Sevardin Harker. Jovday, Sagittarius 21st, 2354 AA. 5:39 PM. Arroyo (College Park).
“There he is,” Sev said as he brought the cruiser to a halt near Grant Park.
Risso Dellorusso was exactly where Sev expected to find him, dealing dust on a bench next to the tennis courts. He got out of the vehicle and approached Risso, flanked by his new subordinates.
Kaden Smith was of an age with Sevardin and formerly of the Houston Athenaeum in the Republic of Texas. He was a square-jawed, blue-eyed, muscular slab of apple-pie Ericiana, with presumably dark blonde hair—he had maintained a closely cropped military crew cut as long as Sevardin knew him. He was also, as near as Sev could tell, a Pitbull shapeshifted into a human.
In contrast, Argest Miller—formerly of the Sacramento, Athenaeum—preferred to play things cool. Which is to say, he favored quippery and haughtiness to actual detective work. He had orange hair in a hue that he referred to as ‘fire-blooded’ often unbidden and uncomfortably frequently. Many of Argest Miller’s qualities were allegedly ‘fire-blooded.’ Like his meticulously groomed horseshoe mustache and flame-shaped soul-patch.
Both men’s saving grace—so near as Sev could tell—was that they were frighteningly good at dispatching monstrum. Especially of the physical variety. Beasts. Natural-born vampires and self-made dopplegangers. Hags. Sevardin watched Smith break the spine of a dire cougar the first week on the job—unarmed. And not three days later, when they were on the tail of a Vjesci-Primogenitor, Miller shot at a man in a crowd, point blank, seemingly at random. Sevardin laid into him, grabbed him by the straps, and he started cackling like an idiot, pointing at the body. Then Sevardin realized that the body had burst into ash and brimstone.
One silver-jacketed holly-cored bullet. Damn scary stuff. Sevardin snickered. The only thing that’s scarier is how these two handle people.
A thuggish guy with a crew cut appeared to be haggling with Risso, but when he followed Risso’s gaze to the cruiser, he bolted like a doe. Risso rose from the bench and called after him, changing his offer and hanging his head when his customer disappeared from sight.
“If it isn’t my favorite street entrepreneur,” Sev said. “How’s business, Risso?”
“Oh. You know. Just uh. It’s fine. I mean. Not that I’m doing business per se. Just out here enjoying this fine winter Merday. Catching up with old friends.”
“My ass,” Smith muttered.
“Really. What’s in the bag, Risso?” Sev asked amiably.
Risso winced.
“Uh. Running shoes. I was… getting in a jog earlier.”
“In your coat?” Sevardin asked, observing Risso’s ever-present, sleeveless tan overcoat.
“It’s… it’s my trademark man. What’s wrong with my coat?”
“Nothing!” Sev assured him. “But, hypothetically speaking, if we were to open that bag right now, I wouldn’t find a bundle of dust bags and other illegal treats from the Faed, would I?”
Risso swallowed and smiled sickly.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” he asked.
“The Rifa Thirteen drug den that burned down on Lunday. Rumor has it, the Rollers used cracked licenses to do it. Have you heard anything? Know anybody involved?” Sev asked.
“Sev, you know I’m not on the best terms with the Rollers. And any outfit with a thirteen attached to it is way too hardcore for me. I mean, I steer clear whenever I can.”
“Enough fae-talk. He asked you a question, shitbird,” Smith said.
Oh no.
“Shitbird?” Risso looked more amused than offended. “Is this guy for real, Sev?”
Sev answered with a hard stare. Please don’t keep pushing, or we’ll both find out the hard way. Sev wasn’t sure who was trying his patience more. His pitbull-skinwalker partner, or Risso the were-weasel.
“Clock’s ticking, Risso. For all our sakes, keep it brief,” Sev prompted.
Risso held his arms to the side and shrugged:
“You’ve already got the full story, so far as I know it. Rollers have been pushing eastward into Rifa territory. That’s what caused the drive-by on North Lake last week. The Rollers responded by burning their crib down. Word of mouth is, they weren’t subtle about using pyro to do it.”
“Whose mouth?” Smith demanded.
“People in Bungalow Heaven?” Risso offered with a shrug.
“We want names, smart-ass,” Smith insisted.
Risso choked back a laugh.
“I get that, man. Err. Officer. Sir. But like, I literally don’t… Look. Even I heard it on the news before I heard anything from people.”
Smith emanated menace and impatience. In response, Risso held his hands up and said:
“Shit. Jakane Brown and Nevim Carter were the first people I heard mention the magic in person, okay? But I know they heard it secondhand too!”
“Are Brown and Carter involved with the gangs?” Sev asked.
Risso shook his head.
