I got home around midnight and headed straight for Harry’s office. My teacher was hunched over the drafting table, carefully inscribing tiny runes into the arms of a massive, multi-rayed star sketched out on a sheet of heavy drawing paper. He worked slowly, meticulously, and didn’t even acknowledge me. Judging by the paper scraps scattered across the floor, this wasn’t his first attempt today. Chances were good this one would end up scrapped too.

  I sat down quietly in the guest chair, careful not to give him an excuse to blame me for a mistake.

  Harry continued drawing for another minute, then gave up.

  “What?” he snapped, clearly irritated.

  “First quick spell.”

  “Already?”

  The mage looked surprised. He set down the pen and dusted a pinch of crystalline powder, ground-down ether reservoir stones, over the runes. The powder stuck to the still-wet ink, and Harry cleared away the excess with a wave of telekinesis. Responding to a flick of his ink-stained fingers, his spellbook appeared beside him and flipped open to the household spells section, cleaning spells, specifically. The ink stains lifted cleanly from his hands and dropped into a jar he kept for that very purpose.

  “Right,” he said. “Come on, to the kitchen. You can explain properly there.”

  The newly rebuilt Anvil had a kitchen about twice the size of the old one. The old wood-burning stove had been replaced with a modern gas range, though Harry, who’d survived the Fairburn blockade, wasn’t the trusting type when it came to public utilities. He believed if an enemy was determined enough, they could easily cut off the gas supply.

  A compact metal stove stood in the corner, waiting for black-out days. The water heating system could be isolated to warm just a few rooms, and the big boiler in the basement was physically incapable of burning through the massive stash of top-grade coal Harry had tucked away. There were also several sides of beef and an army of tinned vegetables stored in the basement under frost spells.

  And that star he was slaving over? Meant to throw a dome over the house strong enough to withstand artillery fire.

  I put the kettle on the gas ring while Harry prepped the teapot and fetched milk from the fridge.

  “All right, talk.”

  “Better if I don’t start with the spell itself. A lot happened today you’ll want to hear.”

  I began with the con artists, mentioned Sunset, then moved on to the Bremor side of things, eventually getting to Kate, carefully going over how I’d unconsciously used the spell for the first time.

  “Rear Sight, then…”

  I nodded.

  “No complaints?” Harry asked, just as the kettle began to whistle.

  I took it off the heat and poured hot water into the porcelain teapot.

  “About what?”

  “Well, you were after something a bit more combat-oriented, I remember. We were discussing terrakinesis, maybe Burst…”

  “What I really wanted was Pocket, much more than terrakinesis or Burst. But you said it was too soon.”

  “Still is,” Harry agreed. “But I expected you to blame me for getting something you didn’t ask for.”

  “You know,” I said, “I did get something I didn’t ask for. But going by your logic, I got what I needed. The spell didn’t stick by chance, I used it more than any other, and it’s saved my skin more than once. Eyes in the back of my head? Pretty damned useful.”

  “Mhm,” Harry admitted. “And I had a whole speech ready for this moment.”

  “Go on, give it anyway. No reason to waste it.”

  “It’s basically what you just said, but with examples. Let me check out that Third Eye of yours instead.”

  Harry pulled another chair up to face him, summoned a book from the air, and extracted a couple of high-level spells designed to peer deeper into the subtle body, and the energy nodes in particular.

  “All right, now look at the fridge,” he instructed.

  The bulky, chrome-handled Grigsby fridge was humming quietly behind me, but without straining, I read the name off the logo across its door.

  “Now the stove,” Harry said.

  That was trickier. The stove sat off to my side, and the original spell didn’t have that kind of range. But if Harry had managed to turn a sheep-shearing spell into full-blown telekinesis, why couldn’t I try adapting this?

