Cyphira Quinn. Jovday, Pisces 14th, 6:13 AM. 2354 AA. Arroyo Athenaeum.
Six years. It’s been six years since I’ve seen this campus in person. The dry heat which greeted her at the airport was like a hug from an old friend, and now the earthy scent of the Grand Arroyo recalled a dozen memories. Seeing the first and second-year aspirants jogging across campus conjured even more. Quelling the emotions was easier than she feared, however. There was too much to do for her to wallow in nostalgia.
Hot on the heels of the Cardinal leaks, the Arroyo Archives suffered a devastating fire during their quarterly cleaning, and an egregore attack left eight amagia missing or dead, and another seven seriously injured. She strode through campus in her CIC fatigues making a beeline for the Archives.
During her flight, she had made contact with Arch Archivist Edryr Poe and the AKF’s Deputy Chief of Entropathy, Avedro Reyes, to discuss the incident. To hear them tell it, the blaze during the Spring Equinox appeared unrelated to her mole—just a freak accident. And on the surface, I’d agree. Arson and whistleblowing seem like two very different approaches to sabotage. But the timing is too conspicuous to discount the possibility. So I might as well take a look through the Faed and see if anybody knows anything. AndMorgan agreed.
There was a cordon zone around the Archives. She flashed her official licenses at two officers standing guard, but they held her up, not recognizing the CIC insignia apparently. I’m also about five years their junior. She sighed and pulled out her CIC identification badge, and informed them the Arch Archivist and Lead Detective were expecting her. After exchanging skeptical glances, they directed her to the north reference desk.
She found Arch Archivist Poe barking orders at his subordinates. He hasn’t changed. Still strung tight as a violin. Though under the circumstances, I can’t blame him. Deputy ChiefReyes was nearby, paging through the morning paper with a bored expression.
“Gentlemen,” Cyphira greeted them with her ‘polite young professional voice.’
Reyes folded his paper and Poe excused himself from lecturing a younger archivist to greet Cyphira.
“I’m afraid the situation hasn’t changed much since we last spoke, Agent Quinn. We’re still desperately trying to catalog our losses.”
“So far there’s no evidence of an arsonist either,” Reyes said. “Hard to be sure given the nature of magical fire, but I think we’re looking at a freak accident.”
“What about the egregore? Anything suggesting it was summoned?”
When they last spoke, Poe said his people were looking into the residual magic to see how an extremely powerful egregore appeared in the collection, seemingly out of nowhere.
“No. Nothing. Personally, I believe it was a moderate pest who managed to absorb the power of one of the burning books,” Poe said.
Cyphira nodded. “And the missing detective?”
“Still missing,” Reyes grunted.
“Alright. I’m going to phase into the Faed at the Pin. It may be a while before I’m back.”
“Your… ‘jaunt’ won’t punch a hole in our wards, will it? We have enough problems to deal with already. Opening a door for fae to traipse through would be catastrophic.
“Nothing will get through,” Cyphira assured him.
Poe seemed skeptical, but pointed at an archivist standing at the mouth of a long row of book shelves.
“We’ve set up a sight chain leading to the Pin. Peterson is at the end of it. Do you require a guide, or some other assistance?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Cyphira said
Sight chaining was a technique archivists used to create reliable pathways through the collection for emergencies. Pairs of archivists would link hands and essentially daisy chain their perspectives to other pairs, ensuring that the shelves could not shift when nobody was looking. It was an effective technique, but one that required a lot of manpower.
Cyphira followed the path of orange-robed archivists, arriving at the Pin without incident, though judging from the shouts, magical ripples, and other ambient noises, she could tell the collection was still in upheaval. Dozens of Keepers and Archivists surrounded the base of the pin, taking readings and retrieving tomes from the restricted section with care. The air was still thick with smoke and the scent of an ozone-like odor associated with colossal etheric discharges.
The Veil was extremely thick near the Pin. All of the wards and binding spells were heavily lawed magic, specifically designed to prevent things like akrasia. Cyphira walked it’s perimeter, finding one spot where the veil had been lightly “bruised” during the fire.
Cyphira took in a breath of ether with her wyrd, then explosively launched herself out of reality.
