by Kal Aaron
“You’re welcome,” Jofi replied.
Her fingers tightened on the handlebars. She slowed her breathing and focused on making it rhythmic and drawn out to help maintain the ritual.
“You were quiet earlier,” Lyssa murmured.
“I’m often quiet.”
“When I was talking to Damien, I mean. I’m surprised.”
“I had little to add,” Jofi replied. “When we’re close, I see what you see. I hear what you hear. Your thoughts may be your own, but we share everything else.”
The spirit delivered the words in the same calm tone he always did, but the implied threat almost broke her concentration. She didn’t respond immediately, letting the rumble of the bike massage her worry away. A long-buried paranoia poked her calm. That idiot Lee shouldn’t have bothered her.
In Lyssa’s experience, the best way to bury a concern she didn’t want to deal with was by focusing on a more immediate threat. It wasn’t a bad strategy in her line of work.
“There are too many loose ends on this.” Lyssa zoomed past an eighteen-wheeler. “Too many people who should know more don’t know enough. I don’t mind doing the legwork, but I’d be more comfortable if I didn’t feel like I was being hung out to dry.”
“You still suspect conspiracy and assassination?” Jofi asked. “A targeted conspiracy?”
“Conspiracy’s too strong a word. And I’m not sure this is about me directly, but I don’t want to dismiss the possibility. What do I suspect? At a minimum, I suspect good old-fashioned corruption.”
“What’s the difference between corruption and conspiracy?”
It was almost cute when he was naïve. That didn’t make the question easy to answer.
Lyssa thought about her response before offering it.
“Conspiracy’s about a complicated plan and changing the situation with the plan. Corruption’s about taking advantage of the situation that’s in place. Active versus passive.”
“Who do you think is corrupt?” Jofi asked.
“That’s the big question. I’ve got a lot of suspects, but no one I’m willing to accuse yet.”
Lyssa stared ahead, thinking about the answer. While under the effects of the Tenebrous Air, the world around and in front of her turned into a hazy monochrome mist, much the way she appeared to others. She had no trouble making things out since she was used to the blacks, whites, and grays, all distinct to her eyes.
Every sound around her except for Jofi’s voice and her own came to her ears as muffled and remote. The mighty Ducati engine continued to vibrate, but the spell quieted its voice from a tiger to a kitten with the strength of a tiger.
“I hate to say it.” Lyssa took a long, deep breath. “No matter how much I think about this situation, it doesn’t smell like something pushed by the Shadows. They might be able to get their hands on a shard or two, but Damien made it sound like it was about a lot more than just Alvarez.”
“You worry about a rogue Sorcerer being involved?” Jofi asked. “And you don’t believe this just because of the anniversary?”
“The evidence points to a rogue Sorcerer, and not just because of my personal feelings.” Lyssa frowned. “Some people say, ‘Don’t attribute to malice what you can attribute to incompetence.’ I say, ‘Don’t presume incompetence until you have proof that there is no malice.’”
“How cynical,” Jofi replied.
“Pragmatic. I have a hard time believing an Illuminated would screw up and accidentally flood the southwest United States with shards, and if a major cache had been raided, Samuel would be screaming at me about it. If he wasn’t, the Society would be screaming at him until he started screaming at me.” She watched a mountain recede in the distance as she moved farther off the road, the spell making that far less of an obstacle than during normal driving. “Which is what has me so worried. The radio silence on this makes me think someone’s trying to keep something from me, and that makes me circle back to wondering if it’s about me.”
“You believe Elder Samuel is conspiring against you?”
Lyssa laughed. “The Colonel?”
“Doesn’t he prefer ‘Elder Samuel?’”
“It goes with the herbs and spices joke. Forget it. I’m saying I might not like the guy, but I trust that he’s not corrupt in that way. He’d consider it not genteel enough.” Lyssa furrowed her brow. “If someone’s trying to screw me, it’s not him, but that leaves the question of who it might be.”
“Relying on aesthetics to ensure appropriate behavior is an interesting approach.”
