A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 49 Ren Monroe

49 REN MONROE

Ren had lived in this dormitory her sophomore and junior year. Unable to afford any upgraded amenities, she’d been placed on the very top floor in one of the most cramped rooms on campus. Still, it had been hers. She’d relished the freedom, the privacy. A space that she could form to her own liking.

Now she walked the same stairs she had then. Her wand up and ready. She tried to remember everything she knew about Theo Crane. He’d claimed to be an animator. His father, Ben, had apparently built Vega—who even now was clutching at Ren’s shoulder. That felt like a strangely deep connection for someone who turned out to be a traitor. Didn’t Crane stand to gain far more from House Brood than the Makers? The only possible flaw she could find was Theo’s misstep at the party. He hadn’t known that the boy’s father was dead. Could that be it? Maybe the Broods had neglected the Crane family during their time of mourning, and maybe Theo’s mistake had salted that wound? If the death had happened anytime in the last year, either Theo or Landwin might have been too distracted to properly honor their family.

Ren considered those possibilities as she ascended to the third floor. The landing offered a full view down the dormitory’s upper hallway. Rooms flanked both sides running the entire length. The room Ockley had guessed would be roughly halfway down. Evens were on the left. Odds on the right. Ren adjusted the grip on her wand and started walking.

317, 315, 313, 309…

It was unlocked. Left open, in fact. She could see just a sliver of light through the crack. Ren performed a quick probing spell. Testing for counters and traps. There was nothing cast across the entrance, though. She opened the door slowly, wand raised. No one sprang out from the corner. No one shouted for her to get out. There was no sign of Theo Crane sleeping on his bed in the corner.

The room was empty.

Only the desk displayed signs of occupancy. She glided across the room, drawn to the open books and journals and pencils. It almost looked like the occupant had been right in the middle of exams and had stepped out to get a quick cup of tea. She was wondering how to confirm this had been his room when her eyes landed on initials, stitched into the bottom right corner: TC .

“What were you up to, Crane?”

One of the pages of the nearest textbook had been dog-eared. It detailed a number of conflagration spells. The exact kind of information someone might need if they were hoping to create and spread a fire. Ren frowned before turning through the pages. Why leave the books like this? It would have been obvious to anyone who stumbled into the room. Maybe he simply hadn’t been planning to return? But then how had he departed from the Heights? She supposed it was possible he could have pilfered one of the candle stubs. It wasn’t as if she’d been there to monitor all their gathered supplies.

Another textbook caught her eye. The page was turned to an essay on the historical development of insurrections. Really? Crane was just casually reading up on the exact sort of revolution that he’d joined? Then, inspired by that reading, he’d taken it upon himself to go start a fire that would eliminate one of the best outposts for the surviving wizard contingent?

This scene felt contrived. Meant to be found. The only real thing, she realized, was Crane’s journal. She flipped through the pages and saw that the handwriting didn’t match the other notes around the table. “Shit.” Turning, she began calling his name. “Crane?! You in here, Crane?”

Ren moved from room to room. Each time she would call his name—and then listen as the echoes faded. It wasn’t until she reached the end of the hallway that she finally heard something. A terrible scratching sound. It took time to calibrate the direction of the noise—and then she was moving, hunting. There was a broom closet back near the stairs.

A quick spell blasted away the door’s handle. She yanked it open. There were abandoned mops, scattered cleaning supplies, and Theo Crane. He was bound and gagged. Ren could sense a few layers of muting spells in the air. He’d wormed his way from a back corner. In the dark, he’d managed to roll to one side so that his hands, bound as they were, could reach the door. He’d been using his nails to scratch the wood. Any other sound he made would have been muted, but the wards his captor had set couldn’t account for sounds the door itself made. It was clever of him.

“Who did this?” she asked, tearing away his gag. “Who was it, Crane?”

The words came tumbling out after a few ragged breaths. “Proctor. Ellison Proctor. He’s sold the other houses to the Makers. When he… was down in Kathor. He made a deal with them. Deliver the other houses, and the Proctor family’s holdings would be left untouched. Ren. I think something terrible is about to happen.”

“I know, I know. He’s already done it. The fires he started have been spreading across the Heights all morning. The atmosphere up here is wasted. Unlivable. We’re going to Meredream. The portal room is already active, Crane. We’ll have to deal with him when we get to the city….”

But Theo’s entire face contorted. “No. That’s… first phase. I was following him, Ren. I was suspicious of him. He passed all the information back to the Makers. They wanted him to destroy the Heights, but that’s only because they know about Meredream, too. He sent them the location. The coordinates. He was taking notes this whole time. In that journal. They know, Ms. Monroe. They know where we’re going. They know everything.”

Her heart stopped beating in her chest.

“When did he get them the details?”

“Days ago. It was days ago, ma’am.”

Meredream was at least a full day’s travel from Kathor on foot. Perhaps longer. Her instinctual thought had been that it was simply too far for the Makers to make good use of the information. Sure, they might eventually track down the city and set up an army outside the gates—but by then, what would it matter? The wizards would be safely inside. There were farms that could sustain them for years within the gates. But now she knew that several days had passed since the first reveal. If Proctor had managed to hand them that information early enough—the Makers might already have assembled a small army. What if the place they were porting to was surrounded?

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Ren turned and sprinted. Crane was smart enough to not ask questions. He ran after her. She reached the stairs, taking two or three at a time, and nearly sent herself sprawling over one of the railings. The boy had gained on her some by the time they reached the bottom floor. She started running down the main hall before Crane shouted, “This way! The back door! It’s faster!”

He was right. She’d forgotten about the back hallway. Her left knee nearly buckled as she cut back in that direction. Crane was shouldering through the door and she darted through the gap with him. Both of them were already breathless, their chests heaving, but they kept running. All the way across the quad. He crossed the threshold just before her. The hallway leading into the room offered Ren a partial glimpse of its occupants. Ellison Proctor was sitting in that distance. When he saw Theo barreling in his direction, his eyes shocked wide.

“It’s a trap!” Ren screamed. She was staggering down the hallway. Nearly there. “Ellison! Everyone needs to get out of the—”

Before she could say more, Ellison leapt the hip-high barrier. He scrambled over the wax sculpture, nearly on all fours, and lunged for the candle that everyone had so carefully lit. The flame pinched between his extended fingers. There was a gasp of smoke. Nothing happened. And then everything happened. The room’s exterior lights flickered in rapid sequence. The warning she’d seen a hundred times. Ren saw—in that split second—a square of red fabric poking out of Ellison’s coat pocket. That would be his sign to the Makers. A visual letting them know he should be spared. Ren staggered one more step before magic thundered through the room. Power. Raw, untethered power. Ren felt the sudden force shoving her back. Like an angry god turning away a supplicant who’d prayed the wrong words.

No, no, no…

Something was wrong. That magic should have swept her off her feet. She should have felt her body compress, tightening into too-small spaces, as she raced through the waxways. Instead there was a deafening roar. Everyone in the room vanished. Nevelyn Tin’Vori and Able Ockley and Winnie Fletcher. All of them gone. Everyone except for Ren and Crane. The wind briefly buffeted her back into the nearest wall, and then everything went silent.

Perfectly still.

“It’s a trap,” she said, to no one at all.