For a shimmering instant, he was pristine.
Machinery blurred. Her breath slowed.
He was there.
She’d been sure to blot out his imperfections, of course. He’d hated those, the nose broken from an old accident, the scars that looped down from collarbone to abdomen. His eyes were her crowning achievement, however; soft and blue, they found hers, locking with them, begging her to permit him to remain among the living.
For years, he’d haunted the dreams she wasn’t supposed to have. She’d gone off the suppression pills shortly after leaving the organization. Construction on the dream-maker began not long after. The memories were thorns niggling at the back of her eyelids, growing larger by the day.
Watching him behind the maker’s glass made the pain worthwhile.
Lifting her hand took a massive effort. The bloodless fingers at her side twitched. Using so much of her personal energy was taking a toll. Soon, she would need more, and harvesting it was a risk. No one would hand it to her of their own volition. She would need to be stealthy in taking it.
She could not afford to be caught.
The solidi shifted and his face slid downwards with it, a melting candle. The particles her old teacher had manipulated, and taught her to manipulate in turn, were unstable without a soul to hold them together.
Nothing for it, then. She would need to draw from her kin, though her former fellow Dreamers would rather kill her than see her dream become reality.
The woman lying on the bed blinked hard. Once, twice. The third time made the tubes leading from her helmet to the heart of the machine hiss. Her body jerked as her energy flew back, a bird returning to roost. Gears ground to a halt.
The man behind the glass disappeared. Wiped clean, she thought sadly, as if he never was.
Yet, he had once been.
Just a bit more, and he would be once again, right after she found them all.
She removed the helmet with shaking hands. She couldn’t wait long.
**
“When was your last dream?”
This nurse was better than the last one had been. The needle slid home without much effort, a small pop of skin under the ligature. The tube leading to the collection receptacle purpled with blood.
He tried to think. “I dunno. Twelve?”
“Twelve.” The woman made note of that in her chart. “And how did that dream manifest?”
“Uh…Uh-huh. Well.” The man sitting across from her rubbed his free hand over light-brown hair and gave her a small smile. “You sure you wanna hear it?”
He was greeted with a blank look. “Sir, I need this information for your records. Of course, I need to.”
“All right.” He dropped his hand and shrugged. “My teacher in Fourth Form was pretty young. Just graduated from Prep. Might’ve been…Twenty-two? Three? And I had the seat up front, one row back. She gets there, and--.”
“Very good, Mr. Myrdin. That’s good enough.” More jotting. “We just need a little more blood to make sure your suppression medication is doing its job.”
Gods in the damned Ether. “You got your one tube.”
“Sir--.”
“Figure out how you’re gonna use it.” Charlok Myrdin unbunched his fist. The unbuttoned sleeve of his dark uniform hung loosely from his pale arm.
The container was nearly full.
“We need one for the Dreamers Organization and another for our public records. If I don’t get two vials---.”
“Split it up into two if you think you’ll need it that bad.” Tension bunched along his shoulders. “You keep taking more, and I’m gonna start thinking you’re selling it to somebody. I take my damn supps. You’ll see it in the bloodwork.”
The woman eyed him, sizing him up. The selling of charmed blood within District walls was illegal, and even the accusation made her wary. She was as average as they came, both in looks and ability, not worth talking too sweet to. He could see she didn’t want to deal with a Dreamer today, and he as sure in the ten hells didn’t want to put up with her.
“Very well,” she repeated. That was what these types of people always said. He swallowed back irritation. “I’ll divide your sample and we’ll see what level of suppressive medication is in there. You’re sure you’re not having any wayward dreams? About former teachers or otherwise?”
Huffy correction and a jab. Nice. The thought threatened to bring a smile to his lips. If she didn’t have looks, personality could be just as good, if not better.
It quickly died as his communicator sent a warming tingle through his hip. Judging by the vibration, it had to be Venali. Figures he’d want me right now. And he wasn’t good with waiting, either.
“Wh-What was that?” The healer froze before getting the needle out of his arm, gloved hands poised above the tubing. “Was that magic?”
He hummed an affirmative. “Boss wants me back, I’m sure, sooner the better with him. You mind digging that out?” He nodded to the needle. “You got enough.”
When she touched him again, he could feel the tremors running along her fingertips. That decided that; the only reason he didn’t pull back from their cold questing after the needle was the harm he’d do to himself.
“We should have results by the end of the week,” she rattled off. Unnerved. Good. Maybe he should have told her he’d turn her into a horse next, or whatever steaming load of bullpile mundane folks believed. She had a good face to make a pony.
The needle reemerged with a hot scraping against his arm. A trail of blood followed and the healer stared for a full beat before she turned away.
Like snakes’ll crawl out of my arm.
“Let me get you a cotton ball. We need to make sure you don’t lose more blood than necessary.”
He waited until it was within reach, then, as she lowered those fish-cold fingers, he plucked it from them.
“H—Wait!” She scrabbled for it, but he was already up, pressing it to the crook of his arm. He could already feel a warm trickle of blood leaking past it.
“Good seeing ya.” He turned his back. He didn’t expect her to come after him, and she didn’t. “Make sure you send those results through the Line, by the way. Venali needs everybody on deck as soon as he can get ‘em.” The Line, the conduit through which all magic flowed across the world, was the main delivery system of magic missives.
The door closed.
The next reminder through his communicator was as hot as a brand and he had to rip it off.
I just got out. Gods’ sakes. I see the train now.
How many people are boarding the train, Myrdin? Yup, Venali was pissed off today. The force of his displeasure cut like a knife through the telepathic connection. Someone’s waiting here for you.
That threw him. Waiting for me? Who?
Just get on the gods-damn train. She’s been here for a half hour and we’re both losing our patience.
Venali cut the connection. Charlok muttered a swear. He had to have been reassigned to a potential partner.
The last one—
He swallowed hard as old memories threatened to resurface. Maybe a double dose of supps would get his head to shut up while he was awake, too.
**
The young woman sitting across from him was losing her patience. Rightfully so, Venali thought; Myrdin’s medical appointments didn’t normally take the better part of two hours.
Well, he supposed, that was what one got when all the Gift-based healers were preoccupied with other matters.
“How much longer did you say he’s going to be?” Yes, definite, although disguised, impatience touched her voice as she tapped fingers on kneecaps.
“I didn’t.” Ayen Venali steepled his own. “I just sent him a communication over the Line fifteen minutes ago. He assured me he was taking the train back.”
She glanced at her wristwatch with a wrinkle of her freckled nose. “He’s taking it at the same time half the city is?” Venali could see her suppress a sigh. “Great.”
“Shall we finish going over your information then?” The man at the desk took a sheaf of papers between his fingers, tapping it on the surface of his desk to even them out. “Miss Hazelyn Elora Balonthere, correct? Of the House of Balonthere?” Venali had skimmed some of her information earlier, her birthright, how she’d grown up, the accomplishments she’d had. Aspasia Lialana, chief of the Eighth District, was stringent with her officers. But now it was time to see her demeanor, to be certain she was a good potential partner for Myrdin.
A bout of stiffness rode her shoulders while something that wasn’t quite irritation or shame flickered in her eyes. “Yes.”
“And you graduated from Prepatory two years ago?”
“Three.” The correction was followed with a slight twist of her thin lips. They fit her long, narrow, face, her pale skin with a series of freckles scattered like flecked paint. The hair she’d drawn back from it into a long braid was auburn, a definite mark of the Balontheres.
“Three, I apologize.” He continued to skim her file. “The Eighth District can misplace information on its operatives from time to time.” He laid the papers down, fingertip running over the type under it. Then, he paused.
“It says here that you completed some healers’ training before your graduation?”
“I tried one of the healing programs, yes.” He was certainly hitting a nerve now. “I didn’t finish.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes sought one of the cracks in the wooden floor boards. “They told me that my magic wasn’t strong enough to, but my other ability should be able to compensate and make me useful to you.”
Venali hummed low in the back of his throat. “Yes, that. Ah…It also says here that your mother is Melarue Norlynn.”
“Was.” That was terse. “My uncle’s name is Danethor Norylnn. I was his ward when I was little.”
“Right, yes, now I see. He was a top graduate, Norlynn. So, he trained you in how to use your magic.” More reading. “It also says here you need to recite an incantation phrase with your wand,” he went on, unfazed. “Was a member of your family mundane?”
The word iced in the still air between them. Her gaze snapped up to his. “I thought I was coming to a mission briefing, not a prejudiced inquisition. I can take my things out of that room and leave right now.”
“Miss Balonthere.” He tried to make his tone soothing. “I’d simply like to go over your information, that’s all. There’s no judgement here.”
“Fine. Yes, I do.” Her stare held a subtle challenge. “And yes, kind of. Magic skipped over Mother, and none of the imbuement therapies they tried helped.”
“Then you’re fortunate that your father’s side bore out and gave you magic,” Venali said with what he hoped was a kindly smile.
She didn’t reply to that, eyes still locked to his.
“May I see your wand?” he tried after a moment.
Wordlessly, after some hesitation, she reached for her right middle finger. A small golden ring, a red stone in its setting, was set carefully at the edge of his desk. One command from her, and it would become a traditional wand. He would have to reach for it, an understated signal that his questions had stung. He sighed through his nose and stood to retrieve it.
The magic of her soul was different from what he usually encountered. The ring rested warm in his palm as he reached his own abilities out to it. Just strong enough to make the cut for acceptable magic strength. Others would have called her a halfbreed.
But, his branch of the Dreamers needed all the help they could get, impure or no.
“Very good.” He got up again to set it where she’d left it, and the Balonthere girl closed her hand over it, eager to get it out of his reach again. “What did you say your incantation was?”
“I didn’t.” Now those thin lips were in a near-smile. “Uncle Danethor taught me to have more than one so I could fit my magic to different situations as they came up.”
“I see. Can you give me an example?”
“I--.”
The door clicking open interrupted them both.
“Ah. There’s the man of the hour.” Venali lifted his eyes to his other operative. “How was the train, Myrdin?”
“Pretty damn bad. Right about what you’d expect midday. Crying kids, people all shoved up into each other, stops every two ticks.” Charlok took the cotton ball he’d managed to wipe most of the blood off of his arm with and aim for the can next to Venali’s desk. Pulling his sleeve up to button it back into place, he glanced over at the other occupied chair. “Who’s this?”
The woman answered before Venali could. “Hazelyn Balonthere. I’m your new partner.” She lifted her chin at him, then put out a hand in greeting.
Charlok took it. Surprise shifted through his chest. “You look pretty young. How old’d you say you were?”
She snorted. “Twenty-three. I just got done telling Chief Venali, I graduated three years ago.” Her hand took his when he didn’t fully extend it. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
“Oh, sorry. You look like an Eighth Former.”
Her hand tightened over his. “I wouldn’t be here if I was that young.”