“Straight and narrow, so far as I know.”
“Waste of time then,” Sev sighed and gestured for Risso to hand over his backpack. “Turn over your stash and get out of here, Risso.”
For an awful second, it looked like Risso might try to make some half-assed argument to keep his drugs. Fortunately, some deeply ingrained instinct for self-preservation won out over his lack of common-sense. He unshouldered his backpack and pulled out a bundle of plastic baggies full of iridescent fae dust. Sev handed them to Miller, then gestured for Risso to turn over the backpack as well.
Risso only hesitated a second before handing it over. Upon searching it, Sev found a couple dime bags of faen weed and held them up.
“These must have slipped your mind?” Sev asked, annoyed.
“Heh, must have,” Risso offered weakly.
Harker pushed Risso’s backpack into his chest and gestured dismissal. Risso lingered.
“I don’t suppose I could get a tip for the info? I mean. I did give you a couple names.”
Smith grabbed Risso by the lapels of his sleeveless coat and lifted him off his feet.
“Here’s a tip, shitbird: get a real fucking job. Detective Harker here has a big heart, and you are clearly comfortable taking advantage of that. Frankly, it rubs me the wrong fucking way. So if I ever see you dealing again, I will make it my personal mission to ensure you do time for it.”
Smith released Risso while simultaneously shoving him with sorcery. Not enough to leave a bruise by itself—not enough to warrant a reprimand from Sev—but enough to throw the boy off balance and make him fall on his ass.
As they walked away, Smith was shaking his head and muttering, wyrd vibrating with anger. He was still hot under the collar when they strapped into the cruiser.
“Something on your mind, Kaden?” Sev asked.
“Look, I know you’re a hometown hero, Harker. And you had an image to maintain when you were with Flores and Singh. No helping it with all the press. But we do things differently in M&M. Our reputation is our first asset in the field.”
“What reputation is that?” Sevardin asked.
Smith glanced at Miller, then gave Sev an exasperated smile. Sev gestured for him to spit it out. Come on, big man. You want to brute force your way through policework, own up to it.
“Speak plainly,” Sev urged.
“We can’t afford to take shit from pissants, sir. I’m not saying we go cracking skulls at every opportunity—that’s also a bad look—but the lip that kid gave you? Him holding out on the weed when you told him to hand over his stash? You can’t let that slide. Fuck-headed twerps like him only understand consequences. If there aren’t any, the bad behavior escalates.”
Sev nodded thoughtfully as he started the cruiser and began the quick drive back to the Central Precinct.
“In my experience, a stint in a magicarcerum rarely improves the behavior of smalltime fools like Risso Dellorusso. I know it seems counterintuitive, but playing catch and release for information tends to be a better use of his talents than consigning him to five years of beatings.”
Miller scoffed:
“Might fix that mouth of his at the very least.”
Smith nodded emphatically:
“And forgive the observation, sir, but we didn’t learn anything useful. I’m not saying he had anything worth knowing, but if he isn’t appropriately… ‘motivated,’ he’ll hold out on us with information in the future, like he did with the drugs.”
And if you beat him half to death, he’ll never come back with anything at all. Make it seem like you’re doing him a favor, and he’ll respond in kind. But Sev was too tired to continue the argument. His heart had moved onto his next engagement, and his head had clocked out.
“I’ll take it under advisement. We’ll hit the Rifa again tomorrow.”
— Fera Fitzgerald | 6:13 PM | Arroyo (The Drowned Book) —
Fitz did not want to have this meeting.
Up until the archival fires on the spring equinox, her scant experience with Sevardin Harker was from Hace’s brief undercover stint in the Black Lotus Case. And when Sevardin was revealed to command the power of a mortal breath… My idiot idolized him. And why not? Positive male role models were scant enough in the Athenaeum.
But after losing his lover and his partner, he turned to the akrasiac. Like so many did.
It was common for those who had comrades missing in action. Are they stuck in the Veil? Vanishingly unlikely. Are they stuck in the Faed? More likely, but still not very likely at all. Usually, nursing such hope was crueler than indulging it.
But when her student’s idol was in front of her, begging for help, she saw the despair on his face and found herself thinking of Yvahn Wren. Her forever on-again-off-again-currently-on-again girlfriend.
“I’ll look into it.”
No phrase in an amagia’s vocabulary is more ill-fated.
Sev sat down and started to hail one of the waitresses for drinks, but Fitz slapped his hand down to the table.
“I’ve already got your order, Sev. Whiskey-neat. This one’s on me.”
Sev scoffed and gestured refusal.
“‘I buy the drinks,’ that was the deal.”
“That was the deal. But we’ve got to stop this, honey.”
Sevardin smiled, probably preparing some smooth quip, but she headed him off.
