by Mary Fan
A somber look descended on his expression. He gave a curt nod, then waved his wand, whispering the incantation as he scattered the silvery magic across the room. “What’s going on?” he asked, once the room filled with mist.
“I’m leaving tonight, and I’m not coming back.” A pang shot through her heart, and she fought to keep her face from dissolving into something weepy and pathetic.
“To join the rebels?”
“Yeah. I can’t pretend anymore. Not just because it’s driving me crazy, but because Everett’s gonna get me if I stay.” She quickly summarized what she’d heard in the training room, and what it had led to—her conclusion that Everett knew what she was thinking, and that he intended to arrest her. Or worse.
He nodded slowly. “I understand. I knew this day was coming and … well, I can’t say I’m surprised after what I told you about your mother.” A sad smile curved his lips. “Good for you. I wish I could come.”
“Why don’t you?” She perked up and suddenly felt selfish for not having thought of taking him sooner. He certainly had no reason to be loyal to his father. During the International Challenge, the Gold Triumvir had been willing to throw Connor’s life away just to prove that he was committed to the contest. If Aurelia hadn’t broken Connor’s arm to force him out of the contest, she would have lost him. Yet he continued to play the loyal son, even knowing that his father had tried to kill him. How could he stand it?
“Come with me!” She started to continue, but his next words caused the idea to whither like a blossom in winter.
“I’m the Gold Triumvir’s son, Aurie.” A stormy look darkened his eyes. “My father may not care about me, but I still belong to him, and if I ran away he’d mobilize the army to drag me back. Not to save me or anything, but so he could kill me himself.” His jaw hardened. “They’ll send enough people after you as it is. If I were with you … it would be much, much worse. First, he’d track me to see where I was going, and then he’d order an attack. Not only would you be captured, but they’d seize any rebels they found with us as well. Your chances at escape are slim enough as they are, and I don’t want to make things any more dangerous. The best thing I can do for the rebellion is stay away from them.”
The shards of her dashed hopes pricked at her chest. She wished she could cry like everyone else and say that she’d miss him, but that would just open the door to weakness. If she let herself go soft this time, then next time it would come more easily, and the time after that she’d find herself facing the thing she feared the most: being helpless.
So instead, she replied the only way she knew how: with biting sarcasm. “I knew you’d be too scared to leave.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll miss you too, Aurie. Maybe someday I’ll figure out a way to join you.”
She wanted to say that she’d miss him fiercely, that she wished more than anything that he could come with her, that she hated, hated, hated saying goodbye. That he was the most wonderful friend anyone could ever know. That she was grateful to him for always being there for her. That she’d do anything for him, and if he asked her to stay, she probably would, no matter what the Triumvirate did.
But when she tried to speak, the words got jumbled in her mind, and she was suddenly unable to string together a sentence.
Connor’s eyes widened. “I almost forgot—I have a present for you.” He crouched by her bed and pulled out something he must have hidden there earlier. When he stood again, he was holding a pair of swords in black sheaths. “Happy birthday.”
She cocked her head, surprised. He’d given her cards and candy for past birthdays—small things that wouldn’t draw attention—but never anything like weapons.
He handed the swords to her. “I had a feeling this would be your last birthday at the Academy, so I decided to get you something you’d actually want. It’s about time you had your own pair of blades—and not the generic government-issued ones.”
Upon receiving them, Aurelia could tell immediately that the swords were something special. They were lighter and better balanced than the standard ones, and when she pulled one out of its sheath to examine it, she found that the blade was black instead of the usual silver.
“They’re enchanted,” Connor explained. “They’re still made of silver, but the black coloring will make them easier to conceal in the dark, and the magic allows them to cut through just about anything alive. That means no more getting your blades stuck in monster bones. Also, when you clang them together and say the magic words, they glow.”
A grin crept across her lips. She’d never heard of any weapon more perfect. Light attracted monsters, and Aurelia liked to get close to her targets when she fought, since it allowed her to attack with more strength and accuracy. She usually had to carry a flashlight to lure monsters when she hunted in the dark. That—and blades getting stuck in bones—were among her biggest pet peeves. Only Connor would know her well enough to get her exactly what she needed.
“You put out the lights by sticking them back in their sheaths,” he went on. “I cast the enchantment myself, so I’ll vouch for it.”
The echo of Williams’ words about the Way Station’s perimeter wasn’t lost on her, and she thought it funny how much Connor had in common with the old professor. Both were total nerds who were good at putting their smarts to use. Both were a lot tougher than they looked. And both were living reminders that not all Enchanters were bad—just the ones who obeyed the Triumvirs. The battle wasn’t between the magical and the non-magical; it was between those who stood for freedom and those who just wanted power for themselves.
As she examined the blades, a warm feeling of gratitude rushed through her. “These’ll come in handy. How do I activate the abracadabra?”
“Clang the blades together and say, ‘Metal fire.’”
“In English?” Incantations would work in any language—since it was the intention that mattered, and not the actual words—but unless you were a foreign citizen, speaking them in anything other than Latin would get you thrown in jail.
