News of our assault on Wira Kusuma’s compound didn’t go public. The Fornax family made sure of that. My leg injury got explained away as being an accident, and Cecilia’s attacker was being called a psychotic patient who escaped the Qronyurch Institute. So within a few weeks, I was back to regular life at Vandagriff Academy, slacking off and such. Except, I found myself slacking off less. Xandria didn’t need to help me on a test, and I passed. I didn’t need information for a Deal, but fighting Kusuma and his assassins made me feel like…a child. And I was a child, but it felt like something “flipped” in my brain, suddenly showing me how ignorant I was about the world. Or, who knows, my new roommate, Lauren Clarke, might’ve legitimately been a positive influence.

As for Kusuma, the bounty on his head messed up his reputation, but an official reason wasn’t given. Some of the city assumed he’d flown somewhere and hadn’t come back. Died? Gotten lost? Given up on Melbourne? Whatever the reason, it wasn’t like anybody could force his return. Some people cried and swore he’d return with the post-Dusk equivalent of a Holy Grail. Aquila-class mages weren’t upset, since they had the chance to take the title of Erudite of Flight.

I figured Wira Kusuma had burned up, passed out mid-flight from the pain, and crashed to his death in the outback.

Kusuma hadn’t been a teacher or hierophant at Vandagriff, but the Academy liked to have at least one Erudite on staff to oversee the senior classes. Rumours suggested a chance of getting the Erudite of Projectiles, but nothing had officially been announced. The only rumour that concerned me was possible downsizing of the tennis courts.

Cecilia and I played at sunset on a Friday, happy to overexert ourselves before resting up on the weekend. I’d gotten a lot better since we first played, to the point we could have a real back-and-fourth.

I sent the ball high. Cecilia knew it’d go out, but she jumped to hit it anyway. I did it again, and Cecilia likewise jumped. Her shirt floated briefly and I saw her abdomen. She swung hard, and I didn’t even swing as the ball shot past my shoulder. She laughed, giving a feigned apology for wanting to win by hitting rather than letting the ball go out. I barely heard her.

A man crossed the adjacent court and stopped at our net. All his clothes were black. He called out to Cecilia. I bounced the ball, ready to serve. When Cecilia didn’t respond to the man, I swung overhead. As the ball made contact with my racquet, the man spoke. Cecilia rose out of her game posture. The ball hit the court and went past her; I didn’t count the point.

‘Wanna take a break?’ I called to her.

‘Nah,’ she took up her prior position. ‘Nice serve.’

I prepared to serve again, emboldened by her compliment, but I kept the man in my periphery. He didn’t plan to leave without talking to Cecilia. I bounced the ball but didn’t serve.

The man reached into his jacket. ‘I can prove it was the Hunter-Yao gang.’

I practically tripped over. The ball rolled away. My hands trembled as I retrieved another from my pocket.

‘Can you get me a Cold Rain?’ Cecilia asked. ‘Purple.’ She thanked me and walked with the black-suited man to the fence.

‘Purple,’ I mumbled. Cecilia always called drinks by the colour, not flavour. Purple, not grape. Yellow, not lemon. I bought a grape- and lime-flavoured Cold Rain from the vending machines using money Vic had given me.

Vic had said she’d help train me and pay for tuition, but we’d had to adjust what that meant. I didn’t want to just take her money. For the time being, we’d been hired as part-time “Data Supports” by the Fornax Company, which was a fancy way of saying we went places, wrote some notes, and sent them to the company’s database, where the data would probably sit and collect digital dust for the next decade. Not that I minded; I had more money than ever before.

The company paid for transport, too, and we got to visit some interesting places. Pretty soon we were slated to visit the Melbourne Storage District (MSD), which used to be the Port of Melbourne before seafaring was made obsolete by the Dusk.

Seated on the usual benches, I’d drunk half my Cold Rain when Cecilia and the man finished talking. As she approached, I tossed her bottle, noticing too late her distant expression. She fumbled, dropped, and picked up the bottle, while I apologised. ‘You okay?’ I asked. ‘Was he…?’

Cecilia twisted open her drink and took three deep gulps, throat bobbing like she wanted to flood her lungs. ‘That’s Lorcan Callothier. He’s been pestering me about the Auroch crash.’

‘Journo?’

‘Just a guy.’ Cecilia fidgeted with her coat. ‘He’s…convinced the Hunter-Yao gang are responsible for his dad’s death. He also thinks Hunter-Yao were at the Auroch, which apparently means I have hints about their identities.’