“Joking. Gods Almighty.” He withdrew his hand and turned to Venali. “She’s gonna be out there with me?”
“Yes.” Venali massaged a temple. “Right after you’ve shown her around and she’s had some time to acquaint herself with our Nightmare Simulator.”
“Simulator?” For the first time since she’d come to his office, with a polite greeting and a chipper, polite demeanor that soured the longer they’d had to wait, her eyes lit up. “You have one here too? My uncle helped restore the improved one in the Eighth District. I was still little then, but he let me watch him work on it. It’s still the biggest one on Escua.”
“Yeah. That’s the one Venali’s been meaning to get his hands on for the last five years. Who’d you say your uncle was?”
Her enthusiasm dampened somewhat, turning to wariness. “Danethor Norlynn.”
“Oh. The guy who got himself killed two years ago? The machinarius?”
Once again, she answered with a clipped, “Yes. But he’s still one of the best technology mages Escua ever had. Are you always this rude to people you don’t know?”
“Rude? It’s the truth. He was working on something and it killed him.”
“You don’t have to say that like he was an idiot.” Pain mingled with her indignation. “He made a mistake.”
Five minutes into meeting her and it was already going downhill. Charlok finished buttoning his sleeve. “Look, that wasn’t what I meant. You want to finish up this briefing?”
Her lips thinned out as they tightened. “I guess. The sooner we do that, the sooner I can see that simulator.” As she spoke, she started to put her manipulator back on.
And then she froze, staring at her fingers. “Are you bleeding?”
He’d forgotten about it until she pointed it out. “Yeah.” He grimaced. “Must’ve sprung a leak.”
Her answer was a heavy sigh. “What kinds of healers are they hiring? Do they even give out cotton balls or bandages anymore?” She pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket with her clean hand and made a show of wiping her fingers. “Let me see.”
In light of their previous tension, he balked at the offer. “I’ll get down to the med bay before we go see the training room. Thanks.”
Then, like a white piece of fluffy damnation, the cotton ball dropped from the cuff of his sleeve to the floor.
Hazelyn glanced up at him. “So, you had a cotton ball, but didn’t use it.”
“Pretty much.” He stooped to retrieve it. “Bad day at the clinic.”
“Well, you can’t go walking around broken up if we’re supposed to be working together,” she told him.
“Just a moment,” Venali cut in. “We’ll get to your assignment after you’ve gone through the simulator. Myrdin will be with you momentarily to set the parameters. Chief Lialana told you what your assignment is going to be, correct?”
“’There have been loose Nightmares in the Eleventh District. Help Venali with them and see to it he doesn’t manage to ruin half the neighborhood in trying to secure it,’” she quoted.
Ah right, Lialana never had been fond of him. Perhaps that was part of why she’d sent him Balonthere. “That’s…correct. Mydrin, I’m going to need you for a moment. Balonthere, you may wait outside. I’d like to discuss details of the next possible assignment with him.”
Surprise sparked in the newcomer’s eyes but she didn’t contest it. “Understood. I’ll be right outside the door then.” She got up and dropped something on the desk in front of Charlok. “Make sure to use that.”
It was a small mage-bandage.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“And also, Balonthere, we’ll discuss the details of your ability after you’re done with the simulation.”
She nodded and the door clicked shut. Again, the tension was back in her eyes.
After he was sure she wouldn’t overhear, he raised an eyebrow at the other man. “I missing something here? You told me the other day you think she’s good enough to pass.” He twisted his head the way she’d gone. “And what’s the problem with her ability?”
“The simulator is a formality. Yes, I believe from what I read of her transcripts that she’ll do well. As far as the ‘problem,’ well. I wouldn’t call it that.”
Venali had a habit of touching the tip of his nose with his fingertips when he was weighing out his words. He did it now, humming softly to himself.
Charlok waited him out, picking up the mage bandage. A soft tap of his fingertips against its sterilized outer edge made it open enough to cover the small hole in his arm, and once more he unbuttoned his sleeve to do so.
“No, I wouldn’t call it a problem,” Venali repeated. “More of a challenge.”
Charlok didn’t like the sound of that. “You figured you’d dump this ‘challenge’ off on my lap, huh?”
“I thought it may help you,” Venali told him. His tone was almost pleading. “Considering how we lost Euthemia…” He stopped and shook his head. “This girl’s abilities are not too far off from hers.”
Euthemia. Really, she was more like the mother his had failed to be. His heart scabbed over in ice and he had to grip the chair arm to hold his initial reaction in check. No, getting emotional wouldn’t serve him here.
“How’s she stack up?” he found himself asking. “What can she do?”
Venali silently slid her folder across to him, a wordless bid to read it. He reached out to accept.
The paper folder felt like fire under his fingers.
Charlok already knew he wasn’t going to like what he found when he opened it.
**
“In spite of everything I’m quite certain your parents have told you, you can do this.”
Uncle Danethor was the only one at her junior magic trial. Her arm was still healing from the bloodwork and the testing, the back of her tongue still sour from the potions they’d asked her to ingest to bring out the magic in her. Just in case, the healer had told her.
She knew he meant ‘in case you’re like your mother’ but didn’t dare ask. Everyone knew the offspring of a mage and a mundane had a higher chance of being mundane herself. But she had mended that bird’s wing, watched as it flew off.
Now her uncle extended his hand, palm flat, a knife in the other.
“Wait, what are you doing?” She still remembered herself, the horrified eight-year-old, as he drew that blade across skin. The blood dripped red to the floorboards. “Uncle!”
He didn’t seem to feel the pain. “Seeing what you’re capable of. Now, try to heal this. Quickly, now, I don’t want your aunt to see.”
And so she’d tried, and had somewhat succeeded. He’d still had a scar there the day he—
Hazelyn leaned harder into the brick wall at her back, feeling its cold abrasiveness through her starched uniform. It didn’t match the ones the Slayers in the Eighth District wore. She suspected Venali would fix that soon.
Through the door, she could hear the low thrum of their conversation. Venali was nice enough, all things considered. She and Chief Lialana had never gotten along; she suspected it had to do with her magic.
“You’ll be of better use to Venali and his…band.” Aspasia Lialana wasn’t an easy woman. Her family and Hazelyn’s had been close a few generations ago. An old favor was the only reason she’d been able to receive the therapy she had and been offered a job. “Things on their side of the Enclave have gotten worse, not that I’m at all shocked. Make sure you’re as dutiful there as you are here. We don’t need the mundanes putting our heads on pikes if the Nightmares get out of hand, and from Venali has sent me, they may be doing so very soon. Magic has been spiking in some areas, and Nightmages like nothing more than to send their progeny out when they have enough to work with.”
While magic and magictech weren’t uncommon throughout the world, they weren’t in common use outside of what few existing Enclaves there were. Escua’s was the largest and the most prone to magic-related accidents.
Nightmares were the worst of them. The tangible manifestation of mages whose dreams were so powerful they could alter reality itself, they could only be slain by magic means. Suppression medication was prescribed to those who could Dream as soon as they showed the signs, making it so they couldn’t alter reality accidentally.
The drawback was that they could no longer dream in any capacity for fear it would go beyond control. The Organization existed so mages on the whole could--
Fighting fire with fire. She’d never liked that saying. Maybe she would invent a better one if—
“Ten hells alight.” A growl interrupted her thoughts and the door flew open. High spots of color leaped high on Charlok’s cheeks and he had a folder in hand.
Her folder.
She resisted the cold whirlpool that instinctually opened in her chest to fold her arms. “Now what’s wrong?”
“Venali didn’t tell me I was gonna be working with a--.” He let out a breath and stopped his temper before it could have full control of his mouth.
The edges of that whirlpool sparked hot. “A what?” Hazelyn challenged. “Did he tell you what my magic can do? Is that why you look like you’re trying to pass fireballs through your urethra?”
“A dauber. No, he didn’t tell me you’re—like that.”
For a moment, she was the fundamentally broken child whose magic skills weren’t dampened because of her heritage, but because she needed to pull magic from things in order to use them. ‘Dauber’ was the street name for people like her. Not quite a curse, but close, in many mouths.
“There’s nothing wrong with how I’m ‘like.’” Her eyes spat defiance. “My magic’s just as normal as yours. I’m trained. I’m safe. I’ll show you in the simulation.”
“I—Gods’ only avatar.” Charlok shook his head, ran his hand through already-smoothed hair. “Venali told me he was giving me somebody like Euthemia. My last partner. Euthemia made magic, she didn’t wipe it clean.”
“That isn’t what I do,” she corrected shortly. “I don’t erase magic. I absorb it and reconstruct it.”
He had to bite back a ‘same damn thing.’ “You’re still gonna need a hell of a lot more training than somebody normal.”
“I am normal!” she said between clamped teeth. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”
“Myrdin, get back in here.” Venali, hand curled around the door, expression that of a disappointed parent. “We can talk about this.”
“Nobody told me what she is ‘til five minutes ago. And then I had to read it,” Charlok pointed out. “You know how daubers get treated here.”
“I do know,” his superior informed him. “And I also know I sent missives asking for assistance to the other Districts. We received what they could spare.”
Hazelyn’s heart was thumping hard, hard enough to send ripples across her vision. “You haven’t given me a chance yet and you’re already deciding what I can and can’t do. Well, let’s go, because I’m going to show you right now.”
“Just a second.” Venali held a hand up as Charlok opened his mouth. “Before anyone creates any more of a scene, we’re going to take five minutes to settle down. Then, we’ll reconvene in the Simulation chamber. Myrdin, since you can’t seem to exhibit self-control, I’ll be conducting the simulation. Balonthere, you took everything you’ll need from your personal effects that you’ll need for the simulation, correct?”
She gave a curt nod.
“Very well. Five minutes, and then we’ll get started.”
Magic-proof glass separated the formal testing enclosure from the rest of the simulation room. Old, familiar feelings rushed through her chest as she was led in, assumed her position on one of the far ends, the door closed behind her.
“Stay as calm as you can.” Her uncle’s voice had been distorted from outside the glass bubble. The one in the Eleventh District had been so similar to the one she stood in now, many years later. “I’m going to direct the first simulation so we can see how your magic’s progressing.”
In the present, here and now, a band of fear cinched across her chest.
You’re not thirteen anymore. In her mind, she could still hear her uncle’s sure and steady hand across buttons, swift and soft clicks. The solidi had glowed softly from the enclosure’s ceiling, reminding her of fireflies she’d caught as a child, bunched up towards the lid of the jar, seeking release that would never come.
“It’s a dragon!” She’d called out to him from her position. The instinctual fear, then and now, was the same. She hadn’t hold her uncle about it, in fact—
“Would you like to stop?” Danethor must have sensed it anyway.
