I think you might begin to understand. There was a single way out, and Isaac was too far gone to take it. He could not give up now. In fact, he descended faster and faster as he realized escape was impossible. This, he told himself, was victory. He might have even believed it, God help him.
On Saturday morning, he was a fountain of joy. Victor arranged a meeting on the water, and Isaac waited on the steps of the Spire for the director’s arrival. He paced and smiled at nothing in particular, fizzing with the satisfaction of knowing.
He knew how Caasi was getting around. He understood the mechanism, and he’d seen it in action, and that alignment was unspeakably gratifying. Isaac loved few things more than watching the world click into place. It granted him a sense of purpose, the conviction that there was some rhyme and reason to the universe. If questions could be asked and answered, truly, anything was possible.
But he had little time to spare for Caasi. For seven years, the way was barred, and now he’d been invited in. He was going to be a wizard.
He knew he was going back. Not yet, but soon. This certainty was so new and disconcerting that Isaac could do nothing but bask in it.
He found himself climbing up and down the steps of the Spire, just to have something to do. It was a joy to stretch his legs in the sun. It was a joy to wait for a very good thing. It was a joy to watch the traffic—rowboats and canoes, friends sitting on the dock and laughing, a tiny white bird that flew over the atrium and landed on the carved pillar above him.
As time meandered past him in a leisurely stroll, he wandered over to the bulletin board. His conversation with Basil came back to him, and he began searching for the chess club poster.
It was covered by a bold orange notice which read, TWO STAR CORES HAVE GONE MISSING. THERE IS A REWARD FOR ANY INFORMATION LEADING TO THEIR RETURN. There were details printed across the bottom, but Isaac ignored those.
He lifted a corner of the notice and saw the New Frog Chess Club poster hidden beneath it. It had fanciful green borders and several cartoon frogs hopping across the page. Beneath its bubbly title, it read, Anyone can join the New Frog Chess Club! Contact Temur Atabay or stop by the shipyard clubhouse on Sunday afternoon. All skill levels and players are welcome. The frog awaits!
Isaac made a mental note for Sunday afternoon. He didn’t want to let Basil down. If he could get a few answers about Laurel Gray along the way, so much the better.
A metallic, resonant sound vibrated through the soles of his shoes. The bells were ringing out ten o’clock. He looked up.
The arch at the top of the Spire was open, but from this angle he could not see inside the bell tower. The brassy sound rolled down in waves.
As the noise died away, a figure stepped out onto the ledge. He was there for only a bare moment, concealed by shadow and distance, so far above the ground. Isaac blinked and he was gone.
After the initial burst of shock, Isaac was not terribly surprised. Of course SEIDR needed someone to ring the bells. But a brief sighting of the man, peering out above white granite pillars and sculpted stone vines, had washed Isaac’s excitement away in an unexpected surge of envy. He wanted to stand above the atrium lake, looking down on the colorful boats and the sunlit water. It was peaceful in a way that eluded him.
***
Isaac waited, and was reminded of how much he loathed waiting. Victor was meant to arrive at ten, and as the minutes slid past, his anticipation was tamped down with the old fear: had something gone wrong?
The “something” was terribly unspecified, and so it could not be denied. The idea spiraled through Isaac’s head. There was always a possibility of a last-minute disaster. He knew, even now, that nothing in this world was guaranteed.
So it relieved him greatly to hear Yaz call his name. From the broad steps under the Spire, he looked up.
Across the great blue circle of the lake, Yaz guided a pleasure barge with a deft hand. It dwarfed every other boat on the water. A pavilion stood in the center of the deck, shrouded in red curtains.
Yaz brought it to the edge of the dock. Isaac trotted down to greet her. When he tried to step onto the boat, she stopped him with a raised hand. “That’ll be one hundred dollars, please.”
“What? Why would I—oh.”
Yaz smirked. “Oh is right. I double-checked, and Caasi showed up two minutes after midnight. Right on the money.”
Isaac pulled out his wallet, still infused with good humor. “Raimes isn’t gonna like that.”
