“Welcome to my last six months.”
Eric strode back to us, his expression dark with confusion. I pushed off the side of the Rover.
“Well? Where are they?”
“She doesn’t know,” Eric said, digging his keys from his pocket. “Enforcers’ Assignment information isn’t shared. Her people have Ritter and the surviving vigilantes in custody.”
“Surviving?” Krista said. “Some of them died?”
Eric looked at her hard. “Starting to see how serious all this is?”
Krista leaned back. “I knew it was serious. I was with Helena last year when we got attacked. I cleaned her blood up off the floor of the office.”
I winced. That was true. At the time, we’d thought it was some sort of gang revenge thing. I hadn’t learned until later what had really happened—that sanguimancers had chased her, and the monster that had nearly killed her was the bastardization of her godfather’s spellhound form.
If it hadn’t been for Isaac’s help, she’d have been dead.
“Right,” Eric said. “But now you know why. And how. People died last night—two of the vigilantes bled out from wounds before the fight was over. De Vries and Helena did that.”
Krista flinched. “Yeah, but they were being attacked. And it’s not like they shot them in the face.”
Eric lifted an eyebrow. “That would have been cleaner. Instead, two of them laid there, bleeding out from having the lower part of their legs exploded off.”
Krista yelped and put a hand over her mouth, turning away.
“Jesus, Eric!” I said, putting an arm gingerly around Krista. She turned into me and pressed her face into my shoulder with a little moan of misery.
“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into, Park,” Eric said. “And I’m not taking her into a dangerous situation when she doesn’t even know what she’s agreeing to.”
Krista shrugged out of my arms, and I was glad to see she wasn’t crying—that wouldn’t have helped her case with Eric.
“Did you know what you were agreeing to before you became a police officer?” she asked. “Were you prepared for your first car chase, or shootout? What about the first time you had a magic fight or staked a vampire?”
“Vampires aren’t real,” I whispered.
Krista put her fists on her hips and glared up at Eric. He rolled his eyes. “Fine, no,” he grumbled. “No one is ever completely prepared for the realities of any kind of fight. But there are levels of preparation, and right now, you’re still a white belt.” He pointed at the fluttering caution tape now outlining the smoking diner. “This? This is some higher-level shit. From what Enforcer Borregaard told me, it was a miracle there weren’t more fatalities.”
I clenched and unclenched my fists, running through a few mental scenarios. “So, it’s safe to assume Febreeze isn’t talking her out somewhere to kill her.”
“Right,” Eric said, and reached for the door of the Rover. “He seems to actually be invested in getting her to her trial in one piece.”
Krista and I moved around to the passenger’s side and got in. I slumped against the open window and squinted up at the sky, thinking.
“So, we need to establish some facts,” I said. “I’m assuming the easiest time to get to her will be while she’s with whatshisface, and not in the custody of the National Guild. Considering the mess out here, getting her away from him might be kind of a challenge.”
Eric put the car in drive, and tossed a two-fingered wave to Enforcer Borregaard. She gave a tight smile and went back to cataloging the destruction.
“I think we can assume a good bit of the destruction was our girl,” Eric said. “Kid’s got firepower like a Tarantino flick.”
“Okay, so our best guess is that she’s off to Baltimore, which means we need to grab her before the National Guild gets her on lockdown.”
Eric grimaced. “I’d agree, but they took off a full seven hours ago.”
Krista leaned forward. “Wouldn’t they have stopped somewhere? They’d be tired after a big fight.”
“Good point. We might only be a few hours behind them.”
Krista put a fist out to me. I gave it a tired bump.
“A few hours still doesn’t put us there in time to snatch her from De Vries,” Eric said. “And if he gets her to Enforcer Randolph?” He blew out a breath. “We’ll have a hell of a time.”
I felt the panic creeping up my back, and battered it down. I couldn’t let that deter me. Helena wouldn’t give up. I couldn’t either. I had to think.
“Okay,” I said, forcing my voice to be firm and steady. “So we work off the assumption that she’ll be held by the National Guild. Where is she going to be? What sort of protection will she be under? Are there weaknesses there? What kind of time-frame do we have?”
Eric glanced over at me, his expression unreadable.
“What?”
He gave a soft snort. “Maybe you have potential,” he said.
I didn’t really want to ask what I had potential for. Right now, the only thing I cared about was having a plan.
“Where?”
He sighed. “We’re not breaking her out of Randolph’s. That’s where they held Gwydian before he got shipped off to Tribunal. It’s the equivalent of a high-security prison for magic users.”
“Is that where the trial’s going to be held?”
“No, she’ll have to be moved around to go to trial. That’s going to be our best bet.”
Krista forced her way forward again, bright orange head thrusting between Eric and me. “You know they’re going to be paranoid as fuck before the trial, right? People always relax after the trial, because they’re like—welp, that’s that.”
Eric tilted his head. “So…let her lose the trial.”
“Fair and square.”
“And snatch her on the way out.”
Krista nodded. Eric pulled onto the highway. “It could work. I mean, it probably won’t—this is a shitty plan. But it could. If her guard is anyone but Enforcer Randolph.”
