by Dan Koboldt
It used to make him nervous, doing that, but the years in Vegas had hardened him. Go big or go home.
Twenty minutes until his class started. He jogged most of the way, and slowed up long enough to catch his breath. He skirted the beehives as best he could. The hum of the bees made him nervous. He rounded the corner of the chandlery and almost plowed into Jillaine. She stood on a stepladder, working a bright yellow ribbon into the latticework over the door.
“Good morning.” He didn’t have to fake the smile; it came on its own.
Her eyes flickered to him, then back to her work. “Hello.”
God, I love the sound of her voice. Even with the cold shoulder. “I brought you something. Well, three things, really.”
“I’m surprised you had time, with all of your grand travels and such.”
“Number one.” He snapped his fingers, and the bluebell appeared between them. “I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly, and that it took so long to return.”
She hesitated. Just for a moment, but it seemed to stretch on forever. But she took it, and worked it right into the latticework among the ribbon. “Apology accepted.”
“Number two.” He clapped his hands together, and spread them open to reveal the starflower. “I thought about you the whole time I was away.”
Her lips twitched in what might have been a smile. Either this whole act amused her, or he’d not been quite right about the meaning. Damn this flower language. That’s probably the equivalent of a sympathy card. She took it, though, so he counted that a win.
She worked it into the ribbon, and then looked back at him and quirked an eyebrow. “You said you had three things.”
“Didn’t I give you three flowers?”
“No.”
He feigned puzzlement. “Could have sworn I did.” Then plucked the pink-and-purple flower out of her boot. “Ah, here it is.”
She tittered at the sleight of hand. Then she got a look at the flower, and the laugh died. He was watching her eyes, not his hand, which was why he noticed when her pupils dilated. It was a subtle thing. The stepladder wobbled precariously. He put his free hand on her hip to steady her.
“Number three,” Quinn said. “I won’t take another adventure without you.” He hoped to the Alissian gods that he could keep that promise.
She took it with delicate, trembling fingers. She stared at it. He wanted more than anything to stay, but he’d said his piece. Time for the grand exit. He turned and walked away. He forced himself not to look back. He didn’t need to see her face anyway. The silence said it all.
Quinn hadn’t seen Moric in two days. Maybe that was a good thing, if it meant he was off the island on business. But if he wasn’t, and Anton forced a vote, the whole plan would fall apart. Quinn had to know for sure. Not knowing where else to try, he figured he’d check the library, and then the Pirean tower. He strapped on one of the elemental projectors. With Sella getting cute about what qualified as a lesson, he didn’t want to be caught unprepared.
As many people as seemed to live on the island, he somehow ended up alone most of the time. This part of the road ran through the middle of a small copse of Alissian lollipop trees—tall, narrow trunks and a single ball of foliage at the top—and he hadn’t seen anyone else for five minutes. Which made it doubly suspicious when the strong smell of roses filled his nostrils. It was Jillaine’s favorite scent, and as strong as if he’d stuck his head into a bouquet.
I don’t think that’s a coincidence. He came to a stop. “Are you coming out, or am I to try and find you?” he asked.
She laughed softly by way of answer. The sound came from behind him. He spun around, but saw no one. She laughed again, but this time from somewhere to the right.
It had to be some kind of concealment spell. He’d seen one of those before. How had Sella described it? Something about the light, and how he should keep still if he wanted it to work. He stalked in the direction he thought the sound had come from. If she was on the road, he’d run into her. Or she’d have to move, and he might spot her.
He’d moved about twenty yards when she laughed again, and sent another dose of her rose scent to his nose. Yeah, yeah, keep making noise. He’d spent his entire childhood learning woodcraft from his grandfather. Nothing on two legs could move that fast, that silently. It was like a game of Marco Polo, without the sound of water to give someone away.
He stood still for a moment, ears perked. Hell, he could hear her breathing! She has to be close. This concealment stuff was a damn nuisance. He shifted the metal band on his wrist, and let his fingertips brush the controls of the elemental projector. He could use that to find her, but it felt like cheating. Besides, she was suspicious enough of him as it was.
He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Must have been my imagination.” He turned and started down the road again.
He heard the indignant scoff, but pretended not to. Stay on target. Stay on target.
Wham. He walked right into an invisible something. He was mid-step when it happened, and bounced off it like a tennis ball. He ended up in a heap in the dirt. “Son of a bitch!” So much for the graceful exit.
A shadow fell across him. “Did you fall?” Jillaine’s voice was laced with honey. She chose to be visible again. Her eyes danced with amusement.
Quinn wanted to frown at her, but seeing her this close, having her attention for once, took the harshness out of it. “Ran into something.”
“You should watch where you’re going.” She offered her hand, as good a confession of guilt as he’d probably get from her.
He ignored it, and climbed to his feet without any help. He brushed himself off a tad more than necessary. “I’ll get right on that.” He tried not to look at her, but she drew his gaze like a magnet. Her violet eyes simply pulled at him.
“I hear you’ve taken some meals in the Pirean tower,” she said.
