Chapter 3 Masika
MASIKA
Masika Sallow had mastered the art of subtlety.
Dipping in and out of shadows undetected, plastering on an inconspicuous smile—nothing to see here, keep it moving.
It was for this reason that people tended to underestimate her, to see her as nothing more than the meek and unassuming friend.
But she had learned that, sometimes, being invisible was exactly what she needed.
As Masika made her way through the winding corridors of the Resistance’s manor, eyes lowered and mouth curved into a placid smile, she was silently thankful for this keen ability of hers.
Members of the Resistance scurried past her, clearly running late for the meeting, but nobody batted an eye.
Nobody even spared her a passing glance.
Which was fine by Masika—given what she was about to do.
Sneaking around the Resistance’s manor had posed a bit of a problem the first few days.
Masika had attempted to explore the various Wings, though she’d somehow ended up getting inexplicably lost. Similar to the Ascended Quarters back at Blackwood, the Resistance’s manor appeared to be enchanted on the inside, almost as if it magically expanded to fit the roughly one hundred members roaming inside.
There were multiple floors and basement levels, a maze of hallways that had been nearly impossible for her to navigate when she’d first arrived.
Now, after a couple of weeks—and some trial and error—Masika had gotten the hang of it.
For the most part.
As the corridor began to clear, Masika summoned a cloaking enchantment, the defensive magic washing over her skin in a haze of pale blue and golden threads.
Her window of opportunity was small. The last person was entering the Battle Room, the door slowly closing behind them. Masika beelined for the closing door, slipping into the room with barely a second to spare.
As she stumbled forward, she looked up, surveying the scene.
A large oval table stood at the center of the room, made from dark oak and embellished with intricate carvings.
A chandelier dangled a few feet above the center of the table, though each arm appeared to be made from bark and the bulbs shaped like crystallized droplets of water.
Instead of the usual amber glow of a flame, each bulb gave off a pale cerulean sheen, washing the room in a bluish glow.
The table itself was massive, large enough to fit all twenty-one Leaders of the Resistance. The Leaders were divided into three subgroups—combat trainers, healers and strategists. It was their job to train the rest of the Resistance, to prepare them for the inevitable battle looming on the horizon.
It’s their job to make sure we stand a chance, Masika thought with a shudder.
There were only two faces Masika properly recognized—Birdie and Russo.
Birdie sat on the right side of the table, among the strategists, while Russo sat on the left, at the head of the combat trainers.
It still felt odd to see the pair without their Housemaster’s cloak.
Like the other Leaders of the Resistance, Birdie and Russo appeared to be perpetually poised for battle; their shoulders covered with shimmering chain-mail spaulders, ruby-encrusted chokers protecting their necks.
Leather armor sat snuggly around their torsos; a set of corporeally infused daggers rested upon Birdie’s waist, while Russo kept a glowing spear strapped to her back.
And sitting at the far end of the table, arms draped over her chair as she waited for the others to settle, was Catherine.
For a terrible, prolonged moment, Masika could do nothing but stare.
After all this time, after all the years spent waiting and clinging to the stubborn hope that she might one day see her again—Catherine was here.
But there was no room in Masika’s heart for joy, not when the truth stung more than losing her ever did.
Because Catherine had escaped the Demien Order years ago to join the Resistance.
Which meant she hadn’t been forced to stay away from Masika…she’d chosen to.
Despite the anger and resentment seizing her heart, Masika couldn’t help but briefly marvel at the sheer beauty that was Catherine.
The years had hardened her, her features alight with an intensity that wasn’t there before, but she was still undeniably breathtaking.
Her tawny hair was tied into multiple braids that fell down her leather-clad shoulders, the tips brushing against her waist. An armored corset covered the curves of her torso, ruby buckles adorning the front.
She donned the Resistance red in her bracers, the armguards fitted around her forearms.
It was excruciating, being this close to her again.
A tirade of memories threatened to overtake Masika—late nights spent hidden beneath the winding corridors of Blackwood, whispering secrets and sharing parts of themselves that nobody had seen before.
Trading kisses beneath candlelight. Holding hands as they walked through the mist-shrouded grounds.
