by Jasmine Walt
“I should have come sooner,” I said as helplessness filled me nearly to bursting. I wanted to do something, only I didn’t see what I could do other than be there for him. Knowing it wasn’t enough, I embraced Comenius and Elania once more. “If you change your mind, or if there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”
They nodded to me as I left Com’s place. While my heart was heavy, I had to respect their wishes to stay out of it. I’d just have to let them do their best and trust that things would work out.
So even though it weighed on me, I tried to put the problem out of my mind as we sped back to Rowanville. Maybe I couldn’t help Com right now, or his equally unhappy child. But there were other people coming to me for assistance today, and I was determined to give them my best.
4
It only took us a few minutes to get to the consulting office—a small corner house in Rowanville that used to host a dental practice. I’d chosen to rent the place rather than buy it because the project was still experimental, but if it turned out to be a success, I would look for a permanent location and regular staff.
Rylan went in ahead of me to check for any intruders or hidden bombs—he took his bodyguard duties very seriously, for which I was thankful. I followed once he gave the all clear. The inside of the house was clean and simple—there was a waiting room with comfortable chairs, magazines, and a few toys for children. A twenty-something receptionist, on loan from a nearby office for this part-time gig, sat behind the utilitarian wooden desk to receive petitioners. I greeted her, then moved past the waiting room and down the hall. There were two more rooms—the first door on the left was my audience chamber, and the second, further down, was a sort of cell that Iannis had insisted on setting up in case any criminals or unruly petitioners found their way in and needed to be detained.
After Rylan performed one final safety check, I went into the audience chamber and settled in behind the wooden desk. Like the waiting room, it was a simple space with a single desk supplied with stationary, a small filing cabinet, and visitor chairs. A window to my left looked out onto the side street, and a magical mirror located in my desk drawer allowed me to peek in on the waiting room. I was also wearing my heirloom ring, a treasured gift from my father, which would alert me if anyone entering the premises harbored ill will toward me. Between my bodyguard, the mirror, and the ring, I was perfectly safe.
I pulled the mirror out from the desk. To my surprise, there was already a couple sitting in the waiting room with a small, dark-haired young boy. That was fast, I thought, a ball of nerves suddenly forming in my stomach.
“You’ve got this,” Rylan assured me, scenting my change in mood. He patted me on the shoulder. “You want me to bring them in?”
“Yeah.” I straightened my shoulders. I was only here for the morning. Might as well make the most of it.
Rylan came back a minute later with the family in tow. The couple was in their late twenties, the husband dressed in a clean but slightly faded suit, the wife in a dress that had been mended once or twice. The child, on the other hand, sported a brand-new woolen coat and shiny shoes. Not a rich family, but one that skimped and scraped to provide well for their child.
“Miss Baine, this is the Barning family,” Rylan said. He introduced them by name—Leo and Rana, and their son, Durian. The parents were polite, but reserved, whereas the boy stared at me with open curiosity, his golden-brown eyes bright with questions.
“Very pleased to meet you all,” I said, smiling. “Please, have a seat.”
They did as I asked, the mother scooping her son into her lap as there were only two chairs. “Can you really turn into a panther?” the boy asked eagerly before the parents could say anything.
“Hush, Durian,” his mother scolded, her cheeks coloring. “I’m so sorry,” she said to me, her tone apologetic. “He’s very rambunctious.”
“As boys should be.” My smile widened as I looked at him. “I can turn into a panther,” I confirmed. “Normally, I would be happy to show you, but I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time today—there are other people coming here to visit me.”
“Oh.” The boy looked disappointed, but he quickly bounced back. “Will you take me back to the Palace with you if I have magic?”
I laughed, then turned my gaze back to the mother. “Your son is eager to be a mage, is he?”
“It would appear so,” she said, and she didn’t sound entirely pleased about it. “Since he was old enough to talk, he’s been fascinated with mages and magic. We didn’t think anything of it, of course, but recently…” She trailed off, looking at her husband.