He kept his expression neutral, though he felt a glimmer of hope. She’s been asking about me. “They have the best food on the island. You should come by, actually. Tonight’s mutton night!”
“Will my father be there?”
“I’m not sure. Now that I think of it, actually, I haven’t seen him in a couple of days,” Quinn said.
“Then maybe I will.”
Time for one of those overtures. “Maybe we could walk there together, at the dinner hour. The chandlery’s on my way.” This was a bald-faced lie, but he hoped she wouldn’t call him on it.
Her eyes narrowed, as if she sensed an ulterior motive. “Very well. At the last sliver of sunset.”
He gave her his most innocent smile. “Until then, m’lady.”
Chapter 29
Trickery
“Some tricks you just can’t learn.”
—Art of Illusion, March 1
Quinn practically ran to the Pirean tower, ignoring the twinges of pain from his still-tender legs.
It was early yet, so the common room lay almost empty. Leward crouched beside the hearth, where a massive haunch of mutton sizzled and crackled as it spun slowly on a spit. The smell made Quinn’s stomach growl, and reminded him that he’d missed lunch. Leward moved his hands like a symphony conductor near the flames. They danced and spouted with each little movement.
It was no accident that they cooked the mutton out here rather than back in the kitchens. The enticing smell wafted out the open door, the Enclave’s version of a soft pretzel store at the mall. You couldn’t pay for better advertising than the smell of roasted meat. In a few hours, this room would be jam-packed with hungry Pireans and anyone wise enough to call them friends.
Quinn took a moment to savor the sight and sound of it. “It smells amazing in here!”
Leward’s youthful face split into a grin. “Quinn! You coming for supper tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, buddy. Is it all right if I bring someone?”
“It’s not Anton, is it?”
“What? No. Why would I bring him?”
&nbs
p; “It’s common knowledge that you had dinner in the Caralissian tower.”
Quinn waved it off. “That was more of a business meeting.”
Leward gave him a flat look. “With food.”
“They can’t hold a candle to Pirean cooking.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Trust me, it’s not even close. Hey, is Moric around? I need to talk to him.”
Leward shook his head. “Haven’t seen him in a day or two.”
“Neither have I. He’s not on a mission, is he?”
“No, the council put a hold on assignments until further notice.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. For some reason, they forgot to tell me.”
Quinn put on a puzzled expression. “Wait, aren’t you running the council yet?”
Leward guffawed. “Not quite.” He held out both hands toward the hearth and made a beckoning gesture. The flames leaped up to sear at the meat, which hissed and cracked in the sudden heat.
The aroma hit like a wave. Quinn’s stomach was giving him actual hunger pangs. “Damn, you’re good at that.”
“Thanks.”
“Want to do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
God, I love the Pireans. Quinn pointed at the flames. “Teach me to do that.”
Leward’s eager smile faltered. “I’m not really supposed to interfere with the teachers—”
“Who’s interfering? I just want to learn some tricks.” He could do illusions all day, but that always felt like cheating. A real trick, even a small one, would make him feel like maybe he did belong here. That he should keep trying to learn.
“I don’t know,” Leward said.
Quinn made his voice casual. “I could ask a teacher, I suppose. It’s just that fire is your specialty. In fact, I heard you’re the best at it.”
“Someone said that?”
“Absolutely.” Quinn pointed at the hearth. “Now that I’ve seen you in action, I understand.”
Leward grinned. “All right, so what sort of tricks?”
Two hours later, Quinn was beyond frustrated. “This isn’t working.”
“Don’t give up yet,” Leward said. “Here, try this.” He snapped his fingers, then splayed them wide over the hearth. Blue flames leaped from the hot coals beneath it. They were in the shape of his hand, too, and mirrored his movements.
Quinn tried his right hand first. Snap, then splay. Nothing. He switched hands and tried it again, willing the flames to appear. If anything, they got smaller. “Damn.”
“It’s all right. A lot of people have trouble controlling fire.” Leward absentmindedly waggled his fingers and brought the hearth to a steady burn again.
Never thought I’d be jealous of Leward. Quinn sighed. “What I really want to do is be able to light a candle.”
“Is that all? What for?”
“To impress a girl.”
Leward laughed. “You think magic will do that?”
“It works more than you’d guess, my friend.”
“Not on this island.”
“Come on, please? I need this.”
Leward wavered, then gave in. “All right, let’s try something.” He put his hand beneath Quinn’s so that their fingers lined up. He moved it over the hearth. The fire sprung up to follow them wherever it went.
Quinn’s palm tingled—he could feel the power of the magic emanating from Leward’s hand. “Whoa!”
“It’s really something, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“If you can feel it, you can do it.” Leward let him go.
“All right.” Quinn went to try it on his own.
Leward grabbed his arm. “No. Wait until you really need it, and remember that feeling.”
Quinn grunted. It’s worth a shot. “All right. Thanks, Leward.”
“Anytime.”
“Listen, you’ll let me know if Moric shows up, won’t you?”
“Did you check his room?” Leward asked.
No, because I’m a moron. “I don’t know where it is.”
“It’s right down the hall. I’ll show you, if you want.”
