Winterholt studiously ignored them, humming tunelessly to herself as she unhooked her donor from the taps.
They left the laboratory.
Heath explained everything he knew about chimeras as they made their way through the crowded streets of the Diviner’s District. They were both exhausted. Neither had slept, and only the thrill of the hunt and generous servings of red ginger tea kept them alert. Heath’s heart pumped hard in his chest from the stimulants in the tea, and his extremities tingled.
He had fond memories of the tireless, sleepless witch hunts of his youth. The lifestyle no longer agreed with him. Lyta seemed to be holding up better.
“So what is Shannon?” Heath finally asked.
Lyta evaded, “She’s the love of my life.”
“You heard Winterholt. She’s not human. Is she like you?”
“It’s not my place to say.”
Heath stood in front of her and stopped. “I need to know what I’m getting into because I’m taking a big risk in helping you. I could have given Safina your head. But I’m trusting you. I need you to trust me.”
She glared at him, but eventually her blue eyes softened. “She’s a Patrean. I think. Not like the Fodders that guard the city, different. She can sense things through those she’s touched. That includes all of the sons and Patriarchs of the Great Houses. That’s where your leverage will come from.”
“Thank you.” Heath’s thoughts reeled with the applications for such a talent.
“So you say.” Lyta sniffed. “She can get you your vote. But only if we find her in time. So why in Ohan’s name are we still in Dessim?”
“I need to know what we’re up against,” Heath said. “This thing kicked your ass, and I’m guessing that’s not an easy thing to do. I’m powerful with the elements, but I need to know everything about these chimeras so I can make a plan. Particularly, I need to know if they’re vulnerable to lightning. The Inquisition might have records.”
“Might?” Lyta challenged.
“Might,” Heath reiterated. “If not lightning, maybe they have another weakness. Going in blind is stupid.” He hated the idea of going to the Inquisition as much as she did, but Maddox and Sword hadn’t returned to their apartments in Freedom House. It wasn’t like Sword to run out in a huff, but he was becoming more like Maddox with each passing day.
Heath briefed her on what to expect as they went to an unassuming storefront with a dilapidated shingle hanging over the door. It was the Inquisition safehouse, hidden in plain sight by being as uninteresting as possible. The bell over the door rang as they stepped inside a small room. Tables covered in old books littered the crowded space.
His worst fears were realized when he saw a dark-skinned woman in a black cloak step down from a ladder next to a bookshelf. Daphne turned and flashed him a wan smile. “Heath. You survived.”
Heath shut the door behind him. “I don’t want a fight.”
“Too bad,” she said, tracing the scars on her face. “Who’s your pretty little friend?”
“I’m Lyta.”
Heath held up his hands. “We need your expertise. This is Inquisition business. We’re hunting a chimera.”
“Oh please,” Daphne spat. “You think you can walk in here and demand information? You lost that right when you swore yourself to the false god. You’re not doing Ohan’s work. You’re a monstrosity.”
“I haven’t killed you,” Heath said. “And I’d be well within my rights given the present you left me after our last encounter. I need to consult the bestiary. We can fight later.”
Daphne reached toward her belt and pulled out a long silvery chain of spiked abraevium from a hidden fold in her fabric. The flexible metal slid out easily and formed wicked spiked lengths of chain, which Daphne took in each hand and whirled lazily. “Sorry, not interested.”
Heath shrugged. “Lyta, now’s your chance to show me what you’ve got.” He didn’t like his chances in a fair fight with his nausea churning in his stomach.
Lyta charged into action. Daphne fell back on her heel and whirled her chain above her head, ready to strike. Lyta ran toward a table, grabbed it by the edge, and flung it forward. The legs of the table tumbled in the air as books and loose pages rained to the ground. Daphne’s eyes went wide with shock as she rolled out of the way. The table exploded into bits of wood when it crashed into the bookshelf.
“What in the five hells?” Daphne exclaimed as she popped up behind another table. Her eyes glanced between Heath and Lyta, who was still breathing calmly.
“I remember when you were the one who told me there’s always an alternative to senseless violence,” Heath said calmly.