He tightened his hands on the wheel. “I really don’t like the idea of attacking Guild Sorcerers. When it was De Vries, I could make an exception, but this? This is a little harder to excuse.”
I frowned. That had been bothering me for the entire past day, though I hadn’t quite been able to put my finger on it. “What happens to you if you get caught trying to spring her?” I asked.
“Arrest. Trial. A dampener tattoo.”
Before I could ask what that was, he explained.
“That’s a tattoo they give you that detects when you’re using more than a certain level of magic.”
“And it, what, explodes when you do?” I asked.
He snorted. “Not for a first offense. They just come intimidate you. Actually, that’s what I used to do for the Guild. Professionally intimidate magical parole-breakers. It’s how I met my husband.”
“How…romantic?” Krista said. “Your husband’s a criminal?”
“Nah, he’s just a particularly powerful Earth Friend and they wanted him to accept a tracker.”
“The fuck?” Krista said. “Registration? Like that ever goes well!”
Eric shot her a grim half-smile. “That’s almost exactly what he said. He didn’t end up having to register because I vouched for him, and he’s still not very powerful in comparison to a Sorcerer. We, on the other hand, have to register, or we’re considered Rogues and hunted down.”
Krista’s expression was fraught, and she was leaning way too far forward. I twisted in my seat.
“Can you put on a seatbelt?” I said. “We’re fighting sorcerers and shit. It would be stupid to die because you didn’t buckle up.”
“How are you so cool about this?” She demanded, turning her wide eyes to me. “Registration? Like…like…”
“I know, Kris,” I said. “But in this case, it’s more like gun-control. You register a weapon to help prevent its abuse. In this case, the weapons are people. It’s shit
ty, and I agree with you that there should be an alternative, but I also kind of get it.”
She sat back, buckling up with swift, angry motions. “I don’t think there’s ever a good enough reason to put people on a registry.”
“Social security?” Eric offered. “Citizenship? That’s kind of what it is. The Guild is a worldwide organization, and part of what we’re here for is to protect mundanes from those able and willing to cause them harm with magic. It’s not always fair, but we can only do the best job we can. In Helena’s case, the system has failed spectacularly. In most cases, it still works.”
Krista crossed her arms and her legs, foot jiggling as she scowled at the back of Eric’s seat.
I reached back, offering my hand. After a second, she took it. I squeezed.
“Ethics in any judicial system is always going to be a battle,” I said. “People are complicated. The world is complicated. If anything, the systems fail because they’re not complicated enough.”
Eric nodded. “Which is why I’m willing to do something about it, dampener tattoo or not.” His arms tightened as he squared his shoulders, like a bull bracing itself to charge. “I love that girl. I’m not going to let her die because the system can’t get its head out of its ass.”
Chapter 20
helena
The Henard Sorcerers’ Guild headquarters had been in an auto repair shop outside of town. My expectation for the National Guild’s residence was something similarly nondescript, though with a bit more space and definitely better defenses.
“It’s not in a set location,” De Vries said in answer to my question. “Too much risk. They move every time they need to meet.”
It was nearly six in the afternoon, and the sun was slicing across the windshield. The congested Baltimore streets seemed to have invoked rush hour traffic on a Sunday. I’d been used to that in Miami, but a few months in Henard made me miss the easy efficiency of small-town driving.
De Vries and I were both done with being in the car, stiff from the cramped space, and so sick of each other's company we’d resorted to politeness. Still, the closer we got to our destination, the less theoretical the trial was becoming in my head.
“So where is it this time?” I asked.
“I wasn’t told. It will likely be a last-minute announcement.”
“If my trial is in the back room of a Denny’s, I swear to God…”
De Vries grimaced. “I’m definitely keen on avoiding anywhere reminiscent of a diner.”
The light turned and he peered closer at his GPS, which seemed to be rerouting him around the worst of the congestion. I took one of my socked feet off the dash and shifted upright in my seat.
My shorts had finally dried, though they were mostly concealed by the borrowed shirt, which hit me just above the knees. I’d gotten a few odd looks at our gas-station stops, probably because it looked like I wasn’t wearing pants.
“So, if there isn’t a headquarters, where are we going?” I asked.
De Vries turned onto East Pratt St., and the sun slid around behind us.
“We’re meeting the head of the Guild Enforcers,” he said. “The National Guild doesn’t keep a headquarters, but each city has a holding space set aside.”
“Like that garage back in Henard?”
“Yes. It’s usually out of the way.”
A wall of hotels jutted up on our left, and we slid under an enclosed pedestrian bridge leading to a set of low shops. There was some kind of water feature on our right. I squinted past the glare of sunlight and picked out the masts and rigging of a massive, historical ship anchored beside the shopping area.
“This doesn’t look out of the way,” I said.
“We’re cutting through town. It’s in a residential area.”
I cut a glance toward him, my brows bunched in confusion. “Is that a good idea? I mean, I’m not going to hurt anyone, but you want to put someone like Gwydian in the middle of a bunch of clueless civilians?”
“Someone like Gwydian would have a full complement of Enforcers guarding him, in addition to the warded cell.”
