The Human Masters
It has been stated elsewhere that humans have no powers beyond the tools they invent. As with all rules, there are exceptions. Loosely and inaccurately chronicled in the legend of 'The Four Accomplished Brothers,' there exist four human bloodlines with inherited abilities. Whether or not these abilities are magical in origin is unknown. These powers may be a genetic anomaly, or an enchantment upon these houses. Unlike fae and ferals, whose abilities are usually randomized by individual and not by family, these four human bloodlines each only exhibit one ability, and each follows different rules. Unlike fae and ferals, whose abilities do not fully manifest until the age of sixteen, these rare humans typically have access to their powers from birth.
The Prophet - the highly sought after ability to peer into the future sometimes manifested in the royal house of Weissager, previous rulers of the kingdom of Angwar. All Weissager Prophets were born blind. However, the royal family perished in the Golden War and their kingdom was claimed by Anastos Ryan.
The Inventor - creativity is a human trait often lacking in ferals and especially fae; in the Miller line this trait is hyper-focused and can express as the Inventor, possessing immense genius. As this is an easily hidden ability, Miller Inventors are often difficult to identify until they choose to share their inventions with the world, but are accredited with the creation of most of the greater magical artifacts, as well as spearheading human technological - non-magic - advancement. The Millers fled to the Oncelands during the New Exodus.
The Null - greatly despised by fae and ferals alike, the Tailor family very rarely produces individuals who act as a sort of magical void - they can nullify the abilities of others, and break the enchantments of most magical objects. It should be noted that they cannot remove abilities permanently, only dampen them. The more powerful a Null, the greater their circumference of influence - the most powerful Null on record could create a magic void five miles across. The Tailors fled to the Oncelands during the New Exodus.
The Hunter - rumored to predate the other three, Hunters belong to the ancient house of Grimm. Unlike the other three, whose abilities are very rarely born into their respective lines, all Grimms are born Hunters. A Hunter possesses heightened awareness of surroundings, infallible memory, and natural proficiency with weaponry. The last confirmed Hunters, Richard and Alan Grimm, were rumored to have been killed during the Golden War by a Ryan raiding party, but other rumors suggest one of the brothers may have escaped across the mirror.
Note: While the connection is still unclear, a Tailor Null is always born at the same time as a Ryan Mirrormaker. Neither ever appears singly - they only exist as a pair.
“Mirrormaker?” I said.
“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Rhys said, returning to the table with several new books. “The power to create magic mirrors. A rare fae ability exclusive to my family. And that’s what I am. I think.” He spread the books out, looking pensive. “I’ll know for sure in a few months. My powers only work inside this mirror, so far. Outside, in the real world, I may as well be human. My mother’s fault.”
“What did she do?”
“She’s human,” he said distastefully. “So I’m a hybrid. Who knows how my powers will actually turn out? That’s why I have to study,” he said stiffly, flipping open another book. “Somewhere in here, there has to be a book that talks about controlling Mirrormaker powers. This tower was built by Mirrormakers - every one that’s powerful enough to get In Between has added on to it. There’s even a workshop upstairs full of unfinished mirrors. One of them has to have left some sort of instruction manual.”
I ran my hand over the page of the book I held, savoring the texture of aged paper. “So I’m a Grimm, huh?”
“Like your father and grandmother before you. Hunters,” he muttered, attention on his own book. “I shouldn’t even let you stay in here...”
“Let me?” I echoed, some of the alien bravado rising.
“We’re practically archenemies by birth,” he went on, ignoring me. “Or did you miss the parts where my great-great-grandfather nearly succeeded in killing off all the human master bloodlines?”
“But you’re not him, right?” I said.
His gaze flicked up to mine, briefly. “This is the only side of the mirror I’ve ever known. If I can create a travelling mirror, cross over to my father’s kingdom in the Afterlands, I can prove my worthiness as his heir. I’ll be king one day. All I have to do is work out my powers. But there’s no one here to teach me, no clues as to what’s wrong with me...”
“Well it says here every Mirrormaker has a Null to go along with it,” I said.
“Don’t remind me.” He came around the table and leaned over my shoulder to retrieve the book. My heart gave an awkward lurch at the nearness. He smelled like pine and old books.
“You’re not happy you have a counterpart out there somewhere?” I said. “It sounds pretty romantic.”
He gazed down at me, challenging. “It’s anything but,” he said. “The Tailors have been the bane of my house since...since who knows when. Regardless, it doesn’t apply to me. Being a hybrid must have messed it up somehow.”
“You don’t know that.”
“John Tailor is the last of his line,” he said. “My family has kept close tabs on the Tailors for obvious reasons. Would have hunted them to extinction if they hadn’t escaped the Afterlands. They’ve never been very prolific - he’s an only child, and he’s never been married. There are no Tailors my age.”
A chill went through me. Everything I learned about his family kept piling more doubts against his motives. His inheritance was oppression and privilege. But there was something in his desperation to prove himself that I understood.
“Guess you’re not a Mirrormaker then,” I said lightly.
His eyes widened. “Don’t you dare - ”
“I was joking!” I grinned. “Jeez, lighten up!”