“The way I see it, there are only two possibilities. Either she’s not in the Faed, or she is in the Faed but someone extremely powerful does not want her to be found, and they are spending a lot of resources to obscure her presence. As good as we are at finding things, they are better at hiding them when they put a collective mind to it.”
Sev’s face fell. It was like she siphoned the life out of him.
“I want to help you, Sev. I do. But I’ve gone looking four times now. I was able to take Hace along with me on two jaunts excused as training exercises. But there’s been less than nothing. Usually there are patterns in the nothingness—just enough to drive you insane. But I haven’t been able to find any patterns. If there are witnesses to what happened, they are not talking.”
Something flared in Sevardin’s core. It was faint, but deep within his wyrd. Less of an emanation and more of… a key opening a lock. A change that was not a change. Something he was made to do. Aw hell.
“I know. That’s why I want you to use me as a guide.” Sev said.
“No,” Fitz said firmly. “Not without getting us both in a lot of trouble. You’d be suspended, and I would be stripped of my tenure just before my student is set to graduate. I’m not risking Hace’s future over this.”
“What if you got it excused as a third training exercise? I’ve done some reading, and I know that an akrasiac can use a person as a sympathetic focus to find a close relation.”
“You and Jecia aren’t blood relatives, Sev. You aren’t even legal relatives,” She held up a hand before Sevardin could interrupt. “I know what you’re getting at, but believe me when I say that the lack of those bonds makes it a lot harder. Love is a powerful thing but filtered through a third party? It is very, very tricky to work with.”
Sev smiled. Fitz’s heart sank. She recognized his look. It was the same one Hace wore when she was about to lose an argument.
“But it is possible. Look, I know this may seem like a hopeless longshot, but… so is our relationship. The breath. I won’t be able to rest without trying it.”
And if we find a Fae who says your girlfriend is dead, will you be able to let it rest then? Because I don’t think you will. You’re sick, Harker.
Fitz took a deep breath to say as much but managed to catch herself. Instead, she explained:
“Each time I take Hace through on a training exercise involving an active case, I have to get it cleared by both the AKF and the Athenaeum’s Faculty Oversight Committee. That said, I am willing to propose it on one condition: If they shoot us down, that’s the end of it. If they allow it and we don’t find any evidence, you don’t approach me—or Hace—about it again. Alright?”
Sevardin hugged her, emanating tremendous gratitude and assurance. Fitz froze, then gingerly accepted his embrace, and quickly pushed him away.
“Promise me three times, Sev. This is our Hail Mary. After that, we’re done.”
“I swear upon my wyrd, thrice-over, that I will not approach you about this again if we do not find a compelling lead on Jecia’s whereabouts.”
Fitz sighed and extended her hand. Sevardin took it.
How did you let him talk you into this, Fitz? You’re getting so goddamn soft in your old age. I swear to Christ. And I have a strong feeling that I’m going to regret this.
— Sevardin Harker | Satday, Sagittarius 23rd, 9:03 AM | Arroyo Athenaeum —
In terms of the Rollers’ investigation, Venday was a wash. Nobody on the block of the burned Rifa Thirteen den was willing to talk. Even the house that had reported the gunshots and fire seemed to have developed a very hazy memory of the incident on Lunday night. Sev wasn’t terribly surprised—speaking up about gang violence was a good way to get embroiled in said violence—but he was running out of leads to chase down regarding the pyromancers.
There was a silver lining, however. Fitz called Sev to inform him that the faculty oversight committee and the AKF had approved her proposed training operation, with the stipulation that it would be the last entry into that particular line of inquiry. And she agreed that the sooner they moved, the better their outcome would be.
Sev arrived at the Athenaeum’s sorcerium early the next morning, where Fitz waited with her bright-eyed, bloody-haired prodigy, Hace Matthews. They had already drawn out a ritual circle to amplify their powers. Each of them was outfitted with a sword, save for Sev who also carried his revolver.
“I know the principles behind this, but I’ve never done it before. Any tips?” Sev asked.
“The Veil will feel like a body of water. Seems reasonably thin today, which is good.” Hace explained. “While we jump, you just need to hold on to the thought of Jecia.”
“Reach out to her with your wyrd like you’re working a contract,” Fitz said. “Flood the concept of her with your will. And picture her in your head as comprehensively as possible. Not just her appearance, but her personality. He mannerisms.”
Fitz and Hace each put a hand on Sev’s shoulder while closed his eyes to focus on Jecia. He saw her—all of her—each time he closed his eyes. Every moment his mind idled. He tried to remember what it felt like to use the Breath with her, to be in absolute synchronization with another soul.
“Let us know when you’re ready, and we’ll jump on three,” Fitz said.
