I go still and small, watching them. Six—no, six dozen ghost dragons dart through the sky. The stars and moon gleam through their bodies as they swarm overhead. Then their queen materializes, like an enormous thundercloud. She swoops between her followers, laughing.
Nearby, the moonlit grass shivers and rustles. The scent of musk mingles with the electric scent of magic. The next moment, a smaller dragon zips through the air—a young creature, filled with the joy of flight. I can feel an echo of that joy, mixed with envy.
I wish I could fly. I’d fly to the Phoenix Empire tonight.
I smother that thought. I’m no ghost dragon, only a human girl with too many problems.
With a sigh, I turn away from the glorious spectacle above, and retrace my steps into the city and through the tunnels, to the exit I abandoned two hours ago. Once I reach home, I stumble up the stairs and fall into bed, where I dream of dragons until dawn.
#
“Students, attend.”
Twelve students dip their pens in their inkwells and hold them ready over notebooks. Eight more touch styluses to their portable calculors and open a new document. It’s a bright cloudless morning. Sunlight filters through the wooden blinds, and there’s a hint of wood smoke and onion in the air from the cook shop next door.
Feng Hsi observes all her students with narrowed eyes, eyes the color of old black ink, faded now to a muddy gray. Her mouth tucks into an almost invisible smile, as though she’s amused. Hsi was already old when she came to Shēn Xiù City twenty-three years ago. According to some stories she was born in the Seventy Kingdoms, studied at the Phoenix University, then took a high-ranking post along the empire’s eastern border, from which she retired with honors. Other stories say she forged her magic worker’s certificate, then fled north when the magician’s guild discovered her fraud. I don’t know which story is truth, or whether the truth really matters. Hsi is a good teacher, even if she is prickly.
“Today we examine the ethics of magical persuasion,” she says. “Chapter thirty-four from your last homework assignment: The good of the populace vs. the good of the ruling class.”
She launches into the day’s lecture, and we students write in a furious race to transcribe her words onto paper or electron-alons. I have no cash for machines, so I am one of the twelve with ink and pen. After six years, I can predict her style of lecture. Part of my brain takes over selecting the important bits to record. The other part chews into yesterday’s problem.
It’s not the equations. I know that.
Then what?
Maybe the connectors failed. We got them at that second-hand market...
Or maybe our theory is wrong
My thoughts jump away from that conclusion. If our theory is crap, we’ll need to redo the entire project. Or start over with a different one. Both possibilities mean another semester, or longer, at school. We still have a chance to earn our certificates, but our records will forever show this failure.
Gschu murmurs at me to pay attention. From a distance comes the grumble and growl of other spirit companions. I can’t understand what they’re saying—our companions can disguise their speech from everyone but their own human—but I can guess. Lili’s Biyu makes a joke, and Lili snickers. Another girl scowls even while she taps faster at her calculor’s keyboard. Her companion must be as much a scold as mine.
Mei presses her lips together and shakes her head. Even without words, I can read that exchange all too well. With a sigh, I dip my pen into my inkwell and continue to write.
Today’s lecture runs two hours, complete with citations, links to online resources, and the occasional sarcastic aside from our teacher. Typical Hsi lecture—informative and irreverent and exhausting to our brains and our notebooks. I’ve used up a dozen pages before she finally ends with a ghost of a smile. “As always I am gratified by your attention,” she says to us.
Her tone is dry, and we shift uneasily.
“In recognition of that attention,” she says, “your assignment is to choose a common application of magical persuasion, as discussed in my lecture. Present both the defense of such a technique and its opposite. Remember to weigh the conservative and radical arguments, classical and modern. Five thousand words, please, and due by the end of semester. Now,” and her ghost smile vanishes entirely, “our senior students shall report on their progress.”
To no one’s surprise, Roulan Kung is already waving her hand. It’s an old and reliable tactic. Make your presentation early, before the teacher gets bored. If your own project stinks, there’s time enough for that stink to fade. If your work is halfway decent, you look good compared to the rest of the class.