“He doesn’t have to, as long as he pays up.”
Isaac forked over a handful of twenties and Yaz waved him on board. “Thank you, thank you.”
She raised the oar and nudged them lazily away from the dock. Isaac stumbled a little and then caught his footing. When they passed under the atrium window, the sun peeked through the glass, catching them in a beam of light.
Yaz pointed back. “Well, go on in. He’s waiting for you.”
Isaac crossed the scuffed wooden deck, pulled one of the red drapes aside, and stepped into the pavilion.
It was a cozy space entirely wreathed in curtains. They were almost transparent—Isaac could see the silhouette of the Spire through a scarlet haze.
A vase of dried sunflowers perched on a coffee table, surrounded by three plush honey-colored couches. Victor sprawled across one of them, wearing a long robe and a tasseled yellow scarf.
He raised a wine glass to Isaac and inclined his head. His expression was unreadable. “Ah, Isaac. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you,” Isaac said. He stepped onto the soft rug and felt instantly at ease. “What happens now?”
“Take a seat. We’ll be picking up Mr. Kingfisher shortly.”
Isaac sank into one of the couches. It was cushy, overstuffed, and smelled of cinnamon.
Across from him, Victor set his glass down on the table. “You’ve proved yourself quite useful. How have you enjoyed your time at the Institute?”
Isaac opened his mouth, and then hesitated. “It’s been wonderful,” he said. “I’d like to stick around, if I can.”
“Of course. You seem to have taken to it, if you’ll pardon the cliche, as a fish takes to water. I could not have hoped for a better outcome. Would you like any wine?”
“No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself. I must confess, I’ve heard only good things about you, aside from a single issue which disappointed me greatly. Do you know what I’m referring to?”
Isaac broke into a cold sweat. The sheer recklessness of snooping through Raimes’s desk was coming back to haunt him. “I’m … not sure.”
“You threw a library book across the room.”
“Oh.” His relief was palpable.
Victor frowned. “Don’t take it lightly. Many of our books are one-of-a-kind. I did not expect that kind of conduct from you, and I trust you won’t repeat it.”
“It’ll never happen again, I swear. I knew it was a mistake, but I was too angry to think straight.”
“What compelled you to do such a thing in the first place?”
He sighed. “Felix.”
“Ah.”
“It was a one-time thing. I’m sorry.” Isaac fidgeted. “But … I kept my end of the deal.”
“You certainly did,” Victor said pleasantly. “Are you afraid, Isaac?”
Isaac blinked. “Of what?”
“Anything.”
He was afraid of Victor. This came to him like a truth he’d known but never spoken. His fingers curled around the couch, digging into the fabric. “I’m not sure.”
“Interesting. We’ll have to work on that.” Victor did not elaborate.
The barge lurched to a stop, saving Isaac from having to respond. A looming figure approached behind the curtains. He drew them aside, revealing himself to be Raimes.
“Belka. Skinner.” He gave each of them a nod. He was freshly shaved and looked more alive than he had all week.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Kingfisher. Please, sit down. What can you tell me about the events of last night?”
Raimes sank into the last open couch. “Hasn’t Toma given you a rundown?”
“She has, but I’d like to hear it from you as well. It never hurts to double-check. Or triple, for that matter.”
“Well, Skinner was right,” Raimes said. “Caasi’s using the fabric to get around, one way or another. All three of us saw it plain as day.”
“Ms. Toma said as much. Are you certain?”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Completely.”
“Did you pick up anything useful on the cameras?”
“No. The fabric put them out of commission. We got some fractals that I sent over for analysis, but not a lick of footage.”
“Mm. It was worth a shot, but I’m not terribly surprised. If it were possible to photograph the fabric, someone would have done it by now.”
“I don’t understand,” Isaac said. “I watched the video of Caasi from a few weeks ago, when he first showed up. The cameras saw him just fine.”
“The cameras only go haywire if you take some distilled fabric and light it properly,” Raimes said. “They end up recording nonsense. Glorified white noise. It’s like they can’t handle recording the image of the fabric.”
