***

With my room vaguely more livable, after some bickering Daravoi ends up sleeping here for the whole week - I don’t prod too much, but it seems he had no stable living place for a while.

At first it’s strange to have someone else in my refuge, but after a few days, it feels good. Students at the university share rooms, right? And I always wanted to go to university. So, this is like a really twisted version of it.

Dara usually wakes up before I do, so I’m not surprised when I find him already awake, reading one of my comics.

“This is really fucking stupid,” he says.

“I don’t know what you expected from a comic about a talking crocodile,” I point out.

“And that’s why I don’t read,” he says, tossing it away. “Except for that, of course,” he says, pointing at my Introduction to Else manipulation.

“How did you get it anyway?” He adds.

I shrug, looking away. I asked my big sister for some help before running from home makes me sound like some rich brat.

I could lie, I could tell him a story about the way I stole it from…

I squash the thought away. You shouldn’t lie to friends.

“It’s a story for another day,” I say, sticking my tongue out. Then I wrinkle my nose. “Did you do the cleaning spell again? This place stinks of burned plastic. And sweat. Let’s go do some crime. And take a shower.”

“You shower every day,” he says, as if this was strange, “but your room would make a sewer rat run away disgusted.”

“I hate being dirty. If not for the public baths, I’d have turned myself in within three days of leaving home,” I say. “Especially since my room isn’t terribly clean.”

He grumbles something like you could clean, but I always ignored when my moms said that, so I’ll ignore him too.

I flick my fingers and summon a mote of blue light to show us the path in the dark, abandoned tunnels outside my room. I do my best to ignore the rats, or very large cockroaches, which scurry out of the way.

“We should lie low for a while longer,” Daravoi says. We’ve been eating out with our small stockpile of stolen money, but we didn’t dare use magic since my fuckup at the jewelry.

“Come on,” I say, “it’s been what, six days? The Men in Silver can’t be on high alert forever. And we must go back to being productive criminals.”

“You’re sure you didn’t show your true face when you robbed the jewelry, right?” He asks, suddenly anxious.

“I wore a Lie - I’m not entirely stupid, you know,” I say, “but if they really care about it, they could identify me by voice and gait. And then I’d be fucked.”

“They can find you from your voice?” He asks.

We reach the abandoned station of a dead metro stop. Our voices echo in the vast, empty space.

“Of course,” I say, surprised he doesn’t know, “aren’t you supposed to be the hardened criminal here? Police software can ID people by face, voice, gait and who knows what else. Vorokan law limits the use of street cameras and protects personal data a bit, but sooner or later everyone ends up in the police database. I bet ThauCon has even fancier stuff.”

We walk to the platform, and start following the maintenance sidewalk that runs next to the tracks. Trains don’t run here – it’s a dead line. But Daravoi is still nervous every time we walk into a dark tunnel.

“I guess being illegal has its perks, sometimes,” he says, after walking in silence for a while. “If the police caught me without a valid chip and with a Kalestrian accent, I’d just get beaten and deported. So I won’t end up in any database.”

“Not to be a clueless rich kid, but why did you even come here?” I ask. “I mean, the police hate you, everyone’s racist, and it’s the coldest country in the whole Alliance.”

I knew I should have shut up - even by the dim blue light, I see the annoyance on his face.

“Because you people shit money, and Kalester has been a blasted hell for the last sixty years, maybe you’ve heard of it,” he says. “And we can thank ThauCon for that. So the caravans come here to get your sweet money. And when I found out I had the Power… well, my people really don’t like mages.”

“It’s not like anyone else likes… wait, is somebody there?”

We’re approaching the first active station of the metro line, a circle of yellow light in the dark tunnel. It’s not a busy stop, usually I can sneak into it without needing a Lie. But now, there are three people waiting on the sidewalk, next to our tunnel, outlined against the station’s light. White flashlights flicker in their hands.

“Maintenance workers?” Daravoi asks.

“I never met any before, and this track is abandoned,” I say. “Why would technicians come here?”

“Do I look like I know shit about track maintenance? Off with that Else-light, idiot. I’ll make some with my phone,” he answers, looking nervous. He talks big, but worries more than I do about being caught.

Well, that might be related to the whole police would beat and deport him compared to my police would give me a stern talk and take me to my moms.

Not that it’s necessarily true anymore. I have a serious crime on record, now, if they connect the theft to me - no matter how many strings my family pulls, I probably can’t avoid rehabilitation camp. My skin clams with sweat at the thought.

