Deadly Magic

by Skye Melki-Wegner

  Steel cast his eyes across our little group, surveying us one by one. He quickly dismissed Riff, who was bobbing dorkily in midair beside us, and showed no real interest in Phoenix.

  ‘So,’ he said, fixing his smirk on me, ‘you’re the rookie I’ve been hearing so much about.’

  I started. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The Witness.’ Steel somehow drew an extra syllable out of the final ‘s’, so that it ended with a sibilant hiss. ‘The one who went to London. Seems to be the main bit of news since I’ve been away.’

  I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. He looked almost hungry, as if I was merely a snack to be chewed over. My skin crawled.

  Phoenix stepped forward. ‘We’re trying to get down the stairs, Steel. You’re holding everyone up.’

  Steel raised an eyebrow. ‘Tetchy, tetchy. I guess you can’t help it, though: hormonal issues and all that. After all, a girl like you can’t be expected to meet the standards of a –’

  Phoenix let out a low snarl. ‘Excuse me?’

  She started forward, but I grabbed her sleeve. She was glaring at Steel with so much heat that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he spontaneously combusted.

  ‘Anyway,’ Steel said, returning his focus to me with a look of cool amusement, ‘it’s a pleasure to meet you, Nomad. I’d love to hear more about your … abilities. I’m going out for dinner with Frost and Sapphire, and a few of the Sixteens. Care to join us?’

  I knew instantly, from the envious faces around us, that this was a rare offer. Frost and Sapphire were two of the most popular cadets at HQ, and the Sixteens were older and more mature than us. To top it off, Steel was apparently the new star of our class: the handsome boy with the heroic history. He would be a top agent one day, a figure of power and influence in the local HQ ranks, and he was inviting me into his inner circle.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, as pleasantly as I could manage. ‘Guess I’m too “hormonal” to appreciate your offer.’

  Steel stared at me. He was utterly taken aback, as if he could not imagine a world in which a fellow cadet would dare to reject him. Then his lip curled, and the shock was replaced by a quiet seething.

  The line had been drawn.

  But as Steel turned away, his entire body rigid at this public rejection, my eyes slipped down to his fists. They were clenched into balls, the knuckles white. In a single moment, I had made myself the enemy of the most popular boy in HQ. Riff’s words came back to me, cold and sharp in the forefront of my memory.

  I’ve watched him beat cadets twice his size into a pulp …

  And although I’d be quite happy to never interact with Steel again, I somehow doubted he would be forgetting our encounter anytime soon.

  Our Sorcery tutor was a fussy, plump man called Zephyr, with ginger hair and spectacles. He devoted half of each briefing to grooming his moustache, and the other half to extinguishing the fires, leaks and explosions that inevitably resulted from a bunch of cadets attempting to wrangle their quintessences into shape.

  Zephyr insisted we regard his subject as a science, and threatened to fail any cadet foolish enough to mutter the word ‘magic’ within earshot. Quintessence was not ‘magic’; it was merely the third, secret aspect of electromagnetic force, unknown to normal scientists.

  ‘To begin,’ he said, ‘I think a warm-up exercise is in order. Last week, we studied the circuit for a quintessic shield. I want each of you to construct a shield for me now, strong enough to withstand a nightbead.’

  I slipped into the dark of the tenebrous shroud and reached for my strands of coloured light, as if I were plucking cobwebs from the air.

  A month ago, I had struggled to weave even the simplest of circuits. Back then, I had viewed the process like knitting, or braiding hair, and the strands of light had slipped and wriggled like eels between my fingertips. Finally, during our London job, it had clicked that I should treat the process like painting.

  I pulled the strands of light into a circle, smearing and twisting the tendrils of magic like pastels on a dark canvas. Then I pulled another strand of quintessence from the air and painted it across the centre, bisecting the circle to form a shield circuit.

  ‘Well done, Nomad,’ Zephyr said, as he strutted over to test my quintessic shield. He pressed it and the air sprang back, defending me against his touch. ‘Very nice.’

  Half a dozen sets of nearby eyes settled on me, lined with a mixture of curiosity and resentment. I knew they wanted to see the Witness at work – to see if my ability gave me any other advantages in Sorcery briefings. Somehow, I doubted they’d be so impressed if I told them my skill came from years of mucking around with paintbrushes.

