Bound

chapter 13

OCTOBER

“So what have you got for me?” I asked.

I was sitting in a small café on Upper Street, Islington. The table was round, a waiter had just brought over two cups of tea, and the air was filled with the buzz of conversation. Outside, buses and cars crept up and down the road.

The woman sitting opposite me stirring her masala chai was Indian, with small, neat features and wearing a coat and skirt which blended in with the people around us. Her name was Chalice, and she was a Dark chance mage and one of Luna’s teachers. Since Luna’s graduation, Chalice had stopped giving her regular lessons, although I knew Luna still went back to her from time to time for help with something difficult. But that wasn’t why I was meeting her today.

“Straight to business?” Chalice said with a smile. She tapped her spoon on the side of her cup, then laid it in the saucer. “I’d thought you might want to catch up.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

My relationship with Chalice was originally a business one, favour for favour. She’d provide Luna with lessons, and I’d provide her with information. This time, though, I was the one looking for information. Chalice is still a Dark mage and I still wouldn’t exactly call us friends, but she’d dealt fairly with me so far and there were very good reasons that I didn’t want to approach someone on the Light side of the fence for this one.

“So, with regards to the two individuals in question, I’ve managed to pick up some bits and pieces,” Chalice said. “It turns out they have something of a reputation among Dark mages over here. However, most of what’s available is personal information and history.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Chalice withdrew a small red folder from her bag and laid it on the table. Some mages, like Talisid, are paranoid to the extreme about being seen with me in public, but that’s not Chalice’s way. Every time we’ve met, it’s been openly. “Lightbringer and Zilean,” Chalice murmured. “Light mages do like their poetic names, don’t they?” She glanced at me. “I understand they’re currently under investigation for an attack on another mage.”

I met Chalice’s gaze, my expression neutral. “We all have our reasons.”

“True.” Chalice slid the folder across the table. “There you go. I suspect it won’t be what you’re looking for.”

I opened the folder. It contained four typed sheets of paper, and I scanned them one at a time. “And what would I be looking for?”

“Most of the information there is historical,” Chalice said. “Their masters, events they’ve been involved in, details on their capabilities and allies. I suspect you were looking for something more geographical.”

I turned a page. “By geographical, you mean where they can be found.”

“Which is somewhat more difficult,” Chalice said. “Both Lightbringer and Zilean own London town houses, but they don’t live in them for most of the year. I rather suspect they don’t live in them at all. Their activities have not made them terribly popular in the Dark community, and they haven’t lived this long by presenting easy targets. They most likely sleep in some fortified base. A little inconvenient if you’re planning a . . . shall we say, surprise visit?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Of course,” Chalice said. “In any case, your suspicion that they report directly to Jarnaff may be correct. Whenever they’re deployed, it seems to be reactively.”

“Reactively?”

“If you really want to find them, your best bet seems to be to hang around something or someone that the Crusaders care about. They’ll show up soon enough.”

I looked up to see that Chalice was studying me. “Might I make a suggestion?” Chalice said.

“Go ahead.”

“Lightbringer and Zilean report to Jarnaff,” Chalice said. “Jarnaff is aide to Councilman Sal Sarque. One of the two Guardians on the Council, and according to most opinions, the de facto head of the Crusaders. A very short chain.”

“Your point?”

“These are heavy hitters,” Chalice said. “I’d advise caution.”

They didn’t do so well against us, I wanted to say, but I knew better. It was probably years since the Crusaders had had a safe house attacked, and they’d grown complacent. Next time wouldn’t be so easy. “I’ll bear it in mind. Anything else?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Chalice said. “What can you tell me about Richard Drakh’s magic type?”

“Why are you asking about that of all things?”

“Our deal still applies, yes?”

“I’m not arguing. It’s just . . . why do you want to know?”

“As you said, we all have our reasons.”

I sat back, frowning. The question Chalice was asking was one that we’d spent plenty of time batting around ourselves, so it wasn’t as though I didn’t have an answer, but it wasn’t something I’d expected from her. Still, a deal was a deal. “Conventional wisdom is that he’s from the mental branch of the living family,” I said. “Either an enchanter or a mind mage.”

“So I’ve heard,” Chalice said. “But no one seems to give substance to the rumours.”

