“You’ll be fine,” she said, softly. “I have faith in you.”
“Thank you,” Caleb said.
She leaned into his embrace, forcing herself to think. Justice was…what? The entity wasn’t a simple illusion, not when she’d felt the presence centered on it. Whatever it was, it could clearly use magic at will. And yet…it definitely wasn’t human. A Manavore? She’d seen spells strike them and vanish, back in the past. Or a Mimic?
Perhaps someone should have tried to cast a dispelling spell on it, she thought. She kicked herself, mentally. She should have thought of that, back in the square. And yet, a Mimic couldn’t go after more than one target at once.
She considered it for a long moment. Justice hadn’t behaved like a Manavore, although she had to admit that she’d only ever seen one type of Manavore. There could be others, lost somewhere in the past. And yet, based on what she knew, Justice wasn’t a Manavore. It had certainly shown no sign of being unable to target mundanes as well as magicians. A Mimic was a much more likely answer…
But Mimics kill and replace their targets, she mused. She was, as far as she knew, the only living person who could build a Mimic from scratch, at least in theory. She’d never dared try. Justice killed.
She forced her tired mind to work. A Mimic could replace someone perfectly, perfectly enough to fool even their closest friends and family. She shivered against Caleb as she remembered Travis, mocking her as she’d waited outside the Warden’s office. She’d been talking to the Mimic, she knew, but there hadn’t been anything to give it away. The Mimic had duplicated Travis perfectly.
Although I didn’t know him that well, she mused. Travis had been an asshole, an older student who’d resented her – not without reason. She’d certainly done her best to have as little to do with him as possible. Someone who was close to him might have sensed something wrong.
But Justice had spoken in simple terms. He’d sounded as though he was speaking by rote.
“A supercharged spell,” she said. “Compulsion, but on a terrifying scale.”
Caleb looked at her. “A necromancer?”
“A necromancer couldn’t use compulsion like that,” Emily said. “Could he?”
She looked down at her hands. Shadye had used blood magic…but that depended on having a sample of the target’s blood. Dua Kepala hadn’t used any blood magic or compulsion spells, as far as she knew. Gaius had cast them for him, back when he’d been undermining Farrakhan’s defenses. More complex compulsion spells would be beyond most necromancers, as they relied on fine-tuning to overwhelm resistance. Even Mother Holly, who’d understood a great deal about making use of limited resources, hadn’t been able to use such spells after she’d become a full-fledged necromancer.
“The spell was blunt,” Caleb said. “It didn’t adjust itself to crack through wards and protections.”
“True,” Emily agreed. “Necromancers do use overpowered spells…”
And Mimics draw their energy from something similar, she added, silently. But a Mimic would be able to cast spells, wouldn’t it?
“Maybe one of the priests became a necromancer,” Caleb said. “But before he took the plunge, he swore a set of oaths that kept the madness in check.”
“Risky,” Emily said. Perversely, a selfish necromancer had a greater chance of surviving the necromantic rite than someone who wanted to do good. A fanatic might be dedicated enough to turn into a necromancer, but as the madness grew stronger he’d lose whatever sense of focus he’d managed to retain after the transition. “I wouldn’t care to take the risk.”
“They might,” Caleb said.
Emily frowned. A compulsion spell…more than one, mingled with an illusion and probably some subtle prompts to keep people from thinking logically. How could something be both infinitively huge and yet small enough to fit into the square? And the petrification spell, strong enough to not only turn someone into stone, but lock them that way permanently. She remembered the statues, screaming in agony, and shuddered. Sienna had been sure the victims were killed outright, but what if she was wrong? What if their souls remained trapped in the statues?
But what would happen, she asked herself, if a necromancer tried to use a transfiguration spell? Would it be so powerful that the victim would be trapped permanently – or killed?
“They must have known about Vesperian,” Caleb said. “The Hands of Justice must have guessed what was coming.”
“Probably,” Emily said. Vesperian’s Ponzi scheme had been doomed for months, once the borrowing had gotten out of hand. The notes – and the massive financial losses – would have weakened the city’s government, undermining the people’s faith in their leaders. Combined with a real god, or at least something that looked like one, the Hands of Justice might be able to take over without much opposition. “And they targeted his investors deliberately, just to speed up the collapse.”
“And then killed him themselves,” Caleb said. His hand ran down her back as she leaned against him. “And that started the collapse.”
“We need more information,” Emily said.
“A very good idea,” Sienna’s voice said. “And you also need that hand removed.”
Emily jumped. She hadn’t heard Sienna coming up the ladder behind them. Caleb yanked his hand away from her behind and tried to look innocent, even though it was futile. They might not have been making out on the rooftop, but they’d definitely been closer than mere friendship would allow. Besides, their relationship was no secret. Someone who saw them would know the truth.
“Mother,” Caleb said. “The wards would keep anyone from getting a good look at us.”
“I believe I told you to behave when you were under my roof.” Sienna gave Emily a sharp look. “Did your father not teach you that a sorcerer’s home is his castle? That you should follow the rules?”
Emily hesitated, unsure what to say. Her mouth was very dry.