From the look on Hsi’s face, she’s familiar with this tactic. She wearily motions Roulan and her sister to the front of the room, then takes a seat off to one side.
Roulan takes possession of the lectern with a pile of neatly clipped papers.
“Our project,” she announces. “A device to extract pollutants from the air.”
There’s nothing terribly original about their project, but the sisters have added magically enhanced filters, which allow the machine to extract selected scents or particles. Or at least that’s their intention. Though Roulan never says it outright, they’ve run into a few complications. But she confidently states they will have a functioning device by the deadline.
Hsi’s expression is bland, which we’ve all learned to interpret as skeptical. Her skeptical look increases as the next team presents their report, which is a masterwork of misdirection and artifice. I would laugh, except I see how Lili chews on her knuckles, and how Mei stares blankly out the window.
At last it’s our turn.
I glance toward Mei.
She has not looked once in my direction this morning. I cannot blame her.
She is afraid, Gschu says.
Shut up. I know.
You do not. Her voice is harsh, impatient. Ning could tell you a great deal if she wished.
All the noises inside my head shut up as Mei collects her notebooks and proceeds to the front of the classroom. Like the others before her, she wastes a few moments leafing through the pages. Then she swings her gaze up to the class.
“Last night we attempted the first trial run of our project,” she says. “We failed.”
The entire class hisses in surprise. Hsi’s face goes blank.
“To be more precise,” Mei says, “the device successfully powered up, but just after it completed the startup sequence, several key components failed.”
Mei goes on to describe exactly which components and how they failed. She talks about the need for higher quality materials, and a possible design flaw, which failed to take into account the erratic nature of magic flux. She holds up the scope’s printout and goes into detail about what the readout means.
“We believe our concept is valid,” she says, “but since we cannot demonstrate that, we must re-evaluate our design. We ask our honored teacher’s indulgence to present a fresh report next week.”
She returns to her desk in an ocean of quiet.
I cannot speak. Nor can Lili. We told her to be honest, but this?
Hsi studies Mei a few moments in ominous silence. “Very good,” she says at last. “Rigorous self-examination is an important quality for any magic worker.” Her gaze skims over the rest of us, and her expression takes on a faintly discouraged air. “Perhaps we should end today’s lesson with that. You may go.”
The younger students vanish at once. The senior students glance at each other. Hsi has dismissed us two hours early, and we’re not sure if we should curse or rejoice. Our teacher favors us with a smile, which unsettles us even more. We silently pack up our notebooks and pens and calculors and file through the door.
In the square outside, Roulan Kung, her sister, and their friends gather close, whispering. The rest of the students drift away in twos and threes, but they are whispering too. From the glances they shoot in our direction, it’s not hard to guess what they’r
e talking about.
“So,” Lili says. “That was exciting.”
Mei shrugs. “I have to go. We can talk tonight.”
“How convenient,” Lili says. “What if old Hsi had said no? What if she decided not to give us that extra week and better luck next semester? What then?”
Mei rounds on Lili so fast, that Lili jumps back. “I told the truth,” she growls. “Our device failed. We have a week to find out why. And whether you believe me or not, I truly must go. Both my cousins have the stomach flu and my mother and father are working extra shifts at the hospital.”
She stalks off without waiting for either of us to say anything more.
“That is not like our gentle Mei,” Lili murmurs. “What did you say to her last night, Jun?”
My pulse jumps at the question.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
Lili eyes me with suspicion. “Hmmm. You’re right. Perhaps we’ve had enough honesty for one day.”
I hear a smothered laugh behind me. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see a young woman slipping between the knots of students and into the crowds. She’s not one of our classmates, and definitely not one of the local trade students. Curious, I take a step after her, but Lili lays a hand on my arm.
“Let’s have lunch,” she says. “Chang’s Noodle Shop. My treat. And don’t tell me you don’t have the time. You’ve got hours before you report to work. I promise to be nice,” she adds in a wheedling tone.
