Chapter 13
Gwendolynne
The footsteps are approaching. I claw at the door, jiggle the door handle, try the resignio spell again and again. But nothing works.
My heart beats, thunderous, deafening in my ears. Please, God, I think. Help me. Fear is making me desperate—I haven’t prayed since I was six years old.
Then, a voice, my salvation, flickers into in my head. Just in time, I stop myself from crying out. I’m not alone.
You do realize that you cannot open a reinforced door with the resignio spell, don’t you? It’s Percy’s voice.
“I—you…I can hear you?” I had no idea we could communicate over such a distance.
I can almost picture the irritated thump of his tail. Of course you can.
“But why haven’t we…” I splutter. “Why did you not say…”
There was never a need before, Hairless One. But you called for me, did you not?
I shake my head, my eyes scrunched shut. “No, I’m pretty sure I called for—oh fuck it. Never mind.” I don’t have time to contemplate Percy’s inflated sense of ego. “I really need your help. I’m in danger. I need to open this door.”
You’ll need an explosion, Percy says. Or a massive power surge that will short-circuit the door’s integrated magic system. Not normal levels of magic, mind you. More like the ones that have been occurring recently.
My thoughts have become ragged, hysterical. Luckily, then, there’s so much excess magic swirling around in the world. “Can you do it from where you are? Tap into the surging magic and channel it into me?”
A pause. I can channel the magic through you, yes, even at a distance. But the sheer amount will be painful. And I must warn you, Hairless One: After that, you will be on your own. Once you are inside that room, the security door will break any connection we have.
I’m kind of shocked he’s agreeing to this.
Regardless, I straighten my shoulders and draw myself to my full height, trying not to notice the slow shuffling of footsteps approaching ever closer.
I don’t much like pain, but I really have no choice.
Harrisford and I need to figure out what’s causing these surges—not just so I can pass exams, come first, and save my family’s restaurant, but also so we can stop people, and animals, from getting hurt.
“Do it,” I say, steeling my resolve. “Push the magic through to me.”
Percy falls quiet, but I sense the strain of his concentration over our telepathic bond. It quivers, trembling with the influx of energy, straining beneath the surging current he’s sending through the ether.
At first it’s warm, pleasantly so, but pretty soon it becomes uncomfortably hot. Needles of pain stab through my body, my staticky hair stands on end, and I shake with the effort of containing the sudden burst of magic.
“Are you. Almost. There?” I grit out, clenching my teeth against the pain. Is this going to kill me? I haven’t acclimatized like Percy has. I’m not used to magiphilia. I mean, most of the time I’m struggling to make use of too little magic, not too much.
But at this stage, there’s little else I can do. I’m here, I’m stuck, and I have to see it to the end. The fate of the magical world rests upon my shoulders, and if I fail…
I shove my fist into my mouth to curb my scream.
Finally, Percy speaks again in my mind. You’re ready, he shouts, inasmuch as a cat can shout, and I hold up my palms to the security door.
The magic explodes from me, blanching my entire vision in stark white light, and I place my hand on the door.
The shock is like a stampede; it’s like being struck by lightning.
My entire body goes rigid and my back is thrown into an excruciating arch as the current tears its way through me.
Magic runs from my hands into the metal door.
I’m fused to the steel, in agony and searingly hot.
With a grunt, I manage to tear myself from the contact, and I’m thrown onto the floor.
The door makes some sounds—several clicks, followed by a deep, metallic scraping—then swings wide open on its hinges.
I slump there, almost weeping, almost unable to move. Percy…He came through. I wasn’t sure that he would help me, but when it came down to the literal wire…he did.
The footsteps are growing closer and I don’t want to get caught. I don’t want to be imprisoned; I don’t want to be killed. So, ignoring the pain that knifes its way through my body with every movement I make, I commando-crawl, inch by excruciating inch, until I’m finally through the door.
The cleaner’s mop comes into focus, and I know now who followed me up here. It’s the woman I saw downstairs, now washing the top-story floors.