“That’s because Richard keeps it that way,” I said. “He’s a grey.”

Chalice looked blank.

“Someone who keeps their magic type hidden,” I explained. “He won’t cast spells where anyone can see; he’ll use items as substitutes; he’ll rely on creatures and other mages . . .”

Chalice nodded. “So what’s your personal opinion?”

“Okay, so I can’t deny that the mind or charm thing is a possibility. He’s very good at manipulating people, and he always seems to know exactly what their motivations are. The other possibility I’ve wondered about is that he might be a diviner.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only magic type that can rival enchantment for undetectability,” I said. “So if you have managed to keep your magic type secret for that long, that’s evidence for it. Besides . . . Back when I was with him, he had three other apprentices. Know their types?”

Chalice shook her head.

“All elementalists,” I said. “Two fire, one water. By itself, that doesn’t mean much. Fire mages are everywhere and water mages are pretty common too. But three elementalists and one diviner?” I shrugged. “It’s a strange mix. If Richard were a diviner, that would be one way to explain it.”

“Are there any arguments against?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve never actually seen Richard fight, but I don’t think there’s any real doubt that he’s killed a lot of mages in single combat. Right before he disappeared, the Council sent a battle-mage after him leading an entire strike team and Richard killed them all. And that does not fit with him being a diviner.”

“Given your reputation, that seems rather odd for you to say.”

“Because I’m a diviner too?” I snorted. “Half the fights I’ve survived have been by the skin of my teeth, and the other half have been because I’ve had help. Besides, the attitude’s different. It’s hard to explain, but the times I’ve met Richard since he came back, he doesn’t act like a diviner. All the diviners I’ve met, they’re on guard, always watching. Richard doesn’t seem like he’s on guard. He seems relaxed. Like he knows nothing around could possibly be a threat.”

“Could it be a bluff?” Chalice said. “He won his victories by trickery, and now he’s trading off his reputation?”

I shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m not picking a fight with him to check.”

Chalice nodded. “One last thing. I assume you know that Morden’s Chosen, Onyx, has something of a grudge against you?”

“I’d noticed,” I said dryly. “I think Morden’s keeping him off my back for now.”

“Well, a little bird told me that Onyx is rather resentful of your new position as Morden’s aide,” Chalice said. “To the point where he was taking active steps to do something about it. He was warned off, but not by Morden. By Drakh.”

I frowned. “Are you sure?”

Chalice shrugged. “It’s only secondhand.” She lifted her cup and drank the last of her tea. “But it sounds to me as though your old master still has plans for you. Be wary.”

| | | | | | | | |

I didn’t need to be reminded that Richard wasn’t done with me. Archon was proof of that.

“Were there any problems?” Archon asked. It was the evening of the same day, and Archon was standing where I’d first met him, in the front garden of my house in Wales. I didn’t use the house as a base anymore, but it still worked as a meeting point and I sure as hell wasn’t letting Archon see where I slept.

“Nothing serious,” I said. “Though it would have been helpful to know that the guy leaving your message was wanted by the authorities.”

My jobs for Archon had continued to prove frustratingly obscure. Over the summer, he’d had me digging up rumours of some Indian relic, and in September, he’d had me out in South America. Both had proven to be dead ends, but if it had bothered Archon, he hadn’t shown any signs of it. Instead, just yesterday, he’d sent me to China to retrieve a message drop in Xinjiang.

It hadn’t been a dead end this time. The message had been exactly where Archon had told me it would be. Of course, Archon hadn’t mentioned the team of Chinese mages and adepts staking the place out. I’d managed to retrieve the thing without a fight, but it had been close.

Archon held out a gloved hand and I handed over the message cylinder. It was a small inlaid tube, pale yellow in colour. “Did you open it?” Archon asked.

I looked back at Archon, my gaze steady. “No.”

Archon looked back at me for just a second—at least I assumed he was looking back at me; with that full-face helmet it wasn’t as though I could really tell—then nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” He turned and disappeared into the darkness.

I waited until I was sure that Archon was gone, then went back into the house. The item I’d handed over was a one-shot message cylinder, just big enough to contain a single rolled-up sheet of paper. The items were developed by the magical government of China some time back, and while they’re outdated nowadays, they’re quite secure. They’re designed to be opened only by a single intended recipient, and if anyone else tries to break or interfere with one in any way, a small charge goes off that incinerates the contents. Bypassing the security to read the contents is very difficult.