I can’t help it. I snicker. “Okay. Fine. Thank you.”
Chang’s is tiny, hot, and thick with delicious smells from the kitchen. Lili orders the spicy beef from the self-service counter. I choose a bowl of the pulled noodles and mutton. When our order arrives, we squeeze into the last open booth next to the kitchen. Lili doesn’t wait for polite small talk. She tucks right into her food, wielding her chopsticks as though she has spent the last year starving. Typical Lili. Skinny, insatiable, dramatic. Not like calm and gentle Mei.
Ai-ya. Mei.
My appetite wavers, and I pick at my noodles and mutton. Lili’s glance flashes up to meet mine. “We can do it,” she says.
“You really believe that?”
She snorts. “You said as much last night. Or were you trying to impress Mei?”
The kitchen door bangs open and the shop echoes with the crash of pots and pans. I’m glad for the interruption, but I can tell by the look on Lili’s face she won’t let me get away without answering. I stab at my noodles and wait until the noise dies down. “Sure, I think we can do it. The problem is time.”
And money. Besides, what Mei told the class was right. We still haven’t established that our concept is valid —at least, not enough to satisfy old Hsi.
Lili picks at her food, as if she’s picking through her thoughts. “It’s true,” she says slowly. “We might not get our certificates this year. That’s not a disaster, Jun. So we spend one or two more semesters with Honored Teacher. So we don’t get that shiny gold insignia. Plenty of shops will hire you even so. You’re smart with mathematics. So is Mei. And you both know magic better than the rest of our class. You and Mei will end up with everything you want, even if it’s not when you want it.”
“What about you?”
The question pops out before I can stop it. I bite my lips, expecting one of Lili’s sharp retorts. Even Mei never dares to bring up the subject of Lili’s future.
To my surprise, Lili laughs. “I work for my family, of course. Junior mage-in-training, apprenticed to my old uncle Gen.”
Right. Lili’s parents are rising merchants who transport fish and grain between the Phoenix Empire and the Seventy Kingdoms. A daughter trained in magic could save them hundreds of yuan in fees they’d otherwise pay for spells against blight or mold or mice.
“I can’t imagine you liking that,” I say.
She shrugs and stirs the remaining noodles in her bowl. “Neither can I. So maybe...” She glances up and I can see the hesitation on her face. “So maybe,” she says softly, “Maybe I act like a dutiful daughter a couple years. After that, who knows? I might vanish, like a puff of smoke.”
I stare at her. This is the old dramatic Lili. At the same time it’s not.
Lili’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Dear Jun. The look on your face is astonishing as well as astonished. I’m sorry. I promised to be nice, and here I am whining. How about you? Anything you’d like to whine about?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Nothing at all.”
#
Lili pays the bill, then buys two cones of sweet rice from a street cart outside. “Don’t expect treats like this every day,” she tells me, as I bite into mine.
“Maybe once a week?” I suggest.
She laughs, but then she gets all serious again. “About Mei. Be nice to her.”
“I am,” I say, surprised.
“Try harder,” Lili says. “Or try different.”
That’s another one of Hsi’s favorite sayings. I want ask Lili what she’s talking about, but before I can, her gaze zooms past me to a point down the street. “Yubi,” she breathes. She shoves her rice cone into my hands. “Sorry. Gotta go. See you tonight at Mei’s house.”
Then she’s zooming toward a skinny stick of a girl. The girl grabs Lili in a hug and the two of them kiss as thoroughly as I wish I could kiss Mei.
Lili’s new girlfriend, I think. Mei knew about her. Now I do too.
My throat squeezes tight, and I stare down at the two cones in my hands. I sigh and drop them both into the nearest trash bin and head off in the opposite direction.
It’s a bright, splendid day, the air thick with all the scents of summer—the tang of pine and wildflowers from the mountain slopes, fresh grilled fish and lamb from the street carts, a whiff of incense wafting down from an open window. Sunlight glances over the roof tiles, light and quick, but I have a hard time caring as I trudge through the alleys and lanes that crisscross Shēn Xiù City. The only image I can see is Mei’s face, so closed and remote, after I tried to kiss her.