The Veil felt like frigid tar, thick with echoes from the Keepers who had been slain a day ago. Cyphira swam through the screams and sensations of pain, keeping her will and intention as rigid as iron. She demanded the Veil take her to witnesses in the Faed—any living entities that had observed the violence.
— 6:42 AM | The Faed —
Cyphira entered the Faed in a sub-orbital freefall above a streaky layer of clouds.
Well. This ain’t great.
She forced herself to remain calm. Fitz insisted that one of the “rules” of akrasia, was that no trip to the Faed—or even the strange, seizure-born pocket dimensions—was guaranteed to be fatal. She always said “there’s always a way out, provided you are smart, skilled, or strong enough to get there.” Cyphira had to admit that so far, it held true. But that always struck me as wishful thinking. Akrasiacs don’t always come back from their little jaunts. Who’s to say they weren’t dealt an unwinnable hand?
Cyphira smirked. Maybe I should come up with an excuse to visit Fitz for old time’s sake.
Far beneath the fast-approaching clouds, there lay a striated expanse of black dunes and orange rivers. The Tiger Ocean. I’m deep in the Summer Court even though the Spring Equinox was only yesterday. Curious.
Cyphira continued to fall, unsure whether a flight contract would last long enough to allow her to safely land. Just before she caved, she noticed her body was slowing. As she broke through the cloud coverage, she beheld a skyborne metropolis: Zefera. The Kite City. “Summer’s Second Capital.”
Thousands of kites, propellers, engines, and wings held glass terraces aloft. Each held dense, clusters of intricate buildings wrought from wood, fabric, and paper. Parts of the city were connected by wooden bridges, or glass pipes, while others floated freely, like enormous cruise ships. Smaller crafts resembling Newam’s air taxis and ferries conveyed fae between levels of the tiered city at dizzying speed. But a good collection of fae simply flew or fell from one platform to another.
Hace said this was his favorite place in the Faed. The memory was sharp in her head.
The first time Hace ventured there was about a year after they knew each other. He described it in a torrent: “The wind around the city is dense with magic. You can fly everywhere! It’s incredible. Big as Newam, but the entire flotilla sails all over the Summer Court. Much cooler than Cathairghloine.”
“I thought you hated everything about the Summer Court,” Cyphira murmured to herself.
It was how she replied to his enthusiasm. He was so excited to find something in the Faed that delighted him—something from his birthright that he didn’t automatically hate—and I took it from him. I made him feel like a traitor for it. I hurt him. Cyphira smiled, even as tears crawled from the corners of her eyes.
But he just shrugged it off and blushed, like the city was a girl he thought was pretty.
“I do hate the Court. But like, I mean… Zefera’s alright. Flying everywhere is kinda cool.”
He explained that he had spoken with some of the elves there—Gale elves outside of the Winter Court—and heard their story. Zefera was actually larger than the capital, but laidback. Still striking, still unmistakably summer, but more casual. Less militant. Court Royals hated Zeferans because it represented the polar opposite end of Summer. It was the middle finger to his father Hace had been looking for.
As Cyphira came within two stories of the tallest buildings, she found that she could control her descent entirely with sorcery to an upper limit. I can move about as fast as I can run. People using gliders seemed to move at the speed of bicycles, while more elaborate crafts were comparable to cars.
She touched down on a landing pad atop one of the taller buildings. Now. Where to start looking? Cyphira knew she was in the right place—even though a whole-ass city was enormous as places went. Her course through the Veil had been clear despite its thickness. “Tell the Veil what you want and the Faed will work with you. It may make you regret it, but it will oblige.” Cyphira snickered. Another of Fitz’s maxims.
She descended a staircase from the pad into what appeared to be a large, vertical bazaar. The scent of exotic spices tickled her nose, though she took care not to breathe too deeply—all of the Faed’s wondrous delights came at a cost. A cadre of young elves, pixies, and goblins chased each other through the rows of stalls, weaving through crowds and earning irate shouts from cart vendors.
After a few minutes of wandering, she found a sylph—a largely invisible creature comprised of air currents, clothes, and a brass mask—was hawking papers on a corner. Bingo.
“Do you have any back issues from yesterday?” Cyphira asked, addressing the sylph’s mask.
The sylph turned its inscrutable gaze to her, suddenly quiet.