“No.” She held resolute and tried to smile. If she hesitated then, had paused in any way, she would miss her registration into the District’s ledger of mages, would need to return to her family, where her magic would be used to fulfill the family’s wishes and not her own. Her mother and father weren’t here, not for this simulation, but if she did well, they would be present for the next.
She couldn’t fail.
Her uncle’s smile held a hint of grim pride. “Then let’s begin.”
Her body jolted as the dome above her head reverberated with magic from the Line. Solidi particles descended from their position at the top of the dome and congregated in a cluster. Hazelyn took a readying breath.
“Commencing simulation.” Venali’s voice was hollow through the wall that separated them.
The mass grew what appeared to be vines, shooting out with speed and strength. In the simulation, the Nightmare was based on information sent through the line rather than a dream, capable of being shut off at will. But, “You have to pretend as if there is no control. Fight as if lives were in the balance.”
Another steadying breath and a flick of her hand brought a glaive made of solidi to her side. With this much space, it was a more practical weapon than the shorter knife she could also manipulate her personal weapon into. Another concentrated burst added her energy to it, making it capable of inflicting damage.
“Simulation complete.”
What stood before her, easily three times her size, was a writhing beast that almost resembled a chimera, all but for the set of writhing tentacles on its back. She picked the butt of her glaive up from the ground, preparing to make a slow circle to find an opening. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Venali’s fingers shift on the control panel’s keys.
He could make this thing into anything he so desired.
And it can also breathe fire. She steadied her grip and tried to position herself.
While she moved, Charlok watched. She had good form, like something out of their training manuals. Her posture and footwork didn’t have any of the stiffness he was expecting. After skimming her file, he had a good picture of the family she’d come from; old magic, old money, not lifting a finger to do much aside from whatever made them happy.
A large part of him had expected sloppiness, whining, asking for something easier. Venali had thrown one of the more challenging simulations at her.
Part of him was waiting for her to fail.
As the other man’s hands hovered, waiting, she attacked.
Her first slice lacked a little grace, which Charlok attributed to nerves. But still, good form. Venali’s expression flickered, and he knew his superior saw it too. The Eighth District wouldn’t shame itself by sending somebody sub-par. Charlok folded his arms as the beast jerked back, some of its solidi cut cleanly away, then whipped to dodge with supernatural speed.
She almost didn’t make the turn to confront it in time. The corner of her blade barely whispered past, hissing into the creature’s mane. It roared, speaking with a lion’s growl and a woman’s scream, before it opened its jaws and gathered magic into itself.
The first shot of a tentacle was meant to jab at her midsection. Unlike the real thing, this controlled Nightmare would be unable to do lasting harm, but Charlok knew from experience they could deliver one hell of a shock. Again, she wasn’t quite quick enough to fully avoid the strike, and her features lit with pain, then annoyance as the swipe of her glaive didn’t fully deflect the attack.
Hazelyn skidded back as the beast did so in the opposite direction.
“Mm. Still trying to find an angle.” Charlok remarked that softly, more to himself. “She’s taking this pretty slow, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s called caution, Myrdin.” Venali input something else into the console. “Let’s see what the full extent of her abilities are.”
The second gathering of the beast’s magic lit the small chamber with a ghostly glow. A fresh pulse of magic spread out to the writhing vines on the chimera’s back, the simulation’s solidi seeking their target’s. When the first blow shot out this time, she was ready for it, parrying it before stepping into her next strike.
The animal bellowed as the offending tentacle struck the ground. The stump that remained pulled back into the body.
Then the glow focused into the animal’s maw. The supernatural fire that gathered there would deliver a stronger shock if it could connect, and through the glass, Charlok saw her expression change.
She lifted her glaive, more like a club, and screamed at the beast before it could loose the flame.
When she struck, it caught the animal in the head, and she gritted her teeth, bringing it down and through as the simulated solidi fought her. A gout of faux-flame spurted at her, a small, last-ditch effort from the dissecting beast.
She let go of her weapon, and he caught her body visibly shudder. The beast gave one last roar, and Venali typed something else into the console.
“Simulation one, complete. Beginning second simulation. Retrieve your weapon.”
She walked forward to, clearly sweating and out of breath. The hair had worked loose from the ponytail she’d gathered it in. “Ready,” she got out, giving herself a shake.
“Commencing.”
The second batch of solidi drew down, clustered and reformed. This second being was smaller, closer to a cyclops, and this time, she was more prepared. Each thrust, each dodge, each movement was more on-target, and she kept more of her calm.
Then, the cyclops faltered, faster than Venali could issue his next command. Hazelyn executed a stiff blow to its chest, then murmured something under her breath. Charlok couldn’t catch what it was.
What he did see was the being’s solidi give a pulse, then a soft shine. Venali tried to give the beast direction. “Hm, she appears to be pulling at its magic to consume it. Interesting.”
Charlok’s expression tightened. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.” His eyes locked to the simulation’s disappearing body, one particle at a time, through her weapon, into her hands and body.
His gut clenched. More and more disappeared, until only a small quarter of the cyclops’s feet remained.
Venali stepped back from the console, silent for a moment. His brow furrowed with thought, and then he called out.
“Good enough for today. You may come out now, Balonthere.”
“Wait a second. I need to push this out.” Her weapon disappeared in a blink, and she held a hand up, palm out. Solidi shimmered as she released them, floating up like tiny stars towards the simulation dome’s ceiling.
“Your notes say you retain solidi,” Venali said as she lowered her hand and waited at the dome’s door for him to open it.
“I do. But those are artificial, so I can purge them back out,” she explained.
“I see.” Venali released the lock on the door and Hazelyn opened it, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of a wrist and letting out a deep breath.
“How did I do?” She jogged over to where the two men waited. “Did I pass?” The questions quavered with exertion.
Venali gave her a small, paternal smile. “I would say so. We just need to finish your paperwork so you can be transferred over. Congratulations.”
When he reached his hand out to shake hers, Charlok felt his stomach give a fresh twist. “I gotta go make sure my med results got to the front office,” he told them, turning away. “I’ll catch up to you later.”
He turned and went before either could say anything.
No matter what excuses she gave, Balonthere was a potential monster.
All it would take was one small slip of control. The only reason she was there was that they needed all the people they could get.
The thought rankled him.
**
Watching him turn his back hurt worse than she’d expected it to. He was a stranger. His opinion shouldn’t have mattered.
“That’s wonderful, Danethor, she can dance like a puppet for the Organization one day.” Her mother’s voice was pure frost. “I can’t see why we should allow you to take her to them.”
“I’ve been working with the Organization for years, Melarue. Until we can find a way to disable or fully tame this Nightmare magic, Dream Slayers will be needed.”
“She’s better off making charms for Balonthere Works.” Her father now, arms folded, face grim.
Danethor frowned. “Allow that to be her decision, Jassin, not yours.”
Her room was small and utilitarian. Most of her possessions were still spread across the bed; clothes, an extra pair of shoes. A small gem remained folded into one of her casual blouses.
Making sure her door was closed, she unrolled the blouse and picked It up. Her hand still trembled with a fine thread of adrenaline, telling her the last bit of magic she’d drawn from the gem now resting between her fingers hadn’t been quite enough.
Not for the shock of the chimera’s fire. That, on top of the transfer, the new people, the new expectations, was exacerbating the burning apprehension she’d felt since she’d boarded the train in Dresik to come here. She was fortunate it hadn’t been obvious while she was shaking Venali’s hand or looking at Charlok.
Charlok, who was supposed to be her partner.
Which is going so wonderfully so far, she thought dryly. But no time to fret over him.
She murmured the spell the healer had taught her, watched the gem glow, closed her eyes and exhaled as its soothing magic spread over her.
Someday soon, she would need to rid herself of it. Already, she didn’t need it quite as often as she had before.
But, she thought ruefully, today was not that day. She took it from its concealment and slipped it into her pocket.
**
She was a small fish in a big pond after living her whole life with it being the other way around.
Charlok’s first thoughts when he’d finally been able to look at her file flitted from one thing to another. Little on her as a person, just summaries of her teachers’ academic observations. Good student when it came to books, applied her lessons well. While she was still relatively unseasoned by comparison to the older agents, she had ‘a good amount of potential,’ according to Chief Lialana. She was even given some small clearances and privileges not usually open to someone of her rank.
But—
“’Appears to be holding back the full range of her abilities, even among peers who accept them.’” He shot Venali a look across the desk that separated them. “So you want me to partner up with somebody who’s hiding herself from us and is a gods-damn monster to boot? Not a smart idea, you ask me.”
“She’s been extensively tested by the Ruling Council and they’ve determined she’s not a danger. Myrdin, honestly, this is getting ridiculous.” Clasping his hands, Venali leaned heavily into the top of his desk. “She’s passed her simulation; her telepathy tests came back clean. What more can you want?”
“Somebody else,” he answered flatly.
“Well, there’s no one else to spare.” Venali’s tone matched his. “You know just as well as I do that personnel have been spread thin enough. We lost many good Slayers when Euthemia died, and I do sincerely believe Balonthere’s magic will be useful in the challenges we’re facing.”
After all this time, a red spiderweb of hurt opened across his chest at the mention of her name. “And you replace ‘em with this.” He pushed the file back across the desk. “No, thanks.”
Venali sighed through his nose. “You’re not being given a choice here. There is no one else.” He brought the file to himself, opened the filing cabinet at his back, and walked his fingers among the folders inside. “I would like you both to report to Hassin Street as soon as she’s settled in here and we’ve all gone over a few things. That’s where our scouts have reported their readings to be spiking a bit lately for unsanctioned solidi activity.”
The declaration pissed him off but there was not much he could do to contest it. Charlok let out a sigh through his nose. “They tell you what we got out there? Rogues, kids screwing around with magic?”
“Probably the former, though we’ve seen no signs of it.” Another folder was slid from the bundle under his hands. “We have some people keeping an eye on it. It’s minor in the general scheme of things, shouldn’t test a fledging partnership too badly.”
Minor. That one hurt almost as bad as his former partner’s name. He managed to say nothing as the folder was slipped to him.
“Go over that with Balonthere,” he was directed. “It will likely be a few days, but I’ll call for you when it’s time for the briefing.”
The booze hadn’t been as strong as he would have liked but it did the job. Charlok wasn’t fond of strong alcohol these days; he passed up Fairy’s Silk and Hellfire for the simple stuff like beer. He hadn’t drunk heavily since the night he was told Euthemia passed, three cities away, probably alone. Somewhere between taking the folder and heading back to his room and dropping it off, he’d gone to a pub situated at the edge of the Enclave and sat in one of the bar stools.
The screams that lived constantly in his head quieted after one beer. Three in, he almost couldn’t see what her face had looked like in the hologram the cleanup crew had sent Venali’s predecessor after the incident took place.
The story he’d been told was that the Nightmare was a simple one. No shapeshifting, no real tricks up its handler’s sleeve. Euthemia was the strongest member of the small team that had been sent out to see what was going on. He, being little more than a student at the time, hadn’t been eligible to go.