“Apparently not.” Sienna sounded regretful, rather than angry. But she also sounded tired. “Caleb, go downstairs to your room and stay there unless the wards are threatened.”
“Yes, Mother,” Caleb said.
Emily watched him go, then looked at Sienna. Her face was so composed that Emily knew strong emotions churned behind the mask. She tried to keep her own face composed, even though she knew they were in trouble. Sienna would be within her rights to kick both Emily and Frieda out of the house for disobeying the rules – or worse.
“Your father may not have told you this,” Sienna said, “but the reputation of a young woman can come back to haunt them. You do not want people discussing your choices behind your back.”
“I already have people talking about me behind my back,” Emily said.
“And you really don’t want to give them more ammunition,” Sienna snapped. She stepped forward, towering over Emily. Somehow, she looked more terrifying than a necromancer. “Your reputation overshadows you. You have to be careful.”
“I know,” Emily said.
Sienna didn’t look convinced. “What you do in private isn’t important.” She knelt down, facing Emily. “But what you get caught doing in public is important.”
“We’re not in public,” Emily said.
“That’s the sort of excuse I expect from a five-year-old,” Sienna said. “I suggest you be more careful.”
She sat back and sighed, heavily. “I must also apologize for my daughter’s harsh words. Please rest assured that she will be suitably punished.”
Emily winced, inwardly. Marian was lucky there had been no outside witnesses. Caleb wasn’t the only one whose actions reflected on his family. Sienna would have been judged by how well she’d handled the situation. Her community might have turned on her if she’d allowed her daughter to get away with such unpleasant accusations.
And the story of The Boy Who Cried Feud is all about dealing with it, she thought. Lady Barb had advised her to read the stories, explaining that they would help her to understand magical society. It’s be
tter than The Boy Who Cried Wolf.
“She is young,” Sienna said. “She will grow into maturity.”
Emily swallowed. “You don’t have to punish her. I…I know what it’s like to lose someone I loved. I don’t blame her for being angry.”
Sienna met her eyes. “Her behavior was appalling,” she said. “And she tried to leave the house this morning.”
“I don’t blame her,” Emily said.
“And I am glad of that,” Sienna said. She sounded relieved. It dawned on Emily, slowly, that she could have demanded compensation for the accusations. “But I cannot allow Marian to grow up in the belief that lashing out at people is acceptable. The next person she mouths off to may demand a far more exacting price.”
Emily shivered. A nobleman insulted by a little boy might draw his sword and behead the child. Or break bones or…she’d seen it happen in Zangaria. A magician might hex the child, or demand payment from the child’s parents. Sienna was far more able to defend herself and her family than any peasant woman, but even she couldn’t stand up to everything. Her community would have shunned her if she’d allowed her children to run wild.
“She’s young,” she said, finally.
“Yes,” Sienna said. “And I want her to grow up.”
“I didn’t want Casper to die,” Emily said. “I…”
Sienna smiled, humorlessly. “If I believed you had deliberately set him up to die, Lady Emily, I would have killed you the moment you entered the house,” she said. “I might have had to let him go off to the war, but I could certainly have avenged his death.”
Her smile faded. “But the necromancer who killed him is dead. And I thank you for it.”
“You’re welcome,” Emily said, automatically.
Sienna turned to look over the city. “Go back to your room and get some rest,” she said, gruffly. “I’ll have some more food sent up for Frieda when she awakes.”
Emily rose. “Thank you,” she said. “And I’m sorry about her conduct too.”
“You can put her to work scrubbing the floors, if you wish,” Sienna said. It took Emily a moment to realize that the older woman was joking. “And I suggest you do tell her to apologize.”
“I will,” Emily said.
“And don’t let me catch you and Caleb too close again,” Sienna said, as Emily clambered down the ladder. “I’ll have to take notice next time.”
“We’ll behave,” Emily said.
“Forgive me for not believing you,” Sienna said, dryly. “You two are in love.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
EMILY SLEPT BADLY.
The wards kept Justice’s influence out, she thought, but she still felt something at the edge of her dreams. A presence, perhaps…or just random flickers from the depths of her mind. She drifted in and out of sleep for what felt like hours before a knock at the door awakened her. Frieda sat up as Emily dragged herself out of bed and walked over to open the door. Karan stood outside, carrying two mugs of steaming Kava.
“Drink this, then get dressed and come downstairs,” she said. “We might have to go out soon.”
Emily took the mugs, passed one to Frieda and turned back to Karan. But she was already heading down the stairs…Emily shook her head, closed the door and walked over to the window. It was dark outside, but she saw faint glimmers in the distance. They were on the very edge of dawn.
“I slept poorly,” Frieda said.
“You owe Caleb an apology,” Emily said, without looking back. She looked out the window as she sipped her drink. People were gathering in the darkened street, but the wards made it hard for her to see them clearly. “You were very unpleasant to him.”
“He deserved it,” Frieda said, unrepentantly.
Emily sighed. She knew Frieda didn’t like Caleb much – and she was fairly sure Caleb felt the same way – but there were limits. Insulting Caleb in front of his younger siblings would probably have led to a real fight, if Sienna hadn’t returned. Lady Barb had warned her against humiliating a man in public unless she was prepared to deal with the consequences.
