by Anne Zoelle
Mike flicked his empty spoon at Will.
I opened my mouth to add something, but the hair on the back of my neck lifted. I immediately rubbed the area, freaked out that I could feel each hair extended. The most concentrated batch of hair was stretching in one particular direction. I waited thirty seconds, then as casually as I could, let my gaze sweep that way.
The girl with the emerald eyes met my gaze head-on, not even bothering to look away. She cocked her head in a contemplative way, while next to her Inessa Norrissing angrily jabbed her finger against the table top. Little darts of crimson magic sparked from the contact.
Not good.
~*~
After dinner, I trudged back to the library alone. Will had his Mechanics United club meeting, Mike was on snow patrol, Delia had Fashion Guild, and Neph was on muse duty. Olivia had another debate meeting, but she had assured me with a fierce, concerning look, that the outcome of this meeting would be different from her last. That could mean one of two things—that she wouldn't get in a fight again, or that she wouldn't get caught, if she did.
The minute I entered the fourth floor, the black-and-white book's cover tilted toward me. The spell from Enhancing had worn off, but my ability to see my own connections remained. A long thin dollar-green cord ran from my chest to the book. A debt to be repaid.
Great.
I painstakingly cleared my mind of random desires, in case the book read and acted on another of my thoughts, then got to work.
It took fifteen minutes, but I finally succeeded in calling Vivid Dreams in Transition to me using its card catalog spell. It certainly would have saved me a lot of time last term, if I had known these tricks from the start, instead of having to stubbornly figure out everything from scratch.
The book flew toward me in a haphazard flight path of swirling colors. As opposed to the more dour tomes, the books that found joy in their own existence were glorious to watch. Unfortunately, dealing with them directly was usually aggravating. They tended to be prone to mercurial fits of emotion and theatricality.
Helmet in place, I let the book nuzzle my shoulder before I activated the cooperation spell. It gave an audible papered sigh as it plopped on its back cover and opened to page one.
As I leafed through, its blue bookmark tongue waved in the air like a cobra, repeatedly trying to lick my hand.
I transferred data quickly between the book, Justice Toad, and my reader, using my fingers as bridges. Justice Toad ticked another two community service hours onto my total as the tablet disapprovingly did the work I asked of it.
Getting punished for misusing the tablet's magic was well worth the amount of time I saved, though. Adding Olivia's hours to my tab was kind of a blow, but these two extra hours would be easily offset. Frankly, I was a little immune to adding one or two hours here or there after racking up two hundred plus community service hours last term.
Exhausted, but relieved that I had some actual tactics to try before going to sleep again, I released my finger bridge and shut the book.
Approaching its designated shelf space, I thrust the book toward the open slot between two other tomes. But Vivid opened its covers and pushed against the spines of the two books—like a cat refusing to get into its carrier.
“Come on, just go in there.” I wiggled its spine and pushed harder, exhaustion starting to overtake my higher brain functions. The streaming room visit earlier had taken a lot out of me.
“You'll be released from the card catalog spell.” I tried coaxing. “Doesn't that sound great?”
Lick.
Ack. I rubbed the back of my hand against my jeans again. Who knew what else that bookmark had licked today? I was going to need some magical disinfectant.
“Pardon me,” a husky voice said.
I shivered. Every time a lick made contact, it caused vivid hallucinations. Such a dangerous book, dealing in dreams and fevered imaginings. It had been whispering things to me post-licks for the past half hour. And Vivid's dream-induced whispers were getting downright eerie. My mind was even substituting Alexander Dare's voice now.
A stringed light of pure ultramarine pulsed from my chest in response.
A dangerous book. Especially when I was running on fumes.
Vivid pushed back against my hand, hard.
“Come on, buddy, just go in.” I tried to clasp Vivid's covers together and shove it into place. I got hit with another blue-bookmark-tongued lick.
“I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“Yeah, yeah. I'll help you with something,” I said in a dark tone, suddenly irritated with the book's taunting and the blue string's pulsing.
I gave an extra-firm shove, and finally, finally, the book seated into place, tongue firmly wedged in too. It wiggled a bit, so I pushed against the spine with a finger. If I was quick, I’d be able to make it to the stairs before it tracked me down for another taste.
“You make it sound painful.”
I realized that someone was standing next to me at the same time that I realized that a real, live person—and not the mischievous book—had been the one talking.
“What did you say?” My voice went weirdly high pitched as I looked up into unnaturally blue eyes. He was leaning one shoulder against the bookshelf, so close to me that we were nearly touching.
Alexander Dare and I hadn't had much to say to each other since I had died for him. Well that wasn’t entirely true; he had tried to talk to me, but I was stupidly incoherent around him and conflicted––wanting him to recognize me from the night of Christian's Awakening and subsequent death, yet not wanting him to recognize me from the same.
His eyes were still the color of ultramarine paint straight from Michelangelo's brush.
My hand dropped and Vivid thrust itself backward, licked the side of my face in one long blue bookmarked pass—whispering dirty thoughts as it did—then ruffled its pages in supreme amusement and self-satisfaction as it flew away in a triple-looped pattern.
