Amelia breathed deeply. John released his spell and held her close. She returned his embrace weakly and she whispered, “I’m okay.” over and over.
Armand Santos Georgetown, District of Columbia, Present
Armand Santos sat in the courtyard of his estate as he dined comfortably over lunch with his wife, Diane. He cut eagerly into a juicy well-done steak and let the warm aroma fill his nostrils. He shoveled the tender meat into his mouth and chewed ravenously. Then he reached for a glass of red wine and tilted it at his lips. The Warming Spell Diane had cast over the courtyard made it feel like a summer afternoon although it was the tail-end winter. The foliage of the trees and manicured bushes swayed in the gentle wind and the bright sun filtered through the canopy above them. Within minutes, Santos had cleaned off his plate and began to munch on a warm baguette.
“Finished already, my love? I shall tell the cook to prepare this more often,” said Diane.
“That would be lovely, dear,” replied Santos.
Presently, the butler walked up to the table. “Sir, there is a message waiting for you in the office.”
“I will address it after our meal,” Santos said dismissively.
The butler hesitated before he continued. “I would hate to interrupt your lunch, but it appears urgent. It is from the Head Councilwoman.”
Santos paused in his chewing and locked eyes with his wife across the table. At the mention of the Head Councilwoman a cold weight dropped in Santos’ belly. She very rarely ever sent direct messages to the other Council members so any correspondence from her had to be of the utmost importance. He placed the last piece of his baguette on his plate and swallowed. Then he wiped his mouth on a napkin and rose from the table.
“Thank you, Piotr. I will be there right away,” Santos turned away from the table and walked briskly to his office.
When he entered the chamber, he saw a shimmering orb of yellowish-green light which floated before his desk. Shadows of the furniture were cast on the walls and bookshelves as he approached the orb. Santos flashed a gesture and a ghostly image of the Bronte Kastellanos, the Head Councilwoman, emerged above him. Her intense dark eyes seemed to burn Santos where he stood and her narrow lips were downturned in a frown. Kastellanos’ wavy brown hair was like the mane of a lion around her round face.
“There has been a massive jailbreak in the Canadian wilderness. The garrison at the prison is gravely outnumbered. We are in a state of crisis. All Council members will convene via Forum Spell in five minutes.” At the conclusion of the message, Bronte’s ghostly visage dissipated.
Santos slapped his forehead and nearly cursed in disbelief. A massive jailbreak? But how? The prison to which Kastellanos referred housed some of the deadliest mystics the Council had ever incarcerated. Now they were all free, free to roam, free to plot and wreak havoc with impunity. This was dire news, indeed.
Santos glanced at the clock. It was almost time for the meeting. He paced nervously around his desk as the seconds ticked away. One minute before the meeting, Santos began to cast. He cycled through the gestures and spoke the incantation. When the sequence was complete, phantom images of the other Council members appeared one and two at a time in his office. Vladimir Sokolov, a youngish man of thirty-four with spectacles perched on his nose and disheveled brown hair appeared in a bluish-white glow to Santos’ immediate left. Susanne Cho, a diminutive, rail-thin woman stood across from him as a pale red ghost. To his right, Jerrell Oluwu, a middle-aged man of wide girth materialized as a violet phantom. Santos appeared to each of them as a yellow ghost just as Bronte Kastellanos made her entrance beside Cho.
“Thank you, Council, for convening on such short notice,” Kastellanos said with a grim expression. All eyes were on her as she spoke. “Scarcely ten minutes ago, I received an urgent message from John Hartman, the Warden of the prison, that a massive jailbreak has taken place in the Canadian wilderness. As we speak, a battle rages between our Enforcers and the rogue mystics they have captured. According to the Warden, someone infiltrated the Tower and shut it down from the inside.” Audible gasps rose from Cho and Sokolov. “Once the Tower was disabled the prisoners’ magic revived and the prison dissolved into chaos.”
“Do we know the identity of the saboteur?” Sokolov asked.
Kastellanos nodded gravely. “According to the Warden, the saboteur was a new recruit by the name of Saba Qureshi. It appears she has done this to force our hand. And I am afraid we have no choice but to send reinforcements to Canada. We cannot allow thousands of rogue mystics to roam free on the West Coast. Which is why I am sending 1,500 Enforcers to the Canadian garrison to replenish the forces we have lost and to recapture the rogues who have escaped.”
“I will send 500,” Cho answered.
“And I will contribute 500 as well,” Oluwu said.
“But that would diminish security at the other branches,” Santos pointed out.
“I concur,” said Sokolov as he pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Whoever this Saba Qureshi is, this was obviously a premeditated strike. This is probably exactly what she wants us to do.”
“I understand your concerns, gentlemen,” Kastellanos replied evenly. “But we have the safety of the non-magical world to consider. We will, of course, keep the Wards operational around the headquarters and retain a garrison for security. I will assign a few operatives with the task of tracking this Saba Qureshi and discovering what her motives are. From there, we will make our next move. Until then, airlift whatever reinforcements you can spare and I will keep you all abreast of the situation as it unfolds. Meeting dismissed.”
