by Hall, Linsey
Grey smiled. “There are a lot of beautiful places here.”
“What body of water is that?” I pointed to the glittering expanse. There was no land in the distance that I could see, but on the shore to my left, the city stretched far into the distance. “Chicago is on one of their enormous lakes, isn’t it?”
“The Great Lakes. This is Lake Michigan. Magic Side sits just offshore of South Side. It resides in a pocket dimension, so it looks like water to humans.”
“So only supernaturals can see it?”
“Exactly.” He turned toward the street. “Come, we’re not too far from Ms. Cross’s office.”
I followed him down the busy city street, passing supernaturals of all shapes and sizes. Unlike Guild City, which looked as ancient and magical as an old teapot shooting silver stars, Magic Side looked modern and almost normal, except for the individuals who filled the streets and the cars that rushed by.
Horns and exotic features weren’t uncommon to see on passersby, and everyone’s magical signatures were on display.
“They don’t keep their signatures on lockdown, do they?” I asked.
Grey shook his head. “It’s not required here.”
“But why? Isn’t their city like ours, hidden amongst humans?”
“It’s similar, yes. Their rules are different. They consider it a First Amendment right.”
I frowned, disliking the iron control that Guild City exerted over the magical signatures of its residents. It seemed unnecessary. Magic Side was more relaxed and still managed to thrive.
We hopped on a trolley car painted red and cream with the words Magic Side Surface Lines written across the side.
I looked at the rectangular windows and leather seats. “Streetcars seem a little old fashioned, don’t they?”
Grey nodded. “Chicago phased out their trolley system in the ’40s and ’50s. Magic Side bought the old cars and kept them running. Downtown Magic Side is called the Circuit because of all the converging streetcar lines.”
I nodded as I leaned against the glass. Tall buildings whipped by, though mainly, I was paying attention to the throngs of supernaturals crowding the sidewalks.
We hopped off beside a long but narrow city park.
The green oasis was dotted with pathways and benches, inviting walkers and readers to enjoy the space. There was a small, round duck pond in the center, ringed by a walkway and flower beds. On one side of the park, an enormous neoclassical building rose several stories in the air. The heavy limestone stonework was beautiful, as was the massive set of wide stairs leading up to the columned entry and massive brass doors.
“Is that the Hall of Inquiry?” I asked.
“Yes.” He pulled a mobile from his pocket and typed in a message. “Ms. Cross will come get us soon.”
“We can’t meet her inside?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up in a small smile. “Technically, I’m not on their side of the law.”
“You mean the legal side?”
“Precisely.”
“How to you know Ms. Cross, then, if she’s an Order agent?”
“I know some people in Magic Side. It’s useful to have contacts at the Order for dealing with…” He hesitated, clearly searching for the right word. “Individuals who are like me.”
“You mean criminal kingpins.”
He shrugged elegantly and sat down on one of the stone benches beside the pond. I took a seat beside him and watched the ducks flapping their wings at each other. “I suppose you could call them that,” he said. “Chicago’s magical criminal underground predates Al Capone.”
“You mean gangsters? Like with Tommy guns and flappers on their arms?”
“Some might call them that, but it’s a bit more complicated.”
I grimaced. I’d gone a long way from Police College to associating with known criminals. “You don’t deal in guns or drugs or women, do you?”
His eyes flared with surprise. “Of course not.”
“Good.” I believed him. Mac had told me something of the sort when we’d first talked about Grey, and in all my time knowing him and visiting his headquarters, I’d never seen anything that would turn my stomach. There were plenty of ways to circumvent magical law and make a fortune that didn’t involve selling your soul.
As we waited, my mind turned back to the book I’d read last night. “You helped found Guild City.”
“Yes.”
“Care to give any details?”
“What do you want to know?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. Why aren't you on the Council anymore if you played such an important role in creating the city itself?”
“I don’t want to be involved. Not anymore, at least. I served for several decades when the city was getting off the ground. Though I was never close with the other members, we agreed on most things. But the years passed, and people changed, and I lost interest.”
“That was when Councilor Rasla came, right? Making the laws about the guilds and requiring everyone to join?”
He nodded. “But times were different then, and I was no longer involved.”
Sadness pulled at me. “You’ve lost every friend you’ve ever had, haven’t you?”
“Immortality has its downsides.” He gazed into the distance. A normal person might have looked sad, but Grey looked like Grey. Cold and perfect.
Slowly, I reached for his arm.
Just a little touch, enough to see if I could feel anything in him.
“It was long ago, Carrow.” He looked at my hand inching toward him, his expression knowing. “I’m fine now.”
“Are you?”
Grey
Was I?
I’d been fine then, a shadow of my former self. A statue formed of ice and cold. It kept me alive. Kept me sane.
It was only with her that I’d begun to feel, to know loneliness and longing. It was bloody uncomfortable, in fact. I resisted the desire to rub my chest.
Across the courtyard, a figure appeared on the steps. Oddly, the wind whipped at her hair, though there was no breeze to be felt. She raised a hand and waved.
Ms. Nevaeh Cross.
I stood, grateful for the distraction. “We can go now.”
