Chapter 23
Quinn
I didn’t know where I was. Not a clue. A semi-truck whizzed by me on the highway, and I took a step back, hitting the metal guardrail. Rough yellow weeds pushed through the cracked asphalt, and trapped litter skittered away from the cars speeding past.
I’d woken up from blackouts in worse places, not that it mattered anymore. In less than a month, I’d go under the knife, and this nightmare would be over.
I turned so I was walking with traffic coming toward me, and kept my eyes peeled for a sign.
Ten minutes later, I found one. I was about five miles down I-70, which was almost twenty miles from my apartment in the center of St. Louis.
This was a huge jump. I was getting worse, or maybe not.
Since I destroyed that man’s knees, I hadn’t tried to let Miss Q out.
I took drugs, slept, and wished things could be different.
I’d already searched my person for a phone or wallet, anything. But I was in my pajamas. At least I had shoes on.
With an annoyed sigh, I kept moving.
I’d been walking for maybe thirty minutes when a state patrol vehicle cut me off and parked. A man in a dark uniform with a gun on his belt approached me. “What are you doing all the way out here in your pajamas, young lady?”
I shrugged. “Just walking back home.”
The officer looked around. “From where?”
I pointed behind me. “Back there.”
The officer frowned. “Do you have some ID on you?”
I shook my head. “It’s a bad prank. I didn’t know I was leaving the house today.”
“Well, how about I give you a lift?”
I brightened. “Really?”
The officer smiled and opened the rear door of his vehicle. I slid into the back seat. I’d never been in a police car before. He shut the door, and for the first time, I noticed there were no handles. My excitement ebbed.
The officer climbed into the driver's side and clicked his radio. “Officer Parker to Main Office.”
“Main Office to Parker, go ahead.” A staticky voice came on the radio.
“I have an unidentified vagrant found off the side of I-70 headed east. Suspected drug use with no ID.” Officer Parker said.
My heart thumped in my chest. He wasn’t giving me a lift, at least not to where I wanted to go.
The officer looked at me through his rearview mirror. “I can make all of this go away, for a little something on the side.”
I had nothing to give him. I curled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I should have kept walking. I might not have gotten home fast, but I would have ended up where I wanted to be.
As I left The Great Hall, a familiar slime slid across my cheek.
I’d felt it three times now, including that very first day when Chancellor Morgen had to ‘run off and take care of something.’ The smell of roses permeated the rainy air.
A hint of static made me want to walk back the way I came.
I stopped and turned, looking directly at The Old Fortress.
Unlike The Great Hall, with its lighter stone and tidy, square windows filled with glass, the medieval building was a wreck of crumbling stone and vines.
A corner of it had collapsed, and rain dripped off crumbling gargoyles.
The sun was setting earlier and earlier, and murky pre-sunset light clung to the world despite it only being late afternoon.
I’d never realized how far north Scotland was on the globe.
A light pink haze, the same color as Professor Holiday’s eyes, filled the tall, thin windows looming over Crown Square.
I took a step toward The Old Fortress and then another. Something moved from one thin window to the next. I swore I heard Professor Holiday's horrible, dry laughter, though that wasn’t possible from this distance.
I took another step.
“Quinn?” Cayden linked my arm with his. “Ezra’s office is this way.”
I jerked out of whatever little trance I’d been in and blinked repeatedly. Chancellor Morgen’s bright-pink hair streaked past me to pound on the side door to The Old Fortress.
Perfect, she had to deal with the weird rose-oil smell again, which meant my tutoring was canceled. Sitting in her office and reading while she made occasional comments about my fertility was not the highlight of my new schedule.
“Yeah, sorry.” I pulled my attention away from the dark, crumbling building. “Who lives in The Old Fortress?”
Cayden tugged me, and I turned, falling to step at his side. “Professor Holiday. He leaches our magic; can you not feel it?”
“I cannot.” A shiver ran down my spine. Why had I been walking toward him? I shook my head and focused on the ground.
Cayden and I spent what few free hours we had in the evenings trying to make general magic work for me.
Simply lighting up a cauldron would be wonderful.
I had no problem with my Majekah. I could destroy anything at will.
Well, almost anything. Since exploding that clear pebble during my placements, I’d steered clear of objects with magic in them.