And they tore her body up like a pile of rags. Almost nothing left.
What he could have done had he been there had haunted him ever since, and the telepathic therapy they’d given him to rid him of the intrusive thoughts hadn’t completely helped.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
He didn’t remember the walk back to his personal quarters or taking a seat at his desk. He didn’t recall when he fell asleep, lulled by the alcohol’s dulling of his qualms.
A glimmer of a dream passed through; an open sky filled with countless stars. Grass cast in shadows licked at his ankles. His feet were bare; he could feel the cold earth under his soles. A tree stretched up to meet them, leafy limbs sketching ink patterns across the moonlit expanse.
An unsolicited wistfulness stole across him. He leaned a hand into the trunk, feeling the knobby bark under his palm. A feeling he couldn’t identify welled in the center of his chest. He started to push away from the tree when--
“Charlok! Psst, hey!”
The tap on the shoulder pulled him abruptly back up past the layers of sleep, tearing their gossamer threads. He startled, swore, flung an arm at the offender. There was a gasp.
And then he was staring wild-eyed at Balonthere, her struck arm tucked against her chest, her eyes going from startled to annoyed.
“We’re late,” she informed him. “Chief Venali told me to come and get you.” She sniffed the air. “Is that beer?”
“Little bit.” He pushed his chair back, got up, and made a small face of his own. “Four drinks. That’s not a crime, is it?”
“Are you sober? He’s going to want us for the briefing,” she pressed. “It’s pretty pathetic if I don’t even need to use my aura to tell you’ve been drinking.”
He hummed as he unbuttoned and threw his outer uniform jacket off. “Let me get changed and washed up. You go on ahead. I wasn’t expecting him to come get us this early.”
“Obviously,” she sighed. “I’ll be outside.” Balonthere’s eyes raked him up and down. “And please hurry up. We’ll both look bad if we’re late.”
Gods-damn if she wasn’t aggravating for somebody who’d been stationed with him all of five days. But then, he had himself to thank for most of that. “Right,” he muttered. Memories of going over the briefing with her were still fresh in his mind; the whole ordeal had been awkward after her first day, and he’d been forced to make nice for walking out on her first training session. But, he had managed the second time around to shake her hand without flinching.
It was a start, but the stress was probably making his supps less effective, he realized on a frown. He never had taken that double dose. His door squeaked shut.
“Two minutes!” Balonthere called from behind it.
Damn. No time to think about that now.
Charlok hurried to dress, shaking the memory of those errant stars from his thoughts.
In the artificial city lights, he couldn’t make out the moon. The odors of combusting magic and components for charms drowned the scent of the wind and grass, the scents he’d grown up with in a tiny town far away.
The last location the Nightmare had been seen in was several feet away. No one had come in or gone out in the two hours they’d been there. His plainclothes, an unadorned short-sleeved shirt and bluewashed pants, felt like alien skin against his own. They were supposed to be selling charms, but thus far no one had taken them up on the contents of their parked auto-carriage.
Balonthere was getting bored. He could see it in the way she carried herself, and the way she hopped from foot to foot periodically.
Quit that, he scolded telepathically. You keep that up, and you’re gonna give us away.
A small flinch touched her features, but that guilt turned quickly to a mildly discomforted look. Can you not just barge in like that? It stings.
Their telepathic connection was new, forged the end of her first day there by Venali. The unease plagued him too, but that wasn’t unusual.
Sorry, but we gotta keep breaking it in. If we’re making this partnership work, we gotta keep the connection closed and private, or else anybody with a bit of telepathic ability’ll be able to listen in.
His eyes stayed on the street in front of them in the meantime. This wasn’t a good part of town, and most who caught his attention would hold his eyes for a breath or two until they looked away. He tried to keep his posture casual, his magic aura dampened. Sometimes mundanes purchased just as many illegal charms as their gifted counterparts.
Balonthere obviously hadn’t been on many covert operations. Is it normally like this?
Most of the time, he replied. Don’t think we’ll get lucky tonight.
Her gaze caught his with raised eyebrows but she didn’t say anything. The moments became minutes, which became hours. Balonthere shifted again. Somewhere close by, somebody hollered at their squalling baby in a bid for silence.
The man, in his bright clothes and shambling walk, caught their dual attention immediately. He stumbled without looking their way, even when Charlok stepped up to offer him a good deal on ice charms.
Something’s off. He pushed a cautionary feeling behind it so she wouldn’t get too close, too soon. The man simply could have been a drugged jester on his way home, but every lead was worth checking.
He…isn’t drunk. He could feel her disguise her aura to lap at the stranger’s. But he is magicked.
Watch yourself. He can feel it if you get too close. Charlok did the same, and sure enough, she was right. Not drunk, had magic of his own. And…
No enchantments, either ones he made himself or from an outside source. Charlok pulled his aura back, pausing at the end of the sidewalk. All right, let’s go after him, but keep our distance. You got enough spells on you?
Yes. Balonthere made a subtle gesture to the holster that held her wand. Ready whenever you are.
Remember, don’t let him see you.
I know.
She wasn’t dressed too dissimilarly to him. Venali had also ordered her to streak dirt on her cheeks the same way he had, and use enough makeup to put a jester to shame. Charlok had almost fallen from the office chair when it was suggested they play the part of a couple.
Leave the auto-carriage. Putting his hands in his pockets, he started off to trail the strangely-dressed man before giving her a jerk of his head to follow.
Every now and then, they had to pause. Normally, the drunks would be out staggering, the streetwalkers would be pandering. The dealers would have their dubious magic packets. Anything to make a quick piece of gold. Tonight, the roads were all but empty. The houses stood behind them, huddled together, lights out.
Frost tickled his spine in warning. Stay close. Closer. He turned his head to see her all but on his tail. Good. Might be something innocent, but you never know.
He saw her lips shift to a line as a sliver of the man’s silhouette turned down one of the narrow alleys. The communal homes weren’t too far off; people of all walks who were down on their luck took up residence there. The man broke into a warbling song as he took the stairs up, leaning heavily into the railing on the way.
Charlok caught a soft snort at his back. He’s probably on drugs. Balonthere’s tone, even in his head, was confident. Some new kinds are almost impossible to pick up with your aura.
Still, we better follow him up after we’re sure he’s down for the night. He waited until he heard a door open and saw a light go on in the interior of the man’s small cubicle. After it shut with a slam, he motioned her to come with him under the staircase.
Fifteen minutes passed, then a half-hour.
Almost time, he informed her, pointing to the apartment above their heads. She gestured back to show she’d heard, and then they took the stairs up.
What if this is nothing? What will we tell anyone who sees us? Her question almost broke though his concentration, and his answer was terse.
They won’t. I took a couple invisibility spells. Make sure to use your nullification armor in case he’s got spells.
Here, the windows allowed him to peer in. No need to disguise his magic and push his second sight in to get a better read on the situation, not right away. A bed, a back was to him. The man hadn’t bothered with covering himself up; his motley clothes stood out in the light of his mage lamp like a rose mixed with daisies. He ducked, narrowing his eyes through the gap in the curtain. Silence. Their target seemed normal enough. He took one charm from his pocket, offered another to her, and activated them. A layer of magic meant to neutralize others’ magic went over that, and then, they waited.
Over time, his legs began to grow stiff. Above his head, he could feel the moon being blotted out. Clouds were gathering. The wind picked up, cold for the time of year.
Then the first raindrop spattered cold between his shoulder blades.
He swore inside his head, mostly to himself, but caught her give him a mild look of disapproval. Now what?
Couple more minutes, he tried to soothe. The rain won’t pick up that much.
Twenty minutes after that, both were soaked through.
‘A couple more minutes.’ His partner’s scorn seethed through their connection. He hasn’t moved at all, Charlok.
A snake of water slipped down the back of his neck. He pushed his magic out one more time, felt the same things he had since they’d begun. No magic appeared to be disguised around them, not for miles, and he drew his senses back into himself.
False alarm, he was forced to conclude. He straightened up within the charm and gave his lower back a small crack. It’s pretty much time for a shift change anyway. Kevil and Gret should be here.
A strong buffet of wind almost cut through them on the way down the stairs. The rain began to come more heavily. Charlok squinted into the gusts and reached back.
Take my hand and watch your step.
Bossy, aren’t we? That was dry, but she had little choice but to do as he said. As they picked their way down, Charlok felt another chill pass over him, this one stronger. Damn wind.
She paused behind him. One of them is asking where we are. A woman.
Kevil. Tell her we’ll be there as soon as we can walk back.
He felt another touch of magic against him as she complied, and he hurried his pace to slog through the water.
Kevil had chosen to park their disguised auto-carriage some ways away from where he’d done so, and he blessed the relief of the carriage’s warmer interior as he started it up and navigated his way back out. They were some ways out of town so as not to raise suspicion, and he flicked a heat charm on as they went.
Finally, he caught the glow of their carriage-lamps, subtly guiding them to where they needed to be. Kevil was waiting for his report, her short hair slicked back under a low cap. She and Gret were both in disguise as well, she as a streetwalker, he as her handler. For a married pair, it was a strange choice of concealment, he thought.
“What did you find out?” She was all business, always had been.
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Thought we found somebody, a jester in building 4-7, but…Must’ve been an addict. Didn’t move, no magic around him, or anyplace nearby that wasn’t normal.”
“Whoever it was probably caught onto the idea that we’re here and moved on.” Gret was tall and dark-haired, with eyes that reminded him of black buttons. He and Kevil had been partnered since a time long before he’d started to hunt Nightmares. “Better tell the Chief that he’s wasting his time and resources, bringing us out here.”
“You know it doesn’t work that way. Stop the damn shirking.” Kevil turned back to Charlok. “He’s cracking wise. Mostly. You two better get out of the rain.”
“That’s what we’re gonna do.” He turned back to his carriage and opened the door. Kevil was smirking.
“Something the matter?” he tossed over his back. “Your luck’s not gonna be much better than ours.”
She shook her head. “We’ll see about that, Myrdin, but that’s…Never mind.”
“What?” he asked, impatient. Balonthere was already in the carriage, and he left his hand on the door.
Gret was smiling slightly too. “I know what she’s thinking, even if she won’t say it.”
“What’s that?” He was losing his patience as his shirt clung wetly to his back.
“Oh, go ahead and tell him, Ciradyl, and stop using your telepathy just with me.”
Kevil pursed her lips. “I was only thinking that you both remind us of our fledging days.”
Charlok’s reply was a snort. “Not everybody wants to bed their work partner, Gret, that’s all in your wheelhouse.”
Before either could say anything more, he got in and closed the door. Balonthere wouldn’t so much as look at him. His hands tensed on the wheel.
Any relief he’d felt at dodging any large problems at work were immediately rendered invalid.
