I pulled Ghostflame free from the troll’s skull, its bone hissing as the blade slid out. I sprang off the creature’s shoulders—my perch for the brief moment needed to finish the execution—and landed in a crouch just as Liora blurred past. He carved across another troll’s torso in one elegant, predatory sweep, careful not to phase out its own forehead; he needed my eye intact. The troll clawed at him uselessly as he vaulted upward. When he reached its head, his claws materialized inside its eye sockets, ripping through the soft tissue from within.

  I hit the ground beside the last troll, sweeping its legs out with a fast, sharp kick. As it toppled, I drove my knife down through its chest and pinned it to the earth. The body crashed down with a heavy, echoing thud.

  I rose and sent the blade back into my Domain with a thought.

  The rush hit me immediately. An overwhelming, relentless hunger to advance. To grow. To sharpen every edge I had. To reach the impossible even if it remained just beyond my reach completely.

  I’d sent the boys ahead with the rest of the meat for Lebens’, so I allowed myself to focus on the one thing filling my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that tower of light Peter’s been tethered to. Brilliant sapphire and white, a pillar that dwarfed everything. His personal column was small, smaller than mine, smaller than Nick’s, which made sense. He was newer. Less seasoned.

  But the column of his Domain?

  Oh, Reality.

  If mine was the height of a person, his was a skyscraper. Its presence crushing, awe-inspiring and terrifying alike. I tore myself out of the Resonant Gaze when the dread became too much, shuddering as I inhaled. It felt like a god was staring back through Peter, something radiant and benevolent, yet vast enough to level cities if it ever turned the wrong way.

  No one should be able to wield that much power. And yet, reality proved otherwise. There had been people who reached that level before, and there were probably people walking among us right now who still did. If they existed, then I needed to stand beside them.

  [Are you regretting not answering Peter’s Domain calling?]

  “No, Anansi. I’m not,” I said as I sprinted through the washed-out greys of the concrete jungle. Lio ran at my side, jumping through the air, his scales blazing with color against the monotone world. I vaulted over a shattered trunk and landed at the edge of a river that looked spray-painted into existence. Blue-green, stylized, motion painted instead of flowing.

  Across the river, a creature bent over the surface, drinking the concrete-like liquid that still somehow behaved like water.

  I want to reach that kind of power on my own terms, I thought back to her. With my own effort. With a Domain born from who I am, not borrowed from someone else’s calling.

  The jaguar-shaped beast didn’t stop drinking, but its mechanical eyes swiveled toward me, icy and precise, tracking every shift of my weight.

  I summoned Ella. She appeared in my right hand, her tip crackling with electricity. Slowly, I lowered her toward the painted water. The moment she touched it, the current exploded outward in a perfect circle. When it reached the feline, the shock hit so hard its whole body spasmed.

  With the help of a second brain instructing Anansi, her guidance surged through Liora. We moved at once.

  I landed out of my leap with both feet slamming onto the creature’s skull, driving it downward into the painted riverbed. In the same motion, as I vaulted from it, I swung Ella like a golf club, the electrical arc lashing across its head. Liora was already there, burying his sharp claws into the creature’s exposed underside, which was just a tangled mesh of cables beneath synthetic fur. He was shredding it like a furious cat.

  I hit the ground a few paces away.

  By then, the monster was already dead.

  “We’re a good team,” I said aloud. “The three of us.”

  [It could be better, with more bodies for your minds to occupy.]

  “I might become a one-woman army.”

  [That’s something the world can look forward to.]

  “Was that sarcasm, girl?”

  [I won’t deny it.]

  Her dry tone made me chuckle. I caught Liora as he darted past, scooped him with one arm, and scrubbed my fist through his mane. He twisted and protested for a moment, then went limp when he realized he enjoyed the attention.

  “I guess we need to get ready for the ceremony now, don’t we?” I said, partly to the both of them, mostly to myself.

  And I tried, really tried, not to think too hard about the fact that I was about to attend the burial of a seventeen-year-old who wanted nothing less than to save the world. A boy who loved everyone, even the man who killed him, right up to the last second.

  A boy who died, in part, because of me.

  **********

  I brought Peter and Zoe with me to Lebens’ training hall, where the drake meat the boys had stripped from the bones was now packed into wooden barrels lined along one wall. We didn’t stop to inspect it; the three of us went straight upstairs to meet the family.

  I wore Jessica’s face that day, along with simple black clothes appropriate for mourning, unremarkable enough not to draw attention. Peter and Zoe wore dark attire as well, the kind meant not to be noticed but to acknowledge the shadowed part of life that always waits at the end.

  When I opened the door, Ariana was already there, waiting for us. Even dressed head-to-toe in black, she was striking. Broad-shouldered, soft-edged, and confident in a way that made “plus-size” look like a deliberate aesthetic rather than a descriptor. Her dark clothes matched her black hair perfectly.

  “Welcome, everyone,” she said warmly. She went straight to Zoe first, gathering her into a firm hug. Then she held her at arm’s length, studying her icy eyes with something between curiosity and acceptance. “Zoe. It’s lovely to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances. Nick told me about you, and Peter mentioned you again today. I hope to have both of you for dinner sometime soon.”

