Eden’s body froze as the next headline bloomed across the monitor. “New Information Released: Mage Killer Apprehended.” The feed displayed the grisly image of a wall painted with the words “Mages – Go Home.” Horror filled her when she realized the message was painted in blood. The news story detailed four mage families who had been brutally murdered in their sleep. The description of the killer wasn’t released, only that the culprit had been caught.
Eden shivered, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself. The media thrived on sensationalism, displaying graphic pictures at all times of the day. Her eyes clouded. A childhood in the Eastern Territory pushed the idea that mages were unnatural and frightening. Techies adopted segregationist attitudes against mages and mundanes, and she’d endured the consequences her entire life. The bloody war which had pitted technology and magic against each other had ended over a century ago, but barriers remained. Techies occupied the Eastern Territory and mages, the West. Mundanes resided where they were born, although many tried to flee to the West, thinking life would be more comfortable. While segregation and discrimination still existed, the more brutal battles were considered in the past. The supposed “Mage Killer” might have been apprehended, but the hate crime didn’t bode well for future relations between the two classes.
Eden remembered her school lessons. The mundane school was a glorified daycare; somewhere parents could send their children while they worked. They’d learned history along with basic skills, but the history lessons were laden with prejudice because only Techies were allowed to teach in the East. Eden had tried to read the story underneath the bias, but a lot of mundanes believed the lessons hammered into them. The story remained with her long after the news feed moved on to something else. Shrugging off her lingering unease, she cleared away her dishes. The barista smiled shyly as she walked past the counter, and Eden’s heart flipped with the acknowledgment, aided by the subtle caffeine buzz igniting her body.
The beautiful, sunny day almost erased her worries. As she passed the park, the recollection of the huge black dog she’d thought she’d glimpsed on her walk home loomed heavy in her mind. The lingering image of yellow eyes glowing in the hedges clamored against Izzy’s suggestion that the animal might be a familiar. The hulking black form, far larger than an average dog, had followed her for several blocks more than one night. Coupled with the vivid dreams she retained of the accident, she worried the head injury haunted her with residual hallucinations. Nothing lurked in the bushes in the bright light of day, and she shook her head to clear it as she dug her keys out of her pocket.
Eden lived frugally to afford her apartment. She refused to occupy the shared dorms of the factories. The boxy, concrete rooms were depressing and subject to random searches by her employers. With the dreams she endured, sleeping near others was dangerous. She’d be reported to Human Resources and fired for suspected mental deterioration.
The house was an ancient monstrosity with decorative molding around the eaves and massive windows for optimal solar gain. Though she’d occupied the building for three years, she’d never visited any portion but her attic studio. The bottom two floors hosted a steady turnaround of college kids molding their techie skills for the workforce. When they weren't in danger of being overheard, Izzy and Eden joked that the university wasn’t a real school. In their opinion, it functioned as an expensive way-station for rich techies to send their kids. The young adults had lived such spoiled existences, they couldn’t contribute any value to the workforce.
On the rare weekend nights when she wasn’t working, Eden slept with a pillow over her head to drown out the noise of partying. The noise levels and overflowing recycling bins convinced her that the techie kids received a stipend from either the college or their parents to buy booze. Her studio was too small and cheap to be appreciated by snobby techies, so the landlord had reluctantly rented it to her. After three years of paying her rent on time, he no longer looked down his nose at her when they crossed paths. Eden loved the location. The towering oaks lining the street lent it a silent peacefulness, and the proximity to both shopping and the bus lines was useful.
Climbing up the rickety stairs, she avoided the fifth step. It might rot through completely after the next rain. Since it was early morning, the rest of the house was quiet. The kids were either sleeping or in class. She snorted to herself. She was only 23, but the techies that attended the local university would always be “kids” in her mind. Her maturity resulted from the accident, or because she wasn't an entitled techie.