With the toe of my high-heeled shoe, I manage to wedge the door shut behind me…just as she rounds the corner.
Flashing forks of magical power streak like lightning across the door. It’s still live-wired, crackling with surplus energy.
I sag, panting, against the wall for a moment, trying to catch my breath. It takes a while for the room to stop spinning.
When I can finally gather myself, I raise my head and look round. The vault is…surprising. I’d been expecting something high-tech, like everything else at Magecorp, but this room looks like a gothic, arcane library.
The walls are brick, laced with lichen and artfully distressed with age. An illusion, perhaps? The floor is polished hardwood, with magelights embedded into it at regular intervals. Like reverse spotlights, they shine upward, illuminating the still air with a muted golden glow.
There are small wooden pigeonholes lining one wall, each containing a single scroll. A low-pitched hum slithers below my skin and up my spine, and as I move into the room the air thickens, heavy with potent magic. So overpowering that it becomes more and more difficult to breathe.
Everything here is antiquated, as though I’ve stepped right back through time, except for some electrical cords and plugs hanging from the ceiling and one that circles the perimeter of the room.
I remember from studying magical history that Magecorp has been in existence, in some shape or form, since as early as the Middle Ages.
It wasn’t called Magecorp then, of course, and ownership has changed hands several times because of corporate buyouts and business mergers—but the company secrets have been passed down through many iterations.
I approach cautiously. My feet disturb the silence, sending dust motes spinning into the filtered light. There is so much information here, sequestered into the Magecorp vault. Where the hell do I even start?
Quickly, I tap a message out to Harrisford on my strap. What should I be looking for?
The message swooshes off, but less than a second later a big red dot appears on my screen. Message failed to send.
Of course. Percy had warned me that the room’s security would cut off human-familiar communication. I can only imagine that it interferes with telecommunications, too. Sighing, I reach out to finger one of the scrolls. All I can do is start.
Quickly, and silently, I pull out one scroll after another, unrolling them, flattening them, and snapping pictures on my strap.
They’re mostly plans, maps, and blueprints of what I presume are magical machines, and even if I understood it all I wouldn’t have time to properly decipher them.
My bag slips off my shoulder; annoyed, I hoist it back up.
At least if I have some photographic evidence, then I’ll be able to scrutinize them properly, maybe with Harrisford’s help.
How much has he picked up subconsciously, just from being the Magecorp CFO’s son?
It’s possible that he’s heard snippets over dinner tables; absorbed information without even knowing it.
I take pictures of as much as I possibly can before moving farther into the room.
There’s a central, circular structure—a room within the room—made of what appears to be reinforced concrete.
Another steel door is fitted into it, this one curved and flush with the wall.
There’s a sort of subliminal pulsing emanating from inside, as though there’s something contained within that’s not meant to be seen by outside eyes.
With a shaking hand, I reach out and try the door handle. Miraculously, it turns, and the door swings open with no noise or resistance at all.
Immediately, I squint, for inside the room is a painful, blazing glow. The glare is coming from something in the center of the circle; I shield my eyes, the webbing of my fingers glowing red as I move closer.
It’s some sort of rock, radiant with a pulsating light.
The exterior of it is all pockmarked, but not irregularly like the moon.
It’s more like a uniform honeycomb pattern imprinted on its surface.
It’s not just the rock’s appearance, though, that has me all flustered.
It’s also…a feeling. It’s like…it’s calling to me.
As though it’s putting out feelers, trying to burrow beneath my skin, trying to get inside my mind and learn everything about me.
It’s exquisite and horrible all at once, and I feel as though I’m frozen, rooted to the spot. It’s almost as if I can’t look away.
But then I notice the shadow of something: a man with almost-white hair, steel-framed glasses, and a receding hairline. The man is standing near the glowing rock. And even though the details of his face are hazy, silhouetted against the glare, I recognize his profile instantly.
Darghan Briggs.