‘They did attack the Auroch, didn’t they?’

‘Nah.’

They definitely did, I thought. Why did she refute it? ‘He said something about proving it.’

Cecilia sneered. ‘He got vehicle descriptions from the other Auroch drivers and said they matched descriptions from the train heist a few months back. He’d make a hopeless detective. Like, literally three-quarters of the clans, Rail Snakes, and smugglers drive the same beat-up utes.’

Lorcan Callothier. He sounded like bad news; bad like anybody who investigated the gang, but he had a personal vendetta.

Cecilia picked up my racquet. Well, not really “my” racquet, just the one I most often used from Vandagriff’s communal supply. Colour flaked off the metal rim, and the grip’s tape peeled. She plucked the strings and frowned. ‘When’s your birthday?’

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you mean?’ I replied. ‘I don’t really celebrate it.’

‘Still, when?’

I’d lied. The gang made a big fuss about all members’ birthdays, but I didn’t like it much. Especially singing happy birthday. I couldn’t articulate why it made me feel weird. A decent few members, including me, didn’t know our real birthday, so we substituted it with the day we joined the gang. For the past few years I hadn’t brought up the topic when mine drew near, but Aoide knew everyone’s birthday. No idea how she did it; I remembered mine and maybe Ellie’s.

‘Ninth of July,’ I told Cecilia.

She nodded to herself. ‘Not far off.’

‘You don’t have to get me anything.’

‘Did I say I would?’

‘Oh. Well.’

She laughed. ‘I’m kidding. I’ll get you something.’

‘Really, don’t bother.’

‘I am really going to bother. A lot.’

My cheeks warmed. I shrugged, capped my Cold Rain, and readied to continue the game.

#

That weekend, Vic and I took public transport to the Melbourne Storage District, ready with notepads and new ballpoint pens. We spent a couple hours checking the company’s storage units, making sure nothing had been disturbed, water didn’t leak in, correct number of certain containers—that kind of thing.

I was in the middle of doodling worms in my notepad when Vic, from inside a storage container, abruptly asked:

‘Why’d you want to stay at Vandagriff?’

I didn’t have to think for long. ‘Kusuma,’ I replied, checking nobody else was in earshot. ‘I didn’t think he’d be a big deal, but on the roof—well, you were there.’ I stepped into the container and lowered my voice. ‘Did you think he’d be so tough?’

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

‘He wasn’t the Erudite of Flight for nothing. With that said, he isn’t known as a combat mage.’ Vic closed her notepad and turned to me. ‘So, you’re staying for training?’

‘Training in an “everything” way.’ I snapped my fingers. ‘What’s the word…’

‘Holistic.’

‘Sure. And ’cause I shouldn’t pretend’—voice became almost inaudible—‘my magic is perfect. I should be stronger, like an Erudite of Shields.’

‘I get what you mean. I’m the only one in the family without fire magic. It was stupid of me to go to the compound.’ Her tone grew progressively more frustrated. ‘I didn’t even fire my gun!’

I get you, I thought. Rational or not, it annoyed me how the gang all had roles and skills and past achievements. Leaders, tacticians, tough-as-nails enforcers, sharpshooters, spies, sirens, assassins, thieves, academics, cooks, guards, mages, conmen, smugglers. And then there was me. If I mentioned my inadequacy, they’d coo and compliment my strength, but they thought of me as the little sister of the gang, not a core member. Becoming a mage was my chance to contribute, to be the person on wanted posters with a bounty that rivalled Stefan and Wei.

I spoke slowly. ‘If none of your family had magic, do you think you’d still feel this way?’

Vic answered with a similar, ponderous cadence. ‘I don’t think so. Two of my siblings aren’t exactly overachievers, so the only reason I envy them is magic.’

I wondered if it’d be the same for me, if I knew my biological family. I felt guilty, thinking the gang weren’t enough of a family, but I hadn’t been born among them. I had a family before, but no matter how much I struggled, I couldn’t remember them. Not a face, not a voice, not a feeling of home. My earliest memory was – the scent of mint.

As the conversation waned, I got the sense Vic didn’t reveal some of her intentions. Then again, I did the same, and likewise she may have sensed my avoidance. Our shared desire to become stronger was fine, for now.

We left the storage container. In the process of locking up, Vic spotted two guys at the main entry gate. ‘That’s Elliot.’ Vic said. I didn’t know him. ‘You know, Elliot Fletcher. In our cohort. I think he’s with his brother, Xavier. Or, Chandler. Or, whatever his name is.’

