by Shaun Barger
“GAAAAAHHHH!”
The crystal went dark.
Nikolai took a cab over to Stokes’s shop. The name LOOK burned brightly over the storefront in neon glow lights. Flashing blue, then pink, then red, then yellow—pulsing bright enough to paint the sidewalk with color. Four faceless brass mannequins stood behind the window, occasionally changing poses as they flaunted Stokes’s designs.
A bell rang when Nik walked inside. The store wasn’t large, but there were dozens of mannequins standing around dressed in all different styles, outfits and gear in various poses—occasionally shifting or turning sluggishly like an entire crew of lazy workers.
A young sorceress in shredded black and red punk-rock garb stood across the room, brown face framed by vibrant blue hair, a length of silver measuring tape hanging around her neck as she pulled a shirt onto one of the mannequins.
She perked up her head at the bell, smiling. “Hello! Welcome! How can I help you?”
The mannequin she was working on tried to raise its arms despite the shirt only being half on. With a grunt of annoyance, the sorceress shoved the hands back down.
“Hey! Sorry, I’m not a customer, I’m Nik—Stokes’s buddy? And you’re—”
“The girlfriend of legend, yeah. Also known as Trudy Mostajo. And of course I know who you are, Nikolai!”
She showed Nikolai around the store, pointing out all the more popular looks, going into a little more detail on the outfits she’d codesigned with Stokes.
“I’d love to do more,” she said. “But I can only help out on the weekends. I’m an enchantment engineering major at the university. It keeps me pretty busy.”
“I bet. So—how’d you score a dime-piece like Stokes? That guy?” Nikolai whistled, smiling. “Cream of the crop. Best motherfucker I know.”
“It’s funny—do you know Joseph Eaglesmith?”
Nikolai’s smile froze at the name. Joseph Eaglesmith—rich, beloved, movie-star-handsome pro-flyball player. The boy Astor had started dating after she and Nikolai broke up when they were teenagers, and her boyfriend ever since. Unless something had changed in the year since he’d last pried an update out of Stokes. Which Nikolai doubted.
“Yeah, I know him.”
“I joined a club at MU on my first weekend here. We build skycrafts from the ground up. Joseph joined too, even though he doesn’t go to school. He’s a total craft nut, and his dad donated some beauties for us to work on. He invited me to hang with him and his girlfriend, Cecilia—George said you guys are old friends, right? Dated for a little while, way back when? Well, me and Cecilia totally hit it off. We’re probably going to be roomies next year.
“Anyway—they invited me out, went to the pub to hang with her cousin George, and he was dressed up like John Lennon—um, sorry, this old human musician, had a band—”
“Yeah, I know,” Nikolai said. “Beatles.” He smiled. “That’s so weird. I was just listening to them.”
“Oh. That is weird! Well, George had these little circle glasses. With a white suit. Used some Insta-Grow potion to grow his beard and hair out for the night. Only other mage besides Cecilia I’ve ever met who’d even heard of the Beatles—let alone looked like one!” Trudy smiled, sheepish. “I was into it. And . . . well . . .”
The bell rang behind them. Nikolai spun around, grinning so wide that it stung his cheeks.
Stokes dropped his basket carelessly and ran across the room, arms outstretched. “Give us a hug, you beautiful bag of farts!”
Nik pulled him into a rib-cracking embrace. “Disc, it’s good to see you. And look at you! Mr. Shop-Owning-Actual-Adult.”
“And what about you?” Stokes said, patting Nikolai’s arms. “What have you been eating? You wearing padding under that uniform, or did you just get totally jacked? I swear, Trudy, this guy was a bean pole.”
Trudy glanced at Nikolai’s sheathed blade Focal.
“You’re an Edge Guard, right?” She lowered her voice. “Do you really know battle magic?”
Nikolai guffawed, dismissive. “Hardly. Only thing I’ve gotten into a fight with so far is an office espresso maker.”
He’d been taught to downplay his tactical capabilities. Besides the practical benefit of being underestimated by potential assailants, Nikolai’s presence was also a lot less terrifying to civilians when they didn’t know how easy it would be for him to turn them into greasy ashes.
Stokes looked Nikolai up and down, inspecting his outfit.