The husband picked up the conversation. “There have been some strange incidents,” he said, his expression grave. “Objects appearing and disappearing around the house—the icebox appeared in the bedroom once. Another time, I was looking for the radio only to find it in the front seat of my car. I thought Durian was simply playing pranks, but one day while we were entertaining guests, our coffee table rose straight up into the air and floated into Durian’s bedroom.”
My eyebrows rose. “That definitely sounds magical to me. Have these incidents ever occurred outside the home?”
The mother shook her head. “No, not yet.” She stroked the top of her son’s head. “And Durian has denied these incidents are his responsibility, but you know how children are.” She tightened her hold on him a little. “We just want to be sure.”
“It really wasn’t my fault,” Durian said earnestly, squirming against his mother’s iron grip. “But I do want to do magic! Please tell me I have some.”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shake my head. This poor family! It was clear the parents didn’t want Durian to be a mage, but Durian wanted it more than anything. Then again, he was only seven years old, with a wild imagination, so of course the idea of having magic appealed to him.
“I’ll have to test you to find out,” I said gravely. “Can you please come over by my side of the desk?”
Durian probably would have jumped straight across the desk and into my lap if his mother hadn’t restrained him. He hurried around the desk to my side, and I turned my chair to face him. Despite his wish, I really hoped he didn’t have magic. His parents clearly loved him, and it would be better if he was raised with his own family rather than in a mage household with strangers.
“All right,” I said, settling my hands on his shoulders. “I need you to hold very still. Can you do that?”
He nodded vigorously, then stilled completely.
“Good. Now close your eyes.”
He did as I asked, and I placed my hands on either side of his head, making sure my thumbs were pressed against his temples. Closing my own eyes, I murmured the Words of the testing spell Iannis had taught me, then allowed my magic to flow through Durian. It raced through the little boy, searching for the source of power that existed within the soul of every magic user. But though there were a few sparks that every living creature possessed, there was no burning core of power within.
“I’m sorry, Durian,” I said, gently lowering my hands. “You don’t have any magic. You’re a perfectly normal human.”
The boy opened his eyes, and I cringed inwardly as his lower lip wobbled. His mother instantly snatched him up as he began to cry, murmuring soothing words, but it was clear from her expression that she was relieved. The father thanked me profusely, and I promised to send someone to check on their house—someone had probably just hexed their property.
The next petitioner was ushered in—Lamar Vestes, a market vendor I recognized from Rowanville’s Market Street. He was a rotund, bearded man with ruddy cheeks, a white apron, and a smile for everyone, but right now, his eyes were narrowed with anger, his lips compressed with frustration.
“My hams and sausages were set on fire yesterday,” he complained, his back ramrod straight and his hands folded behind his back. “An entire day’s worth of work, gone up in flames because of some pesky mage! Please, Miss Baine, these setbacks could wr
eck my livelihood. I need your help in apprehending the culprit.”
I pulled out my notepad and pen. “Can you give me a description of the person who set your wares on fire?” I couldn’t blame the man for being upset—his meats were delicious and fetched a pretty penny on Market Street.
“No, unfortunately,” Lamar admitted, sounding very put out. “It was very crowded yesterday, and the person who did it was not close, so I couldn’t figure out the source.” Even so, he gave me as many details as he could about the incident, and I wrote it all down with a promise to investigate further into the matter.
“It may take some time,” I finally said, closing my notebook. “In the meantime, I suggest you write up a list of damages and mail it to me at the Palace. As soon as the culprit is caught, you will be compensated for your loss.”
The man didn’t seem entirely pleased with the idea that he would have to wait, but he thanked me nevertheless and took his leave. I really did feel bad for him, and part of me was tempted to just compensate Lamar myself. I could easily afford to. But if word got out that I was personally compensating damages, I would be inundated with an endless series of fictitious claims.
I checked the mirror again and saw there was another person waiting patiently in the lobby—a male human clutching a large cardboard map.