  “Thank you. I’d love that,” Zoe replied, returning the smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  “It’s only appropriate,” Ariana said. “Come. The men are already outside with the cars. We’ll drive out to the temple grounds.”

  “Sure.” Zoe started toward the door, then added, “I just wanted to say that the things you have in those barrels downstairs—”

  “That’s the drake meat I told you about,” Peter cut in before she could finish.

  “I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. This drake carried a soulmark somewhere. The meat is full of its residue. Might be worth checking out,” Zoe said.

  “Really?” I asked. “You can feel it even here, as a human?”

  My second brain nudged me then. Honey had sensed Authority in the necklace long before I understood what Seers could do. So really, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Yes,” Zoe replied. “My senses work the same in both forms. But… I don’t think this is the appropriate time to get into it. I just wanted to mention it now, before I forget.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Ariana said with a warm smile.

  The four of us stepped outside together. The day was a washed-out grey, the sky a solid sheet of white cloud that made everything look colorless and tired. The snow on the ground was dissolving into slush and mud, thanks to a slight rise in temperature.

  Sophie was already there, standing by Nickolas. She looked unusually quiet, somber even, hovering protectively over Malik’s grandmother, who sat in the car already. The old woman’s eyes were unfocused, set on something far beyond the physical. Grief had a way of dislocating people like that.

  Off to the side Damien was talking to Caroline and a man I hadn’t seen before. Shorter and leaner than him, but built like someone who trained daily. His coat stretched just enough at the shoulders and chest to make his regimen obvious. He had a clean-shaven, serious face, attentive eyes, and a black beanie pulled snug over his head.

  Beside Nick’s car, where he was standing, there were two more vehicles. One I recognized immediately as Damien’s Jeep. The other was a large, dark van—Caroline’s or the new man’s, I assumed. It was big and solemn enough, to be the one carrying Malik’s body.

  I waited with my little group. My own two eyes weren’t directed their way, but the eyes painted on my nails were and they caught Damien and the others glancing toward me, Peter, and Zoe.

  After a few moments Damien shifted his bulk and walked over, the rest of his family trailing behind him.

  “Thank you all for coming,” he said. He didn’t introduce himself to Zoe, though. “I’ll ride with Marek and Caroline in the van. And I’d like to ask you, Al—”

  He stopped, corrected himself with an awkward cough.

  “Excuse me, not all.. of you. Just Jessica, to come with us. Marek and Caroline want to talk to you about everything that led to Malik’s death. They’ve already spoken with me and Nick.”

  “Sure. I’ll come,” I said.

  “Peter and Zoe—nice to meet you—you can ride with my wife. Nick will take Sophie and Bonnie.”

  Everyone nodded and drifted toward their designated cars, the quiet shuffling of feet on thawing ground matching the weight of the day.

  After Damien opened the wide back doors, I followed him inside and took a seat on the side bench. He along with the new man, sat across from me on the opposite bench. Between us, strapped to the van’s floor with broad belts, lay a wooden casket so beautiful it stole the breath from my lungs.

  Intricate vines spiraled across the surface, sprouting carved flowers that looked like they had bloomed naturally from the grain. Leaves unfurled along the top, forming the crown of a great wooden tree that seemed to rise out of the casket itself. Some leaves appeared to be falling in a slow eternal descent, collecting in a sculpted pile at the bottom edge like a frozen moment in an autumn forest.

  When the van started moving, Damien cleared his throat, pulling me out of the trance the craftsmanship had put me in.

  “Marek here did his best to make the casket presentable,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space.

  “Podolski?” I asked, recalling with my unoccupied brain the name Damien had mentioned earlier.

  “Yes. That’s me,” the man replied. “Marek Podolski. Spellguard for Group Seven of N.Y.U.S.G.” His voice was soft, almost lyrical, completely at odds with his hardened, disciplined appearance and yet there was a steadiness to it that fit perfectly.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Then I shifted, brushing a few loose strands of auburn hair away from my face, and met his eyes directly.

  “You wanted to speak with me, officer?”

  “Yes. It’s not the best time for this, but it will have to do.” His voice matched the look of him: worn, edged, but steady. His face was a map of creases, each line carved deep as if competing for dominance. His complexion had that weathered warmth that only came from years spent outside. His eyes bulged slightly, and beneath the edge of his beanie I noticed a thin, harsh scar running between them. An old one, but mean.

  He had the kind of presence that would make you tense if you met him alone in a dark alley. His knuckles were covered in thick calluses, the skin beneath his fingers roughened in the way of a man who worked with his hands… or fought with them.

  “Damien told me everything from his point of view,” Marek continued. “And I won’t be asking for confirmations. His word is enough for me. What I do need is any information about the man who killed young Reyes. Anything he might have missed, anything you know that he doesn’t.”