Carrow joined me. “Is that her?”
“We’ll meet her around the back of the East Wing Archives.”
“Lead on.”
Carrow and I strode across the park to the alley behind the building. Ms. Cross waited for us in a shady spot along the pavement, her gaze serious. She wore slim-cut trousers and a blouse that I recognized as currently fashionable. Not that I was interested in fashion, but I tried to keep up with societal changes.
Immortals—though we were rare—were notorious for being hopelessly out of date, clinging to the past. That would never be me.
“Why are you a persistent thorn in my side, Devil?” Ms. Cross fingered a fire opal pendant hanging around her neck. It glinted red with flecks of green in the sunlight.
“Thank you for your help, as always.”
“You owe me. Again.”
“I do.” I gestured to Carrow. “Ms. Cross, this is Carrow Burton. Ms. Burton, Ms. Cross.”
Ms. Cross shook Carrow’s hand in the cheerful, friendly way of Americans. “Call me Neve.”
Carrow flinched subtly at the touch and withdrew her hand as quickly as possible. She covered the awkward moment with a warm smile that didn’t quite douse the look of concern in her eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Neve. Thank you for the help.”
Had she sensed something? Most Chicagoans weren’t subtle about their magical signatures, but Ms. Cross always seemed to have hers tamped down tight. I’d never known her species, and my curiosity was piqued.
Ms. Cross didn’t seem to notice Carrow’s reaction and gestured for us to follow. “Come on. I can sneak you in through this service entrance.”
“If it’s a risk, you can take me in, and Grey can stay outside,” Carrow said.
Ms. Cross gave me a penetrating
and perhaps slightly incriminating look. “We’ll have to bend a few rules. And he has some skills that may come in handy.” She tossed us a couple of visitor badges. “I brought disguises. This is a broad-daylight infiltration. We’re not going into the high-security wing, so we shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. We can be seen—just not by the wrong people, like an investigator. Or anyone who looks official. Or curious.”
“So…avoid everyone but the janitors.” Carrow grinned.
“Basically. Just don’t draw attention to yourselves. Let me answer any questions.”
Ms. Cross turned and led us through an unassuming steel door tucked into an alcove against the side of the building. She strode down a nondescript hall that was oddly narrow and short, given the imposing edifice. We followed her up a back stairwell lit with anemic industrial lights and down another long corridor. As we walked, Carrow leaned close to Ms. Cross and whispered, “I’m sorry to ask for more favors, but is there anyone here who might be able to determine what type of curse my friends have been hit with?”
Ms. Cross frowned. “Not here, necessarily, but I think I know someone. I can hook you up.”
“Oh God, thank you.” Carrow’s voice rang with gratitude.
We were approaching an intersection when we heard a gruff female voice shouting at someone in the adjacent hall.
“Crap, that’s my boss, Lieutenant Bitchface,” said Ms. Cross. “We don’t want to have to answer any of her questions.” She grabbed Carrow’s arm and yanked her into a room, and I darted in behind them.
Two horned trolls and half a dozen imps looked up at the commotion. One of the trolls pulled off a pair of thick reading glasses and scowled at us. “Yes? Can we help you?”
There were stacks of paper everywhere, and the room was filled with a low curtain of thick smoke. Two of the imps seemed to be fighting over an elaborate abacus.
“Hi, guys,” Ms. Cross said with a start. “How’s the number-crunching going? I…er…am showing a few visitors around the building and wanted to show them the brains of the operation. Arcane auditing, I thought, and brought them here.”
The troll narrowed his eyes. “This is very irregular. Who are the visitors?”
“Oh, just a couple of witnesses…” Ms. Cross stammered.
“Witnesses to what?”
“Well…” Smiling, she leaned in. “They witnessed some serious trespassing. On Order property, no less.”
The troll scratched a horn and leaned back. “That’s not normally your purview. Why are you involved?”
“Uh… this trespass involves an ancient book.”
The troll grunted. “You should not bring witnesses back here. What if they saw our work? I should report this.”
Some of the imps glared at us and scooped up their precious documents. We were non-auditors, after all. Another growled, a clear warning that we were not to even consider taking his abacus.
Ms. Cross raised her hands in apology. “No need to file a report. We haven’t seen a thing. Think of the paperwork involved. It would hold you up, and you do important work. I just thought it would be nice to visit.”
I leaned over to catch the eyes of everyone at the table and imbued my voice with my magic. “You will not report us, gentlemen.”
They blinked, and the lead troll nodded. “This visit is irregular. But I will not file a report.”
“Thanks, guys. Sorry for the trouble.” Ms. Cross backed toward the door and motioned for us to follow.
Once we were out, she ushered us down the hall. “Whew. That was close. Thanks for stepping in.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You mentioned the book. Your cover was a bit on the nose.”
“It had to be. It’s nearly impossible to lie to auditors, so it’s best to tell a version of the truth.”
I frowned. “My apologies for all the trouble.”
“Really?” she asked. “I figured you enjoyed this kind of thing—slipping in and out under your enemy’s nose.”
“I certainly don’t hate it.”