“Alas,” said Victor. “I would have liked to see Caasi’s little cloak of reality for myself.”
“Too bad we don’t have another samovar.”
“Indeed.”
“What about the trackers?” Isaac asked. “Did you see where Caasi took it?”
Raimes rubbed the back of his neck. “They stopped transmitting. They might be out of range, or glitched, or completely broken. I can’t tell from here.”
“Disappointing.” Victor sat back and sipped his wine. His face was cast in shadow, and Isaac could not tell where he was looking.
Behind the gauzy curtain, silhouettes of other boats slid past like ghosts. Yaz steered the barge into a long, dark tunnel. The only glow came from the golden lanterns hanging from the pavilion roof. The light was the color of champagne, moony and serene.
“I wanted to give you this, by the way.” Raimes reached into a pocket and withdrew a tiny glass vial, passing it to Isaac.
Isaac held it carefully between his thumb and index. It was filled with a black, viscous liquid. “Is that … what I think it is?”
“It’s whatever he spat out. Some of it, anyway. We’re still running analysis on the rest of it, but I figured you might want a souvenir.”
“Thanks,” Isaac mumbled. He was repulsed by the thick goo, but he could not tear his eyes away from it. It oozed down the side of the glass, bubbling slightly along the edges. It was completely matte, with no gleam of light or texture to break up the smooth black surface. “Do you know what it is?”
“Inconclusive,” Raimes said, glancing at Victor. “I gave some to the Trama lab, but they haven’t got a clue. It’s got a few similarities with oil, but it’s not flammable. Might be biological, but it’s hard to tell.”
“What do you mean? Of course it’s biological. It came out of his mouth.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s his,” Raimes said. “When it comes to all this Oshun shit, definitions get a little murky.” He pointed at the vial. “That’s completely opaque and it’s viscous enough to pour itself out of a container. Its temperature is stuck at twenty-nine degrees Celsius, whether it’s sitting in a frying pan or a freezer. We don’t know if Caasi made it himself, or if he swallowed something, or what.”
Isaac took a second look at the glass tube. “Is it … dangerous?”
“Not that we can tell. But I’d recommend not touching it. Definitely don’t put it in your mouth.”
“Fascinating,” Victor said. “Have you learned anything else about Caasi from his latest appearance?”
“The samovar’s a bust and the cameras didn’t pick up anything worth mentioning, but he did track some dirt on the floor. There’s unusually high levels of clay in the sample. Might be local. We’re still working on it, but I’ll keep you updated.”
“And that’s all you have?”
“As far as Caasi goes.” Raimes scratched his head. “But we’ve got a few leads on the cores. I should probably get back soon so I can look into them.”
“Yes, of course. Yaz, take us back to the control room, if you wouldn’t mind.” Victor called.
They looped around and dropped off Raimes. He argued with Yaz for a moment about whether 12:02AM technically counted as “after midnight” before giving her the money and stomping off the barge.
Victor steepled his fingers and gave Isaac a measured look, as if sizing him up. “I wanted a confirmation from Raimes before I congratulated you, but it seems those congratulations are in order. Well done.”
“Thank you,” Isaac said, pocketing the vial of Caasi’s spit. “I’m glad it worked out.”
“How on Earth did you figure out that Caasi was using the fabric to travel?”
“Well, it took a while. Miriam helped, like you said she might. She pointed me toward Felix. Once I talked to him, I realized that Caasi’s knife might have something to do with the whole teleportation thing. Combined with the rift in Boston … I don’t know. It all just kind of clicked.”
“Well, I’m impressed. You’ve shown your capability is not in question.”
Isaac felt some measure of triumph for all of five seconds.
“You’ll want to read up on this,” Victor said, handing him a manila folder. “It’s all of my notes on the cloak of reality.”
With a dizzy head, Isaac scanned the file and its pictures: a figure draped in a formless swath of blue, a man stepping through a wall of fabric, a detailed image of a carved bone knife. “I don’t understand,” he said. “This is … exactly what Caasi was wearing. Where did you find this?”
