by Casey Wolfe
“Just bill me the damages, Ro. I was aware it wasn’t gonna come cheap.”
“I’ll remember you said that,” he teased, chuckling when Shaw rolled his eyes.
Rowan grabbed a few things he wanted to take home, shut all the windows with a wave of his hand, and ushered Shaw out the door. “Hold these,” he said, shoving some books at Shaw.
While Rowan was locking up, Shaw grunted, “No enchantment to make these bloody things lighter?”
Rowan chuckled. His grimoire was indeed on the bulky side, and two of his grandmother’s books on top of it didn’t help. “A bit of studying for the weekend.”
Shaw raised a brow, not complaining when Rowan took them back.
“I believe you mentioned food,” Rowan prompted with a little smirk.
“There’s a nice dwarven place a few blocks up,” Shaw said. “If you’re into that kinda food.”
“Meat, meat, and more meat.” Charred over open flame, that was the way to go with dwarves, be it meats of all kinds, or vegetables that grew in the darkness of caves. “If you’re talking about the Mountain Gem, then I’m in.”
“Great. I kinda stole the car from work so I can drive us.”
“Stole?” Rowan teased. “Why, Inquisitor…”
Shaw laughed. “Since it looks like I’ll be sticking around, I’ve been talking to people about finding a used vehicle for cheap.”
“Well, you might want to consider a truck. Outside the city, there’s still a lot of country roads.” It was a bit of a hint, one Shaw seemed to understand, although he didn’t say directly.
“A good idea.”
As they walked, Rowan figured it was best to get it off his chest now, rather than embarrass himself later, or become even further attached. “If we’re going to be friends, we’re going to need some rules.”
“Rules?”
“About using your empathy. I don’t appreciate being manipulated.”
He looked over to find Shaw frowning. “I wasn’t trying to— Look, I know it’s no excuse to say ‘I’m used to it,’ but it’s the truth. It’s just natural to use it to help de-escalate a situation.”
“I get it. And I imagine it’s very useful for that.” Rowan pressed a hand to Shaw’s forearm, stopping him so he could meet his gaze. “It’s one thing to use it on the job, it’s another to use on someone you know. Or, want to know.” Rowan felt heat on his cheeks and looked away—that hadn’t come out the way he wanted it to.
“I know. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I’m sorry. I got so used to using it casually, and it was alright to use with my squad, so… I guess I have to get used to refraining until told otherwise.”
Rowan’s lips quirked briefly. “Well, I don’t mind if it’s trying to get me to focus. But outside that…”
“I promise not to do anything on purpose,” Shaw assured him immediately. “Unless it’s an emergency.”
“Good. That’s settled.” Rowan was satisfied, but as he started to walk off, Shaw snagged his hand. Rowan looked from their hands, up to Shaw’s face.
“Thank you.” When Rowan merely stared at him, he added, “For giving me another chance.”
Rowan gave him a gentle smile, squeezing his hand. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
Shaw chuckled, dropping Rowan’s hand as they started to walk. “I dunno ’bout everyone, but I’m glad you consider me worthy of another shot, at least.”
Chapter Five
QUANTUM HALL WAS where classes were held. Apprentices were filing in and out, and Rowan caught sight of a few journeymen as well. Likely, they were there to take an advanced course with Ieus, who handled a good number of them.
“Rowan.” He jumped, whirling to find Jorah had snuck up on him. “Here for my lecture on transmutation?”
“Um, no.” Why did Jorah always make him feel like a child who got caught sneaking out after curfew?
Jorah raised a brow, his face otherwise a stony mask. “I don’t have a class on hexes today.”
Oh, that was a low blow. Rowan thought he managed not to flinch. “I actually came to speak with Quail.”
“He has a theory class right now. Room three.”
“Thanks.” Rowan hesitated before slowly turning away.
“Rowan.”
He turned back.
“You should stick around. I have a journeyman Primal practical after lunch. I could use another demonstrator.”