She turned to face the younger girl. “Apologize to him, please. He doesn’t deserve that sort of treatment.”
Frieda sniffed. “Should I prostrate myself, or will getting down on my knees suffice?”
“Just say you’re sorry,” Emily snapped, as she yanked the curtains closed. She wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep or the grim awareness that they might be attacked at any moment, but her head was starting to pound again. “And do try to sound convincing.”
“I hope Marian is going to apologize too,” Frieda said. “She was very unpleasant to you.”
“I’ll live,” Emily said. She pulled off her nightgown and reached for her shirt. “And so will you.”
“So will Caleb,” Frieda said.
Emily finished dressing, then splashed water on her face as Frieda climbed out of bed. She looked a little unsteady, although she tried hard to put a brave face on it as she removed her nightshirt. No one had ever accused Frieda of lacking determination, whatever else she lacked. And yet, she remained alarmingly short for her age. Her childhood had stunted the rest of her life.
At least she’s put some meat on her bones, Emily thought. She doesn’t look like she’s starving now.
She met Frieda’s eyes. “How’s your magic?”
“Recovering,” Frieda said. “I should be back to normal tomorrow.”
Emily nodded. Her one experience with Berserker had left her feeling tired and drained for far too long. She would have died if Jade hadn’t been there. Frieda had learned the spell later in life, after entering Martial Magic in Third Year. She’d had more reserves to draw on than Emily, but the spell had still drained her.
“Come on,” she said, once Frieda was dressed. “Let’s go face the music.”
There was no sign of Marian when they reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the living room. Caleb and his father stood in one corner, having a quiet discussion that broke off as soon as Emily and Frieda appeared. Emily felt her cheeks heat, noting how Caleb couldn’t quite meet her eyes. He looked dreadfully embarrassed. No doubt his father had given him a lecture on behaving himself too.
“Caleb.” Frieda’s voice was clipped. “I apologize for my conduct.”
Emily resisted the urge to sigh out loud. Frieda didn’t sound convincing, even if she hadn’t thrown herself to her knees and begged for forgiveness. She certainly didn’t want to admit she might have been wrong.
“Thank you,” Caleb said. He didn’t sound as though he believed her, but he appeared willing to accept the apology at face value. Emily reminded herself, wryly, that he had younger sisters. “I accept your apology.”
Sienna entered, followed by Karan. “A messenger visited the street thirty minutes ago,” she said. She sounded cross. “We are to present ourselves at Crossroads Corner at sunrise, so we can hear a formal announcement, or face punishment.”
“That was all he said,” Caleb added. “He just made his announcement and vanished.”
“It could be a trap,” Emily pointed out. General Pollack might be the only member of the city’s government left alive, even if he hadn’t held a seat on the council. The Hands of Justice would certainly want to arrest him. And then there was Sienna and Emily herself…turning up for the announcement might be a mistake. “Do they want all of us?”
“Apparently so,” Sienna said. “We’ll be going under glamours, of course.”
General Pollack cleared his throat. “The younger children will be staying here,” he said, firmly. “Karan, Croce and Marian will not leave the house.”
“Father,” Karan said, “I…”
“Have to stay home,” General Pollack said. “I’m not going to take you into a dangerous situation.”
Emily forced herself to think as Caleb passed her a cheese sandwich. The Hands of Justice would know where General Pollack lived. His address was a matter of public record. But arresting him, if he stayed in Sorcerers
Row, would be difficult. The sorcerers would defend their territory…unless, of course, Justice came into play. If the entity absorbed spells, she asked herself, what would happen if it brushed against a ward?
We might want to reprogram the wards, she thought, as she started to eat the sandwich. It tasted stale. Perhaps we could feed it too much magic…
She shook her head, grimly. Justice was too powerful, she suspected, to be overloaded…and if the entity was overloaded, the resulting explosion might destroy the city. Even a necromancer didn’t wield so much power…nothing short of a nexus point did. The combined power of every magician on Sorcerers Row couldn’t hope to match that…
“Caleb,” she said slowly, “is there a concealed nexus point within the city?”
Sienna gave her an odd look. “There were always old legends about catacombs under the castle,” she said, “but there was never any suggestion of a nexus point. The closest one is several hundred miles away.”
Emily and Frieda exchanged glances. There had been an entire network of catacombs under Mountaintop, concealing the school’s greatest secret. If Aurelius had managed to drain hundreds of students to power the school’s wards, why couldn’t Janus and his sect do the same with willing volunteers? Given enough time, they might even be able to match a nexus point…until they ran out of victims.
But by then, they might have secured their grip on the city, she thought, as she took her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. They might not need Justice any longer.
The presence struck her as soon as they opened the door and stepped out onto the street, an icy pulse of something drawing her towards the square. She gritted her teeth against the compulsion, knowing it would keep wearing away at her defenses until they collapsed. The handful of others on the streets, heading northwards themselves, looked as though they were struggling against an invisible force.
Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic Book 12) Page 24