by Shaun Barger
Nikolai didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was the honeybrew. Maybe it was simply weakness of character—but all of a sudden he found himself turning his face to go in for a kiss.
She went quiet. Still. Her lips soft but unresponsive under his.
Slowly, he pulled away. Face flushed with embarrassment.
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I . . .”
“You can’t do that, Nikolai,” she said softly. “I know the past couple weeks have been . . . really great. And confusing. For both of us. But I . . .”
Astor looked past Nikolai and swore.
Nikolai followed her gaze and saw Freckles standing in front of the bar. Smoking and watching them pointedly. Looking smug, he tapped the ash from his pipe and went back inside the bar.
“Fucking DISC,” she said. “That asshole saw you kiss me. Now he’s going to go run his mouth and everyone’s going to start talking shit! As if I didn’t already have enough to worry about.” She put her face in her hands, groaning. “Go home. You’re drunk. Again. What a delightful new aspect to your personality. Go on, git! We’ll talk about this later.”
Though stung by the sharpness of Astor’s words, he called after her. “Wait!”
She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “What?”
“Why do even you care what they think? Those people aren’t shit, Astor. They’re just a bunch of spoiled brats who only care about their own little magic bubble. None of this matters! Flyball? Who gives a fuck about flyball?”
He jabbed his thumb into his chest. “I’m a soldier, Astor. The king knows me. By name! And the shit I’ve been dealing with lately—I just can’t with these people! But you—”
She turned around sharply. A hand to her mouth. Eyes wide and mocking.
“Oh!” she said, cutting him off. “A soldier? My stars and garters! And the Mage King knows you? By name! WELL. In that case. Here, let’s go find an alley. Knock out a quickie—Styx, I’ve got my nice panties on today. Why don’t you keep them for a trophy? Take them back to your fancy new important friends back home, tell ’em what it’s like to fuck a country girl.”
“Oh please,” Nikolai sneered, face flushed a bright red with angry hurt. “Fucking spare me, Cece. You dump me and immediately latch on to the heir of the richest family in Marblewood, and you want to talk about me forgetting where I come from?”
She came back toward him, eyes lit with wrath, face pinched into an angry smile. “Ohhhh, you want to do this? Do you really want to do this?”
“Yeah, actually,” Nikolai said. “I think this is long overdue.”
“You know what really pisses me off?” she said. “Joseph told me what a dick you’ve been to him at the Watchman station. And before you get all pissy that he ratted you out, you should know that the funny thing is, he defends you! He keeps making excuses for you! But I know you, Nik. And the shit you’ve been through? I went through the same fucking thing. And I would NEVER be as shitty to people as you are.”
Nikolai barked an ugly laugh. “Oh, you’re right, Astor. I am such a piece of shit for not wanting to hang out with the spoiled rich kid you left me for. Disc, I am such an asshole.”
Astor pointed at him, emerald eyes flashing with contempt. “Do you want to know why I dumped you, Nikolai? Because we—” she jabbed her finger into his chest “—were—” she jabbed him again “—terrible for each other! I loved you, I really did, but you were clingy, and emotional, and just so angry all the time—at yourself, our classmates, our parents—everyone! Nikolai and Astor against the world—that’s all you wanted. You didn’t have any other friends, so neither could I, and it was toxic! Toxic! We were both hurt, Nikolai, but I wanted to get better. I wanted to move on! But you? You embraced that horrible shit. You clung to it like a life raft!”
“And off you went,” Nikolai said, trembling, fighting back tears. “Off to get all better without me. And I guess dumping me wasn’t enough. You couldn’t talk to me, either. Too busy with your new boyfriend to even try to be my friend.”
“You know we never could have just been friends,” she said. “And don’t you dare say I just ditched you and immediately dove into bed with Joseph. I was single for more than a year after we broke up, and I was a fucking mess. Do you know how many nights I hid in the bathroom, shower on full blast so my sister wouldn’t hear me crying? But I had a lot of shit that I needed to figure out on my own. And when I came out of it, I needed to be with someone who wasn’t totally fucked up. Who was kind, and loving, and happy. Happy, Nikolai! Do you even know what that is?”