Rowan could tell from the way Jorah phrased it that it wasn’t exactly up for debate. “Yeah, sounds good.” It was just as well he’d made the trip to the city on one of his days off.
“See you then,” Jorah replied, not even the hint of emotion on his face or gratitude in his voice.
Rowan huffed air through his nose, shaking his head at Jorah’s retreating form. “Great.”
Getting back to the reason he had come to the Guild in the first place, Rowan made his way through Quantum Hall to one of the small classrooms designed for bookwork. The upstairs rooms were open, meant for practical application, unless it was particularly dangerous or in need of a larger space—in those cases, they used the Hall of Enlightenment.
The class was already in session, Quail holding up his hand in greeting when he walked in. Rowan smiled, leaning against the side wall. A few of the apprentices glanced his way, but Quail commanded attention through charisma alone. There was a reason he often taught magic theory courses—as boring a subject as it could be—Quail made everything fun.
They were on mana studies apparently, Quail continuing on his point about training. “It’s like any other skill. If you jog every day, you’ll get better stamina. If you go and lift weights, you’ll be able to lift more over time. Learning to paint or play an instrument gets easier with practice, and you can move onto more complicated techniques.” All of this was said with broad, sweeping gestures, filled with enthusiasm.
There was no helping the smile on Rowan’s face.
“Hence the need to master the basics of any school before trying to move on. Besides that, a good foundation is what success in magic is based upon. Take Rowan, here, for example.”
Naturally, all eyes turned to him and Rowan shook his head in amusement. He should have seen this one coming.
“As a master enchanter, I’ve watched Rowan enchant item after item without feeling any effects. Even if it is a brand new charm, or one he rarely uses, the drain to his mana is minimal. This all comes from years of study dedicated to the basics and building up a tolerance to draining.”
One of the apprentices raised her hand.
“Yes, Tabitha?”
“What about mana boosters? Enchanted items, stimulants, energy drinks?”
“Certainly most of the marketed boosters or replenishers work—to varying degrees—but in the learning stage, they’re nothing more than a crutch. To get better means to push past walls. Think of your manara as more than an organ; think of it as a muscle that needs exercising or else it will get out of shape.”
The glandular organ that all mages had, the manara, was what produced mana, the essence that powered their magic. By working at it, a mage could use less and less mana for the same type of spells. It was all in the practice and basics, as Quail stressed.
“In the end, you’re better off doing the work,” Quail continued. “You’ll have better results in the long run.”
Another teen raised his hand. “Why can witches use magic, then, without mana?”
“Not all magic is made the same. Elves, for example, have their own form of magic, yet possess no gland or mana. Millennia ago, vampires were purveyors of blood magic. Mers have a type of water magic we have yet to understand.”
“Hard to study,” Rowan mused, “when they want nothing to do with being poked and prodded.” He knew full well how the mers felt about their “topworlder science.”
“Indeed,” Quail agreed. “The point is we all have our own ways of harnessing magic. Mages are unique in that we can learn multiple forms of magic. We
have a large variety in our arsenal. Other races can only perform very specific forms of magic.
“Witches, as you know, possess a single ability—usually mental in nature. And, while they do not require mana to perform these tasks, it can be just as draining on their bodies as on ours without proper training and conditioning.” There was a reason witches tended to get tutoring from mages.
One of the boys in the back spoke up. “So, basically, this is your way of telling us to study.”
“That is exactly my point, Iswyn. How astute.” His classmates chuckled, and Iswyn shrunk back in his seat, grumbling.
“You get out what you put in,” Quail reiterated. “Keep that in mind for when we start practical exercises tomorrow. Until then…” He waved his hand, the apprentices not needing to be told twice, quickly gathering their things to make their escape. It appeared at least one or two were lingering, eyeing Rowan as he joined Quail at the front of the room.
“How is my favorite student?” Quail inquired.
“How’s my favorite teacher?” Rowan grinned, accepting the bear hug Quail yanked him into.