Sev nodded.
“I’m ready.”
“Three… two… one.”
Sev felt a gut lurching sensation of his wyrd imploding. His body—or rather his being, now bodyless—slammed into the Veil. It was thin and crisp, like a paper-thin sheet of water that was crusted with frost on both sides.
That split second of abstraction—a sudden knot of thoughts, emotions, and power as opposed to a body—would have been enough to disorient Sev if he had not poured his soul into his yearning for Jecia. His certainty that she must be stranded somewhere in the Faed, eager to come home.
This is our last chance. It has to work. I will make it work.
Even though the jump was brief, it was impossibly dense with information. Stray thoughts and errant emotional currents roamed the veil, buffeting him. Hace and Fitz’s wyrds intermingled with his own, a sensation that was almost the inverse of the Mortal Breath. Where he and Jecia were in perfect tandem, the akrasiacs had seized total control of his metaphysical trajectory.
The three of them emerged in the Faed atop a seamless stone octagon, looking out over a hazy valley. The low-lit weather reminded Sevardin of cold nights in Sweden—the flat-lit dusk before a blizzard. Austere, angular towers of concrete loomed overhead, both close by and at a distance. Sev had the impression that they were very high up—due to the gales around them—but many of the brutalist spires climbed interminably higher, disappearing into the gray heavens.
Some towers of similar height appeared connected by cable cars, but the roof they stood on was an island, cut off and inscrutable, save for two staircases that winded down the exterior of the shaft.
Not exactly a cheerful backdrop. Going into it, Sev told himself he had no expectations. He knew the Faed held countless environments ranging from picturesque storybook fantasies to nightmarish hellscapes. But this strange field of spires left him surprised and unnerved.
Hace sniffed at the ambient magic with his wyrd and said:
“Winter Court if I ever saw it. Do you know this place, Teach?”
“It’s called the Stonewrought Forrest,” Fitz said. “Deep in Winter. Usually you can’t reach it from here.”
“What do you mean?” Sevardin asked.
“Certain parts of the Faed are associated with certain cultures or regions of reality,” Fitz explained. “Even though the architecture looks about as Erician as you can get, the Stonewrought Forest is actually associated with East India. China. Southeast Asia. Strange to hit it from the West coast of Ericia, especially after such a thin jump.”
“Is that a good sign?” Sev asked hopefully.
“It’s not a bad sign,” Hace offered.
“It is strange, though. Keep your guard up. These spires are home to entities who blur the line between fae and egregore.”
They walked to the edge of the enormous octagon and began to descend from stairs spiraling around the exterior of the tower. After four switchbacks snaking downward, they came to a platform in front of a massive arch housing two doors made of the same polished concrete as the superstructure.
“There’s a crowd inside,” Hace cautioned. “And something extremely powerful.”
Fitz placed her hand on one of the doors. With the slightest push, the towering doors slowly swung inward, revealing a cavernous room carpeted with woven tatami mats. Dozens of fae with vibrant skin and hair colors trained in martial arts. Some sparred, others led dozens of their fellows in kata, and they were all perfectly silent save for the rustling of their plain gray robes. The room was illuminated by narrow slits, even though there had been no windows on the exterior of the building.
The shafts of light converged on a pristine bronze buddha sitting on a concrete altar in the center of the chamber, one hand holding up two fingers, and the other palm laying open in its lap. On that hand, a fae resembling a beautiful woman sat cross-legged, her eyes closed in deep contemplation.
She was a vibrant sight to behold, even though she wore the same ashen robes of the trainees around her. Her black hair was tipped with vibrant vermillion and turquoise, and her skin was a pale shade of unblemished blue. As the amagia approached her, Sev saw that the fae had Indian features. It was enough to remind Sev of Jecia, even though the resemblance was virtually nonexistent.
None of the students took any notice of the amagia, continuing their training in silence, and the fae on the buddha’s palm only took notice of them when they reached the concrete edge of the altar. She opened her eyes which were the same color as the tips of her hair; vermillion pupils with bright turquoise irises. Now that they were close, Sev could feel the fae’s eminence, and it was colossal. Her authority over the demesne was oppressively powerful, tangible to all senses.
“Welcome travelers,” she said, levitating and then standing on the buddha’s palm.
“Lady of Winter,” Fitz said, bowing her head. “I am Fera Fitzgerald. He is Hace Matthews, and he is Sevardin Harker. How shall we address our host?”
“We shed all Courtly honorifics and titles within the Empty Zephyr Monastery. Here, I am a simple yakshi. You may call me Astala.” She bowed and folded her arms behind her back before descending from the statue. “What brings you to our humble training hall?”
Fitz looked to Sevardin and nodded for him to speak.
