It had been the big question of last term: How had Talmax intercepted our initiates en route to campus? How had they known where the initiates would be, whom they would meet, and when? The Magi had many enemies. Transit information was always kept hush-hush. So how had such information been made public? It turned out that early last year, Talmax got a hold of all of the Department of Mana Affair’s encryption standards. They were able to exploit every transmission the Department sent out. The ambushes, the successful hits, the way Talmax predicted DEA battle plans—they were reading us like an open book. How Talmax got a hold of the codes was less clear. The running theory was that the Thompson-Rileys were responsible, but that theory had a problem: The Thompson-Rileys were a respected weft-pair, but they lacked the clearance necessary to obtain DOMA decoder manuals.
If the Thompson-Rileys weren’t responsible, it meant that someone else had been mega sloppy…or complicit in the leak. But in the end, it was all guesswork. With Carrera and his coven dead, we would probably never know the truth. What mattered was that by the time of the Battle for the Lake, DEA Command was fully aware of the breach. The reason why was Susan Collins.
When Susan arrived at her pick-up point last August, her initiate was already under attack. She took a good knock to the kisser and found herself in detention. Lucky for Susan, the wiped Talmax goons couldn’t figure out which one of the young mages was their target. As her captors tried to trace their identities, Susan escaped with all the documents she could carry. How she escaped was the interesting part. The Talmax goons had chained her to a pole. To gain her freedom, Susan decided to cut off her own arm. (Even Rei was impressed by that one.) Susan arrived at Elliot a few hours after we did. She was bleeding profusely, but managed to warn the faculty of the breach.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of the mess. The news put DEA Command in a difficult position. If they changed their codes, they could again mask their communications. That would put an end to the ambushes, but their forces were already devastated. If combat continued for much longer, the DEA was set to lose the war by attrition. There was another option, though. If the DEA continued business as usual—if they continued to transmit orders as though they were oblivious to the breach—then perhaps they could use the knowledge to deliver a crushing blow. The trick would only work once, so they would have to make it count. To make matters worse, while DEA Command estimated that they only had enough able-bodied mages for one last offensive strike, combat was raging in two cities: Phoenix and Salt Lake. In Phoenix, the manaflow was weak. This accentuated Talmax’s advantages. In Salt Lake, a sturdy leynode offered the DEA a chance to exploit their magical firepower to its fullest. Pressed into a corner, they had to make a difficult choice. DEA Command decided to go for broke. They didn’t inform their field agents of the breach, and they left their Phoenix battalion to the wolves. It was a harsh call. To the man, the DEA agents in Phoenix fell on their swords. But the sacrifice served a greater purpose. Talmax was left with every indication that the DEA remained totally clueless to the leaks. It made Talmax cocky, and it gave the DEA home court advantage for their final strike.
The DEA bided its time throughout the fall. They surrendered Phoenix and then the entire American Southwest. They let their own academies be attacked. They pulled back to Salt Lake and showed every indication they were weakening. And then—in the midst of the Battle for the Lake—the DEA sent out an encrypted message. It was an order for all forces to retreat to the Temple for extraction.
Talmax decoded the message within minutes. Thinking that their opponent’s forces were in disarray, the Talmax strike force charged the Temple hoping to maximize the damage. There was only one problem—the message was a fake. All the remaining DEA pair teams, along with a massive contingent of agents on loan from the East Coast, were waiting on the flanks. The Talmax forces had charged straight between a hammer and an anvil. Few of their mages survived the initial barrage. And DEA Command didn’t stop there. Using Talmax’s own translocation circles, they began a rapid counter assault. They regained control of the West Coast in a matter of hours.
On January 2nd, the entire story hit the Conscious presses. There was an outcry over the extensive cover-up that the Department had engaged in during the battles leading up to December 31st, but reports of the DEA’s dashing victories helped oil the squeaky wheels. (It’s tough to complain when your team is kicking ass.)
