by Heidi Lang
“I mean, have you ever seen a mask as realistic as this?” the man behind the mask continued.
“Sure scared the life out of that little griffin,” his friend chortled.
They moved on, leaving Lailu to stagger in their wake.
As she approached the Industrial District, the crowds thinned. Maybe it was the flickering lights that kept people out. After the scientists left this area to do their experiments under Lord Elister’s watchful eye, they’d stopped maintaining their fancy smokeless torches, and that lack of care showed. Something about those strange flashes of light bursting erratically into sudden darkness did not invite revelers, and by the time Lailu turned onto Iron Way, she was alone.
Good, Lailu thought. She had to get used to this.
She gave herself a shake. “Stop with the self-pity,” she muttered. She wasn’t some child. She needed to quit being a baby.
“L-Lailu?” Wren stepped out of a darkened alcove in one of the buildings.
Lailu wavered. She didn’t want to get sucked into yet another conversation. She just wanted to get home. But then Wren took another step forward, the electric light of the Industrial District flaring brightly for a second, illuminating her face, and it was obvious she’d been crying, too. “Are you okay?” Lailu asked.
Wren nodded, then burst into tears.
34
TEARS AND FEARS
What’s wrong?” Lailu asked. She lifted her arms awkwardly, not sure what to do, and settled for patting Wren lightly on the back.
“Oh, n-nothing,” Wren sobbed. “It’s just, I work so hard. So hard!”
“I know you do.”
“And she doesn’t care! I th-thought”—she hiccuped—“if I embraced being a s-scientist”—another hiccup—“she would love me.”
“Oh,” Lailu said, sudden understanding dawning. “This is your mom you’re talking about?”
Wren nodded miserably and blew her nose on her own sleeve.
Lailu took a step back. That was kind of gross, even by her standards. “I’m sure she loves you. I mean, at least she’s never left you behind for months and months and didn’t tell you she secretly spent a lot of time in the capital but still didn’t have time to see your graduation.”
“She . . . what?” Wren stopped crying. “How could my mom miss my graduation if I haven’t graduated from anything?”
“My point is, she wouldn’t miss it. She’d be there for it.”
“Only to make sure I didn’t screw it up,” Wren sniffed.
“She’s probably just hard on you because she knows how talented you are,” Lailu suggested.
Wren sniffed again. “You think so?”
“Of course. Um, can I get you a handkerchief or something?”
“No, this is fine.” Wren blew her nose on her sleeve again, then managed a small, tremulous smile. “Thanks, Lailu.”
“You going to be okay, then?” Lailu didn’t want to leave Wren here in distress, but she had her own problems to attend to.
“Yeah. I actually have a plan. Something I’m working on that will impress even my mom. I’m almost done with it, but one of the key components just exploded. Again.”
Lailu sniffed the air. “That explains the smoke,” she realized. Apparently, Wren was still using the Industrial District for her own experiments.
“It was a disaster,” Wren admitted. “I thought I’d give up because it never seems to matter anyhow, but I feel better now. I’m going to try some more.”
“That’s great.” Lailu smiled. “I hope you’re successful. See you around?”
“See you around.” Wren lunged in and hugged her. “Thank you,” she said again, letting Lailu go. “Thank you for being my friend.”
Lailu eyed Wren’s snot-marked sleeve and knew she was going to immediately change shirts when she got home. Still, surprisingly she felt better as she waved goodbye and left Wren and the Industrial District behind. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all. Maybe she would be all right too.
Lailu woke up late in the afternoon the next day, feeling rested for the first time all week. She’d returned home last night just in time to finish up the last of the dinner rush, then slipped upstairs and into bed before Slipshod could tell her any more bad news. After such an emotional day, sleep had hit her harder than a full-speed hydra, sucking her down into dreamless slumber.
“Hey, lazy bones,” a familiar voice said by her bed.
Lailu sat up so fast she felt her back crack.
