Chapter 3 #3
The things I do for progress, Pluck complained, head tilting to angle his razor-sharp beak and miss Benedict’s fingers as he took it. I am not a toy, he grumbled.
Then you should have been out here from the knock on the door, I thought. Pluck, nothing will change unless we change it.
Perhaps. And with that, Pluck evaporated, his structure utterly collapsing to leave a wash of tingles where his hazy presence touched mine. The sentient energy flowed in a sparkling, icy stream to vanish into my shirt pocket, spiraling down to the size of an acorn.
Mouth agape, Mace stared.
“Mace, I’d never touch a shadow that I’ve not bonded with,” I said, and his wide eyes flicked to mine. He looked half a breath from fleeing the room. “The wild ones will still fight back when cornered. They’re only defending themselves after centuries of persecution.”
The kid swallowed. “Like when they brought down the auditorium at St. Unoc?”
I nodded, not proud of how badly the university had handled the situation—how badly I had.
“That was an accident.” Benedict tucked the discarded wand into a shirt pocket. “Self-defense. It was our mistake.”
Mace looked ready to throw up. I could understand why.
Up until recently, it was standard practice to destroy captured shadow not retained to use for instructional purposes.
That a handful of desert shadows had taken up residence under the shattered auditorium had not gone down well with mage or sweeper.
It only took two weeks of footing the bill to ship the dross created by an entire university of mages out of state for disposal before plans for a new vault had been finalized.
In response, the desert shadows had taken to the streets after sundown wearing the images of those who died in the explosion.
It was an eerie yet effective protest, leaving Pluck and me to find the middle ground between mage tradition and the reality of an even older, intelligent magic faction surviving a supposed extinction.
Fortunately there was one thing both parties could agree on: there were too many mages in St. Unoc to not have a place to put the dross they made.
The construction of St. Unoc’s new vault had begun and no-vaulting-shadows legislation was put into effect, coupled with the promise that existing vaults nationwide would be retrofitted with shadow escape valves for accidental incarcerations.
The desert shadows weren’t entirely happy, but they didn’t want the dross hanging around, either, seeing as it was like living next to an active volcanic field.
The desired end point of a no-vault society would take time.
Shadows we had, but trained weavers were in short supply.
Until Pluck and I found more, we’d be handling our waste as we always had: shoving it into a thick glass-walled hole in the ground.
I couldn’t let Mace walk out of here scared, though, and I cleared my throat. “So,” I said cheerfully, “dross-handling skills are important. I suggest you practice them along with your fields. Not to mention it never hurts to test out of a semester or two of required dross studies.”
Mace took a shaky breath. “Okay.”
“Thank you, Mace.” Benedict’s voice held the same “we’re done” tone. “You did good.” Smiling, he stood to indicate the interview was over. “Keep those grades where they are, and I don’t see a problem in your future application. We’ll be sure to let guidance know.”
Mace stood up. “Thank you, sir,” he said as he shook Benedict’s hand, then, after a telling hesitation, mine. It was cold, but we’d dumped a lot on him. By the time he showed up on campus, he might have found a clue or two. I hope.
“Ma’am,” he added, hesitating for a moment before turning and walking out.
And you wanted me to play nice, iced up through my thoughts. He’s a yeth.
“So was I,” I whispered, remembering how scared I’d been.
Benedict chuckled as he sat back down and touched his tablet awake. “He took the lodestone.” He started to scroll, looking up when I didn’t say anything. “Hey, I know he’s got some growing to do, but I was just as bad as a freshman.”
“Freshman?” I chuckled. “You didn’t lose your ‘shit don’t stink’ mentality until someone rubbed your nose in it.”
Benedict’s hurt expression flashed across his face…then he bobbed his head, chagrin replacing it. “Yeah. You’re right. But isn’t that what college is for?”
Relenting, I touched his hand to ease my harsh words. “You weren’t that bad. I never felt as if you thought I was a trashman,” I lied. His fingers were warm in mine, and he gave my hand a quick squeeze when I added, “How many more schools left?”
He moved away from me, good mood restored. “One this afternoon, and then we’ve got…” His words faded as he stared at his phone. “Ryan is trying to get in touch with you.”
I reached for my phone. I kept it silenced during the interviews so I could stare at the students when theirs hummed.
“He probably wants to find out how I managed to destroy another priceless antique moldavite lodestone,” I muttered, but in all honesty, the man would be far more concerned about me than a piece of glass Pluck could replace ad nauseam if he wanted.
My hip was still hurting, but even as I realized it, Pluck sent an icy drift through me, numbing the ache.
Thanks, Pluck, I thought, frowning when my phone connected to a tower and two messages—including one from Ryan—dropped in. I didn’t bother reading them and hit the call icon while Benedict folded up our interview table.
Ryan was more than my university boss, and it still hurt that I’d lost the camaraderie I’d once had with the entire sweepers’ guild that he managed and I had once been a part of.
They were scared. I didn’t blame them, seeing as I was joyfully cheek-to-jowl with shadow, the terror they’d been told to fear their entire lives.
We will find weavers, Pluck thought, the chill in my pocket growing. You will have kin.
But my friends’ fear still hurt. I might never find that easy companionship again.
I took a breath when the phone connected.
“Hi, Ryan,” I said before the older Spinner could say anything.
“Sorry I didn’t call last night. Lev has already left with that separatist mage.
She gave us a list of names and they will be picked up.
