by Kal Aaron
Lee stared at her for an uncomfortably long time. Lyssa stomped on all the sarcastic replies floating to the tip of her tongue. She didn’t like the man, but she could understand his concerns. The problem was he needed to show her the same respect.
“I get it.” Lyssa sighed. “You’re all in paranoia-land because of what happened a few days ago.”
“All Sorcerers should worry when our gifts are misused by criminal Shadows.”
“Did you miss the part on the news where I raided their hideout and took them out?” Lyssa raised her brow in challenge. “And the EAA took all the shards into custody?”
“Serendipity is a curious thing. What are the chances of a Torch being in the same city as a group of criminals with such items? How often have you been sent to your home city during your career as a Torch?”
“Technically, I live one city over from the house I raided.” Lyssa rolled her eyes. “You’ve got a complicated theory there, but I heard an idiot on the news lately that put me in the right headspace to interpret. Let’s see. I’m supplying gangsters with specific shards that somehow have powers well outside the scope of my essence, then I’m waiting for the Society to call me and tell me to take them out. That about sum it up?”
She didn’t feel the need to give Lee any ammo by suggesting any of her other paranoid theories about what might have happened. He might accuse her of being mentally unstable. He had in the past.
“According to news reports, it was hoped you’d take the leader alive,” Lee said. “His death was convenient if one was attempting to cover up where he’d acquired his shards.”
Lyssa flipped him off. “That’s what I’ve got for you, Lee. This is ridiculous.” She stomped toward her bike. “I’m a Torch. I blow things up and kill people when the Society needs me to. This time that happened to be in my backyard, but I’m not going to stand here and let you accuse me of anything.”
“We’re not finished,” he spat.
Lyssa slammed on her helmet, straddled her bike, and pushed up the kickstand. “Yeah, I think we pretty much are because you’re being an ass, and I’m not sure you haven’t been corrupted by the Grand Spirit of Asses. You might want to talk to the others and get that checked.”
Lee bared his teeth. “If the seal ever breaks, it’ll be too late, Miss Corti. You realize that, don’t you? Others will die, but so will you. Unlike what you’re doing now, souls will be at risk, not only lives.”
She started her Panigale, the mild rumble of the engine soothing. “Don’t worry. I won’t take it personally if you all come and kill me when I’m a soulless shell for a corrupt spirit abomination. Before then, let’s not waste my time, okay?”
“We’ll always be watching.” Lee gave her a cool look. “You understand that?”
“It’s good to have hobbies. I don’t judge.” Lyssa pulled forward and spun her bike around. “Just stay out of my way until it’s time to kill me.”
Chapter Ten
Lyssa took off her helmet and hung it on a hook in the garage. She didn’t bother to put the necklace away yet. It was invisible to Jofi, an artifact of the sealing, but she didn’t normally have it out because she didn’t want someone else to see it and accidentally remark on it.
The meeting with Lee had left her unsettled. After six years, she’d hoped their meetings would have become routine, but somehow the man always managed to get under her skin with his accusations and dirty looks.
No, that wasn’t it. He’d always been a suspicious ass, and she hadn’t gotten offended. She was on edge because of the shards and the anniversary.
A familiar presence pushed at the corners of her mind, Jofi. His omnipresence normally made it easy to tune out, like living next to a waterfall and forgetting about the sound. It was only after she was gone for a while that it stood out upon her return, unnerving and comforting at the same time.
“Was your meal unusually delicious?” Jofi asked.
Lyssa stepped through the door. “Huh? Why would you ask that?”
“You were gone a long time. I assume that means your meal was delicious. You don’t tend to drink during the day, though I did consider the possibility, given your current stress levels.”
She needed a better cover story next time. The anniversary had put her off her game.
“Yeah, I’m not that much of a lush.” Lyssa closed the door. “But that whole idea is strange to you, isn’t it? I don’t think about it enough. You can hear and see in your way, but I always forget you can’t smell, touch, or taste. Delicious food is an abstraction to you.”
“Understanding the experience isn’t necessary to understand you enjoy it on some occasions and dislike it on others.”
Always the same calm, even tone. That was what she needed and wanted. That was what Lee and the others he represented wanted. A relaxed Jofi would stay in the guns, thinking he was a gun spirit. A relaxed Jofi would never question anything.
That didn’t make Lyssa feel better about it. They were partners of sorts. Lee insisted he was nothing more than a spirit, but not being human wasn’t the same thing as being mindless. The truth wouldn’t set him free, though. It would obliterate the Jofi she knew and replace him with a homicidal stranger hell-bent on spreading chaos and death.
She’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong essence six years ago, but she couldn’t change it now. All she could do was try to make sure she helped people with his power.
Lyssa shook her head. The fewer lies a woman told, the easier it was to keep track of them. Wrap the lie up in a nice truth, and it became trivial. “I met an old acquaintance.”
“You don’t like this person, do you?” Jofi asked.
Lyssa pulled off her jacket and holster and hung them up. “Why do you say that?”
“You look and sound tense. You looked and sounded the same when you left. Your face and voice.”
“I’m not a huge fan of the guy, no, and he’s not a huge fan of me, which is why he’s an acquaintance and not a friend.”