One by one, the varicolored phantoms in Santos’ office vanished until he stood there alone. The weight of the grim news crushed him. The garrison in the Canadian stronghold had been wiped out. Thousands of rogues now plagued the west coast. Saba Qureshi had the Council in her crosshairs. They had made many enemies over the centuries with their extreme draconian measures. It seemed now the penalty for their sins was due. Santos brought his hands together before his lips and prepared to send a message to the D.C. branch.
Chapter Seven
John Hartman Prison, Canadian Wilderness, Present
John sat behind his desk and looked at the handful of survivors from the day’s battle. Two of the new recruits, Petra and Plamen sat in front of his desk; their eyes fixed on the floor, their faces smeared with dust and blood. They stared at nothing and said nothing. Amelia gazed down at them, her demure face a portrait of concern and sympathy. She stood behind them, a weary, battle-scarred soldier. With her hands clasped behind her back, John could clearly see the tear in her coat where the sword had pierced her.
They all looked up when John spoke. “Tragedy has struck today. We have been betrayed by one of our own, Saba Qureshi. She disabled the Tower from within to restore the prisoners’ magic so that they could escape. Now, thousands of rogues roam free while our ranks are depleted. I have sent word to the Council of our plight and the Head Councilwoman has assured me that she will send reinforcements. When they arrive, we can begin the work of recapturing the escaped prisoners. Until then, we will gather the bodies of our fallen comrades and hold a memorial service for them tomorrow. Petra, I charge you and Plamen with the task of regenerating the breached walls and cells.” The two young recruits nodded sullenly. John was about to dismiss everyone to go about their duties when Petra looked up and spoke.
“Why would Saba do this?” she asked in a quavering voice. John looked at her, then to Amelia. He turned his gaze back to the new recruit.
“I honestly do not know,” John answered. “This attack was obviously pre-meditated long before she ever joined our ranks. We had no reason to suspect Saba could be capable of such a thing.” A tear trickled down Petra’s face as Plamen squeezed his hand into a fist.
“Look at me, both of you.” They raised their eyes to him. “You are Enforcers now.
And you will face many travails and hardships in your careers. Not all of them as heavy
“Dismissed.” John said. Petra and Plamen rose from their chairs and left John’s office silently. Amelia also turned to leave, but John called her back.
“Yes, sir?”
“You and I both saw Charlotte enter Saba’s Ward around the jet.” John stated simply.
“We did.”
“Which can only mean Saba and Charlotte are aligned. And now that Charlotte is free, I fear my sister’s life is in danger. I intend to name an acting Warden so that I can protect Kara in D.C. But with Saba as an ally, I cannot face her alone. She is far more dangerous than we thought. Will you come with me and help me defend my family?”
Amelia looked him in the eye and quickly said, “I stand with you, sir,”
“Thank you, Amelia. We will depart after the reinforcements arrive tomorrow,” he replied.
“Yes, sir,” Amelia answered.
“Dismissed.”
Petra Toschakova Prison, Canadian Wilderness, Present
The repairs went slowly. Petra and Plamen strained as they tediously reassembled the outer walls of the prison. Magic coursed like fire through their veins as chunks of rock floated up from the ground and pieced themselves back together. The rough, stony façade rose painstakingly slow under their combined effort. Their auras burned brightly like torches in the night and cast long shadows all around them. Out of her periphery, Petra could see the Warden and his second-in-command picking their way through the ruins as they gathered the dead. She tried very hard not to gaze too long at the slain but sometimes it could not be helped. The sight of their motionless bodies, the unblinking eyes, chilled Petra even while she worked to repair the walls. Their faces masked with the pallor of death were ghastly in the glow of their auras.
Petra released her spell. “Let’s take a break,” she said. Then she sighed and sat on the ground with her back to the wall. It was still warm from the magic that was cast upon it. She lifted her eyes to the dark sky above hoping to block out the sight of the corpses all around her. Plamen released his spell then stood with his fists clenched and his gaze fixed on the ground. His face was fixed in a scowl as he brooded silently. Then he picked up a rock and hurled it at the prison. He growled and kicked another chunk of debris.
“Would you please calm yourself, Plamen?” Petra asked in a shaking voice.
Plamen froze. He breathed heavily for a long moment. “I’m sorry.”
Petra silently accepted his apology.
“I just don’t understand why this had to happen.” Plamen fumed. “Why did Saba do all this?”
“Nobody knows, Plamen. You heard the Warden,” Petra answered desolately.
Plamen paced back and forth amid the rubble. He huffed and puffed into the night.
“I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I never wanted to be an Enforcer,” he said.
“Neither did I,” Petra admitted. She was surprised at the words that came from her mouth. “So, what’s your story?”
Plamen halted his pacing and turned to face her. His scowl faded as he met her gaze. “I got busted for cage-fighting.” said he. “Actually, I think it was the tall, pretty blonde who brought me in. The whole ring got shut down that day. Anyway, when I was being processed for trial, my lawyer struck a plea deal with the judge. I’m to serve as an Enforcer for a minimum of 5 years in exchange for a commuted sentence. So, I served my time and now here I am.”
“So, you’re looking for redemption?” Petra asked.