  I shifted my gaze slightly to the right, maybe thirty degrees, and felt pressure behind my eyes. The next fifteen degrees were hell. Pushing any further, the spell snapped, and tears started streaming uncontrollably. My head throbbed, and I shut my eyes tight, pressing my palms to my temples.

  “Wonderful,” Harry commented. “The spell hasn’t fully imprinted in the energy node yet. Keep practising. Twist it, bend it, push the boundaries.”

  “Is it always this painful?” I asked, blinking through the tears to get a look at him.

  “No idea. All my spells are external. I’ve felt magical fatigue, sure, and physical exhaustion, but this? Not my domain. Oh, and you’ll need to drop the will ward. Right now, it’s holding you back.”

  “And without it, any two-bit hypnotist could take me apart,” I snapped. Though honestly, I just didn’t want Harry peeling the ward off me the same way he always did, by flaying it from my scalp like a stubborn scab. That silver thread wrapped around my brow wasn’t coming out gently.

  “Your resistance should’ve improved by now. At least to the level of your average civilian.”

  “Oh great. That’ll save me, I’m sure. I’ve got a bad feeling I’ll be dealing with vampires a lot more soon. Especially Kate.”

  “Right. What did she want, anyway?”

  We poured the tea. I added a splash of milk to mine and carried on with the story. As I walked him through Kate’s request, I threw in my own thoughts, and Harry agreed there was something to them. It was impossible to unravel vampire schemes on the spot, but he said my instincts weren’t far off. Still, he wanted nothing to do with clan politics or our dealings with bloodsuckers. No advice there. But when it came to that will ward, he strongly recommended I sort that out by morning.

  Which, of course, meant no restful sleep. I tossed and turned half the night, imagining Kate draining me dry and forcing me to commit all sorts of treachery. Somewhere in the middle of those fantasies, she even managed to assault me a couple of times. The fact that my brain went there at all? Not a great sign.

  I needed to do something about Ellie, before things ended before they ever really began. I liked the girl. A lot.

  I woke with a pounding head and that grim feeling in my gut that always meant trouble was coming. The two were probably connected — my worst headaches had always been omens. Another one? Gaps in my training.

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  The Anvil now had a proper gym setup, modelled on what Kettle built in his barn. No ring, but we had mats in one corner to soften the falls, a heavy bag, combat dummies for blades, a target range for firearms, and a handful of weight machines and gymnastic gear. Not that anyone was too into gymnastics.

  We even had a cabinet stocked with ether batteries and a couple of bricks in the wall to recharge straight from. Harry had rigged some kind of mage-conduit to a power node. Ether-based spellwork had gotten noticeably easier since.

  Most mornings for the last couple of months, Knuckles and I had a light sparring session before breakfast. No magic other than the stoneflesh spell I’d use on both of us. That way, we could beat each other senseless without holding back.

  Today though… today I barely managed a warm-up. Couldn’t decide what was worse: skipping training, another coin dropped into the piggy bank of hard times, or exhausting myself before they’d even started. Then again, quick-cast spells weren’t about short-term tactics. They were strategy. What I pushed through now could stay with me for life, and might even save it.

  Assuming I survived long enough.

  Knuckles finished his own warm-up and started pulling on his gloves.

  “Bloody hell,” I muttered, slamming a fist into the heavy bag. “No sparring today.”

  “Something happen yesterday?” Knuckles asked.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Kate was at the construction site. Vampires on the horizon rarely mean good news.”

  I gave a dry chuckle. Pure Bremor logic. Harry wasn’t the only one having a positive influence on the lad, I’d rubbed off a bit too.

  “You’re not wrong. But this is only loosely related. I’m going to have a word with Harry. We’ll circle back to this later.”

  Last time around, Knuckles had acted as my bodyguard. Not that he could actually protect me from any serious threat, but his job had been to make sure no one messed with my mind. I figured I’d need that kind of help again. Besides, Clint had come a long way as a fighter in the last six months.