For a shimmering instant, he was pristine.
Machinery blurred. Her breath slowed.
He was there.
She’d been sure to blot out his imperfections, of course. He’d hated those, the nose broken from an old accident, the scars that looped down from collarbone to abdomen. His eyes were her crowning achievement, however; soft and blue, they found hers, locking with them, begging her to permit him to remain among the living.
For years, he’d haunted the dreams she wasn’t supposed to have. She’d gone off the suppression pills shortly after leaving the organization. Construction on the dream-maker began not long after. The memories were thorns niggling at the back of her eyelids, growing larger by the day.
Watching him behind the maker’s glass made the pain worthwhile.
Lifting her hand took a massive effort. The bloodless fingers at her side twitched. Using so much of her personal energy was taking a toll. Soon, she would need more, and harvesting it was a risk. No one would hand it to her of their own volition. She would need to be stealthy in taking it.
She could not afford to be caught.
The solidi shifted and his face slid downwards with it, a melting candle. The particles her old teacher had manipulated, and taught her to manipulate in turn, were unstable without a soul to hold them together.
Nothing for it, then. She would need to draw from her kin, though her former fellow Dreamers would rather kill her than see her dream become reality.
The woman lying on the bed blinked hard. Once, twice. The third time made the tubes leading from her helmet to the heart of the machine hiss. Her body jerked as her energy flew back, a bird returning to roost. Gears ground to a halt.
The man behind the glass disappeared. Wiped clean, she thought sadly, as if he never was.
Yet, he had once been.
Just a bit more, and he would be once again, right after she found them all.
She removed the helmet with shaking hands. She couldn’t wait long.
**
“When was your last dream?”
This nurse was better than the last one had been. The needle slid home without much effort, a small pop of skin under the ligature. The tube leading to the collection receptacle purpled with blood.
He tried to think. “I dunno. Twelve?”
“Twelve.” The woman made note of that in her chart. “And how did that dream manifest?”
“Uh…Uh-huh. Well.” The man sitting across from her rubbed his free hand over light-brown hair and gave her a small smile. “You sure you wanna hear it?”
He was greeted with a blank look. “Sir, I need this information for your records. Of course, I need to.”
“All right.” He dropped his hand and shrugged. “My teacher in Fourth Form was pretty young. Just graduated from Prep. Might’ve been…Twenty-two? Three? And I had the seat up front, one row back. She gets there, and--.”
“Very good, Mr. Myrdin. That’s good enough.” More jotting. “We just need a little more blood to make sure your suppression medication is doing its job.”
Gods in the damned Ether. “You got your one tube.”
“Sir--.”
“Figure out how you’re gonna use it.” Charlok Myrdin unbunched his fist. The unbuttoned sleeve of his dark uniform hung loosely from his pale arm.
The container was nearly full.
“We need one for the Dreamers Organization and another for our public records. If I don’t get two vials---.”
“Split it up into two if you think you’ll need it that bad.” Tension bunched along his shoulders. “You keep taking more, and I’m gonna start thinking you’re selling it to somebody. I take my damn supps. You’ll see it in the bloodwork.”
The woman eyed him, sizing him up. The selling of charmed blood within District walls was illegal, and even the accusation made her wary. She was as average as they came, both in looks and ability, not worth talking too sweet to. He could see she didn’t want to deal with a Dreamer today, and he as sure in the ten hells didn’t want to put up with her.
“Very well,” she repeated. That was what these types of people always said. He swallowed back irritation. “I’ll divide your sample and we’ll see what level of suppressive medication is in there. You’re sure you’re not having any wayward dreams? About former teachers or otherwise?”
Huffy correction and a jab. Nice. The thought threatened to bring a smile to his lips. If she didn’t have looks, personality could be just as good, if not better.
It quickly died as his communicator sent a warming tingle through his hip. Judging by the vibration, it had to be Venali. Figures he’d want me right now. And he wasn’t good with waiting, either.
“Wh-What was that?” The healer froze before getting the needle out of his arm, gloved hands poised above the tubing. “Was that magic?”
He hummed an affirmative. “Boss wants me back, I’m sure, sooner the better with him. You mind digging that out?” He nodded to the needle. “You got enough.”
When she touched him again, he could feel the tremors running along her fingertips. That decided that; the only reason he didn’t pull back from their cold questing after the needle was the harm he’d do to himself.
“We should have results by the end of the week,” she rattled off. Unnerved. Good. Maybe he should have told her he’d turn her into a horse next, or whatever steaming load of bullpile mundane folks believed. She had a good face to make a pony.
The needle reemerged with a hot scraping against his arm. A trail of blood followed and the healer stared for a full beat before she turned away.
Like snakes’ll crawl out of my arm.
“Let me get you a cotton ball. We need to make sure you don’t lose more blood than necessary.”
He waited until it was within reach, then, as she lowered those fish-cold fingers, he plucked it from them.
“H—Wait!” She scrabbled for it, but he was already up, pressing it to the crook of his arm. He could already feel a warm trickle of blood leaking past it.
“Good seeing ya.” He turned his back. He didn’t expect her to come after him, and she didn’t. “Make sure you send those results through the Line, by the way. Venali needs everybody on deck as soon as he can get ‘em.” The Line, the conduit through which all magic flowed across the world, was the main delivery system of magic missives.
The door closed.
The next reminder through his communicator was as hot as a brand and he had to rip it off.
I just got out. Gods’ sakes. I see the train now.
How many people are boarding the train, Myrdin? Yup, Venali was pissed off today. The force of his displeasure cut like a knife through the telepathic connection. Someone’s waiting here for you.
That threw him. Waiting for me? Who?
Just get on the gods-damn train. She’s been here for a half hour and we’re both losing our patience.
Venali cut the connection. Charlok muttered a swear. He had to have been reassigned to a potential partner.
The last one—
He swallowed hard as old memories threatened to resurface. Maybe a double dose of supps would get his head to shut up while he was awake, too.
**
The young woman sitting across from him was losing her patience. Rightfully so, Venali thought; Myrdin’s medical appointments didn’t normally take the better part of two hours.
Well, he supposed, that was what one got when all the Gift-based healers were preoccupied with other matters.
“How much longer did you say he’s going to be?” Yes, definite, although disguised, impatience touched her voice as she tapped fingers on kneecaps.
“I didn’t.” Ayen Venali steepled his own. “I just sent him a communication over the Line fifteen minutes ago. He assured me he was taking the train back.”
She glanced at her wristwatch with a wrinkle of her freckled nose. “He’s taking it at the same time half the city is?” Venali could see her suppress a sigh. “Great.”
“Shall we finish going over your information then?” The man at the desk took a sheaf of papers between his fingers, tapping it on the surface of his desk to even them out. “Miss Hazelyn Elora Balonthere, correct? Of the House of Balonthere?” Venali had skimmed some of her information earlier, her birthright, how she’d grown up, the accomplishments she’d had. Aspasia Lialana, chief of the Eighth District, was stringent with her officers. But now it was time to see her demeanor, to be certain she was a good potential partner for Myrdin.
A bout of stiffness rode her shoulders while something that wasn’t quite irritation or shame flickered in her eyes. “Yes.”
“And you graduated from Prepatory two years ago?”
“Three.” The correction was followed with a slight twist of her thin lips. They fit her long, narrow, face, her pale skin with a series of freckles scattered like flecked paint. The hair she’d drawn back from it into a long braid was auburn, a definite mark of the Balontheres.
“Three, I apologize.” He continued to skim her file. “The Eighth District can misplace information on its operatives from time to time.” He laid the papers down, fingertip running over the type under it. Then, he paused.
“It says here that you completed some healers’ training before your graduation?”
“I tried one of the healing programs, yes.” He was certainly hitting a nerve now. “I didn’t finish.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes sought one of the cracks in the wooden floor boards. “They told me that my magic wasn’t strong enough to, but my other ability should be able to compensate and make me useful to you.”
Venali hummed low in the back of his throat. “Yes, that. Ah…It also says here that your mother is Melarue Norlynn.”
“Was.” That was terse. “My uncle’s name is Danethor Norylnn. I was his ward when I was little.”
“Right, yes, now I see. He was a top graduate, Norlynn. So, he trained you in how to use your magic.” More reading. “It also says here you need to recite an incantation phrase with your wand,” he went on, unfazed. “Was a member of your family mundane?”
The word iced in the still air between them. Her gaze snapped up to his. “I thought I was coming to a mission briefing, not a prejudiced inquisition. I can take my things out of that room and leave right now.”
“Miss Balonthere.” He tried to make his tone soothing. “I’d simply like to go over your information, that’s all. There’s no judgement here.”
“Fine. Yes, I do.” Her stare held a subtle challenge. “And yes, kind of. Magic skipped over Mother, and none of the imbuement therapies they tried helped.”
“Then you’re fortunate that your father’s side bore out and gave you magic,” Venali said with what he hoped was a kindly smile.
She didn’t reply to that, eyes still locked to his.
“May I see your wand?” he tried after a moment.
Wordlessly, after some hesitation, she reached for her right middle finger. A small golden ring, a red stone in its setting, was set carefully at the edge of his desk. One command from her, and it would become a traditional wand. He would have to reach for it, an understated signal that his questions had stung. He sighed through his nose and stood to retrieve it.
The magic of her soul was different from what he usually encountered. The ring rested warm in his palm as he reached his own abilities out to it. Just strong enough to make the cut for acceptable magic strength. Others would have called her a halfbreed.
But, his branch of the Dreamers needed all the help they could get, impure or no.
“Very good.” He got up again to set it where she’d left it, and the Balonthere girl closed her hand over it, eager to get it out of his reach again. “What did you say your incantation was?”
“I didn’t.” Now those thin lips were in a near-smile. “Uncle Danethor taught me to have more than one so I could fit my magic to different situations as they came up.”
“I see. Can you give me an example?”
“I--.”
The door clicking open interrupted them both.
“Ah. There’s the man of the hour.” Venali lifted his eyes to his other operative. “How was the train, Myrdin?”
“Pretty damn bad. Right about what you’d expect midday. Crying kids, people all shoved up into each other, stops every two ticks.” Charlok took the cotton ball he’d managed to wipe most of the blood off of his arm with and aim for the can next to Venali’s desk. Pulling his sleeve up to button it back into place, he glanced over at the other occupied chair. “Who’s this?”
The woman answered before Venali could. “Hazelyn Balonthere. I’m your new partner.” She lifted her chin at him, then put out a hand in greeting.
Charlok took it. Surprise shifted through his chest. “You look pretty young. How old’d you say you were?”
She snorted. “Twenty-three. I just got done telling Chief Venali, I graduated three years ago.” Her hand took his when he didn’t fully extend it. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
“Oh, sorry. You look like an Eighth Former.”
Her hand tightened over his. “I wouldn’t be here if I was that young.”