Ryon slouched against the wall next to her, his hands in his pockets, the sunlight streaming through the window and glinting off his dark hair.
“Ryon? What are you doing? This is my room!”
“I know. I like what you’ve done with the place. Simple. No distractions. Not sure about your friend’s side, though. It’s a little . . . extravagant.”
Lailu couldn’t help but see what he meant; there was a clear divide between Lailu’s side—with her small bed, one dresser, and large chest full of hunting equipment—and Hannah’s four-post canopy bed with nightstand, dresser, standing closet, and an entire shelf devoted to hair combs.
“Is she still re-homing things?” Ryon picked up a bronze hair comb in the shape of a dragon.
“Of course not!” Lailu eyed the towering stack of hair accessories. “Probably not,” she amended. Then, “I hope not,” she muttered under her breath. She shook herself. She had enough to worry about right now. “Stop changing the subject. Why are you here?”
“I thought you might be worried about me. I was attacked viciously right in front of you, and while I was under your protection, I might add.”
Lailu’s face flushed. “You told me you were fine,” she spluttered. “You told me you weren’t being followed anymore. That wasn’t my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Ryon agreed cheerfully. “But I like how red you get.”
Lailu threw her pillow at him. “Get out of my room.”
He laughed and tossed her pillow back. “In a moment, grouchy one. I’m about to go on a fact-finding mission. I want to know who programmed that thing to come after me.” His expression grew more serious. “And I want to know why.”
“Are you hinting you need backup for this mission?” Lailu asked suspiciously.
Ryon shrugged. “Backup could be useful,” he said casually, “if certain people and their very sharp knives were available.”
Lailu debated. She should get up and help prep for dinner. But Slipshod would be leaving her soon anyhow; let him handle all the prep work for once.
“I’ll go with you,” she decided. “Give me five minutes. And we have to be back before the dinner rush.”
“You got it.” He stepped up onto the windowsill.
“Are you leaving through the window?”
“Same way I got in. It’s like my own private entrance.” Ryon climbed out, closing the window behind him.
Lailu made a mental note to get a window lock as soon as possible.
It was only after he’d left that she realized he hadn’t winked the entire time he was there. He must be more worried than he’s letting on, she decided. It was not a comforting thought. She got dressed, and after a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed Wren’s mal-cantation powder out of her top drawer. Just in case.
35
WREN’S NIGHTMARE WORKSHOP
The shift from buildings and houses with colorful edges and eaves to the blocky metal ones of the Industrial District was sudden. No matter how many times Lailu passed this way, she never got used to it. Glancing up, she read IRON WAY.
“Why the Industrial District?” she asked.
“When I was being followed, before I met you and was attacked, that monstrosity left me here.” Ryon’s voice echoed off the strange walls around them. “It’s strange, though, isn’t it? After all, the scientists no longer work here.”
Lailu thought of Wren and her experiments. And her lab, still within the Industrial District. But no . . . Wren was just a kid. Why would
she program something to attack Ryon? “Maybe,” Lailu began slowly. “Maybe they haven’t all left.”
Ryon smiled, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t think they’ve all left either. I think the scientist who programmed that thing to come after me is still here. And I think it’s the same person who programmed the automaton to kill Gwendyl.”
“An automaton killed Gwendyl?” Lailu hadn’t realized that; the paper had just said the cause of death was unknown. “Are you sure? I read that there were no signs of struggle.”
“And who printed that story?” Ryon asked, raising his eyebrows.
Lailu hesitated. The scientists had invented the press. Did that mean they controlled what articles were published in it? She remembered all the times Greg had gotten the credit for things she had done, and all because his uncle had a lot of influence. Of course she couldn’t trust everything in the papers. She should have known better by now.
“You’re catching on,” Ryon said. “The truth is a slippery beast.”
“It shouldn’t be,” Lailu muttered.