“But not an enemy?” Jofi asked.
“You need to try to kill me at least once to qualify as an enemy.”
“A useful schema.”
Lyssa dropped onto the couch and laid her head back. “If only I was born with a healing essence instead of darkness. I probably wouldn’t have ended up a Torch, and I wouldn’t have ended up with so many complications in my life.”
“Do you believe that?”
Lyssa lifted her head and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I would have assumed your family history was your primary motivation for your choices rather than your essence. There’s no inherent non-dangerous essence. You could invert healing spells to harm. Your combat style and tactics might be different, but you would have ended up a Torch.”
“I don’t know about that.” Lyssa’s heart rate increased, and she let the other comments slide. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her family situation on that day of all days.
“Your past informs your future,” Jofi said. “I know your brother’s disappearance bothers you.”
“Enough,” Lyssa snapped. “I don’t want to talk about that right now. Sure, I’ve got a lot on my mind, but don’t worry. I’ll work through it. I always do. I’m sure Damien will find something useful, and I can busy myself taking down shard smugglers and not have time to think about anything else.”
She grabbed a remote off her end table. Some mindless TV might get her mind off the feelings Lee’s visit had stirred up. She pressed the ON button and hoped to avoid any anti-sorcery propaganda.
The noon news played, and fortunately, there was no sign of Grant Harris. A bright chyron at the bottom highlighted something she’d stopped worrying about in June.
A Reflection on the Post-Summer Anniversary of M-Day.
“Although many people take it for granted,” the anchor announced, “it’s hard to believe that it was only five years ago the truth of magic and sorcery came out. Although Sorc
erers remain rare and the average person is unlikely to have a direct encounter, we can all agree that the world is no longer the same place it once was. It all started with this one spectacular incident.”
Camera footage appeared, showing a royal procession in London with the Queen of England in an open horse-drawn carriage. The elderly monarch sat with a smile in a powder-blue outfit and a matching broad-brimmed hat with her husband, the Prince. Mounted guards in red preceded and followed the royal couple, along with carriages filled with other members of the British Royal Family. Commentators chatted about the dignity of the queen during her part of the opening ceremonies for the event, a horse-racing cup.
Lyssa watched, even though she, like everyone else on the planet, had burned this video and others taken from different angles into their minds. The current video, shot by a team from an American sports news channel, was among the most famous because it provided the clearest view of the events to follow, the events that had changed modern history.
Four men ran toward the carriage from either side, pistols in hand. Screams erupted. They began firing, dropping nearby guards. The Prince and the Queen sat, unflappable, their smiles gone and their expressions hard. No one was surprised that the two royals didn’t immediately hop out of their carriages.
The first major anomaly wasn’t pointed out for two days after the video hit the net. Horses in front and behind the first carriage lost control, charging away when the gunfire started, but the Queen’s horses stayed unusually calm and didn’t move. The video had been picked apart by internet sleuths and news organizations, including showing frame-by-frame where the would-be royal assassins had emerged on camera and the first clear piece of evidence of something being wrong: two fleeing birds at the edge of a frame.
One of the Queen’s Guard who hadn’t been hit jumped off his horse, his uniform shifting and growing around him. He pulled out what looked like a simple bandana and pressed it to his face. His appearance wavered for a moment, and the red-uniformed Queen’s Guard was replaced by a man in close-fitting black and red metal armor, complete with a solid red mask that extended to his chin.
It was the first publicly identified regalia, the rather appropriate Royal Knight. It belonged to a sergeant in the Queen’s Guard, Gareth Smith. The closeness of a Sorcerer to the Queen would later fuel conspiracy theories about how extensively Sorcerers controlled the world. The revelation that they belonged, by their admission, to a group they called the Illuminated Society had done the rest.
The Society had only done so much to squash the link between the Illuminati and themselves, partially because they couldn’t. The truth was the Society had interfered with politics, and some of that had become indirectly known and exposed through conspiracies related to the Illuminati.
All of that had come later. The glory of sorcery had dazzled people during the attempted royal assassination.
Sergeant Smith thrust out his arms, and protective walls of dirt had shot up on two sides of the royal carriage. The assassins paused for a couple of seconds at the strange sight before charging toward their targets, firing freely at the royals. The thick earthen shields absorbed their bullets.
Two of the assassins opened fire on the armored man, but their shots bounced off his armor. When he twisted his palms, coils of dirt and stone shot out of the ground and wrapped around the men before enveloping their guns.
An earthen arm whipped toward the remaining assassins, sending them aloft. They tumbled through the air before crashing into the ground. The arm lifted again, preparing to crush the assassins, but stopped feet from their bodies.
The camera shifted and focused on the Queen. She stood, her expression stern and her palm out. She shook her head.
Sergeant Smith backed away as police approached cautiously, eyeing the Sorcerer and the terrorists with equal concern. The Queen gestured at the sergeant and began clapping. Soon, the entire area was filled with cheers and applause.
From what Lyssa understood, the Queen was aware of the existence of the Society, but she hadn’t realized that one of her guards was a Sorcerer. Even though she was a Sorceress, there was a lot Lyssa didn’t know about the incident.