Harrisford’s father is here. With me. In this room.
My scalp tightens. Cold dread drenches my body. My heart begins to pound, flooding my entire vision red. It can’t be true, because Harrisford told me he’d be out of town, and—
Fury snaps into place. Harrisford must have lied.
This is a trap. The arsehole must have lied to me to trap me up here with his killer dad.
But for what? Is it to sacrifice me to the cause—use me to figure out what’s behind the surges while saving his own slimy skin?
Or was the investigation just a ruse, something he used to gain my trust, and he’s actually been working with Magecorp—and his father—all along?
I don’t have time to ponder it; all I know is this is bad. Very bad. And if I ever get out of here, then I’m going to fucking kill him.
Trying to not make any noise, I immediately start backing away. When I reach the curved steel door, I turn to flee.
I don’t make it far, though. I skid to a stop in front of the outer door—the one that I’d failed to open with Harrisford’s gifted resignio spell. It’s still sparking, brimming with unspent power.
Desperately, I try to contact Percy, but there’s no response. I tap out a message to Heloise too—just one word: HELP—on the off chance that being near to the door might allow a single message to slip through. But straightaway the red dot appears again and I grind my teeth, panicking.
There’s only one thing I can do, and that is brave the electric hum of magical charge still flashing across the door. You’ve done it once, I tell myself, taking a steadying breath. You can do it again. But would I survive a second shock?
Either way, I don’t really have a choice.
Raising my palm, I go to push on the door, intending to make my escape through it.
I haven’t quite touched the sparking metallic surface when I feel a hand twist in my hair. My entire body jerks back. I thrash and struggle, kicking out, trying to claw back to the door, but Darghan Briggs’s hold on me is relentless, and he continues dragging me back into the room.
“What are you doing, witch?” he hisses in my ear. His hot breath washes over my neck. I scream into the dead air, but his forearm clamps across my throat, choking my scream to silence.
“Nothing,” I whimper, struggling to voice the words. “Nothing.”
His voice drops low and deceptively soft. “Then why are you snooping around in the vault? Do you work here?”
I don’t have any way to escape this, so I try to bluff my way through. “Y-yes,” I say shakily. “I’ve been allocated to a new department and I…I just lost my way.”
I can tell he’s not buying it by the way he tightens his hold in my hair and gives me a little shake. “Your name and department, girl?” When I don’t answer immediately, he shakes me again. “Name and department! Quickly! Or mark my words: You’ll be disciplined severely for your disobedience!”
I blink, and tears run down my face, soaking into his hairy arm. “H-Hani Nguyen,” I stutter, unable to think of any other excuse. “You can ch-check my ID.”
Darghan Briggs lets me go, and I fall forward onto my hands and knees. Then he’s already in front of me, hauling me forward by the ID hanging around my neck.
He says nothing for several moments. Just stares at the small rectangular card.
Then, eventually, he relents, drops it, and squints right at my face.
I scuttle backward, pressing myself against the wall, trying to put as much distance as possible between Harrisford’s father and me.
Will he realize I’m not Hani Nguyen? Will he recognize the suit I’m wearing, which once belonged to his now-dead wife?
Hopefully not. I’m desperately hoping he’s the kind of man who lacks basic observational skills. The type who thinks all Asians look identical, and who’d pay no attention to the clothes his spouse once wore.
The silence stretches on for so long I almost think that maybe, maybe, I’ve got away with it. But then his wrinkled eyes narrow, and his lips curl into a sneer.
My heart thrashes even more wildly. It’s disturbing how similar Harrisford’s smile is to his.
“Hani Nguyen is no longer here,” Mr. Briggs spits, his voice full of venom.
Then he raises his palm and shoots a spell at me, hitting me right in the middle of my chest. I’m thrown back against the brick wall.
Pain shoots through my body. Black spots explode in my vision.
And as I slide down the wall into a crumpled heap, the world wobbles, goes foggy, and completely fades to black.