Forged

chapter 6

When you’re hitting a stationary target, there’s always a trade-off between time and preparation. If you’re willing, you can spend weeks staking out a place, working out your attack plan. The more information you can gather, the more you’ll know what you’re getting into, and the more prepared you’ll be.

The other option is to wing it, which usually involves brute force. Back when I was a Keeper, I’d noticed that elemental mages had a tendency to just throw up a shield and kick in the door. It seemed to work for them, but I’d always preferred to lean towards the planning end of the scale. The way I saw it, I had a lot less safety margin than other mages, so the more risks I could control, the better.

Things were different now. I had more power, less time, and was playing for much higher stakes. Still, I’d been given a little room to prepare, so I made the most of it.

“Come on, make one!” Starbreeze said.

“No.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Come oooooon.”

“No.”

The inside of the van was cramped. I was sitting by the doors with my eyes closed. Cinder was at the other end, his bulk fitting awkwardly into the tight interior. And floating in the air above him was Starbreeze, looking like an elfin girl drawn in lines of vapour. I’d tried to explain what I’d need her to do, and she’d promptly ignored me and started bugging Cinder to make a flame for her.

“A little one?”

“No.”

“Okay, a big one.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

While Cinder was occupying Starbreeze, I was busy path-walking. It was one thirty p.m., which put us in the time window that Morden had suggested would be a good one for the attack. Some earlier divinations I’d done had given me tentative confirmation that some kind of fight might soon be going down elsewhere, and I’d been hoping to narrow the time down more precisely. Path-walking is quite a difficult use of divination, and you really want a quiet, secluded location to do it from. Still, I had the fateweaver to help stabilise the thread, and I’m very good at what I do. I could probably manage it even with a few distractions.

“Can you do colours?”

“No.”

“I could help.”

No answer.

“Ooh!” Starbreeze said. “What if I guess the colour?”

The immediate futures flickered with various possibilities of Cinder attempting to murder Starbreeze. It disrupted the thread I’d been trying to follow, which promptly vanished. I sighed inwardly. Maybe I was being optimistic.

“Red!”

“No.”

“Orange!”

“No.”

“Blue.”

“No.”

“Orange.”

Cinder glowered at her. “You just said orange.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because . . .” Cinder seemed to realise what he was doing and shut his mouth.

“Oh,” Starbreeze said. “What were we talking about?”

“Starbreeze,” I interrupted before Cinder could do anything. “Could you check to see if anyone’s watching?”

“Okay!” Starbreeze said brightly. She zipped out under the van doors in a puff of air.

Cinder closed his eyes and brought his head back against the side of the van with a thunk that made it sway on its tyres. “Jesus.”

“She takes a while to get used to.”

“Used to wonder why you didn’t use that elemental more.” Cinder opened his eyes and glared at me. “Now I know.”

I took a second to path-walk again and this time got the result I was looking for. “Okay,” I said. “Far as I can tell, the Council are going to get an incoming attack in about thirty to forty minutes. Should do a lot to cut down their response time.”

“Drakh?” Cinder asked.

I nodded.

“Where?”

“Not sure.”

Cinder gave me a look. “Not sure?”

“I’m looking ahead to see what’ll happen if I get in touch with people on the Council,” I said. “It’s easy to see the point where they suddenly stop picking up their phones. Detail is harder.”

Cinder grunted. “How long for?”

“Not sure about that either.”

“Seems like you say that a lot.”

“Like I said. If things really go to hell, I’m not going to have an issue if you just gate out.”

“Hm. We going?”

I nodded. “Let’s do it.”

I’d parked us just off Bishopsgate, the big A-road that runs from north to south through the Liverpool Street financial district. It was a warm sunny Friday and the area was crowded, men and women in business suits mingling with travellers and service workers. Both new and old skyscrapers rose up all around, with Heron Tower just visible over the nearby building, tallest of all. A little way to the north, hidden behind a city block, was Liverpool Street mainline station. If things got messy and Starbreeze wasn’t able to get me out, that was my backup plan for shaking pursuit. Glancing at the front of the van as I climbed out, I saw that in the brief time that we’d been stopped, it had picked up a parking ticket. The van’s owner was not going to be happy.