“I can make a Lie,” I say, trying not to think about ThauCon or rehabilitation camps, “I can make us pass for maintenance workers. Well, unless they are the maintenance workers.”

The jewelry mess taught me that if I make a Lie that doesn’t make sense, people will fight it. I can still make them believe it for a while, but if I use so much magic I might as well bash them in the head with an Else-glass club.

“Leave magic as a last resort,” Daravoi says, “But if they’re the police, can you make them believe we have ID chips and stuff?”

“I think so,” I say. “At worst, we run toward the station’s exit and I’ll make them believe we ran the opposite way, that one’s easy.”

I almost add but we’re not doing anything illegal before remembering that he’s always illegal and I have a burned-out ID chip, too. I should take this crime thing more seriously.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The people standing in our way don’t look like police, though. There’s a middle-aged man in a thick black coat, a woman in her thirties, and a lean young man with long hair. The woman and the young man have black, spindly black tattoos around their eyes, which I’m pretty sure is a gang sign. And the youth is fiddling with a switchblade knife so theatrically I’d laugh, if I weren’t busy picturing that knife stabbing me.

“Your friends, Dara?” I ask.

“Are you fucking stupid?” He hisses, taut as a string. “It’s a Vorokan gang. We don’t use eye tattoos.”

“Wait, gangsters are racist, too?” I ask. I thought criminals stuck together.

He groans. “I’ll explain how the world works later, now focus - you do the talking, if they hear my accent or see my arm we’re fucked. They’ll want some money, I guess. They won’t expect us to have much. Pay up, but not too easy, if they sniff how much we have, it’s a fucking mess.”

“Should I try to Lie?” I ask.

A pause. We’re getting close enough that I see them clearly in the face - the older man doesn’t have gang tattoos, only regular ones saying male, widower. But he could star in any movie as the hardened gangster. I feel ten percent more criminal just by looking at him.

“Magic only if you must,” Daravoi says, his voice low, “if they understand we’re mages, even later, it’ll be a disaster. Gangs hate mages even more than foreigners.”

So, no magic. Daravoi can scowl, but not speak. And I’m supposed to give them money - not too soon, but before they stab us. It’s like a fucking math test. Who knew being a dreg of society would be this hard.

We stop, ten steps from the young man with the knife, and my heart beats so fast it hurts. I ache to spin a Lie and make them ignore us, but Daravoi is right, that’s a shitty idea.

“I told you, they have a den in the old tunnels” the young man says, looking at me as he talks to his companions. He’s tall and wiry, but he’s muscular, and moves with nervous energy. He definitely looks like he could hand us our asses even without the knife.

“Strange place for a homeless kid to sleep in,” The older man says, his voice gravelly. “So, tell me why are you staying here in the tunnels?”

What would a real, non-magic street kid say?

“I like the place,” I say, smiling. “Is that a problem?”

I was courteous and smiled. That usually works with authorities. But this time I feel I got it wrong.

“Are you fucking with me?” The young man asks. With an affected gesture, he flicks his blade open. Forgotten Enemy, it’s so long and pointy.

“Wait, Veri,” the old man says, raising a hand. He looks at me, his expression perfectly neutral. “This is our turf, kids. You ran from home or something, I guess. Well, first thing you learn out here - have some respect for the gangs, and we’ll leave you in peace.”

Can’t they just ask me for the money?

“I… didn’t mean disrespect,” I say, talking too fast. “I didn’t know there was a gang here. We can go away.”

The man doesn’t react, but the woman scoffs.

“Too late. You come into the Uncle’s territory, you must pay,” the young man says, smiling. I’m suddenly sure I’m looking too weak and scared, possibly because I’m very weak and very scared. And I have a feeling he wants to use that knife.

“We don’t have much money,” I say. I don’t have to feign worry, even if I’d happily give him all the money we’ve stolen, in exchange for not getting stabbed.

“Your tablet’s nice,” the young man says, looking at Daravoi. “And your jacket isn’t bad.”

“You can have the tablet,” I say, “and you won’t see us again, I swear.”

He looks at me, then back at Dara, waving his knife at him. “Are you dumb? I heard you talk.”

“I hear you fine,” Daravoi says, trying to hide his accent, which makes it even more obvious. “Look, we don’t want trouble. Take my tablet, and we’re done.”

“You’re a fucking bat-eater,” knife guy says, sounding angry. “You know what we do to bats?”

“They’re not in the gangs, Veri,” his boss says. “No need for this to get violent.”