“You’re a rebel now.” Connor shrugged. “You’ll be breaking greater laws than speaking magic words in the wrong language, so what does it matter? Besides, your Latin’s awful,” he added jokingly.
“What’ll I do without your frou-frou crap to make fun of?” As she stuck the sword back into its sheath, her throat tightened. That was the closest she could come to saying good-bye.
For a moment, Connor was quiet. Then he said, “I’d better leave you to your escape.” As he lifted the silencer spell, sorrow shaded his once-bright eyes.
She stared at the plain black hilts of the two swords, motionless. Friends were supposed to hug and cry and blubber sappy words when they parted. And though she couldn’t bring herself to do any of those things, Connor must have known what she wanted to say. The bittersweet smile he gave as he walked toward the door told her as much.
As he started to leave, she was seized by the abrupt need to say something, and called, “Connor!”
He stopped and turned back.
She hesitated. “See you later,” she said finally.
His face brightened. “You too.”
For some reason, those few words brought some relief to the ache within. They meant she’d seek a way to see him again, and he’d do the same. That neither of them believed this was the last time they’d speak. The next time could be an eternity later—years, even—but she’d made an unspoken promise to him, and she intended to keep it.
Okay, enough of this gooey crap. She straightened as the door shut behind him. She had no time to mope—her window for escape was growing narrower by the second, and she had to get out before it closed altogether.
HARDLY A SINGLE STREETLAMP DISTURBED the darkness of the Capital’s outermost zone, and the mandatory curfew meant that the streets were deserted except for the patrolmen. Concrete buildings surrounded Aurelia, their windows black. Midnight had come and gone, which meant that just about everyone was asleep.
Nevertheless, she gave her hood a quick tug to make sure it hid her face from anyone who might be watching. The thick leather jacket she wore over her hoodie kept her upper body warm, and the ponytail stuffed down her collar acted as a scarf, but the winter wind cut through her jeans.
She narrowed her eyes, watching for movement, and kept her ears sharp for any noises other than the steady mix of the motorbike’s rumbling with the wind’s whooshing. As long as she avoided the gaze of the patrolmen, they would assume that she was one of them, since they rode motorbikes as well. But that didn’t mean she was safe. Far from it. Everett couldn’t have missed her zooming out of the Academy, and she was certain he’d alerted the authorities. That meant those patrolmen were looking for her, and while camouflage and the cover of night guarded her for now, it couldn’t last.
Her best chance at escape was to make it out of the city and into the wilderness, where further darkness and unfamiliar terrain would serve as shields. But she’d be leaving one danger for another; even if she managed to avoid the Triumvirate, monsters were waiting outside the perimeter.
Fear trickled down her spine and she tried to shake it away, reminding herself that if her untrained housemaid of a mother could make this journey, then she certainly could. Since learning the truth about Bridget Sun, she’d felt an unshakable connection to the woman who had sacrificed her own life to give Aurelia hers. I won’t let you down, Mom, she thought. I’m gonna make it to the Rising, and then I’m gonna take down the slime balls who killed you. No Triumvirate goon or supernatural beast will stop me.
The swords Connor had given her bounced against her thigh as she veered around a corner. Normally she would have worn them strapped to her back, but her knapsack occupied that spot. All the bag contained were a change of clothes, a canteen, and the contents of her secret food stash—apples and candy bars and other snack foods she’d stolen from the cafeteria. It was hardly enough to live off, but the Way Station was little more than an hour away by motorbike, so she wasn’t exactly going camping. Since Williams had mentioned the place being stocked with provisions, she’d even considered bringing only her weapons—less chance of stuff getting in her way if she had to fight a monster. Some part of her brain had niggled at her, though, saying it was better to be prepared than risk being sorry later.
At the end of the street, a barely visible silver haze shimmered against the darkness—the edge of the Capital. What looked like faintly glowing mist was in fact a powerful enchanted barrier put in place by the Sentinels to keep the supernaturals out. Those magical wisps were the bars of a magnificent cage that protected those within from the terrors outside. But it was a cage nonetheless, and she couldn’t wait to break out.
She was still within the cage’s bounds, though, and her Triumvirate pursuers were fast gaining on her. The sounds of the patrolmen’s motorbikes buzzed through the darkness, growing louder by the second. That meant they were getting closer, and her double shields of camouflage and darkness were far from perfect. If they recognized her—if they realized she was the runaway they’d been sent to capture and not a fellow law enforcement officer—then her journey would be over before it began. The city’s border was so close—she couldn’t let them stop her now.
She twisted the right handlebar to accelerate the motorbike—gotta move at max speed—and a rush of exhilaration flooded her as the vehicle shot ahead. It had taken her longer than she’d planned to make it across the Capital from the Academy’s location, since avoiding the patrolmen had meant zigzagging through the streets, but now, an end—and an escape from the Triumvirate’s eyes—was in sight.
Despite the danger she’d already faced, she knew that fleeing the city would be the easy part, since the Triumvirate had unknowingly given her two important tools to aid in her getaway: access to a fast transport and a mental map. The Academy had provided her with a key to the motorbike garage last year so she could grab a vehicle at a moment’s notice whenever a monster needed ganking, and thanks to their assignments, she knew the lay of the land better than most people knew their own fingernails.