Eden reached the landing before her apartment and stopped short, the key extended. The door stood open a crack. She remembered locking it when she left. She always locked it. Bitter cold foreboding froze her to the small platform, the wind blowing her thick hair into her face. She pushed the door open with a shaking hand.
All the lights were on — another mistake she never made. Electricity was expensive. Her apartment had been ransacked. Drawers hung halfway from her dresser, clothes spread across the old mattress and floor. Papers, which had been on her desk, joined the mess. Her precious books, ones she’d begged off other mundanes before they threw them out, rested on the floor. Their bent pages and spines made her blood boil. Even her food hadn't survived. A medley of cereal and dry pasta littered the small area she had designated as her kitchen.
Her blood ran cold as she peeked through the door to her bed. The framed picture she’d drawn of a Canton sunset lay broken on the floor. Paint still dripped down the walls like old blood, the word MAGE scrawled in black, broken letters. She stumbled backward, barely holding in the scream threatening to escape her tight throat. The railing caught her before she tumbled over the edge of the landing. She fumbled her phone out of her pocket, dropping her keys.
Eden sat like a statue on the landing, her head propped by one shaking hand when the police arrived. The duo eyed her as they walked up the stairs. The woman was small and compact, her bright red hair braided in a crown around her head. The frowning man was tall and skinny.
“Miss Eidahl?” The man’s nametag identified him as PVT Mitchell. Eden nodded, still too shell-shocked to speak. “You called about a break in?” He peeked into the small apartment.
“Yes.” She forced the words from numbed lips. The female police officer didn’t speak. She stood a couple steps lower than Eden, studying her with green eyes far too intense for Eden’s comfort. The paleness of the woman’s skin glowed in the morning light.
“Have you been inside? Is anything missing?”
“I haven’t looked.” She couldn’t muster the courage to go inside again. It didn’t feel like her home anymore. The man nodded to his partner; she tore her gaze from Eden. The two strangers entered the apartment cautiously, and Eden absently noticed the policeman carried a shock weapon. She hadn’t considered the culprit could still be inside. The only hiding place was the tiny bathroom. Dread filled her, cold shivers edging away the numbness. The breeze lifted her hair, and she smoothed it back, forcing her mind to think about anything but that word on the wall. She refused to acknowledge the similarity to the video in the coffee shop, although her brain screamed there was a connection.
“Clear!” The word echoed from the apartment. A shadow fell over her, and Eden looked into the redhead’s face.
“Did you write the word on the wall?”
Eden stared at her in shock, her eyes wide. “What? No! Of course not!” Eden yelled, her voice shrill and her gaze clouded with confusion. Why would she paint her own walls? And with that word too?
“I’m sorry, I have to ask,” the woman whispered. In a louder voice, she said, “We’ll need you to tell us if anything is missing.”
Eden rose in a daze, grasping the railing with her good arm to pull her weak limbs to a standing position. “I don’t know if I can tell,” she admitted, standing in the doorway. The male officer was lifting books with his pen and taking pictures of the paint on the wall with a small camera. His expression as he examined her tiny apartment m
ade Eden feel like her home was being violated a second time.
“Just look around, please. Did you own anything of value?”
Eden shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just a mundane. All my money goes to my rent. My phone is the most expensive thing I own. It was in my pocket.” She remained in the doorway, not wanting to go inside. This had been her safe place; her comfort had been ripped away in a matter of seconds.
“I have to ask you a couple questions, then. Would you prefer to sit down?” The woman asked, recapturing Eden’s attention.
Eden studied the mess of her apartment and shook her head. “Not in there.”
“OK, have a seat here then.” The redhead unfolded the metal chair on the small landing. Eden sat in the chair from time to time with her drawing pad, and it was useful for setting things down on while she opened the door. She sat, the cold metal biting through her jeans. Flakes of rust drifted to the rotted wood below them.