“This your uniform? I’m not a fan of jumpsuits, but at least it’s tailored well enough. And I guess you can’t go wrong with silver buttons on black.” He patted Nikolai’s sleeves again, frowning. “Man, these enchantments are heavy duty. I don’t even know what any of these do . . .”
“Crazy, right?” Nikolai held out his arms, looking down at himself. “Magic proof, bullet proof—and it breathes like a dream.”
An old mage with a long beard, traditional robes, and a pair of signature Stokes brand sunglasses walked in.
“Speaking of being an actual adult,” Stokes whispered apologetically. Nikolai waved for him to go ahead, no big deal. “Afternoon, Wizard Burble! How’s Sorceress Burble? With the wee grand-magi? You should bring them along next time! Here, this way, please, your new robes are ready. Let’s see if we need to make any additional adjustments.”
Nikolai stared in shock after them as a Stokes whose manner he didn’t recognize escorted the old mage to the back of the store, exchanging pleasantries and small talk as he led the customer out of sight.
“You caught us in a rare lull,” Trudy said in a hush. “We’ve been totally booked. Not only is George the best tailor in town, but people are losing their shit over his custom jobs and original designs. Word spread pretty quickly.”
The bell rang again. Another customer—a middle-aged sorceress, here for a pickup. Trudy apologized, going to assist her in the changing room.
Yet another customer arrived, and it became apparent that Nikolai should leave them to their work.
“Sorry, bro,” Stokes said, too quiet for the customers to hear. “But man, it is so good seeing you. You staying at your uncle’s? How about we pick you up after closing, round seven. Then let’s hit up Merlin’s Boot and grab some drinks!”
“Perfect,” Nikolai said, but then Stokes did something weird—he shook Nikolai’s hand. The shake was awkward; Nikolai barely gripped his hand, taken aback.
Stokes made a face, pulling away. “Catch ya later, noodle fingers.”
That evening, the sky ran crimson and molten gold as the sun set over Marblewood.
Nikolai found himself unable to enjoy the artificial beauty of the carefully crafted dusk, however. Anxiety throttled his chest, making it hard to breathe as he came down from Red’s apartment to meet his waiting friend. It had been two years since he’d last seen his classmates. Two years since Assignment Day, and those staring, contemptuous eyes.
He could practically hear the voices chanting Nikolai Half Staff, Nikolai Hallllllffff Staffffff amid mocking laughter.
“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile as he stepped out onto the cobblestone street.
“Beep, beep!” Stokes called from the waiting cab. “Drunk train express—all aboard!”
Stokes’s split robes swirled like dark mercury over burgundy trousers, his head shaved bald for the night. “That all you wear now?” he asked of Nikolai’s simple black uniform. “First night home, you going to work or something?”
“I dunno,” Nikolai said self-consciously, glancing down at his uniform and remembering how he’d nearly died in a filthy alleyway because he’d gone out in civvies. “I just like them.”
“Eh, it’s cool. At least you’re wearing the sneakers I made you. I’d charge a mint for Converse knockoffs half that nice these days. You lucky bastard.”
Their first stop was to pick up Trudy from Marblewood University’s healer ward.
“Why’s Trudy here?” Nikol
ai asked, apprehensive as Stokes led him through cool blue halls busy with white-robed healers, students, and patients. “She okay?”
“Hey buddy, be cool,” Stokes said to him quietly. “It’s supposed to be a surprise, but I told a certain somebody you’re in town, and she wants to see you.”
Nikolai turned to him, wide-eyed, stomach doing flip-flops. “You mean . . .”
“Yes, dude,” Stokes said, grinning. “And it’s about fucking time. I’ve been playing both sides of this friend schism since we were, what, fifteen? Sixteen? And I’m sick of it. So. Be. Nice.”
They turned a corner to find Trudy leaning up against the wall opposite the great crystal pane of an elasti-room, arms crossed across her chest. Noting their arrival, she smiled, looking into the room and then back at Nikolai, eagerly watching for his reaction.
And there she was. Cecilia Astor.
Feeling light-headed, Nikolai pressed his hands against the slick surface, steadying himself as he watched her through the crystal pane. She wore black, formfitting protective gear that looked like a hazmat suit.
