Caster

by Elsie Chapman

  “You’re wrong,” I finally manage. My voice is thin and thready. “I only know leftover magic. Like everyone else.”

  “Let me tell you how I found out, Aza. You and I and everyone else in the sector know that Saint Willow sometimes has a … hard time keeping any full magic casters on. My boss loves full magic, but maybe a bit too much, and casters get scared off, yes?”

  I just shake my head.

  “Well, sometimes, being such a distant cousin in the Saint Willow enterprise has its benefits. People stop seeing you. They forget who you are. They think the boss has forgotten you. So when one of those casters used full magic for a memory wipe on Saint Willow and everyone else important in order to escape, they forgot me. And I let them. I let them because one hand washes the other. I let them have their freedom, and they give me a window into your world, Aza. Casters like you will be the end of the earth one day, but I also know there is power in information that others don’t have. And so this caster and I—we’re still friends, Diego and me. I have full magic right in my back pocket and Saint Willow has no clue.”

  My heart is beating thickly in my throat, in my ears. Still we walk. I’m only half listening, my mind whirring with different spells to get away. But we’re out in the open, in sight of the street, traffic, other people. And Jihen knows this.

  “And Diego,” he says, “it turns out he’s a fan of this underground tournament. All full magic casters, all battling one another for big marks. He tells me about this one fighter with the ring name of Rudy who caught everyone’s eye during the opening match.”

  There’s a roar in my ears now. I picture Jihen sitting at the table in the teahouse that night, looking at all the blood still on me, his mild tsk of disapproval.

  “So when Diego offers to sneak me in to last night’s match, how could I refuse?” Jihen grins. “I missed seeing you up close, but Diego saw you. Do you remember him? Earrings, beard like a bird’s nest hanging off his chin?”

  I only shake my head again, despite knowing exactly who he’s talking about. The guy who couldn’t stop staring at me before the round.

  “Well, the clones blew me away, beauty. Like a bunch of gorgeous dolls, you were. So many leng goong-doi.”

  I rear back, desperate for escape. But there is nowhere to go. Jihen pulls me closer.

  “Of course, I should tell my boss. Then you, Aza Wu, would be Saint Willow’s newest full magic caster. And if you didn’t work out, there would be a tournament full of others to pick from. For my discovery, I would become the most important cousin in the family. I might even be promoted to something beyond debt squeezer. But then I got to thinking, why share? What if I would like a full magic caster? To have such terrible yet fascinating power for my own use?”

  It takes a second to process. “You want me to work for you?”

  Jihen nods. “You won’t have to deal with Saint Willow’s tantrums, and I’ll have my own personal caster to cast me spells as I need. Do we have a deal?”

  My head’s spinning. Jihen or Saint Willow—it’s like having to choose either getting eaten by a shark or a slow death by drowning. “I can’t.”

  “Or the teahouse pays. There are so many ways it could pay. More honor marks. More suppliers cut off. And your parents—they won’t want me back on the premises, will they?”

  “Stop.”

  “Or imagine a Scout at the door. How many customers do you think your family’s teahouse would get once it’s out that their kid is a full magic caster? The despair your parents would feel, losing not only their remaining daughter but also their livelihood, this family legacy they’ve held on to all this time.”

  I twist free of his arm, feeling sick, needing to breathe. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

  Another greasy grin slides across his face. “And a cut of the tournament prize, if you win.”

  Fury explodes at the pettiness of this last demand. How it’s just one more thing on top of everything else, when he’s already got way too much on me. “Say that again, and I’ll go straight to Saint Willow about Diego. He’ll drown you in the Sturgeon River the same way Earl Kingston did his cousin for keeping secrets.”

  Jihen’s features twist. “You wouldn’t dare, you brat.”

  “I would. So?”

  He mutters something in Chinese too quietly for me to catch. “What’s money anyway, when I get a sweet caster of my own, right?”

