The Painter Mage: Books 1-3

by D. K. Holmberg

  “I’ve learned more than any of the masters there will understand.” There was more heat to my voice than I intended.

  I started to turn away, but she grabbed my arm and spun me around to face her. Just because Devan was slight in stature, didn’t mean she wasn’t strong. I mean, really strong. So if she wanted to keep me from going anywhere, she could.

  I kept my hands stuffed in the pockets of my coat. My fingers worked over the charms, feeling the cool tingle of the metal she’d used to make them and enjoying the slight spring to the triggers. If I pushed even a little harder, powdered ink would explode in my pocket.

  “Do you think there’s even anything there that you can use?” she asked, her voice softening.

  I took a deep breath. “I thought we might find something here to keep us safe, but there’s nothing. At least nothing that’s going to keep you from doing what your father wants, or that’s going to keep me from the servitude he demands. I just can’t learn what I need staying here.”

  “You’re an idiot,” she said. At least she let go of my arm. I wasn’t going anywhere and she knew it.

  “It’s more than that,” I started.

  “I know. Otherwise I wouldn’t argue with you.”

  “I’ve spent the last ten years believing he’s not dead. And I’m the only one who believes.”

  “I believe you,” Devan said. She arched a brow at me as I opened my mouth, cutting me off. “Don’t you go saying I don’t count. Who else has stuck with you over the years?”

  “And if we can learn even a little of what he knew, we have a better chance of being safe. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” I asked. “And if what Jakes tells me about the crossings is true, then we have all the more reason to try to learn as much as possible.”

  “What did Jakes say?”

  “Only that they’ve detected attempts to cross. Maybe that’s what you sensed.” Devan’s face told me that was unlikely.

  “And you mean to tell me that’s all this is?”

  “And maybe find some understanding,” I agreed. “All I know is that he was there one day and the next, he was gone.”

  And after my father was gone, there were three things in my room that hadn’t been there before. One was a key. Nothing fancy about it, just your average oversized gold key with a pyramid surrounded by circles and stars for the end, making it look like some game show prop. I kept safely hidden in the basement, where it had been since I left Arcanus, the entire time I was serving the Trelking. The second was a thick piece of blank vellum. The surface was smooth but had a crinkled appearance, as if it had existed for centuries, but blank. I had it rolled up and stored along with the key. The third was a book. I’d never had the opportunity to get through it; Hard had taken it from me, claiming only the masters could review the Elder’s work. But it had been in my room. I had to believe he’d left it there intentionally. Stealing it back was part of the reason I’d been expelled from Arcanus.

  My father and I might not have always gotten along—that comes from being the tagger son of one of the greatest artists in generations—but that didn’t mean I wanted anything to happen to him.

  “What happens if you find something?” Devan asked.

  I leaned on the hood of the truck, biting the inside of my lip. “I don’t know what happens. Maybe there’s a book like the other one. Maybe nothing at all.”

  She leaned against the truck next to me and looked up. Hints of green and brown seemed to swirl in her eyes. “I respect the Elder as much as anyone.” I shot her a look and she shrugged. “Okay, maybe not as much as anyone. You might not recognize it, but you’ve told me how he treated you. You’re his son, but just because you’re not some artist like the others, he made you feel unworthy.”

  “That’s not it at all,” I said. “He was busy. Between Arcanus and what happened to my mother—”

  “Yeah. So busy, he couldn’t slow down and help you understand what was happening. You don’t even really know what happened to her. Don’t you think you have that right?”

  Only Devan could really talk to me like that. She knew more about me than anyone else. “He did everything he could when my mother died.”

  “By taking you to Arcanus. Haven’t you ever wondered why you never went while she lived? Don’t you think maybe she didn’t want that life for you?”

  I remembered so little about my mother. She’d died when I was barely eleven. The memories I had were mostly happy, but there was so much about her that was a fog. If I were to ever get counseling, I suspect I’d be told I repressed my memories. After everything I’d been through, I was willing to leave them repressed. It wasn’t long after she was gone that my father had taken me with him to Arcanus.

  “Devan—”

  She reached up and touched my face. “Ollie, I have a little experience with shitty fathers myself, so don’t think you can blow smoke up my ass.”

  I smiled. “I’d never blow smoke up your ass. I’d let Jakes do the honor.”

  I held it together as long as possible, long enough to see her go a shade of red that I’d never seen on her before. A mixture of emotions crossed over her face before she decided how she’d respond. And when she did, my arm suffered for it.

  “Well, he did offer to help me, so maybe you don’t have to worry about him, anyway. Especially if you stay behind like it seems you want to.”

  “I’m not staying behind. You need me, like you always have.”

  The comment made me smile. The first time I’d crossed the Threshold, Devan had been on the other side. Almost as if waiting. I’m still not sure she wasn’t. Since then, we’d saved each other more times than I could count. “You still want to stay on this side?”

  “I’m not returning for good, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Returning “for good” meant was that she would be married. Yeah, Devan is a runaway bride.