Dare gave the fleeing book an unreadable glance, then gazed at my ink-slobbered cheek.
Nothing brilliant or witty lit in my head. I stared blankly at him, wiped my cheek, and wished I had a portal to Hell.
The skin around his blue eyes creased under the windswept, dark hair brushing his brow. Irritation was a pretty normal expression for me to see on his face.
Still hot.
“I saw you exiting the streaming room earlier,” he said in a horribly casual voice, as if he was trying—and failing—to be anything other than irritated with me. “The librarian said you are in there frequently.”
I swallowed. I really needed to be more careful. “It's a useful room.”
He tilted his head. “And yet I pulled you out of a regular reading room when you got lost to the information, what, three months ago? The first time you stepped into one.”
I gave a queasy laugh at the thought of what he wasn't saying. “They made me nervous before, so I had never tried one. I got over it.” Olivia had hated the rooms before I helped her through the process. Surely he'd buy that excuse from me.
Lies! Feral alert! Right in front of you!
“You must use an indexing spell in the streaming room, if you emerge without looking like total death.”
I didn't respond, keeping my lips clearly shut on the urge to ask, “How do I look?”
“Many mages hate all of the rooms and rely on the first management spell they find,” he said.
“Okay.” One word answers seemed safe.
He hesitated strangely for a moment. “I saw your notebook. You bridge the information, don't you?” His eyes were piercing.
Combat mages had such focused gazes, but his was unmasking—like he had already searched and found what he needed and was simply guiding his opponent, me, into the carefully laid trap he fully controlled.
I gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, I use a bridged indexeting spell.”
Indexeting wasn't a word—in any language.
His focuse
d gaze never wavered, but either irritation or amusement briefly flitted across his expression. “Which indexing spell do you use? I'm looking for a better one.”
If I didn't know any better, I would think he was attempting to make small talk with me. But there was no way that could be true. Which meant he was digging for information for nefarious purposes.
Panic and adrenaline surged and combined with the one effect I had managed to maintain from the Enhancing enchantment. The ultramarine string attached to his chest twanged into luminous view, spanning the space between us. Linking us quite clearly.
My hand went to my earlobe and I tugged it, desperately casting about for anything not completely insane to say as my mind spiraled out of my control and I tried not to stare at the connection. Indexing spells, indexing spells... “There are a dozen good indexeterering...in-dex-ing,” I said slowly and stupidly, “spells for the reading rooms.”
Die, die!
But my mouth decided it needed to make up for all mental shortcomings. “For average searches, I like Mueller's. I read that combat mages usually like Calaveri's, but that's shortsighted, don't you think, as it is exactly the same search order your magic would already perform. And the streaming room is like a reading room on crack.”
The words spewed out faster as my panic increased. “Or you could get a book on them. I know where those are.” You know, right here. In front of us. “Or, wait, what do you want to stream? I should probably ask that first. I think it would be pertinential.”
Pertinential? Panic overlaid panic and my brain shorted to survival blips. The kind of blips that were flaring neon signs that said—Escape! Escape as quickly as possible!
“Pertinent, I meant pertinent. But wait, you asked about mine,” I said, steamrolling on, unwilling to listen to an undoubtedly agonizing response questioning my fitness as a member of the human race—magical or otherwise. “It combines Mueller's, Calaveri's, Winslop's, and Ng's, with some extras. It's in beta stage with a recording spell that locks in your head for an hour afterward—I based it on magic locks, crazy things, yeah?” Oh, my God. “And it downloads in crazy bits to an enchanted notebook using Perry's code, but the lock works well and gives you an extra hour, and our magic is very sympathetic and connected—”
His brows shot upward at that and I started stuttering worse. My gaze was drawn again to the ward connecting us—the one that was now pulsing weirdly.
Escape! “So it should work for you, and here!”
I laid my hand on his wrist, and the ultramarine connection immediately reformed along the completed circuit of skin-to-skin contact, running from chest to arm and up the opposite path. Blue light flared brilliantly. I shoved the magic through the connection, and the blaring neon mental signs suddenly read—Holy-Dragon-Fire!—at the thought that I had just thrust magic into Alexander Dare without asking first. His face could only be described as a mirror of my thoughts—filled with astonishment, and a dawning “smite her immediately!” vibe.
Neither of us moved for a full second, full on shock overtaking everything else as the warm sienna of the spell transferred. No colored spell ball had formed in either of our hands, as one might politely pass a spell to someone else. No, the spell had gone directly through and into him––bypassing any shield.
I tore my hand away and the floor wavered in my view. I quickly and mechanically grabbed a blank piece of library memo from the floating tub that was always zooming around. My fingers were still warm from touching him.
He needed instructions. I was going to be dead after he killed me and he wouldn't be able to use the recording spell.
I force-shoved my magic to scribble the directions for the spell's use—panic and horror making my magic sharp and crazed and available for mass personal destruction of the social kind.
Vivid dove out of a looping spiral, and a blue bookmarked tongue reached out and swiped my cheek. Its spine curved into a smirk. I jerked, elbowed Dare in the chest, and sent my shouldered bag careening into the shelf to the right. A piece of paper from my bag fell to the floor. But grabbing it would take 1.5 extra seconds that I needed for running.
