Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Going up.
I have never visited the Immortal Zone in this capacity before. I wonder whether they realise people from below may regain some of their magic the moment they cross the boundary.
Perhaps no one has noticed.
Perhaps no one stays long enough.
People disappear.
They are no gentler with me here than they were below. I am dragged into a room and dumped into a chair that scrapes across thin grey carpet. They cuff my hands to the table with standard restraints, not the sort that suppress magic.
Mistake one.
My file still says I was stripped of power. To them, suppressing my magic would be like muzzling a corpse.
If things go wrong, I can call on the invisibility sigil, but cameras see through it, the doors are warded, and escape is not why I came.
Still, it is reassuring to know I have options.
Then they leave me to sweat.
Mistake two.
I am not sweating.
I am faintly amused to see the obligatory mirrored panel along one wall, straight out of a television police drama. Someone may be watching, though I doubt it. I am not important enough for an audience, yet what I shouted down there might have sparked some curiosity.
I close my eyes, lean back as far as the cuffs allow and adjust my wrists so the metal does not bite. Then I drift into the half-doze I have trained myself to find.
The door opens.
I keep my eyes shut until someone slaps me.
The crack rings through the room. My cheek stings—the same spot Cáel healed yesterday.
Not a great week for that side of my face.
I make no sound. I merely open my eyes and tilt my head, as though examining something mildly interesting in a display case.
A woman in an expensive navy suit wipes her hand against her skirt as though she can erase either the contact or the redness blooming across her palm. She pulls out the chair opposite me and sits sideways, crossing her long legs in nude heels.
Her colleague takes the seat beside her. He is quieter, upright and watchful. Dark hair, olive skin, brown eyes and a scar at the corner of one eye.
Not a handsome face, but an interesting one.
I study them both.
She has the curling blonde hair and high cheekbones of old Immortal stock, though her lipstick is a shade too warm for her complexion.
My mother would have had opinions.
I wait for her to speak.
He does instead.
“My apologies for my colleague, Miss Morris.” His voice is low and gravelly.
“I thought she was unconscious,” the woman says, “what with her eyes closed.”
Pure Immortal Zone vowels. If she is my age, we may have attended the same school.
I settle lower in the chair. The cuffs rattle.
“Miss Morris, we want to know about the explosion. You live in that area. Have you wanted to destroy that government building for some time?” The woman leans forwards awkwardly, then has to swing her entire body around with her legs together to execute the careful turn we were taught when alighting from a car.
My faint amusement does not please her. Her nails scrape the sleeve of her jacket and dimple the fabric as though she has to stop herself from hitting me again.
I shrug. “No idea what you’re talking about. I was walking my dog with a friend and was arrested for reasons unknown.”
“That’s not how anyone else remembers it.” The man leans in, his expression distinctly unamused.
I had hoped for a good cop, but clearly, I have a bad cop and a worse one.
“We need to discuss what you said,” he continues.
“I said nothing of substance. My ears were ringing. It was chaos.”
“You mentioned magic,” the woman snaps. “Runes.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
She examines her nails. “And who was the gentleman walking the dog with you? Tall. Foreign. Rather a distinctive crown on his collar.”
There it is.
I keep my face where it is and my hands where they are, and I think about how carefully I stayed away from him in that square, and how little difference it made.
“A friend,” I say.
“Mm.”
“If you want to know what I know”—I tap the table between the cuffs—“bring me someone with the authority to listen. I don’t talk to the help.”
She makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a hiss.
We sit in tense silence.
Then the door opens.
“You two. Out.”
They rise. The woman straightens her skirt with a sharp tug and glides past me. When she looks back, I wiggle my fingers at her.
Angry people make mistakes.
I hope she will oblige.
The senior officer enters, keys in hand, and unlocks the cuffs. I do not rub my wrists, though they throb. I lower my hands into my lap.
A ring of sweat darkens his collar. He switches off the camera, mutters about the locked, warded observation room and slumps into the chair opposite me. When he presses his palm to the table, a privacy ward seals the room with a soft hum.
“You look a little stressed there, Bob.”
“Yeah, well.” He drags a hand over his face.
“You do that to me, Elmo. What in blazes is going on? I got here as fast as I could.” He gestures towards himself.
“Sorry about the sweat. I didn’t wait for the lift.
Do you know how many steps this place has?
Of course you don’t. The building wasn’t here when you lived in the Zone. ”
He scowls, still irritable, though I sympathise.
If anyone understands stairs, I do.
“They brought me in through the cells,” I say. “I missed the climb.”