  I couldn’t blame her. As the nuptials drew closer, when it became real, Devan decided that it was time to get out. She had her reasons, mostly because of the visions she’d had of what would happen if she stayed. That had been my cue to leave, too. We’d made the crossing together, thinking to find safety and quiet in Conlin. So far, we’d found neither.

  “Then we’re going to do this. Dump Taylor in Arcanus. Maybe sneak inside for a look-see. Find out if there’s anything my father might have left there that I missed. Then we’ll come back here. Hopefully nothing crosses over in the time we’re away.”

  Devan shrugged and made her way over to her bench. She picked up the knife again and ran it over a sharpening stone, over and over. The soft snick repeating in a steady rhythm. “You know I’ll help you, Ollie,” she said, eyes staying focused on the knife. “And if you want to go back there—”

  “I don’t want to go back,” I said.

  She paused long enough to answer. “I don’t like this. And I don’t trust Taylor. Everything she does puts you in more danger.”

  “It’s not me I worry about,” I said to her. I had vowed to keep Devan safe, and I’d do whatever I could to keep that vow. “We don’t have to trust her. We just have to get her back there.”

  “That’s the part I don’t like,” she said. Then Devan flipped a switch and a grinding wheel kicked on with a heavy whirr. Sparks flew up around her as she worked the knife.

  I waited, thinking she’d turn it off so we could talk more, but turned away when it became clear that wasn’t her intent. The grinding wheel was her way of ending the conversation.

  I studied her back, thinking I needed to say something else, before turning away to prepare to return to Arcanus.

  3

  I headed out to the garage the next morning looking for Devan. She hadn’t bothered coming inside last night to eat. That wasn’t altogether uncommon—Devan had this thing where she’d keep working until whatever project she started was complete—but after our conversation the day before, I felt a little uncomfortable.

  The door to the garage w
as closed. Maybe she was angry, but more likely she was disappointed. She wanted to keep me safe in much the same way I wanted to keep her safe. I’d do anything in my power to protect her.

  Sunlight glinted off the faded metal door. I shielded my eyes as I grabbed at the door and heaved. It didn’t budge.

  Had she locked herself in? She’d only done that once before.

  I cupped an ear to the door and listened. I didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean much. Devan had ways to muffle the sounds of her work. “Devan! Open the door.”

  Taylor peeked out the back door of the house, and I waved her away. Seeing her would likely only upset Devan.

  I tapped on the door again, but again there was no answer. She could be stubborn, sometimes annoyingly so. I pounded on the door again, but still no answer.

  Taylor crossed the yard toward me, ignoring the fact that I’d tried keeping her away. She carried a leather satchel over one shoulder and had a loose black jacket covering a long sleeve shirt matching the streaks of color in her hair. Jeans hugged her hips, and I had to work to pull my eyes away.

  “How do you know she’s even in there?” Taylor asked.

  “Door’s locked.”

  “She couldn’t lock it from the outside?”

  I tapped on the door and shook my head. “Nothing fancy about this garage door. You might not believe it, but the Elder didn’t exactly leave me with much here.”

  I nodded toward the house. The once-gray paint now had a thick, dark layer overtop of it, left there from when Taylor and Jakes had their magical battle, except for where I’d started repainting. It wouldn’t damage my father’s protections, just cover them. At least the house still stood. It may not look like much, but there was value in the patterns and protections worked into the house.

  “I don’t think you give him enough credit,” Taylor said. “The house is lovely. Where else will you find a place painted completely in the Elder’s hand?”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Anyway, she can’t lock the door from the outside. Not without placing—”

  I cut myself off as I looked around the door. Could Devan have left to see what she’d sensed on her own? If she had, wouldn’t she at least have left me some sort of message? If she thought she was protecting me, she might. Or maybe she and Jakes were off snuggling somewhere.

  The image of that was hard to get out of my head. I don’t know why it annoyed me like it did.

  As I turned back to Taylor, the sunlight reflected off something I hadn’t noticed before. Near the edge of the garage door was a single mark as if indented into the door. I crouched down to study it. There wasn’t much to it, but it hadn’t been there before. I studied the door and found another mark at the opposite end.

  What the hell?

  The second one was different. The first mark was a straight line. The second was two vertical lines with a hash angled over them. Out of curiosity, I grabbed a pinch of powdered red ink I had in my pocket and dusted the marks. With a small trickle of energy and will, I infused power into the marks.

  The explosion threw me back.

  Taylor ran over to me and helped me to my feet. “Oliver! What are you doing?”

  I wiped my hands on my pants, shaking off the effects of the explosion. I wasn’t hurt, mostly startled. “Not sure.”

  “Were you trying to blow the door off the garage?”

  “I don’t think you can,” I said, making my way back over to the marks. “You can’t see it from here, but my father placed patterns all the way around the garage, too.” Devan and I had thought that odd when we returned to the house and she made the garage space her own, but there’ve been some advantages. Explosions made while she worked wouldn’t have quite the same effect, almost as if the garage had been designed for her kind of tinkering.