The flush that spread across his cheeks was almost as endearing as the way he tried to hide it, looking up and away, trying for haughty. “You’re as bad as Kei.”
“At least I’m better to look at,” I rejoined. What was I saying? It was the Tower talking.
“There is that,” he allowed, and it was my turn to blush. I hoped it wouldn’t be as obvious since I wasn’t as pale as he was.
“Why do you hang out with Kei?” I asked.
“I don’t,” he said flatly. “I’m obligated to endure his presence. He’s...my bodyguard,” he said, reluctance plain in his voice.
“What, seriously?” I looked up at him.
“Yes, seriously.” He leaned against a bookshelf, arms folded, mouth in a hard line. “My mother is a little overprotective.”
“Because you’re the prince of a fairy kingdom,” I prompted.
“How can I get you to never word it like that again?” he asked dryly, one eyebrow arched.
I smiled, and he looked away, eyes on the far wall. “I have an idea,” I said suddenly. “What if I helped you research?”
He looked back, eyes wide, but immediately his expression was cautious. “In trade for the journal, I assume?”
“I’ll be your research assistant,” I said, folding my arms, enjoying the strange new confidence. “If I can help you figure out how to make a traveling mirror, that’s got to be worth one journal?”
“Maybe...” he allowed, struggling not to sound tempted by the idea. “I suppose I could...use another pair of eyes...”
I looked at my watch and gasped. “I need to get home before Bea,” I said, turning to leave.
Rhys caught my arm, looking down at me intently. My heart thudded. “Remember,” he said, “if you tell anyone - anyone at all - the deal is off. If you try to take anything out of here - I don’t care what it is - the deal is off. Understand? My hospitality is extremely limited.”
“No kidding,” I laughed off my nerves. “Alright, yes, I promise. Don’t tell anyone. Got it.”
“Especially Kei,�
�� he growled. “I have to share too much of my life with that moron already. My only saving grace is that he can’t get in this mirror. Bodyguard or not, I trust him about as far as I can throw him. And don’t talk to me at school,” he said, releasing me. “We’re not friends. This is strictly business.”
I got the distinct impression he was trying just a little too hard to remain detached. “Sure thing, your highness,” I said, hurrying out of the library and down the stairwell.
“And don’t call me that!” he called after me, but I smiled, because he didn’t sound hostile anymore.
Chapter 12
Jul
On Friday at 6, I pushed open the doors to the cafe where Camille had claimed she lived.
“Um, hello?” I called, entering timidly. The booths and tables said cafe, but the stained glass windows were giving a different impression. The arches over the pillars were familiar, somehow...
The wide, gothic windows were abstract patterns of glass. The fading sun glittered through the west side, casting a faint orange light. One of the windows had plastic taped over it.
Camille’s bizarre accent, clipped syllables and unusual vowels, echoed from the back of the cafe. “It broke,” she said. “Yesterday. Random.”
Camille hopped over the bar, landing agile as a cat. There was no way I could ever look that graceful. I recalled Rhys’s mention of physical prowess as a sign of being feral. Was Camille such a being?
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “It looks nice in here,” I said. My intent was to be polite, but I was being honest. It was an unusual aesthetic, but it managed to work somehow - like bringing Athens or Rome indoors.
She shrugged. “It’s Gabriel,” she said, like that ought to explain everything.
“Who’s Gabriel?” I asked.
“My guardian,” she said.
“Oh is he here?” Guardian? What about her parents?
“Drinks with Charlotte,” she said, dismissively. “The booth is over here.”
“Charlotte? You mean Ms. Miller?” Her English was improving, I noted, though her pronunciation was still pretty awkward.
“Un,” she made an affirmative sound. I followed her to one side of the cafe, where a tri-fold posterboard was propped up on a table. She’d printed out some sheets with the basic experiment premise and some rough diagrams of each step of the process. It was plain and efficient. It had no personality at all. I wondered if it could be taken as a metaphor for Camille herself: something that ought to be really cool masked by a blunt, utilitarian presentation.
“You know what it really needs,” I blurted, “some of your drawings!”
“What?” she said, coloring slightly.
“Yeah! You draw those adorable little cartoons, we could make the display like a comic! Nobody else would have anything like that,” I said earnestly.
“They’re not that cute,” she muttered, but she regarded the posterboard critically. “Not very protectional.”
“Professional? You mean like what Rhys would want? Oh no, I think he would looooove some anime cartoons on his project.” I grinned at the prospect. “Don’t you?”
She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time, and she smiled. “Maybe you’re right,” she said.
“It’s showcasing our team’s artistic talent,” I said loftily. “With hearts and sparkles.”
She nodded, tapping her chin. “Ok, I like it.”
I grinned. “Awesome. I can’t draw to save my life, but I can color stuff in. I mean, the project is about color change, right? We should have some really bright designs.”
She nodded, uncharacteristically enthusiastic. “Colors. Be right back.”
She bounded up the stairs at the back of the cafe, where I assumed there were craft supplies.