Cinder clambered out behind, the van lifting noticeably with the loss of his weight, then reached inside and took out a pair of big plastic toolboxes, handing one to me. I took it and had to shift my stance—it was heavier than Cinder had made it look—then we turned and started walking.

Cinder and I were both dressed in orange fluorescent worker’s overalls, with silver reflective stripes. They’re the most garish outfits you could imagine, but oddly enough, they made us blend right in. Central London is usually filled with construction work, and Bishopsgate was no exception—there were new skyscrapers going up on both sides of Heron Tower, and nearly one man in ten was wearing gear like ours. No one spared us a second glance as we walked towards the building.

Heron Tower is shining steel and glass, lines of white lights running along each floor, bright enough to be visible even in the daytime. Bright metal zigzagged from above our heads up and up through dozens of stories until the top blocks were so small you had to squint. The right corner of the skyscraper had a pair of lifts that were visible through the grid of glass panes, rising and falling in plain view from the outside. The side entrances had a bar and a sushi restaurant.

The inside lobby was quieter. Security gates to the right led to a set of escalators, and there was a gigantic aquarium in the lobby centre. A tall security guard with a neat salt-and-pepper beard stood to the left, and I could feel his eyes settle on us as soon as we walked in. I headed for the reception desk before he could intercept us.

There were three receptionists behind the desk, and I’d already picked out my target. She was blond and in her thirties, holding an iPad, pretty with lots of makeup that almost hid the crow’s-feet at her eyes. Her smile slipped a little as she saw us approaching, and I could see her sizing us up. Construction workers, therefore not rich or important. Conclusion: shoo away. She waited as we walked up to her and—

—my future self reached forward and plucked the tablet out of her hands. She tried to protest but I held up a hand while I looked at the tablet. It was still unlocked and I opened up the list that said Appointments and started scrolling through. The security guard moved in but Cinder blocked him; both the guard and the receptionist were speaking angrily but I was focused on the appointments list. Anglo-American . . . no. GlaxoSmithKline . . . no. Lloyds Banking Group . . . no way we could pass for that. Murphy . . . maybe, but the appointment was for four. The security guard tried to deal with Cinder physically. Bad idea. He went down hard; the receptionist hit an alarm and backed away; other security guards were hurrying from the other side of the room; Cinder shot me an irritated comment. A company name caught my eye: EDF Energy. Two people. I scanned the names, checked the time, let the future collapse—

—and I was back in the present. The lobby was quiet except for the murmur of conversation and the noise of the escalators. The receptionist was looking at us, the tablet in her hands.

“Hi,” I said. “We’re from EDF. Looking for Keith Adams from Salesforce?”

The receptionist eyed me doubtfully. “Do you have an appointment?”

I nodded at the tablet. “EDF Energy.”

The receptionist checked the tablet. “Can I have your name please?”

“Radu Todoca.”

“You’re a bit early . . .”

“Our job window’s twelve to three.”

“It just says three here,” the receptionist said, but she’d lost interest. My name matching the one on her tablet had removed any suspicion. She handed me a clipboard. “Can both of you fill in your name, company, and time entered. Also, we need a mobile number so we can contact you while you’re in the building.”

I took the clipboard and started filling in the form. The security guy had wandered up, apparently friendly. “Hello there, sir,” he said. “What were your names again?”

“Radu. And this is Bogdan.”

“Oh, really? From Poland?”

“Romania.”

“Romania! That’s great. What are you here for?”

I handed the clipboard to Cinder; he took it and started to fill in the blanks in silence. “Need to check the power for the twenty-third floor,” I said. “Health and Safety.”

“If it’s the power, shouldn’t you be going to the basement?”

I shrugged. “Work order says twenty-third.”

“I’ve sent a message to Keith Adams,” the receptionist said. She handed us two badges. “I’ve scanned you through the security gate. Make sure to wear these at all times inside the building.”