Lyssa never bothered checking for tails when she was traveling so fast. Even with Jofi’s help, it wasn’t like she could spare much attention. She relied on the rarity of threat sources and the difficulty of shooting fast-moving targets under normal circumstances.
“Just saying, Samuel may get on my nerves, but he’s okay.” Lyssa managed a smile.
“But you worry he hasn’t contacted you.”
“Yeah, but this wouldn’t be the first time he waited a while so he can figure out some BS way to make the Society look better out of it. It’s political garbage making my job harder.”
“If there’s a rogue Sorcerer, there’s a good chance they’ll send an Eclipse to handle them.”
“They have to know who it is first. Until then, they’ll be happy with a Torch.” Lyssa thought about the various potential outcomes of the job. “We might not be able to wait that long. I want to get this solved, not sit on my hands while the Elders debate how best to impress politicians.”
“Are you worried?” Jofi asked.
“About the Society?” Lyssa replied. “Yes. I’m always worried about those fossils.”
“No. Are you worried about having to fight another Illuminated?”
Lyssa chuckled. “A rogue Sorcerer isn’t Illuminated. That’s what the Elders say.”
“Then you’re worried about having to fight a rogue Sorcerer?” Jofi asked.
Lyssa didn’t answer for a long time, content in the knowledge that Jofi wouldn’t follow up until she was ready. She’d been involved in more than her fair share of deadly serious incidents during her twelve years as a Torch, including taking on terrorists in her first year, long before M-Day. Her techniques and experience had been honed over those years. She wasn’t going to claim she could beat every Sorcerer out there, but that didn’t make her less lethal.
“No.” Lyssa nodded. “I’ve fought more than enough of my kind, even if I haven’t had to kill any yet. I’m not crazy about cutting down the number of Illuminated in the world, but I’m not naïve enough to believe that doesn’t mean some of our people would be better off dead. But it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Why?”
Lyssa moved closer to the road. There wasn’t anyone else on it for miles.
“Because I can’t kill someone until I’ve found them. And for the rest of the day, I’m going to try not to worry about it.”
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Lyssa rolled into the San Diego area, she’d adopted her disguise, now a white-jacketed woman on an expensive yellow motorcycle. That earned her approving looks from men in nearby cars, but no one tried to follow her.
Lyssa continued down the highway, passing through San Diego proper and reaching the beach-hugging community of Cardiff. Once in Cardiff, the streets and roads called to her, telling her exactly where she needed to go. She was headed for a house she’d lived in from her middle teens until her twenties, when she’d moved to San Diego. More than that house or her place in Scottsdale, her current destination was the closest thing she had to a home.
She climbed a hill and turned a corner, finally arriving at a modest Spanish ranch house overlooking the ocean, the gentle waves striking a beach below. Exquisite rows of carefully arranged beautiful flowers in a dazzling array of colors lined the narrow driveway. The packed trees surrounding the house and the ocean view produced a feeling of solitude despite all the nearby houses.
The place never
changed. That was why it was so comforting.
A person with a careful eye for detail, if they ignored the color, might be able to pick out some of the sorcery glyphs traced by the flowers. Any Illuminated could sense the constant pulse of background power. This garden was a powerful artifact, as much a shard in its way as Alvarez’s robe. A constant, living ritual.
Lyssa slowed to a stop before lowering her kickstand and killing her engine. She pulled off her helmet, shook out her hair, and inhaled deeply, enjoying the complex interplay of the floral and salty scents.
By the time she was at the door, it was open, and a smiling middle-aged woman with dark hair was on the other side. Her floral-patterned apron and dress added to her motherly aura. The woman’s true age was a good two decades higher than her apparent age. Tricia Bennett was a welcome sight after Lyssa’s recent stressful days. It was good to be home with her foster parents.
The woman pulled Lyssa into an embrace. “It’s been too long.”
“Sorry, Tricia.” Lyssa hugged her back. “I’ve been busy between the move and work.”
“Work.” Tricia puckered her mouth with displeasure. “I’ve heard. Your alter ego is becoming famous.”