Lyta picked up a pair of books and hurled them at Daphne. She twisted her body to avoid one, but the other tagged her in the hip and knocked her against a table. She gasped for breath, her eyes hot with rage.
Light flowed from her body, forming translucent golden plate armor. She picked herself up and walked toward Lyta. Lyta hurled more books, but Daphne batted them out of the air with her chain until she was in striking distance. The books burst into showers of loose pages and torn confetti.
Heath leaned against the wall and watched. He knew some of Lyta’s capabilities through the reports Safina had sent over. Seeing Lyta in action was something else entirely. She had no skill or training, but she was strong.
Daphne lashed out with her chain, and Lyta simply let it snare her arm. She didn’t even flinch. With a quick tug, she dragged Daphne forward and punched her in the chest. The solar armor cracked and flickered out. Daphne fell to her knees, hands clutching her breast.
Lyta grabbed Daphne’s throat and lifted her in the air. She brought out her springblades and slashed at Lyta’s throat, but the cuts healed almost as soon as they were drawn.
Lyta said, “Stop embarrassing yourself.”
Daphne gasped for breath. “I underestimated you.”
“Impressive, isn’t she?” Heath said with genuine admiration. He was ready to step in, but it didn’t seem necessary. Lyta could take out an army. That made him even more concerned about the monster they faced.
Grabbing Lyta’s wrists, Daphne boosted herself enough so she could breathe. “Where did you find her?”
Lyta threw Daphne down on a table, shattering it in half. Lyta placed a foot on Daphne’s chest and pressed, causing her ribs to crack audibly. “Tell us what we want to know.”
Daphne winced and chuckled. “There’s nothing in the lore here that will help you. But I know things.”
Heath folded his arms. “I hate that it’s come to this between us. You taught me everything I know. You saved my life in Rivern. That’s not a debt I forget lightly. Work with me on this, and I’ll let you live long enough to plan your revenge. But truth be told, you won’t need to.”
She looked at him quizzically.
Heath admitted, “I’m dying. The same thing my mother had. Kondole blessed me with new eyes, but this cancer is still eating away at me. My Light is fading, and the treatments aren’t working. Feel it for yourself.” He walked over and bent down to grab her hand.
He felt her warm Light probe his body.
She let go. “It’s true.”
“See? I’ll be dead in a year or two either way.” Heath forced a smile. “After the things I’ve done, Ohan knows I deserve it. Just let me do one thing right before I’m too sick to do anything. A young girl’s life hangs in the balance.”
Daphne’s eyes seemed wet with tears. “It gives me no pleasure to know this, Heath. Killing you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It’s probably why I didn’t try that hard.”
“I know. And I forgive you,” he said, gently brushing her scarred cheek.
She closed her eyes. “A chimera’s vulnerability depends on the constituent organisms. How large is it?”
Lyta said, “At least as big as three men, and it has three heads.”
Daphne smacked her lips. “Then it probably has redundant organs: multiple he
arts, separate brains, a matrix of spines. There’s no single point of weakness. Don’t bother with poison or physical trauma. It’s probably got some theurgy as well. You have to attack the system as a whole. Fire is your best bet.”
“What about lightning?” Heath asked.
“Maybe,” she said, coughing blood. “They’re rare, and we don’t have any records of them being hit with lightning. It’s not a tool the Inquisition has much access to. Provided they aren’t immune, electrocution might cause enough damage to kill one. Depending on the strength of the shock.”
“Anything else?”
Daphne groaned. “No. You can kill me now.”
For a while Heath said nothing. He finally said, “I don’t want to do that.”
“If you don’t,” Daphne laughed to herself, “I will fulfill my crusade. You don’t have a choice.”
“We all have choices. Even you.”
She shook her head. “Always the conciliator. If I taught you anything, it’s that life is about hard choices. Sometimes there isn’t a middle ground.”
He bent down to kiss her forehead and whispered in her ear, “By sparing your life, any debt I owed to you is paid in full. If I see you again, I will strike you down without hesitation, pity, or remorse.”