Masika shut her eyes, pushing the thoughts away. She wasn’t here for Catherine.
She was here to listen.
As Masika made her way around the room, passing by a small oval mirror, she caught a glimpse of her reflection.
She startled for a moment, afraid the others could see her, before quickly remembering the cloaking enchantment concealing her from the rest of the Battle Room.
Her chest tightened at the sight of the unfamiliar scar marring her deep brown skin, slicing down from her eyebrow to her neck.
The healers had done what they could to mend her injuries, though they were unsure why they hadn’t been able to heal the scar completely.
But Masika didn’t mind it anymore.
The scar was proof that she had crawled her way out of the Decennial. That she had beat Silas at his own game.
And if she had beat the game…then perhaps she could win the war.
Masika shifted her gaze away from the mirror and back toward the table when a voice cut through the restless murmurs of the room.
“I think we’ve endured enough waiting,” said a girl with cropped silver hair seated among the combat trainers. Floral tattoos adorned her brown skin, traveling up her forearms and onto her shoulders. Her eyes were locked in on Catherine. “What’s this about, Cat?”
Cat? Masika couldn’t help but feel a slight sting at hearing the nickname.
An unwelcome memory fluttered through her mind.
Masika had just finished classes for the evening. She’d found Catherine sitting by the hearth in Ivory House, legs crossed and hands extended toward the crackling flames. She crossed the room, slowly sinking down next to her on the floor.
“You okay?”
Catherine blinked, as if she’d just realized Masika was next to her. She’d been acting strange the past few days. More distant. Masika would often catch her staring out of a window, a sort of vacant look in her eyes.
“Just tired,” Catherine murmured softly beneath her breath, mustering up a small smile, though the light didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Masika reached out her hand, gently tucking a strand of tawny hair behind Catherine’s ear. Her fingers briefly grazed the other girl’s cheek, and Masika watched as a blanket of goose bumps fluttered up and down Catherine’s neck.
“There’s something on your mind, Cat. I can tell.”
Catherine gnawed on her cheek. Masika held her breath, waiting. But then Catherine simply laced her hand through Masika’s, bringing the back of her hand up toward her lips, brushing a featherlight kiss upon her knuckles.
“I’m fine, my little dove. Promise.”
Masika shuddered, pushing the memory away, forcing herself back to the present. In front of her, Catherine inhaled a deep breath, leaning forward. She focused her attention on the silver-haired girl.
“Dina…settle down.”
Dina slumped back into her chair, though she kept her gaze fixed on Catherine. The others watched intently as Catherine stood from her chair, hands splayed over the table.
Masika made a mental note of the key dangling at Catherine’s hip. Though they were allowed to roam freely throughout the Resistance’s base, there was one area that was explicitly forbidden to enter. One area that only the Leaders themselves ever stepped foot in.
The Southern Wing.
Whatever Catherine was hiding in there was clearly valuable…and Masika had every intention of figuring out what it was.
“I understand you’re all eager to know why we’ve called this meeting, so I’ll cut to the chase.
” Catherine’s tone was calm and level, though Masika could sense the underlying wariness peeking at the edges.
“As you all know, our latest tracking crew left the base three days ago. They were meant to return tomorrow, however…there’s been a problem. ”
Masika had heard of these tracking crews…and the danger of being part of them.
Despite the Resistance being partially made up of ex-Demiens, none of them were able to pinpoint the location of the Demien Order’s encampment.
It was enchanted to be hidden…even from memory.
Every ex-Demien who tried to recollect where they had come from—who tried to trace their way back to the encampment—couldn’t remember a single thing.
It was as if the memory had been carved out of their mind, replaced with a murky haze.
Which meant that every few weeks, a new group of Resistance members would venture out into purgatory in the hopes of tracking down the Demien Order’s location.
Not a single crew had been successful.
If they even made it back at all.
“What kind of problem?” asked Dina, pulling Masika out of her thoughts.
Catherine’s jaw twitched, the faintest crack in her stoic mask.
“They’ve been taken.”
Tension swept through the room in a wave of harrowing silence.