“Okay.” I took the badges, handed one to Cinder, gave the security guard a nod, then turned and headed for the gates. Cinder followed. No one stopped us as we walked through the security gates, took the escalators to the mezzanine floor, waited for a lift, and stepped inside. I hit the button for the twenty-third floor and the doors hissed shut, leaving us alone.

“You are shit at passing for an electrician,” Cinder said.

“I got us in, didn’t I?”

The lift hummed as it rose. Gravity pressed down on us as the lift climbed past the lower floors and into the glass elevator shaft I’d seen from the outside. Through the clear windows we could see the street and shops and pavement below, shrinking quickly.

“That guard had you made.”

“He’s a security guard,” I said, keeping an eye on the numbers above the lift door. We were going up fast. “Being suspicious is his job.”

“You sounded like an American doing a Cockney accent.”

“Oh, come on. I wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“My dad was a university professor. I’m never going to make a convincing construction worker.”

“You sound like a posh twat.”

“You think anyone with an RP accent sounds like a posh twat.”

“’Cause they are.”

The lift slowed and stopped with a ding, the doors sliding open to reveal two women and a man in business dress. I held up a hand. “Sorry. Maintenance.”

They stared in confusion. I hit the Close button, followed by the top floor. The doors slid shut and we started rising again. “Okay,” I said. “Once I get off, head down to the basement and find a place to hole up. I’ll get in touch with you once it’s time to cut the power.”

“Use your phone,” Cinder said.

“Mind-to-mind is quicker.”

“Yeah, and it’s creepy as shit,” Cinder said. “Phone.”

I sighed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of picky?”

The lift reached the top floor and I stepped out. Behind me, Cinder pushed the button to the basement; the doors closed and he disappeared from sight. Above the control panel, I saw the numbers counting down.

The clock was ticking now. Our cover story had gotten us inside, but the longer we stayed, the better the chance someone would figure out that we weren’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t worried about building security or police, but I was worried that Levistus might have a communications tap, or that the Council might pick up on an alert. The first thing I did was strip off my overalls and bundle them into a nearby closet. One nice thing about overalls: they’re so ill-fitting, people don’t notice when you’re wearing armour underneath. The set I was wearing was an imbued item of reactive mesh with solid black plates covering vital areas. It had been badly damaged when I’d taken the fateweaver, and it was only within the last couple of days that it had recovered enough that I felt comfortable wearing it. I could feel its presence around me, watchful and protective. Time to get to work.

The top of Heron Tower was a windswept jumble of smaller structures, crowded with ventilators, railings, and stored equipment. The data centre was a smaller sub-tower that reached up above the roof, its top a forest of aerials. For now, my goal was the longer, squatter structure on the tower’s east side which held the tower’s backup power systems. A few flights of stairs and some work with my lockpicks got me into the power room, which unsurprisingly was deserted. The generators stood against one wall, silent and unguarded.

Divination is powerful, but it has limits. The further ahead you look, and the more decisions you try to map through, the harder it becomes to follow a possible thread. Looking ahead to see what would happen if I left the van and got past the security guards at Heron Tower and made it all the way up to the top floor and bypassed all the other security measures and waited for Cinder to cut the power in the basement had been too difficult. Now that we were both in position, it was a different story. I took out my phone and called Cinder; he picked up on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“Get ready to cut the power. Don’t go without my signal.”

“Sure.”

And with that, I was ready. I looked ahead to see what would happen if I crossed the roof of Heron Tower, approached the data centre, and tried to force my way in. My future self felt a low-pitched, vibrating crump as the bomb went off, destroying everything of value inside. But if I cut the backup power, called down to Cinder to cut the main power, then crossed the roof to the data centre and forced the door open, then—

Crump.

Uh-oh.

“Hold on,” I told Cinder. I looked ahead to see what would happen if I tried a different way in. Crump. Call Starbreeze and have her give me a lift? Crump. Gating, picking the lock on the door, breaking a window . . .

Crump, crump, crump.

Shit.

I tried every route I could see and got the same result. Damn it, I was sure the defences were electrically powered. Now that I was this close, I could sense the gate wards on the data centre with my magesight, and they were far too weak to do any heavy lifting on their own. The place had to be running off mains. Why wasn’t cutting the power working?