Of course, difficult doesn’t mean impossible.

I took out my phone and studied the picture on the screen. Archon’s timetable had been tight, and by the time I’d managed to figure out how to get the cylinder open, I’d only barely had time to snap a picture before I’d had to reseal the item and gate to Wales to make the handover. The cylinder had contained only a slip of paper, with a few lines of Chinese characters. I can’t read Chinese, but I know someone who can.

| | | | | | | | |

“Interesting,” Arachne said, studying the image.

“Can you read it?”

“Oh, that’s simple enough,” Arachne said. “The gist of the message is that the writer is reporting a lack of success. He says that the matter has been studied, and that similar attempts have been made, but that all substitutes for the traditional approach are believed to have failed due to a lack of a specific quality.”

“What quality?”

“That is the interesting part,” Arachne said. We were in her lair and she was leaning over the sofa, the phone held delicately in her legs right below her two rows of eyes. I was sitting in her shadow, close enough to brush her lower legs. It probably would have looked really bizarre to someone walking in. “The word he uses is tóngqíng, which literally means ‘alike feeling,’ but given the context, I think the most accurate translation would be ‘empathy.’”

I frowned. “Substitutes for the traditional approach are believed to have failed due to a lack of empathy?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about.”

“Really?” Arachne said. There was a thoughtful sound to her voice. “I think it’s quite suggestive.”

“Then maybe you can explain it to me.”

“What do you think Richard wants with you, Alex?”

The question caught me off guard. “I still don’t know,” I admitted. “I mean, we asked him back in January. He gave us some vague bullshit about the Council undervaluing us.”

“Not untrue, but not the whole truth, either,” Arachne said. “Perhaps a better question would be why Richard would take the risk of trusting you. You’ve made no secret of the fact that you’re working for him only under duress. Which, from his point of view, rather limits your usefulness. No matter how competent you may be, it would probably be possible for Richard to find an equally competent person who is not profoundly opposed to everything he stands for. Which brings us back to the first question: why you?”

“So what’s your answer?”

“I can think of two,” Arachne said. “It could be personal. As you’ve said, Richard is a persuasive and manipulative man. He’s used to people doing what he wants, and for the most part, they do. You, however, rejected and fled from him. It’s very possible that he resents that. With all of his power and charisma, Richard still failed to keep your loyalty. Perhaps he won’t be truly satisfied until you return to him of your own free will.”

I had to stop and think about that one. “I . . . guess?” I said slowly. I was so used to seeing Richard as my old master that it was difficult for me to think of him as a human being. “It seems kind of petty.”

“The powerful and the great can be as petty as anyone else,” Arachne said. “I only suggest it as something to keep in mind.”

“All right. What’s the second answer?”

“The second answer is simpler,” Arachne said. “Richard has made such an effort to recruit you because you have something he can’t easily obtain somewhere else.”

“That seems to fit better with what I know of him,” I said, “but I don’t get what that something is. Okay, Anne and I are good at what we do, but he could probably find a Dark diviner or life mage who could do the same thing. Actually, with Vihaela, he kind of already did.”

“A Dark mage, yes,” Arachne said. “But think of all the people you know who work for Richard and have worked for Richard over the years. Morden, Vihaela, Rachel, Tobruk, Onyx, and all those other Dark mages you’ve heard of or gathered information on. What do they have that you and Anne don’t?”

“Better salaries?”

“A lack of conscience,” Arachne said. “All of them chose to serve Richard willingly.”

“Okay, but I don’t exactly think that’s a selling point on our part.”

“Which brings us to this message,” Arachne said. “And to the jinn.”

I looked at Arachne curiously.

“Last Christmas, when Richard sent Morden and those other mages into that bubble realm in Syria, he did it to recover a storage box,” Arachne said. “Our best guess was that the box contained a bound jinn.”

I nodded. “You said you’d tell me that story another time.”