“We seek information on an amagia by the name of Jecia Singh. She went missing last spring, and we have reason to believe she may be stranded in the Faed,” Sev said respectfully.
“The other half of your Mortal Breath,” Astala observed.
Sev nodded, heart in his throat. Fitz and Hace had told him their excursions ended in silence. Every fae they questioned wouldn’t even acknowledge Jecia’s name, much less her power. I knew we would find a lead. I knew it!
Astala began to pace as she spoke:
“Summer would strike the woman’s name from our world. Titania and Oberon themselves have handsomely paid the other Courts for complicit silence. But we care not for coin or curried favor. I have some knowledge of her, and I am willing to share it… provided you perform a favor.”
Fitz held up a hand before Sevardin could speak out of turn.
“What is the nature of this favor?”
The yakshi whistled loudly. Every student in the training hall abruptly halted their exercises, and organized themselves into rank and file. Their gazes remained empty with no acknowledgement of the humans, or even each other.
“My children are young, yet long have they trained in the ways of the fist, the blade, and the bow,” Astala explained. “The cycle of rebirth is intrinsic to all fae. Yaksha serve Buddha before the Courts however, and death is our greatest opportunity for enlightenment.”.
Astala continued to pace, speaking placidly:
“I would not see my sons and daughters slaughtered in a meaningless border conflict between the Courts. Their first taste of death should be sweeter. More informative. Grant my children warriors’ deaths—properly earned—and I will repay your benediction with the insight I possess.”
“Which ones are your sons and daughters?” Hace asked.
Astala turned to him with a smile.
“All of the yaksha and yakshi within this hall.”
Sev’s stomach plunged. There were dozens of fae in the chamber. At least forty. Each of them held a pale shadow of Astala’s power, but their combined might was comparable. By Sev’s reckoning, their strength ranged from ninth-year aspirants to Senior Officers. Most were unarmed save for their claw-tipped fingers, but others wielded polearms, swords, staves and slings.
“In order to achieve warriors’ deaths, they must fight with their full might, unfettered by mercy. Should you accept, they shall fight you together, simultaneously.”
“I accept,” Sev said, before Fitz or Hace could object.
Fitz gaped at him, horrified. A nervous laugh escaped Hace’s throat and he said:
“Well. That’s… bold.”
Sev smiled at him and emanated agreement.
“Maybe. But my decision is mine alone. I don’t expect you two to help me. You’ve done more than enough already by giving me the chance.”
“We don’t even know what she knows!” Fitz scoffed.
Sev shook his head and shrugged.
“I need to know. I don’t expect you to understand, but I would rather die in an instant than waste another day wondering. I can’t turn my back on her.”
Hace and Fitz looked at each other, then took stock of the fae around them once more. After a moment, Hace spoke up:
“Alright, I’m in too.”
Now Sevardin was horrified. You fool! You’re just a damn kid! Oh gods, what have I done? Fitz looked at her student with murder. He shrugged sheepishly and looked at Sevardin.
“I do understand. I have my own better half. And I think we can beat them together.”
Astana turned her delicate smile to Fitz, who swore in a torrent.
“Fuck me dead. Guess I’m in too,” she said, irate.
“Your commitment to your fellows is commendable. Do you need time to meditate?”
“I’d rather not dwell on it, thanks,” Fitz said tersely. “I don’t suppose you would give us time to cast some contracts to even the odds?”
Astana tilted her head in consideration, and then nodded.
“Better they see your full potential than to squander that chance at learning. You may dress yourselves in whatever magic you see fit.”
Fitz gave Astala an earnest salute, then turned to the others:
“We’re going to do a triple braid. All of us will cast reflexes together. Then we’re going to repeat the process with barriers, and finally physical strength. Harker, follow my lead. Hace, follow him.”
It only leaves Hace with one animus to spare, but… Sev had to admit, it was the smartest play they could make. With so many opponents, the opportunity to cast contracts mid-combat would be scant. Better to buff up as much as possible at the beginning, even if we have less ammo later on. The three of them synched their urdic respiration and began to cast their contracts in concert.
When they had finished, Sevardin felt like a small god. Hace and Fitz were both very skilled. And suddenly, it felt like the tides had turned.
“We’re going to win this,” Sevardin assured them.
“We damn well better,” Fitz snapped.
The fae formed a ring around the trio of amagia, who drew their swords. Astala returned to the buddha’s palm and sat down. She looked to Sevardin for confirmation and he nodded. Then she clapped her hands and the fight began.
Before the yaksha could close in, Sev, Hace, and Fitz streaked toward the right corner of the hall in a chevron, cutting through the perimeter of the ring and putting their backs to the wall. They held off the initial tide by virtue of their contracts, targeting heads, throats, and hearts in a breathless assault.
