She still couldn’t bring herself to admit she had magic. After the incident in the chair, she wasn’t sure what she thought about it. The tracking spell hadn’t been scary, at least, but the Phoenix’s words kept circling her mind.
Why had it been waiting for her?
“You’re shitting me.” Robin had frozen, a forkful of macaroni halfway to her open mouth.
“I’m not shitting. I went back to the memorial yesterday, and this dude walked in with a magic tracking device. It pointed at me.”
The macaroni didn’t move.
“You have magic?”
“I’m not sure I believe it.”
Robin set the fork back onto the plate.
“You sure you’re not shitting me?”
“Unless I hit my head yesterday. He gave me his phone number.”
“Is that how Mages get girls?”
“Robin!”
Robin bit her laugh into a grin. Then her eyes looked above Mieshka. Someone cleared their throat behind her.
“You’re Meese, right?”
He was about Mieshka’s height, if she’d been standing, and had an Asian look to him—Chinese, if she had to guess. His jeans were loose and faded, and his shoulders seemed a little slim under his sweatshirt. The edge of his food tray pressed against his abdomen. Mieshka recognized him from some of her classes.
She forced a smile.
“Sorry, I can’t remember your name.”
“I’m Chris.” He met her eyes. “You’re a refugee, right?”
Mieshka’s smile vanished. He took that as an answer.
“I saw you run out of class yesterday. I’m from Trent. Mind if I join you?”
Trent. South-East, she thought. It had been one of the first cities to fall. Her hands felt cold, all of a sudden. She sat upright, suddenly very aware of him.
“Of course not,” Robin said, ignoring Mieshka’s stiff look.
“Thanks.” His tray clacked down beside Mieshka. She reluctantly shuffled her stuff over to make room.
“So,” said Robin, who leaned her elbows on the table, “do you know anything about magic?”
Hunched over her backpack, Mieshka froze. Robin went for the jugular. Always.
“Magic?” he asked.
“Yes, magic. Stuff that powers the shields.”
Somehow, she didn’t think this was the conversation Chris had expected. Mieshka returned to her plate, stirring ketchup in with the macaroni. Beside her, Chris had gone very still.
“Why do you want to know about… that?”
“Just curious. Why’d you want to sit with us?”
Looking over, Mieshka saw that he was busy poking his potatoes. Reading Chris’s stiff shoulders and the bow of his head, Mieshka forgave Robin. Whatever else she did, she knew how to get results.
“I thought we studied Mages last year,” he said.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Mieshka said. His fork paused, stabbed through a carrot.
“You didn’t answer mine.” He looked up, meeting Mieshka’s stare.
Fair point. Her eyes narrowed. If Robin could be blunt, so could Mieshka.
“Because I met the Fire Mage yesterday, and he offered me an apprenticeship. Your turn.”
They had a momentary staring contest. Mieshka tried not to blink.
“I saw you run out yesterday. You have magic?”
“You saw me run.” Mieshka raised an eyebrow. Across the table, Robin leaned forward, propping her head on her fists. Her grin grew as she watched the exchange.
Chris faltered. “I thought you might be a refugee, too. We might have something in common.”
“You want to be friends?”
Robin’s foot nudged her shin. Maybe ‘friend’ wasn’t the right word.
Chris straightened up.
“I know a bit about magic,” he said, “but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell.”
“What? You can’t leave us hanging.” Robin’s growing grin faltered.
“If I tell you, will you go on a date with me?” He was looking at Mieshka.
‘Friend’ had definitely not been the right word. Her smile sank off her face. She had zero interest in dating. It was very far down on her priority list.
Besides, she didn’t know this guy.
“She will,” Robin said at the same time as Mieshka’s dry ‘No’.
Mieshka turned her glare on Robin. Chris’s choice of seating crowded her elbows. She hunched over her plate like a hawk over prey, exchanging a glare with Robin. Chris looked between them, measuring the silent battle.
Apparently, he decided Robin would win.
“There’s this guy,” he said. “I’ve heard he can move water.”
“The Water Mage?” Robin asked.
“No. One of us. Around my area, he’s pretty well known. Kind of scary, actually. He worked for the Water Mage. Makes sure things don’t get…… nasty.”
Chris looked between them again. Robin folded her hands primly on the tabletop.
“I’m not sure that information is date-worthy. Anything else?” she said.
“Well,” He dropped his voice low. They all leaned in. “You know how much water is in a person, right?—” He paused. For effect, Mieshka thought. “—I hear he can pick people up and move ‘em around.”
The buzz of the cafeteria faltered. A plate dropped in the kitchen. The table was quiet.
“You’re shitting me,” Robin said. When he didn’t answer, she went on: “Anything else?”
“Not really, no.”
“That wasn’t much.” Mieshka leaned back in her chair, arms folded over her chest.
He looked over to her. “Do we still get to go on a date?”
Was he asking now? Her eyes narrowed.
He flinched, just a little.
“Okay,” she said.
***
“How was school?”