Battery backups? If it was that, there might be some sort of delay before the cut-in that I could exploit. I tried searching for one . . . nope.

I checked the time. Fifteen minutes until Richard’s attack was due to start.

“We going or not?” Cinder said.

“Hold on,” I said. The problem was that I didn’t have any information to work with. Any attempt to get inside the building was setting off the bomb, and once it had gone off, the inside was too much of a wreck to learn anything more. If there was some future where the bomb didn’t go off, I could strengthen it with the fateweaver, but I wasn’t seeing one. I might be able to find one if I kept looking . . . but I had no idea how long that could take.

Time to go with plan B.

When Cinder had been telling me not to use mind-to-mind, he’d been referring to my dreamstone. It’s a shard of amethyst-coloured crystal that I picked up and bonded with years ago and which gives me the ability to step between our world and Elsewhere. Its core ability, though, was mental communication. It’s easiest with someone you know well, but with practice, you can do it with people you’ve never met.

Or with creatures that aren’t people.

I reached out through the dreamstone, probing delicately. Distance isn’t a barrier to the dreamstone’s mental link, not exactly, but it’s a lot easier for me to touch someone’s mind if I know where it is. Hello there, I said. Can you hear me?

A response shot back instantly, crisp and clear. Please specify the required data.

Oh good, I said. What’s your name?

There was a moment’s pause. That is not a valid request.

What, you like to shake hands first? I leant against the wall, folding my arms. Okay, how about you tell me how your day’s going?

That is not a valid request. Please supply a valid authorisation code.

I’d never tried linking to a synthetic intelligence before, and it was surprisingly easy. Trying to communicate with most humans this way is difficult: their thoughts are too messy. The synthetic mind’s thoughts were like smooth glass, precise and clear. Oh, I don’t have a code. I just wanted to chat.

I’m not a chatbot. Who are you?

My name’s Alex Verus. Yours?

Silence. I smiled slightly. Divination isn’t great for in-depth interactions—too many forks—but you can read off basic responses easily enough. I knew the machine intelligence recognised my name.

Why are you contacting me?

Well, I’ll get to that in a second. Sure you don’t want to tell me your name? Going to be a bit awkward just saying you all the time.

Another pause. My routing designation is November Epsilon underscore one one seven.

Great! November it is.

I must ask you to cease your communication. The synthetic intelligence’s thoughts were still clear, but noticeably disturbed. By contacting me in this manner you are placing us both at considerable risk. Should your actions be detected, you will be terminated and I will be subject to severe sanction.

Oh right, I said. I guess you only know the information that Levistus has access to, don’t you? There’s been a bit of a shift in the balance of power. Let’s just say that if Levistus could terminate me that easily, I wouldn’t be here.

Well, I wish I shared your confidence, November said frostily. I’m not in a position to be quite so cavalier about such matters.

Oh, come on, loosen up a bit. Tell you what, how about getting outside? Must get a bit boring being cooped up in that data centre all the time.

Yes, well, if only it were that simple.

I’m serious, I said. Think of it as a job offer. I mean, I’ve seen how Levistus treats his nonhuman staff, I can’t imagine that being his spy station is all that pleasant. Considered switching employers?

I don’t know whether you consider this to be a joke, or whether it’s some elaborate test of loyalty, but I am profoundly unimpressed in either case.

So that’s a no?

Do you need me to say it in another language? I can communicate in over two thousand of them if it would help deliver the message more clearly.

Well, so much for asking nicely. Okay, in that case I guess I DO have a data request. Please give me the access codes for the data centre on top of Heron Tower.

I have good reason to believe you are not authorised for that information.

What if I said please?

You are not authorised for that information.

What would I have to do to get authorised?

You are not authorised for that information.

Okay, let’s put this another way, I said. In about—I checked the time—eight minutes and forty-five seconds, I’m going to force my way into the data centre. Which is probably going to set off its self-destruct charges. You know, the ones you’re in the blast radius of right now.

What?

Still sure you don’t want to give me those codes?

