curiously, then pulled its tail over its eyes and went back to sleep.

  Kel could see his profile, now. He was young, probably only just sixteen. His nose was straight, his jawline strong, his blond hair longish and windswept. He had thoughtful, blue-grey eyes. At least they looked that way in the light of the fireball he held in his hand.

  “Excuse me?” he said, more loudly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking like he didn’t want to leave the platform.

  He turned to look behind him, and Kel dropped silently to the ground, transforming as she did so.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, approaching.

  He whirled around, crouching slightly and holding up his other hand, but when he saw her, he stopped.

  His mouth opened slightly, then shut again, and he lowered the ball of flame. He started to run a hand through his hair, realized it still had fire in it, and reached up with the other instead.

  “Er, hello,” he said finally. “My name is Illiam. I’m sorry to arrive in the middle of the night like this.” He looked around. “This is the school for mages?”

  “That’s right,” Kel said.

  He looked back, and his eyes fell on hers. For half a second, he didn’t say anything, and Kel felt a jolt of electricity in her stomach before he looked away, blushing.

  “I’d… I’d like to apply to be a student here,” he said. “How do I do that?”

  She smiled. “There’s no application. You can be a student here.”

  His face lit up, and Kel thought it was the most happiness she’d ever seen in anyone’s expression. It came with the sense of something long, long, anticipated coming to fruition. It softened his features, and she found herself smiling wider, just watching him.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Oh. I’m Kel.”

  His gaze met hers again, then travelled over her face. Kel had never felt someone look at her like that, like they wanted to understand everything about her, and her stomach shifted, her face heating. She completely forgot what she’d been planning to say.

  Luckily, she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming along the garden path.

  “Kel?”

  Nate came around the corner and stopped when he saw the two of them.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, then looked more closely at Illiam. “Do I know you?”

  “My name is Illiam, sir.” Illiam stepped forward, switching the fireball to his other hand, and reached out to shake Nate’s. “I just arrived from the Uplands. I was just apologizing to Kel here for arriving in the middle of the night like this.” He shook his head ruefully. “I didn’t realize how long the journey would take.”

  Nate shook Illiam’s hand firmly, his eyes never leaving the boy’s face. “They’re new to all of us, that’s for sure.”

  “Kel, I was just speaking with Finn. He would like a word with you. How about I show Illiam around, get him set up?”

  Her heart deflated slightly, but that was silly. She should go see what Finn needed.

  “Finn? Finn Vogt?” Illiam asked, the excitement evident in his voice.

  “That’s right,” Nate said.

  “Oh wow,” Illiam said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet and swinging the arm that didn’t hold the fireball. “I’ve heard so much about him.”

  “Well, you’ll meet him tomorrow in your first classes. Which will be early, so let’s get you set up.”

  “Right, thank you, sir,” Illiam said, then turned to Kel. He bowed slightly, then looked up and met her eyes again, half-smiling. “It was great to meet you, Kel. I hope to see you soon.”

  She found herself smiling back.

  The mage girl was the most beautiful thing Illiam had ever seen. She was the one, he knew it. Whatever he’d felt when he’d awoken on his sixteenth birthday, it paled in comparison to this. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, even though she was. There was something mysterious, something about her that spoke to him, like all his life some part of him had known her, he just hadn’t realized it. Everything he’d ever done had been about getting him to this moment, to the moment where he could look her in the eyes and help her with whatever she needed.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about her as he followed the non-mage off into the gardens. He had other goals, of course, and…agreements… and he needed to keep those in mind. One didn’t stop everything just because they’d found the thing it was all about.

  16

  Sarai

  “We can go to other classes besides thread mage ones?” Sarai asked, following along behind Agnes as she bullied her way through the crowded hallways.

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s this thing Finn instituted a long time ago. He says we need to be able to cooperate, and in order to do that we have to know how all the other types of magic work. Hence the going to other classes. Anybody that wants to can sit in the back of any other classes.”

  “Wish he’d mentioned that,” Sarai muttered. “That would have been useful to know, rather than—” She stopped herself before she said something that would have really offended Agnes.

  “Rather than stupid useless thread mage classes? Come on, Sarai, you’re better than that.”

  “Still, it’s one of the least helpful classes for…” she lowered her voice, “for why I’m here.”

  Agnes tossed her hair impatiently. “It is not. Rope can kill people just as easily as fire. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

  She grabbed Sarai’s hand and pulled her inside a classroom.

  “Dang.” Agnes huffed.

  The classroom was completely packed. Finn stood at the blackboard at the far end, every seat was filled, and rows of people stood along the side walls and filled up the back. Agnes pushed her way through the people seated cross-legged on the floor and squished them into spots against the wall.

  “Ow, Agnes, geez,” someone muttered, but she ignored them.

  “Guess I wasn’t the only one with this idea,” Agnes said, annoyed.

  Sarai scanned the crowded room; the air was slightly too warm and had an already-breathed quality that she wasn’t happy about. Either that, or something else, was making her sick to her stomach.

  “Why are all these people here? And why are we here?”

  “To see the new mage.”

  “Why?”

  “I mean look at him,” Agnes whispered. “Super cute. Shows up in the middle of the night. I heard Japhlet say that she was there when Finn tested him and he’s the most powerful new mage anyone has ever seen.”

  Sarai frowned and looked up towards the front row of the class where the stupid fire mage sat. There was something really off about him. She couldn’t say exactly what it was but… she immediately disliked him. Of course, she immediately disliked most people, but that was much milder.

  On top of that, no one had turned up to see her when she’d first arrived. She’d arrived mysteriously in the middle of the night, too. Had no one noticed? She doubted that even if she’d been a fire mage that people would have come. Of course,
that was how Sarai liked it. And it was useful for her job. It was stupid to be mad about something she had actively cultivated over the years. But still.

  “Nice turnout,” Finn said, smiling. The classroom went mostly quiet.

  “Welcome again, Illiam,” he said, gesturing to the boy in the front row.

  “Today we’ll be studying fireworking.” There was some excited shifting of seats. “This should be fun, but it’s also very useful. Our beacon is a good example which, Illiam you may not have seen. Fire is useful for sending long distance messages, especially at night. The trick is getting the flames to take a solid enough form that the shapes don’t devolve too quickly.”

  He gestured with his hands, and a small model of a bird appeared, hanging in the air. Its iridescent green wings sparkled.

  “The trick is making the flames that compose your object small enough that even as they flicker, they don’t change the overall shape. This is made of thousands of flames, almost too tiny to see.”

  Sarai glanced at Agnes. The girl was not paying attention at all, just looking at Illiam. He was good-looking, sure, but Sarai didn’t see what the big deal was. She turned her mind to her work, tried to think if any of this would be useful in killing Finn, but she couldn’t see how. Maybe if she wanted to put a sign over his dead body afterwards.

  “Of course, once you’ve managed to make something appear solid, you might want to make it move.” The bird shook itself and tiny droplets of fire like diamonds scattered off its wings.

  “Can I have a volunteer to try?” Finn asked.

  Illiam’s hand went up.

  “Oh, well, I like the enthusiasm, Illiam, but you only just arrived.”

  “I’d love to get your coaching,” he said. “I’ve never tried anything on my own, but I’m a quick learner.”

  Finn looked skeptical, but also the whole class was totally rapt. Sarai wondered if he’d ever had a class pay this close attention before, and could almost see him making the mental calculation, weighing the opportunity to teach them something while they were paying full attention, with the possibility that someone might be injured.