The elasti-room was a box-shaped chamber framed by pillars of white stone with thick panes of crystal for walls, floor, and ceiling. Time-shift residue glistened below the thick crystal floor, gathering in a large ceramic pool. A timer ticked over the white stone archway leading into the active room.
Astor was cutting the naked cadaver of an old mage—slicing him open from neck to navel with the tip of her finger. Her protective outfit covered her entire body, except for her right hand, where she wore her medi-glove Focal. She mechanically and efficiently began removing various organs, placing them on the tray beside her.
“Oh, fuck, gross—” Stokes said, covering his eyes and gagging as they peered through the sealed entryway.
“We’ll leave you two to catch up,” Trudy said, chuckling sympathetically at her deathly pale boyfriend’s valiant struggle not to vomit as she led him away.
Nikolai watched with morbid curiosity as Astor split the skin with the golden forefinger of her medi-glove Focal, which was so thin that it looked painted on. He’d watched her draw it from the pool on Assignment Day, along with the silver bow art Focal that could summon a violin made of light upon command—but it was still incredibly strange seeing her with the same logic Focal as his mother.
Cut complete, Astor glanced over at them, freckled face lighting up as she noticed Nikolai through the blue-tinged glass of her protective outfit’s headwear. She straightened, hands on her hips, eyes glinting playfully as he grinned at her, waving like a fool. She held up a bloody finger, turned back to the body, and began digging around inside.
Nikolai craned his neck, trying to see what she was doing, but then she turned back, a heart and two kidneys clutched in her hands. She began to juggle them, watching Nikolai’s horrified expression with glee.
Finally she lost control, dropping the organs with horrible wet splats that Nikolai could imagine but not hear, and bent over, clutching her stomach as she cackled.
Once she had finally regained composure, she collected the heart and kidneys off the floor, dropping them carelessly onto the tray with the other organs. She went over to the twin levers beside the entryway, wrapped her bloody, gloved hand around the inside lever, and pulled.
Everything inside the room except for Astor began to rewind. The blood disappeared from her hands as she held onto the lever. The organs flew from the tray back into the body—the slice from neck to sternum slowly sealing up.
There was an odd, indescribable thud that Nikolai didn’t quite hear, didn’t quite feel—the time wall, the maximum amount of rewind time the room had stored. Astor opened her suit, pulling back the glass-front cowl over her head. Sweat plastered messy yellow hair to her face.
“You just gonna stand there?” she said, poking his chest as he stood stiffly, unsure if he should hug her. “Come here, you dork.” She grabbed him, pulling him into a rib-cracking embrace.
“I don’t know where you went to clown school,” Nikolai said, “but I think you should stick to healing.”
“Wait till you see me throw the large intestine in there,” she said, “A real party coup de grace. Disc, dude! Look at you! How the fuck you been?”
There were bags under her eyes—dark circles of exhaustion. But she’d never been so beautiful.
“I’ve had an interesting couple of days,” Nikolai said, with a tired half smile. “But it’s good to be home. How about you, Madame Healer?”
“Apprentice healer. But just you wait. Couple years down the line, I’ll be running this joint. My name on every entrance, in big flaming letters! My face tattooed to the chest of every freshman apprentice! And for a thousand years, I shall reign.” Astor held up her medi-gloved hand, clenching. “With a golden fist.”
She squeezed Nikolai’s shoulder, looking into his eyes with a serious intensity. “It’s good to see you, Nicky.”
“Butcher queen still desecrating bodies?” Trudy asked as she returned from the adjacent hallway, Stokes tentatively peering around the corner.
“All clear!” Astor called. “Ya wuss!”
“I didn’t puke,” he said, pale but proud as he came up beside Trudy to join them. “Yay, me. You guys ready to hit the bar?”
They went back to Astor’s dorm, Trudy and Astor laughing and filling the air with chatter that Nikolai could tell was in well-meaning effort to cover up the awkwardness they must have all been feeling.
Nikolai waited outside with Stokes while the sorceresses got ready, and pulled out a pair of carved pipes he’d brought for the occasion. To Nikolai’s surprise, Stokes declined.