Then a green skinned, yellow-haired yakshi changed the game, creating a curtain of fog that concealed her siblings’ approach. They managed to punch through the amagia’s line. Sev narrowly dodged a spear thrust and felt his barrier spare him the edge of a sword slash. More yaksha approached from behind, trying to scoop them out of their defensible corner.
Fitz created a vacuum, siphoned away the freezing mist, and used it to conceal herself. Hace jumped into the air and blasted the newly exposed yaksha with an explosive ball of fire, taking out at least six enemies. But as he was about to touch down, two lancers were waiting for them. Sevardin threw his sword, guiding its blade with kinetic sorcery to ricochet between the fae. The distraction allowed Hace to land on the ground safely, and he plucked Sevardin’s sword out of the air, attacking the surrounding yaksha in a frenzied whirlwind of cuts before he was lost to the oncoming fray.
Sevardin caught the shaft of an incoming spear and used it to fling its wielder into his fellows. He attacked in a frenzy, stabbing and cutting down too many fae to count. He defended himself from a double sword stroke at the expense of snapping the shaft of his weapon in half. Undaunted, he buried the point in the cheek of a yakshi and bludgeoned another attacker with the broken haft.
As he whirled, he glimpsed Fitz being thrown to the ground. Before he could intervene, a yaksha fell upon her and plunged a broad dagger into her gut. Sev’s heart imploded, but Fera’s body vanished into a cloud of sorcery as the blade pierced her flash. A decoy—thank god!
A hulking yaksha tackled Sev from behind, grabbing him from under the armpits to pin his arms above his head. Sevardin threw his head back against his captor’s face, and he felt a spray of blood and dust against the back of his neck. But another yaksha managed to cleave through his braided barrier spell, shallowly slashing him across the chest. Sev’s attacker drew back his sword, preparing for a killing blow, only for a colossal explosion to rock the chamber, knocking them both off their feet. Sevardin grabbed the swordsman by his head and sharply torqued his neck, causing his body to erupt in a plume of dust.
I need to fight smarter! Winter Court. Court of Air. Blows rained down upon Sev. One of the yaksha’s kicked him in the ribs. Another tried to stomp his head flat, and would have succeeded were it not for the protective barrier, which finally gave out with a pop.
Then something seized him by the ankles and yanked him off the ground. The world became a blur as Sev spun through the air, only to be released at the apex of his momentum. His body slammed into the concrete wall, winding him and dislocating his right shoulder. As he struggled to draw in breath, he completed the hand signs for a wind contract with his left hand.
Vicious Gale. It was the same spell he had used to kill the egregore in the archives. And while he wasn’t in the throes of exus—yet—the Winter Court’s influence supercharged the magic. The invisible blades of wind mulched four Yaksha, slashes coming as quick and hard as anti-tank fire.
Sev took stock of the field and saw the tide was turning. Only a handful of yaksha remained. Hace had lost both swords and was now exchanging a brutal flurry of blows with a yaksha two feet taller than himself. He took a haymaker to his face and double spun to the floor, spattering the mats with blood. Sevardin ran to his aid, snatching up a dropped club with his good hand and thrusting its spiked point into the nape of the yaksha’s neck, reinforcing the blow with sorcery. It blew apart and the iridescent dust of its lifeforce flooded Sev’s lungs.
The voices of exus sang in a chorus now, pleading and promising. More magic. More power. He used sorcery to torque his right shoulder back into place. He screamed, either in pain or bloodlust, and struck one of the final yakshi in the knee cap, and again in the head as she sank forward. Another Yaksha with a broken arm ran at him with a dagger. Sev caught him in the face and blasted his head off with sorcerous fire. More!
But they were done. Fitz decapitated the final yaksha with the broad blade of a ramdao, and sank to the floor, spent. Sevardin whirled, still mad with battle lust, head swimming with a haze of dust. Hace was still crumpled on the floor. He pushed himself to a crouch, and then spat out a molar with a glob of blood.
Sev willed himself to calm down. He dropped to his knee, then lay flat on the ground in an effort to keep the voices at bay. Ever since he lost control in the archives, exus came easier, and was harder to quell. He sucked in air through his nose only to feel a stabbing pain as he realized it had been broken at some point in the fray. Finally, his breathing leveled out, but his vision swam from the dust high.
Hace limped toward Sev and helped him back on his feet. Sev felt another gut punch of guilt when he saw Fitzgerald. Her face was a swollen ruin. She had lost two of her front teeth, and she let loose a bloody hiss as she popped her dislocated thumb back into its socket.
“That was profound. I am deeply moved,” Astala said.