You’re going to—what do you mean, force your way in?

Oh, cut the power, pick the locks, and if that doesn’t work, blow the door down. I’m hoping cutting the power will be enough to deactivate the alarms.

You’re hoping—? Of course it won’t be enough!

Well, you never know until you try.

Yes! You do know! You know right now, because I’m telling you!

There’s always the chance the hard drives might survive.

The demolition charges are SPECIFICALLY DESIGNED to destroy the hard drives, you idiot! Along with me!

In which case, I walk away, and Levistus loses his spy network. I’ll take it.

But . . . November trailed off.

You’ve been working as Levistus’s spy, I said, my thoughts flat and hard. Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences? That you were above it all?

I was never given a choice!

Well, you’re getting a choice now. In seven minutes, I’m kicking those doors down. What happens when I do is up to you.

This isn’t fair!

If you want to spend your last six minutes and forty-five seconds arguing about whether the world is fair, I’m not going to stop you, but I wouldn’t recommend it.

Silence. Seconds ticked. I’ll make you a deal, I said. You get me in and make sure I get access to Levistus’s files, and I’ll get you out and do my best to keep you unharmed. Then once we get away, you’re a free agent. You can keep working with me, or I can set you up on your own. Your choice.

Once you have what you want, you’ll have no reason to keep your end of the bargain. November’s voice was bitter. There’ll be nothing to stop you doing as you like.

The way Levistus likes to get rid of his agents once they’ve outlived their use? Yeah, he tried to do that to me as well. I don’t know what Levistus’s files say, but I’ve spent most of my life working with magical creatures. They’re my friends and allies. Can’t prove it to you, but it’s the truth. Whether you believe it or not is up to you.

Silence again. I watched the futures waver. The pattern was different from a human, but very much recognisable. Interesting. He really did have free will.

I suppose I don’t have much choice, November said at last. Very well.

Great, welcome to the team! So, I’m guessing just cutting the power won’t disable the security?

Of course not, November said irritably. What idiot would expect a security system to be run solely off mains? But it will disable the heat sensors and the primary motion detectors, which will be necessary once you get past the door. The door has an access code and a standard lock. I can supply the code; the part involving manipulating chunks of metal I would hope you can take care of yourself.

Sounds good. All ready?

Would it make any difference if I said no?

Not really. I took out my phone and redialled. “Cinder? Go time.”

Through the phone, I heard the sound of Cinder’s heavy footsteps. There was the creak of a door, followed by a rustle of movement and a new voice. “Oi, mate. What are you doing?”

“Maintenance,” Cinder said briefly.

“Not down here you’re—”

There was a soggy thud and a grunt, followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. “Ready?” Cinder asked.

“Do it.”

I heard a series of clicks through the phone, and with a clunk and a sighing sound the machinery around me slowed and stopped. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling winked out, and the fans that had been spinning with a whum-whum-whum began to slow down. A red light on the backup power panel that I’d just deactivated began to blink angrily.

Through the futures, I could tell that Richard had started his attack on the Council. Now it was a race.

I left the power building and crossed the roof to the data centre, stepping over pipes and railings. Warm air whipped at me, the winds fickle and strong. I could sense Starbreeze somewhere out there, riding the winds, but couldn’t spare the attention to look more closely. The data centre was tall and intimidating, blacked-out windows showing nothing of what was inside. Okay, I’m at the door, I told November. Hit me.

The door code is Alpha-seven-six-Xray-five-nine-Tango-Charlie—

Slow down, I said, typing into the keyboard. Did they deliberately make it this obnoxious just to mess with diviners?

Yes. Code continues: Romeo-zero-Romeo-Victor-eight-five-zero-Sierra-six-two.

I hate the Council. The system had been programmed with a random element in the false results too, enough to screw up my normal techniques. The panel beeped. Working on the padlock.

I suggest you hurry. Local radio traffic has increased significantly.

Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing to do with us.

My phone rang.

You were saying? November asked.

I’d supplied an accurate (if disposable) number when I’d signed in. I hit the Answer button, put the phone on speaker, laid it down, and took out my picks. “Hello?”