On January 3rd, DEA Command called a press conference that put the icing on the cake. They announced that—until recently—the extent of the DEA’s losses had been concealed from DEA Command. They claimed this unforgiveable deception was the work of West Coast Regional Head John Thompson, and his weft-partner, Glory Thompson. The DEA alleged that the couple had engaged in a cover-up to hide their mismanagement of the war effort. Command went on to say that on December 31st, arrest warrants were served on the two traitors. They reported that Glory Thompson resisted arrest and was killed on the spot, while John Thompson was captured, convicted of high treason by a battlefield commission, and hung until dead.
With their own necks out of the noose, DEA Command turned their attention to buttoning lips. While every morning brought new (and glorious) details about the Battle for the Lake, the Conscious community was kept in the dark about “Operation ACT”. As far as anyone knew, Adept Ichijo Fukimura was injured and Adept Monique Rice was killed during a botched translocation exercise in the Mojave Desert. The strange lights and ensuing explosions atop the recently renovated Over the Top Casino and Resort were attributed to a fireworks disaster—a tragedy that killed the Chairman and CEO of the renowned Talmax Corporation, Diego Carrera, along with a number of high-ranking Talmax executives. (The Over the Top was up for sale, yet again.)
Five of the initiates we rescued from the Over the Top were forcibly wiped, but the sixth, a Ms. Angela Hawthorn, proved too resistant. Angela hadn’t signed her Elliot contract, but she knew way too much to let go. This placed her in risk of an ‘accident’. Things were looking rather grim until a rather abrasive ICE agent intervened. A compromise was struck. The ICE wouldn’t leak their involvement if the DEA decided to play nice. After agreeing to a retroactive confidentiality agreement, Ms. Hawthorn was permitted to return to her family and grieve her sister’s passing. She’d be attending Elliot in the spring.
Under penalty of head detachment, the surviving members of Lambda Squad were ordered to never disclose their involvement in Operation ACT. Nor were we permitted to talk about the intervention of the International Council on Evocation on sovereign US territory. I had the joyful experience of two full days of debriefs in which the theme was: what did Rei Acerba Bathory know, and when did she know it? Questions about what went on in Carrera’s circle were few and far between. I didn’t know what the higher-ups gleaned from the initiates before they wiped them, but my interrogators seemed happy with: “Carrera dead. Reaping averted.” I guess the DEA didn’t have much to go on. I’d cast the spell inside a frameshift and used up all the draconium in the process. Plus, Jules had obliterated the array. There wasn’t even any evidence left of the spell’s nature. To the agents, I was just a lowly ex-Imperiti who didn’t have a clue (yay, stereotypes). That suited me just fine. I was pretty sure what Anna had gotten me to do was illegal, and I liked my head attached to my shoulders. I didn’t share a word more than I had to.
After we evacuated Las Vegas, my father rushed Spinoza off to get medical care, Collins and Masterson delivered John and Sadie to DEA Command, and Anna and Hans vanished from our radar. Whatever the Duchess of Peoria was planning, I didn’t have a clue. With the exception of Ichijo, not a soul inside DOMA knew that Rei and I had formed a weft-link, and after we both memorized the cuneiform designs, Jules destroyed her notebook and we shelved our analysis for later. We couldn’t have rushed it if we wanted to. Jules said we wouldn’t get anywhere unless we visited the Old Country. America wasn’t known for it’s magical libraries, and neither of us could afford the tickets.
Still…at
least one effect of the spell was obvious. Four days ago, all of America woke up to the news that an 8.0 earthquake had struck the sparsely populated expanses of Northern Nevada. The Conscious heard news of a different sort. Reports were streaming in that a new leyline had surged to life across the Southwest. They were calling it the Great Western Flow. Magic theorists were fascinated by the mystifying event. One camp postulated that we had at long last seen proof that mana was generated through the action of plate tectonics. A second camp disagreed. They argued that the earthquake was clear evidence for Mana Pooling Theory (which proposed that manalogical formations can generate incredible geological pressures over time). The only thing both sides could agree on was that these surprising developments highlighted the need for additional leyline research funding.