Hace and Sev both nodded in awkward bows, unsure of what response would be appropriate. The yakshi returned the gesture, then looked to the buddha statue
“The woman you seek, Jecia Singh, is not in our realm.”
What?
“You mean the Winter Court?” Sev pressed.
“No. She is not in the Faed.”
It couldn’t be true. But fae can’t lie. And there was no occlusive language or tricky turns of phrase for the yakshi to hide behind.
“Where is she?” Sevardin asked reflexively.
“I promised you valuable information regarding Jecia Singh in exchange for teaching my children. You taught them, and I provided you with said information. But I have no interest in further business. Recover yourselves, gather your faculties, and take your leave.”
Sev opened his mouth to argue. He wanted to beg or bargain. But Hace turned him away from the yakshi, back toward the door of the dojo. Again, Sev looked to Fitz. Her face was a mask of hate, battered, and tortured. He had asked enough from her. He vowed then and there that he would never ask her for anything ever again.
When their breathing stabilized, Fitz and Hace forced him back through the Veil.
— 6:27 PM | Arroyo (Remington Memorial Mediclave) —
Sev barely remembered the majority of the day following their jaunt into the Faed, but he was unsurprised to find himself at his comatose partner’s bedside. Juel’s pale features slowly came into focus as the steady beep of monitoring devices drove away the fugue of disassociation.
He was relieved that Elamni wasn’t there. He tried to check in on her and Ethano at least once a week, but the visits always took a toll on him. Everyone told him, time and again, that simply being there was enough. Every second of those strained dinners and Satday afternoons were laden with torturous guilt. Sev felt like an intruder as opposed to a source of comfort. A cheap imposter of the man who should be there.
“Hey brother,” Sev began through a fat lip, unsure where he was going.
Juel’s hair had regrown remarkably well, masking most of the scars from the head injury that half-killed him. If it weren’t for his blasphemously pallid skin, he would look like he was merely asleep. Capable of waking at any moment.
“Lami and Ethano are healthy. She’s making sure he finds time for fun—or distractions, at least. And you taught your boy well. He’s taking good care of his mom while you’re away, reminding her to eat and sleep. Both of them are still going strong, waiting for you to come home.”
Sev snickered at himself.
“I can’t tell you how much I hate my new partners. Miller reminds me of Ashford. High on his own power despite doing the bare minimum. Teachable, maybe, but Smith…” Sev shook his head. “He’s one bloodthirsty son of a bitch. Spoiling for a fight with the whole damn world. Might makes right type. The opposite of the cops Ajola wanted us to be. And it looks like our old friends, the Rollers, are getting bolder about breaking rules.”
Sev sighed and sank into the seat next to Juel’s bed.
“It’s funny how little all that matters though. I went looking for Jecia today. In the Faed. Had Fitzgerald take me through, along with her student so we could call it a training exercise. I nearly got all three of us killed. I was so sure we’d find a lead, or a clue… And maybe I did, but not the kind I hoped for. A Winter Court Royal told us she isn’t in the Faed. Point blank. No dissembling or tricky language.”
Sev’s voice trailed off.
“I need help, brother. I know she didn’t just disappear.”
Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll make it true. He hadn’t given up hope, but he knew he was incapable of objectivity.
“I just need a lead. Something to pursue so I can stay sane. The Archives are the worst place in the world for magiforensics. Between the collection’s energy obscuring readings, and the constant shifting of the environment… needle in a haystack doesn’t cover it. Even Thonis has told me they’ve likely found all that they can. And now that we know she isn’t in the Faed…”
Sev’s voice trailed off.
“I’ve tried praying, if you can believe that. Been to church three times now, but it seems like God’s not impressed with selfish converts. I don’t care about the Breath. I was a fool to get hung up on it. A fool not to tell you we didn’t have it. I took you and Jecia for granted. And I’d give anything—everything—to get you both back.”
Do you mean that? Sev had said it hundreds of times out loud, and it was an endless refrain in his head. But he had never really considered it before. What else do I have to lose? What can I give away to help you wake up? What can I sacrifice to find her?
There was no sign. No inner voice or outward indication that Juel had heard anything he said. But the answer came to Sev all the same. He suddenly knew what he needed to do. He bowed his head to Juel’s.
“I’m sorry, brother. I’ve got to go.”
— Satday, Sagittarius 23rd, 3:15 AM | Los Angeles (Compton) —
It took Sev nine hours of driving to find the right place. The last time he’d been here, the world was a ruin. Collapsed buildings, looters, and monsters. Now that the earthquake was half a decade behind them, and everything had been rebuilt, one intersection looked no different than another. Even when the stoplights started strobing red instead of cycling, everything looked the same.