Vic went to talk with them, but I hung back. Xandria had moved in a ring around my bicep, her newest signal she wanted to chat. ‘Your social relationships are improving,’ she remarked. So what? I thought. ‘How do you feel about me?’ Xandria continued.

‘Neutral,’ I replied, and meant it. Xandria was useful, but her obsessive curiosity and cold spot running across my skin offset things. ‘I might like you more if I knew what you were.’

‘I am an Entity.’

‘A talking Entity. That shouldn’t be possible.’

‘If I exist, it is logical to assume others like me may as well.’ Xandria went all the way to my forehead, causing me to cover it with both hands. ‘When I close my proverbial eye, I find faint recollections of a manor house deep in the Dusk. I think, therefore I am. Most Entities do not think, so they do not exist; they are reflections of human thought and knowledge.’

‘Can you get off my head?’

‘Entities can hurt humans by telling brains and cells that they should be hurt. Magic Deals work the same way. Is it not possible that an Entity with sufficient knowledge could grow independent from humans?’

‘Like you?’

‘Like me,’ Xandria agreed. ‘My only advice is patience.’

‘Never been my best trait,’ I mumbled, before jogging to catch up with Vic.

#

Vic organised a sleepover with Cecilia and I. We were going to stay at Vandagriff, until I learned Vic had a DVD player at her house.

At the Fornax mansion, in the dining room, a maid with a massive scar across her face served us tea. She’d asked us for preferences, before listing more tea flavours than I thought existed in Melbourne. Apparently they had some magic-preserved tea from before the Chaotic Era. Like, pre-Dusk kind of stuff. I wanted to try that, but it seemed rude to splurge on a random sleepover. Cecilia asked for some kind of hibiscus tea, which ended up having a rich red colouring.

‘You sure you’re feeling okay?’ Vic asked Cecilia. ‘It’s only been a few weeks.’

Cecilia smiled over her tea, but the emotion didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I had a good doctor. Mr Fleming.’

Vic choked, spat, and wiped droplets from the table with a napkin. ‘Say again?’ she rasped.

‘Mr Fleming. Edward Fleming.’

Vic coughed a bit more. ‘The Erudite of Regeneration? Melbourne’s Panacea?’

‘That’s him.’

‘You were only stabbed.’ Vic caught herself. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t—’

‘I agree with you. I didn’t need Mr Fleming, but my aunt paid for his services.’ She chuckled, but it didn’t sound right. ‘You should’ve seen his reaction. I ended up showing a bruise on my leg, just to give him something to do.’

We laughed, then, and early hesitation started to dispel. I had little to no experience with sleepovers, or even spending long periods of time with friends, so I relied fully on Vic and Cecilia. Things seemed to be going well, though a bit awkward.

I didn’t really like the tea, but I drank it to be polite. Plus, the glass teacup and saucer annoyed me, the way it clinked and rattled and forced me to move in an overly-gentle way. Out of us three, I finished mine first. Seemingly from nowhere, the maid appeared and refilled my glass before I could refuse it. I finished most of it, leaving a bit to act like a safeguard against the maid. Unfortunately, I soon had to pee; Vic gave me directions to the toilet.

Talk about luxury, the bathroom: Black-gold-white colour scheme, pseudo-rococo stylings like some kind of French chateau, ornate light fixtures, massive bath, spacious shower, crystal dishes with carved soap that smelled of sandalwood, and a gleaming countertop that could’ve worked as a mirror. Using and flushing the toilet made me feel like I owed money to someone for the privilege.

On the unlikely chance I ended my friendship with Vic that very evening, I decided to explore the bathroom while I had the chance. The shower had hot and cold taps but no head. I stepped inside and experimented, jumping as water fell from discreet holes in the ceiling. Next, the bath. Seated and stretched out, my feet didn’t touch the end, and only my head was visible above the rim. I laughed in a self-conscious but amused way. I climbed out and washed my hands with the carved soap, drying off with a soft cotton towel, and lastly applying hand cream. With cream like that, no wonder Vic’s skin looked the way it did.

I went back to the dining room, but Cecilia and Vic weren’t there. There was a good chance they ran out of conversation topics. The maid, collecting the dishes, showed me to the living room.

Unlike the bathroom, the living room had a sleek, minimal, modern appearance. Grey couches, recliners, and beanbags aimed at the “main” wall, which had the TV and a fireplace. Vic’s older sister stretched on a couch, flipping through a thin book. As I entered, she tossed it onto a coffee table.