“Some kind of artist, maybe?” Rylan asked, looking over my shoulder.
“Not sure. Let’s bring him—”
Something crashed into the front wall of the house, rocking the very foundations of the building. I grabbed the edge of the desk with one hand and watched, absolutely horrified, as the tall rollers of a huge road-paving machine burst through the drywall, whirring madly and spraying chunks of brick and plaster everywhere.
In the next second, I was out of my chair and down the hall, Rylan hot on my heels. He went for the receptionist, who was huddled fearfully behind the desk, and I grabbed the male petitioner and flung him toward the back of the house and out of harm’s way.
“My map,” he shouted, eyes wide, but I only shoved him.
“Run! There’s a back entrance—get out of here!” Not waiting to see if he obeyed, I turned my attention back to the machine and conjured a magical barrier. The machine halted halfway into the waiting room, its wheels spinning loosely, but I knew it wouldn’t hold for long—the barrier was really meant for magical attacks.
“Get to the humans, Naya,” Rylan shouted as he took a flying leap toward the machine. He passed through the barrier easily, landing on the rollers, and scrambled upward to the cab. He wrenched the door open, threw the driver—a human male—out, then jumped down into the street after him.
The barrier failed, and the machine lurched forward, still in gear. My heart leapt into my throat, and I sprinted for the back door. The vehicle belched thick gusts of steam as it rampaged through the house behind me, crushing the thin walls as though they were made of straw. I flung open the door, then grabbed the hands of the two humans and dragged them across the street, well clear of the machine.
“By the Ur-God,” the man breathed, his mouth agape as he watched the machine roll out the back wall of the house, toward the neighbor’s backyard. The structure was completely destroyed. “It’s still running!”
Before I could respond, the man dashed across the street, back toward the huge steam engine. I shouted a warning, but he ignored me, jumping onto the metal ladder on the side of the machine. I watched with no small amount of admiration as he hoisted himself into the open cab and fiddled with the controls. Just a few yards from the neighboring house, the vehicle let out one final belch of steam, and then died.
“Are you all right?” I turned my attention to the receptionist, who nodded numbly. Her blue eyes were glassy, her cheeks pale—she was in shock. I took her face in my hands and asked her some questions—her name, what day of the week it was, where we were. It took her a few seconds to shake off the initial shock, but once she did, she answered normally, allaying my fears that she might have a concussion.
Rylan approached from around the side of the demolished house, his expression grave. “The driver is dead,” he said grimly. “Broke his neck in the fall.”
“Dammit.” I clenched my jaw. I’d been hoping to interrogate the bastard, find out who’d put him up to this. But I wasn’t going to berate Rylan—he’d just been doing his job. There hadn’t been time to think about subtle nuances like making sure our attacker didn’t get killed.
“Looks like our new friend here saved the day,” Rylan remarked, turning toward the man climbing down from the cab. I had to admit that with his tousled chestnut hair and his red coat flapping in the wind, he looked rather like a dashing hero from a romance novel. As he approached us, I took note of his tanned skin, sapphire-blue eyes, and symmetrical features, which were currently drawn tight with worry.
“That was a close call,” he said, brushing his windswept hair out of his eyes. He gave me a tight smile. “Thank you for getting me out of harm’s way, Miss Baine. I would have been crushed if not for you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, ignoring the pang of guilt in my chest. I had little doubt that attack was meant for me, and that if this man hadn’t come to see me, he never would have been in harm’s way. But there was no point in dwelling on it. “And your name is…”
“Kardanor Makis, at your service.” He bowed. “I’m an architect, and I came to see you regarding a matter of public safety.”
“Oh?” I had been about to tell him that we should reschedule, but his words stopped me in my tracks. “Is this about the quakes?”