“The whole structure is built into the Zone’s foundations. Level after level.” He shudders. “They like keeping me in the basement.”
“That’s not a great sign, Bob.”
“Don’t worry about my job. Worry about yours.
” He straightens. “Why are you here? How can I help? Whatever you’re planning, forget it.
We need to get you out of this building, and I’d walk you out myself if those two who interviewed you weren’t above my pay grade.
What did you do to attract the government’s goon squad? ”
“Which Overseer is involved?”
“Preston.”
Ah. Preston.
I nod. The red-scarfed Overseer from the roadblock has a name. I should have recognised him.
My memory used to be reliable. Lately, every shiny Immortal looks the same.
I hesitate.
Trust him or not?
Bob and I go back. His sister, Mara, and I were friends at school. She entered the Games the year after I did and came out alive, with her magic, which is more than most can say.
“How’s Mara?”
The tension leaves his face. “She’s well. Happy. Five kids now.”
“Five.” I smile.
Five children. So rare.
“Just hearing about them exhausts me. And mine—two, both teenagers now, both driving and both driving me round the bend.” He attempts a laugh.
“Mara moved abroad years ago. She wouldn’t bring the children anywhere near Elyrion while the Fade is spreading.
She thinks everyone will simply drop dead.
But me? This is where I belong. I took an oath. ”
My respect for her rises immeasurably.
No one leaves Elyrion without contacts, extensive health certificates and a great deal of money.
Bob leans forwards. “Look, we have history, you and me. You saved my life on the Harrow bounty when that criminal had the drop on me. I haven’t forgotten. So I’m here. But if you’re doing anything reckless, I haven’t got time for that.”
“Me? Reckless?” I grin. “Never. Tell me what you know about the Fade, Bob.”
He tilts his head. “It’s a virus, isn’t it?” Doubt clouds his voice.
“No.” I lower mine. “It’s runes, Bob. They lace the Districts along old street patterns. I don’t yet know what triggers them. I didn’t even realise they existed until Preston’s people stole my dog and I went up to fetch her.”
“He did what?”
“Stole my dog.” I wave away his concern. “Mina’s fine. I’ve got her back, and a friend is helping with the rest.”
Is Cáel a friend?
I hope so.
I drag my thoughts back into line.
“Anyway, I’m not in trouble over the dog. But when I came up here, I started seeing the runes, and the moment I understood them, I felt them draining the magic. Actively. I felt it happening.”
I half expect him to scoff, yet his expression shifts.
Not surprise.
Confirmation of a suspicion already formed.
That is three people who have believed me when I was certain nobody would.
Four, counting Thea.
I keep forgetting Thea.
“Is that why you’re here?” he asks. “Trying to sort this out?”
“I have a few contacts. I hoped one might come through.”
“Seems so.” He chuckles. “A friend of yours—a Velmoran governor—skipped my boss, went straight to his boss and told him to send me here immediately. Nice ‘friend’ to have.”
“Aw, Bob. And here I thought you’d come because I was in custody.”
“I would have. Mara would have killed me otherwise.” He wipes the drying sweat from his temple.
He loves his sister.
Families like that always unsettle me. Everyone loving and respecting one another without complication. I half suspect people that well-adjusted of hiding something.
Vivian and I had our moments, but mostly, I was the annoying little sister tagging along behind her. Borrowing her things without asking was grounds for war.
“So you came up here to rattle everyone,” Bob says. “How’s that working out?”
“Thus far? Not my best idea.”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Can you dig through some files for me, Bob? I need records on both explosion sites. Old plans, maintenance work, magical infrastructure and every order connected to either location.”
“Of course. Where do I send what I find?”
I think for a moment.
“The Bone Inn. Leave it with the barman. Say it’s for the Hunter.”
The barman has held sealed bounty papers for me before. He will not open them or ask questions.
Bob nods and stands. “Right. Let’s get you out. No formal charge has been authorised. Someone very senior has ordered them to release you into diplomatic custody, and those two goons should be bored by now.” He gestures towards the door. “Home time.”
“Isn’t there anyone else I can antagonise on the way out?”
“No.” He rolls his eyes.
“Pity.”
I rise and roll my sore shoulder. I am meant to age slowly, hardly at all, yet I feel ancient.
We retrace the corridor through which I was first dragged. Outside, a sleek car idles at the kerb.
Bob’s smile fades. “Be careful, Elmo. Please.”
“I will. Look after yourself too. I don’t want news of your demise.”
He waves and heads back inside.