“That time is now,” Arachne said. “Listen, and attend. The jinn are magical creatures, but thousands of years ago, they were not so very different from humans. They had a physical form, and they ate, slept, lived, and died much as other creatures did. They were divided into orders—the weakest were the jann, followed by the jinn, then the shaitan, the ifrit, and finally the marid. All had abilities that you would consider magical, though their strength varied by their order—the jann would barely qualify as adepts by the standards of mages today. Rising through the ranks, though, their powers increased greatly. They could take the shape of animals, fly or levitate, or read thoughts, but what truly set them apart was something else. The greater jinn—the marid and ifrit, primarily—could grant wishes.”

“I remember now,” I said. “You said they were the only creatures in the world that could use true wish magic.”

Arachne nodded. “It was their greatest secret, and their greatest power. It was also their downfall. Other creatures coveted the power of the jinn. Humans more than anyone else, and mages most of all.”

“I thought mages didn’t trust wish magic.”

“With very good reason,” Arachne said dryly. “But in those times, things were different. Gaining the favour of the jinn was difficult—they were capricious—but for the lucky few who succeeded, the rewards were enormous. Power and glory and treasure beyond dreams. Men were raised up as lords or kings, and were thrown down as well. Wish magic has no inherent limitations. It has the potential for anything.”

I frowned. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch,” Arachne said, “was that the outcome of the wish would depend on the interaction between the human and jinn. The jinn could not use their wish magic for themselves—another creature had to shape it, give it will and desire. Humans, with their ambitious souls, seemed best, but even then, the results were unpredictable. Sometimes it would grant the wisher their dream, sometimes their nightmare, and for the most part, the jinn cared nothing either way. When humans raged against them, they would laugh.” Arachne was silent for a moment. “They should have been more cautious.”

“What happened?”

“Humans grew angry,” Arachne said. “They came to resent the jinn for their interference, and so the mages of the Council went to the leaders among the marid and ordered them to grant wishes only as the Council decreed. The jinn refused, and so it came to war. At first, the battles were even, but the tide of the war was turned by the master mage Suleiman. He invented a way of subjugating jinn, stripping them of their physical form and binding their spirits to items so that they were compelled to serve. They could still grant wishes, but now they could do so only at the command of their bearer.”

“That sounds kind of like slavery.”

“That’s because it is slavery,” Arachne said. “Oh, and additionally, the ritual that stripped away the jinn’s bodies also granted them immortality. So they could look forward to an eternity of servitude at the hands of their bearer.”

I sighed. “I’m guessing this is why I haven’t heard about any jinn wandering around.”

“To the best of my knowledge, the last embodied jinn was bound and sealed away more than a thousand years before you were born.”

Like I said, it’s depressing how often you hear some version of this story. I guess it’s not hard to understand why creatures like Karyos react to mages on their territory by trying to kill them on sight. “Okay, so what went wrong? Because I’m sure there’s a reason every master mage doesn’t carry around a jinn in a bottle, and I doubt it’s because of ethics.”

“It all comes back to the nature of the jinn,” Arachne said. “The Council hated how unpredictable wishes were. They wanted the process to be ordered, and they did everything in their power to make it that way. In the early days, they would investigate every case of a successful wish; later, once the war had begun, they tested hundreds of jinn to destruction in an attempt to take the ability for themselves. But the only answer they could ever find was one that they couldn’t accept.”

“What answer?”

“Empathy,” Arachne said. “The humans who had their wishes granted were the ones who were able to share the feelings of others. Those who made wishes for purely selfish ends tended to receive nothing, or a result that worked against them. Those who made wishes to help another, or wishes that helped the jinn as well, did not. It was to do with the bond between the wisher and the jinn. You can imagine how maddening that was for the Council. They were looking for something they could do, to make jinn operate like machines—commands go in; wishes come out. But if it was based on what they were . . .”

“Couldn’t they just be a bit more considerate with their wishes?”

“Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying?” Arachne said. “It wasn’t enough to put on a show. They would have had to genuinely care for the jinn they were dealing with. Inner nature isn’t so malleable.” Arachne looked at me. “How many high-ranking mages do you know—Light or Dark—who deeply care for the magical creatures of this world?”

I paused. “Oh.”

“That was the purpose of Suleiman’s binding,” Arachne said. “It was intended to force jinn to grant their wishes to whoever held the item by creating an artificial bond. And it worked. After a fashion.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “For some strange reason, the jinn bound to these items didn’t have very much motivation to make sure the wishes turned out well.”