“Hello?” an angry English voice said through the speaker. “Is this Radu?”

“Speaking,” I said cheerfully. “How can I help you today, sir?”

“You can get this fucking power back online!”

“And who would I be talking to?”

“You’d be talking to the divisional head of Heron Tower Salesforce.”

The padlock on the door was a good-quality one of thick steel. I threaded my pick and wrench through the keyhole. “Very happy to meet you, sir. Sorry for the inconvenience, we had to do a shutdown.”

“You were only supposed to be working on the photocopiers! You’ve cut the power to the whole goddamn building!”

“Well, sir, photocopiers are a very serious matter. Do you know how many office fires every year are caused by faulty photocopying equipment?”

“Listen to me, you little shit. I know the directors of your company on a first-name basis. If you give me any more of this Health and Safety crap, or if you do anything other than get the power online right now, I am going to make personally sure you never work for EDF again and that the Home Office deports you back to whatever shithole country you crawled out of!”

“I’m very sorry to hear you feel that way, sir,” I said. “If you’d like to make a complaint, we have an automated customer service number on our website.”

“You can TAKE your customer service number and—”

The padlock came open with a click. “Just a second, sir, I’m getting some interference. You’ll have to call me back.” I hung up and tapped Block This Caller. Have they called the police yet?

No, but apparently there are people en route to the basement.

“Incoming, Cinder,” I said through the phone, then tucked it away and pulled open the door. Cold air rushed out: the corridor beyond was dark in contrast to the bright sunlight outside.

I must warn you that while some of the physical triggers have been disabled, the magical ones have not. November’s thoughts were tense. Please do not use any magic strong enough to register on magesight while inside the building. The wards are extremely sensitive.

Not planning to. I started down the corridor.

The door to the server room was blocked by a laser grid. I didn’t need November’s help this time: a brief search found a control panel, and this alarm code wasn’t as hard as the one on the door. As I did, I heard a scuffle of movement through the phone. A couple of indistinct voices were calling something; I couldn’t quite make out the words but it didn’t sound friendly. There was a thump and a thud. “Hey!” someone yelled. “What are you—?”

Thump. Thud.

“Are you punching out everyone who comes into the basement?” I asked Cinder.

“You wanted the power off, didn’t you?” Cinder said. “Wait one.”

There was the sound of a door opening and another voice. “Oi. Why isn’t—?”

Thump. Thud.

“And there I was thinking you couldn’t do subtle.”

“Move your arse. I’m running out of places to put these guys.”

I opened the door to reveal the server room. Tinted windows along the far wall looked out over the London skyline, and racks of computer equipment lined the sides. The room was shadowed and gloomy, but the hum of machinery still echoed from all around.

At the centre of the room was what must be November’s housing. The electronics were nothing special, but the magical energy radiating from it made it stand out like a searchlight. I crossed the room and bent over to study it.

You should probably be aware, November said, that the London Metropolitan Police have received a call from Heron Tower reporting a suspected terrorist attack on their power grid.

I rolled my eyes. Are the police actually buying that?

No, but they’re dispatching officers anyway. The first car should arrive in four minutes.

And yet it takes them all day to respond to a break-in. I finished running through the futures where I pulled the housing apart. I’m guessing your core functions are in the black case in the centre?

I believe so, yes. November sounded nervous.

The reason I ask is that’s the piece of equipment the blocks of plastic explosive are attached to.

Wonderful. Please tell me you know what you’re doing.

Nope.

Oh.

Don’t worry. I have no idea how explosives work, but I know what makes them go bang.

That isn’t as reassuring as you seem to believe.

All right, I said. I’d had time to analyse the mess of wires and wards around November’s core. Looks like there are three security measures still active. One electrical alarm, one magical alarm, and the explosives. Which one would you like me to work on first?

I would appreciate it very much if you could start with the explosives.

I figured. Using a screwdriver, I took apart the housing and then shone a penlight. November’s core was an irregular black box about the size of a games console. A pair of off-white blocks of plastic explosive were clamped to it, one on either side. Can you be removed from that box?

