13. Griffin
Spell Against Gossip:
Carry basil leaves. Loose tongues twist into silence.
The air smells like burnt plastic and wet ash, a combination that turns my stomach every time I breathe in.
I’m standing near the command truck, clipboard in hand, watching as my crew works to contain the fire that’s taken out three electricity poles along the eastern edge of town.
The flames have died down to embers, but the danger isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“Another sign,” Pastor Gide says, appearing at my elbow like he’s materialized from thin air. His eyes are wide, his voice trembling with that particular brand of paranoia that makes everyone in town avoid him. “The Rift is angry. It’s sending us messages.”
I force a smile. “Pastor. Just a fire. Probably caused by the surge last night. The lines were already weakened.”
He shakes his head, his silver hair catching the dim light of the emergency lanterns. “No, no, you don’t see it. This isn’t random. The Rift is punishing us for our sins. For our complacency.”
“The Rift doesn’t punish, Pastor,” I say, marking something on my clipboard. “It just is. Like gravity. Or electricity.”
“Electricity,” he scoffs, gesturing wildly at the smoldering poles. “Man’s attempt to control nature. The Rift is showing us who’s really in charge here.”
I nod because arguing with him is like trying to reason with a thunderstorm. “I’ll make sure to note that in my report.”
He narrows his eyes, suspicious. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“I take every incident seriously, Pastor. That’s my job.” I glance past him, looking for an escape route. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my crew.”
He grabs my arm, his grip surprisingly strong for a man his age. “You need to warn people, Griffin. Evacuate. Get them out before it’s too late.”
“We’re not evacuating,” I say, gently removing his hand from my arm. “We’ve got this under control.”
He shakes his head, muttering to himself as he walks away. “Fools. All of them. Blind to the truth.”
I watch him go, then turn my attention back to the fire. Soren and Beckett approach, their faces smudged with soot, their gear smelling of smoke and sweat.
“Pastor Gide giving you trouble?” Soren asks, pulling off his helmet.
“Just his usual end-of-the-world speech,” I say, closing my clipboard. “Nothing new.”
Beckett laughs, running a hand through his damp hair. “He’s not wrong about one thing. This is a mess.”
“How bad?” I ask, my eyes scanning the damage.
“Three poles down, power out to half the east side,” Soren reports. “April just called from the tavern. They’re running on candles.”
“We should probably start running generators for the places without power,” Beckett suggests. “At least for the essential businesses.”
I nod, making a note. “Good idea. Get a list together. We’ll prioritize.”
“What’s the word from the sheriff?” Soren asks, leaning against the truck. “He still out at the wards?”
“Yeah,” I confirm. “One of them failed. That’s what caused the mini surge. He’s out there now with Simon and Rory, trying to reinforce it.”
“Man, I don’t know how he does it,” Beckett says, shaking his head. “Dealing with all that Rift shit day in and day out.”
“He’s built different,” Soren mutters. “That’s for sure.”
“Sometimes I think we should just evacuate the whole damn town,” Soren continues. “Find a new place to live. Somewhere without a magical time bomb in our backyard.”
Beckett snorts. “And what would we do then? Open a flower shop? The Rift keeps us in business. Without it, we’d be out of a job.”
Soren laughs, the sound harsh in the smoky air. “True. Can’t argue with that.”
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out to see Captain Noah’s name on the screen. “Griffin here.”
“Griffin,” Noah’s voice comes through, rough with exhaustion. “How’s it looking out there?”
“Under control,” I report. “Three poles down, but we’ve got the fire contained. Working on restoration now.”
“Good,” he says. “Listen, I wanted to tell you that I’m glad you agreed to come down and help. You look like you’ve been part of my team all along.”
A smile touches my lips. “Thanks, Captain. It feels right.”
“It is right,” he says firmly. “You made the right choice coming back.”
Before I can respond, his tone shifts, all business as he talks to someone else.
Then his voice comes back on the line. “We’ve got another emergency.
The transformer at the substation is sparking.
Badly. That’s the main line that powers half the businesses in town. We can’t afford for it to go down.”
My stomach tightens. “How bad is it?”
“Bad,” he says. “I need you and your team out there ASAP. I’ll meet you there.”
“On our way,” I say, ending the call.
I turn to Soren and Beckett, my expression serious. “We’ve got another situation. Transformer at the substation is sparking. That’s the main line for half the town’s businesses.”
“Shit,” Soren mutters. “That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not,” I agree. “Captain Noah’s meeting us there. We need to move.”