“Nah, bro. I’m gonna be kissin’ my lady tonight. Don’t want my mouth to taste like ass.”
“Oh, okay,” Nikolai said, disappointed. “All good.” He stowed the pipes, not wanting to smoke alone. “Your dad dig up any new good stuff from the university archives? I saw this one movie, at the theater in the Gloaming I was telling you about? It was called Predator—about this alien big-game hunter, tracking and killing these soldiers in a jungle with heat vision. It was kind of stupid, and totally amazing—we should try and find a copy.”
Stokes shrugged, distracted. “Honestly, I’ve been too busy to watch much. Just, you know, work, work, work. It’s all happening so fast, and even with Trudy’s help . . . I’m already looking for an apprentice. Can you imagine that? Me, with an apprentice? At fucking twenty years old? I might have to poach one from Maurice’s Magewear, though. I feel kind of bad about it, but I guess that’s business, right?”
“Yeah, totally,” Nik said, trying not to sound bored.
“Once my client list is bringing in enough income that I can afford to open shop closer to city hall, I’ll get way more foot traffic, more browsing customers, you know? Then later down the road I can open stores in other Veils. I mean, manufacturing restrictions are pretty tight, so I can’t mass produce anything, but I figure I can train other tailors to use my styles and looks—create a brand.”
“Uh-huh.”
Hitting the town wasn’t quite as exciting as it was in the mobbed streets of the Gloaming, Nikolai quickly discovered. The four of them squeezed into a cab, Stokes passing around a flask of dragon’s milk, though Astor declined.
Astor was talking a thousand words per minute, laughing and cracking jokes in that overeager way she used to when she was uncomfortable.
“—but mister big-city wizard over here probably isn’t impressed by that,” she was saying. “Isn’t that right, Nicky?”
Nikolai pretended to yawn, playing along. “Sorry, what was that? Hard to follow your quaint hillbilly small talk. With that adorable accent.”
“Hey,” Astor said, kicking him playfully. “All right, big shot. How is life in the city of royals? You dating a princess? Some old-money sorceress, some daughter of a duchess?”
Nikolai flinched, thinking of Ilyana’s duchess ancestry.
“Still interviewing,” he said.
“So
we meeting Joe there?” Stokes asked, changing the subject.
Astor shook her head. “Nah, he and the team all have practice tonight for the Nanuk Knights game next Tuesday.” She nudged Nikolai with her elbow. “Flyball! Your favorite, right, Nicky?”
Nikolai genuinely began to zone out this time as they started going on about national flyoffs and finals and other pro-flyball jargon. Apparently this would be the last game of the season. Marblewood’s team had been cleaning house—if they won the following Tuesday, they’d win the Northeast Cup.
Bitterly, Nikolai thought about how Astor never gave a shit about flyball until she started dating Eaglesmith. He shoved the feeling aside, annoyed at himself for the petty thought.
“You’re coming, right, Nik?” Trudy asked, breaking him from his reverie.
“Yeah, Nik,” Stokes said, teasing. “You coming to the game?”
“Um . . . sure,” Nikolai said, hesitant. And then, more confidently, “Absolutely. I’m in.”
Astor dug into her clutch and pulled out a Silverbill. “Five bills says he’s asleep by halftime.”
“Make it ten and you’re on,” Stokes said. “And I won’t poke him to keep him awake. Tailor’s honor.”
Warm cries of hello burst out from the crowds as they entered the brightly lit pub. The mob seemed to close around Astor in adoring welcome as she moved forward to greet them, calling out name after name.
Nikolai’s heart sank as he recognized most of the magi from academy. Everyone was glad to see the others, though, and despite a few odd looks, nobody really seemed to notice Nikolai.
Nik volunteered to get the first round and made his way over to the bar. The pub wasn’t very large—scattered tables, a few booths, and a tiny stage with a band jamming away acoustically—quiet enough that Nikolai didn’t have to shout to be heard.
He caught two sorceresses he recognized as Astor’s girlfriends from academy staring at him. He smiled at them, but they didn’t smile back—instead they whispered something to each other and giggled.
Flushed in the face, Nikolai ignored them, waving for the bartender’s attention.