We drove for a moment in silence, until De Vries noticed the grim little smile on my face.
“What?”
“You called it a ‘cell’,” I said.
“Well, it’s probably a basement, but it is functionally a cell.”
I rolled my head along the back of my seat, facing him. “What was that about my not being a prisoner?”
“Ah.” Then, after a beat. “I still don’t understand why you’re smiling.”
“Because I was right about being a prisoner.”
“And that makes you happy?”
“No. Just right.”
He looked like he wanted to argue the point further, but elected to turn his attention back to driving. We passed out of the harbor area and into a neighborhood. This part of Baltimore was ribboned with cracked sidewalks, old trees, and picturesque row-houses.
People were walking dogs, be-suited men and women juggled keys and cell-phones, and a clutch of summer-drunk kids raced bicycles down offshoot streets. Evening sunlight bore down, encasing the moment of frantic peace like molten amber.
Something in me reached out, fingers of longing stretching to catch the possibility of that world. A car window was all that separated it from me. A car window and a lifetime of violent, bloody magic.
Jaesung. He’d made that world feel possible. But we would never be able to have a future together. Not like that. He wouldn’t kiss me in the doorway of our house. We’d never have children who slammed into summer with fierce abandon, completely ignorant of sorcerers, sanguimancy, and old magic bloodlines.
I would never be one of those people. I’d kidded myself for a while there. Hope was far too easy to create when someone loved you.
It was like being stabbed in the chest with a shovel.
The feeling was so overwhelming, so sudden, that I could do nothing to stop it. I fumbled for the bottle of water, fighting to keep my breathing steady. Tears had pushed out, quick and silent, and they weren’t stopping.
My fingers shook on the bottle cap, but I managed to crack the seal. I drank as if it could help me swallow the lump in my throat, or rinse me clean of the feeling. I drank until I choked, and my shaking hands dumped water down my front.
The water bottle was taken from my fingers. A hand clasped my forearm, providing an anchor point for my broken mind to start reassembling itself.
“You won’t be mistreated,” De Vries was saying, his low voice measured, if not exactly comforting. “Enforcer Randolph is-”
“I’m not scared!” I growled, and shoved his hand away.
I was coming back to myself. Anger was a lighthouse in this emotional storm. It burned bright, reminded me where I was.
“Fine,” De Vries said, still in that irritatingly calm voice. “Can you talk me through what just happened?”
I actually looked at him then, flabbergasted. “You turned me in,” I said, my voice soft and unstable. “And you think you have the right to ask what’s going on in my head? Because of you, I’m losing any chance I will ever have to-”
I cut myself off. He didn’t deserve to know what had set me off, what private dreams he had shattered. I pressed cold fingertips to my face. My skin burned, but at least the flow of tears had stopped.
I half expected him to turn the blame back on me for breaking Guild law, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t want to set me off again, or maybe he was just tired of the argument.
If it shut him up, I didn’t care.
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up in front of a line of dark navy row houses with bright red doors and gleaming gold knockers. De Vries put the car in park and opened his door, phone screen already lighting up. Presumably, he was calling the aforementioned Enforcer Randolph to come and get his new prisoner.
I shoved my feet into my shoes and reached for the door, but it was already opening. De Vries ended his conversation with the person o
n the other end and extended his hand.
He was crazy if he thought I was going to take it.
I shoved myself out of the car and ducked around him, heading for the door.
“D’Argent.”
I almost didn’t stop. The only thing that brought me around was the possibility I was headed for the wrong house.
De Vries had just shut the door, but he had something in his hand—a folded piece of paper.
“Did you want this?” His tone suggested he didn’t really care.
The sparks of spitefulness still crackling over my chest told me to say yes. To take the paper and throw it away or cast a quick burning spell on it, just to watch De Vries jump.
But a deeper part of me, the part that was still curled up rocking in grief, said that I knew too well what it was like to lose someone. And I wasn’t cruel enough to burn that piece of paper, not when it might mean something. Even if it meant something to a person I resented as much as De Vries.
“No,” I said. “It was for you.”
His eyebrows lowered, expression darkening with mistrust. He lifted the edge as if expecting something explosive, and when it didn't immediately burst into flame, he opened it.
I crossed my arms looked at the tree growing it its little iron cage. I didn’t want to watch De Vries see his dead friend’s face peering up from my sketch. I didn’t want to see that reaction roll through him.
In my peripheral vision, I saw him fold the paper in half, then quarters, and tuck it into his pocket. He didn’t thank me. He didn’t say anything, and I was happy to leave it at that.
Anyway, it hadn’t been for De Vries’s benefit. Not really. In a weird way, it had been for Isaac. I’d left my sketchbook behind, but it felt important to get that picture to someone who cared about the person in it.
We walked to the door together in silence. De Vries reached for the doorbell, but instead of ringing it, slid it aside to reveal a sleek black touch pad. He pressed his thumb over the sensor, which flashed green. A lock in the door cycled.
I reached for the handle, lest he have another fit of misplaced manners and try to open the door for me. Before I could put my hand on it, he knocked my wrist aside with a swift sweep of his arm.
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