“Won’t be violent,” the younger man says. “As long as he shows respect.”

He walks to Daravoi and gives him a slow, deliberate shove. Daravoi takes a step back, looking down. I stifle a groan - the macho show is as bad as the threat of stabbing.

Also, he’s being a real asshole, I feel terrible for Daravoi.

We don’t have to accept this. We don’t have to fear them. I feel the Veil, just beyond my fingers…

No. By now, any magic I could use would be painfully obvious, and bite us in the ass later. They just want our money, and to feel important.

“Look, we can give you some money. And the tablet,” I say, hoping we did enough groveling.

“Something about them isn’t right,” the woman says, talking for the first time.

“Of course. He’s a bat, and the other one probably fucks him,” knife guy says.

“You had a light with you, kid,” she says, looking at me, her eyes very cold. “What made it?”

Fuck. I don’t have anything that can make a light that strong.

“The tablet,” I say, “we have only that one.”

She looks at me, unconvinced, but she shrugs.

“We’ll take the tablet. That will be enough,” the boss says.

“Will you keep out of our way, bat?” The young man says, taking the tablet. Dara doesn’t stop him.

“Yes,” he says, still looking down. His fists clench in anger.

“Yes, sir,” knife guy says. “Be a nice bat and say that. You must be good to Uncle.”

“Are you fucking twelve?” Daravoi yells, in a burst of anger. “Just take my stuff and go away.”

I’m not an expert on gangs, but I think that wasn’t what he was supposed to say.

“That won’t do,” the boss says. He sounds sad. “Look, kids, it’s nothing personal. But you won’t get anywhere if you don’t learn respect. Now, the less you fight, the better this will go. Veri, Alain, rough them up. Not too bad.”

The younger man smiles. The woman doesn’t look convinced.

“Wait, we’ve an agreement with the Uncle,” I say, frantically reaching into the Veil. Worlds split in every direction, I catch disturbing glimpses of blood and stabbing and beatings. Why can’t I find one where…

“I’m the Uncle, stupid kid,” the boss says, sounding like a disappointed teacher, “and we don’t have an agreement. Now I’ll have to beat you for making this up, too.”

Possibilities slip through my fingers like water - I can’t find one where they don’t want to beat us up, not anymore. Fuck. I can still distract them and run to…

“Run away or I’ll burn you alive,” Daravoi’s voice comes in a growl. I feel a shudder in the Else, and his hands glow dark red, like his eyes. His fingers look like colored glass. Oh, fuck.

“Mages! Both of them,” the woman yells. She says mage like a curse.

“In this town? It’s the fucking Syndicate Cartel again? I thought we taught…” the boss says.

“Mage or no mage, I’ll show you…” the young man says, lunging toward us.

Then everything happens so fast. The woman whips out a pistol, pointing it at Daravoi, and knife-guy lunges to stab him. I’m thinking of a lie to confuse them, when branching red light, like too-angular lightning, splits the darkness of the tunnel. It’s brighter, deeper than any real light should be – it’s like reality is breaking, and what lies beyond seeps through. It’s so beautiful.

Knife-guy screams in pain, falling to the ground.

The woman curses, clutching her hand. Her gun has fallen to the ground, sliced in two, both halves red hot. There’s part of a finger, still clutching the trigger.

“You show respect!” Daravoi growls, and his hand turns into glowing red glass, farther and farther down the wrist. “Fucking Vorokans! You think you own the world! I’ll…”

“Dara! That’sIt’s enough” I yell.

The criminal with the knife is scrambling back on his ass, unable to get back on his feet. There’s the horrible stink of charred flesh. Daravoi’s hands and eyes still glow red, his face distorted with rage. But I step in front of him, and he seems to realize what he’s doing. He lets go of the Else, his hands turn back to flesh.

“Fucking Syndicates! I knew!” The young man says, his voice high pitched with fear.

“Run away, idiots!” I add. The Uncle helps Knife Guy to his feet, and they scramble toward the station.

“If I see you again, you’re dead!” Daravoi screams, furious. “I’ll burn you alive from the inside! I’ll rip the bones out of your body, and then kill you!”

And this boy told me to keep a low profile.

“Fuck,” he says, closing his eyes, as the gangster get out of our view. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Big time,” I say. It’s a disaster, but right now, I’m giddy with relief - we’re alive, and we dealt with the gangsters. “But you were awesome, too. Now let’s go back, I’ll grab the book and some useful stuff, then we run - I think it’s time I find a new room, and fast.”

***