by Holly Evans
There was nothing more to be done that evening. The question of my grading hung between us, but Keirn didn’t ask or push the point. We maintained physical contact. Kyra curled up purring in his arms, and his spirit fox enjoyed my attentions. An invisible weight had lifted that evening. If or when the time came, Keirn would be there at my side, running with me. He’d made that much clear, and I was glad to know I wasn’t in this alone.
My dreams had been somewhat peaceful for a change. Instead of being dragged into the pure darkness, there were flickers of faces and images. It still left me exhausted and frustrated, but there was a sensation of progress that hadn’t been there before. Keirn was on the phone when I got down into the kitchen and made some coffee. His mouth twisted into a smile full of glee and a blush crept over his cheeks as he listened to the person on the other end. I was glad for him. I wasn’t the only one who’d been without good company for too long.
A tapping came from the back door. Kyra shot to the door with her tail in the air. Friend, she pushed down the bond. I groaned. I’d been too wrapped up in other things. I hadn’t been and bought more food. I opened the door and smiled. The feral had a little more colour in her skin and stood straighter. Kyra wrapped herself around the feral’s legs, purring.
“I’m sorry, I forgot to go and buy food yesterday. Come back this afternoon, ok?” I said.
She smiled and nodded. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
Her voice was soft and melodic. If she weren’t a feral, I’d think her a song magician.
“Bring her in here,” Keirn called from the kitchen.
I glanced between the feral and the elf. Keirn raised an eyebrow at me and huffed.
“I’m not going to hurt her, Dacian.”
Keirn’s spirit fox slunk out from under the table and crept along the floor over to the feral. It paused just out of reach and sniffed. Seemingly satisfied, it stood at its full height and bounded over to her. The feral’s face morphed into an expression somewhere between bafflement and happiness. She walked between me and the animals towards Keirn. The fox and Kyra wove around and between the feral’s legs, rubbing their faces against her dirty and tattered jeans. Keirn smiled.
“Do you know art, little vixen?” he asked the feral gently.
“A little,” she said.
“Come. I will teach you,” he said and gestured to his art room.
I didn’t think I’d stepped foot in his art room more than once during the entire time I’d known him. He gave me a shrug.
“My fox tells me it’s the right thing,” he said.
I envied those around me who trusted their instincts, their gods, and other such things. They seemed to have a happier and more secure life. My trust remained firmly in tangible things.
17
Kyra had remained glued to the feral, the traitorous wretch. Aris had opted to curl up in the sunny spot and relax, leaving me feeling a little empty as I went food shopping. Keirn wasn’t much good at such basic things. He was too occupied with his art and prone to forgetting what exactly he’d gone looking for. I hadn’t forgiven him for the time he’d gone out for the basics: bread, beef, and coffee, nothing complicated. He had returned three hours later with tea, potatoes, and some cookies in ‘a beautifully designed’ packet. I wasn’t entirely convinced that he hadn’t done it specifically to get out of doing the mundane task.
My mind was wandering when I paid for the copious amount of food. I didn’t understand how it was even possible to steal someone’s tattoo. There were so many layers of magic in place. The ink wasn’t just injected into the skin; it went much deeper than that. Even if someone did take a knife to the markings, the animal in question would defend itself. How had the person managed to not only cut the tattoo out, but take on the wolf that Jake’s pack member had? I knew that wolf, it wasn’t a small creature. The person had to be entirely alive when the tattoo was taken, too. When someone died, the thread to the ink was lost, making the tattoos inert. I shuddered, thinking about the suffering the victims must have endured. The murderer (and that was what he was, it was more than theft) must have been a sick and twisted individual.
“Dacian… Dacian are you in there?” a familiar voice said.
I blinked and looked at the owner of the voice. Ben grinned at me. His bright orange and lime green sweater was on backwards, his hair stuck up at all angles, but no one batted an eye.
“Have you made any progress with your dreams?” he asked a little too eagerly.
“None, but you know that,” I said as I paid for my food.
“How are you so connected?” he asked.
He danced away from me, an odd little jig. His movements were too fluid. I wondered just how far into the dream realm he’d slipped. There was always a risk that dreamwalkers would lose themselves entirely. It looked as though it wouldn’t be long before Ben was lost.
“Connected to what?” I said with a sigh.
I glanced around to see who was listening to us. A pair of students, earth elementals I guessed from their green and brown attire, were trying to be subtle about listening. I hefted my bag of groceries onto my back and took Ben by his arm before he could say anything incriminating.
“To the magic, Dacian. I saw it in your dreams, how it calls to you.” He leaned in close to me. “You’re an ambassador,” he whispered.
I fixed him with a hard glare. “Ben. You’ve been spending too much time away from this world. Do you have anything of use?”
He giggled and danced a circle around me.
“The thief is like you,” he said, prodding me in the chest before he slipped away into the crowd.
A chill ran down my spine. What exactly had he meant by that? Just once, I wished someone would give be a straight and clear answer.