“Funnily enough, yes,” Arachne said. “The binding process did great harm to the jinn. Weaker ones were driven to madness, while the stronger ones were filled with hatred and the desire for vengeance, first against the mages who bound them, and eventually against all humans. They couldn’t disobey their masters—not at first—but they could twist and corrupt the wishes they were forced to carry out. And the more their master relied upon them, the more influence they gained over their bearer in turn. Eventually they could strike their bearer down, or carry them away to torment at their leisure.”

I started to answer, then stopped dead, my eyes going wide. “Wait. The monkey’s paw—”

“Yes,” Arachne said. “When you first told me about it, I suspected. After I heard what happened to Martin, I was sure. You remember I told you never to use it.”

“Holy shit,” I muttered. I remembered that time I’d come home to find it lying on my pillow, and felt a chill. What would have happened if I hadn’t listened to Arachne? Or if Luna hadn’t listened to me? “There’s a jinn inside?”

“And a powerful one. An ifrit if not a marid.”

I thought about it for a second. I wondered how long the creature had been trapped there. “Could I just free it?”

Arachne looked at me, then quite unexpectedly reached out with one foreleg and patted me on the head, and when she spoke her voice was warm. “You’re a good person, Alex.”

“Hey,” I protested.

“It wouldn’t help, I’m afraid,” Arachne said. “That jinn’s body was destroyed millennia ago. There’s nowhere for you to free it to.”

“Oh.”

“In any case,” Arachne said, “mages eventually came to accept that their bound jinn were more harm than help. So they destroyed the items, or sealed them away, or left them forgotten in treasure hoards until they themselves died, whereupon the items would be passed on until they found their way into the hands of normal humans. And over time, knowledge of the jinn faded into folktale and myth. But underneath it, the essence remained. A human who called up the jinn according to the old rituals, with the jinn as a willing partner, could still unlock their full power.”

“But according to you, that’d only work if the human actually cared about the jinn in the first place.”

“Yes.”

“So for Morden and Richard to carry out their secret plan and get a jinn as a superweapon, they need someone who empathises with magical creatures?” I laughed. “Good bloody luck. The average empathy level of that band of psychos has got to be lower than even the Light Council. They’re going to have serious trouble finding anyone who . . .”

I trailed off.

Arachne looked at me.

“Oh, shit,” I said.

“Figured it out yet?” Arachne said.

“Wait,” I said. “That can’t be it. It doesn’t . . .”

“You’ve said in the past that you were never quite sure why Richard chose you,” Arachne said. “Perhaps he was hedging his bets. He chose his first three apprentices in the classical Dark mould, but he understood that came with limitations. So when it came to choosing his fourth and last apprentice, he selected someone different. Someone with the potential for other things.”

“No,” I said. “He has to know I’d never agree. Not to that. Okay, working as Morden’s aide is one thing, but . . .”

“And you remember how that came about?” Arachne said. “What if Richard and Morden simply tell you: bond with the jinn, use it as we order, or we’ll kill Luna? Or Anne, or Variam, or everyone else you care about?”

I opened my mouth to give an answer and couldn’t think of one.

“Richard isn’t stupid, Alex,” Arachne said. “He has little enough empathy himself, but he understands how to exploit it in others.”

“How long have you been suspecting this?”

“I’ve suspected ever since your trip to Syria. This”—she tapped the phone—“makes it more than a suspicion.”

“But Richard didn’t get that box from Syria,” I said. “The Council did. If there really was a jinn inside, he missed his chance.”

“There are other jinn,” Arachne said. “So for the meantime, I would strongly suggest that you do all you can to make a breakthrough with the dreamstone.”

I’d already been feeling uneasy, and the mention of the dreamstone made my mood worse. “What kind of breakthrough?” I demanded. I gestured over to the right, where the dreamstone sat on a small table on its stand. “We’ve been working on that thing for months now. We’ve tried command words, we’ve tried spells, we’ve tried fifty different channelling methods, and all for what? So the damn thing can sit there and do an imitation of a chunk of rock, which is apparently a really good imitation since it hasn’t broken character once! I’ve explored every single possible thing I could do with this focus and nothing works!”

