Chapter 14
Keane
WEEKS OF PREPARATION HAD TAUGHT us the rhythm of crisis management. Wisp flicked her tail once and settled at my feet as I cataloged the new normal. The four of us fell into patterns.
Mornings: Campus defense protocols. Marigold’s detection systems spread further. My portal network connected international wellsprings. Cyrus held fire drills with students who didn’t want to need them. Marigold ran corruption checks on faculty and staff between cleanses.
Afternoons: Wellspring work. We’d started cleansing the known sites—the seventeen Keane had mapped—working through them between Wickem duties and intelligence analysis.
We understood the geometry but not the full shape.
Every corrupted site we cleared felt like pulling a thread from something we couldn’t yet see the whole of.
Evenings: Training. We were learning to move as one unit instead of four separate powers, finding the spaces where our magic overlapped, reinforced, completed each other’s gaps.
Nights: The careful dance of four people learning to exist in the same space. Cyrus still kept his distance—close enough to be present, far enough to maintain the walls he needed. But he was there, every night, choosing to stay.
The interim council had quietly exempted us from regular coursework—an unspoken acknowledgment that defending wellsprings and hunting the master’s network mattered more than attending lectures. We were still enrolled, still technically students. We just weren’t in class.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.
And then, on April fourth, Captain Parker called.
Keane. Her voice was clipped. San Francisco wellspring—it’s on your predicted geometry sites, and it’s being actively hit right now. But something else is in the tunnels. Corruption signature that’s fighting itself. Someone’s down there who doesn’t want to be doing what they’re doing.
I looked up to find Marigold, Elio, and Cyrus watching me.
Corruption in San Francisco, I said. Unstable signature. Could be early-stage corruption—someone still fighting it.
If they’re still fighting, they might talk, Elio said immediately, understanding the opportunity.
When do we leave? Marigold asked.
Now. I was already calculating portal logistics. We’ll need combined strength if this goes sideways.
Cyrus was on his feet, Ember flaring on his shoulder. Finally, something we can chase instead of just defend.
Twenty minutes later, we stepped through my portal into San Francisco’s magical underground beneath Alcatraz. The old network of tunnels and chambers predated the human prison above. The wellspring pulsed with wrong energy—corruption threaded through its currents like oil in water.
Captain Parker met us at the entrance to the sealed chambers, a guard team flanking her. Signature’s been moving through the old tunnels for the past hour. Whoever it is knows the layout. We’ve been trying to corner them, but…
But they’re using portals, I finished, recognizing the pattern. Portal mage. That’s why you can’t pin them down.
Can you track them? Parker asked.
I closed my eyes, feeling for the resonance of another portal mage’s work in the area. There… faint traces of recently collapsed portals, the signature familiar in the way all portal magic shared common frequencies.
Northeast tunnel system, I said. He’s circling back toward the old holding cells.
We’ll take point, Marigold said, Scout already perched on her shoulder. Your team provides backup if we need extraction.
Parker nodded, stepping aside to let the heirs lead. Comms stay open. You get in trouble, we pull you out.
We moved through the tunnels as a unit. Marigold’s necromancy sensed ahead, and my portals remained ready to provide access or escape. Elio’s illusions worked to reveal patterns invisible to normal sight while Cyrus’s fire provided light and protection.
There, Marigold whispered. Death magic. Wrong flavor—the master’s corruption but fighting itself, like two signatures trying to occupy the same space.
On his shoulder, Echo stopped moving completely—no flicker, no twitch. Her gaze fixed forward, and her scales went matte and dark, like armor cooling into place.
Elio extended his illusions forward, revealing the scene in the chamber ahead.
A young witch—mid-twenties, portal mage by the silver traces around his hands—hunched against the wall. Red-black corruption threaded visibly through his magical signature, pulsing in waves. He was muttering to himself with his hands pressed against his temples.
Stable approach, I said quietly. He’s fighting the corruption. Don’t want to spook him into full master control.
We entered the chamber carefully. The witch’s head snapped up, his eyes wild with fear and corruption both.