  I mumbled my thanks and erased the circuit, releasing my quintessence before too much of its energy could be wasted. The magic rippled before me, its calm blue light tainted slightly pink with embarrassment.

  After this warm-up, Zephyr introduced our main lesson for the day. ‘Today, we’ll continue our studies of quintessic solidification. You’ve already learnt to construct a full-body shield.

  ‘Next, you’ll learn to create quintessic objects that are smaller, and more refined. You might create a quintessic blade, for instance, to wield in a fight …’

  He waffled on for a while longer, and I managed to get the basic gist. Just as we could use quintessic circuits to form a full body shield, we could also craft our magic into other shapes. A blade, or a blunt object perhaps, if we ever needed to break something open with force. We could even construct a miniature shield across our mouths, trapping a pocket of air for us to breathe underwater. This trick was technically called a ‘respiratory shield’ – although within ten seconds, Riff had renamed it a ‘bubble ball’.

  ‘Of course, the effect is temporary,’ Zephyr said, waving a hand. ‘In most cases, such modifications are extraordinarily wasteful, and will use up your quintessence at a ridiculous rate. A quintessic blade, for example, would be a foolish weapon during a battle scenario. You would drain your quintessence in minutes, leaving you defenceless. In truth, I consider it little more than a party trick.’

  Button raised his hand. ‘Then what’s the point, sir?’

  ‘It’s on the new curriculum,’ Zephyr said, scowling. ‘If it were up to me, I wouldn’t waste our time with such frippery, but Global HQ insists you at least learn the basics. Oh well. It begins like this …’

  He handed out a stack of circuit cards, which we obediently filed in our card wallets. In Sorcery class, we collected a card for every quintessic circuit we learnt, with a step-by-step holographic diagram.

  We spent the briefing attempting to create a blade. The goal was to craft a strand of quintessence into the correct shape – in this case, a curving crescent. Once the circuit was cast, we could solidify its light into a blade of sorcery.

  Even with my teeth gritted in concentration, the best I could manage was a wispy strand of light that flopped like wilting grass. I smeared the light like paint, forming a wonky crescent – but when I tried to solidify this circuit into a sharp point, it dissolved like talcum powder in my hands.

  Riff, meanwhile, had somehow managed to attach a wilting quintessic blade to each of his fingertips.

  ‘Roar!’ Riff said, flashing these floppy claws at Phoenix.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said dryly. ‘I’m terrified. Whoever shall save me from this ferocious wolf-beast?’

  Riff responded by poking his ‘claws’ into her upper arm, where they collapsed in a spillage of liquid magic. Phoenix laughed and pulled away. ‘Stop it, you idiot – that tickles!’

  ‘Aha!’ Riff said, brightening. ‘So if I ever face an Inductor with a crippling tickle-phobia, at least I’ll know how to defeat him.’

  Across the room, Button had raised his hand again. ‘Sir?’ he said. ‘These blades are built from our own quintessence, right? Just like our shields?’

  Zephyr nodded.

  ‘So, what about people with unusual quintessences?’ Button said. I could have sworn he glanced
in my direction. ‘I mean, people with rare abilities often have odd fluctuations in their quintessence, don’t they? Couldn’t that affect their shields, or their blades?’

  ‘Excellent question!’ Zephyr said. ‘In general, it should make no difference. Those with rare abilities craft quintessic objects like anyone else. Of course, things may differ slightly if they have survived a Catalytic Event.’

  ‘Rare abilities, sir?’ Steel puffed up a little, as though to subtly remind the class that he fell into this special category. ‘You mean like Noctilucents?’

  Zephyr shook his head. ‘In this case, cadet, I’m mostly talking about Witnesses.’

  As one, the class swivelled to stare at me. I sank a little lower in my seat. In the corner of my eye, I saw Steel’s hands tighten into fists under his desk.

  Button raised his hand again, looking eager. ‘What’s a Catalytic Event, sir?’

  Zephyr paused. ‘In the event of a Witness being affected by extreme physical trauma – a medical emergency, for instance – their quintessence may flair up in an unexpected way, potentially saving their life. In rare cases, the shock has been enough to permanently alter certain properties of their quintessence.’