Two days ago came news of a different sort. DOMA Mexico announced that a small band of battlemages had defeated the largest Were pack in Mexico City. It was their first victory against the Weres in over fifty years. To the bafflement of Wall Street, silver prices plummeted. I guess I should have taken solace in the Mexican Magi’s resurgence. I didn’t. I felt…numb. I didn’t dare bring it up with the others, but despite everything she had done, I felt terrible about Sadie. There had to have been something I could have done. If I’d noticed the signs…if I’d listened more carefully…I missed her stupid pink bunny slippers. I missed getting poked in the nose. I kept expecting her to stumble out of her dorm room, mumble, “Hey, Dieter,” and fumble her coffee mug with sleepy hands. I wondered what the DEA had done to her. I didn’t expect it was very nice.
And Monique? I couldn’t even go there. None of us could…
Chapter 22
THE FIRST CUT IS THE DEEPEST
My new steel-toed boots squeaked across the linoleum. I rubbed my tired eyes. Visiting this Elliot’s infirmary was becoming a bad habit. The varnished white walls. The not so subtle chemical smell. Too much light. Too little life. Why anyone would ever want to work here was beyond me.
They really needed to consider a few ferns.
My crimson and charcoal robe flapping behind me, I rounded the corner and said hello to the night nurse. She gave me a mechanical nod and waved me on through. I was what they liked to call a “frequent-flyer.” (The staff even kept my favorite flavor of Jell-O chilled and waiting.) I felt the familiar relief as I approached the door. I pushed it open quietly and slid inside.
“Anything new?”
Rei folded up her new issue of M.A.D. Magazine and slid it into her robe.
“Fukimura-san still slumbers.”
I noted the big dreadlock lump curled up around Rei’s feet. “Is he even allowed in here?”
Rei shrugged. “He arrived through the window. Let the nurses order him out if they wish.”
Cumo’s one hundred and twenty pounds let out a heavy sigh.
I walked over to Ichijo. It’d been seven days since they pulled the bullets from his gut. The blood loss had been severe. Jules had managed to stem the flow in the field, but he’d never regained consciousness. I’d heard the DOMA medics whispering in the hallway. They thought his brain was damaged.
Since our arrival back at Elliot, the members of Lambda had been taking turns watching over him. It gave the seven of us something to do other than worry. Jules finished her shift at midnight. Rei covered the witching hours. I was her replacement for daybreak.
I liked my shift. The world was quiet in the wee hours of the morning. It gave me time to think, and thinking beat running around killing things. I was grateful for the peace.
Rei leaned over and sniffed the air pensively.
Perhaps I misspoke. The peace came after the sun rose.
I felt the slight push as she felt out my mind through the link. “Hey, no cheating.”
Rei frowned. She squinted her eyes and strained her will. “Kenyan?”
“Whoa,” I said, my eyes widening. “You almost got it that time. Shade-grown Ethiopian.”
“Curses,” she replied, shaking her fists.
“Sorry, kumpadre, but a bet’s a bet. The next pound is on the Bathmeister.”
Grumbling, Rei reached into her pocket and handed me two twenties. I poured out two cups of coffee and grabbed a chair. We watched Ichijo’s chest rise up and down as the setting moon began to peer through the window. He looked peaceful, but his features were pale. I examined his aura. It’d shrunken even smaller since last time. I’d never witnessed such a thing before, but I figured it meant Ichijo was dying. That was a tough pill to swallow.
Ichijo had been shot because Sadie leaked their location. If Maria hadn’t been lightning fast on the translocation, the entire team might have gotten killed. I shifted in my seat. To set us up like that…I still couldn’t fathom Sadie doing it. And we still didn’t know what happened to her. Collins and Masterson had carted her off along with her father. The DEA representatives were all tight-lipped about it.
The silence. I was having trouble getting used to it. Grunts like us were treated like mushrooms. We were kept in the dark and fed bull—well, you get the idea. Such was life in the Wild World of Magery. I turned to the coffee cup in my hand.
“What do you think, Rei, is Ichijo going to wake up again?”
Rei took a sip from her cup. “Yes. Tonight.”
I looked over at Rei. She could smell auras as easily as I could see them. She must have known he was dying. Why would she say otherwise?
