by Joshua Roots
The Witches and Wizards were back to work in no time, but under the watchful eye of the Council.
The news devoured the story with rabid ferocity, hovering around everyone involved, and generally making life miserable for all of us.
Thankfully, the nanosecond attention span of the media played in our favor as a sex scandal with a Senator suddenly became the hot headline. Within days, the death and destruction caused by Rancin became nothing more than a footnote in the annals of history for them.
For the rest of us, it remained a stark reminder of how precious the unity between the Skilled and Normals truly was.
And how fragile.
“How’s the leg?” Dad asked as we walked through HQ.
“Sore, but getting better.”
Dad shook his head. “You were lucky, you know. Missed having your artery severed by less than an inch.”
“I think a lot of us had some close calls. The fact that more people weren’t killed is shocking.”
“Luck hasn’t been on our side recently,” he said grimly. “So I’m willing to take what I can get.”
I had to agree.
“The fallout from all this could have been much worse,” I said. “Rumor has it your efforts coordinating the crisis response at the Ball saved a lot of lives.”
Sadness filled Dad’s face. “Some, but not all.”
The grief in his eyes stabbed at me. I wanted to offer him words of comfort, to tell him I also knew how it felt to be unable to prevent a death, but everything I came up with seemed trite and clichéd.
“Speaking of survivors,” he said, the sorrow passing, “you’ll be glad to know that Alistair Monroe is slowly improving. The Healers are still unsure what the long-term effects will be, but he’ll live.”
That, at least, was some good news I’d been praying for.
I spotted Jethrow at the other end of the hall.
Rumor had it he and Helga had mowed down a fair number of Rancin’s lizards. Jethrow and I hadn’t spoken since the battle at the Cathedral, but there was color in his cheeks and a bounce in his step that had been missing for quite a while. I was very glad that we were both on the mend, physically and emotionally. Maybe even fraternally.
As if sensing my thoughts, he turned. We made eye contact and traded manly nods. Because that’s what friends did.
Dad and I rounded a corner and stepped into the newly painted entrance for Elder Devon. Robin smiled and opened the door to his office.
The Elder rose as we entered. “Hello, Warlock Shifter.”
“Hi, ya’.”
His eye twitched, but the grin didn’t falter. “And good to see you, Elder Shifter.”
I looked at my father in shock.
“It’s not official.” He was trying to sound nonchalant, but even I could hear the pride in his voice.
Devon waved a dismissive hand. “Just a matter of formalities. We were sitting on an open slot even before Linda’s death. With Elder Watkins taking several months off to recover, we now have a lot of holes to plug. Suffice to say, we need you sooner rather than later.” He motioned toward the chairs. “Both of you, please take a seat.”
I eased gingerly into the plush leather chair, my mind still reeling from the revelation that my father was going to join the ranks of the Elders.
I was ecstatic, but also a little terrified.
If recent events were any proof, powerful people drew powerful enemies—and the Shifters already had more than they could handle. With Dad’s promotion, that list would grow exponentially. Bad guys loved to target people in power.
For the first time since I’d started investigating the Elders, I understood their obsession with privacy.
“Thank you both for coming,” Devon said. “I know we’re all busy trying to patch ourselves back together. But in the wake of everything that’s happened, it has become apparent that the Council, and the Skilled community as a whole, has some serious, albeit not unreasonable, issues with trust. It took a great deal of effort to convince most of us to sign the treaty with the Normals, yet even with it in place, we have still carried the lingering feelings of mistrust. Ironically, we were so focused on what we perceived as an external threat, that we were blind to one internal.”
“It’s easy to see that in hindsight, Ben,” Dad said softly.
I, however, frowned at Devon. “You knew.”
The Elder took a slow, calming breath. “Deep down, I suppose I did. But I didn’t want to believe it. Linda was the greatest champion for peace back in the day, but she changed in the aftermath of the Quaos incident. She became angry and sullen. Obsessed with what she saw as a dangerous transformation in our community. She begged the Elders to heed her warnings about dilution, but we ignored her pleas. Perhaps if we had listened—” He paused to collect himself. “She died a much different woman than I care to remember.”
“She wasn’t wrong, you know?” I was shocked that I actually agreed with Rancin on that fact. “Her briefings indicate slow decline of power among the Skilled. There’s a very good chance we’ll breed ourselves into oblivion.”
Devon leaned back, running a hand down his beard. “I’ll admit the possibility does exist, but our society has survived genocide and religious purges. I’m sure we can handle intermixing with Normals. Besides, while our powers may be recessive, the ability will always be there. Maybe not in great numbers, but someone will always inherit our Skill.”
He made a good point. Rancin had assumed the worst, but Devon was apparently an optimist. A millennia ago there was no line between the Skilled and Normals, so if we were able to exist back then, perhaps our future wasn’t as grim as Rancin believed.
Still, she had been willing to go to great lengths to protect our way of life. A small part of me sympathized with her. But that didn’t excuse her actions. She’d altered information, hidden facts and murdered a fair number of innocents for her cause.