“What’s the plan?” Beckett asks, already pulling his helmet back on.
“First, we secure the area,” I say, my mind already working through the steps. “Evacuate anyone within a two-block radius. Then we assess the damage. If it’s just arcing, we can try to contain it with the foam. If it’s more serious…”
“If it’s more serious, we’re screwed,” Soren finishes for me. “Half the town loses power. Businesses shut down. People panic.”
“Not on my watch. We’ve got this.”
“We always do,” Beckett says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Let’s roll.”
As we load up the truck, my mind races with possibilities. The transformer is old, probably older than me, and the surge must have put extra strain on it. If it fails, the consequences could be catastrophic.
The drive to the substation is tense, the streets dark except for the occasional flicker of emergency lighting. The magic is everywhere. It hums under the truck, a low thrum that sets my teeth on edge.
When we arrive, the scene is even worse than I imagined. The transformer is glowing with an eerie blue light, sparks flying in every direction. The air crackles with electricity, the smell of ozone thick enough to taste.
Noah’s already there, his face grim. “Glad you could make it.”
“What’s the situation?” I ask, my eyes scanning the area.
“Main line’s compromised,” he reports. “The surge has fried the insulation. It’s arcing like crazy.”
“Can we shut it down?” Soren asks, already pulling out the gear.
“No,” Noah says, shaking his head. “If we shut it down, we might not be able to get it back up. We need to fix it while it’s live.”
“Live?” Beckett whistles. “That’s risky.”
“Everything’s risky in this town,” I remind him. “What’s the plan?”
“We need to get up there and replace the damaged insulation,” Noah says, pointing to the transformer. “But we can’t do it while it’s arcing. We need to find a way to contain the sparks long enough to work.”
“Containment foam,” I suggest. “We can spray it on the affected areas, create a barrier.”
“Good idea.” Noah nods. “But we need to be careful. Too much foam, and we risk causing a short. Too little, and it won’t contain the sparks.”
“I’ll handle the foam,” Soren volunteers. “I’ve got the steadiest hand.”
“Beckett and I will handle the replacement,” I say, already thinking through the steps. “We’ll need insulated gloves, safety harnesses, and a prayer.”
“I’ve got a better idea than a prayer,” Noah says. “I’ve got a containment shield. It’s not Council-approved, but it should hold long enough for you to work.”
“Where’d you get that?” Beckett asks, his eyes wide.
“Let’s just say I have connections,” Noah says, patting the metal case at his feet. “It’s not pretty, but it should do the trick.”
“Let’s do it,” I say, my resolve firm. “Soren, you’re on foam duty. Beckett, you’re with me. Noah, you’re on standby.”
“Got it,” they say in unison.
As we suit up, the Rift seems to pulse under our feet, a reminder of the stakes. If we fail, half the town goes dark. Businesses shut down. People panic. The Rift feeds on that fear, growing stronger with every negative emotion.
“Ready?” I ask, my voice muffled by the mask.
“Ready,” they respond.
I take a deep breath, then give the signal. “Let’s light this candle.”
The operation begins with Soren spraying the containment foam, creating a thick barrier around the arcing areas. The foam hisses as it makes contact with the electricity, the smell of burning chemicals filling the air.
“Hold it there,” I say, my eyes fixed on the transformer. “Beckett, you’re up.”
Beckett climbs the ladder, his movements careful and precise. I follow close behind, my heart pounding in my chest. The containment shield Noah provided feels heavy in my hands, a flimsy protection against the raw power of the transformer.
“Almost there,” Beckett says, his voice tight with concentration. “Just need to replace this section here.”
I hold the shield in place, my arms trembling with the effort. The electricity seems to push against it, testing its limits. For a moment, I think it’s going to fail, that we’re all going to be fried to a crisp.
Then, suddenly, the arcing stops. The transformer goes quiet, the blue light fading to a dull glow.
“We did it,” Beckett says.
“Not yet,” I say, my eyes still fixed on the transformer. “We still need to secure the new insulation.”
Working quickly, we replace the damaged sections, our fingers numb with cold and fear. The containment shield holds, buying us the time we need.
“Almost done,” I say. “Just need to tighten these bolts.”
As I work, I can feel the Rift watching us, its presence a constant weight in the air. It’s like it’s waiting for us to fail, for us to make a mistake.
“Done,” Beckett says, securing the last bolt. “Let’s get out of here.”
We climb down, our movements quick and efficient. Soren’s already packing up the foam, his face smudged with soot and sweat.
“Power should be restored within the hour,” Noah says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Good work, Griffin.”