I sat down, gazing at the colored windows happily. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. I guess all Camille really needed was to be included...I’d always thought I was supposed to wait for others to include me. Maybe I’d had it wrong?
I started counting the colors in the glass pane closest to me. Rhys was going to flip. We should probably fit in some rainbows just for good measure...
A metallic sound came from the front of the cafe - the sound of a lock clicking open. Someone slipped inside, brushing rain drops off his threadbare jean jacket. It was another student, one with a very delinquent look to him. The scar across his nose crinkled as he regarded me narrowly.
“Um, it’s, I think the cafe is closed,” I said, newfound confidence disappearing just that quickly.
“Didn’t come in for cupcakes,” he said, the ring in his lip glittering as he grinned. “Unless you’re offering.”
I swallowed. “Wh-who are you?”
“Hmm.” It was one of the seniors - no, a junior? I’d seen him around before. That scar was hard to miss. He was the one that often picked on Mac at lunch.
He looked at me like I was some sort of dessert. “I’ve had a bad week,” he said, with a pronounced southern drawl. “Maybe you can help me out. Tell me where Katsura’s hidden the sword and maybe I’ll leave all polite-like.”
“Sword?” I repeated, boggled by the random request. “What sword? Who’s Katsura?”
He advanced, and I backed up. “Please. You’re a Graham and you made friends with her? And you’re pretending you don’t know about the sword? Why else would you have made friends with that freak of nature?”
“I think you should leave,” I said, voice trembling.
“Give. Me. The SWORD!” he roared suddenly.
Camille
Camille heard him before he even opened the door. He had a distinct step - impatient, over-forceful. Wasteful. That mongrel, Hyde. What could he possibly want here? Oh yes, she remembered. The boy in love with Jul had warned her Hyde would try to fight her.
She stood at the top of the stairs, just out of view, listening.
“Tell me where Katsura’s hidden the sword and maybe I’ll leave all polite-like,” Hyde said.
Sword? Camille wondered, even as she heard Jul echo her question below. Gabriel had no swords. He’d already said. What was with these people demanding a weapon they didn’t have?
“Please,” Hyde was saying sarcastically. Camille could hear Jul’s heart rate speeding up. “You’re a Graham and you made friends with her?” His disdain was palpable. “And you’re pretending you don’t know about the sword? Why else would you have made friends with that freak of nature?”
What? Was Jul just using her? Gabriel had warned that there would be those seeking to use them to their own ends...
“I think you should leave,” Jul said. Her fear was tangible. No, Camille shook her head. She wouldn’t use me. She’s not that kind of person.
“Give. Me. The SWORD!” Hyde bellowed, and she had enough.
“Yamerou!” she shouted, vaulting over the stairs.
Hyde grinned. “I figured you were here. Coming to the aid of fair maiden? Don’t be a cliché, now.”
Camille settled into a defensive stance. Rain was pattering on the windows. “I’ll shut your mouth, zasshu.”
He laughed. “Man, school needs more people like you. I’m going to assume you won’t give up the sword easy, either?”
“No sword here,” Camille stated.
“Awesome,” he said, swinging at her.
Camille dodged, spinning around the pillar. In her periphery, she saw Jul duck behind the counter. Good, better that she stayed out of it. Gabriel wouldn’t like it if she smashed up the cafe, but he was also fond of saying that necessity was the mother of invention.
Camille kicked a chair at him, but he slid to one side. Was it just her imagination, or was he faster than before? He swept a kick and she blocked it, barely - he nearly knocked her off balance. He struck out with a fist and she caught it with her own, straining against the force. Stronger, too?
“This ain’t school,” he grinned, breath hot on her neck. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
With a sh
ove, Camille broke the hold and twisted away, panting. Her blood pumped loud in her ears and the iron bracer pinched around her left arm. What she wouldn’t give to be rid of the uncomfortable thing.
She and Hyde paced a slow semicircle, each gauging the other.
“Where’s all the attitude from kendo?” he sneered. “Need a sword to feel safe? I’ll wait while you go fetch one. Just make sure it’s the iron one, no fakes now. Chop chop.”
The iron one? Something must have shown on her face, because Hyde lit on it.
“You do know where it is!” he crowed.
“No swords,” Camille snapped. “Lots of muffins. Want a muffin?”
“Should I call someone?” Jul’s voice warbled from behind the counter, peering over the edge.
“No,” Camille said sternly, eyes on Hyde. “He’s leaving.”
“Soon as you fetch me,” he snarled, “that sword!”
He grabbed Camille’s arm and threw her over his shoulder. She twisted in midair, vaulting off a table. She landed solid but stumbled over a chair just behind her. The metal legs scraped loud against the stone floor as she found her footing. He was on her in an instant - this time she curled, using his force to roll him over and get some distance. She was unafraid, yet her limbs trembled - something was wrong with her. Her vision wavered, and she fought to maintain focus. The bracer gripped her arm like a vise.
“Get out...” she rasped, “of my house.”
“This is so disappointing,” he said, stalking closer. “I thought I’d finally get a real fight out of someone, but underneath your fancy moves you’re just like everyone else.”
The Thief Page 15