Plamen shrugged. “I guess,” he answered quietly. “What about you? How’d you end up here?”
“Obligation, I suppose,” Petra began. “My family has a long tradition of serving with the Enforcers. There are a few black sheep in my family, but my parents made it very clear I would not be one of them. I always knew they would expect it of me, and I just didn’t want to let them down.”
“What would you be doing, if not for your parents?” Plamen asked.
“What would I do?” Petra echoed with a wan smile. “I would write music. I would spend all day jotting down silly verses and play on my keyboard until I have something worth sharing with people.”
“Sounds more fun than this shit,” Plamen replied.
Petra nodded but said nothing.
“Sorry about your parents. Family can suck sometimes,” Plamen added.
Petra gave him a weak smile. “It’s okay. I don’t plan to serve long. As soon as my contract is up, I’m out of here.”
“Me too!” Plamen exclaimed. This was the first smile she had ever seen from him. “I feel like this is a toasting moment. You think they got any booze around here?”
Petra laughed despite herself. “I highly doubt it.”
Then Amelia strode up to the pair of them with three dead bodies levitating beside her. They lay on their backs on cushions of gleaming light. A cold knife stabbed into Petra’s mirth. Her burst of laughter was cut short.
“Back to work, Enforcers. The walls won’t repair themselves,” Amelia said grimly.
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied in unison. Petra and Plamen instantly resumed their work while the second-in-command stalked away.
The two of them labored all through the night and pushed themselves to the limits of their stamina. Sweat trickled down their foreheads but they dared not interrupt their efforts again under Amelia’s watchful eye. As they cast in the darkness, the debris floated up more slowly and sometimes, tumbled back to the ground. Petra panted heavily and her aura faded. A moment later, so did Plamen’s. The chunks of rock hit the ground with an audible thud. “We can’t stop until it’s finished.” Petra said breathlessly. Plamen nodded and the two of them resumed their casting. They had already finished one wall and were half-way up the western side. But their magic faltered more and more often now. Each load of debris felt heavier than the last and sometimes it was just too much.
The battle beforehand was a trial in and of itself. Petra and Plamen fought desperately side by side as rogues closed in on them from every direction. Their comrades were struck down two or three at a time while Petra lashed out in vengeance. Her heart thundered within her chest and her muscles were ablaze with fatigue. But she fought anyway and screamed as she cut down one outlaw after the next. Although the Enforcers were ultimately defeated that day, part of Petra was relieved when the battle died. She dropped to her knees amid the carnage and the ruin and watched desolately as the last of the rogues trickled through the breach in the outer walls. Every breath she drew was a struggle. She looked around herself and saw her comrades lying dead on the ground. Pools of blood gathered beneath their corpses and their limbs were outstretched in the stillness of death. Petra’s weapons faded into nothing as she sobbed openly on the battlefield. Her cries echoed over the dead and the dying as bulging columns of smoke billowed into the sky. She sobbed violently into her hands even while Plamen wrapped his arms around her.
Now, pushed beyond the limits of endurance they labored through their exhaustion. Petra and Plamen floated massive chunks of stone up the wall and pieced them back together. The cracks in the stony façade vanished as the molecular bonds were restored. Then they heaved another load of debris into the air. It rose a millimeter from the ground before their magic failed once again. The earth shook beneath their feet when it crashed back down. Petra bent over with her hands planted on her knees as she breathed heavily.
“C’mon,” she said to Plamen. “We have to keep at it.”
But before they could cast, Amelia halted their efforts. “That’s enough,” she said. “You have done well. Go rest. I will summon you for the funeral in a few hours.”
The words were a balm to their ears. Exhausted and relieved, Petra and Plamen wandered toward the dormitory halls. In the darkness of pre-dawn, the two of them walked together in the shadows of the ruined prison. They walked in silence, both too tired to speak. Ever
ything they needed to say had been said and now all there was left to do was lie down and sleep. Petra and Plamen weaved around chunks of rock and skirted around the dead bodies. Pockets of magical flame still burned and cast their glow on the myriad of corpses scattered all over the grounds.
The dormitory halls were more or less intact—just empty and silent. Petra’s skin crawled with goosebumps as they walked through the dim commons area. The couches and chairs were unoccupied. Plates of half-eaten food were left on the tables. Open books lay face- down on the floor where they had been dropped when the Tower went dark. The doors of the living quarters were all ajar and Petra could see clearly the signs of recent habitation: the disheveled bed sheets, the scattered personal effects, the clothing which had been hastily cast aside as Enforcers rushed into battle.
Petra entered the first room to her right. It wasn’t even hers, but she figured the dead wouldn’t care. The truth was, she couldn’t bear to go back to her own living quarters. That was the room she had shared with Saba. For a brief time, she thought they might become friends. But now she knew that would never be the case.
Plamen entered the room closely behind her and Petra did not protest. She didn’t want to be alone right now and neither did Plamen. Petra took off her coat and dropped it on the floor. Then she tumbled into the bottom bunk where she was instantly asleep. Plamen climbed up to the top bunk and collapsed on the mattress. He listened to the soft sound of Petra’s snoring before he too, was lost in a deep slumber.
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