“When did this happen?” The policewoman flipped open a notebook instead of a digipad, momentarily distracting Eden. Was the woman not a techie? The police force didn’t employ mundanes.
“I returned home from my shift at two a.m. last night, and I slept until about 8:30 a.m. I left for the coffee shop around nine this morning to meet my friend. Obviously, my apart was fine when I left it. I locked the door behind me. I always lock the door.” The police officer bent to examine the lock. The jam was splintered, the metal mangled.
“Where do you work?”
Eden heard the other officer bumbling around her tiny apartment. The image of him going through her underwear drawer or looking at her books filled her with anger. She thought of her sketch pad hidden under the mattress and itched to see if it had survived the disaster. There was also the dreamcatcher her mother had left her. If the policeman found that, he would confiscate it as mage paraphernalia. She regretted calling the police now that she was thinking more clearly.
“I work the evening shift at the factory on Birch. My shift is over at 1:30, and I am home by 2.”
“Have you noticed anything unusual lately? Has anyone been paying more attention to you or following you? Have you had any recent breakups or fights with anyone?” The woman’s intense green eyes seemed capable of uncovering all her secrets. Eden fidgeted, looking away. Only a big black dog; a dog couldn't write on the wall, not even a mage’s familiar.
“No. I haven’t dated in years.” She forced her voice to a normal tone. “Nothing unusual has happened. I have a boring life.” As she stared into the street, she wished the police would finish their work and leave. The neighborhood was typically quiet, but the techies driving by craned their necks to determine the reason for the police cruiser parked at the curb.
The woman cleared her throat, and Eden returned her attention. Despite her intense stare, she was a beautiful woman. Her curious expression made Eden feel like she was doing something wrong, though. She couldn't identify what seemed off about the woman.
“Are you a mage, Ms. Eidahl? Do you know why anyone would write that word on your wall?”
Eden’s lips curled into a self-deprecating smile. “No, I am not a mage.” She pulled her registration card from her pocket and handed it to the police officer. She had been sorted and labeled at a young age, like every other child: Edania Sanna Eidahl, East Territory, Talentless mundane, Zero Technical Aptitude, Zero Magical Ability. The woman studied the card before handing it back to Eden.
“Eidahl? You don’t look European.” The hint of a smile in the woman’s words softened her intense scrutiny into something less frightening. Eden shrugged. Her native blood had caused issues as a child because more mages than techies claimed native ancestry. Mages had crossed the ocean first, living peaceably with the native tribes of the North American continent before the techies arrived en-masse. The last name was her adoptive father’s, but she didn't consider that important. She barely remembered her parents.
“I’ve only met a couple mages my entire life, and that was when I went through the mandatory testing for magical aptitude. I have no idea why someone would target me.”
PVT Mitchell emerged from her apartment, his blue eyes bored. “Now you can say you’ve met another one. Ms. Frank here is our Mage Consultant. When you explained the nature of your crime on the phone, the precinct dispatched her to get a read on any magical mumbo-jumbo that might have occurred here.” Mitchell’s voice didn’t hide his disgust.
The police woman’s eyes flashed with something that might have been anger, but it passed quickly. Eden’s eyes widened; the difference she'd noticed was now explained. Eden never would have guessed she was a mage, though. The mages she had met had been doddering old men who liked to dress in long robes to spook the mundane children during their exams.
“A mage? Do you sense any magic here?” Eden’s heart beat so fast, she feared it might fly from her chest. The mage squinted, her gaze swiveling between Eden and the apartment.
“No. Whoever broke into your apartment was not a mage.”
The observation didn’t make her feel better or worse; she was still shocked and upset. Her half arm tingled with phantom electrical nerve impulses, and she scratched it absently. She had to give the mage credit. Ms. Frank barely glanced at the hanging sleeve, unlike her partner. He blatantly stared at her with the same amount of revulsion and sympathy she received from most mundanes and techies. Standing in the doorway of her apartment, he tapped his fingers against his thigh. A stain decorated his blue uniform, probably coffee.