Keirn was still locked away in his art room with the feral when I returned home to put away all of the food. Aris greeted me at the door with condolences. The snake wasn’t an emotional creature, but it seemed to understand the pang of jealousy I felt. Still, there were more important things to focus on. Aris returned to his tattoo, not wanting to be separated from me for too long. With a final glance at the door to Keirn’s room, I headed back out into the city and over to the magician’s college.
The college wasn’t particularly prestigious. It was well enough known and respected to help people get respectable jobs, but no one of good breeding would be caught there. It was perfect for someone like me to blend in with. I cut down the alley beside the bakery run by a low-born Sidhe and a half-succubus. No one was quite sure what her other half was. The pink and gold magic glittered in a haze around the edge of the building. The air was filled with the sickly-sweet taste of honey and something distinctly fae. I refused to step foot in there. Both women were rather determined in their advances, and no reminders that I was only interested in men got through to them.
The alley opened into a wide road lined with silver-trunked trees and large pale-blue flowers. The shops were primarily clothing, with a few magical trinkets interspersed. I was walking the edge between the less reputable part of the city and the fashionably arty part of the city. That road in particular always felt fake to me. It was too clean, the paths pale cream versus the usual grubby grey in my part of the city. The buildings were all heavy straight lines and pristine glass, not so much as a smudge anywhere. Something about it put me on edge.
I soon turned a corner and was in a far more comfortable part of the city, only three blocks from the college. Once more the buildings were in natural tans and greys, with small pockmarks and graffiti sigils tucked down dark corners. Still, the feeling of being watched hadn’t left me. I paused to look in the window of a stationers and used the reflection to look around me without looking. A tall man had paused, too. He had adopted a similar pose as he looked in the hedgewitch’s supply store. Somehow, he was watching me without looking at me. I could feel his gaze on me. I didn’t like being followed.
18
The strange man had followed me for si
x further blocks, staying a carefully set distance from me for the entire walk. I made a mental note of every detail about him that I could. He was tall, two or three inches taller than me, at a guess. His short-cropped dark hair shimmered when it caught the light, which suggested he was wearing an illusion, and not a great one. His gait was confident, but lacked the fluid grace of a predator. The glimpses I’d caught of his face looked human, so he was either some form of magician, or a non-magical human with too much time and money on his hands.
He stopped at the edge of the college campus and walked away, apparently satisfied or bored. It weighed in the back of my mind, but I hadn’t gone to the college for my own amusement. The large gates swung open when I approached. As an alumnus, I was welcome during the class times, but they’d remain firmly closed at night. The tinkers had done fine work with the entire perimeter of the college. Intricate designs were woven with various metals and alloys, forming a work of art in its own right. It wasn’t to be underestimated. That work of art was a vicious security system that would protect the students and teachers with grim determination. The tinkers took great pleasure in creating technology that was both aesthetically pleasing and truly efficient at what it set out to do. They had taken a good deal of pride in creating that perimeter.
I walked down the familiar path with nymphs giggling in the trees that lined it. They whispered what I assumed were sweet nothings and promises. My lack of interest in women meant they had no effect on me. That didn’t stop what I assumed was a first-year student ahead of me from stopping and turning to gawp at the nymphs. They put on quite the show for him, frolicking between the tall trees in sheer bits of fabric that wrapped around small segments of their body. All students were warned about the nymphs. If they couldn’t control themselves, that was their own fault. The college wasn’t there to mollycoddle them.
The student managed to pull himself together and walk on towards the imposing building that held the classes. The college was older than most of the city, and it had fought hard to keep the grounds it sat on, making it an island within the city. The main building was ornate and blunt at the same time, with a number of elegant spires and plain black walls that stretched up skyward. It was both a sanctuary and a threat. A number of students were sitting out on the short grass lawns a safe distance away from the nymphs. They were filled with life and hope. I laughed at myself. I’d been out of college barely five years, and I already felt old.
The route to Ms. Goldarn’s office was one that my feet travelled without any conscious input from me, I’d been there so many times during my three years as a student. She was the one lecturer that I had some respect for. The rest had been obnoxious and barely more talented than most of the students. She, however, had stood before us with a quiet pride that she had clearly earned. She had been patient with me during my rebellion. I’d almost explained my status as an ink magician to her when I’d drunk too much and stumbled into her office. Fortunately, I’d seen sense before that spilled out of my mouth.
Her office was a spacious corner affair, the only one with a solid wooden door. The other offices had frosted glass, magically reinforced and able to hold messages. One such door had the message that anyone who dared disturbed the lecturer in residence before one pm would find out what it felt like to have a thorny tree grow within them. The nature magicians had a reputation as kindly, but they had a vicious side like everyone else.
I knocked on Ms. Goldarn’s door and waited. The feeling of impatience washed over me again and took me back to my student days. I had oscillated between being popular and beloved by all, and sullen and anti-social. Keirn had stood by me through it all. So had Ms. Goldarn. She opened the door, her tiger pushing its nose into the gap between the door and the frame. Her face instantly changed from one of annoyance to a large grin when she saw me.
