half-lich 02 - void weaver (3 page)

Alice went downstairs into the kitchen and made herself a cup of earth-coffee, making sure to keep the lights off. She didn’t leave the lights off in the interest of safety; the area was about as remote as it got. But she enjoyed looking out of the kitchen window and seeing the orange glow of the city impressed upon the clouds floating above. A single sip of earth-coffee—she could really taste the herbs this time—caused her body to fill with warmth, and when she had her fill of the city lights, she walked over to the kitchen table where a large box sat.

She set the cup down on the table next to the box, which she then opened. Inside there were four shiny metal film cases and a sword carefully placed so that it would fit. The sword and the metal cases gleamed even in the dim light, seeming as if to wink up at her. Alice ran her fingertips along the length of the blade and over the curve of the discs, but felt nothing besides the cold.

“Talk to me,” she said to it. “Tell me something, anything.”

But if the objects in the box had the ability to speak, they weren’t talking. Alice wasn’t sure if the problem was that they didn’t have any secrets for her to learn, or that after the destruction of her camera she had lost her powers. She didn’t
think
she had; Alice didn’t
feel
any less like herself. But the possibility was there, and the fact that after a week of studying these damn things she had learned nothing only served to add more weight to the idea that Alice had lost something crucial when Trapper smashed into a hundred little pieces.

“This box cost me a lot of money,” she said to herself, “And it’s been fucking useless.”

Neither of these things was strictly true, but vocalizing her frustration made her feel better. She had struck a deal with Nate to dismiss the rest of the fee he owed her if he would break into the Cinema Royale and retrieve this box. Alice hadn’t thought he would be able to pay her anyway, and since he was skipping town this was the next best thing she could get from him. It hadn’t been entirely useless either. The film reels inside were blank, or at least they looked blank. Maybe they needed to be played on a projector, but Alice wasn’t about to try
that
out even if she did have one lying around. However, there had definitely been more film reels in the box when she first saw it, and now there weren’t.

This told Alice that more of those
things
, Nyx’s Pain Children, had gotten out and were now roaming the city like rabid animals. So what the hell was she still doing here?

Waiting
, she thought as she closed the box. She picked her cup of coffee up and took another sip. A comfortable wave of warmth gently pulsed through her system causing her to shudder, and when it passed, she padded toward the front door of the house. As far as houses went, this one was pretty bare. The walls were a kind of asphalt gray, black wooden support beams raced along ceilings and around door frames, and the wooden floors creaked with every step she took upon them.

The night was dark, and only the barest sliver of light was coming through the window. Alice approached and, as she did so, noticed the markings drawn into the door. More symbols, only these she didn’t recognize at all. Squares, semi-circles, and hexagons were knitted together. Within the shapes there were more shapes; straight lines, jagged lines, and Roman numerals. Lots of Roman numerals.

She touched them lightly with the tips of her fingers, just as she had done to the items in the box a moment ago… and felt nothing. Not a buzz, not a chill, not so much as a whisper of energy. This time she
had
been expecting something. These markings were magic. Dustin had told her the entire safe house had been protected against spying and intrusion from physical and ethereal beings, so it stood to reason that she should feel
something
from them as she did whenever she got close enough to the wards in her own apartment.

Not good
, she thought. But then another thought occurred to her. What if her being inside the house was somehow stunting her senses, too? This nugget of inspiration made a lot of sense and Alice chewed on it like a dog with a bone, but she didn’t act upon it. Not immediately. The neurons in her brain were firing, connections were being made, and choices were being laid before her.

“I could leave,” she said to herself in a soft whisper. “I could open this door right now, step outside, and leave. Find Isaac. Find…
her
. Find out if my powers truly are gone.”

She grabbed the handle but didn’t turn it. If she opened the door, would the magical protection around the house disappear? She doubted it. Dustin had been coming and going, and he didn’t have the ability to create and dismantle magical wards that she was aware of. This meant that the wards would remain even if Alice didn’t, but then, if she left, she would forfeit the magic protection built around this place and would expose herself for Nyx to find. Assuming Nyx was even looking for Alice, but why wouldn’t she be?

The thought of staying here another day, though, with Nyx and her
beasts
out there, was a tough pill to swallow.

Alice decided at the last moment not to do it, to remain in the safe-house, but just as she was about to walk away someone knocked on the door and she jumped like a startled cat. Her heart shot from zero to sixty in milliseconds, setting her body alight with fear like fire. But it wasn’t the sound of the rapping on the door or even the vibrations that had done the damage.

A cool, wet, earthy night air spilled into the corridor on the back of a cricket’s song. The door hit the wall with a thud when it opened all the way before inching across again about a foot or so. There, standing in the open frame, was the silhouette of a man too well built to be Dustin and too broad shouldered to be Isaac. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t supposed to be here.

No one was supposed to be here but her.

CHAPTER 2

Before the Magistrate

Isaac Moreau was ushered through a set of large, obsidian doors and into full view of a group of waiting judges whose faces were obscured by shadow. They were called praetors, though as they stared down from atop their elevated, obsidian platforms they looked more like predators; like vultures perched on a ledge, staring down at their prey from behind hooked beaks and beady little eyes. But Isaac was no prey. He swaggered into the room with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, his chin raised in defiance, and a smirk on his lips.

Still, the total
whiteness
of the room he had been brought into had an almost intimidating quality to it. The semi-circular chamber had a vaulted, domed, golden ceiling—a basilica—the underside of which was painted to depict a mage’s struggle, and eventual domination of, the Tempest. Strong men and women with shining eyes, their bodies wreathed in fire and crackling whips of lightning, commanded the furious ocean breaking around them and drew its power out of the water. From beneath the waves, hundreds of hungry eyes looked up, a constant reminder that the magic of the Tempest was dangerous to those too weak to adequately control it.