Arachne was silent for a moment. “I am starting to suspect,” she said at last, “that the stone may be testing you.”

“But I’ve tried to pass its tests,” I said. “I’ve tried every possible interaction with this stone that I can imagine.”

“With your divination.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Perhaps the issue is one of commitment,” Arachne said. “Many imbued items require some kind of sacrifice before they will accept a bearer. Blood, possessions, oaths.”

“I already tried the bleeding-on-it plan,” I said. It said something that I’d been willing to even consider that future in the first place.

“You didn’t actually try it,” Arachne said. “You looked at what the consequences would be if you did.”

“What’s your point?”

“This item may be more intelligent than you give it credit for.”

“So what are you saying I should do?” I asked. “Start cutting myself?”

“No,” Arachne said. “Doing that on my say-so would work no better, I think. The impetus must come from you. But whatever you try, I think you should do it soon. We may be running out of time.”

| | | | | | | | |

I didn’t sleep well that night. I kept thinking about what would happen if Arachne was right, and I remembered that prophecy I’d been told last Christmas, about how the Council believed that Richard’s rise to power would be done through me. The two blended together into a series of worst-case scenarios that just got more and more horrible, and at some point I fell asleep and they turned into a muddle of frightening dreams where I was a monstrous beast roaming an abandoned London.

I woke tired, with grit in my eyes and a sore throat. Morden didn’t need me in at the War Rooms until tomorrow, but there was a message on my phone from Luna, asking for me to come meet her. I might have been tempted to put her off, but the place she named caught my attention.

| | | | | | | | |

Luna was waiting for me at the end of the street. “Okay, I have to ask,” I said as I walked up. “Why did you want to meet here?”

Luna grinned. She was dressed in white and green, with a ribbon in her hair, and somehow she looked different from usual. Luna’s never been classically beautiful, but she’s got vitality, and today there was a particular sparkle to her eye. I could see passersby giving her second looks. “You’ll find out. Come on.”

Luna had brought me back to Camden, to the same street that the Arcana Emporium had been on. It had been months since I’d been here, and it felt strange to recognise the old sights and smells: tourists in the streets, cafés and restaurants with their doors open, the scent of the canal. This place had been my home for so long that going back felt weirdly dislocating, like stepping back in time. “Look, I like the place too, but I’ve kind of seen the sights already,” I said as we walked up the street. “So unless you’ve got somewhere new to show me . . .”

Luna pointed. “Funny you should say that.”

I followed the direction of Luna’s finger and stopped. “What the hell?”

Luna was pointing at the wreck of the old Arcana Emporium . . . except that it wasn’t a wreck anymore. When I’d last seen it, it had been a burnt-out ruin. Now it was a construction site. The building was up to two storeys already, and the height of the scaffolding and some steel I-beams rising up over the first floor suggested that another one would be added in time. Tarpaulins covered the area where the shop front had been, and a skip was parked outside.

I turned to Luna. “Is some property developer doing this?”

Luna shrugged. “You’re looking at her.”

I stared. “Come on,” Luna said, taking out a key and unlocking the door. “Take a look inside.”

The ground floor smelt of concrete and paint. What had once been the main shop was just a bare box, but the rubble had been cleared away and the room was empty and clean. The walls were whitewashed and a new wall had been placed in roughly the spot where the old one had been, a little heavier and thicker. The tarpaulins made the room gloomy, but I could see that the street-facing side had been designed for tall windows running nearly to the ceiling. “What do you think?” Luna said. “The first firm I talked to said the whole building was a write-off, but then I found some Polish guys who thought they could salvage the structure for the ground floor. Needed a bit of reinforcing, but I figured that was a good idea anyway, right?”

“How exactly did you pay for this?” I asked. I give Luna a stipend and I’d left her some money during the dustup over Christmas, but this kind of work is not cheap.

“Remember back when you were taking me to casinos trying to figure out if I could use my curse that way?”

“Yeah, and the answer we came up with was that it probably didn’t.”

“That was before I started studying with Chalice,” Luna said. “A few months ago, I decided to give it another try. It didn’t work at first, but I finally figured out that that was because I was doing it the wrong way. Turns out my curse might not be all that good at making me win, but it’s great at making everyone else lose.”