We’re fine and there’s no reason we can’t finish out the interviews.
They’re going great, by the way. Only one fainted at Pluck. ”
She’ll be the better for it, Pluck muttered, his embarrassment a quick, cold wash.
Ryan cleared his throat, the dry sound cutting my babble off clean. “You haven’t looked at your messages, have you.”
It really wasn’t a question, and I glanced at Benedict gathering our stuff. “Ah, no. Let me put you on speaker.” Worried, I opened up my messages. Clearly this wasn’t about me breaking another lodestone. Cameron Owens? Who is that, and how did they get my number?
“I’m sorry to cut the interviews short, but I need you and Pluck here,” Ryan said, his gravelly voice rumbling. “Now.”
Benedict looked up from shaking out my scarf. “We have a few schools—” I started.
“Someone cracked the new vault and we’re getting a lot of unusual shadow sightings,” Ryan interrupted. “We think they might be looking for you.”
Benedict came close, his brow furrowed in concern. “Intentionally? It was supposed to go on line next week. What are we supposed to do with the dross in the meantime?”
“I suppose what they are doing with it now,” I said as I clicked open the first message to find a shortly worded text asking for an appointment at my earliest convenience.
“Who is Cameron Owens?” The second text, from Ryan, was even better, telling me about a mandatory meeting tomorrow morning to introduce said person.
“She’s a mage marshal,” Ryan said, and my eyes jerked up to find Benedict’s. “I suggest you get in touch with her before she decides you are avoiding her and puts out a warrant.”
“A marshal?” I whispered, and Pluck’s interest grew, fizzing through my worry with a confidence I had no right to feel.
She’d be a mage, obviously, the courts’ muscle able to cross state lines and given a lot of latitude in fulfilling her assigned duties.
Lev had originally studied to become one, only to take a step back and remain militia. “What does she want with me?”
Benedict pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
Wide shoulders hunched, he clamped his hand around the tabletop trap, the disguised wands clicking as the dross left behind squirted out and oozed to the floor.
Obviously he thought it had been empty, and I mentally marked the hazing energy to get later.
“She’s not being up-front, but by her questions, I think she wants to discuss the shadow age you started,” Ryan continued, and I frowned at the obvious ire in his voice. His anger wasn’t at me, but the bureaucracy behind the claim.
“I didn’t start a shadow age,” I said, and Pluck bubbled softly to himself in the quiet regions of my brain that we had—or would, given half the chance.
“Technically, you did. Or Pluck did, which in their eyes is the same thing.” Ryan sighed. “The courts also want to talk to you about the cracked vault.”
“They think I did it?” I said, and Benedict’s shoulders slumped. “I wasn’t even there,” I complained. “Will you remind her that I was instrumental in convincing the city shadows that we needed a vault until we found enough weavers to start a balance?”
“I did. She thinks you egged them into destroying it.”
I huffed out my breath, not believing we were having this conversation.
“Petra, the vault can be fixed, but the repairs will delay its opening another three months. It’s costing the university five times more to ship dross off-site than store it here. The mages are calling bullshit, but what dross pits we do have easy access to are all dangerously overfull.”
“Then maybe everyone should use the microwave to warm their coffee.”
Benedict stood with his head down over his phone as he checked something.
“I told her it’s not you and Pluck,” Ryan was saying. “It didn’t help. She thinks you used your absence to give yourself an alibi while the shadows at the memorial do your bidding.”
I pushed my fingertips into my temples to drive out the coming headache. “That is stupid,” I said, but inside, I was cringing. “I don’t control them.”
“Well, I strongly suggest you don’t tell Marshal Cameron Owens that when you meet her,” Ryan said.
“Right now, she thinks you do, and whereas it puts you in her crosshairs, if she thinks the shadows are acting on their own, it might be open season on them. Everyone knows the reinstatement of vaults was not their first choice.”
Pluck bubbled and fizzed, his anger sliding between the cracks of my frustration to make my stomach knot.
Benedict’s brow was creased in worry. It was bad enough trying to convince the magical public that shadows could be reasoned with.
To say they were actively working to keep a new vault from going on line would not go down well.
“Grady, relax,” Ryan said, misreading my continued silence.
“I’m not going to let her make you her scapegoat.
Just get back here and set up an appointment.
Maybe go down and talk to the resident shadows and find out why they are out and about.
It’s obvious that the shadows are in St. Unoc because you are. ”
“The shadows are there because of that huge inert-dross nugget Benedict made,” I grumbled, and Benedict winced.
“Then get your and Pluck’s collective asses on campus and convince her,” Ryan said.
“Fine. I’ll text her,” I grumbled. “We’ll be home tomorrow for the big meeting.”
“Thank you. Oh, and good work on bringing that separatist in.”
The phone clicked off and I sat there, unhappy and fatigued. Pluck’s thoughts sparking through me were too fast to be realized. He wasn’t happy, though. That much I could tell.
“Lev’s military flight is gone.” Benedict’s expression was concerned as he fiddled with his phone. “We’ll have to fly commercial. I’ve got a flight booked, but we have to be at the airport in like two hours.”
I nodded, motions slow as I shrugged into my coat.
A mage marshal wanted to talk to me about having started a shadow age?
A handful of shadows taking up residence over ten years’ worth of inert dross might be pushing the definition, but if they were interfering with vault construction, technicalities wouldn’t matter.
And by Pluck’s cold presence in my pocket, I knew he agreed.