“Can you look in your apartment again?” Ms. Frank requested. “See if anything is missing? It might be important.” Eden shrugged and rose to her feet. The policeman moved out of her way, barely concealing his impatience. The shock was wearing off. Now, she focused on the mess she needed to clean up and whether her two most precious possessions remained.
Her feet carried her past the threshold for the first time since she’d arrived home. A path led through the debris, from the front door to the bathroom, the kitchen area, and then to the bed. Disappointment and dread speared her. The dreamcatcher that used to hang above her pillow was missing, and she knew the policeman would have confronted her if he’d noted it among the items on the floor. She couldn’t tell the police about the dreamcatcher, especially not while the techie cop accompanied the mage. She wasn’t sure she should trust the mage, either. Her eyes flinched away from her bed and the wall above it. Whoever had written the word would have had to stand on her mattress to write it. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to sleep in the bed again.
“No, I can’t tell if anything is missing,” she lied.
“Well, let us know if you find anything,” PVT Mitchell said dismissively, eager to leave. “We’ll file a report and let you know if we hear anything. Ask your landlord to install a new lock.” His words were bland like he was reciting a script; afterward, he motioned to his partner impatiently.
“Do you have somewhere else to stay for now?” Ms. Frank's voice was considerate. Eden frowned. There was only Izzy. Her best friend would happily take her in for a couple days and fuss over her like a mother hen. She nodded, but her mind was on everything she had to accomplish before her shift that evening. The mage slipped a card from her pocket and handed it to Eden.
“This is my number. If you find anything missing or need anything at all, call me.” Her voice and eyes were sincere.
Eden read the card and almost dropped it in surprise. Alena Frank, Mage Consultant and Owner of BlackDog Enterprises. Eden looked from the paper to the policewoman, frowning. Surely, it was just a coincidence? The woman, Alena, smiled, oblivious to the turmoil in Eden’s thoughts. They stomped down the wooden stairs. Hearing the purr of their electric car starting, she sprang toward the bed and lifted her mattress. Nothing but the tattered carpet stared back at her. She fell to the floor, despair sinking into her bones.
Chapter Two
Alena
“So, we’ll have another one, soon?” Bette queried, startling Alena. S
he and Alec occupied the sitting room in the old house. It was Alena’s favorite place; the room was soft, cozy, and protected from the rest of the house with a spell. The fireplace was dormant, but Balthazar, Zar for short, sprawled before it. His massive, furry body formed a pool of shadow in the setting sun’s light. He followed the conversation, his bright eyes shining. Alena shook off her surprise at the housekeeper's interruption. Bette always knew what happened in the house. Its walls formed the Brownie’s domain.
“Most likely,” Alena replied. “Zar and I have been watching her for about a week. Zar actually noticed her first." The huge canine yawned, his sharp teeth glinting.
“Does she have friends who will worry about her?” Bette asked. She occupied a corner of the room, her dark eyes serious. The House Brownie was rarely interested in the newcomers to the safe-house, but this woman intrigued her and Zar. Alena was not a fool; she wouldn't ignore the visible signs. House Brownies and familiars were the only supernatural beings in existence, as far as Alena knew. They were far more in tune with destiny's plan than humans. Alec listened. Alec always gathered the facts before he spoke. She loved this trait in her mate and friend; it counteracted her impulsivity.
“One. The friend is a mundane married to a mid-level tech.”
“Will that pose a problem?” Alec asked. His deep voice sent a delightful shiver through Alena, even after many years together.
“I don’t know,” Alena admitted. “We may need to develop a cover story for her if we can convince her to join us.”
“She will come. I will prepare the blue room.” Bette paused, looking pointedly at Alena. “Let her come to you unless she’s in immediate danger. This one is important.” Bette disappeared into thin air, leaving Alec and Alena blinking at the spot she had just vacated.
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