“And that paid for a new building,” I said. For some reason, seeing the place rebuilt made my spirits lift. “Arcana Emporium, mark two?”

“I thought I’d just keep the old name,” Luna said. “More consistency.”

I thought about going back to my old life as a shopkeeper, and just for a moment I could see myself behind the counter again, selling to Wiccans in dresses and kids in T-shirts. It was tempting, maybe not so much for what it was as for what it meant. I’d been happy working as a shopkeeper, I think, though I hadn’t known it at the time.

But then reality set in. I sighed and let the image fade. “Luna, I appreciate it, I really do. But . . . I don’t think I can go back to running a shop anymore. Maybe someday in the future, a long, long time off, when things have quietened down. But it won’t be any time soon. If I did it now, I’d just be putting myself and everyone else in danger.”

“I know,” Luna said. “That’s why I thought I could do it instead.”

I looked at her.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” Luna said. “Back when I first started learning to duel and learning to fight, I loved it. I thought I could use it to protect myself, not be useless. Only . . . I guess I started to notice after a while that it didn’t actually help all that much. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather know how to fight than not, but when we do get into fights, it doesn’t usually make anything better. It’s just sort of a bad outcome that we only take because it’s a choice between that and an even worse outcome.”

“If you’re competent, then violence is your first option and last resort.”

“Yeah, Landis said something like that once,” Luna said. “I think it was the White Rose fight that made me really think. I mean, there was so much Council power there, and what did it accomplish? White Rose was broken, but that was almost by accident. If things had turned out a little differently, then just as many people would have died, but nothing would have changed. And that made me think back and count up the number of times that me being able to fight actually made a positive difference. And there were a few, but . . . not many.”

I nodded. Every now and then you wind up in a situation that calls for violence, and when that happens, you need to know what you’re doing. But even if you live an especially dangerous life—which, to be fair, Luna and I do—all of those times put together are going to average to less than twenty-four hours per year. The other ninety-nine-point-something percent of the time you’re going to spend doing something else. And if you try to solve problems with violence when you don’t need to, it really doesn’t take long before you turn into the kind of person other people are worried about protecting against.

“So I started thinking about what else I should be doing,” Luna said. “And you know what? The thing that made the biggest difference in my life wasn’t anything to do with duelling or fighting. It was what you did for me. And I wouldn’t have found you without your shop.” Luna shrugged. “I think it should still be here.”

I looked at Luna. She looked back at me steadily, and there was something in her eyes that made me think she was serious. But I wanted to be sure. “What if I told you it was too dangerous?”

“You said that people would be coming after you,” Luna said. “Not me.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from becoming collateral damage before.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a few ideas,” Luna said. “For one thing, no offence, but I think that habit of yours of sleeping right above your shop was kind of dumb. Once the building’s done, I’m going to set up the top floor as a flat, put in a bed and a wardrobe and everything, and then every night I’ll go up there and then I’ll gate somewhere else and make very sure not to sleep there, ever.”

“And what if I told you not to do it at all?”

Luna frowned. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

Luna looked at me strangely. “I thought you’d be okay with . . .”

I didn’t answer. Luna wavered, then her expression set. “No. This is important. Someone should do it. And okay, this is still your shop, but if you won’t let me do it here? Then I can find somewhere else.”

I looked at Luna, and she looked at me, then I relaxed. “I think it’s a good idea.”

“That’s—wait.” Luna looked suspicious. “Were you testing me?”

“You’ll need one thing more,” I said. “Mages won’t take you seriously until you’ve taken a name.”

“Vesta,” Luna said.

“Vesta?”

“Vesta.”

I looked at Luna curiously. Vesta is the Roman goddess of hearth and home, and I’ve never heard of a mage taking her name. Most who choose mythological names pick ones associated with magic or war or rulership. “You don’t want something grander or more imposing?”

“I’ve met plenty of mages who want to be grand and imposing,” Luna said. “I didn’t like them much. I’m sticking with Vesta.”

“Sounds good to me.” I held out my hand with a smile. “Congratulations, Journeyman Vesta.”

Luna laughed and took my hand, pulling the curse back along her arm so that we could shake hands without the silver mist touching my skin. Then she opened the door and I followed behind her to take a look at the rest of what would one day become the new Arcana Emporium.