Dad had been sitting on the living room couch, sorting through mail when Mieshka came home. He’d turned the lights on, but the low wattage bulbs made the off-white walls seem dim and dirty. A Mersetzdeitz TV series laughed in the background. She had dumped her backpack on the floor beside him, and now addressed the growing pile of dishes in the sink. Why he couldn’t do them during the day was beyond her, but she didn’t want it turning into another pizza box problem.
“Fine,” she said. “I met another refugee.”
She heard the couch creak as her dad got up. A few shuffled steps later he poked his head into the kitchen. She was elbow-deep in suds.
“What’s she like?”
“He’s from Trent.”
“He?”
Mieshka raised an eyebrow at the mug she scrubbed. Water sloshed over the sink.
“He. He said he knew the Water Mage’s apprentice. Apparently the guy’s quite scary.”
She glanced over, wondering if her dad’s worries would kick in. Instead, he appeared more pensive than protective.
“Have you thought about the Mage’s offer?”
She fumbled the mug through the suds. It hit the bottom with a hollow thunk.
“I have.” It had been hard to think of much else, especially after what Chris had said. Was all magic scary?
He stuck his head into the refrigerator. White light glared on his face. She knew there wasn’t much inside.
“Your mom told me something once,” he said. She froze. His tone was carefully light. He closed the refrigerator before he continued, retreating to the wall. “It was before you were born. I had been investigating a research firm that had a… reputation. Told her that I was a bit intimidated by them. You know what she said?”
He paused, as if waiting for her to guess. She clenched the dishcloth hard, holding her breath. The kitchen clock ticked between them.
“She told me not to decide with fear.”
Mieshka bet she had used different words. Her mom had been gruff and matter-of-fact. She could picture her cross-legged on their old couch, cleaning a rifle in her lap. Her
hair was always in that ponytail. The last time Mieshka had seen her, that ponytail had been long enough to touch her shoulder.
Mieshka focused on the wall in front of her, feeling her throat close around the memory. By the silence, she knew he shared her grief. The dishcloth squelched on the rim of the same mug. Her shirt had a thick wet line from where she leaned against the soaked counter. It wicked onto her skin.
Eventually, she found her voice.
“You think he’d let me job shadow?”
CHAPTER 5
Apparently, he would.
Her school had done job shadowing two years ago, back when she still lived in Terremain. The concept was for students to find an adult that worked in the field they wanted to pursue, and see what the job entailed. Career taste-testing, so to speak. Mieshka had shadowed one of her mom’s army buddies. Even back then, the military had been keen to encourage recruitment.
She hadn’t known what to expect then. She didn’t know what to expect now.
“Ah, Mieshka. We’ve been waiting for you.”
She winced. Having missed Aiden’s office the first time, she had doubled back when the addresses had gotten too high. It was hard to find. Lying in the shadows of skyscrapers, the shabby, two-storey stucco building dated back to pre-Chromatix Lyarne. It wasn’t quite what she had expected a Mage to operate from.
A sign on the front door had directed her to the second floor.
“I got lost,” she said. The office was about the same square footage as her apartment, with a desk on the far left and two couches to the right. The walls were off-white, accented with pot-lights in the ceiling. Outside, the sun set on Uptown. Twilight shone through the blinds on the left side of the office. Her cheeks were still numb from the cold.
“How was school?” Buck had taken a paperback to the black leather armchair on the right, his feet crossed in front of him. Jo lounged on a nearby couch, hunched over her phone. Her face was underlit by its screen.
Their guns sat in holsters beside them.
“Nothing special,” she said.
“I suppose I should show you the engine.” Aiden rested his elbows on the desk, face half-hidden by a computer monitor. He’d opened the blinds in his corner. She wondered if he’d seen her walk up.
“I suppose you should.” Jo didn’t look up from her phone.
The chair rattled as he stood. He made his way around the desk and across the room, passing her without a glance.
Mieshka left her pack by the door and followed him in silence. He led her to a second set of stairs—separate from the set she’d taken from the lobby—with smooth naked concrete, dark green railings, and tan walls. They lacked a door where the first floor landing should have been.
On the fourth landing—two levels underground, by her estimation—they reached a door. She peeked over the rail. There were several more storeys below.
The door creaked as Aiden swung it open. A familiar-looking obsidian-black panel stood within the frame.
She was beginning to see patterns in the world of magic.
It hissed open—just like the ship and the memorial’s elevator—and they walked into a dim room. A low hum thrummed into her chest. The air smelled of singed dust. It thickened as she stepped inside.
“Sorry about the dark. The bulb burned out a few days ago.”
An orange, translucent screen hovered at the end of the room, blocked briefly as Aiden crossed its light. Behind her, the door hissed shut. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dark. Like the stairs, the floor was bare concrete. The walls weren’t much better. She squinted at the screen.
Right. First question. Aiden had called this an engine, right?
“What’s an engine?”
“It powers part of the shield. Made from parts of a ship.”
“I thought the shield was powered by magic.”
“It is. The engine uses a magic power source, just like the ship.”
Just like the ship. Joy. Well, at least it explained the hum in her chest.
Aiden sat in a chair in front of the screen, making a fine silhouette as he swivelled around to face her. Behind him, the console’s keys glowed with a familiar orange light.