“That thing you said the other night,” Nikolai hissed. Cold. “About how heartbroken you were when you saw me fall apart on Assignment Day? Well, I saw your face that day, Astor. Saw you watching the other people’s faces around you. Saw you laughing with them.”
Astor went pale. “I . . . I . . .”
“And what’s worse is I could see that in your eyes you weren’t actually laughing—not really. You just so desperately wanted to fit in with those rich pieces of shit who all thought you were trash before you replaced me with Joseph. All because you’ve always been so fucking desperate for everyone to love you. So desperate to prove to the world that Cecilia Astor is anything but poor. Anything but stupid, or ugly!”
She froze, eyes glittering with tears, and Nikolai knew he had gone too far.
“Astor, I—”
“Please, Nikolai,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Go home.”
And with that, she walked back to the pub, heels clicking against the cobblestones.
Dejected, hating himself, Nikolai lit up one of the pipes he’d brought to share with Stokes with trembling fingers, savoring the filthy burn of it. He inhaled too quickly, stinging his lungs, and angrily cast it aside. Miserable, Nikolai skulked back into the pub after the girl who used to love him.
One more drink. Just one more drink, and then he was going home to call Captain Jubal to tell him that he was sick of Marblewood and ready to go back. Some fucking vacation.
Inside, Freckles was leaning over, talking into Joseph’s ear. Joseph looked up, meeting Nikolai’s eyes across the room for just a moment. His lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure, and then he turned his attention to Astor as she came to sit beside him.
“Piss off, Ras!” she barked angrily, shooing Freckles. “You fucking vulture.”
She grabbed the honeybrew from Joseph’s hand and took a swig. He made a noise of dismay and tried to take it from her but she angrily jerked it out of his reach.
“Disc, Joey!” she said. “It’s just one fucking drink.”
Nikolai pulled up a stool at the bar and ordered one last honeybrew. Not that he needed it—but Nikolai wanted to be numb right now. Wanted to be totally stupefied. One more drink. The crowds had gotten quieter, and he could feel eyes burning into his back.
Stokes sat beside him. “Hey, dude,” he said, and Nikolai could tell from his tone that he knew what had happened.
“Leave me alone, Stokes,” he said, waving him off. The bartender gave Nikolai his honeybrew, and Stokes frowned, eyeing it.
“You’ve had enough, Nik. You should go home.”
“I’ll leave in a minute,” he said. Stokes reached to take the drink, but froze at Nikolai’s look. “You fucking serious right now? I said I’ll leave in a minute.”
“Nik,” Stokes said, in a way he’d never talked to him before, “Astor’s pretty upset. You should get out of here before the meatheads decide to kick your ass.”
“Why don’t you go home and make some dresses for your little shop,” Nikolai sneered. “Make some dresses and fuck your girlfriend. Yeah?”
Stokes’s face went hard, and for a second Nikolai thought he was going to take a swing. But then he just looked really sad.
“Jeeves, Nik,” he said. “Styx. What a pile. I really hate to see you like this.” He patted Nikolai on the shoulder and walked away, leaving him to his misery.
Fuck. FUCK.
Nik
olai groaned. Good job, Nik. Good fucking job.
Unable to resist, he glanced over at the corner where Joseph’s crew was sitting. No surprise there, a couple of the guys were staring. Astor sat with Joseph, and they were holding hands now, talking quietly. Nikolai turned back to the bar before they could see him staring, jealousy and humiliation like vinegar in his mouth.
He reached for his honeybrew—but another hand snatched it away. Expecting Stokes, an apology blooming on his lips for what a total dick he’d been, Nikolai turned to find Freckles.
Staring Nikolai dead in the eyes, he took a long swig from the drink and placed his lawyer’s truth-teller Focal on the bar. The glass cylinder unfolded into a balance scale. One tray glowing a dim blue, the other red.
“Tell me something, you little creep,” Freckles said. “Do you always chase after other people’s girlfriends? Or is this just some pathetic attempt to get back at us for always putting you in your place back in academy? Careful now—the scales will tell me if you’re lying.”