“Likewise.”
Heath stood and motioned for Lyta to follow. “Come on. We need to get to Baash before sunset.”
TWENTY-TWO
Blood Magic
HEATH
Each of the Thirteen Seals is referred to by three titles: the Guide who bears the seal, the formal Archean name, and one or more informal sobriquets depending on the college. It is customary to use the informal when dealing with laymen and the formal Archean in written academic works. The Guides’ names are rarely used unless referencing technical aspects of the diagram or in codices.
Thus the ‘Seal of Ardiel’ is the same as the ‘Momentum Seal,’ more commonly known as the ‘Seal of Movement’ or ‘Invisible Hand.’ Invisible Hand is an example of a poetic sobriquet versus ‘movement,’ which is a utilitarian descriptor. Modern usage favors the utilitarian for the informal.
There are exceptions. The Vitae Seal is rarely called the Seal of Life, given its prestige. The Veritas and Oculus Seals likewise retain their Archean names in common usage: the Veritas Seal as a well-known part of the judicial system and the Oculus Seal to avoid confusion with the unrelated disciplines of Sight and Vision. The Ego Seal also takes the Archean form by default since it is the same word in both languages.
The naming convention can be confusing, and new informal terms crop up among younger scholars. (I once overheard a group of students refer to the Seal of Pyrael as ‘The Face Melter.’ Indeed!) Though there are far more than thirteen names for the seals, there are only thirteen seals.
—DEAN TERTIUS OF THE LYCEUM. GLYPHOMANCY FOR THE FEEBLEMINDED, A PRIMER ON SEAL MAGIC
THE DRAWING ROOM at the Magesterium was an open space at the crown of the main tower. Arches looked out over the city, but the top was covered. Heavy lacquered chain curtains could be drawn shut to keep out the elements. The inscribing circle was massive, made of colored inlaid marble, to contrast with the white. Maddox studied a codex as he sat cross-legged on the floor. He was shirtless, exposing his wiry chest and two seals: one gold, the other black.
He felt his craving for alcohol like a tingling in his lips, but the last time he had inscribed a seal while drunk, he nearly killed himself. His was the only recorded instance of a mistranscribed Seal of Vitae making anyone immortal, at least since the Harrowers cleaned house during the Long Night. It kept him alive and nourished, but it did not prevent his gnawing cravings.
Sword was nuzzling with a woman, Rebekah, by one of the podiums, whispering things into her ear and kissing her bare shoulders. She was easily twice his current physical age, but then Sword was older than ten generations of her family so it was creepy either way.
Maddox rubbed the back of his neck. “Does she need to be here?”
Rebekah folded her arms and looked at him. Her eyes were lined with dark makeup, and her fingers were covered in rings. “I do, ‘Archwizard.’ Even if you are consulting with the Inspector, I’m taking a big professional risk letting you use this circle.”
Sword may have embellished that last part, but like Heath, Sword had none of the moral issues with lying that her Veritas Seal would detect.
Sword wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. “We’ll be quiet.”
Maddox shut his eyes. They were safe and topside. Sword was getting a bit too comfortable in his new body, and Maddox wished they could just merge already. The Sword was pushing Maddox away. Heath was pushing the Sword away. And if Heath were there, he’d probably push Maddox away.
He took out his new stylus and began his inscription by drawing a perfect circle on the white marble. The gem tip of the stylus glowed, and his will became a smooth black mark on the tile. The freehand circle was his most impressive trick, but the new stylus took a lot of the fun out of it. It was like it could draw the seal itself.
Rebekah took Sword’s arms off her body and stepped forward, intently watching.
Maddox smirked.
He consulted the drawing of the Seal of Felice, the warden. He knew the thirteen seals by heart; he had studied them for years. But he had always had it drilled into his head that he needed a reference. He wondered how much of that advice had been total crap, intended to scare mages from ever trying. He shut the book and started to draw.
He realized it had been almost a year since he had worked the stylus, and doing it here in the binding circle brought back a deep and forgotten love of craftsmanship and precision. Drawing was the only time, aside from drinking, that he felt whole.