Behind the rows of white pews on either side of the pit, white marble columns decorated with thin golden patterns rose up from the ground to touch the ceiling. There were eight of these, and each bore a different sigil corresponding to the Roman Gods after which the planets in the solar system were named; Jupiter, Mars, Saturn, Mercury—the list went on. The four praetors sat at the head of the semi-circle behind an obsidian platform trimmed with silver. There were six men and women sitting on the white pews, though there should have been seven.

Isaac walked into the center of the pit and stared up at the praetors. Behind him, Logan—the head legionnaire,
Legio Prime
as was his official title—stood guard at the entrance to the pit, barring his escape. As he waited for one of the praetors to speak, Isaac registered the sound of soft singing coming from somewhere nearby, but it sounded more like a church choir than a solo.

One of the praetors put his hand up in a gesture of silence, even though no one was speaking. Through light-play or magic, the faces beneath the hoods of the praetors were almost entirely obscured by shadow. No one was supposed to know their identities. This is why the praetors were called the Shadow Council.

“Step forward,” said the judge in a deep voice that resonated throughout the chamber.

Isaac did as he was asked and stepped forward, but remained quiet.

“State your name and title.”

“I am Isaac Moreau, mage of House Pluto, custodian of the Ashwood Imperial Museum, and Tribune of this Caucus.” Isaac stared at the empty seat where he should have been sitting.

“Do you know why you are here?”

“I am aware.”

“Then you understand the charges are serious.”

“I do. Would you care to read them out again, please?”

Without glancing at the papers on his black obsidian platform, the praetor recited: “One count of reckless endangerment of Plebeians. One count of destruction of magistrate assets. One count of failure to report a magical disturbance to the magistrate...”

“What about the memory wiping?”

“That charge has been dropped. It was discovered the Plebeians had no knowledge of any supernatural goings on at the museum and were evacuated before any damage was done to their psyche.”

“As I said.”

“Indeed. However, the remaining charges are severe. You face a period of abstinence from magic at best, and imprisonment at worst.”

“Hardly seems fair considering I was the one who was attacked, wouldn’t you say?”

The Tribunes grumbled silently and secretly among themselves, but the praetors remained perfectly still.

“You have been called upon today, Isaac Moreau, to give your testimony of what happened at your museum.”

“I assume, then, that I have been appointed legal counsel?”

“The Magus Codice decrees you are to be appointed legal counsel, however, since some of the evidence relating to this incident has been purposefully obscured—”

“Purposefully obscured?” Isaac asked.

More grumbling from the pews. The praetor’s hand came up once more and silence followed. “There will be no more interruptions, Tribune Moreau. Is this understood?”

Isaac’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I apologize for the interruption,” Isaac said, “However, I would like to know what evidence you have that I have in any way hindered your investigation into what happened besides withholding my testimony until I could have someone assigned to represent me, as is my right by law.”

The praetor gestured with his hand, two fingers beckoning, and Legio Logan came strolling into the pit. He gave Isaac a sidelong glance with his strange, ruby-red eyes before directing himself to the praetors.

“State your name and title,” said another praetor, a woman this time. Her voice was sharp and rigid, like a whip crack.

“I am Logan Hodges, noble-born mage, Sword of House Mars, Legio Prime of this great Caucus.”

“And do you accuse this man of tampering with evidence and withholding information from this court?”

“I do, Praetor.”

“Why have you come to this suspicion?”

Logan, never taking his eyes off the praetors, said, “On the night of the incident, this mage threatened me and my legionnaires. He advised us he had placed several powerful wards in place around the museum building and that he would need to deactivate them if we were to be able to conduct an investigation. There was a period of approximately five minutes where the accused was out of our sight.”

Isaac rolled his eyes.

“Surely this alone cannot be enough to bring such a harsh accusation to bear on this mage. Isaac has been an upstanding citizen of our community. Why would he tamper with evidence if he, as he says, was the victim of an attack by an unknown ethereal entity of substantial supernatural power?”

“Because, Praetor, I believe he has been untruthful in his statement.”

“Isaac Moreau,” said the male praetor, “How do you respond to this accusation?”

Isaac glanced at Logan, and then up at the black platform again. “I deny them entirely.”

An awkward silence hung in the air. When no one spoke, the Tribunes began to grumble amongst themselves. Finally, the praetor said, “Is that it?”

“It is. I offered my statement, I told you what happened, gave you my theories of what exactly had gotten out of the mirror I had restored, and yet you have kept me under arrest for seven days. Who knows how much power this thing has gained? How many lives it has taken? I was also under the assumption that a memory wipe would take place after I left the museum, but since it hasn’t, my job may very well be at risk. This unjust arrest has already put my livelihood at stake, but now to also be presented with an accusation that I have been less than forthcoming in my testimony is disappointing to say the least.”

Of course, Isaac
had
lied during his testimony; he had been extremely careful to omit any reference to Alice’s involvement, or anyone else’s involvement for that matter. This had all happened to him and him alone, because if it had happened to anyone else, the magistrate would want to bring them in for questioning… and the last thing he wanted, after what he had learned about Alice only a week ago, was to put her in front of this group of
predators.

“Legio Logan,” said the female praetor, “Do you have evidence to support your claim that Tribune Moreau tampered with the scene of the engagement before your arrival?”

“I do.”

Isaac didn’t let it show on his face, but a trickle of fear like cold fingers forced its way down his throat and gripped his insides. He could feel a couple of beads of sweat forming on his brow and hoped no one would notice, but Logan noticed. Logan’s strange eyes were—
infernal
—sharp, his instincts were strong, and he trusted his own judgement. It was the kind of self-confidence one only gets after a couple of years serving as a distinguished police detective.