Nikolai stared at him. Frozen.
“That’s what I thought,” Freckles said. He glanced down at Nikolai’s dagger, smirking. “Other night I heard your boyfriend George say that you don’t actually know any battle magic. That you get coffee for the ones who do. So. Talk to one of our girls again and you’ll be picking your teeth off the floor. Understand?”
The blue-lit scale sank down to the bar, the red tray rising—indicating that Freckles was telling the truth. He chuckled. “See? The scales don’t lie.”
Nikolai had the strangest feeling that he’d arrived at an incredibly important moment. That he’d come upon a split in a path, and whichever way he went the entire world would come shuddering and groaning along.
Freckles may have been a bullying piece of shit, but that certainly didn’t mean Nikolai was in the right. He could see everything laid out in his head—his life here in Marblewood, then back in New Damascus after his vacation came to an end.
Nikolai would leave the bar and let Freckles keep the drink. He’d go home, sober up, and the following day he’d apologize to Astor, then Stokes. Joseph too, for always being such a prick to him at the Watchman station. Admit that he’d been nursing old hurts and feelings that he needed to get the fuck over.
They’d accept his apology. Then, when he went back to New Damascus, he’d finally know he had friends back home who cared about him. Family.
And shouldn’t that be enough?
Freckles took another swig of the honeybrew, staring Nikolai down.
Nikolai could hear laughter, that ugly hyena chittering, and looked over to see that even though Joseph and Astor weren’t paying him any attention, Joseph’s friends were. Watching. Grinning at Nikolai’s humiliation as Freckles smugly threatened him.
The air tasted stale—stinking of piss and peanuts and sawdust. Cheap, sweet booze. He hated it. He fucking hated it here. Hated these people—these small-town nobodies who thought they were better than him. Who’d always thought that they were better than him.
Nikolai was an Edge Guard, on track to one day become one of the deadliest and most influential Battle Magi in the world. And this fucking nobody piece of trash thought he could look down on him?
Nikolai took another deep breath. He thought of his father. Could practically hear him, deep voice rumbling that there was always a choice, difficult as it might seem.
Freckles snapped his fingers in Nikolai’s face. “Hey, Half Staff! I asked you a question.”
An unpleasant flood of memories drowned out his father’s voice. The mocking laughter from Assignment Day. Astor laughing with the others, even though she hadn’t meant it. Which was somehow worse.
“Call me that again,” Nikolai said, icy, calm.
“What?”
“That name. Fucking call me that one more time.”
Freckles smirked. “What—Half Staff?”
Nikolai kicked Freckles’s feet from under him, and he let out a yelp of surprise just before the side of his head cracked against the bar.
“My name is Strauss!” Nikolai roared, kicking him in the stomach as he fell. “Sergeant—Nikolai—STRAUSS!”
The bar erupted with shouts and screams, and two flyball players were already running at him, trying to stop Nikolai as he continued kicking the whimpering, bloody Freckles.
Nikolai turned to meet them, baton Focal drawn.
“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Stokes shouted, appearing out of nowhere. He jumped in front of Nikolai with one hand, trying to pull him away from Freckles, the other held out to stop the flyball players from attacking. “Stop! Wait—WAIT! Everyone just calm—”
The first flyball player took a swing at Stokes, but Nikolai yanked Stokes back and sent out an akro tentacle of hardened air to grab his assailant by the legs, binding them together and pulling up with a yank to send him sprawling on his back.
“Nik!” Stokes cried. “Wait!”
But the second player was already on them, so Nikolai wrapped a hardened glove of akro around his fist and swung for the second just as he closed in, connecting with his mouth and sending out a spray of blood and teeth.
More flyball players came at Nikolai. More targets.
“Stokes!” he growled. “MOVE!”
Eyes wide, terrified, Stokes ignored him, rushing forward to try and protect Nikolai. “Stop!” he cried at the oncoming magi. “He’s had too much to drink—please—don’t hurt him!”
“Stokes, get the fuck outta the way!”