  He waved a hand. ‘If you’re interested in the major theories behind this phenomenon, I can lend you a series of scientific articles on the subject. It’s remarkable, truly, how the properties of quintessic energy interact with the host body.’

  Half the class was still staring at me.

  Zephyr cleared his throat, as though realising that he’d gotten off track. He surveyed the cadets with a stern expression. ‘Anyway, that’s enough of that. Back to work! I want each of you to produce a quintessic blade by the end of the briefing.’

  One by one, the cadets flicked their attention back to their circuit cards. Steel was sitting utterly still, his mouth compressed into a narrow line.

  As I stared at my own card, my throat tightened. When it came down to it, I didn’t know much about being a Witness. Of course, I could see much further into the tenebrous shroud than my peers, and I was learning to read the quintessences of others. I’d thought that was all that set me apart from my friends.

  But according to Button and Zephyr, the differences ran deeper than that. My very quintessence might be somehow strange. What had Button said? Odd fluctuations … I didn’t like the sound of that.

  And I definitely didn’t like the sound of a ‘Catalytic Event’. The idea that a traumatic incident, or a medical emergency, might somehow corrupt my quintessence, altering its properties forever …

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Riff said, as if he had guessed my line of thought. ‘Just avoid getting into any medical emergencies, and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Because emergencies are really hard to come by in this line of work.’

  Ten minutes later, Zephyr provided a welcome distraction from my concerns. With a pompous little finger-wag, he drew our attention to our mini-mission for the day. We were each given a small wooden box, which could only be unlocked by a quintessic blade.

  ‘Each box is different,’ he proclaimed, ‘and will open only for the quintessence of its owner. In other words, no cheating! It contains a clue to lead you to an envelope, hidden somewhere in HQ. Once you’ve found your envelope, report to me by five pm.’

  Sapphire raised her hand. ‘What if we get the box open, but we don’t have time to follow the clue?’

  ‘Then you fail the mission,’ Zephyr said. ‘In this job, there are no prizes for “almost”. You’re training to be a spy, cadet – not a cupcake decorator. If you don’t fulfil your real missions on time, people will die.’

  ‘Well,’ Riff muttered, as we packed up our card wallets, ‘that’s a cheerful way to look at your homework, isn’t it?’

  In the cadet lounge, the Fifteens spread out around the chairs and couches. I sank into the dark of the shroud and began to pluck at my quintessence. A single-strand circuit wouldn’t provide enough finesse for such fiddly work. Carefully, I braided three tendrils together, weaving a delicate quintessic wire. It shone and pulsated, slipping like water in my fingertips.

  I painted the wire into a crescent, which glowed more strongly as the circuit was completed. Of course, that was the easy part. The trouble wasn’t in painting the circuit, but in solidifying its shape in my hand.

  ‘It’s like runny nail polish,’ I muttered, pinching the circuit between my fingertips. It smeared and smudged, dissolving into dust and winking light.

  Two hours later, after countless circuits and countless failures, my quintessence, like my patience, was wearing thin. Most of the Fifteens had managed to open their boxes, and had already set off up or down the corkscrew to follow their personal clue. Eventually, only Crossbones, Frost, Riff and I remained.

  ‘Righty-o!’ Riff said, as he finally fished a slip of paper from his box. ‘Looks like I’m heading down to Reception.’

  He bounded off towards the corkscrew, leaving me alone on our couch. It was after four o’clock, and my quintessence was weak. I was running out of time, and running out of magical strength.

  One more try, I decided. I could risk one more circuit, but after that I would have to concede defeat. Quintessic depletion was dangerous, and I wasn’t stupid enough to risk my life for a fake mission.

  Slowly, I forced my vision back into the dark. With gritted teeth, I reached for the strongest remaining strands of my quintessence. They were slippery in my hands, wet and nebulous.

  Just like painting, I told myself.

  Slowly, I drew the strands together, weaving a wispy braid of sorcery. As the quintessic wire fluctuated, pulsing softly, I smeared it into the shape of a crescent. The circuit was weak, but it held together.