“Joking. Gods Almighty.” He withdrew his hand and turned to Venali. “She’s gonna be out there with me?”
“Yes.” Venali massaged a temple. “Right after you’ve shown her around and she’s had some time to acquaint herself with our Nightmare Simulator.”
“Simulator?” For the first time since she’d come to his office, with a polite greeting and a chipper, polite demeanor that soured the longer they’d had to wait, her eyes lit up. “You have one here too? My uncle helped restore the improved one in the Eighth District. I was still little then, but he let me watch him work on it. It’s still the biggest one on Escua.”
“Yeah. That’s the one Venali’s been meaning to get his hands on for the last five years. Who’d you say your uncle was?”
Her enthusiasm dampened somewhat, turning to wariness. “Danethor Norlynn.”
“Oh. The guy who got himself killed two years ago? The machinarius?”
Once again, she answered with a clipped, “Yes. But he’s still one of the best technology mages Escua ever had. Are you always this rude to people you don’t know?”
“Rude? It’s the truth. He was working on something and it killed him.”
“You don’t have to say that like he was an idiot.” Pain mingled with her indignation. “He made a mistake.”
Five minutes into meeting her and it was already going downhill. Charlok finished buttoning his sleeve. “Look, that wasn’t what I meant. You want to finish up this briefing?”
Her lips thinned out as they tightened. “I guess. The sooner we do that, the sooner I can see that simulator.” As she spoke, she started to put her manipulator back on.
And then she froze, staring at her fingers. “Are you bleeding?”
He’d forgotten about it until she pointed it out. “Yeah.” He grimaced. “Must’ve sprung a leak.”
Her answer was a heavy sigh. “What kinds of healers are they hiring? Do they even give out cotton balls or bandages anymore?” She pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket with her clean hand and made a show of wiping her fingers. “Let me see.”
In light of their previous tension, he balked at the offer. “I’ll get down to the med bay before we go see the training room. Thanks.”
Then, like a white piece of fluffy damnation, the cotton ball dropped from the cuff of his sleeve to the floor.
Hazelyn glanced up at him. “So, you had a cotton ball, but didn’t use it.”
“Pretty much.” He stooped to retrieve it. “Bad day at the clinic.”
“Well, you can’t go walking around broken up if we’re supposed to be working together,” she told him.
“Just a moment,” Venali cut in. “We’ll get to your assignment after you’ve gone through the simulator. Myrdin will be with you momentarily to set the parameters. Chief Lialana told you what your assignment is going to be, correct?”
“’There have been loose Nightmares in the Eleventh District. Help Venali with them and see to it he doesn’t manage to ruin half the neighborhood in trying to secure it,’” she quoted.
Ah right, Lialana never had been fond of him. Perhaps that was part of why she’d sent him Balonthere. “That’s…correct. Mydrin, I’m going to need you for a moment. Balonthere, you may wait outside. I’d like to discuss details of the next possible assignment with him.”
Surprise sparked in the newcomer’s eyes but she didn’t contest it. “Understood. I’ll be right outside the door then.” She got up and dropped something on the desk in front of Charlok. “Make sure to use that.”
It was a small mage-bandage.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“And also, Balonthere, we’ll discuss the details of your ability after you’re done with the simulation.”
She nodded and the door clicked shut. Again, the tension was back in her eyes.
After he was sure she wouldn’t overhear, he raised an eyebrow at the other man. “I missing something here? You told me the other day you think she’s good enough to pass.” He twisted his head the way she’d gone. “And what’s the problem with her ability?”
“The simulator is a formality. Yes, I believe from what I read of her transcripts that she’ll do well. As far as the ‘problem,’ well. I wouldn’t call it that.”
Venali had a habit of touching the tip of his nose with his fingertips when he was weighing out his words. He did it now, humming softly to himself.
Charlok waited him out, picking up the mage bandage. A soft tap of his fingertips against its sterilized outer edge made it open enough to cover the small hole in his arm, and once more he unbuttoned his sleeve to do so.
“No, I wouldn’t call it a problem,” Venali repeated. “More of a challenge.”
Charlok didn’t like the sound of that. “You figured you’d dump this ‘challenge’ off on my lap, huh?”
“I thought it may help you,” Venali told him. His tone was almost pleading. “Considering how we lost Euthemia…” He stopped and shook his head. “This girl’s abilities are not too far off from hers.”
Euthemia. Really, she was more like the mother his had failed to be. His heart scabbed over in ice and he had to grip the chair arm to hold his initial reaction in check. No, getting emotional wouldn’t serve him here.
“How’s she stack up?” he found himself asking. “What can she do?”
Venali silently slid her folder across to him, a wordless bid to read it. He reached out to accept.
The paper folder felt like fire under his fingers.
Charlok already knew he wasn’t going to like what he found when he opened it.
**
“In spite of everything I’m quite certain your parents have told you, you can do this.”
Uncle Danethor was the only one at her junior magic trial. Her arm was still healing from the bloodwork and the testing, the back of her tongue still sour from the potions they’d asked her to ingest to bring out the magic in her. Just in case, the healer had told her.
She knew he meant ‘in case you’re like your mother’ but didn’t dare ask. Everyone knew the offspring of a mage and a mundane had a higher chance of being mundane herself. But she had mended that bird’s wing, watched as it flew off.
Now her uncle extended his hand, palm flat, a knife in the other.
“Wait, what are you doing?” She still remembered herself, the horrified eight-year-old, as he drew that blade across skin. The blood dripped red to the floorboards. “Uncle!”
He didn’t seem to feel the pain. “Seeing what you’re capable of. Now, try to heal this. Quickly, now, I don’t want your aunt to see.”
And so she’d tried, and had somewhat succeeded. He’d still had a scar there the day he—
Hazelyn leaned harder into the brick wall at her back, feeling its cold abrasiveness through her starched uniform. It didn’t match the ones the Slayers in the Eighth District wore. She suspected Venali would fix that soon.
Through the door, she could hear the low thrum of their conversation. Venali was nice enough, all things considered. She and Chief Lialana had never gotten along; she suspected it had to do with her magic.
“You’ll be of better use to Venali and his…band.” Aspasia Lialana wasn’t an easy woman. Her family and Hazelyn’s had been close a few generations ago. An old favor was the only reason she’d been able to receive the therapy she had and been offered a job. “Things on their side of the Enclave have gotten worse, not that I’m at all shocked. Make sure you’re as dutiful there as you are here. We don’t need the mundanes putting our heads on pikes if the Nightmares get out of hand, and from Venali has sent me, they may be doing so very soon. Magic has been spiking in some areas, and Nightmages like nothing more than to send their progeny out when they have enough to work with.”
While magic and magictech weren’t uncommon throughout the world, they weren’t in common use outside of what few existing Enclaves there were. Escua’s was the largest and the most prone to magic-related accidents.
Nightmares were the worst of them. The tangible manifestation of mages whose dreams were so powerful they could alter reality itself, they could only be slain by magic means. Suppression medication was prescribed to those who could Dream as soon as they showed the signs, making it so they couldn’t alter reality accidentally.
The drawback was that they could no longer dream in any capacity for fear it would go beyond control. The Organization existed so mages on the whole could--
Fighting fire with fire. She’d never liked that saying. Maybe she would invent a better one if—
“Ten hells alight.” A growl interrupted her thoughts and the door flew open. High spots of color leaped high on Charlok’s cheeks and he had a folder in hand.
Her folder.
She resisted the cold whirlpool that instinctually opened in her chest to fold her arms. “Now what’s wrong?”
“Venali didn’t tell me I was gonna be working with a--.” He let out a breath and stopped his temper before it could have full control of his mouth.
The edges of that whirlpool sparked hot. “A what?” Hazelyn challenged. “Did he tell you what my magic can do? Is that why you look like you’re trying to pass fireballs through your urethra?”
“A dauber. No, he didn’t tell me you’re—like that.”
For a moment, she was the fundamentally broken child whose magic skills weren’t dampened because of her heritage, but because she needed to pull magic from things in order to use them. ‘Dauber’ was the street name for people like her. Not quite a curse, but close, in many mouths.
“There’s nothing wrong with how I’m ‘like.’” Her eyes spat defiance. “My magic’s just as normal as yours. I’m trained. I’m safe. I’ll show you in the simulation.”
“I—Gods’ only avatar.” Charlok shook his head, ran his hand through already-smoothed hair. “Venali told me he was giving me somebody like Euthemia. My last partner. Euthemia made magic, she didn’t wipe it clean.”
“That isn’t what I do,” she corrected shortly. “I don’t erase magic. I absorb it and reconstruct it.”
He had to bite back a ‘same damn thing.’ “You’re still gonna need a hell of a lot more training than somebody normal.”
“I am normal!” she said between clamped teeth. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”
“Myrdin, get back in here.” Venali, hand curled around the door, expression that of a disappointed parent. “We can talk about this.”
“Nobody told me what she is ‘til five minutes ago. And then I had to read it,” Charlok pointed out. “You know how daubers get treated here.”
“I do know,” his superior informed him. “And I also know I sent missives asking for assistance to the other Districts. We received what they could spare.”
Hazelyn’s heart was thumping hard, hard enough to send ripples across her vision. “You haven’t given me a chance yet and you’re already deciding what I can and can’t do. Well, let’s go, because I’m going to show you right now.”
“Just a second.” Venali held a hand up as Charlok opened his mouth. “Before anyone creates any more of a scene, we’re going to take five minutes to settle down. Then, we’ll reconvene in the Simulation chamber. Myrdin, since you can’t seem to exhibit self-control, I’ll be conducting the simulation. Balonthere, you took everything you’ll need from your personal effects that you’ll need for the simulation, correct?”
She gave a curt nod.
“Very well. Five minutes, and then we’ll get started.”
Magic-proof glass separated the formal testing enclosure from the rest of the simulation room. Old, familiar feelings rushed through her chest as she was led in, assumed her position on one of the far ends, the door closed behind her.
“Stay as calm as you can.” Her uncle’s voice had been distorted from outside the glass bubble. The one in the Eleventh District had been so similar to the one she stood in now, many years later. “I’m going to direct the first simulation so we can see how your magic’s progressing.”
In the present, here and now, a band of fear cinched across her chest.
You’re not thirteen anymore. In her mind, she could still hear her uncle’s sure and steady hand across buttons, swift and soft clicks. The solidi had glowed softly from the enclosure’s ceiling, reminding her of fireflies she’d caught as a child, bunched up towards the lid of the jar, seeking release that would never come.
“It’s a dragon!” She’d called out to him from her position. The instinctual fear, then and now, was the same. She hadn’t hold her uncle about it, in fact—
“Would you like to stop?” Danethor must have sensed it anyway.
