City of Spells

by Alexandra Christo

  “It’s the closest shelter before we hit the bridge,” Wesley said.

  He looked to Tavia.

  “Got the little explosive eggs ready?”

  She patted her backpack, which held six of Nolan’s Star Eggs.

  “Check,” Tavia said. “Ready to go boom.”

  Saxony looked to Karam. “Got your fists ready?” she asked.

  “Check,” Karam said, with a narrow smile.

  They swerved through the streets together, jumping from shadow to shadow like ghosts, moving between the various Crafters and buskers, or even the Loj-infected. Tourists, once wide-eyed, who were now far more empty-eyed. Who had been forced into battle, or gotten trapped in the city during the fight and been found and forced to drink the Loj elixir. Their eyes like ash and their necks marked like cattle.

  Saxony and the others navigated through them so easily that it made her realize how much she had not only grown to love Creije, but to know it.

  Like the back of my hand, Wesley had said.

  Like mine, too, she thought now.

  Returning to Rishiya and the Uncharted Forest felt like returning home after so long in Creije, but now returning to Creije after so long in Rishiya, that felt like home too.

  Another side of Saxony: the side that held on to her brother so tightly.

  She pushed herself up against a wall, back to the brick, and walked step by step in the pieces of the path that the moonlight didn’t quite touch.

  Up ahead, there was music coming from the amity precinct.

  A group of seven guards sat outside on old wooden chairs, clapping and laughing in low, cold tones. They had a music box on the ground by their feet, enchanted to play the kind of beat Saxony had only ever heard at the Crook when the drinks started to dry up and the sun was readying to rise.

  “Look at him move,” one of the amityguards said. “We’ve got ourselves quite a show, haven’t we, lads?”

  It was only then that Saxony noticed one of the seven guards was not a guard at all, but a man. A civilian. Dressed in what looked like nightwear, with long brown hair down to his shoulders and bruises swatched everywhere across his milky skin.

  He was dancing madly, erratically. In a way that could only be charmed.

  The guards clapped and cheered him on and the man, who sobbed and winced while he moved in beat with the music, kept going.

  Saxony looked to his feet. Bare and bleeding.

  She flinched and it was almost as though that action jolted the spell because the man suddenly collapsed onto the street.

  Beside Saxony, Wesley let out a breath.

  Straightened his cuff links.

  Relaxed his tightened jaw.

  He had broken the magic somehow. Cast a spell in the time it took for Saxony to blink and assess the situation. She hadn’t even heard him utter the words or felt his power travel through the air.

  Wesley’s magic was like a ghost, roaming through the world undetected, seen only when it wanted to be. After so long lost, it had gotten quite good at hiding.

  One of the guards jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair he had been lounging on so that it clattered to the ground. The noise would have once vanished in the musicality of Creije, but with the eerie silence that now blanketed the streets, it seemed as loud as a gunshot.

  “Who said you could stop?” the guard spat.

  The dancing man looked up at him from the ground, lips trembling. They were torturing him, in the middle of the night and the middle of the street. In full view of anyone who dared to look.

  “What in the fire-gates do they think they’re doing?” Saxony whispered.

  “Having the time of their lives, apparently,” Wesley said.

  He studied the amityguards with a blank expression, no mirror of the outrage Saxony felt and no sign of pride at having saved the man. But Saxony could see his eyes narrow as he took in the scene, evaluating every moment and weighing up what he should do next.

  “We have to stop them,” Saxony said, making the choice for him. “Those guards are damn rieshles!”

  “No,” Tavia said. “They’re not.”

  She had the same look as Wesley, a little placid as she watched the bleeding man beg for his life.

  How could Tavia think that they weren’t assholes?

  They were going to drive that man to his death.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Saxony asked. “Look at them.”

  “She means that they’re not guards,” Wesley said. “Look again.”

  Saxony did.

  And then she cursed herself.

  Tavia and Wesley were right.

  It would take a certain kind of amityguard, who had fought against dark magic under Fenna Schulze, and worked to keep Creije as a thriving tourist hot spot safe from the underrealm scum, to then switch sides and work for the Kingpin. Saxony suspected that most of those who hadn’t been killed had refused—and then been killed—and the only ones that remained were those who were already on the take.

  The rest were replaced by more of Ashwood’s people.

  The six in front of her didn’t even wear proper uniforms. They were the right color and the belts were filled with the right weapons and magic, but the Uskhanyan insignia had been torn from the breast pockets and the sleeves were bloodstained. Probably by the original guards whose uniforms they had repurposed.

  There were no real amityguards anymore.

  Just soldiers.

  Just Crafters in uniform, or longtime victims of the Loj with the mark on their neck now as deep as a scar.

  “Get up and dance!” the guard screamed down at the man.

  Wesley cleared his throat, quiet enough that the guards didn’t hear over the roar of their music. Loud enough that it told Saxony they weren’t sticking around to find out how this ended.

  “Come on,” Wesley said. “We need to go.”

  “We’re not going to save him?”

  “First we save the city.”

  Saxony shook her head and turned to Tavia for backup, but her friend’s face only held an apologetic grimace.