His hands worked quickly, laying down strokes in a rhythm that felt organic and natural. He had nothing to lose—if he fucked it up, he could just off himself and his body would resurrect as a virtually blank slate. The emblem of Felice formed under his steady hand; it looked like a stylized shield, radiating or repelling intervening lines of energy.
The Guides, or aethersprites as the less superstitions ancients called them, started to appear. They were motes of twinkling light that danced on an invisible current. Thousands shimmered into existence, undulating through the space in the circle like a flock of starlings. He wiped his eyes. He was crying for some reason.
He smiled and slammed his hand down on the seal. The lights followed his hand and streamed into the seal. The now-glowing pattern transferred to his hand, and he pressed it to his chest, next to his Seal of Ardiel.
Rebekah clapped. Her jaw was slack with naked awe. “That was incredible! You did that in less than thirty minutes.”
“I’m rusty,” Maddox admitted. “The next one I can do in five.”
“Wait—you’re doing another seal?”
“The Seal of Pyrael, Incendium.”
She stepped toward the circle. “You can’t—we haven’t even verified the last one.”
Maddox was already drawing. Rebekah backed off. She couldn’t interrupt the inscription once it started. Although he didn’t do it in five minutes, he did do it in under an hour. As before, the sprites appeared. And when it was finished, he placed the seal on his chest next to Ardiel and Felice, forming a triangle. His golden Seal of Sephariel needed to remain set apart on his left pectoral.
Rebekah gasped. “Soren, are you watching this?”
Sword’s head jerked, and he blinked his eyes. “What happened? Are we done here?”
“Were you sleeping standing up?” Maddox asked.
“Patrean trick I learned for getting through boring guard duty. Pretty good, huh?” Sword seemed inordinately proud of his accomplishment.
Rebekah shook her head. “We need to verify the seals.”
Maddox held out his hand, and a ball of fire winked into existence. It was different from anything he had done before. Telekinesis was just like having an extra appendage, which was weird at first but basically worke
d like a part of his body. The fire came from somewhere else inside him. He had no better way to explain it.
“That works,” Maddox said. “Now we need to test my ward.”
“I’ll do it!” Sword said cheerfully, bounding toward Maddox and winding up for a punch. Sword fell back on one leg and raised his heel as he turned his torso back and readied his fist.
Holy crap, he’s trying to knock me out, Maddox thought.
Maddox’s first instinct was to use his mind to push Sword away. If this were a real fight, Maddox could have tossed Sword off the building and been done with it. But Maddox called on the Warding Seal. It manifested as a jiggling, rubbery vibration in front of him. Sword’s fist connected with the air and stopped. The invisible barrier rang like a muffled bell and flashed with a light that radiated from the point of impact, dissipating rapidly.
Sword shook his fist. “Nice.”
Without warning, he punched again. He moved faster, in a greater flurry of blows. He added some kicks into his attack rotation. Maddox stepped back on instinct as Sword worked at the defenses. The boy, Soren, had probably never fought in his life. Sword, on the other hand, had a thousand years of collected skill and muscle memory, and he was unleashing it.
Without warning, Sword tumbled to the ground, rolled and jumped to his feet, bringing his arm back. Maddox caught it out of the corner of his eye as Sword slammed his elbow into Maddox’s head. He went sprawling to the floor. Sword had already drawn his blade and held it at Maddox’s throat.
“The fuck?” Maddox exclaimed.
Sword shrugged and sheathed his weapon. “The defense works, but you need to consider all sides. Or just keep your back to the wall. And don’t flinch.”
“Ow.” Maddox grabbed the side of his face. “We’re just testing a seal. That’s going to leave a bruise, asshole.”
Rebekah stared at Sword, her expression concerned. “Soren… where did you learn to fight like that?”
“The Sword I’m carrying—it has magic. Also I’m a Patrean incubus, and the Palace of Keys is secretly a nest of inhuman parasites. They had Lawrence killed by some three-headed monstrosity, and we’re off to avenge his murder,” Sword explained.
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