  “Right.” I exhale. “I’m leaving now. Don’t fol—”

  The sight of my parents coming up the street freezes me before I can even take a step.

  Why are they here instead of at the teahouse? Panic is a buzz in my head as I scramble for a cover. Where exactly did I say I was going this morning? Did I say anything specific? I can’t remember.

  “Ah, such timing,” Jihen says softly. “Should we say hello to your loving fou-mou?”

  I rip open my starter bag. “Walk away before they see you, or I’ll cast.”

  “Not so fast. You want to cast something terrible on me, I can tell. But I’d be suffering and so would you. The pain of casting, yes?”

  My parents are closer now. They see us. My stomach drops.

  “Here’s the first of my requests, beauty,” Jihen says. “Consider this my test of your agreement, and you can save yourself. And you’ll be saving your parents as well—small talk can be dangerous with all these secrets floating around.”

  Fury claws. “Tell me.”

  “A small accident or distraction right here on the sidewalk. And I’ll leave.”

  I do it before I can think about it. How I’m now casting on orders from Jihen. My fingers shake as I pick up a water capsule. I cast, my hands low to my sides. Heat fills me. I stare at the pool of water that’s still puddled on a nearby overhead awning and send it flying.

  Everyone on the sidewalk gets drenched. There are cries of dismay and the shop owner emerges, confused. Behind it all there are my parents’ faces, ovals of surprise as they take in the strange spill.

  Through the headache that begins to circle my skull, Jihen’s smug voice is at my side: “I’ll be sure to give your marks to Saint Willow, Aza. Now don’t go disappearing on me. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  I start walking before he can say anything else. My head pounds, and the gray of the sky is too bright. I find my parents and hope my face looks normal. I’m kicking myself for making up a ridiculous lie that’s now come true—I’m working for Jihen for real.

  “Why aren’t you guys at the teahouse?” I glance at the mess on the sidewalk and try not to feel guilty. Nobody got hurt, but soon some part of the earth will pay, however minor.

  “Tomorrow is a bank holiday,” my mother says from behind her smog mask, “so we’re making payments today.”

  I forgot about the holiday. And tomorrow is Friday, and Friday the teahouse opens late on account of my parents going around the city and paying suppliers and distributors. I only replaced the rest of the missing marks in the safe last night after getting back from the apothecary. The close call sends a shiver through me.

  “Aza, did we see Jihen with you?” My father is squinting over the heads of the casters on the sidewalk.

  I nearly nod but for the pain. “I had to meet up with him to get instructions for a package I have to deliver.” Such bland words—instructions, package, deliver—I use to describe working for a gang. It keeps my parents from remembering Jihen’s intimidating tactics when he was squeezing them. It keeps them from wondering if I could be doing the same thing, their reckless daughter who might not understand full magic but who must know to be careful while working for Saint Willow.

  “I have to go now,” I tell them, “but I’ll be home for dinner.” I still need to get to the Mothery. To get to Piper and try to convince her she needs to stay as my backer.

  “Can you wait for an hour or so, Aza?”

  I glance at my mother, curious.

  “There’s a café down the block—we could all eat some lunch before you have to go?” Her smile is alm
ost surprised. As though she asked before she knew she was going to. And maybe she did. The three of us haven’t eaten a lunch together anywhere since before Shire died. Between her ghost and full magic and the teahouse, it’s been hard to find room to fit together.

  I want to point out that we shouldn’t be spending marks on lunch. How the teahouse might be late to open if they don’t get back now.

  So my answer surprises me just as much. “Lunch would be nice.”

  It takes until dessert for things to not feel so strange. Without my mother’s television to watch or my father’s paperwork to read, we only have one another, and there is the awkward shuffling at first that happens when you’re eating with strangers.

  My headache’s gone, at least.

  My mother watched as I took the healing meds at the table, her eyes on me the whole time. At first I wondered if she was going to ask me about them, which would have been easy enough to lie about. But then it hit me that she might recognize the bottle or label as being the same as the one Shire had in her room and dread washed over me.