She’d have no such advantages in the wild. Out there, it would just be her and her swords against an unknown, untamed wilderness crawling with creatures of the Underworld. And the patrolmen would still be after her. She’d have a better chance of escaping them outside their turf, but the very things she was counting on to slow them down—the dangerous terrain and the presence of supernaturals—could snare her too. She’d have to find her way to an unfamiliar hideout while both avoiding her pursuers and fighting any monsters that crossed her path. Tension gripped her, and she drew a deep breath.
No monster stands a chance against me, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, a shard of fear remained embedded in her chest. Even if she could defeat the fiends, there were still specters to worry about. Her skin prickled. Specters were spirits of the dead that had returned to the earth. Most were mindless, bloodthirsty beings as savage as any beast. Even the least dangerous type—Class Cs, which still had an element of conscious thought left—could shatter buildings. Class Bs and Class As—the strongest—were creatures whose souls had been consumed by the dark powers of the Underworld, leaving only cruelty and hatred toward all living beings.
If Aurelia were the thinking type, like Connor, she might have contemplated what it meant that someone who was once a person like her could turn into something worse than a monster. Maybe she would even have felt bad for them.
But she was a fighter, and she didn’t have time to worry about such things when her survival was at stake. Specters were the worst kind of enemy: The kind she couldn’t defeat. She could ward them off with silver and force them to retreat, but she couldn’t kill something that was already dead, which meant she could never win. And she hated losing.
The sinister droning of the patrolmen’s motorbikes behind her suddenly swelled, the noise crashing over her like a wave. They must have turned a corner, navigating around the buildings that had filtered the sound before. That meant they were closing in on her. She was sure that if she were to look back, she would see their shadowy figures, but she resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder. At this speed, she needed to keep both eyes forward or risk crashing.
And none of the patrolmen activated their alarms, which meant they hadn’t yet realized she was their target. But if they tried to signal her as one of their own, she wouldn’t know how to respond. She pushed against the handlebar, though her vehicle couldn’t go any faster, and wished she could will it into accelerating.
Spotting an intersection ahead, she made the snap decision to turn left, and her knee briefly scraped the ground as the motorbike veered at an abrupt angle. Maybe that would throw her pursuers off. Maybe it was a dead giveaway that she wasn’t who they thought she was. Either way, it seemed like a better idea than going in a straight line.
She got her answer about three seconds later, when a trio of loud, wailing noises ripped through the darkness—the patrolmen’s alarms. Activating them meant they’d spotted their target and were alerting the others to their location. Cold sweat broke over her brow, and she cursed herself for her mistake. That was so stupid! I should’ve known better!
Gritting her teeth, she shoved the thoughts out of her head. She didn’t have time to worry about how she’d screwed up—she had to fix it. Focusing on her ears, she tried to detect the noise of motorbike engines beneath the blaring sirens. That would tell her where her pursuers were, at least. She didn’t hear anything from the road ahead of her, which meant she still had a chance at escaping before the ones behind her caught up. Another intersection was coming up fast, and the street to her right would be parallel to the one she’d been traveling down. That meant it would be a straight shot to the perimeter.
She barreled around the corner, almost tipping her vehicle in the process. As she straightened her course, she heard more sirens join the commotion. Back up for the patrolmen had arrived, then, but she wasn’t giving up yet. The silver haze marking t
he edge of the city was once again visible ahead, and if she could make it past the perimeter before they found her, then she had a fighting chance.
Her heart thudded, and her right hand continued pushing against the handlebar almost involuntarily, though she knew she couldn’t accelerate any further. Only a spattering of streetlamps lit the darkness—no flashing blue-and-gold patrol lights—which meant she was still out of eyeshot, since if she couldn’t see them, chances were they couldn’t see her. She leaned down, narrowing her eyes against the icy wind. The city’s shimmering border drew nearer, she was so close…
The enchantment sent chills through her as she burst passed it. Then, when she hit the broken, bumpy pavement beyond, an unexpected shiver ran down her back. It was both joy and terror at once—the immense thrill of escape coupled with the intense anxiety of facing the unknown. But what lay ahead, dangerous as it was, tipped the scales in her favor. The Triumvirate could follow her into the wild, but now she had the advantage. She’d memorized the long-forgotten roads from Williams’ map, while they’d be left fumbling through the brush.
However, they had strength in numbers—not to mention magic—and she hoped fiercely that they wouldn’t think to look for her outside the city. Or, if they’d seen her leave, that they wouldn’t find her in the shadows.
Her motorbike sped along the neglected road, bouncing against the cracks. For a moment, the world before her was so black that she felt like she’d gone blind. Then her gaze caught a few strands of moonlight passing through the tangled trees surrounding her. She’d thought her eyes had already adjusted to the darkness, but compared to the shadows of the wild, the barely lit streets of the Capital’s outer zone might as well have been the sun. The edge of her left forefinger brushed the switch on the handlebar that would turn on the motorbike’s headlights, and she yearned to flip it.