“No.” She held resolute and tried to smile. If she hesitated then, had paused in any way, she would miss her registration into the District’s ledger of mages, would need to return to her family, where her magic would be used to fulfill the family’s wishes and not her own. Her mother and father weren’t here, not for this simulation, but if she did well, they would be present for the next.
She couldn’t fail.
Her uncle’s smile held a hint of grim pride. “Then let’s begin.”
Her body jolted as the dome above her head reverberated with magic from the Line. Solidi particles descended from their position at the top of the dome and congregated in a cluster. Hazelyn took a readying breath.
“Commencing simulation.” Venali’s voice was hollow through the wall that separated them.
The mass grew what appeared to be vines, shooting out with speed and strength. In the simulation, the Nightmare was based on information sent through the line rather than a dream, capable of being shut off at will. But, “You have to pretend as if there is no control. Fight as if lives were in the balance.”
Another steadying breath and a flick of her hand brought a glaive made of solidi to her side. With this much space, it was a more practical weapon than the shorter knife she could also manipulate her personal weapon into. Another concentrated burst added her energy to it, making it capable of inflicting damage.
“Simulation complete.”
What stood before her, easily three times her size, was a writhing beast that almost resembled a chimera, all but for the set of writhing tentacles on its back. She picked the butt of her glaive up from the ground, preparing to make a slow circle to find an opening. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Venali’s fingers shift on the control panel’s keys.
He could make this thing into anything he so desired.
And it can also breathe fire. She steadied her grip and tried to position herself.
While she moved, Charlok watched. She had good form, like something out of their training manuals. Her posture and footwork didn’t have any of the stiffness he was expecting. After skimming her file, he had a good picture of the family she’d come from; old magic, old money, not lifting a finger to do much aside from whatever made them happy.
A large part of him had expected sloppiness, whining, asking for something easier. Venali had thrown one of the more challenging simulations at her.
Part of him was waiting for her to fail.
As the other man’s hands hovered, waiting, she attacked.
Her first slice lacked a little grace, which Charlok attributed to nerves. But still, good form. Venali’s expression flickered, and he knew his superior saw it too. The Eighth District wouldn’t shame itself by sending somebody sub-par. Charlok folded his arms as the beast jerked back, some of its solidi cut cleanly away, then whipped to dodge with supernatural speed.
She almost didn’t make the turn to confront it in time. The corner of her blade barely whispered past, hissing into the creature’s mane. It roared, speaking with a lion’s growl and a woman’s scream, before it opened its jaws and gathered magic into itself.
The first shot of a tentacle was meant to jab at her midsection. Unlike the real thing, this controlled Nightmare would be unable to do lasting harm, but Charlok knew from experience they could deliver one hell of a shock. Again, she wasn’t quite quick enough to fully avoid the strike, and her features lit with pain, then annoyance as the swipe of her glaive didn’t fully deflect the attack.
Hazelyn skidded back as the beast did so in the opposite direction.
“Mm. Still trying to find an angle.” Charlok remarked that softly, more to himself. “She’s taking this pretty slow, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s called caution, Myrdin.” Venali input something else into the console. “Let’s see what the full extent of her abilities are.”
The second gathering of the beast’s magic lit the small chamber with a ghostly glow. A fresh pulse of magic spread out to the writhing vines on the chimera’s back, the simulation’s solidi seeking their target’s. When the first blow shot out this time, she was ready for it, parrying it before stepping into her next strike.
The animal bellowed as the offending tentacle struck the ground. The stump that remained pulled back into the body.
Then the glow focused into the animal’s maw. The supernatural fire that gathered there would deliver a stronger shock if it could connect, and through the glass, Charlok saw her expression change.
She lifted her glaive, more like a club, and screamed at the beast before it could loose the flame.
When she struck, it caught the animal in the head, and she gritted her teeth, bringing it down and through as the simulated solidi fought her. A gout of faux-flame spurted at her, a small, last-ditch effort from the dissecting beast.
She let go of her weapon, and he caught her body visibly shudder. The beast gave one last roar, and Venali typed something else into the console.
“Simulation one, complete. Beginning second simulation. Retrieve your weapon.”
She walked forward to, clearly sweating and out of breath. The hair had worked loose from the ponytail she’d gathered it in. “Ready,” she got out, giving herself a shake.
“Commencing.”
The second batch of solidi drew down, clustered and reformed. This second being was smaller, closer to a cyclops, and this time, she was more prepared. Each thrust, each dodge, each movement was more on-target, and she kept more of her calm.
Then, the cyclops faltered, faster than Venali could issue his next command. Hazelyn executed a stiff blow to its chest, then murmured something under her breath. Charlok couldn’t catch what it was.
What he did see was the being’s solidi give a pulse, then a soft shine. Venali tried to give the beast direction. “Hm, she appears to be pulling at its magic to consume it. Interesting.”
Charlok’s expression tightened. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.” His eyes locked to the simulation’s disappearing body, one particle at a time, through her weapon, into her hands and body.
His gut clenched. More and more disappeared, until only a small quarter of the cyclops’s feet remained.
Venali stepped back from the console, silent for a moment. His brow furrowed with thought, and then he called out.
“Good enough for today. You may come out now, Balonthere.”
“Wait a second. I need to push this out.” Her weapon disappeared in a blink, and she held a hand up, palm out. Solidi shimmered as she released them, floating up like tiny stars towards the simulation dome’s ceiling.
“Your notes say you retain solidi,” Venali said as she lowered her hand and waited at the dome’s door for him to open it.
“I do. But those are artificial, so I can purge them back out,” she explained.
“I see.” Venali released the lock on the door and Hazelyn opened it, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of a wrist and letting out a deep breath.
“How did I do?” She jogged over to where the two men waited. “Did I pass?” The questions quavered with exertion.
Venali gave her a small, paternal smile. “I would say so. We just need to finish your paperwork so you can be transferred over. Congratulations.”
When he reached his hand out to shake hers, Charlok felt his stomach give a fresh twist. “I gotta go make sure my med results got to the front office,” he told them, turning away. “I’ll catch up to you later.”
He turned and went before either could say anything.
No matter what excuses she gave, Balonthere was a potential monster.
All it would take was one small slip of control. The only reason she was there was that they needed all the people they could get.
The thought rankled him.
**
Watching him turn his back hurt worse than she’d expected it to. He was a stranger. His opinion shouldn’t have mattered.
“That’s wonderful, Danethor, she can dance like a puppet for the Organization one day.” Her mother’s voice was pure frost. “I can’t see why we should allow you to take her to them.”
“I’ve been working with the Organization for years, Melarue. Until we can find a way to disable or fully tame this Nightmare magic, Dream Slayers will be needed.”
“She’s better off making charms for Balonthere Works.” Her father now, arms folded, face grim.
Danethor frowned. “Allow that to be her decision, Jassin, not yours.”
Her room was small and utilitarian. Most of her possessions were still spread across the bed; clothes, an extra pair of shoes. A small gem remained folded into one of her casual blouses.
Making sure her door was closed, she unrolled the blouse and picked It up. Her hand still trembled with a fine thread of adrenaline, telling her the last bit of magic she’d drawn from the gem now resting between her fingers hadn’t been quite enough.
Not for the shock of the chimera’s fire. That, on top of the transfer, the new people, the new expectations, was exacerbating the burning apprehension she’d felt since she’d boarded the train in Dresik to come here. She was fortunate it hadn’t been obvious while she was shaking Venali’s hand or looking at Charlok.
Charlok, who was supposed to be her partner.
Which is going so wonderfully so far, she thought dryly. But no time to fret over him.
She murmured the spell the healer had taught her, watched the gem glow, closed her eyes and exhaled as its soothing magic spread over her.
Someday soon, she would need to rid herself of it. Already, she didn’t need it quite as often as she had before.
But, she thought ruefully, today was not that day. She took it from its concealment and slipped it into her pocket.
**
She was a small fish in a big pond after living her whole life with it being the other way around.
Charlok’s first thoughts when he’d finally been able to look at her file flitted from one thing to another. Little on her as a person, just summaries of her teachers’ academic observations. Good student when it came to books, applied her lessons well. While she was still relatively unseasoned by comparison to the older agents, she had ‘a good amount of potential,’ according to Chief Lialana. She was even given some small clearances and privileges not usually open to someone of her rank.
But—
“’Appears to be holding back the full range of her abilities, even among peers who accept them.’” He shot Venali a look across the desk that separated them. “So you want me to partner up with somebody who’s hiding herself from us and is a gods-damn monster to boot? Not a smart idea, you ask me.”
“She’s been extensively tested by the Ruling Council and they’ve determined she’s not a danger. Myrdin, honestly, this is getting ridiculous.” Clasping his hands, Venali leaned heavily into the top of his desk. “She’s passed her simulation; her telepathy tests came back clean. What more can you want?”
“Somebody else,” he answered flatly.
“Well, there’s no one else to spare.” Venali’s tone matched his. “You know just as well as I do that personnel have been spread thin enough. We lost many good Slayers when Euthemia died, and I do sincerely believe Balonthere’s magic will be useful in the challenges we’re facing.”
After all this time, a red spiderweb of hurt opened across his chest at the mention of her name. “And you replace ‘em with this.” He pushed the file back across the desk. “No, thanks.”
Venali sighed through his nose. “You’re not being given a choice here. There is no one else.” He brought the file to himself, opened the filing cabinet at his back, and walked his fingers among the folders inside. “I would like you both to report to Hassin Street as soon as she’s settled in here and we’ve all gone over a few things. That’s where our scouts have reported their readings to be spiking a bit lately for unsanctioned solidi activity.”
The declaration pissed him off but there was not much he could do to contest it. Charlok let out a sigh through his nose. “They tell you what we got out there? Rogues, kids screwing around with magic?”
“Probably the former, though we’ve seen no signs of it.” Another folder was slid from the bundle under his hands. “We have some people keeping an eye on it. It’s minor in the general scheme of things, shouldn’t test a fledging partnership too badly.”
Minor. That one hurt almost as bad as his former partner’s name. He managed to say nothing as the folder was slipped to him.
“Go over that with Balonthere,” he was directed. “It will likely be a few days, but I’ll call for you when it’s time for the briefing.”
The booze hadn’t been as strong as he would have liked but it did the job. Charlok wasn’t fond of strong alcohol these days; he passed up Fairy’s Silk and Hellfire for the simple stuff like beer. He hadn’t drunk heavily since the night he was told Euthemia passed, three cities away, probably alone. Somewhere between taking the folder and heading back to his room and dropping it off, he’d gone to a pub situated at the edge of the Enclave and sat in one of the bar stools.
The screams that lived constantly in his head quieted after one beer. Three in, he almost couldn’t see what her face had looked like in the hologram the cleanup crew had sent Venali’s predecessor after the incident took place.
The story he’d been told was that the Nightmare was a simple one. No shapeshifting, no real tricks up its handler’s sleeve. Euthemia was the strongest member of the small team that had been sent out to see what was going on. He, being little more than a student at the time, hadn’t been eligible to go.