Nikolai lunged forward, twisting to step in front of Stokes as he swung at the muscular mage going right for him—but the mage was quick enough to lock a shield of akro in the air between them, and Nik’s arm went numb from the shock of striking it.
Swinging his baton, Nikolai dissolved the weave like it was nothing, shooting the mage in the face with a powerful jet of jellied akro that made his neck violently snap back as he stumbled away, falling.
“Somebody call the Watchmen!” the bartender screamed.
Stokes finally scrambled out of the way as three more flyball players came at Nikolai in quick succession, working as a team—one attacking with wild punches, one trying to trip him up and wall him in with akro barriers, another using gia to channel a stream of dragon’s milk from a jug on the bar into Nikolai’s face to blind him.
Drawing his blade, a Focal now in each hand, Nikolai brought the edge up in a quick movement, igniting the dragon’s milk with a wordless pyrkagias from the knife and flinging the burning liquid back at the caster with a gia from his baton. Screaming, flailing, the mage struggled to tear off his flaming shirt, exposing bloody, blistering skin.
The punching brute landed a blow against Nikolai’s stomach, but the enchantments of the Edge Guard uniform hardened the cloth and emitted opposite force to negate the blow. The mage’s face turned white as the bones of his knuckle crackled, and Nikolai punched him in the temple with a hardened akro glove, knocking him out.
The distracting akro panels dissolved around Nikolai as the casting mage came up from behind to wrap him in a crushing bear hug, but Nikolai ducked under the grab and turned to wrap a tentacle of air around the mage’s arm—flinging him across the room. The arm snapped, a bloody white bone jutting from the flopping arm as the mage flew through the air.
And then there was Joseph—heroically bursting up into the air with his flyball boots to break the mage’s fall before he could smash into the windows by the door.
“Nikolai, STOP!” Astor screamed. The bar went silent. Nikolai suddenly found himself standing at the center of a wide, empty space as the bar patrons pressed away from him. Opposite of the circle stood Joseph, easing his friend with the broken arm into Astor’s embrace.
The wounded mage gasped with pain—but Astor put her gloved hand over his face and there was a flash of blue light. Some kind of pain-killing spell, as he immediately calmed down while she gently set the bone and began knitting the torn flesh with a dusting of golden light.
Nikolai st
ood there, panting, and saw Stokes standing at the edge of the circle. For a moment he thought Stokes was going to intercede again—that he was going to move between Joseph and Nikolai, try to talk some sense. But he just stood there, frozen in place, staring.
Astor, still kneeling beside the mage with the broken arm, was staring at Nikolai too, with the same expression as Stokes. Not with contempt. Not with pity. But with a specific kind of horror. Like Nikolai had pulled off a mask and revealed a hideous, scaly visage underneath.
Nikolai didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit anymore. He was seeing red—hate and booze fueling him, egging him on.
“Nikolai!” Joseph said. It appeared that he would be the only one to try and talk Nikolai down—not even Stokes was going to stand up for him anymore. “Stop! Please! Why are you doing this?”
Nikolai let out an ugly laugh full of scorn. “Why am I doing this?” He raised his Focals, taking a step toward him. “WHY am I doing this? Oh, I don’t know, Joe. Why don’t you ask one of your friends I left broken on the floor over there?”
“I’m sorry, Nikolai,” Joseph said, “But whatever they did, you need to calm down and—”
“NO!” Nikolai said. “You don’t get to tell me to calm down. For once, you don’t get what you want. That must be a novel experience for you, eh?”
“I don’t want to fight you, Nik,” he said. “Please, just stop.”
But Nikolai didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to stop fighting. Because the moment this was over he was going to have to deal with the consequences. And it was going to be bad.
“Why don’t you come and fucking make me, rich boy? Or are you all talk? Come on! Put up your fists!”
Joseph stood there, silent. A wall of stone. Finally, he shook his head and turned to address the crowd.
“Show’s over, everyone. Clear out. You—” he said, pointing at another mage in the crowd with a golden medi-glove Focal. “There’s a Watchman Box outside—go get some emergency bubbles for the wounded and assist Apprentice Healer Astor with first aid.”