Stay back, he gasped. I can feel him. He’s trying to… I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I can’t…
We’re not here to hurt you, Marigold said, her voice calm despite the danger. We’ve broken corruption before. We can help.
No one can help. His laugh cracked. Once he’s in your head, you’re already gone. Just… taking longer for me because I keep fighting.
The corruption flared suddenly, red-black magic lashing out. Cyrus’s fire intercepted instantly, blue-edged flames consuming the shadow before it could reach us.
What’s your name? I asked, keeping my tone even. Portal mages understood each other. I knew what it felt like to have my magic corrupted, twisted against my will.
Mallory Ellis. He struggled visibly against another wave of corruption. Berkeley portal mage. I was recruited six months ago. They promised… His voice broke. Doesn’t matter what they promised. All lies. He’s in my head, and I can’t get him out.
Where is he? Marigold asked. The master, where is he actually operating from?
Alps compound. Mallory’s voice came in gasps.
Not the holding sites, the central one. Your friend, Raven, I saw her there.
That’s where he trains them, organizes them.
That’s his headquarters. Austrian side. Near ?tztal.
Old magical research station—abandoned since the 1800s.
He’s been using it as headquarters. The core operations are there.
His eyes focused with effort.
Coordinates… forty-seven point… The corruption surged, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Forty-seven degrees north, Elio said immediately, already marking it on his tablet. ?tztal valley narrows that considerably. We can find it.
His body convulsed as the corruption fought his cooperation. Can’t…he’s trying to silence me. But I came here to tell someone before… He screamed, red-black shadows rippling across his skin.
I threw up portal barriers around him, containing the corruption surge. Cyrus’s flames formed a secondary cage—not attacking, just ready. Marigold’s necromancy extended carefully, helping Mallory maintain coherence against the master’s consciousness trying to assert control.
Tell us, she said gently, her magic supporting his resistance. We’re listening.
Mallory gasped for air, fighting for every word. Solstice. Summer solstice. June twentieth. That’s when everything happens.
My pulse quickened. Specific date. Hard deadline. For once, the structure felt too thin. Not enough time. Not enough reach.
What happens at solstice? I asked.
The ritual. Words tumbling faster now, like he knew time was running out. All the corrupted wellsprings…they’re positioned in astronomical alignment. Ritual geometry across the entire continent. When the sun reaches its peak on the solstice, the alignment will perfect.
Elio was already pulling out his tablet, his fingers flying. How many wellsprings total?
Sixty-three. Another convulsion. Mallory bit back a scream. He needs sixty-three for the pattern to be complete. Already has fifty-eight corrupted. Five more and the network activates. All at once. Every corrupted wellspring synchronized.
That's why the pattern looked incomplete, I said.
What does the ritual accomplish? Cyrus demanded, heat radiating controlled urgency.
Mallory’s gaze snapped to focus through sheer force of will.
Control. The wellsprings are infrastructure—life force for all witch magic.
If he controls them, synchronized and aligned, he controls access to magic itself.
Witches become dependent on corrupted wellsprings.
They can’t access clean magic because the infrastructure is compromised.
The implications crystallized with brutal clarity.
Not powerless, I said slowly. Worse. We’d still have magic but only through his corrupted channels.
Yes. Mallory’s voice was weakening. Every spell you cast, every bond you forge—filtered through his control. He wouldn’t need to corrupt individual witches anymore. Just turn the tap and grant or deny magical access at will.
Which five wellsprings? I pressed. Where are the remaining targets?
Don’t know exact locations. His eyes were losing focus, the corruption spreading faster. But geometric pattern. Astronomical alignment requires specific coordinates. Map the fifty-eight he has, and you can calculate the five he needs…
The corruption surged violently. Mallory screamed, his voice shifting mid-cry to something that wasn’t entirely his own.
Predictable, the master’s consciousness said through Mallory’s mouth, looking directly at us. Chasing symptoms. Missing the disease. Always reactive, never—
Now! I shouted.
