Chapter 22 Syneca
Syneca
Don’t touch a book that falls open on its own, the words inside will try to keep you.
The uniform they provided fit poorly. Lucette’s was atrocious.
Her pants must have belonged to a baby giant.
Mine was made of scratchy wool that chafed at my neck and wrists.
I walked down the hall, tying my wild hair into a braid, muttering under my breath about the absence of basic necessities in this glorified prison.
A toothbrush. One fucking toothbrush. That’s all I’m asking for.
I should have grabbed mine last night when we’d gone to the apartment. Should have known we wouldn’t be returning home anytime soon.
My thoughts drifted back to the Magistrate and then the locator spell.
I hadn’t had to cut it off myself, the magic had truly failed on its own.
Probably because I’d had minimal training with that particular spell.
Gran taught me the theory once, but any practical application was another matter entirely.
Still, something had felt wrong when I cast it, like I was trying to pour water uphill.
Whether that was inexperience or something else, I couldn’t be sure.
Approaching my door, I stopped short.
A note was pinned to the frame, precise handwriting on expensive paper.
Training. East tower. Seven bells. Do not be late. Tell the others.
-W
I memorized the words in seconds, then stepped into my room and closed the door behind me.
My fingers found the familiar heat that lived in my bones, and I let the smallest trace of fire dance between them—not water magic, but my true nature.
Touching fire magic felt like coming home and shouting in a silent room at the same time.
The paper curled and blackened, turning to ash.
I moved to the window, which opened exactly three inches thanks to whatever wards kept us contained, and scattered the evidence into the morning air. Let the hunter wonder why I never showed.
A shadow blocked the weak sunlight. Silas squeezed through with surprising determination.
He could have just made himself smaller, but I guess he was as defiant as I was these days.
He’d been gone all night, which wasn’t like him.
Sometimes I dismissed him for privacy, but I hadn’t needed that in far too long.
I didn’t have to speak to him to know where he’d been. His feathers carried the scent of the Crook and a tinge of the Tangles. He’d been searching for Vitoria, scouring the city with the same desperate need that kept me awake at night.
I was so grateful. If he could find her, we could keep her as far from this hunt as possible.
“Any luck?” I whispered, knowing he couldn’t answer but needing to ask anyway.
He turned his back to me, tail lashing once with clear irritation as he landed on the bed with a thump.
“Yeah. Me neither.”
There was a knock at the door, then it opened before I could give permission. Only one person had that particular brand of confidence. His eyes swept the room, mouth in a thin line before I shook my head. “Silentii.”
The faint orb enclosed us in a private circle, shimmering to life, barely sealing before he spoke.
“Giving up our apartment last night was smart. You’ve won the Venatori over with that move, other than the Ripper, but what’s your plan from here?
” He paced, working it out in his mind as he stepped through the trace of water below us from the spell I’d cast. “Pip Willowbend can’t be our only hope. ”
I lifted a brow. “I’m open to other ideas here, Cal. Unless you know more about Vitoria’s midnight caller than I do, this is our only avenue. I mean, I have a theory, but it’s based on very little.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Whoever summoned her had money. Real money. For one, I’m pretty sure private sprite networking doesn’t come cheap. Elite messengers charge what most people make in a year just for discretion.”
“She never struggled with rent,” Calder agreed, stopping his pacing. “Always paid her third on time. Sometimes early. Sometimes more than what we needed.”
“Exactly. So either this person was employing her for midnight naked rendezvous, which is what I’d always assumed, or...” I trailed off, considering.
“Or paying her to stay hidden and available,” Calder finished. “Keep her off the streets, out of sight.”
“Would make sense. An unregistered fire witch is valuable. Dangerous, but valuable.” I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. “It could have been anything. Private assassination work. Consulting for someone who couldn’t risk being seen publicly with a witch.”
Calder’s expression darkened. “A secret lover with a reputation to protect is a sound theory.”
I hadn’t wanted to voice that possibility, but it had crossed my mind more than once. “She never mentioned anyone. Never came home smelling of cologne or carrying gifts.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t happening.” He resumed pacing. “Rich enough to afford Crimson, apparently a very well-compensated sprite. Powerful enough to keep him quiet. Maybe connected enough to know she’s being hunted and helping her hide.”