“My most-endearing sidekick, all is not as it seems.” She gestured to the window. “I have been waiting for the kitsune for several nights. It arrived at midnight. I believe it plans to wait until I depart.” Rei drew a packet of fried tofu from her robe and examined it. “I am curious, Dieter, do these congealed bean curds taste good?”
I shrugged. Despite my on again, off again flirtations with a vegetarian lifestyle, I could never seem to get behind the idea of tofu. “Kinda bland. Are you thinking of going vegan?”
Rei smirked. “Goodness no. This is bait.” I loved it when Rei smirked. I wished she had a smirk button. That there were smirk sales. That I could buy them by the dozen. She unwrapped the thick wad of tofu and tossed it on the floor.
“Hey, that’s good food!” I stood to pick it up. My kitchen instincts were flaring up again.
Rei snagged me by the robe and deposited me in the chair “Sit, watch, and learn. Cumo, védelmez Dieter.”
I didn’t know what the command meant, but the big dog lifted his weight off Rei’s toes, sauntered over, and planted his haunches next to mine. Looking up, he gave me an ill-tempered huff. A gust of wind was playing with the thin white drapes dressing the windowsill. Cumo looked out into the darkness, his ears twitching.
“You’re not even trying. Focus on listening, Dieter,” Rei urged. Rei kept insisting I try and hone my senses. She said all I had to do was focus. I did as I was told. The cold January air was stirring, and I leaned forward and strained my ears. My vision dimmed as I did. It was faint—but I could hear the jingle of a tiny bell.
“Tada,” she said. I glanced over at Rei. She crossed her legs and took another sip of coffee. Smiling, she gestured back at the window.
I jumped at the sight. Showered by moonlight, a strawberry-blond fox stood with all four paws on the windowsill. Its enormous bushy tail flicked about, and the fox’s dark eyes gazed into my own. I felt a subtle tickle playing across my Sight. I was being…assessed. The creature tilted its fury head and sniffed. I had never seen a real fox before. The creature was built as though every ounce counted. The fox’s nose pricked, and with a light, floating motion, it leapt from the sill to the fried tofu.
I looked back over at Rei. She was busy donning thin satin gloves. I checked my watch. It was still well over two hours till daybreak. Why was she gloving up? That didn’t make any sense. I pressed out through the link.
“One can never be too cautious,” she replied. “The kitsune are a cunning breed—and I fear this one has taken a liking to you. I already have one inner demon to deal with. I do n
ot need another.”
I didn’t quite grasp what Rei meant. “You’re worried about that little thing?”
Cumo leaned forward, and a rolling growl channeled out of him like thunder. His response seemed a tad overkill. Cumo’s forepaw was the size of the fox’s entire head. I didn’t get why he was so angry. To me, the fox looked…cute. Indifferent to Cumo’s protests, the little canine ate through the block of tofu. Its perfect fur coat glistening as it moved. I wondered what its fur felt like…probably incredibly soft.
The tiny fox glanced up and caught my eye.
“Back off, bitch,” Rei snarled.
The air around us popped.
“Not again,” I muttered. I dusted the frost from my eyebrows. I looked into my coffee mug and found a dark-brown ice cube instead. It turned out that mana control issues weren’t limited to my craft alone. My problems revolved around stopping a cast once it started. Rei’s revolved around controlling the initial discharge. (Basically, the chick was on a hair trigger.) With a sigh, I resigned myself to a caffeine-free morning.
Backing away toward the bed, the little fox whimpered. A thin layer of snow covered its nose. But misfire or not, Rei wasn’t letting up for an instant. She’d gone so far as to bare her fangs. I felt bad for the little thing. The Rei and Cumo tag team scaring the heck out of it.
“Seriously, Rei, take it easy. That fox must only weigh twenty pounds.”
The fox yelped and stomped its forepaws.
I raised an eyebrow. “Um…fifteen pounds?”
It gave me a cheerful bark and sat down on its haunches.
Okay…that was a bit odd.
Curious, I stood up to get a better look.
Apparently, that was a mistake. Rei roared, “Cumo! Fegyelmezi magát, stupid Dieter,” and I was on my belly under gallons of fur before I even knew what hit me. A big wet tongue scored a direct hit on my ear.
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