Cyrus’s flames intensified, forcing the corruption back temporarily. My portals sealed the chamber, preventing any energy from escaping. Marigold’s necromancy pushed deep, helping Mallory maintain one last moment of resistance.
He knows you’re hunting him, Mallory gasped, his own voice fighting through. Knows you broke Alstone. You’re… The master’s presence surged again. Already too late.
Then the corruption consumed him. Red-black spreading until nothing of Mallory remained except a puppet wearing his face.
Get back! Cyrus pulled us toward the exit as shadow magic exploded outward.
I opened an emergency portal. We dove through as the containment chamber collapsed behind us, corruption detonating with enough force to crack ancient stone. My knees hit stone and the portal sealed behind us like a slammed vault door.
Parker was already there, her team moving to secure the entrance.
The wellspring, Marigold said. It needs to be cleansed before we go. Whatever Mallory started in there, we can’t leave it.
Parker nodded. My team contains the chamber. You have ten minutes.
It took eight. When we emerged, Parker was waiting.
What happened?
Corrupted witness, I said, still breathing hard. Gave us intelligence before the master took full control. He’s still in the chamber—or what’s left of him. Maximum containment.
Parker’s expression was grim. Did you get what you needed?
Summer solstice, Marigold said quietly. June twentieth. That’s when the master’s network activates.
Today’s March fourth, Elio added, still clutching his tablet with the data he’d managed to record. Eleven weeks.
Parker’s jaw tightened. She looked at us for a long moment and then seemed to make a decision. The Vienna delegation arrives next week. Three vampire clans claiming neutrality. They want recognition as legitimate magical citizens now that the manufactured war is exposed.
Cyrus’s expression darkened. Trust them?
We need them, Parker said bluntly. They can identify corruption in ways we can’t. The attacks last month in Prague and Berlin? Master’s forces, corrupted vampires under his control. Which is exactly why vampire allies matter now. They know how he operates better than we do.
My father won’t like it, Cyrus muttered.
Your father barely tolerates Levon helping us track the Lightfords, Parker countered. But he’s practical enough to know we need every advantage we can get. Twelve weeks isn’t much time.
She was right. We’d need more than just the four of us.
Parker nodded toward the exit. Go. Process what you learned. I’ll handle containment here and brief Lord Raynoff on the vampire delegation.
We portaled directly back to the royal dorm common room—our makeshift war room where maps and intelligence reports already covered every surface.
Mallory Ellis, Elio said, pulling up guard records on his tablet. Berkeley portal mage. Disappeared four months ago. Isolated, struggling—perfect vulnerability profile.
Which means his intel is likely accurate, I said, spreading our existing wellspring corruption map across the table. Sixty-three total. Fifty-eight corrupted. Five remaining.
We worked for hours, cross-referencing corrupted wellspring locations with astronomical alignment data and ritual geometric patterns. The calculation was complex—astronomical data crossed with wellspring positions crossed with geographic coordinates.
But eventually, we had it.
Five wellspring locations. Three in North America, two in Europe. Each positioned precisely to complete the sixty-three-point geometric pattern Mallory had described.
I marked them on the map. These are his remaining targets.
We stared at the marked points.
We can’t defend all five simultaneously, Cyrus said flatly. Not with four people.
Then we prioritize, Marigold suggested. Fortify what we can, disrupt what he’s already corrupted. Two-pronged approach.
Risky, I observed. If we choose wrong…
Everything’s risky, she countered, but at least this gives us initiative.
We need more resources, Elio said. Guard coordination, faculty support, international contacts. This is beyond four heirs.
Carefully, I cautioned. The master infiltrates through vulnerability. Anyone we bring in becomes a potential target.
Then we vet carefully, Cyrus said. He paused, the words clearly costing him. And maybe we work with Parker’s vampire contacts to see if they can identify corruption better than we can.
Marigold’s hand found mine on the map’s edge. One crisis at a time. Right now, we plan. Tomorrow, we move.
Eleven weeks until solstice.
Starting tomorrow, we’d make them count.