  I leaned toward the marks. With the ink coating them, they were easier to see. Now that I’d been blown back, I knew to be more careful. Don’t let it be said that I can’t learn from my mistakes. I’ve made enough of them that I should be plenty smart by now.

  As I started to infuse another hint of will into the ink, Taylor grabbed me and jerked me back.

  “Don’t,” she warned.

  A flash of light rippled as she spoke. The door to the garage briefly buckled before regaining its shape. Had I been standing next to it, I would have been thrown back the same as before. Maybe not even the same; this explosion seemed even more powerful than the first.

  “Why would she place that mark on the door?”

  “This?” I copied the mark on the grass using my finger.

  Taylor grunted and kicked it away, destroying evidence of the mark. “Don’t. And yes. That mark.”

  I shook my head. I’d never seen a marking like that before. Not a complex pattern, but maybe that was the point. Often times, simple patterns packed the most punch. That, and they strangely required more energy to fuel. It was nothing like some of the complicated patterns in my father’s book, patterns I still could only make a handful of.

  “That’s not how her power works,” I answered. I moved closer to the door again and studied the pattern. As long as I didn’t push any power through the ink, I would be okay. I thought. “She doesn’t use patterns and paints the same way we do.”

  “Then why would you have placed it there?” Taylor asked.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t.”

  Taylor stood and turned on me. “That’s a mark only a painter would use. And a skilled one at that. See how the lines are perfectly parallel?” She pointed with one of her long fingers at the pattern. “And this? Angled so each side is precisely the same. That takes talent and experience. I don’t recognize what it is, but there’s power in that pattern.”

  She was right. I hadn’t picked up on the level of exactness that would have been required at first, but now that she pointed it out, it was completely clear. Only, who would have made the marking? Not Devan. She had magical skill and could work with patterns, but this wasn’t the kind of thing she would have placed on the garage. It was subtle enough that it circumvented the protections my father had placed. That meant another painter.

  Was that what Devan had detected?

  “Did anyone follow you here?” I asked her. “When you left Arcanus, I mean?”

  “I’ve been away from Arcanus for the last year. When Ash was lost, Reem wouldn’t let me go after him.”

  I laughed, imagining Taylor arguing with Reem. She might be small—even tinier than Devan—but she was powerful. And feisty. Even with her skill, Taylor wouldn’t have been able to go against her.

  “Reem said I didn’t know enough yet to go after them.”

  “And Reem wouldn’t leave.”

  Taylor tipped her head. “She’s like the others. You know how they don’t want to leave Arcanus. They stay there so long and begin to know safety…”

  The hunters. All painters feared them. They were taught that the hunters chased painters, fed off their magic. Once a painter reached a certain level of skill, they stayed in Arcanus. Some taggers left, but they were considered safe, considered to be too weak to draw the attention of the hunters. Master painters—artists like Hard, Ash, and Reem—would surely draw the attention of the hunters. I thought myself daring and brave for my willingness to be outside of Arcanus knowing the risk of the hunters. Of course, that was before I learned the hunters no longer existed in our world. I still didn’t understand why we were taught to fear them.

  Well, maybe I did. After nearly dying facing the hunters, I could understand why painters should fear them.

  “But you left,” I said.

  “I wasn’t the first.”

  “But the first artist.”

  She shook her head. “No.” When I looked at her askance, she went on. “You’ve been gone for a while.”

  “I was never really there that much to begin with,” I said.

  Taylor smiled at me with a tight expression. “Well, Arcanus has changed in the time that you’ve been gone. And ab
out four years ago, there was a falling out. Two painters—a couple—were pushing to be raised to master. I was still learning then and don’t know much about it, but I think the feeling was that she was skilled enough to be raised but not him. Worse, he didn’t get along with Mac.”

  I frowned. “Who doesn’t get along with Mac?” He was one of the few people who had been genuinely nice to me and had treated me well after I arrived in Arcanus. That was a hard time for me, especially being thrown into everything as I was. But Mac had welcomed me, explained how Arcanus worked, hell, he even showed me around his shop. It was nicer than what Devan worked with, though he might not have the same level of skill.

  “I know, right? I didn’t know the couple well. They came to Arcanus probably two years or so after you left. They were a little older, but they had real talent and worked at it, spending much of their time in the library, running through books of patterns and studying the importance of color and shapes and numbers.”

  It sounded familiar. It was what I had done when I first went to Arcanus. I always knew I had some artistic talent, and my father had worked with me to nurture it, but he hadn’t always been around. Before my mother died, he’d traveled all the time. For work, from what I had been told at the time. Only later did I really understand what his work entailed. I never knew my father like some did. He was never the Elder to me as he was to other painters, or even to Jakes. Just my father.

  But when he took me to Arcanus and I learned of the power that could be drawn using my art, I had thrown myself into studying. There were hundreds of books in the library about patterns. Twice as many dealt with colors and numbers. Scattered among them were other books on things like art history and design philosophy, things higher-level artists would study. Taggers mostly struggled to even learn patterns.

  “So what happened?”