“Just today’s edition, I’m afraid.”
Cyphira knew sylphs had little interest in human currency. They preferred intangible tokens, which were generally more perilous to trade. But sometimes gestures could also suffice.
“Buy a paper for a kiss?”
It seemed to consider her offer for a moment, then shook its head.
“You’re fair indeed. But I don’t want anything to do with the Amagium. Much less half-Royals.”
“Who says I’m a half-Royal?” Cyphira asked coyly.
The sylph scoffed.
“It’s written in your wyrd, girl. Plain as the dawn is bright. You reek of Winter’s cunt.”
Cyphira drew her head back. Wow. That’s a rude way to phrase it. She persisted, undaunted:
“I’m looking for information and I’m willing to pay for it—within reason. Zefera had a vantage point into the Arroyo Athenaeum’s archives on the Spring Equinox. Do you know anybody who might know something?”
Again, the sylph seemed to consider her offer, but then shook its head.
“Ask someone else. I have a job to do, and witches are bad for business.”
Cyphira bowed her head politely and continued through the marketplace. She made her way toward a chilled fruit cart run by a goblin, crowded by a gaggle of faen children begging for samples.
“Scram already!” the goblin said, addressing the children. “I only give out one sample per sale, and so far, you’ve bought bupkis.”
Bingo, take two. Goblins loved human currency, especially metal coins, and Cyphira made a point of carrying a pouch of change for that exact purpose. And kids see and hear all kinds of stuff. They tend to have loose lips too. She stepped forward, addressing both goblins and the kids:
“Did any of you happen to see the Arroyo Archive on the equinox? I’ll buy all of you fruit bowls in exchange for any info.”
The kids exchanged glances, then scattered. Huh. That’s odd. Cyphira shrugged and turned to the goblin.
“How about you, sir? If you can point me to a witness, or know anything—”
“How about I give you a sample and you get lost instead?” the goblin proposed.
Cyphira was perplexed. Fae usually loved to bargain with humans. Then she saw the goblin glance over Cyphira’s shoulder. It was a quick, tiny thing, but deliberate enough for her to notice. Following his gaze, she noticed a hooded figure standing amidst the bustle. He was wearing all black, compared to the bright and open attire that seemed customary for the climes, and avian feet poked out of his trousers. After a half second, the birdkin turned away and blended in with the crowd.
Huh.
Cyphira approached a different goblin vendor, only for them to turn her away as well. She continued her stroll through the bazar, taking a deliberately serpentine route before stopping at an orc’s shawarma stall. Halfway through her inquiry, the orc held up a hand and shook his head:
“I trade in meat, not information.”
Cyphira expected as much and whirled around. She caught a fleeting glimpse of a black figure ducking into an alleyway.
I seem to have a shadow.
Cyphira pushed her way through the crowd at a brisk pace and approached the alley. The second she turned the corner, she saw a humanoid crow climbing up the far rooftop with a mix of wing beats and acrobatics. When it reached the roof and saw her looking up at her, it bolted.
“Son of a bitch!” Cyphira hissed.
She immediately gave chase, casting a reflex enhancing contract on herself as she moved. The birdman had a healthy head start, but she managed to see him jump off one of the landing pads into a crowded aerial intersection.
Cyphira leapt after him, willing herself to fly faster, but she quickly realized that the bird’s enormous wings gave it an insurmountable advantage in flight. She fired a sorcerous tether at a passing car, using its momentum to vault after the crow, who gave a surprised squawk as she gained on him.
She fired another tether, this time at an elf who was riding an engine propelled glider, and yanked herself into a midair collision. The elf shrieked as Cyphira yanked her from the controls and flung her into the enchanted airstream.
“Sorry, amagiate business!” she called back, as if that officially excused anything, and raced after the crow.
It’s a Tengu. Cyphira recalled. Half man, half-crow. Japanese fae. Stealthy. Damnably quick.
The tengu swooped directly into a lane of oncoming aircraft, deftly threading through the vehicles. Cyphira pushed the glider to its limits and abruptly pulled up before colliding with an airship that blared its horn. Disoriented, she had lost sight of the crow, then spied him hanging off the back of a bus-like airship headed around a building.
“Son of a bitch!” Cyphira said again.