  “This is Creije,” Tavia said, in a small whisper. “People die all the time. We have bigger enemies to deal with and we can’t risk getting caught. We’re supposed to be invisible, remember?”

  Saxony couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. She expected it from Wesley. After all, he’d had to survive as an underboss in Creije and that meant doing things nobody else wanted to, but Tavia had never left an innocent person behind to suffer. She hadn’t even wanted to sell magic on the streets half of the time and she blamed herself whenever she did and somebody got hurt because of it.

  Saxony looked over to Karam, in a last-ditch effort to rally some support, but before she had even fully turned to her, Saxony knew it was a lost cause. Karam was nothing if not practical in the face of battle.

  “We cannot risk engaging them in case something goes wrong,” Karam said. “They are distracted now. They will not see us cross the bridge. And with that music, they will not hear us until it is too late.”

  Saxony looked over her shoulder and back to the man. “But—”

  “We save that man by saving my city,” Wesley said. “Now come on.”

  He headed for the next side street, Tavia following him without hesitation. Karam shrugged, squeezed Saxony’s hand, and then ran after them.

  With an aching regret deep inside of her, Saxony did the same.

  They made their way toward the bridge that separated the two halves of Creije. The outskirts from High Town. The amity precinct from the magic markets.

  The bridge was a grand spectacle, pure white with swirling arches and engraved beams that dipped into the water. The suspension chains were a glacier blue that matched the Steady Mountains, and each of the grandiose towers it bore was roofed by the Uskhanyan flag. From a distance it looked a little like a monument.

  “We need to float up to the top of the center tower and set off the Star Eggs from there,” Wesley sa
id. “Smack bang in the middle of the city.”

  “To the top,” Tavia said. She looked up at the central tower. “Of that thing?”

  She swallowed, loudly, and it was then that Saxony remembered how scared of heights her friend was.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Saxony said, slinging her arm over Tavia’s shoulders. “If the magic flops and you fall to your doom, it’ll be a quick death.”

  Tavia glared and shrugged her arm off, at which point Saxony laughed.

  “Do we have enough hover charms for that?” Tavia asked.

  Wesley snorted. “We don’t need hover charms,” he said. “You have two Crafters.”

  “I thought that Crafters could not fly,” Karam said.

  “We can’t,” Saxony said. “This is more of a dramatic hop.”

  “A hundred and fifty feet in the air?” Tavia asked, with wide eyes.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Wesley said. “It’s more like one twenty.”

  Tavia gave him the finger, but Wesley only rolled his suit sleeves up, unfazed.

  “Hold on tight to your backpack,” he said.

  “Sure, because the explosives breaking would be so terrible for everyone.” Tavia cast one last look up at the towers. “Never mind my neck.”

  Wesley consulted his wristwatch. “Your neck won’t stop time and allow our army to get into the city unnoticed. Let’s go.”

  He held out his hand for Tavia’s and she took it quicker than Saxony expected. She wasn’t sure when they’d climbed the invisible barrier that had been keeping them apart for years, caught between furtive glances and stolen seconds, but Saxony could see the change in them now. For once, Tavia didn’t hesitate to take Wesley’s hand or seem at all unnerved by it, and neither of them tried their best to avoid looking at each other anymore.

  That’s good, she thought. Better late than never.

  Saxony threaded her hand into Karam’s and then took Tavia’s, too. It seemed to be the safer option than trying to hold Wesley’s and ignoring the awkwardness that might bring.

  With the four of them hand in hand, Saxony and Wesley jumped.

  The wind whirled across Saxony’s ankles, blowing her hair wildly into her face, sucking her clothes tight to her stomach. It took little time to reach the top, but Saxony still marveled at the view as they soared above the city they were trying to save.

  She didn’t need to look at Tavia to know that her friend’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

  In less than a minute they were at the top of the central tower, their feet slamming into the observation balcony. Tavia all but collapsed onto the ground the minute they made contact.

  “Oh, sweet safety,” she said, lying flat on her back with a deep sigh. “Praise the person who invented ground.”

  Saxony snorted.

  “How did you grow to become the best busker this city has to offer?” Karam asked.

  From the ground, Tavia glared. “We don’t usually conduct magic shows from the stars.”

  Wesley set up the six Star Eggs at the opposite end of the balcony, lining them in a neat row like they were charms on display, rather than deadly devices that would preserve Creije in a moment.

  “We’re ready,” he said. “Let’s get this show started.”

  Karam pulled Tavia from the ground as Saxony made her way over to Wesley.

  “You sure this will work?” she asked him.

  “I’m always sure,” he said. “And if not, it’ll still work out.”

  “You might have nine lives,” Tavia said, saddling up beside them. “But the rest of us were only blessed with one.”

  Wesley laughed.

  Saxony clicked her fingers.

  Her fire magic sprouted at the base of each of the fuses that twirled from the Star Eggs, hissing its way to the top.

  They took a step back.

  Moments later it began.

  The explosives hit the sky like lightning, cracking across the face of the moon. It broke the night in pieces, cascades of color raining across the city in a mirror of the Everglow. As though the phenomenon had broken free of its abiding nature and exploded into new being.