Using general magic felt as tragically optimistic as my attempt to ‘manifest’ a million dollars. So far, all I’d done was contort my face so horribly, Cayden tossed a cloth over me so he wouldn’t have to see it.
Bless his stupid, straightforward heart, my friend bluntly detailed exactly how bad I was at this, as if knowing the problem was the key to fixing it.
Apparently, kids didn’t need to learn this stuff.
It was monkey see, monkey do. Moving magic was like learning to walk.
Only I couldn’t feel the ground, or maybe I didn’t have feet.
“What about people born before the tremors hit?” I asked.
Cayden didn’t slow his steps. “What about them? They died.”
I elbowed him. “Then how are you alive?”
Cayden rolled his eyes, and we lapsed into silence.
It had been three days since we finished our placements, and despite the Architect still being asleep, the family couldn’t wait. We were being placed today.
Not by the Architect, but by Ezra.
A solid chunk of unease lodged in my stomach.
Aside from a few glimpses of him training his men in the coliseum, I hadn’t seen the commander.
He befriended me, saved me, made me feel safe, and then he trapped me in this castle.
He hadn’t been the reason I fell, but if he had let me go into town, everything would be different right now.
But he hadn’t, and now I was also the only person, as far as I could tell, who hadn’t gotten an appointment to be placed in the family.
Unease made my steps leaden where they should have danced with excitement.
We walked past the Happy Rooster, which was already hopping with celebrating trainees.
Everly, Hero, and Brit sat at our usual table, their outlines framed by a big window.
They clinked glasses, and Brit’s head snapped back with her massive laugh.
Although I couldn’t hear it, a smile still cracked my lips.
They’d had their meetings already.
Everly went spiritual, though her placements guided her toward fight. I secretly believed she did it to piss off her twin, who had to do whatever she did.
Brit chose technology. ‘I’ve been fighting my whole life.
It’s time for a change,’ is what she told Joe, Rowan’s best friend, who told Rowan, who in turn repeated it to me during training earlier today.
I hadn’t realized Brit’s Joe was also Rowan’s best friend, and it was fun to hear about Brit and her relationship from a third party.
Being friends with Brit’s boyfriend, or whatever you called dating here, was as far as our social circles crossed.
Rowan was an enforcer for the Architect, whom none of us fully trusted.
Especially me. It wasn’t as if Rowan and I were doing anything outside of training.
He could be my secret indulgence. My stupid crush. Not that he returned it.
Or that Commander Ezra cared enough to place me or talk to me about all my failed and missed placements. I’d done dishes twice today, hoping for a message with my meeting time, and gotten nothing.
So now I trailed after my best friend, a lost puppy. Too bad shirtless Rowan couldn’t walk me. I should be blushing or at least giggling at the thought, but unease had my humor locked in stasis.
I hadn’t gotten the same start here as everyone else. I completed one placement, the very first one, but I caused an explosion in the second, and Chancellor Morgen didn’t bother to give me hers. The rest I’d been excused from either because of injury or fear of more explosions.
The hexagon-shaped building where I’d had my orientation loomed larger than I remembered. I clasped my hands in front of me to keep them from shaking.
“I understand your question now,” Cayden said, bringing back our conversation. “How am I alive? You’re asking about the human race, because you grew up under a rock.”
Cayden separated my palms, now damp with nervous sweat. If it bothered him, it didn’t stop him from lacing our fingers together and pulling me closer to his side.
“During the tremors,” he continued. “People either died, evolved, or twisted themselves with whatever they needed to survive.” He hesitated.
“In my family, we’re taught the Sun God blessed us, and only us.
His rays shone only on the Prophet and blessed him with not only eternal life but knowledge of the world's inner workings.”
I squeezed his hand. “So, did it work? Is your Prophet still alive?”
“Yes. He is family.” Cayden flattened his lips into a familiar line. He hadn’t meant to say whatever came out of his mouth, and if I didn’t change the topic, silence would be the rest of my evening.
“Ok, so they twisted themselves with whatever they needed to survive,” I repeated. “Cryptic. Dramatic.” I bumped his shoulder playfully. “Could your wording be influenced by your Prophet? Does he also have a flair for drama?”
Cayden stiffened.
Suddenly aware my attempt at playfulness had made Cayden very uncomfortable, I backpedaled. “But how did they, ah, the people twist themselves?”