And they tore her body up like a pile of rags. Almost nothing left.
What he could have done had he been there had haunted him ever since, and the telepathic therapy they’d given him to rid him of the intrusive thoughts hadn’t completely helped.
He didn’t remember the walk back to his personal quarters or taking a seat at his desk. He didn’t recall when he fell asleep, lulled by the alcohol’s dulling of his qualms.
A glimmer of a dream passed through; an open sky filled with countless stars. Grass cast in shadows licked at his ankles. His feet were bare; he could feel the cold earth under his soles. A tree stretched up to meet them, leafy limbs sketching ink patterns across the moonlit expanse.
An unsolicited wistfulness stole across him. He leaned a hand into the trunk, feeling the knobby bark under his palm. A feeling he couldn’t identify welled in the center of his chest. He started to push away from the tree when--
“Charlok! Psst, hey!”
The tap on the shoulder pulled him abruptly back up past the layers of sleep, tearing their gossamer threads. He startled, swore, flung an arm at the offender. There was a gasp.
And then he was staring wild-eyed at Balonthere, her struck arm tucked against her chest, her eyes going from startled to annoyed.
“We’re late,” she informed him. “Chief Venali told me to come and get you.” She sniffed the air. “Is that beer?”
“Little bit.” He pushed his chair back, got up, and made a small face of his own. “Four drinks. That’s not a crime, is it?”
“Are you sober? He’s going to want us for the briefing,” she pressed. “It’s pretty pathetic if I don’t even need to use my aura to tell you’ve been drinking.”
He hummed as he unbuttoned and threw his outer uniform jacket off. “Let me get changed and washed up. You go on ahead. I wasn’t expecting him to come get us this early.”
“Obviously,” she sighed. “I’ll be outside.” Balonthere’s eyes raked him up and down. “And please hurry up. We’ll both look bad if we’re late.”
Gods-damn if she wasn’t aggravating for somebody who’d been stationed with him all of five days. But then, he had himself to thank for most of that. “Right,” he muttered. Memories of going over the briefing with her were still fresh in his mind; the whole ordeal had been awkward after her first day, and he’d been forced to make nice for walking out on her first training session. But, he had managed the second time around to shake her hand without flinching.
It was a start, but the stress was probably making his supps less effective, he realized on a frown. He never had taken that double dose. His door squeaked shut.
“Two minutes!” Balonthere called from behind it.
Damn. No time to think about that now.
Charlok hurried to dress, shaking the memory of those errant stars from his thoughts.
In the artificial city lights, he couldn’t make out the moon. The odors of combusting magic and components for charms drowned the scent of the wind and grass, the scents he’d grown up with in a tiny town far away.
The last location the Nightmare had been seen in was several feet away. No one had come in or gone out in the two hours they’d been there. His plainclothes, an unadorned short-sleeved shirt and bluewashed pants, felt like alien skin against his own. They were supposed to be selling charms, but thus far no one had taken them up on the contents of their parked auto-carriage.
Balonthere was getting bored. He could see it in the way she carried herself, and the way she hopped from foot to foot periodically.
Quit that, he scolded telepathically. You keep that up, and you’re gonna give us away.
A small flinch touched her features, but that guilt turned quickly to a mildly discomforted look. Can you not just barge in like that? It stings.
Their telepathic connection was new, forged the end of her first day there by Venali. The unease plagued him too, but that wasn’t unusual.
Sorry, but we gotta keep breaking it in. If we’re making this partnership work, we gotta keep the connection closed and private, or else anybody with a bit of telepathic ability’ll be able to listen in.
His eyes stayed on the street in front of them in the meantime. This wasn’t a good part of town, and most who caught his attention would hold his eyes for a breath or two until they looked away. He tried to keep his posture casual, his magic aura dampened. Sometimes mundanes purchased just as many illegal charms as their gifted counterparts.
Balonthere obviously hadn’t been on many covert operations. Is it normally like this?
Most of the time, he replied. Don’t think we’ll get lucky tonight.
Her gaze caught his with raised eyebrows but she didn’t say anything. The moments became minutes, which became hours. Balonthere shifted again. Somewhere close by, somebody hollered at their squalling baby in a bid for silence.
The man, in his bright clothes and shambling walk, caught their dual attention immediately. He stumbled without looking their way, even when Charlok stepped up to offer him a good deal on ice charms.
Something’s off. He pushed a cautionary feeling behind it so she wouldn’t get too close, too soon. The man simply could have been a drugged jester on his way home, but every lead was worth checking.
He…isn’t drunk. He could feel her disguise her aura to lap at the stranger’s. But he is magicked.
Watch yourself. He can feel it if you get too close. Charlok did the same, and sure enough, she was right. Not drunk, had magic of his own. And…
No enchantments, either ones he made himself or from an outside source. Charlok pulled his aura back, pausing at the end of the sidewalk. All right, let’s go after him, but keep our distance. You got enough spells on you?
Yes. Balonthere made a subtle gesture to the holster that held her wand. Ready whenever you are.
Remember, don’t let him see you.
I know.
She wasn’t dressed too dissimilarly to him. Venali had also ordered her to streak dirt on her cheeks the same way he had, and use enough makeup to put a jester to shame. Charlok had almost fallen from the office chair when it was suggested they play the part of a couple.
Leave the auto-carriage. Putting his hands in his pockets, he started off to trail the strangely-dressed man before giving her a jerk of his head to follow.
Every now and then, they had to pause. Normally, the drunks would be out staggering, the streetwalkers would be pandering. The dealers would have their dubious magic packets. Anything to make a quick piece of gold. Tonight, the roads were all but empty. The houses stood behind them, huddled together, lights out.
Frost tickled his spine in warning. Stay close. Closer. He turned his head to see her all but on his tail. Good. Might be something innocent, but you never know.
He saw her lips shift to a line as a sliver of the man’s silhouette turned down one of the narrow alleys. The communal homes weren’t too far off; people of all walks who were down on their luck took up residence there. The man broke into a warbling song as he took the stairs up, leaning heavily into the railing on the way.
Charlok caught a soft snort at his back. He’s probably on drugs. Balonthere’s tone, even in his head, was confident. Some new kinds are almost impossible to pick up with your aura.
Still, we better follow him up after we’re sure he’s down for the night. He waited until he heard a door open and saw a light go on in the interior of the man’s small cubicle. After it shut with a slam, he motioned her to come with him under the staircase.
Fifteen minutes passed, then a half-hour.
Almost time, he informed her, pointing to the apartment above their heads. She gestured back to show she’d heard, and then they took the stairs up.
What if this is nothing? What will we tell anyone who sees us? Her question almost broke though his concentration, and his answer was terse.
They won’t. I took a couple invisibility spells. Make sure to use your nullification armor in case he’s got spells.
Here, the windows allowed him to peer in. No need to disguise his magic and push his second sight in to get a better read on the situation, not right away. A bed, a back was to him. The man hadn’t bothered with covering himself up; his motley clothes stood out in the light of his mage lamp like a rose mixed with daisies. He ducked, narrowing his eyes through the gap in the curtain. Silence. Their target seemed normal enough. He took one charm from his pocket, offered another to her, and activated them. A layer of magic meant to neutralize others’ magic went over that, and then, they waited.
Over time, his legs began to grow stiff. Above his head, he could feel the moon being blotted out. Clouds were gathering. The wind picked up, cold for the time of year.
Then the first raindrop spattered cold between his shoulder blades.
He swore inside his head, mostly to himself, but caught her give him a mild look of disapproval. Now what?
Couple more minutes, he tried to soothe. The rain won’t pick up that much.
Twenty minutes after that, both were soaked through.
‘A couple more minutes.’ His partner’s scorn seethed through their connection. He hasn’t moved at all, Charlok.
A snake of water slipped down the back of his neck. He pushed his magic out one more time, felt the same things he had since they’d begun. No magic appeared to be disguised around them, not for miles, and he drew his senses back into himself.
False alarm, he was forced to conclude. He straightened up within the charm and gave his lower back a small crack. It’s pretty much time for a shift change anyway. Kevil and Gret should be here.
A strong buffet of wind almost cut through them on the way down the stairs. The rain began to come more heavily. Charlok squinted into the gusts and reached back.
Take my hand and watch your step.
Bossy, aren’t we? That was dry, but she had little choice but to do as he said. As they picked their way down, Charlok felt another chill pass over him, this one stronger. Damn wind.
She paused behind him. One of them is asking where we are. A woman.
Kevil. Tell her we’ll be there as soon as we can walk back.
He felt another touch of magic against him as she complied, and he hurried his pace to slog through the water.
Kevil had chosen to park their disguised auto-carriage some ways away from where he’d done so, and he blessed the relief of the carriage’s warmer interior as he started it up and navigated his way back out. They were some ways out of town so as not to raise suspicion, and he flicked a heat charm on as they went.
Finally, he caught the glow of their carriage-lamps, subtly guiding them to where they needed to be. Kevil was waiting for his report, her short hair slicked back under a low cap. She and Gret were both in disguise as well, she as a streetwalker, he as her handler. For a married pair, it was a strange choice of concealment, he thought.
“What did you find out?” She was all business, always had been.
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Thought we found somebody, a jester in building 4-7, but…Must’ve been an addict. Didn’t move, no magic around him, or anyplace nearby that wasn’t normal.”
“Whoever it was probably caught onto the idea that we’re here and moved on.” Gret was tall and dark-haired, with eyes that reminded him of black buttons. He and Kevil had been partnered since a time long before he’d started to hunt Nightmares. “Better tell the Chief that he’s wasting his time and resources, bringing us out here.”
“You know it doesn’t work that way. Stop the damn shirking.” Kevil turned back to Charlok. “He’s cracking wise. Mostly. You two better get out of the rain.”
“That’s what we’re gonna do.” He turned back to his carriage and opened the door. Kevil was smirking.
“Something the matter?” he tossed over his back. “Your luck’s not gonna be much better than ours.”
She shook her head. “We’ll see about that, Myrdin, but that’s…Never mind.”
“What?” he asked, impatient. Balonthere was already in the carriage, and he left his hand on the door.
Gret was smiling slightly too. “I know what she’s thinking, even if she won’t say it.”
“What’s that?” He was losing his patience as his shirt clung wetly to his back.
“Oh, go ahead and tell him, Ciradyl, and stop using your telepathy just with me.”
Kevil pursed her lips. “I was only thinking that you both remind us of our fledging days.”
Charlok’s reply was a snort. “Not everybody wants to bed their work partner, Gret, that’s all in your wheelhouse.”
Before either could say anything more, he got in and closed the door. Balonthere wouldn’t so much as look at him. His hands tensed on the wheel.
Any relief he’d felt at dodging any large problems at work were immediately rendered invalid.