We turned the corner and crossed a skyway that led to a large, round, colonnaded stone building with a domed top. Ms. Cross gestured to the imposing structure. “This is the archives. There is no ground-floor entrance, only an emergency exit. That’s why I had to bring you through the East Wing.”
Two huge wooden doors at the end of the skyway beckoned. The intricate carvings on their surface depicted scenes that constantly changed. Knights fighting dragons, scientists making discoveries, planets and nature and mathematics flashed across the doors in a whirling array.
“The different departments couldn't decide who should be represented at the entrance, so they all were,” Ms. Cross said. “There were so many submissions for the artwork that they ended up squishing them all on there with magic.”
“I suppose that cuts down on interdepartmental bickering,” Carrow said.
“It did, though nothing keeps them quiet for long.”
Carrow chuckled.
We entered the enormous domed space. The interior of the archives seemed much wider and higher than the building we had seen from the skyway. I looked down from the third-floor balcony upon which we stood, studying the chamber. The walls were lined with bookshelves, while the lower level was filled with reading desks. In the very center of the room, a large O-shaped circulation desk ringed a massive pit that descended into the earth. Imps flew down and returned with books of all shapes and sizes.
Ms. Cross gestured to the pit. “There are sixty-seven levels of stacks descending deep below Lake Michigan. It’s supposed to keep the books cool. But boy, it seems like a pretty daft idea to keep an entire archive beneath the water table.”
“Wow,” Carrow said.
“Your book, however, is in Special Collections. It was a hassle to get access.”
We followed her down the stairs into a secondary wing of the archives. It was roofed with a high glass ceiling supported by a lightweight steel framework that simultaneously contrasted with and complimented the stodgy, neoclassical limestone dome.
We were met by a three-foot-tall curator. He eyed us suspiciously as he led us into a small open-top reading cubicle. Inside, atop a large Plexiglas block, sat a single book.
The curator glared at Ms. Cross. “You are responsible for this book. I do not think that people who are not curators should be allowed to touch books like these, but I do not make the rules.”
Ms. Cross smiled diplomatically. “Thank you for entrusting us with it.”
The small man grumbled. “I do not trust you any farther than I can spit a tooth.” He slapped a box of nitrile gloves on the table. “You do not touch the pages without gloves, or you will be evicted from the archive. You do not lick your fingers to turn the pages. You turn them gently, counting to seven as you do so. You do not sneeze on the book, or excrete any other bodily substances on the book, or you will be evicted from the archives.”
He paused for a moment, and then stalked off grumbling. “I will be watching.”
I approached the clear plastic box with the book. A warning label on the container read: “Hazardous: Magical Materials.”
We pulled on gloves, and Ms. Cross gingerly undid the clasp and opened the case. Magic sparked around the tome, shadowy and evil, leaving an oil slick on the air.
She shuddered and held the book out. “What are you looking for, specifically?”
Carrow reached for it, but I was quicker, taking it first. She didn’t need to touch something coated in magic like that. As soon as my fingertips touched the spine, I knew.
Damn it.
I could feel it, the same way I’d been able to feel it on the other book. When I flipped open the pages and saw the section that had been torn out, I wasn’t surprised.
Carrow scowled. “He’s been here, too.”
“Who the hell did that?” Ms. Cross glared from the book to me, and then back at the small man behind the special collections desk.
“Not us, obviously. But that’s why we�
�ve come. Our copy of this book is missing the same pages.”
“Could I hold it, please?” Carrow asked.
I frowned but passed it over. She took it, grimacing slightly, and ran her fingertips over the stumps of the missing pages.
Her magic flared slightly, and she scowled. “There’s no new information here.”
“What is your gift?” Ms. Cross asked. “And what’s going on?”
“I’m a bit like a psychic or a seer, but my gift is activated by touch.” Carrow handed the book back. “Whoever vandalized our book did the same thing to yours, but we have no idea who.”
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Ms. Cross asked.
“A lot more, and—”
“Shh!” Ms. Cross drew our attention to the doorway.
A pair of accounting trolls had entered the room and were asking questions.
8
Carrow
Neve pressed her back against the wall of the cubicle. “Shit! Those are the trolls we walked in on earlier. I think our number is up.” She looked at me. “They may not be after us, but I don’t want to count on it. Do you have what you need?”
“Yes. We’ve got as much as we can.”
“Okay, lets boogie.” We backtracked through the stacks into the central chamber, hugging the shelves beneath the balconies to keep out of the sight of any possible watchers above. I followed Neve, bounding up the stairs to the second floor, and crossed over the lower half of the skyway.
Panic rose as we hurried through the corridors, trying to avoid looking suspicious. We couldn’t get caught breaking into one of the main government buildings in Magic Side. They had the manpower to hunt us down and put us behind bars, and I didn’t have time to chill in a holding cell.
Mac and Seraphia didn’t have time. It was up to us to save them.
I studied Neve as we turned down another one of the endless narrow corridors lined by red doors. If we got caught, it could end her career. Yet, she seemed to be having fun. Who was this woman, and why was she risking her job to help us?
Finally, we exited into the alley, and I heaved a sigh of relief.