She kept her distance, folding her hand over a paper in her pocket. She’d prepared questions during class. The engine rose behind the screen, orange light gleaming off its large, boxy exterior. Staring at it, those questions seemed trivial.
“If I were your apprentice, my life would change significantly,” she said.
His silhouette didn’t move. The engine thrummed behind him, hitting her insides like loud sound waves without the sound. It felt warm.
Well, onto the next obvious question: “What is magic?”
He plucked something from the console, waving it in the air. Light slipped over its cylindrical side. Was it a wand? Wizards used wands, didn’t they? “It’s hard to explain magic, so I’ll show you. Give me your hand.”
She hesitated, remembering the Phoenix. The hum shook her teeth.
“Nothing will happen that you don’t want,” he said. He popped the top off the object. She recognized the smell.
Permanent marker.
She held out her left hand. He wrote on the back.
“I studied the data last night,” he said. “You could probably do this by yourself, eventually.” Fumes made her light-headed. As the ink cooled on the back of her hand, her skin tingled.
Her voice quavered. “What is this?”
“A transfer mark. You can tap into nearby magic, now.”
“What, like yours?”
“Yes. Go ahead. Try it.”
Mieshka lifted her hand experimentally, examining the black mark.
“How?”
“There’s no rules for this sort of thing. Just focus on it. It’ll become like breathing, eventually—if you so choose, of course.”
Of course.
Mieshka turned away. The mark had the same Asiatic-Cyrillic shape as the memorial’s letters. She focused on warmth; on summer, not winter. Thinking of a tall, flickering fire, like the will o’ wisp flame Aiden had used yesterday.
Orange light collected within the ink like fiery dew.
Heat washed over her face. Fire snapped into the dark, its bottom cradled in the air, top fluttering wildly. Shadows fled.
“Nice.” Aiden grinned. “Don’t be afraid to play with it. There’s not much you can burn down here.”
So, that’s why he’d taken her down. Despite her earlier worries, she found herself sharing his grin. The fire leaped, reaching for the high ceiling.
Remembering the law of gases from science class, she condensed it.
It grew brighter as it shrank, hissing like a blowtorch
“I’m using your power now, right?” When she took her focus off, the fire unravelled with a pop.
“Yes.”
Time for another pre-made question. “How would I get my own power?”
“If you absorbed a crystal, as the Phoenix was so eager to demonstrate last night, you would carry its power.”
The Phoenix. She’d been afraid of that. Her fire wavered with her thoughts. Eyes like ash haunted her memory.
I’ve been waiting for you.
“What is the Phoenix?”
“It’s… special. Complicated. Back on my world, when Mages became super powerful, their magic became sentient. It took forms out of mythology, materializing as thought—and occasionally as a physical form. Numina, some called them. My university took the concept a step further, growing synthesized energy in crystals. Now they power the shield. One in each engine.”
Absorbing that, she condensed it down like the fire.
“So it’s a synthesized Phoenix captured in a crystal?”
“Basically.”
The will o’ wisp settled onto her palm, fluttering against her skin like butterfly wings.
Or feathers, she thought. Feathers of fire. Not the first time they’d brushed her hand.
“We’ll cross that bridge la
ter,” he said. “If you choose to become an apprentice.”
“Would it possess me?”
“Not likely. But you need to learn to control it, or else it will overpower you. So—if you choose to become an apprentice—you’d learn the basics via this transfer mark. In a nice, safe environment with nothing valuable around.”
Subtle, wasn’t he? Mieshka caught his eye in the firelight. She wondered what he really thought about her ‘job shadow’ idea.
Whatever. That was his problem.
Behind him, the screen flickered. A graph that had been displayed vanished, replaced by a message she could read:
INCOMING CALL.
Aiden followed her gaze, the chair creaking as he swivelled around. His smile dropped.
“I have to take this. Go find Jo. She’ll take you Underground.”
“Underground?” They were already underground. Did he have a dungeon? How far did those stairs go?
He met her eye. “Not many can call this line, if you catch my drift.”
Right. Few people had access to the engines. She could guess who those ‘people’ were.
She walked out. The farther she got from Aiden, the smaller her flame shrank.
It guttered out on the stairs.
***
Jo led her back down the stairs. They passed the engine room without a glance. After a while, the stairwell lost even its spartan finishing, reduced to blank drywall, unpainted pipe railings, and naked bulbs. One had burned out.
Only their footsteps kept them company.
The final flight angled down a hole in the floor. Concrete surrendered to wood, which creaked as Jo’s heavy boots stepped down. Mieshka took a moment to peer around.
The walls sloped at a hard angle, supported by dusty wooden beams. Boxes and stuff were stacked all around. Some looked quite old. A standing mirror leaned against a beam, reflecting a glare of light on its grimy, dust-streaked surface. The bare bulb didn’t quite reach into the corners.
An aisle had been cleared through the boxes, and Mieshka found Jo bent over a contraption in the floor. It was a folded, wooden ladder complete with joints and neon yellow rope. She recognized it from some movies.
It looked like they were in someone’s attic, three storeys underground.
Underground?
“What’s underground?” Her voice seemed loud in the still room.
Jo paused. “I thought you were a refugee?
“I am.” So?