  But it was about something else altogether.

  “That was Shire’s bag,” she said, her eyes on it.

  I nodded. I ran my hand over the yellow silk. Threads had begun to spring up from it, and there were some thin patches. A tiny hole had opened up near the top corner that leftover magic could probably fix except that I hadn’t gotten to it yet.

  “It’s getting worn,” my mother added.

  “I know. But it’s still usable.”

  “You should fix that hole before you lose something.”

  “I will.”

  Then the waiter came over and we were choosing between pasta and sandwiches and salad, and whether we wanted dessert. I’d been about to protest the price of dessert—the hole of Leafton’s contract cancellation was still fresh on everyone’s minds—but something on my father’s face stopped me. It said we all needed this as much as wanted it.

  My mother sniffs her tea now. She makes a face.

  “I keep telling you to just order the coffee like I do.” My father casts and the spoon in his mug stirs.

  “It’s research.”

  He sends me an exasperated look, and I have to smile. My mother has made it a habit over the years to always try the teas of others just to proclaim Wu ones are better. This, at least, has not changed.

  The silence that follows isn’t wholly uncomfortable. I eat cake and stare out the window and feel nearly half-normal. My mother casts, and the service bell on the wall rings; when the waiter comes, she tells them the tea is off and orders coffee. My father studies the menu like there’s some code to decipher, something he could apply to the teahouse’s to bring back the customers.

  A text comes through on his cell and he frowns.

  “It’s an office out in the Spice Sector,” he tells us. “Some of our statements just got delivered to them by mistake. They can redeliver, but their courier is behind—with the bank holiday tomorrow, we won’t get these statements until Monday.”

  “Can they wait?” My mother nods her thanks as the waiter brings her coffee.

  “Well, I’m supposed to meet Yun tonight over them. I’ve already confirmed the meeting. I’d hate to change it now.”

  Yun’s one of the guys in our distribution system. Trying to fit in a meeting with him is tough because he’s always juggling so many different companies.

  My mother sighs, tired despite the coffee.

  “I can go pick them up for you,” I blurt out.

  Because Oliver and Finch’s family store is in the Spice Sector.

  And while I don’t think I’ll get the chance to cast magic on either Finch or Oliver to get to the truth, maybe just observing their shop for a bit will tell me something. Having a legit reason for being in their neighborhood is too good of a cover to waste. My conversation with Piper will have to wait.

  “I’ll bring the statements home when I get back for dinner,” I tell my parents.

  My father’s not convinced. He doesn’t want me to get in trouble with Jihen or Saint Willow. “Don’t you have to get to work?”

  I nod and finish my cake in a rush. I have to go to Spice now—the need to try to uncover Finch’s secret burns as hot as magic does, even if I have no idea yet what I’m actually going to do. “This won’t take long. Here, write the address of the office down for me?”

  “Well, thanks, Aza.” My father writes on the napkin and hands it over. “Much appreciated—you know Yun’s schedule.”

  “I do.” I fold it into my starter bag, slip on my smog mask, and start to get up.

  “Wait a second,” my mother says. “One more thing before you go.”

  I stop.

  She rips off some of her napkin—leftover magic—and casts.

  The hole in my bag disappears, the tiny threads around its edge made to knot together.

  “Thank you,” I say. I can’t explain the ache in my throat. Maybe because she still bothered to fix it, when it’s just me using it now.

  She hands me some marks. “For the train there and back—it’s raining again. And don’t be late for dinner.”

  I get to my feet and head for the door. My eye catches on a figure outside the window, standing on the sidewalk, clearly waiting for someone.

  Cormac.

  I falter for a second, confused. I’m supposed to get a week. A week where he thinks I’m getting information together to help him bring down casters of full magic, while really I’m just stalling before I can present him to Saint Willow as a cop to be dealt with.