Quinn hesitated, wondering if that might be stepping over the line. Moric was a council member. He’d never invited Quinn to visit, and he valued his privacy. Then again, he drops by my room whenever he feels like it. “You know what? That’d be great.”
Leward made a pushing gesture over the hearth. The flames sputtered down to nearly nothing. Just enough to keep it warm. Quinn fought another spike of envy, and followed him out of the common room. They passed the stairs and started down a long hallway lined with doors. Moric must live on the ground floor, which was good. That made it less awkward for Quinn to stop by to see him on a whim. Better than wandering around upstairs like a peeping Tom.
“It’s up ahead,” Leward said. “Second door on the right.”
Quinn laughed. “Seriously?”
“What?” Leward asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that he put me in the same room, in the Landorian tower.”
Leward stopped in his tracks. “You’ve got a room on the first floor?”
“Why, is that a problem?”
“No, not at all,” Leward said. But his eyes were still a little wide.
“Where’s your room?”
“Sixteen floors up.”
And they don’t have elevators here, either. “Oh. Sorry. Maybe I just got lucky.”
Leward snorted. “I think it takes a little more than luck to get down to the first floor. It’s a luxurious privilege.”
“I didn’t ask for it. Hell, I didn’t even know.”
“I believe you.” Leward started back down the hall. “But I wouldn’t bring it up to the other students.”
“Don’t worry. Jade never gives me the time of day, and the skinny kid owes me one.”
“The skinny kid?”
“Another student in Sella’s class. He still hasn’t told me his name, and I keep forgetting to ask.”
“Ah. Well, he goes by Everett.”
Quinn looked over at him in surprise. “Do you know him?”
“Better than anyone here.”
Quinn recognized the facial features then. The slight chin and wide, flat nose. How did I miss that? “You’re his older brother, aren’t you?”
“By four years.”
“Why didn’t you say something?’
He shrugged. “I thought it might just come up in conversation.”
“Well, we’re usually pretty busy in class, trying not to get eaten, drowned, or burned alive.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Do your parents live here, too?” Quinn asked.
Leward’s face fell. “They don’t have the ability.”
“So what, they’re not allowed to visit?”
“Oh, they are.” Leward chewed his lip, and dropped his eyes. “But we’re from the Tip.”
The Pirean Tip. That was an isolated community at the end of a narrow, north-pointing peninsula. Deeply religious and distrustful of outsiders, according to Chaudri’s cultural brief. From the expression on Leward’s face, Quinn guessed they weren’t too thrilled to learn that he and his brother were magicians. He felt bad for bringing it up. “Sorry, man. That’s got to be rough.”
“We got out, which is what matters.”
Quinn doubted it was easy, though. It was something to ask Moric about, once he found him. There’s a list that keeps getting longer.
They arrived at the door, which was closed tight. Quinn knocked three times. “Moric?”
No answer from within. He knocked again, but got no answer.
“Maybe he’s out,” Leward said.
“I’ll ask Jillaine at dinner tonight.”
“Oh, she’s coming? Good,” Leward said. “Wait, is Jillaine the girl you’re trying to impress?”
Quinn smiled. “She sure is.”
“Wow, Moric’s daughter.” Leward shook his head. “You’re a brav
e man.”
“That’s what they keep telling me.”
Chapter 30
Surveillance
“Never underestimate the power of a small team dedicated to a greater good.”
—R. Holt, “Research Team: Budget Justification”
Logan and Kiara lay prone on a ridge overlooking Valteron City. Winter was nearly imperceptible here; the balmy air had both of them sweating in their ghillie suits. Cleanup crews had all but erased the scars of Valteron’s brief civil war. Harbor traffic was up. Refugees still flowed back into the city. CASE Global’s research team estimated the population at around eighty thousand before the last Prime died. Now it was probably closer to a hundred thousand.
The heat and the crowd and the recent unrest should have turned this place into a powder keg waiting to blow. Instead, the city sprawled out beneath them looked eerily calm.
“Looks like they got the harbor cleaned up,” Logan said.
Kiara’s eyes were a little wider than usual. “I’ve never seen so many ships there at once. Look, there’s a Felaran whaler. Damn, it’s busy.”
“A regular Hong Kong.”
They’d gleaned bits and pieces of Holt’s activities from people on the road. He’d doubled the size of the city watch, and given them license to use extreme force when necessary. Now they patrolled in teams of four, every man well-fed and heavily armed. Not a one had been lost under the new leadership. For the first time in recorded history, the city watch was Valteron’s most coveted job.
But all of those were rumors. The company executives wanted direct surveillance. Which, among other things, happened to be Logan’s specialty.
“Let’s see what this bird can do,” he said.
The Kite-2 unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) was a lightweight cousin of the missile-capable drones employed in the Middle East. Solar powered, four-foot wingspan, and a surveillance technology called the Shiva Stare. Twelve high-definition cameras with independent controls provided multiple angles.
All of the parts had to be small enough to fit in a saddlebag, so reassembly was one hell of a job. The engineers had field-tested the disassembly/reassembly process, and written a ninety-six-page manual with every step described in detail.