He was nearly ready to call off his search and consider another tactic when he came across an intersection of shuttered storefronts. Like last time, nobody was around. The only sounds were the distant rush of the freeways. This is it. This is the place.
He came to a stop square in the middle of the pulsing traffic lights, removed his helmet, and addressed the sky at the top of his lungs:
“Baphoset! I have come to you for an audience!”
There was a pregnant pause. The traffic lights flickered mid-strobe, and Sevardin felt a ripple of magic behind him, like somebody had cast a stone in the Veil.
“I’m genuinely touched that you went through all the trouble, Sev,” Baphoset said. “Any old intersection would have worked fine.”
“Call me a sentimentalist,” Sev said evenly.
“I’ve been watching your career carefully. And my, what a career you’ve had. Now though,” he tilted his head to the side. “I know you’ve suffered a hard knock, and I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what you want. But the question is… What can you do for me?”
“Last time you wanted to tell me something. And this time I’m willing to listen. Provided you can tell me where I can find Jecia Singh.”
Baphoset sucked his teeth.
“That was a different deal altogether, Sev. A very special offer. And your partner rudely declined on your behalf. Honestly, I’m not sure I want you to find her—assuming there’s something left to find, of course.”
“What do you want, Baphoset?” Sevardin asked.
Baphoset stroked his chin and paced around Sevardin.
“I’m honestly not sure. Without your better half, your stock has fallen considerably.”
“What about a favor to be named later?” Sev asked.
Baphoset’s face lit up like Christmas and he started laughing.
“God damn! You really are desperate! That’s a very bold offer, Sev. What if I tell you to burn down an orphanage? What if I want you to rape a nun? I could ask you to conveniently lose evidence that would secure a serial killer’s conviction… Sky’s the limit, my friend!”
Sev held his gaze even. Then I’ll live with the consequences or find a way out of it.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Baphoset nodded. “You’ll make the deal, swear on your power three times, and renege on it. You will break your promise and then I’m left with egg on my face.”
“Breaking a three-fold promise would cripple my wyrd.” Sev observed.
“Not a terrible consolation prize, but who agrees to a bargain knowing the other party won’t deliver? My fellows would call me a sucker. Reputation is everything, my friend.”
Here goes.
“Then let’s skip the middle step. Tell me where to find Jecia Singh, and I’ll give you my wyrd. You can strip me of all my magical talents. Leave me an inurbanus. My power will be yours to wield as you see fit.”
Baphoset’s jaw dropped. He stared at Sevardin for a long moment, and then did a little dance like an excited toddler.
“Wow! Haha, this is incredible! I never thought… I mean, I knew you were desperate but…” He shook his head. “I honestly can’t believe it.”
“Do we have a deal?” Sev asked.
“Sev, that is a very generous offer. And it is with great pleasure that I decline.”
What? Sev didn’t understand. He expected the demon to decline the favor. But my wyrd? He knew it was dangerous. He knew it was stupid, self-destructive, and incredibly selfish. The perfect offer to seduce a demon.
“What do you want then? Years off my life?”
Baphoset took off his shades and seemed to remove his entire glib façade with them. Gone was the easy laughter and bombastic exuberance. The demon’s yellow, goat-pupiled eyes blazed but his smile was cold. Completely sincere and peerlessly cruel.
“I want to watch you suffer, Sevardin Harker.” Baphoset let loose an orgasmic shudder as he spoke. “I want to watch you destroy yourself, one terrible decision at a time. And this little meeting is proof that you don’t need any help with that. Offer me your soul. Offer me your firstborn. My answer will be the same. I refuse to help you because you’re already going to give me everything I could possibly want.”
Sev had braced himself for regret, but he was not prepared for rejection. He never considered the possibility. And a darker epiphany struck him. What if he can’t accept my offer? What if he doesn’t know how to find her?
What if Jecia is dead?
Sevardin snarled at the thought. He drew his blade and leveled it at the demon’s throat.
“Go on,” Baphoset purred and spread his arms wide: “Run me through. Beat me to death with your bare hands. Cut off my cock and feed it to me. I’m sure it will be very cathartic.”
The demon threw back his head and started laughing. Not his usual pantomime of humor, but genuine, bombastic mirth. Sev stabbed him in the heart. It only made Baphoset laugh harder, even as he hacked up blood.
“You have nothing, hero,” he coughed.
Sev twisted his saber and ripped it out of the demon’s chest. Baphoset continued to laugh as he fell to his knees. Sevardin decapitated him with a decisive follow-up stroke. Even as his body dissolved into ectoplasm, Baphoset’s head kept barking laughter as it rolled across the asphalt. Enraged, Sev crushed the demon’s head under his boot, finally silencing him.
He stood alone in the intersection, traffic lights throbbing red around him.