Ryon smiled. “Maybe not. But this is the world we live in. And I have it on good authority that in this case, Gwendyl was caught and eventually killed by an automaton. We don’t know why it targeted her or what she told it before she died. All we know is that somehow it must have been impervious to elven magic, or she would have been able to stop it. Gwendyl was powerful.”
Lailu thought of the mal-cantation powder, very aware of its weight inside her pocket. Something like that would stop elven magic. Was Wren the only scientist who had it? She couldn’t imagine Wren programming anything to kill, even if her friend didn’t believe elves felt pain.
Then she remembered the merciless way Wren had killed the cockatrice, and she went cold. Maybe she could imagine it.
“I know where a lab is,” Lailu admitted. She didn’t want to believe it, but all the signs were pointing toward her friend. She had to at least check it out. They weaved through gridlike streets as she led Ryon to the spot. “This is the place.” She recognized the acrid smell of smoke that still tinged the air. This was where she’d met Wren last night, very close to the building that had housed the elven blood experiments months ago.
Lailu studied the giant bolted door in front.
“That does not look promising.” Ryon rattled the lock.
Lailu scowled at him. “I’m sure there’s a way in.”
“Like, oh, with a key?”
“As if you always need a key to enter a place.”
Ryon’s grin was as sneaky as he was. “You’re learning, my young friend.”
“I’m learning,” Lailu sighed. As Ryon bent to inspect the lock, she stepped to the side, idly tracing her hand down the wall. Her finger slipped along a groove, and she stopped, then peered closer. There was a perfect circle indented in the wall, and around it, the edges of something that might be another door, barely taller than she was.
“You know, this might be beyond my capabilities,” Ryon was saying as Lailu traced the circle and a handle popped out. She twisted the handle, and the small door opened soundlessly, letting out a potent whiff of smoke. The smell reminded her even more strongly of the elven blood experiments, and she took a step back.
“I think I found our way in,” she said slowly.
“Like I said, you’re learning.” Ryon tousled Lailu’s hair, and she swatted at his hand. “Well, what are we waiting for?” He stepped past her and into the darkened room.
Lailu paused behind him. “Are you sure it’s—”
Bam! Snap! Pow!
An arrow shot straight at Ryon’s heart. He caught it, moving so fast he was practically a blur, just as a large blade hung above him swung toward his unprotected neck.
Lailu whipped out her knife, slamming it into the doorframe above Ryon. The hilt caught the swing of the deadly blade, pushing it away to clatter harmlessly to the floor.
“Safe?” Ryon finished, his mouth quirking to the side. “No, probably not.”
Lailu’s heart beat so hard she felt like she’d been punched in the chest. “No, probably not,” she agreed. Then she squared her shoulders and stepped inside.
Lailu discovered a small light on the wall that flickered on when she tapped it. She and Ryon worked silently and quickly beneath its pulsing, eerie glow, riffling through the bizarre objects that filled the room. Lailu examined a shelf full of different tools: hammers, screwdrivers, tiny magnifying glasses, and plenty of other things she’d never seen before. Most of the tools were obviously secondhand but carefully maintained. Next to them lay a pile of metal limbs on a rusty table, screws and pins cluttering the space beside them. And hung over the chair nearby were Wren’s goggles.
Clack-clack-clack.
Lailu caught her breath, then turned very slowly. The head and shoulders of an automaton leaned against the far wall, its metal spine dangling in empty space. The eyes were dull, but the mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. Lailu peered closer, noticing another head, this one missing the front paneling. It was attached to something larger, and it looked almost like there were wings strapped to its back. Wings made of twisted wires and full of gears. Pinned to the wall behind it was a hand-drawn diagram of a lake dragon. Lailu recognized it as a copy from Master Slipshod’s book.
Click. Click. Click-click-click. Click.
Lailu spun, searching for the source of this new noise. Near the discarded automatons, something moved, something that scuttled back and forth below the bench. It was slightly smaller than her hand, with six legs that chimed softly as they struck the metal paneling beneath them.