She tried to reinforce the glider’s engine strength with her wyrd, but she needed more propulsion to catch up with the tengu’s craft.
After a second of assessing the cross streams of traffic, she finally finding what she was looking for: a nimble, one-man craft with the rough speed of a motorcycle. As the craft streaked toward her from below, Cyphira began counting to establish her rhythm. Just before the aircycle reached her, she abandoned her glider and flung herself below leading with her feet.
With a single graceful gesture, she kicked the vehicle’s rider off his seat and assumed control of the bike. She torqued the bike sharply and started chasing after the bus that the tengu had escaped on. Now she was gaining speed. The tengu, who had climbed onto the top of the bus seemed to think he was free and clear.
Perfect.
Cyphira dove beneath the bus, gaining speed, then performed a looping swoop that brought her up and over the top of the bus. The passengers on the upper deck all screamed as Cyphira’s bike streaked toward them, and the tengu tried to leap over the railing with a desperate squawk. Cyphira was ready. She barely managed to get off an earth contract that conjured a vine-like net, which she flung at the tengu with sorcery.
The snare caught the tengu but Cyphira had inadvertently veered back into oncoming traffic. An airship smashed one of the bike’s wings, and the machine started to fall like a stone. Cyphira and the crow both yelled as they plummeted toward the Tiger Ocean far below. The damaged bike is too heavy to stay aloft in the enchanted air stream, especially while I’m holding the fucking tengu!
On the way down, Cyphira frantically wrestled with the controls, trying to bring them into a glide to break at least part of their fall. But in the course of her struggle, she pulled a lever that ejected a parachute, just quickly enough to break their terminal velocity.
The airbike crashed down in one of the orange rivers. The tengu fell harder and let loose another piteous squawk, but the bike’s impact was hard enough to break Cyphira’s focus, cancelling her net contract.
In an instant, the tengu was free—albeit with a broken left wing—and the two of them were going toe to toe. Cyphira dodged a slashing kick and torqued the tengu’s beak violently as it tried to stab her. She followed up with several punches and kicks, before the bird smashed her with its right wing. As they squared off on the shallow edge of the river, Cyphira shouted:
“What do you know about the fire in the Archives?”
“I know it’s none of your fucking business. The person you’re after had nothing to do with it.”
Person. So Cardinal is human and not Fae.
“Who started the fire then?” Cyphira asked.
The tengu shook its head.
“I’m court-sworn to secrecy. You literally can’t beat it out of me.”
“But it wasn’t an accident,” Cyphira concluded.
The tengu eyes narrowed with hate. It hadn’t intended to give her a hint.
“Tell me what happened to the missing amagia and I’ll let you walk away.”
The tengu’s neck feathers puffed up. He raised his human fists and its apparently prehensile right wing to reassume a fighting stance.
“Nah. I already said more’n I shoulda and that’s all you’re gonna get.”
“Forget the fire then. Who is Cardinal? Where can I find him?” Cyphira demanded.
“Can’t tell you that either. There are rules.”
“Then I guess you’re no good to me alive.”
“Not true,” the tengu said. “I would take it as a kindness if you would spare my life. I would consider it a Favor.”
“Why? You’ll be back in a couple days anyway.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got shit to do and dying hurts, lady!”
“If I let you live, you remember having this conversation, go back to Summer, and tell them I’m snooping,” Cyphira said.
“They will already know a half-Royal is asking questions in Zefera and I have to report anyway when I reincarnate,” the tengu said, emanating exasperation. “And yes, you’ll probably win this fight, but I might get a lucky shot or two in, and you don’t heal so good as I do.”
Cyphira took a deep breath, barely withholding her anger. This is what I hate about fae. Good honest violence turns into abject bargaining in the blink of an eye.
“Did I mention I’m throwing in a Favor?” the tengu said, as if that should have settled the matter by its own merit.
“Caught that, thanks. May I have the Name of the fae whose Favor I would be owed?”
“What? Now you want a Name and a Favor?”
Cyphira looked at the tengu with disgust.
“How am I supposed to call in a Favor without your Name, dickhead?”
The tengu shrugged.
“‘Dickhead’ works.”
Like half-fae, fae could adopt new names and titles at will. Though most were more selective about their monikers.
“Seriously? My god man, have some self-respect.”