“Here.” I shoved the papered directions against his chest. His hand automatically curled around it.
Then I ran as if the hounds of Hell were nipping at my heels.
Chapter Eleven: Always Back to You
I immediately activated the spell I had created last term that specifically allowed me to avoid Alexander Dare. But by the next morning, I discovered there was something weirdly off about it.
So I avoided the library like it was a plague-infested ship of rats. I avoided the cafeteria. I even avoided a Draeger visit in the Battle Building, just in case. To top it off, I entered the Midlands on the south side of the Ninth Circle, far from the paths normal mages took.
My paranoia stretched high. Eluding the Junior Department, as I had taken to calling the students who seemed to consider it their duty to register and report campus threats, was nothing in comparison to my desire to avoid Alexander Dare. The Department was a shadowy threat. Alexander Dare, on the other hand, was real and ridiculously godlike—likely with all the gorgeous, smiting vengeance associated with the divine.
Thankfully, upon entering the Midlands, the Okai building appeared immediately, welcoming me inside. Both of my animated rocks were doing well, though Guard Rock communicated with his gestures and pencil strikes that they had been staying inside for the past two days. Relieved, I gave Guard Rock and Guard Friend pats and talked to them while I painted on a magical canvas I had purchased at an Expressionists' meeting. Painting soothed the edge of my magic, though nothing could cure my mortification or underlying unease.
Still, seeing Guard Rock and Guard Friend whole and hale was a huge weight off my mind. They counted in the category of “beings I needed to keep safe.”
In the forefront of a farmhouse scene, I inserted images of the rocks in a parody of Grant Woods’s American Gothic. Guard Rock touched the paint of the pitchfork his counterpart held, then thumped his pencil down in approval. Not wanting to risk my Awakening paint on frivolity, I was still able to use one of the better batches of paint I had made with Stevens, resulting in the costumed rocks slowly and theatrically moving inside the world of the picture. It made me smile and Guard Friend clap.
Because Okai appeared immediately upon my entry into the Midlands, and deposited me on the edge of the Midlands when I exited through the front door again, there was little need for me to be concerned anymore in the otherwise deadly territory. But even taking the few steps from the edge of the Ninth Circle to Okai's door, I could feel the foreign magics filtering through—and the junior stooges stalking the deadly mists.
I had to admire their fortitude, even if their creepy gazes unnerved me. Talented mages died in the Midlands every day and even stooges weren't exempt from mortal danger.
Upon exiting Okai, I checked the door to make sure the lock engaged. The building never stayed in one place long enough for a normal mage to approach it—but better safe than sorry. A good amount of my research—including the golem and empty dolls I had made to house my brother's soul—had been stolen by Raphael last term.
I had felt Raphael poking at the dream wards last night, laughing, but the wards had been a success. Hopefully, the wards I planned to raise tonight would prevent even his pokes, and maybe deal him some damage.
Five watchdog stooges stood just outside the mist when I exited. I let a few stray calming vibes that were floating around campus attach to me, but no amount of pressing or calming magic could diminish my tension completely. One of the boys stared hard at me, took a note, then went back to speaking with the other four.
Justice Toad alerted me halfway back to my dorm that an immediate all-hands meeting had been called for the Justice Squad, so I wove over to another port, and triple-hopped the mountain—fifth level south, third level northeast, fourth level west—to minimize walking distance, then trudged to the break room. Since all external forms of mag
ical transportation, like portal pads and carpets, were banned on campus, it was a campus-wide game finding the best port paths or naturally occurring transfers to get from point A to B.
Isaiah Gellis, the head of the Justice Squad, stood in the front of the room as everyone filed past and took seats.
I nervously glanced around, but no one was looking at me strangely. Good. No one on the squad usually paid me much attention. Currently, I was the only community service member assigned to the squad—the token delinquent in a room full of do-gooders. The Justice Squad was made up of students who were dedicated to making campus a safer and more orderly place. The community service folks who got roped in never quite fit that mold. And most of the mages who were forced into community service on the squad, only did it for a night or two.
Not for two hundred hours, like I'd initially been assigned. My excessive amount of hours meant I was considered a semi-permanent member, and had to attend meetings.
“Folks,” Isaiah said, “I have just been informed that for the next month we will be increasing patrols and sanctions on campus, per new security stipulations. Effective immediately, Level Four Offenses will require board review.”
I grimaced, and my least favorite member of the squad, Joseph Aldwin Peters, smiled, his back unnaturally straight due to the metaphorical pole stuck up his...spine.
Board review on Level Fours would put a serious dent in the lives of many of my cohorts in magical crime. Olivia was about to get a lot of new business as a defense attorney.
“I'm sending the new information to your tablets, but this might be a good time to shore up punishments. Let people know that the noose is tightening and that the administration will be watching.”
The administration. Right. The back of my neck itched, and I could already feel the cold stares of Department eyes. Thankfully, the campus's forcefully calming magic continued to keep my very real panic mostly contained. I could see the blue mists seeping in through the vents.