“I put it together on the night he first appeared,” Victor said. “I’d heard of the cloak before, of course. It’s absurdly rare, but not unique. Connecting the dots was fairly simple once I saw the security footage.”
Isaac looked up at him, eyes burning. “Then why—why did you ask me to figure it out? The deadline, the whole fucking deal—it was all bullshit?”
“It was not. You proved to me that you’re committed to finding your doppelganger and smart enough to pull it off.”
“I proved something you already knew.”
“I suspected but saw no reason to assume. Now we can be sure.”
Isaac felt disgusted. He could not believe he’d wasted so much time and so much wanting.
“Remember, Isaac, this was your second chance. You would have never returned to SEIDR if not for my leniency.” Victor’s voice was steady. “I had to test you again, to be sure, and you’ve passed handily. Do you understand?”
“I don’t.” Isaac buried his face in his hands. “I don’t understand at all. What was the point?”
“As ever, if you are unhappy with the Institute, you are welcome to leave.”
Isaac rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. Dark circles of black and red consumed his vision. He was so lost that it took him another few seconds to process Victor’s offer.
“No,” he said, muffled. He was well beyond turning back now. “No, you promised to put me in the Wizards Guild.”
“Of course you can join the Guild,” Victor said. “I’m a man of my word. We’re heading there right now.”
Isaac lowered his hands. The sense of betrayal was starting to settle in. He should have expected this, he thought, but it had caught him completely off-balance.
And yet he could not bring himself to protest any further. It was terrible to want something so badly that he would accept any pain for the sake of it.
“I want you to tell me why,” he said. “Honestly.”
When he looked up, Victor was watching him with narrow, appraising eyes. There was no trace of apology or regret in him, just detached and curious awareness. Isaac felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. “I wanted to see if you could figure it out.”
“Well, I did,” Isaac muttered.
“You did.” Victor leaned forward. His face took on an open, earnest look that made Isaac’s skin crawl. “And now that you’ve shown you have a knack for it, I want you to help me catch Caasi.”
Isaac’s first instinct was to refuse. Instead, he opened the folder and took another look at the contents. Most of the pages were photocopies, with varying fonts and styles. Some of the images were hand-drawn pencil sketches, and others were fully colored illustrations. They were all horribly interesting. “And what would I get out of it?”
“The cloak, of course. If we succeed, you will have the unrestricted freedom you seek.”
“What if I told you that I don’t want it?”
“I’d call you a liar.”
Isaac ground his teeth. He was cornered. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you will be nothing but a humble wizard, and I won’t trouble you again.” If anything, Victor sounded amused. “You will work for the Institute, and you will visit Oshun on our terms, not yours. I think, ultimately, this will not satisfy you. I think you want the cloak of reality even more than you want to spite me for deceiving you. But I could be wrong. You tell me.”
Isaac closed the folder and shut his eyes. He felt on the verge of making a truly stupid decision. “Can I … think about it?”
“Of course. Take your time. There must be a lot on your mind.”
For the first time since he arrived, Isaac wanted to leave the Institute. It was all too much. He could not make up his mind and he could not trust the man sitting across from him. The warnings from Basil, from Miriam, from his own gut, all weighed upon him.
But he had to go back. This was the only way he knew.
They passed into a dark canyon, and the light once again took on an eerie yellow cast. Isaac felt as if the barge was floating in ever-shrinking circles, spiraling deeper and deeper into the caves.
“We’ve almost reached the Guild,” Victor said. “When we arrive, I’ll leave you in Ms. Oleander’s capable hands. She hasn’t taken an apprentice in quite a while, but she offered to mentor you. I assume you’ll accept?”
“Yes.” Despite himself, Isaac was hopeful. He would be returning to Oshun, one way or another. He could tolerate Victor until then. “Do you know when I can start voyaging?”
“That’s entirely up to her. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You can’t rush these things.”
Impatience was clawing up his arms. He knew he was one step closer, and yet even another hour of waiting seemed unbearable. He wanted to climb onto an interspace-ship and leave this all behind. Laurel Gray had the right idea.