“I’m going to guess you’re here about your exam.”
“I appreciate the email.” It had been filled with study notes. “I wanted to follow up with you in person, though.”
“Never hurts to have a practical lesson,” Quail agreed. “Was there any particular area you wanted to work on?”
“Really, I’m just hoping not to die.”
“Don’t be silly.” Quail brushed him off. “Jorah will only maim you at worst.”
“You always have a way of making me feel better.”
“Happy to help.” There was a twinkle in Quail’s eyes.
“I got wrangled into helping him with class later.”
The humor left Quail’s face. “He would pull a stunt like that.” Quail huffed, scrunching his nose. The pair never had seen eye to eye on teaching styles. Frankly, Rowan wasn’t entirely sure they could even stand each other most days. He was of the opinion Jorah’s background as a battlemage butted up against the values of the rest of the board more often than not.
“Let’s go up to a practice room,” Quail offered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Rowan certainly appreciated Quail making the time. Granted, once they’d finished, Rowan felt completely drained—they had stopped twice for him to recoup.
Rowan crunched into a Replenish Bar as they walked outside, trading an amused look with Quail. “Didn’t we just yell at the apprentices about this?”
“You’re done with training. Giving yourself a boost won’t hurt you. Besides”—Quail grinned—“you’ll need it if you’re going to be working with Jorah. He won’t go easy on you, not even for practicals.”
“Why do you gotta be right?” Rowan complained, sighing as he took another bite of his mana-infused granola bar.
“Well, somebody in this place has to be.” Quail chuckled while Rowan shook his head. “If you want to have more sessions, let me know.” He patted Rowan’s back, heading off to Temperance Hall, the living quarters.
Rowan took a deep breath, letting it out in a drawn-out sigh. The Hall of Enlightenment awaited, as did Jorah and his class.
It turned out that Tate was among them, and he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Jorah invited me to help out.”
Tate burst out laughing.
“Laugh it up,” Rowan gruffed.
“Sorry.” Tate bit his lip. Despite the laughter, he was at least looking sympathetic.
“Just remember that when I accidentally put you on your ass.” If there was one thing Rowan had complete confidence in, it was his Primal magic. Mana drain be damned; it wouldn’t matter here. “Try to keep up.”
WHEN A NAME he’d seen before came across the screen for the new intakes, Shaw knew he had a way in. It wasn’t often he had a reason to be next door at the jail—he rarely booked anyone or needed a follow-up interview. This was a chance he couldn’t pass up, and it had the bonus of earning him more clout with the other inquisitors.
He called over to the jail, alerting them about who he would be coming to see, before gathering his things and heading to Meredeen’s office. He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe.
She gave him a kind, half smile. “What can I do for you, Inquisitor Shaw?” He had to give her credit, Meredeen was professional and good at her job. If the circumstances were different, she might have been a person Shaw would like to know.
“Wanted to let you know I was heading next door for an interview.”
“Oh?”
“Werecat came up in the system this morning. Baza? I recognized the name. She’s a known associate of that other cat you’ve been looking for—Langa.”
Meredeen’s smile grew. “Excellent catch.”
Shaw nodded, starting to step out when she stopped him.
“Inquisitor? I’m not sure how Commander Larus runs that outfit in Shadewind, but here? You do whatever you have to, understand?”
“Yes, High Inquisitor.”
Shaw let his hackles rise after getting outside. Why he was even surprised by a statement like that, after seeing what he had already, was beyond him.
The jail was across the parking lot, and he was led to a private room reserved for interrogations or, supposedly, prisoners meeting with family or a lawyer. Shaw doubted they were allowed to see either. Baza was already there waiting for him, hands cuffed to a chain in the middle of the table. The anti-shift collar around her neck looked painfully tight and her dark eyes bore into him.
“Baza, I’m Inquisitor Shaw. I understand you were booked last night for disturbing the peace.”