  Harry was already back at the drafting table, working on refining yesterday’s diagram. This time, I didn’t wait.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “You’ve decided, then?” Harry replied with a question of his own, not looking up as he inscribed another rune.

  “Not quite. Can I borrow Knuckles?”

  “As a nanny?” Harry guessed.

  “As backup,” I corrected him.

  “No problem. I won’t be leaving the Anvil for the next few days anyway.”

  “In that case… yes, I’ve decided.”

  Harry set his writing tools aside, checked his hands to see if they were still clean, grabbed a leather strap from the cupboard and said:

  “Let’s go.”

  In the old manor, the etheric nexus had been located dead centre, in a sealed room where the magic surged like a pressurised jet. But after the renovation, the Anvil had shifted slightly off-axis, and now one wall had been built in a curved half-circle, almost as if cradling the source of power. That half-circle had its own roof, more of an awning really, which didn’t interfere with the Ether flow, and the floor beneath it was cobbled. The wall was inscribed with gathering runes and who knew what else, and etheric channels ran from there not just to the training hall but throughout the house.

  Beneath that curved wall, the ether flowed in a tight stream, threading its way straight through shelves lined with storaged crystals and potted plants. At the centre of the wall was a door — Harry’s usual entrance point. The other half of the source opened out into the garden, where the energy dispersed freely. If someone tried to sketch out the rest of the magic circle onto the lawn, they’d hit a snag: a young maple growing directly in line with the door.

  Harry had originally wanted to plant an oak there, but worried it would grow too large and damage the foundation, or worse, hijack the majority of the energy flow. A maple was smaller and still bore seeds, making it a good candidate for his experiment in cultivating a magical tree. Besides, the effects of its seeds were unpredictable. Either way, the seeds were mostly useful in potion-making, and Harry was an artificer, not an alchemist.

  We stepped outside, and Harry dragged a simple wicker chair onto the grass.

  “Sit,” he ordered.

  “That’s it?”

  “Last time we had straps, bedsheets… and there was blood everywhere, like a pig had been butchered.”

  “My lawn won’t mind a bit of blood,” he waved the strap dismissively. “And the chair’s enchanted. Won’t stain.”

  “Such touching concern for your student,” I muttered.

  “You’ll be fine,” Harry said, flicking the strap. “Sit!”

  No use arguing. I sat and gripped the flimsy armrests, bit down on the strap Harry had been swinging, and braced myself for hellish pain.

  The mage summoned his spellbook and let it float at his side. He used some sort of diagnostic spell, similar to the one he’d used yesterday to check my third eye, then raised both hands, pointed them at my forehead, and began to move his fingers.

  The metal beneath my skin stirred.

  The sensation was unpleasant, at times sharp, but not what I’d call hellish. Not yet. Harry’s fingers twitched like a puppeteer tugging on strings, and the silver seal beneath my skin began to unravel.

  “Don’t move,” he murmured, fingers splayed wide.

  Pain lanced across my forehead, sharp and sudden in several spots. Bloodied strips of silver foil broke through the skin and hovered near his left hand. Harry opened and closed his right again — another jolt of pain, and another batch of silver strips tore free. That one made me flinch.

  “One more. Brace yourself.”

  I tensed, biting the strap so hard it creaked under my teeth. But the next wave of pain was no worse than a jolt — nothing sharp. My eyes didn’t even tear up. I watched as the blood spun slowly in the air, separating itself from the metal to form a neat little ruby sphere. The silver followed, far less elegant in shape. Harry flicked the blood into the lawn and pocketed the metal.

  “There. Done,” he said, flipping a few pages and tossing a healing spell in my face.

  I spat out the strap and worked my aching jaw.

  “Expected worse, to be honest. Can I spar today?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  I bolted for the training hall, hoping to catch Knuckles before he left. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as awful as I’d imagined.