The tengu’s eyes seemed to smile at her.
“At least when I need to call in a favor, I won’t be the one standing in the middle of a crowd shouting ‘Hey Dickhead, I need a favor!’”
Cyphira seriously considered killing him then and there. The tengu pleaded:
“Wait, wait, wait. You are clearly Amagiate intelligence. I can be very useful to somebody like you, I swear.”
“What the fuck do I want with a pigeon-ninja?” Cyphira asked, scoffing.
The tengu’s beak parted in disbelief, and then its eyes narrowed in outrage.
“A pigeon-ninja? A fuckin’ pigeon—Are-are you serious? You fuckin’ dare? No. You know what? Fuck you. Kill me or die trying. I don’t need this disrespect. Put ‘em up.”
Cyphira held up her hands in defense as the Tengu advanced.
“I’m sorry, Dickhead. That was out of line.”
For a second, it seemed like the tengu might attack her anyway. In the end, he straightened the lapels of his coat and tossed his head up to the side so his beak was in profile.
“Tengu are corvids, ya ignoramus. We hail from the proud stock of crows and ravens. And as for ninja? We trained the original ninja how to be fucking ninja. Reducing a tengu to a ninja is like calling Mab a garden variety bitch. Err. No offense.”
“None taken,” Cyphira assured him.
“Anyway. I can do all sorts of stuff. You get in a bind on this side of the Veil, you call on me for backup. You need me to spy on that side from this side? I can do that, within plausible reason. Any spook worth their salt would jump at this opportunity.”
“Alright, Dickhead,” Cyphira said finally. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Dickhead extended his right prehensile wing and she shook his top feather. His left wing appeared to have fully healed during their conversation, and once their business was concluded, he took to the skies, heading back to Zefera. Cyphira shook her head and started to search for a soft-spot in the black and orange expanse of the Tiger Ocean.
— 3:42 PM. Arroyo Athenaeum (Archives) —
“Oh! You’re back. Reyes already left. I was starting to fear the worst.” Poe said, as Cyphira returned to the northern reference desk.
“Good, because I come bearing bad news.”
Poe looked at her like a wet cat and bid her to continue:
“I think you are dealing with an arsonist. Some kind of saboteur. There was somebody on the other side keeping all of the potential witnesses quiet. Summer Court. I questioned him, but he was sworn to secrecy. All I know is that your arsonist is a different traitor than the one I’m chasing.”
“What? How can you know that for sure?”
Cyphira gave Poe a word-by-word recount of her conversations with the Zeferans and explained her encounter with Dickhead.
“Are you going to assist in our investigation then?” Poe asked anxiously.
“I have to check with my boss, but I kind of doubt it. Honestly, the Cardinal leaks represent a greater threat to the Amagium’s security. But if I were you, I would comb your access records on the night of the twelfth very carefully.”
“Miss Quinn—err, Agent Quinn—surely there’s something else you can tell us about—”
“I’ve already told you everything I know. If the higher ups want me to help out, I’ll be back. Otherwise, I’ll be moving on.”
— 4:57 PM. Arroyo (Campus Park) —
Cyphira’s first stop after leaving the archive was a bathroom in the Athenaeum, where she changed into asfalis clothes and cast a glamour contract that turned her golden eyes blue, and her evergreen hair blonde. Next, she hailed a ride share to Arroyo’s main post office, where her new identity waited. An amagiate PO box contained a government sanctioned ID card and PSE-issued birth certificate, various banking statements, and other credentials required to set up a pre-negotiated lease at a modest apartment in Campus Park.
She rode there next, arriving at a shaded apartment complex close to Arroyo City College.
Once she had signed all the necessary documents, her new landlord showed her to a simple one-bedroom unit with a tiny kitchen and an even smaller bathroom. It was a far cry from her Newam penthouse, especially since it was completely empty. Compared to some of the third-world shitholes I’ve shared with Forsythe, it’s paradise. After I buy a bed, anyway.
But first, business. Cyphira cast a series of anti-scrying contracts—she would have to properly ward the apartment against magical intrusion later. When she was done, she used her secure phone to debrief Morgan on her fieldtrip to the Archives.
“So we have more than one turncoat on our hands,” Morgan concluded.
