Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
We walk back to the tower block, collect my car and head for the Iron District. Mina claims the back before either of us can offer it and settles with her chin on the sill.
The silence between us is companionable, though it feels strange to sit beside him after holding hands like teenagers.
I do not entirely know how to process my feelings, but I like it.
I like him.
The Iron District smells of rain on rust, old oil and metal dust. It handles most of Elyrion’s overland freight: railways, cargo depots and sprawling transfer yards.
Tool-repair shops stand beside shuttered welding bays, their signs painted with hammers, rails and rivets. Even the coffee shops are strictly practical, built for workers in steel-toe-capped boots with only half an hour between shifts.
The people here are hardy, shaped by generations of physical labour, and their magic was once extraordinarily strong.
Like everything else down here, the District’s best days are gone.
Signs of life thin behind us as we follow the railway tracks.
“Tell me about your markings,” Cáel says, settling back into his seat.
I glance at him.
“You don’t have to,” he adds, “but the more I understand your family’s bloodline magic, the easier it will be to see how the map links you to the rune network.”
“Of course,” I reply. “That makes sense.”
Talking openly about my magic feels odd.
Wrong.
I want to tell him enough to help without revealing everything. I am not about to lay myself entirely bare to someone I have known for only a few days, however much I like him.
“I have sigils on my arms, torso, thighs and stomach. As a child, I had only a handful. Oh, and two aren’t mine at all; they’re government-issued marks. One puts suspects to sleep, and the other lets me sense whether someone believes what they’re saying.”
“How does that work?”
“I think they tap into my Ink magic. I don’t know of any other hunters who can use them.
When I activate one of those marks, it itches and warms slightly.
Now that more of my own power has returned, I can feel the difference.
My magic feels full—exuberant, complete and exhausting all at once. The work magic feels wrong. Borrowed.”
“And the markings light up?”
“When I’m channelling my power, yes. They darken first, then whichever one I’m using turns silver. That’s new. They never glowed silver when I was a child. When they’re dormant, they fade to little more than a pinkish shadow against my skin.”
“Have you tested their limits?”
“Not really.”
A little, I admit silently.
The map on my arm. The route we are following now.
“We have been busy. Apart from the drawing, which was new to me, I haven’t tried much else. The moment I come back down here, the network absorbs whatever I gained above.”
“And you can feel it? The draining?”
“Like something alive taking from me. The way the sun saps your strength on a hot day, or the heaviness before a storm. I never remember whether that’s high or low pressure, but you know the feeling. It’s atmospheric. I sense it in the same way, only more…” I search for the word. “Unnatural.”
He nods slowly, gazing through the window.
“We could run experiments. Find out what your magic can do properly, rather than merely instinctively. We’d need to work in the Zone, but I can help with the training. I have reasonable experience.”
‘Reasonable’ is generous.
He is an expert, and we both know it.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’d like that.”
Sooner or later, I shall have to stop being so cautious with him.
Not yet, though.
“So,” he says, “what’s your favourite colour?”
I snort before I can stop myself. He is as awkward as I am, and the question, so wildly removed from rune magic and government conspiracies, catches me off guard. With most of my focus on the road, I laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”
“If you could paint a room any colour, what would you choose?”
I give the question the consideration it deserves, my lips twitching. “Pink,” I say at last. “I love pink.”
He turns and stares at me, genuinely incredulous.
Behind us, Mina sighs the enormous sigh of a dog who has heard humans be ridiculous before and expects to again.
“Yes,” I say, laughing at his expression.
“If I had the choice, I’d paint a room pale pink.
Blush pink. Not because it’s ‘girly’. Well, it is, but because it’s cheerful.
It changes with the light.” I picture it despite myself.
Soft walls. Warmth. Somewhere that belongs entirely to me. “I’d love a room like that.”
He falls silent for a moment. “Why do you live the way you do, in a building with a thousand stairs?” he asks more carefully. “You keep two apartments and presumably pay for both. Why live so frugally? I know what hunters earn.”
He knows exactly what I earn.
I doubt he appreciates what my real home is like. I own little more than a mattress. He has crossed the threshold, but he has never lingered.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.
He already knows about the children. He told me as much, and I did not deny it.