“Not exactly, but it is related.” He ruefully glanced back at the ruins of the house. “I wish I could have saved the map—I was planning to present it to you so I could give you a better visual of the problem. But the long and short of it is that many of Solantha’s public buildings have not been built up to code, and they are safety hazards in and of themselves even without the recent rash of quakes. I have been writing to both the Maintown Council and the Mages Guild about this for over a year now, but they’ve ignored my letters. Now that there are rumors that a big quake might be imminent, it is urgent I get an audience with the appropriate officials, to make them face up to the scale of the problem. I was hoping you might be able to speak to the Chief Mage for me, and perhaps arrange something.”
“I can do one better.” I smiled at him to hide my outrage. Why had such an important issue been lost in the shuffle? I could understand Argon Chartis stuffing Kardanor’s letters somewhere out of Iannis’s line of sight—he cared nothing for humans, and the Mages Quarter was well protected. But why wasn’t the Maintown Council interested in this? “We’re having a working dinner at the Palace tonight to discuss quake-proofing the city. Your expertise is relevant, so I’d like to invite you. Eight o’clock. You can make your case personally to the Chief Mage then.”
Kardanor looked taken aback. “Really? You would do that for me even though we’ve only just met?”
I smiled again. “I trust you.” My heirloom ring hadn’t reacted to Kardanor’s presence, so I knew he meant no harm. Pulling my notepad and pen out of my inner jacket pocket, I scribbled a note on it, then folded it up and handed it to Kardanor. “Just show this to the front desk receptionist when you come in. He’s a bit of a grump, but if you give him this, he’ll make sure you’re admitted.”
“Thank you.” Kardanor tucked the note into his coat pocket, then bowed again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Baine.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a crush on him,” Rylan teased as I watched the architect walk away. “Does Iannis have some competition?”
I chuckled. “Hardly. I’m just impressed at how quickly he reacted in the face of danger.” I dealt with dangerous situations on a regular basis, but as an architect, he probably wasn’t used to facing down death. Even so, he’d handled himself with remarkable composure. I had a feeling that he’d be an asset—once Iannis and the others got over the shock of sharing their
evening meal with a human.
Rylan, the receptionist, and I went back around to the front of the house to wait by the body of our would-be assassin. The enforcers arrived a few minutes later, a male-female pair from the Main Crew, and even their hardened faces slackened in shock as they surveyed the damage.
“You’re very lucky that you all made it out unscathed,” the male said as he crouched by the body, which he’d pulled from the rubble. The receptionist let out a tiny sob, and Rylan took her in his arms, turning her face away from the ghastly scene. The dead man’s face was badly bruised, his neck lolling at a strange angle—as Rylan had said, it had been broken. He stared at me, unseeing, but even in death, fear and anger marked the lines of his face. It was as though his spirit still lingered, silently glaring daggers at me and cursing me for not dying neatly as I should have.
Well, fuck you, too, I thought, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Any idea who this asshole is?” I asked aloud.
“Got an ID.” The male enforcer flipped open a wallet. “Aerin Yolas,” he read aloud. “Forty-five, lives in Maintown.” He rifled through the man’s wallet, then pulled out a business card. “Works for Gorax Construction.”
“That explains how he got hold of that road paver,” I muttered. The Goraxes had been at the reception last night. Did they have anything to do with this, or was this man acting alone?
“I recognize this guy,” the female enforcer said suddenly. “Took me a minute with his face so bashed in, but I’ve seen him at the Maintown Temple. He’s a follower of Father Calmias.”
I ground my teeth at that. That fucking pastor was determined to be the death of me, even behind bars. “That means he could be working on Father Calmias’s orders.” Just because the bastard was locked up didn’t mean he couldn’t slip messages to his followers.
“Maybe, maybe not.” The female enforcer shrugged. “A lot of these guys are happy to commit any kind of crime in the Ur-God’s name. Just means more bounties for us.” To my annoyance, she seemed somewhat disappointed, and I had a feeling it had to do with the fact Aerin was dead. If he’d been alive, she could have brought him in for a bounty. And I sensed that she wouldn’t have cared one iota if he’d killed me.