“Seems like,” Cyphira said. “Do you want me to pursue this arsonist?
“We stick to the plan for the time being. I take it your credentials arrived safely?”
“I am Esmeryl Winters,” Cyphira said, looking at the blonde doppelganger on her ID card. “Newly enrolled in Arroyo City College as a pre-law student specializing in amagiate relations.”
The only reason Cyphira could call herself ‘Esmeryl’ without suffering a violent paroxysm was because the government of the Pacific States of Ericia legally recognized her by that name, thanks to some under-the-table convincing from the CIC. Half-fae couldn’t give out false names, but acquiring new names and titles was perfectly fine, especially if said-identities were legally recognized by large human institutions. For all intents and purposes, she was two people.
“Have you worked out a cover story?”
Cyphira shrugged.
“Arroyo is my hometown. I spent a few years in Newam and wanted to come back.”
Morgan frowned.
“That seems a bit broad and arbitrary.”
“I’m twenty-two, Sir,” Cyphira scoffed. “People my age usually have no idea what they are doing with their lives. And I have to keep things broad. The more specifics you throw out, the easier it is to get caught in a lie.”
There was a pause, and Cyphira could tell Morgan was unconvinced.
“Look, worst case scenario, I have the ring,” Cyphira said.
She examined the article in question; another gift from the post office box. The Briartruth Band was made of alchemical silver, fashioned like a knot of rose thorns with leaf-shaped emeralds, and a tiny piece of wishglass cut to look like a white faen rose.
“Only as a last resort,” Morgan cautioned. “And if you use it even once, you should be prepared to spend a day recovering. I understand the recoil is… quite harsh.”
“Roger that. Did analytics come up with any potential leads for me? I can attend ant rallies in a ‘Free Magic Now’ tee, but that seems like a clumsy approach.”
“That’s more or less what I had in mind, actually. But we do have one person of interest. Do you recall an aspirant by the name of Azmuir Stillman?” Morgan asked.
Cyphira nodded, amused. I haven’t thought of that guy in years.
“He was in my cohort. Keeper aspirant. Clever, but not really as smart as he thought he was.”
“Check your amail,” Morgan said.
Cyphira thumbed through her phone and found a detailed Person of Interest dossier on her former classmate. Morgan continued:
“Stillman was expelled at the end of the autumn quarter due to his alleged involvement with an alchemic entropathy case. Since then, he has become something of a spokesman among local activists. We do not know, definitively, if he has any dealings with Cardinal, but he is well-connected within Arroyo’s anticordance community.”
“I’ll start with him, then,” Cyphira said.
“Do not approach him directly. The PSE has dispatched the Regional Investigations Chapter to review the Cardinal leaks, and I have also ordered a uniformed venture from the CIC to publicly assist them.”
“Am I going to be in contact with the other investigations?” Cyphira asked.
“No. You are done working for the CIC in any official capacity as of this afternoon. I will provide you with periodic updates from the taskforce, but neither the RIC or the uniformed CIC venture will be aware of your activities, and we need to keep it that way,” Morgan said. “Given the nature of the leaks, Cardinal possesses intimate knowledge of our intranet and Forsythe’s defection, which means we are dealing with a high-ranking mole. Therefore, neither investigation is above suspicion.”
Cyphira chuckled.
“Great. I have a feeling I’m going to end up on our own watchlist.”
She heard Morgan snicker.
“In all likelihood, yes. But our ‘official’ investigations are essentially decoys. While they openly sniff around Cardinal’s circle, you will need to infiltrate it organically. Become a familiar face at the rallies and wait for somebody to approach you. Make friends. Build an identity and a presence in the community beyond being a passionate young activist.”
Cyphira glanced at her reflection in the bathroom’s small mirror. She looked good as a blonde, but she hadn’t gotten used to her new look yet. Presence erasure ensured her old acquaintances wouldn’t recognize her, but if Morgan’s suspicions were correct, Cardinal likely knew her by appearance.
“I’m gonna need a lot of glamour magic,” Cyphira observed.
“Indeed. This will likely be tedious. A lot of acting and very little action.”
“That suits me fine, honestly,” Cyphira said.
I’m happy to take a break from killing people.
“Best of luck, Miss Winters. I’ll be in touch.”