Lyssa smiled. “Listening to the news, huh? That’s bad for your heart.”
Tricia motioned her inside. “It’s good to keep aware these days. Things were a lot easier before M-Day.”
Lyssa entered the living room to find a huge man sitting on a couch, watching a NASCAR race. “Hey, Fred.”
He looked at her and smiled. “Hey, sweetie.”
“I’m thirty now.” Lyssa rolled her eyes. “I think I’m a little old for ‘sweetie.’”
Fred shrugged. “You said the same thing when you were fifteen. You say the same thing every time you visit, but I’m still older than you.”
“Okay, you got me there.”
A rich, earthy scent wafted from the kitchen and ambushed Lyssa’s nose. Her stomach rumbled.
Tricia gave her a knowing look. “I have mushroom soup almost ready.” She held up a hand. “And don’t worry. I didn’t use a new recipe this time. It doesn’t change its flavor with each bite.”
“Good.” Lyssa removed her jacket and the holster and moved to the coat rack. She hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and hanging them up. Disguised regalia or not, this was one place she didn’t need to be on guard. “I’m more than happy to have some soup.”
Tricia eyed the guns with a slight frown. Her expression twitched into a smile as she turned to her husband. “I’ll never understand what you see in that racing, and what about the parade? You promised we could watch it.”
“That’s not until tomorrow,” Fred replied, “and racing is the ultimate combination of technique and technology.” He shook a finger. “The Society should start up a sorcery racing circuit. People would pay good money to watch that. I’d never get out of my chair if I could watch that.”
Lyssa snickered. It sounded absurd on the surface, but it wasn’t a half-bad idea. The Elders and the Tribunal were so obsessed with supplying soldiers and assassins to the governments of the world, they’d forgotten how impressive soft power and cultural influence could be. Humanity had enough weapons. They could always use more joy.
“What parade?” Lyssa asked.
Time had flown by in recent weeks, but Labor Day had come and gone. She couldn’t think what else might be happening in September that would be worth watching on TV, not that she paid attention to much other than the news and her reality shows.
“The First Annual Sorcerer Appreciation Day parade in downtown San Diego,” Tricia said with a warm smile. “Originally they wanted it to be on M-Day, but it got delayed for various reasons.”
“’Sorcerer Appreciation Day?’” Lyssa tried to picture what that might involve but failed. “What’s the point? There’s only a handful of Sorcerers in all of California, and it’s not like most of them, including you, would publicly reveal their identity. They might get lucky and get one Sorcerer to show up in regalia.”
“It’s pointless.” Fred gave a firm nod. “A waste of money.”
“It’s not pointless, dear.” Tricia wagged a finger. “Somebody needs to say something nice. I think it’s good we have that sort of thing, especially after all those ACSS protests in the last few months.” She laughed. “And I think a lot of people just like dressing up in costumes. They do that at that big comic convention anyway, and have been doing it since long before M-Day. Why not take advantage of the spirit of fun to get more people on our side?”
“I’m not going to stick around for the parade.” Lyssa offered her an apologetic look. “I’ve got work.”
Tricia squeezed her hand. “We’ll always be here for you on this day. You know that, Lyssa.” She smiled. “We’re going to watch the parade on TV anyway. But if you’re not staying the night, let’s make sure we spend as much time together as we can.” A timer dinged, and she looked toward the kitchen. “Time to eat.”
The three sat at a small dining room table, working on the soup and drinking strong sweet wine. Fred watched both women as Lyssa chatted about adjusting to life in the Phoenix area.
Glorious umami packed the soup. Each mouthful offered balanced seasoning, and although Lyssa discovered new subtle hints of flavor with each bite, there was none of the bizarre experience from her last visit, where one of Tricia’s experiments had ended with a fruit salad that changed from tasting like lemons in one bite to spaghetti in another.
“The temperature’s the big adjustment over there.” Lyssa grimaced. “I know it’s not going to be so bad in a few months, but it’s hard to spend so many years here and then go to a place where it’s hot even at night. I’ve set up spells to cheat a little, but it’s still annoying.”