“Government?” I suggested quietly.
“Possibly. That would explain the timing. Why frame her now, specifically?” Calder’s jaw tightened. “Someone needed a scapegoat. Vitoria was convenient.”
“Or someone needed her silenced and framing her as the Phoenix accomplishes both.” The thought made my stomach turn. “She runs, they hunt her, problem solved.”
“Except she’s still alive. Still out there.” Calder stopped in front of me. “The question is, if we’re right, are they hiding her, or did she run from them too?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? As the walls closed in, as the Magistrate tightened his grip, as every hunter in the city searched for her, what would happen to her if we weren’t fast enough?
“We need that red-haired sprite,” I said finally.
“Crimson,” Calder corrected.
I nodded. “He’s the only link we have to whoever was pulling her away from us. Even if it leads to someone in government. Especially if it does.”
“And if it leads somewhere worse?”
I met his eyes. “We’ve always been good at thinking on our feet.”
He nodded once. “You know we’re going to have to start feeding them lies, right?”
“Yes, but we can’t do that until we know, without a doubt, we’re steering them away from her and not directly to her hiding spot.”
His stomach growled, breaking the tension. “I need a kitchen. Before I eat someone.”
“Dramatic,” I said with a small smile, letting the silencing spell drop as I followed him into the hallway. But the questions lingered.
Who had owned Vitoria’s nights?
The kitchen, when we finally found it, was massive, designed to feed an army, with industrial ovens and enough counter space to prepare meals for many. But only one corner showed recent signs of life.
Lucette sat at a worn wooden table, mechanically eating while staring at nothing. Her hair was down for once, falling in waves around her shoulders, making her look younger and more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her.
Pip hovered near a row of ceramic jars, her wings drooping with exhaustion. “No one told us where anything was,” she said mournfully. “I’ve been here for an hour trying to find the honey. Finally gave up and made eggs.”
Lucette didn’t look up. “They were terrible.”
“I did my best!”
Calder immediately took over with the efficiency of someone who’d spent years alone and had to learn to cook or starve.
It was rare to find him without food in his hand or a little snack in his pocket, so being under the control of the Magistrate was likely some kind of slow death for him.
Soon the kitchen filled with the sounds and smells of a proper lunch, meat sizzling, sauces simmering and bread baking.
Pip watched him with enormous eyes, occasionally glancing at me for confirmation that this was really happening. When he pulled out a jar of honey and set it beside her without comment, her wings actually shimmered with delight.
“I thought you only ate runes,” she said finally, her voice small.
Calder didn’t pause in his cooking. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Everyone knows. Rune Eater and all that.”
He flipped the bacon with more force than necessary. “Interesting.”
The kitchen door opened, and I tensed automatically before recognizing the Oracle’s white robes.
Riot followed close behind, his suit stretching across broad shoulders with subtle shades of purple and black.
His hand hovered near the small of Aureth’s back without quite touching, protective in a way that spoke of long practice.
“May we join you?” the Oracle asked, though Riot was already pulling out a chair for her. “It smells divine.”
“Of course,” Lucette said, standing to grab extra plates from the cupboard.
That’s when I got a proper look at her pants.
They were... massive. Rolled at the ankles multiple times, cinched at the waist with her belt pulled to its absolute limit, the fabric bunched in ways that suggested they belonged to someone at least a foot taller.
I drew back slightly, caught between asking and pretending I hadn’t noticed.
Lucette caught my expression and sighed. “The uniform they provided came with a fucking skirt. I’d rather wrestle a feral dragon in a thunderstorm than wear that.”
“So you borrowed pants,” I drawled.
She lifted one shoulder. “So, I borrowed pants.”
“From a giant?” Pip whispered, then immediately looked stricken. “I mean—not that there’s anything wrong with—I just meant they’re very—” She shrank smaller. “I’m going to stop talking now.”
Lucette’s eyes softened. “Pip, I once shifted into a bear in the middle of a formal dinner because someone told me the dress code was creative. These pants are fine.”
Pip’s face brightened immediately. “Really? You’re a bear?”
“No. But you should see your face right now.” Lucette grinned.
Pip huffed but smiled despite herself.
I narrowed my eyes at the giant hovering over the stove. “You gave Lucette your pants, didn’t you, Calder Grimm?”