  I grasped the circuit in my left hand, fighting to keep my fingers steady. Light flared from the circuit, solidifying into a gleaming blade. When I adjusted my grip, the quintessic blade held steady.

  My stomach leapt. This was cost-heavy magic, and it would only hold for moments before the final dregs of my quintessence evaporated. Carefully, I angled my grip towards the wooden box, and curled my blade into the lock.

  It clicked.

  I dissolved the circuit. With a wrench, I blinked my vision out of the shroud, and colour flooded back into the world. I felt lightheaded, and oddly weak, but I still had enough quintessence left to stay on my feet. After a night’s rest, I’d be good as new.

  But in the meantime, I had a mission to complete.

  Inside the box, I found a simple slip of paper. On it, Zephyr had scrawled a clue in his blocky handwriting.

  Waiting weapons, dark protector

  A strange mouth opens to a different taste

  Truth lies trapped in teeth

  I stared at the clue, flummoxed. Zephyr wasn’t our Cryptography tutor, so it probably wasn’t a code or a cipher. It was just a riddle, and I was supposed to use my brain to solve it. Of course, that would be much easier if my brain weren’t currently a puddle of mush.

  Where did the riddle lead?

  I could rule out Reception, since I doubted Zephyr would have given me the same clue as Riff. Phoenix had headed off to the Initiation room, I’d overheard Roach telling Crossbones something about the medical room, and Sapphire had complained loudly about being sent down to the DEG laboratories.

  Great. I’d eliminated four rooms out of an entire skyscraper.

  I massaged my forehead, trying to fight off a headache. I had to concentrate. Waiting weapons … what could that mean? Perhaps it was a reference to the Combat and Weaponry room, where torpefiers and nightbeads lay waiting on racks and shelves.

  ‘Dark protector?’ I muttered, staring down at the clue. I tried to think of what was near the Combat and Weaponry room. A long corridor, bookended by the corkscrew staircases. Apart from that, the only feature of interest was a metal plate screwed to the wall, blocking off access to an Aleatory Door.

  I jolted upright. An Aleatory Door.

  A
leatory Doors were one of the many hazards of life at HQ. They were magically corrupted, and opened into a different room every time. Their destinations could be dangerous – old storage rooms, gadgeteer laboratories or the sites of abandoned magical experiments – and most had been cordoned off for our own safety.

  A strange mouth opens to a different taste.

  That could mean an Aleatory Door, couldn’t it? Every time you opened the door, it opened to a ‘different taste’. But surely Zephyr wouldn’t send me through one of the doorways. If I stepped unexpectedly into a room of explosive protean paint, they’d be scraping my remains off the walls.

  Perhaps I was missing something.

  I hurried towards the upwards corkscrew. The Combat and Weaponry room was on Level Fourteen, three storeys up from the cadet lounge. After scrambling up the dark staircase, torch in hand, I burst out onto the landing.

  Halfway down the corridor, I found a familiar metal plate screwed to the wall. I knew that an Aleatory Door lay hidden behind it, safely out of reach to cadets. Tentatively, I pulled at the metal plate. It didn’t budge.

  I reached half-heartedly into my pockets, already knowing it was useless; I didn’t regularly carry around a screwdriver. My only hope was the Combat and Weaponry room, which might contain something sharp and twisty to remove the screws. What had Zephyr’s clue said again? Waiting weapons …

  Inside the room lay a jumble of wrestling mats, target dummies, torpefiers and nightbeads. One of the spare nightbeads gleamed slightly as I shifted my weight, flickering at the edge of my vision. With a rush of adrenaline, I pushed myself into the tenebrous shroud.

  The nightbead was shining.

  I reached for it tentatively. A tiny paper tag hung around it, so I yanked my vision back to normal to read it. It contained only a single letter: ‘Z.’

  ‘Zephyr,’ I whispered.

  This was it. Zephyr must have preloaded this nightbead with a circuit – perhaps to unscrew, or unlock. He knew I was a Witness, and so he had added an extra component to my mini-mission: spotting someone else’s sorcery.

  My throat tightened. This had never happened before. In the past, my mini-missions had been identical to those of my classmates; after all, we were all just Fifteens. But no one else could have spotted the gleam of the nightbead. Zephyr was testing me. He was testing my Witness powers.