“Dacian! Come in. What brings you here? Are you considering applying for that teaching position?” she asked enthusiastically.
Her tiger butted its head against my hand and made a deep growling happy sound. I didn’t dare return the attention. To touch someone else’s tattoo was an intimate and potentially aggressive action. It was one thing with Keirn, but I wouldn’t dream of doing it with anyone else. The tiger huffed and flopped down at the side of Ms. Goldarn’s chair. She poured me a cup of fae tea and waited.
I settled into the comfortable old armchair that sat under the landscape painting of some far-flung place. There was a wildness there, but it had always seemed rude to ask after it. I took a long drink of the sweet tea. The lavender and nectar taste coated my tongue in a not-entirely-unpleasant way.
“I’m here to ask you how it would be possible to steal someone else’s tattoo,” I said.
She slowly placed her tea cup down on the small metal table between us, the colour draining from her face. Her tiger sat up and rested its head in her lap.
“That is one of the darkest crimes with the most severe of punishments, Dacian,” she said quietly.
19
My mouth dropped open. Thoughts and words fled my mind.
“I… do you think I was planning on…?” I stuttered.
Slowly, she relaxed.
“Sorry, Dacian, you must understand. It isn’t every day an ex-student comes in asking such things,” she said.
I didn’t have to understand. The fact the thought had even crossed her mind had felt like a punch to the sternum. She composed herself and drank her tea.
“Yes. It is possible. It’s an awful affair, and not many are talented enough pull off such a feat. Only someone fully connected to the ink magic web can even come close to it. It would be a complicated and painful procedure.” She looked away and rubbed between her tiger’s ears. “I don’t know if even a tier one tattoo magician could do it. Did I tell you about the fabled ink magicians?” she asked.
My blood ran cold. I took a sip of my tea and tried to appear curious and nothing more.
“I believe you mentioned the term in passing,” I said.
She nodded and leaned back in her chair. “Ink magicians are much more than a tattoo magician. Their connection to the ink magic is far above and beyond what any of us could dream of. An ink magician would be able to steal tattoos and then connect them to themselves.” She smiled and stood. Her tiger shadowed her movements. “But ink magicians are so rare that people argue they don’t exist at all. I’m sure it’s simply a lost chaote, someone who has had their magic changed one too many times,” she said, her eyes flicking to the door.
I knew when I was being dismissed. I smiled and stood.
“Thank you for your time,” I said.
Her tiger rubbed its head against my hand, showing that I wasn’t in her bad graces, at least. Still, something had changed between us. I couldn’t quite put my fingers on what it was, but the comfortable bond we had had before was no longer there. I left her office with my head down and my hands in my pockets.
The chaote idea fit quite well everything considered. A chaote was a magician with multiple forms of magic. Those magic types changed at random intervals throughout the chaote’s life. They could come into their magic at thirteen as an air elemental and life magician, only to become a tinker and a dreamwalker at seventeen, and so on. Some chaotes changed frequently, as much as twice a year. From what I understood, they got no warning. They simply went to sleep one way and woke up another. Changing magic too many times fractured their minds. The tattoo thefts were certainly deranged.
I paused outside of the gates that made up the back entrance to the campus and looked for my stalker. I leaned against the rough-hewn stone and admired the city around me. A small gathering of wild magic fluttered and shimmered all colours under the sun, much to the collective awe of the students that stood and watched. It shifted from a flock of small birds into butterflies, before finally settling on small orbs that vanished down a street to go and amuse itself elsewhere. No one quite understood wild magic, how it came to be, or how sentient it was. They did understand that it was
incredibly potent, and thus worth a large fortune to anyone who could capture it.
There was no sign of my stalker, so I set off back into the city and took the long way home. My mind kept returning to the horror on Ms. Goldarn’s face, how she had thought I wanted to steal other people’s tattoos. Sirens erupted from somewhere behind me, snapping me from my obsessive thoughts. Enforcer cars shot down the road and squealed around the corners. I jumped back onto the path just as one flew in front of me, almost knocking me on my ass. Something big had happened. I shrugged to myself. Likely just another territory war between someone or other. They weren’t that infrequent, particularly in those parts of the city.
I’d learned at a young age that the best thing I could do was keep my head down and stay out of everyone else’s business. I had to blend in and make sure I wasn’t memorable. Sometimes I failed, but that didn’t mean I was going to run head first into some stupid situation. I was one block away from home when someone called out my name. It took me a second to recognise the voice. Isaiah strode up to me, a grin on his face. A small bruise was fading on his cheekbone, and he was a little stiff through his ribs. Someone had beaten him since I’d seen him last.
“What brings you here?” I asked.
He pouted, apparently put out that I hadn’t greeted him in kinder terms. I had too much going on in my head to play those games.
“I was in the area. A small elf house was looking for a weaver, so I went to an interview,” he said.