She scoffed. “That’s what they call it when you’re the victim of a hate crime, now?”
Shaw’s brows lowered. He would get to that. For now, he said, “I need to ask you some questions about Langa.”
Baza rolled her eyes. “I don’t know anything.”
“Sure you don’t.” Shaw sneered. He made a show of walking over to the corner where the camera was set up while continuing to talk. “Long way from home for a cheetah. What are you even doing here anyway?”
She snarled at him, showing off impressive canines. “Fuck you, asshole. You and all your bigoted friends.”
“Have it your way.” Shaw pulled the cord out, the light on the camera dying as it stopped recording. “There.” He relaxed, dropping the act. “Now we can talk.”
Baza’s brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”
“Look, I don’t give a shite where that friend of yours is. I was using your arrival as an excuse.” She started to speak, but Shaw barreled ahead. “Now, what’s this about being victimized?” He set his hands beside her on the table as he leaned forward to listen.
Baza considered him a long moment, probably trying to judge if it was a trap or not. Finally, she replied, “My friends and I were out for a night on the town. Some anti-magicae prick comes up and starts harassing us. Even smacked me”—she pointed to the puffy area under her eye, the bruising hard to see on her dark skin—“and when the law shows, a group of knights follow and decide to haul us in instead.”
Shaw frowned, straightening. “Sorry.” He walked behind her, careful in his movements. “Hold on. Lemme loosen this stupid thing.” He undid the buckle of the collar, not worried about her shifting and trying to maul him. He knew full well those cuffs would be silver, or at least magically enhanced. “Can’t take it off,” he added apologetically as he refastened it, “but at least I can do this.”
Baza looked at him like a puzzle piece she couldn’t place as he sat down across from her.
“I’ll see what I can do about the charges,” Shaw promised. “In the meantime, I need your help. I know it hasn’t even been a full day, but have you heard anything since they brought you in?”
“Like what?” she asked carefully.
“Anything. About the guards, about what they might be doing with prisoners…”
“Whadda you care?” she challenged. He could practically taste the skepticism pouring off her. “What the hell do you want?”
“I want the wankers who are abusing their power.” It was a half-truth, but it was all he was willing to say.
Baza laughed. “Try all of them, Inquisitor. What makes you so different?” She showed a fang as she growled. “You think by loosening this collar and saying you’ll try to fix my charges that I’ll—what?—spy for you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I need people feeding me information. I need evidence I can use.”
Once again, Baza seemed to be measuring him. He carefully added calming energy into the room, trying to bring her down a notch. “Only thing I know?” she finally offered. “The ones that get dragged to the back cells? They don’t get seen again.”
Shaw would take it. “Where?”
“Main level of A Wing.”
“Alright.” He reached out, setting his hand on top of hers. That time, Shaw didn’t skimp on the energy transfer. The calmer he could make Baza, the less likely she was to find herself in further trouble before he could get her released. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I’ll see about getting you out of here.”
Baza actually curled her lips into something like a smile. “I don’t know what it is, but I believe you.”
Shaw flashed her a grin and stood to go to the camera. “Just, act all resigned and whatnot,” he mentioned before plugging it back in. “Remember what I said, Baza,” he dropped his tone into calculated cold. “Watch yourself.”
Stepping outside, Shaw told the guard on watch, “Take her back to her cell.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Let me walk you out first.”
“I can find my way.”
“Yes, Inquisitor.”
When the guard went into the room, Shaw took the opportunity to go in the opposite direction he was meant to. Instead of going back through the processing area, he ducked around the corner toward the housing wings. Cameras were everywhere, as were guards on rounds, but no one would question an inquisitor being there.
Besides, Shaw had another trick up his sleeve—literally. His fingers ran along the Runic tattoo on his left arm: shadow. The mana infused into the ink activated, magic prickling across his skin. It wasn’t as powerful as a mage’s spell—he wouldn’t be able to become completely invisible—but it was the next best thing.