Gschu murmurs softly in the background of my consciousness, a wordless undercurrent that’s meant to comfort me, but does not. Not today. Maybe not until I’m seventy-five and have that balance of perspective Hsi talks about in her lectures.
I’m still deep in self-pity, when I catch a glimpse of silver, the glitter of bright magic against the expanse of the mundane. I pause, my nerves quivering beneath my skin. There’s no mistaking that shimmer of brilliance for anything as ordinary as sunlight. Only once before had I seen anything like that—when the royal mages were out, hunting down a deadly traitor.
But today, I see nothing more than the usual traffic streaming past. Horse-drawn carts. An electric car or two. The masses of blue and gray-clad students from the local trade schools, a parade of monks, and another of women with market baskets. A few students carry hand-lettered signs protesting the night passage fares, which reminds me of Hsi’s assignment about magical persuasion. Maybe I could write about watch demons and how the government uses them to control the populace.
I could write my own exile papers, too. That would be just as effective.
Why has Hsi given us that assignment? Was it a test? A trick?
Then, one young woman in the crowd glances up. Her face is dark—very dark, with angles slanting down to a sharp chin. Her gaze pins me, and for a moment I can’t breathe. The next moment she vanishes around a corner in a swirl of blue silk.
Did you see her? Gschu whispers.
Her sudden question catches me unawares. What?
Never mind, she says, already fading away. Go to work.
It’s a quarter before two when I arrive at Pêng’s inn, where I have a job washing dishes. At least, that’s how my job started. Once my boss discovered my aptitude for magic, she set me to work renewing the basic cleanup charms we use for grease spills and other messes. Lately, I’ve graduated to studying with our senior cook. She’s teaching me the spells she uses for cooking. How to adjust spices t
o the right combination of hot and savory. How to prevent noodles from overcooking, and the roasts from going tough. The lessons are fun, even when I get to eat my mistakes.
Boss likes my attitude, apparently. “You could work here,” she says to me, every couple months. “You don’t need a certificate. And I’d pay extra.”
“Why not pay extra now?” I say each time.
She laughs. “Not yet.”
I like the kitchen. I like how we can joke and laugh while we work. If Lili is right and we have to wait another semester or two for our certificates, the job at Pêng’s isn’t the worst thing in my life.
So I wash dishes and dry them squeaky clean. After that I help Cook with her recipes. At the end of the day, Boss hands over our week’s wages. She gives me mine with an extra grin. “Think about it,” she says. “You could be Cook’s top apprentice. There’s magic all over the damned world, not just in schools.”
“I’ll think about it,” I whisper.
It’s not until I duck into a passageway that I dare to count the bills in the envelope. Two hundred yuan, marked with the copper denomination—my regular wages. But rattling around underneath are six coins. Six extra silver yuan.
It’s a bribe. A bribe to make me forget all about university.
My skin prickles with sudden cold. No, no, no, is my first reaction.
And then, At least it’s a choice.
I’m not certain which scares me the most.
#
Six days later, Lili, Mei, and I are in that same damned basement.
Tomorrow we make our promised report to Honored Teacher and the class. Tomorrow, Honored Teacher decides the future of our project and our lives.
Okay, I exaggerate a bit—but not by much. If Hsi declares our premise worthless, then we start over with all that implies. One or two semesters delay. A notation on our certificate marking our initial failure. It would not be the end of my life, but it’s not what I want.
All that is tomorrow, however. Today... Today we’ve made progress. Mei has refined the spells to control the flow of magic inside the machine. I’ve added three more layers of error correction and used my bonus from Pêng’s to replace the key resistors in the input subsystem. Meanwhile, Lili continues to enter linguistics data and formulas into her portable storage unit. Once we establish that our basic design works, we can load the monstrosity with her data for the true test.
The Ghost Dragon's Daughter Page 2