Outside of Devon, few—myself included—would mourn her loss.
But in the wake of her death, we were left with more questions than answers. How had no one known about her son being The Conduit? Had she been operating alone? Where had she learned to open such stable rifts?
That last question bothered me the most. “Rancin mentioned she had decades of practice opening rifts. Any idea what she meant by that?”
“You read my report about her first attempt,” the Elder said, his face devoid of emotion.
The massacre. How had I not pieced that together?
“So what did happen seventy years ago?” I asked.
“An accident,” Devon offered. “Linda was working on her Master Summoner certification, often practicing in seclusion. When the Mimics came through the rift, she never expected they’d break free of her control or kill as many people as they did.”
I stared at the old man, guilt at my own mistake rising to the surface.
I, too, had accidentally brought something to our plane of existence and innocent blood was spilled because of it.
Perhaps Rancin and I weren’t that different after all.
Then again, I didn’t hide my screw-up nor did I murder the people who knew about it. So, I had that going for me.
“Please believe me when I say that initially, I had no idea Linda was behind it,” Devon continued, pulling me back to the conversation. “She came to me, confessing everything, and begging me to keep her out of the report. We were a couple back then, so when she requested that I take a Blood Oath, I didn’t hesitate. My team, with the exception of one, followed suit at my behest. The report itself was filed and the case closed... Until you started sniffing around, Marcus.”
“I still don’t understand all the secrecy,” I said. “Why bury the report? Why swear everyone to secrecy over it? Especially after Pell’s girlfriend was killed?”
Devon shook his head. “The Council was not as forgiving as it is today. I didn’t want to lose Linda, so I made the report disappear. Which was easier back then than it is today,” he added rue
fully.
I stared him straight in the eyes. “I dunno, it seems a lot of stuff has been covered up recently. The rifts, the connection with the Mimics, the bodies of the ones that attacked me, Rancin’s quest to drive a wedge between the Normals and the Skilled. I find it hard to believe that I was the only one to put two and two together.”
Devon smiled weakly. “You were not, but I was prevented from following leads because of the Blood Oath. With Linda’s passing, that bond is severed for good.”
“It has to suck that your ex-girlfriend was the one trying to rip the Skilled and Normals apart.”
Yes, it was a cheap shot.
In my defense, Devon had just admitted that he knew what was going on. Blood Oath or not, he carried some of the blame.
“Be that as it may,” he said, seriously, “her plan would not have succeeded. Our worlds are too tightly knit now. That, in and of itself, is something the Elders have taken for granted. We have been married to the old ways for far too long and have underestimated what is required moving forward.”
He turned to Dad. “This is why I wanted to talk with both of you. Long story short, I need your help. Christopher, you’re the first new blood we’ve had in the Elders in almost twenty years. As such, I want you to help us get more in tune with modern society. Traditions are a reminder of our past, and we shouldn’t ignore them, but the reality is that the Council needs to update their way of thinking. We’re too focused on the past, both the positive and the negative—so it’s time to look to the future. As such, you will be the head of the team assigned to work with the Mosaic Group.”
It was Dad’s turn to be stunned. “We’re going to actually follow through with that?”
“Yes. A month ago the Council would have nothing to do with any faith-based organization, but I believe now that the people in that group are earnest about repairing the bridge between us. Obviously the Council will not officially endorse a single religion, but it is important to us and to our relationship with the Normals that everyone knows we are no longer bearing a grudge. It’s time for us to bury the hatchet. For real and not just for show.”
Dad seemed genuinely surprised. “I’m honored.”
Devon chuckled. “Considering the herculean effort before you, I’d hold off on the thanks.” He leveled his gaze at me. “As for you, Marcus, I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but thank you for everything. You rooted out a traitor and prevented her from doing irreparable damage to the Reformation. Not only did you save countless lives, but you actually managed to make the media like you...despite your best efforts.”
I shifted uncomfortably. A compliment from him sounded bizarre in my ears. “Uh, you’re welcome.”
“Ambassador Jones agrees that it was some much needed PR that will help with Skilled and Normal relations in the eyes of the press. We still have a long way to go, but I have no doubt that these small steps will have long-lasting effects. Now the question is, what to do with you?”
I swallowed. “I’m fine going back to the rift teams. Or, you know, getting paid to just lounge on a beach somewhere.”
Devon offered a genuine smile. “As much as I would like the latter—for both our sakes—the reality is that you’ve become far too valuable an asset for us to simply let loose.”
Goosebumps ran up my back. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
My old man offered me his best poker face.
“Simply put,” the Elder said, “the Council is short several members which means we’ll need to hold special elections to fill those positions.”
Ice coursed into my veins. “Whoa, you want me to run for a seat on the Council?”
Devon almost laughed. “Quite the opposite, actually. What we need is a team of watchdogs. People with the authority to ensure the checks and balances stay in place specifically so something like this does not happen again.” He gave my father a quick glance, then peered back at me. “From what I hear, you’re rather good at it already.”