That line was crossed days ago.
“The children I rescue,” I say, choosing each word, “I fly them out. You already know where they land. I’m not telling you with whom or how, so please don’t ask.”
“I won’t.”
“I pay for everything myself. Flights, body bags, substitute bodies, medical supplies, the spells that keep them stable. You can’t grasp the state of the black market down here. Potions and charms that actually work are dangerous to source and obscenely expensive—dearer than any drug you can name.”
I steer around a pothole deep enough to swallow a wheel.
“Most years, I spend more than I earn. During a busy stretch, I might rescue one child a month. Lately, it’s been closer to six a year.
The rest of the time, I work simply to cover the costs.
Rent. Food.” I add, half to myself, “Decent food is expensive, and Mina’s diet isn’t cheap either. ”
Her tail thumps once against the seat at the sound of her name. She has no notion of what she costs, and would be entirely unrepentant if she did.
It is worth it.
Every day spent untangling this rune network mess instead of collecting bounties is a day I can’t rebuild my savings. That is why I fret about time. I eat little, but you never short-change the people who help with the children. Fall behind on a payment, and you may need new contacts.
That does not bear thinking about.
“Thank you,” Cáel says quietly, “for being honest.”
A pause settles between us.
“While we’re discussing money, I’ve formally listed you as my bodyguard, since this work has kept you from your usual hunter duties. It gives us a legitimate reason to travel together while you’re in my custody.” He names a day rate.
I make a noise I am not proud of. It is more than I clear in a good fortnight.
“Do you need to clear that with anybody?”
“No,” he says, and does not look away from the window.
The knot between my shoulders loosens. “That’s government money, not yours. Right?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. I don’t need pity money.”
“All right.” He considers for a moment. “Look at it differently. The children who reach Velmora contribute to our economy and culture in ways that matter. Take the payment as thanks—or as an advance for whichever children come next.”
I think about that.
“Put like that, yes.” I glance at him. “Thank you.”
“Good. You’ll have the funds by the end of the week.”
I do not ask how Velmoran Finance intends to pay me.
That is a problem for the end of the week.
The tarmac deteriorates beneath us—potholes, subsidence and long stretches untouched for decades. The freight site I am looking for, the one holding the anchor, lies to the east.
“One second. I need to get out to feel the runes properly.” I pull in beside an old worker’s cottage, the only safe place to leave the road and climb out.
From the back seat, Mina watches the road, the houses and me with equal interest.
I stand still and let the magic find me. Its pull confirms what I already know from the map on my arm.
Better this way.
Cáel will not become suspicious. I am not lying, merely keeping my counsel until I understand more.
A front door opens.
A burly man emerges, his wife one step behind him.
“Afternoon,” he says.
“Afternoon. Sorry, I didn’t mean to block your road.”
“No, it’s all right.” He eyes Mina through the open car door, weighing whether to come closer.
“She’s fine, I promise.”
His shoulders relax. “You don’t want to go up that way.
” He nods towards the freight site. “The place should be closed, but government vehicles have been in and out. Odd goings-on.” He gestures to the tracks beside his house.
“If it weren’t for my job, I’d have moved years ago.
” He points to an old signal post with a lever-operated switch. “Still changing the tracks by hand.”
I had not realised anyone still did.
As technology was stripped from the Districts, automated infrastructure went with it. The government left the workers to keep the old systems moving by hand.
“We’ll be careful. Thank you.”
“No bother.” He nods and heads inside.
His wife gives me a small, sympathetic smile before closing the door.
Cáel has not moved. He could have climbed out, introduced himself and taken over the conversation, the way men in his position generally do. Instead, he stayed with Mina and let me handle it.
I am not sure what to do with a person like that.
I climb back into the car. “It’s up that way,” I say. “Did you hear what he said?”
“I did.”
If government vehicles have been coming and going regularly, I suspect Preston is involved up to his eyeballs, but I keep the thought to myself.
The Cáel-and-Preston problem can wait until I have evidence. Bob’s file should settle it one way or another.
We drive on. The road worsens, then abruptly smooths out. Freshly filled potholes and newly laid tarmac lead towards the freight buildings and along a side road that bypasses the man and his manual track switch entirely.