Tricia chuckled politely. “You could always move back. We’d love to have you closer. It’s nice not to have to use a ritual when you’re trying to stop over for a quick bite.”
Lyssa shook her head. “It was better to get away from California. I’ve annoyed too many people here, and remember, it wasn’t exactly my choice. Samuel all but ordered me to move. I think it’s about overall coverage.”
“Coverage?” Tricia looked confused.
“He doesn’t need as many Torches in California,” Lyssa explained. “You know how it goes.”
Tricia’s smile dimmed for a second. She never could fully accept Lyssa working as a Torch, but she never tried to forbid her, either. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t her mother or Fred, her father. They were the closest thing she had to a family after being left alone at fifteen.
Lyssa ladled more soup into her mouth, taking time to savor the flavor and let some of the tension from the last comment fade. Jofi was always silent when she visited the Bennetts. He’d answer if called, but he appreciated what spending time with the couple meant to her.
At least, Lyssa assumed he did. She’d not asked him directly because it had never occurred to her to do that, and the less Tricia and Fred knew about Jofi, the safer it’d be for them.
Lee’s words lingered in her mind. He’d been right about one thing. Jofi might “talk” to her, but that didn’t make him human. No matter how human a spirit seemed, it was a fundamentally different entity—a crystallization of a concept, not a lifeform.
“Your flowers and trees are looking nice,” Lyssa said, trying to distract herself from her brooding.
Tricia’s bright smile returned. “I always feel bad when we get a visitor and they ask me to share my gardening secrets. I feel so devious.”
“It’d blow their mind if you told them you’re a Sorceress with a plant essence.” Lyssa grinned. “Though that sounds a lot less threatening than living next to a darkness essence.”
“Our essences don’t define us.”
Lyssa laughed. “Sorry, Tricia. Of course they do. That’s why they’re called essences. It’s also why I have the Night Goddess regalia, and you have the Sacred Flower Bearer.”
Fred grunte
d in slight disapproval. Lyssa offered an apologetic smile, but her point stood. Her foster parents lived a different lifestyle from her.
Tricia looked away. “Never mind.”
Fred set his spoon down. “Thank you for the food, honey.” He departed without another word, escaping not into the living room but to a bedroom.
Lyssa tensed. Fred didn’t like conflict, especially between Lyssa and Tricia. It made sense because he wasn’t a Sorcerer.
Having been raised in an all-Illuminated family, it had taken Lyssa a while to understand how uncomfortable Fred was with inserting himself into their arguments. He couldn’t even claim any hint of Lemurian blood.
Pure Shadows marrying Illuminated was always difficult, even post-M-Day. The Society preferred to strengthen what little of the Lemurian blood was left, even if it meant relying on old bloodlines that hadn’t produced a Sorcerer in generations.
While it hadn’t been forbidden for Illuminated to marry pure Shadows for millennia, a stigma remained. Lyssa hadn’t cared about it, but she knew both Fred and Tricia had been forced to deal with dismissive Sorcerers.
“Just say it, Tricia.” Lyssa exhaled. “I don’t want to leave here with you upset. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I need a clear head going forward. If you have something you need to tell me, go ahead. I came here because I wanted to be with family on the anniversary. Because I know you two give a damn about me, at least.”
“I’ve said it before.” Tricia shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Yes. Come on. We both know words have power.” Lyssa set her spoon down and waited. “So, spill it.”
“I worry about you, Lyssa.” Tricia blinked and looked down, a hint of tears threatening her eyes. “You’re a Sorceress. If you’re careful, you could live two hundred years, but…”
Tricia was right. They’d had this conversation before, but maybe it didn’t have to end in hurt feelings.
Lyssa nodded slowly. “It’s not like the Society’s keeping stats, but the average Torch or Eclipse doesn’t make it that long.”
“Yes.” Tricia gave her a plaintive look. “Your mother and father both died so young. I know you think there’s a special meaning in the fact that you inherited the same essence as your mother, but that was just chance. Nothing more. Don’t let your life be defined by chance.”