“How long does it usually take?”
“It’s case by case. Could be a day. A week. A year.”
“Are you serious?”
“Don’t worry too much, Isaac. I’m sure you’ll find your way back soon, one way or another.”
Isaac bit his tongue.
Behind the red curtains, there was a flicker of light. The windows of the Guild glowed through the fabric like orange stars. The island was rapidly approaching, and Isaac could not wait to escape the barge. The air was stifling him, and the drapes seemed to press inward. There was a tremor as the boat hit the dock, coming to an abrupt stop.
“Here we are,” Victor said. Isaac stood up. “Before you leave, I’d like to revisit my earlier offer.”
Isaac hesitated. “You really want me to catch Caasi.”
“Indeed. Along with the cloak of reality, I’d like to give you another incentive. If you help me track down your doppelganger, I’ll grant you something in return.”
“What?”
“Hamlet.”
It took Isaac a moment to remember that he’d even auditioned for Hamlet. In the uproar of Caasi’s appearance, he’d forgotten all about it.
“Isn’t that up to the director?”
“Oh, I’ll be directing it,” Victor said with a smile.
There was a sudden ringing in Isaac’s ears which drowned out the rest of Victor’s sentence. This was not a good idea. He took a step back, and could feel the pavilion curtains brushing against his shoulders. He could duck out at any moment. He was almost free.
“You can still turn it down, of course,” Victor continued. “There were plenty of candidates for the role.”
Isaac tasted refusal on the tip of his tongue. It would have been so easy to say no. All that stopped him was a single image—an impossible view of himself, walking away down an endless line of mirrors—a mote to trouble the mind’s eye.
Isaac could not deny that he’d seen himself, however briefly. His curiosity was now back in full force. As much as he distrusted Victor, he was equally drawn toward Hamlet. He dithered, pulled in two directions at once.
He knew better. He wanted worse.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
“I’m glad to hear it. We should have a very interesting show.”
“I hope so. Can I leave now?”
“Of course.” Victor flicked his fingers. “Run along.”
Isaac got off the boat as quickly as he could. Yaz gave him a salute as he passed. He couldn’t tell if she was mocking him.
As soon as he reached the shore, he was comforted by the rock beneath his feet. He leaned against the island’s cliff. The boat ride had left him drained and empty, but the cold stone grounded him.
He watched the barge glide away, and imagined he could see Victor’s silhouette behind the translucent wall of red. It sent a shudder down his spine.
SEIDR was worse than everything he’d hoped, dreamed, or feared.
I cannot absolve him, of course. He chose this. There was a flame burning in his chest that carried him forward. He was going back, going back, going back. He could bear it for another day, another week, through April.
He climbed the narrow stair that wound around the island. It was a sharp divide between land and air. To his left, the rock; to his right, the precipice.
A cool draft came from the lake, ruffling his hair. When he looked down, he could see the reflected windows gleaming on the black surface of the water. There was a wave lapping against the shore below him.
No, not a wave. Now that he squinted, it was not moving toward the island, but parallel to it. Tiny beads of light rippled along it.
Something was under the water, moving fast. His heart rose into his throat as he leaned over the edge.
He could not make out the shape, only the shadow. And the shadow was long and terrible. When he blinked, it did not disappear. If anything, it grew larger.
A voice from above him called, “Isaac Skinner!”
He turned. Miriam Oleander was on the stairs, holding a lantern in one hand and a staff in the other. The glow of the lantern gave her a strange, ossified look, as if she were carved from the same rock as the ground beneath her. She might have been standing there for a minute or ten thousand years.
“Are you ready?”
Isaac straightened his back. “Yes.”
“Follow me.” She turned and began to climb.
When Isaac glanced back, he saw only the flat, still water.
Invisible eyes were upon him. He could not find their source, but felt their gaze prickling down his neck. He shrugged them off and followed Miriam. He was going to be a wizard, and all of this would be worth it.
I can only watch and laugh. Regret is pointless. It was inevitable.