  One glance at his face says I don’t have a week anymore.

  I push open the door and rush out of the café.

  “What are you doing here?” I hiss at him, too on edge to be glad that he never went inside looking for me. I should have just wiped Shire’s file from his memory. Then I wouldn’t have to be dealing with him on top of everything else. “You guaranteed you’d stay away from my parents.”

  He looks almost sheepish. “I’m sorry, I had no choice. I had to find you.”

  “Just—let’s get away from here so they don’t see us when they leave.”

  I head away from the café and the teahouse, but also keep eastward, toward Spice. The rain’s coming down steadily, little pins of ice like darts in my skin.

  Cormac follows me step for step, as determined as ever. “Listen, I can’t get you that week you want. You’re going to have to give me something on Saint Willow and his gang before that.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  A flush reddens his face beneath his baseball cap. “This is my first assignment. I’m not getting much leeway.”

  I almost feel sorry for him, except that he’ll lock me up in a second if he ever finds out I’m a full magic caster.

  “That’s not my problem,” I tell him, still walking. “Go back and say you need a week.”

  He grabs my arm, right where Jihen grabbed it, reminding me he’s a Scout, not just the inexperienced and overeager cop he comes across as. We do a parody of a casual stroll over toward the mouth of an alley where he drops my arm.

  “Today, Aza. I already feel foolish that this case rests on unconfirmed informant testimony from a teenager. I need to know what you know.” Cormac’s mouth is in a hard line. The tone of finality in his voice chills me. “I need something from you today, or I’ll have to move on and question your parents.”

  The chill deepens. “Today?”

  He nods.

  My mind goes blank. I’ve already told him everything I meant to, the whole part of the plot of Liar’s Lair that matters. I’ve got nothing else because he was supposed to give me a goddamn week.

  “I can’t,” I whisper. “I don’t have anything concrete. I need more time.”

  “You said you and Rudy had leads, good ones, ones that will get me full magic casters. You’ve been working on these leads together since Shire died, right?”

  I’m numb. Fear’s locked up my throat.

  “It�
�s been a year, Aza. You’ve got to be lying about not having anything concrete. My stalling is the only reason why a team of Scouts aren’t talking to your parents right now, do you know that? And I can’t give you any more time.”

  I shudder at the picture that comes. Scouts towering over my parents, who never asked for their daughters to be born with full magic. “You guaranteed you’d leave my parents out of this.”

  “But I never promised other Scouts would. Just like I never promised you the week, only that I would try. Believe me, I want to leave your parents out of this, too. But you’re going to have to give me something.”

  “You know I want to find out who killed Rudy and Shire as much as you want your casters. Why would I be lying?”

  Cormac’s blue eyes go all glinty and sharp. It won’t be long before he looks like this all the time—a Scout through and through. “Who was that guy you were talking to earlier today? Ugly suit with too-big stripes, even uglier white sneakers.”

  Jihen.

  Panic flutters. Of course he knows about Jihen. When Cormac said he’d be tracking me for show, I knew that still meant the physical act of tracking. He wouldn’t be able to help seeing Jihen. It explains how he knew to find me at the café, too.

  But maybe if he’d gotten that week, neither of those things would have mattered.

  “Aza? Who was that guy? Is he one of your leads?”

  My mind leaps on this. “Yes, okay? But I’m still working on things. You can’t move in on this yet!”

  “Okay, give me a name. Can you at least do that? I’ll go back with it and buy you more time.”

  I look at him. His eagerness to destroy casters like me bakes off him like a fever, the cost of a dream. I want to hate him, but I understand him too much.

  I lower my voice. “His name is Milo Kingston.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “I was telling you about Saint Willow’s gang before, remember?”

  “Yes. How Rudy had planted Shire as a mole to figure out who Saint Willow’s mole in the police was. And that it was Saint Willow’s mole who ended up killing Rudy and Shire.”