‘You don’t have to go,’ Vic said. ‘We’re thinking of watching a film, if you wanna join?’

‘Nah, I’m procrastinating anyway.’

‘Is it okay if we turn down the fire?’ I asked, already starting to sweat, as Vic’s sister reached the doorway. Vic reached for the controls, but her sister snapped her fingers. In a few seconds, the flames receded. Magic fire, I realised. Of course, being in a Fornax household. Vic, hand frozen over the controls, glared back for less than a second, but her sister had already gone.

If Vic’s sister recognised me from the assault on Kusuma’s compound, she didn’t show it. Probably for the best, with Cecilia around. I picked up the book on the coffee table. ‘The Waste Land,’ I read aloud, flipping through.

‘She’s into poetry these days,’ Vic remarked, idly turning the fireplace’s dials up and down.

The three of us talked for a while longer, before Vic showed us the family’s DVD collection. Tentatively, I unzipped my backpack and showed my DVD copy of Near Dark, which Ellie and Solomon had given me during orientation. Thankfully, neither Vic nor Cecilia objected.

TV, on. Disc, in. Lights, off. Start-up sounds boomed from towering speakers. White title credits showed, and the movie started, filling the room with atmospheric, slightly ominous music.

I sat on one side of the main couch, Cecilia on the other, her legs tucked beneath her. Vic nestled deep into a maroon beanbag, but as the first scene started, she jumped up. ‘What kind of snacks do you like?’

‘I’m okay with anything,’ Cecilia responded.

I shrugged, to which Vic said:

‘We have those raspberry sweets.’

‘You do?’

‘You want some?’

‘Well – yeah,’ I said, and hastily added a thank you.

Vic left. The scene played: Cowboys or something chatting, seeing a girl with soft serve ice cream. I glanced at Cecilia, olive skin lit only by the TV. She said, without looking at me:

‘You can sit closer, you know.’

I shuffled away from the armrest, into the middle of the couch. The scene continued. The cowboy talked to the girl with the ice cream. They got in a car and drove somewhere. I glanced at Cecilia again, wondering where she’d gotten stabbed.

‘Does it hurt still?’ I asked, tapping my ribs.

‘Feels better than ever. That’s the Erudite of Regeneration for you.’ She moved her coat and lifted her top. ‘There’s a scar, though. See.’

I looked and, yes, I definitely saw.

‘Sorry,’ I said

‘Don’t be.’

‘You were in the Auroch because I got in trouble with Mr Willigan.’

Cecilia looked bemused. ‘I got stabbed way after that.’

‘But you got stabbed because you survived the Auroch. Survived Wira Kusuma, I mean.’

Lips flapping, she blew air like a horse. ‘DetMages talked to me, but I’m still not convinced Kusuma sent an assassin.’

‘Still, I feel kinda guilty.’

‘And I’m serious, don’t be. I don’t blame you at all.’ She slid away from her armrest. ‘Hypothetically, if Kusuma really did send assassins, I’m glad he didn’t send one after you.’

I swallowed, internally wincing with guilt. The two assassins and assault on the compound had to be kept secret. From everyone, except those involved. For their own good. So I reasoned with myself. But, maybe someday I could tell Cecilia about it, about my life. Tell her my real name.

‘You can sit closer,’ Cecilia said under her breath.

I shuffled, from middle to right-side pillow.

‘Closer.’

‘I’m literally as close as—’

I was mistaken.

Footsteps came from the hall. Vic. I settled back against the leftmost armrest. Vic came in with four bowls: three forming a pyramid in her hands, and a fourth balanced on her head.

‘Chips?’ she asked, crouching between us, so we could reach into the bowl on her head. Vic tittered, and the bowl swayed. I began to laugh, which broke her attempts at suppression. Her laughter burst, and the bowl fell, spilling chips on the couch.

‘I don’t know why I thought that’d work,’ Vic said, collecting the fallen chips. We didn’t eat from that bowl, and the other three were plenty. Vic sat between us, and we finally watched the movie. Chewing the raspberry sweets, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t thought about the gang for the whole day. I opened and closed a fist, sensing the power within. I could do it; I could do something memorable. More than that, I could do something meaningful, for me, for the city, I felt, with a confidence I didn’t know I had.

Xandria rested over my heart, as if confirming my thoughts. We could do it. And we would.