  The lights cast patterns over the stars—blossoming flower petals and cutting spears like the knives Tavia kept in her waistband and on her boots.

  “Just look at it,” Wesley said. “Best view in the city.”

  The fire display illuminated every crevice Creije held and Saxony’s brother looked enthralled with each new bang of light.

  It struck Saxony then how much Wesley was like their mother. The Uncharted Forest, however much it loved him and craved his return, was never his home. It was too wild to contain him, just as it had been too wild to keep Vea’s heart at peace.

  “I almost forgot how beautiful this place was,” Wesley said.

  “No,” Saxony said. “You didn’t.”

  Wesley looked over to her and there was a trace of a smile on his lips. She couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled at her. She couldn’t remember if he had ever smiled at her like that—Many Gods knew she’d probably never smiled at him—but seeing it now made her feel so sad and so happy all at once.

  Happy that her brother was alive.

  Sad that she had spent years wishing he wasn’t.

  Saxony turned back to the explosions, still filling the sky with light and color. It took a while, but when they were finally done painting the sky in glory, they faded to rain and a swirl of hues trickled down and over the city.

  It coated Creije like a liquid rainbow, puddling in the streets and slicking over rooftops.

  It ran across Saxony’s dark skin and then dripped off and onto her shoes, and though she felt a little light-headed, and her heartbeat seemed to quicken—which could have been from the sheer beauty—it had no lasting effects.

  At least, not on her.

  Not on Karam or Wesley or Tavia.

  But for the rest of Creije, time stood still.

  The city meandered to a halt and the wind froze midair and the footsteps sank into the ground and the music caught in the space between worlds.

  The people stopped moving.

  The moonlight stopped glistening.

  There was just Saxony. Just her brother and her lover and her friend, standing over the city they loved, preserved in a stolen infinity. It was only the waters around them that continued to glisten and move with unbreakable fluidity.

  They joined hands once more and descended from the tower, making their way back onto the center of the bridge path.

  “Let’s never do that again,” Tavia said, once they landed. “I’m all for a good light show, but the flying I could do without.”

  Her hand was still locked in Wesley’s and neither of them made to let go.

  “Arjun and Schulze should have a clear path to Yejlath now,” Wesley said. “And the rest of our forces can start taking back Creije.”

  He looked proud, but more than that Wesley looked relieved, as though he hadn’t expected their plan to go so smoothly. They weren’t used to winning when it came to Ashwood.

  “Up ahead,” Karam said.

  She pointed over the bridge, to the river that led out into the winds of the other Uskhanyan cities.

  For a moment Saxony thought it was strange that Arjun and Schulze would approach with their half of the army from the river, rather than through the outskirts as they had planned. She wondered where they had commandeered the small train from and who was navigating, but when she saw the train fully, she knew that it wasn’t Arjun and her Kin or the Doyen inside.

  The train was an obstinate black, with just a single carriage small enough to carry a handful of people, not an army. It glided through the waterways as though time was not pinned in place. It docked just under the bridge, stopping in the center of the river, and a small hatch opened up on the roof.

  A figure drifted out, made of darkness.

  And then following him, a small girl climbing the ladder to the top.

  They stood on
the roof of the train and looked up at Saxony and the others.

  Dante Ashwood, who looked like death incarnate.

  Zekia, who looked so small from the bridge’s slope.

  “Hello, sister,” Zekia said.

  She smiled up at Wesley.

  “Hello, brother.”

  Saxony was surprised at how happy her sister looked to see them both, and how happy she felt to see her sister again. They had spent too long apart, and now that Saxony had found one half of her family, she wanted the other half back more desperately than she could say.

  “Zekia,” she said. “How are you here?”

  “You froze Creije, but not the waters that bind the cities,” Ashwood answered in her place. “Time cannot touch those.”

  “You can see your light show all the way from Yejlath,” Zekia said. “It’s very pretty. We were already on the train, so I missed most of it, but the flowers were nice.”

  “Already on the train?” Saxony asked.

  Ashwood laughed, like she was just some silly little child.

  “Did you really think I would not know?”

  He looked up at Wesley, whose hand was still precariously entwined in Tavia’s.

  Saxony saw the moment Ashwood’s eyes met his.

  “My boy always finds his way home.”

  34

  KARAM

  “Shall we make this quick?” Ashwood asked. “Or slow?”

  Karam stepped closer to Tavia, keeping her eye on Zekia.

  “It will be quick,” Karam said. “Just like the quickness with which our armies are slaughtering yours.”

  “Ah yes,” Ashwood said.

  He did not look afraid, or surprised by what Karam had thought would be a revelation.

  “I have to admit, using magic to freeze my forces in Creije was a smart move. I imagine your treacherous little army is making its way through the city now?”

  “Not just in Creije,” Wesley said. “Fenna Schulze is crossing over to Yejlath with half of our forces. They’re not going to let the government city fall.”

  Ashwood flinched a little upon hearing the Doyen’s name, as though that, rather than all Wesley had done before to bring him down, was the true betrayal. The Kingpin recovered quickly, though, and replaced his slight frown with a wicked smile.