Yes, but I would prefer it if you didn’t. The loss of the components within would seriously degrade my performance. Besides, quite frankly, given the attitude you’ve demonstrated towards explosives, I’d rather not have you doing brain surgery on me with a hammer.

Fair enough. I’ll just carry the whole thing. I pulled out a backpack from my toolbox and eyeballed it to confirm that it should fit. I settled myself down comfortably and started studying the explosives. So how long have you been up here?

I’m not entirely sure, November said. My memories date back only as far as February 2, 2011. Circumstantial evidence leads me to believe that I have existed longer than that, perhaps considerably longer. I believe that those memories were deleted upon my installation here.

Yeah, that sounds like Levistus’s style, I said. So this has been your whole life? Sitting up here, receiving data, and passing it on to Barrayar or some other aide?

Essentially.

Sounds lonely.

I . . . suppose it is.

Oh, interesting.

What?

I pointed, forgetting that November probably couldn’t see. These blocks of explosive? They’re standard make, probably C-4 or a derivative. The detonators are standard too, but in addition to the wires, they’ve got a built-in ward with a low-level lightning spell. It looks like it’s set to activate on any significant magical signature. If someone uses any spell with any kind of power, an electrical charge is set off which triggers the detonators.

That’s fascinating, but would you mind removing them?

Figuring out how traps work is the hard part. Now that I knew what would set off the bombs, it was easy to disarm them. I scanned through possible futures and quickly decided that the easiest solution would be to sabotage the anti-tamper switches on the detonators, then pull them out. I found the futures where they succumbed to mechanical failure and got to work with the fateweaver.

The first police unit has arrived, November said.

“Cinder?” I said into my phone. “Cops are here.”

“No wonder with how long you’re taking.”

“Another ten minutes and you can bail. Please don’t kill anyone if you can avoid it.”

Cinder gave an audible sigh and hung up.

My spirits were rising. Once I was done with the detonators, I only needed to disable the alarms and I’d be able to pick up November and get out. There were still some protective wards on November’s core that I hadn’t had time to decipher, but I’d already confirmed that they wouldn’t stop me carrying it away physically, and once I was safely back at the Hollow I could take them apart at my leisure. As I worked through the futures with the fateweaver, I saw the first tamper switch dim and fail. I changed focus to the second.

As I did, a flicker on my precognition caught my attention and I frowned. My attention was on the short-term futures, and all of a sudden a bunch of them were terminating in explosions.

I tried altering my actions. No effect. No, wait—now all of the futures were terminating in explosions. November? Did I just trigger something?

I don’t believe so.

The futures had settled: the bomb was going to go off really soon. I searched for an answer, trying to stay calm. Nothing I did seemed to make a difference. But if nothing I did was making a difference, then that must mean that the source was from someone else. I changed my focus, looking at what was going to happen just before the explosion, and saw the flash of a gateway and—

Oh, SHIT.

I had less than a minute. Frantically I threw my energies through the fateweaver at the second switch. As I did I hit Cinder’s number. It rang. Rang again. Rang again. Come on, come on—!

Click. “Verus, I don’t have time for this shit,” Cinder said. “There are six cops about to—”

“Deleo is here,” I interrupted. “You want to catch her, get up here now.” I hung up.

Thirty seconds. I was feeding the future where the switch failed, pouring energy into it. Sixty percent, seventy, eighty, ninety, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven . . .

It stuck at ninety-seven. There was a slight possibility of a short circuit that I couldn’t seem to shake. Three percent chance of killing myself. Could I risk it?

Five seconds. I put a surge of power into the fateweaver, giving it everything I had. The short-circuit future wavered and vanished.

My hands shot out and I pulled both detonators from the C-4, like sticks coming free from particularly stubborn clay. Just as I did, the air on the far side of the room darkened and a gate appeared in front of the tinted windows. One of the detonators was far enough out and the ward didn’t trigger, but the other did, and I swore I saw the flash of an electric spark as the explosive missed going off by less than a second.

Rachel stepped through the gateway and turned towards me with a look of death on her face.