  He was still there. We threw punches with gusto, getting in a proper round before Cap stormed in, shouting that we were late and his potato cakes and sausages were going cold. The role of cook had settled firmly on my younger fellow apprentice, and he did a fine job of it, both with meals and magic.

  After breakfast and a nice cup of tea, I rang Peter to invite Burke out for a stroll around the city. The sly architect, however, reminded me about the secret assignment and said I’d have plenty of time to chat with my cousin after I’d finished the job. I had to promise I’d report to him straight after lunch.

  I intended to spend the first half of the day training with my spells. The new book had more of them than my old notebook, and I was still struggling with some. Stoneflesh didn’t come as easily without the ring. I could hold the effect once it was up, but drawing the spell off the page was still clumsy. Don’t even get me started on Mountain’s Majesty and Diamond Shield — I couldn’t manage either one yet, but Harry insisted I keep trying. The second one I had to use on myself, the first one on the lad.

  Cap and I were training together: he’d take turns tossing Chains and Inspiration at me. If they didn’t fizzle, that is. On average, one in three spells landed. In response, I’d try to smash him with Majesty and block with Diamond. For the record, I’d managed the shield a couple of times already. Majesty? Not once.

  Given how successful our last sessions had been, we set up today near the ether conduit and the crystal shelf. The lad had three copies of each training spell in his book; I only had one, meant recharging every single time. And today… today nothing was going right. Ever since Harry had stripped away the mental shield, Chains were hitting like a hammer to the skull. My limbs felt sluggish, my thoughts muddled, and I only started thinking clearly again once he smacked me with Inspiration.

  At some point, the lad asked, “Why so gloomy today?”

  “Clan trouble. Ignore it.”

  After half an hour of embarrassing myself next to my younger classmate, whose session today went brilliantly, I grabbed a few crystals and left the hall to continue in the garden. There, I used Liquid Stone on a pile of leftover clay from the building works, shaped it into pillars, petrified them, and then blew them to hell with Explosions. Let off some steam, at least.

  Of course, that meant I had to shower again, and I trained so long there was no time left for reading or writing exercises. I grabbed a quick bite and dashed for the slums.

  I gave Knuckles new instructions on the way, no point wasting time, and we arrived together at Peter’s. Remembering how secretive the architect had been about this assignment, I asked Knuckles to wait at the door.

  Inside, to my surprise, Peter wasn’t alone, Albert MacLall was there, along with his son.

  “What a coincidence!” Donald greeted me. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Oh? What about, exactly?” I asked, glancing around for a chair. I dragged one over beside Donald, shook hands with the gathered gentlemen, and finally sat down.

  “About how well your little con artists did. I spoke with them yesterday, actually, respectfully, with their permission, while handing over the documents. Here.” He pulled a cheque from his coat pocket and passed it to me. Same paper I’d signed for the lads.

  “They didn’t have time to cash it in, so I took the liberty of exchanging it for you.”

  Hmm… not bad. Always nice when that kind of money comes back.

  As if reading my mind, Donald added, “You’ll also be getting a little bonus. Potions and crystals.”

  The way he smirked as he said it made me suspicious.

  “What else?”

  “The Council is very grateful…” the security man began.

  “Don’t butter me up, get to the point.”

  Donald grinned and finished his sentence.

  “…recognises your invaluable contribution to the cause, and believes such a man deserves more. As of this morning, well, technically, last night, you are the clan’s official representative in Farnell.”

  “Why?” I asked, baffled.

  “Bryce will speak to the Duke of Farnell himself. But the Mayor… that’s your job.”

  “So we’re going to war,” I realised.

  “Not at all,” Donald waved me off. “We’re going into charity. That new building that’s nearly finished? We’ve decided to repurpose it as an orphanage.”

  “An orphanage? In the slums?!” I blurted out.

  Donald spread his arms and sighed, theatrically.

  “The clan owns no other land in the city. We’ll have to make do. But we promise to clean the place up.”

  “And how exactly is that not war?”