Lailu leaned closer, noticing two more of the things made of the same glossy metal, with two shiny lights in front like eyes. They looked like smaller versions of the thing that had attacked Ryon. With another series of clicks, the three machines moved deeper beneath the bench and vanished into the shadows.
“Uh, Ryon—”
“Come look at this,” Ryon whispered from across the room.
Lailu was happy to back away from the creepy metal spider things, although she kept an eye on them until she’d joined Ryon on the other side of the room.
The sight in front of her stopped her cold, all thoughts of mechanical spiders gone faster than a well-prepared feast.
Piled in neat stacks on a large table and labeled in a recognizable hand were several different mystic creature corpses. Lailu recognized the carefully sorted bones of a medusa fish; a long, curved tail that might have belonged to one of Beolann’s merfolk; and the fangs and claws of a manticore. Vials of purple elven blood were carefully set in a stand beside them, a familiar blackened skull leaning against the wood frame. And next to that, stretched out on a flat piece of wood, was a blue pixie, a nail driven right through its heart.
Lailu walked as fast as her legs could carry her, like she could leave the image of Wren’s nightmare workshop behind. She should have seen this coming—she did see this coming—but nothing could have quite prepared her for the sight of that blackened skull sitting among all those mystical corpses and the vials of elven blood. And worse by far was the dead pixie. Sure, Eirad had said it was practically an insect, but it looked humanoid. Why would Wren do that?
Who was she, really?
Lailu felt like she didn’t really know her at all.
“Are you okay?” Ryon asked for the hundredth time.
“Do I look okay?” Lailu asked.
“You look terrible.”
“Then stop asking me stupid questions.” She had to get back to her restaurant, had to have some time to think. She knew those were Wren’s things, Wren’s inventions, Wren’s . . . corpses. Lailu shook her head. She had no idea what Wren was up to. She just knew it couldn’t be good.
And she also knew Wren had just installed something in her restaurant, something big. Something that could possibly go horribly, horribly wrong, and take Mystic Cooking with it.
Lailu picked up her pace, shivering as the last rays of sunlight faded
, taking the remaining warmth from the sky and replacing it with a clear, cloudless, chilly night. Automatically she pulled her griffin mask down over her face. Tonight was the Final Night of Masks, and it felt like a night for evil spirits and bad intentions.
As they left the Industrial District behind, the sounds of people celebrating washed over her. She could see flickering candles ahead and sped up. Usually she wasn’t a fan of crowds, but tonight she welcomed the company.
“Wait,” Ryon said slowly.
Lailu ignored him, intent on losing herself in the crowd and leaving that little laboratory of horrors behind.
“Lailu, wait—” he called again, but it was too late.
Lailu turned the corner, stepping straight into a crowd of roaring, cheering people.
People wearing masks of snarling dogs and grinning hyenas, and even one sharp-beaked griffin.
Only they weren’t just masks.
Lailu staggered back as all those faces turned toward her. Faces that had melded with their costumes, changing people into the very creatures they’d dressed up to be.
The snarling dog closest to her lifted its snout in the air and howled.
36
MASQUERADE
The dog lunged at Lailu, who dropped instinctively to the ground. She swept its legs out from under it, then rolled to her feet, her knife unsheathed in her hand.
And stopped.
She had never seen anything so disturbing as these human-creature hybrids. Some of them looked almost exactly like beasts—the griffin had the full body, feathers, wings, and beak, but human eyes peered out from behind what had once been a mask; whereas some still had their human forms, with just their faces elongated and twisted, their hands curled into talons or claws.
These were all people . . . or they were supposed to be people. She couldn’t just start slicing and dicing them like the evening’s special.
The griffin flew at her, its beak snapping inches from her face. Lailu fended it off as Ryon ducked around a pair of screeching batyrdactyls to catch up to her.