The convenience of Sergeant Smith having the Royal Knight regalia didn’t bother her. Beyond compatibility with essence, the more an Illuminated embodied the concept of the regalia through their actions and influence on others, the more power they could draw. It made perfect sense for the Royal Knight to be guarding a queen.
She turned off the TV. Sergeant Smith didn’t need sorcery to stop the assassins. The Society would later claim they’d received a tip that shards would be used in the attempt, which was why the sergeant had gone straight to sorcery, but given that the Society was the only organization capable of investigating at the time, along with limited personnel in the know in governmental intelligence agencies, no one could confirm their claim.
Most people, including Lyssa, doubted the official story. The Tribunal who ruled the Society and their handpicked Elders had wanted the Society to stop hiding from the rest of humanity. She wouldn’t be surprised if they’d somehow concocted the assassination attempt.
The would-be regicides’ bizarre motivations only added to the mystery. They weren’t with any of the usual terrorist groups one would suspect of sowing discord in London. Instead, they claimed to belong to the New Cromwellian Freedom Army, a group dedicated to the violent overthrow of the monarchy despite the modest and mostly ceremonial power of the institution. Interrogation revealed they were a group of disturbed young men who had planned the attack in intricate detail for months and had no links to other terrorist organizations.
The Society took advantage of the positive press to fully admit their existence to the public and governments of the world, reestablishing the ancient patterns where the Illuminated and the Shadows openly acknowledged each other. The Society tried to downplay their manipulation of history, including Sorcerers posing as gods in the far past.
“We opened up to go backward.” Lyssa frowned.
“I don’t understand,” Jofi said.
“The Society.” Lyssa stood and licked her lips. It was going to take her a while to get used to the dry heat of Arizona. She needed better humidifiers. “Sergeant Smith had to leave the Queen’s Guard after that. All the different governments insisted that Sorcerers involved in high-level positions be identified. Now, they might hire Torches and Eclipses through the Society, but the idea of someone like Sergeant Smith serving directly freaks people out. The guy saved the Queen, though!”
“Does that anger you?”
“It’s more that it confuses me.” Lyssa laced her fingers together and stretched them over her head. She needed to work out the tension in her muscles from the long ride and being around Lee. “The Tribunal and Elders don’t tell us rank-and-file Sorceresses what they’re thinking most of the time. We didn’t get a lot of warning before they announced us to the world. I’m lucky I wasn’t that deeply embedded in Shadow society. A lot of people got screwed in the aftermath.”
“Do you want to go back to secrecy?” Jofi asked.
“It doesn’t matter.” Lyssa shrugged. “You can’t put the rabbit back in the hat so easily.”
Lyssa had hated the Society’s secrecy when she was younger. She’d attributed it to the hubris of ancient fossils stuck in their ways, idly pining for a Golden Age of Sorcery, which had been over for thousands of years. Now she wasn’t sure they hadn’t been onto something.
The public confirmation of the existence of sorcery meant the worst scum of humanity now knew there was a previously untapped power they could seek, both from rogue Sorcerers and lost shards. It wasn’t as if rogue Sorcerers hadn’t always existed, but they’d had to keep a much lower profile in the days when any odd public occurrence might lead to a Society investigation.
Shadowy hands clawed at the edge of her vision, and a chill seeped through her body. Lyssa’s perimeter alarm might not be loud, but it was hard to ignore.
She
spun toward her front door, narrowing her eyes. She didn’t grab her gun from her closet or go for the safe and Jofi. Her alarm spell might have been tripped, but she didn’t feel active sorcery. Many of her neighbors might like their guns, but pulling a weapon on a Girl Scout selling cookies or a member of the HOA wouldn’t fly. Mostly.
She hurried to the door and the peephole before frowning. At least Damien’d had the common sense to wear casual clothes and a hat, but how the hell was she supposed to maintain her secret identity if EAA agents started showing up on her doorstep?
Lyssa threw open her door and gestured him inside. “Get in here before somebody sees you.”
Chapter Eleven
Damien offered a sheepish smile to Lyssa as she slammed the door behind him after looking around the street. “You seem pissed.”
Lyssa snorted. “You’re not exactly giving interviews on camera, but it’s not like someone can’t look you up.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Showing up at my house in the middle of the day means someone might ask why an EAA agent is here, which could lead to me losing any chance of keeping my identity a secret. I’ve just started getting comfortable here, even if those HOA women keep sniffing around, asking me to participate in their stupid block party fundraisers.”
“Sorry.” Damien chuckled. “I’ll try to arrange a meeting elsewhere next time. There are complications to meeting at my office, and I’m still getting used to my new coworkers. Besides, we used to meet at your house before you moved.”
“I lived on a cul-de-sac with a bunch of trees and no one else around.” Lyssa rolled her eyes.
“I circled the block to make sure no one was watching.” Damien shrugged. “But sorry. You’re right. I apologize for any inconvenience.”
Lyssa waved a hand dismissively, not in the mood to let herself get angrier. “It’s fine. Just remember for next time.” She nodded at the couch. “Take a seat. Sorry about the lack of chairs. I’m getting some delivered soon.”