How much did Devon know or suspect? Both about my spying on the Council for Dad and what I found out regarding Rancin and her son?
We’d shared a look at the Cathedral that seemed to hint there was more to the story than he was letting on. If so, how much could I trust him?
I covered the uncomfortable feeling with my go-to reaction—humor. “Listen, as much as I like the sound of being Big Brother, I’ll need to think about it.”
“Take your time, but please don’t take too much time. While you’re deciding,” Devon added, pulling a large piece of parchment from his desk and handing it to me, “I may need your help with another difficult matter.”
I read it twice, but it still didn’t make sense. “What is this?”
“Officially, a declaration of intent. Unofficially, a cry for attention.” I couldn’t tell if that was frustration or annoyance in his voice.
“From a Minotaur clan?”
“From your friend’s clan, yes. Apparently they did not take kindly to him being hurt by Normals and are now using that attack to gather support to secede from the Reformation. The treaty prevents the various clans from hunting humans, so if the Minotaurs do secede, it could put us all at risk. We need to stop this before it gains traction. I want you to take your friend back to his people and sort this mess out.”
“This sounds like an issue for a politician, not a Combat Warlock,” I said, cautiously.
Devon nodded. “Normally I’d agree with you, but the Council has limited connections with the Minotaurs. Suffice to say, your friendship with him gives us our best in.”
I bristled. The Council had used me once already, and that hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park. Now they wanted to toss me back into the fire.
Part of me wanted to throw the parchment in his face, tell him that I was done being a tool for the Council.
But the reality was I wanted to help. I wasn’t a loner anymore, didn’t have to live outside the lines. I was a member of the Skilled community, of the Council. They were my team and they needed me. And I them.
Besides, this was as much for Steve’s people as it was mine. And I’d promised a girl protesting outside my house that I’d do everything in my power to protect us all.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.” He looked from me to my father. “That’s it. Any questions for me?”
For once, I kept my big mouth shut.
Dad eyed me. “I think we’re good,”
The Elder stood. “Again, thank you both and hopefully this is the beginning of a new direction for the Delwinn Council and the Skilled people as a whole.”
Dad shook his hand. “I hope you’re right.”
Devon saw us to his door, handing us off to Robin. She waved goodbye, then returned to her desk.
“You really think the Council will change?” I asked as we eased back into the hallways.
“Yes, but not overnight. These things take generations. The old must move on for the new to take a hold. I’m willing to bet that the Council will be much different when you’re in my shoes.”
“I’d rather eat powdered bleach than become a bureaucrat.” The words didn’t hold the same ire as they had even a week earlier.
Maybe I was changing.
“I felt the same thing at your age,” Dad said. “You’d be surprised how life makes choices for you sometimes.”
We fell into our own thoughts. My mind kept running over the events of the past week, still struggling to process everything that had happened. Mimics, pumas, lizards, rifts, death, hope—it was all one big, terrifying ball of yarn that had unraveled in my hands.
Hopefully we could all start putting it back together.
Eventually Dad broke the silence. “It seemed like you had more questions for Devon, but you didn’t say anything.”
“I was tempted to ask about Shannon.”
“Who?”
“The Conduit. He was Rancin’s son.”
Dad stopped dead in his tracks. His face was filled
with thought. “That would explain a lot. Are you sure?”
“No,” I admitted, “the evidence is circumstantial at best, but it does make sense if Rancin was the one protecting Quaos. She certainly had a history of hiding information, not to mention she knew about Hexcalibur and our family. She could have easily funneled Simeon’s old research notes to The Conduit and given him the location of the Homestead, all while burying any evidence related to his activates. But if that was the case, it begs the question of whether or not she betrayed Simeon as well?”
“Why would she do that?”
It was something I wondered too. “I honestly don’t know. Simeon could have uncovered something during his research that Rancin saw as a threat to the budding Reformation Treaty. Or maybe he just pissed her off. Apparently she was willing to kill others to get to me, so why not wipe out Fawkes’s team and have him jailed?”
“Why didn’t you mention any of this to Devon?”
I bit the inside of my cheek in thought. “I’m not sure I trust him. I find it hard to believe that Rancin was able to do all that—plus keep knowledge of her child secret—all by herself. The Elders are powerful, but that’s too many irons in the fire for one person. Devon might not be involved, but my gut is telling me that there’s more here than one woman pulling everyone’s strings.”
“Careful,” Dad said. “It’s easy to lose yourself down the rabbit-hole of conspiracies.”
I nodded, my mind exhausted from going over the same theories again and again. “You’re right. Rancin is dead and the Reformation is still intact. That’s a huge win in my book.”
Dad smiled. “That’s very mature and pretty deep.”
“Boobs,” I replied.
He laughed. “So, want to come over and have a glass of wine? We can talk about what you’ll do as a watchdog.”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Dad raised an eyebrow. “I think you have.”
Crap.
“I’m going to sleep on it. Anyway, I’ll have to pass for today. I promised Steve I’d visit him in the hospital. Then I have to run an important errand.”
“I understand,” he said. “Anything I can help with?”