  “I know he’s called Robert Reyes,” I said. “Malik’s brother. He goes by Rhythm on the street. His Domain is Soundtracks, and it seems extremely powerful—”

  “Yes, Nickolas mentioned all of that.” He cut in, but it wasn’t impatience; it was focus, sharpened to a point. A man intent on understanding the threat, not wasting time. He made a strangely good impression on me.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  His tone invited truth—not forcefully, but firmly, like someone accustomed to carrying terrible news and necessary burdens.

  “He works for Edge of Tomorrow in some capacity,” I said, “and also directly for the man who was held in the basement of the blown-up house—”

  “This was a house registered to a man called Ken Kuromaru,” Marek cut in. “But his face looks awfully similar to that of a mage who went by the name Akira Shiroi. A face that appeared around the city on murals and posters not too long ago.”

  He was a deeply informed man.

  “Your Domain is Artistic Creation,” he continued, “and according to Caroline, you’re good with spray paints. So it’s logical to assume the two of you met, given that you wound up in his house. Care to elaborate?”

  “No,” I said flatly. “It has little to do with Malik’s death.”

  He leaned back against the van’s metal siding with a slow exhale, looking at me first, then at Damien, who simply shifted and looked straight ahead.

  “Alright,” Marek said. “Then I’ll tell you this much: that man—Shiroi—escaped custody some time ago. My custody. I apprehended him personally. He’s been at large ever since.”

  “Maybe,” I said quietly, “it’s better if it stays that way.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “You’re helping a criminal evade justice, young lady. That’s a crime.”

  “Yes, but not in your jurisdiction,” I said. “I read your Pax Arcana.”

  I had—as a bedtime lecture to lull myself to sleep. It spelled out the rules: no magic on Guild grounds without authorization from officials and a list of actual offenses that warranted Guild intervention. Helping a mage hide wasn’t one of them.

  It was mostly straightforward things: don’t steal from other mages, don’t kill them, don’t maim them, don’t use magic to control or sabotage another mage or their belongings. Basic power-boundary etiquette. And so on. And so on.

  Marek’s lips flattened into a single hard line. His jaw tightened.

  He did not like that answer.

  “As I was saying,” I continued, “Robert Reyes worked for EoT. According to Damien, he took the man—Giovani—after he murdered Malik. Which might have been a crime of passion. He got really angry at something Malik said. And they were… physical with each other even as kids. Brotherly things, I guess.”

  “You think he’s innocent?” Marek asked.

  “Oh no, of course not. I fully intend to kill him for what he did. I’m just telling you what I understand happened.”

  “You cannot simply kill another mage in revenge,” he said. “There are proper channels. You are supposed to report it to us.”

  “You’ve been reported,” I said. “And you’re right, I probably can’t kill him—yet.”

  “I wasn’t referring to your capability,” he growled, his face darkening beneath heavy brows. “I meant legal restrictions.”

  “Okay, man,” I answered.

  “Told you it’s not a good idea,” Caroline chimed from the front, her voice light and annoyingly cheerful.

  “What idea?” Damian asked. Thank Reality it was him and not me. If he hadn’t asked, I doubt she would’ve bothered answering at all.

  “We got word from headquarters that you wanted to join the Guild in a more official capacity,” she said. “And we thought it would be good for you to partner with me on the investigation. But…” she paused, looking back at Marek’s expression, “…I no longer think that’s the best course of action.”

  It wasn’t a huge loss. Following Caroline around wouldn’t have been difficult. I’d just need to plant a painted ear on Loki somewhere. Caroline swapped outfits constantly, but Loki didn’t.

  “If you change your mind,” she added, “you can find me through Dam.”

  “She’ll do her own investigation,” Damian said firmly, stepping in on my behalf. “It’s better if you keep an eye on her.”

  “You think so?” Marek asked Damian.

  “Yes,” Damian said without hesitation. “She’s a lot like you. Good heart, but forced to grow a hard shell by her upbringing. Give her a chance—let the cracks show.”

  One of my minds immediately drifted off, wondering whether that “good heart” comment had any truth to it.

  “Caroline?” Marek called forward. “Thoughts?”

  “I can try, if you say so, boss.” A good dog’s answer. Predictable.

  Marek placed a hand on Malik’s casket, his fingers brushing the living wood as if he were smoothing down someone’s hair. He took a moment, gathering whatever thoughts were hiding behind that worn, scarred face.

  “I don’t like the anger inside you,” he said finally. “But I understand it. If we involve you, you’ll have to follow orders without question. Is that something you can do?”

  “Yes,” I said, lying with impressive smoothness.

  Well—half-lying. I could follow orders; I had done it for years under Penrose. But I also knew now that obeying everything without thinking led to long-term disasters.

  “Good,” he said. “We’ll still need to speak with headquarters as they’re wrapped up in this mess as well. Give me your phone number. I’ll contact you as soon as we’re ready to bring you in.”

  “Basic training?” I asked.

  “We’ll give you a test. Caroline and Dam both say you’re more than capable. If I confirm it, we’ll skip basic combat training entirely. You’ll learn on the job with Caroline.”

  “Okay,” I said. Simple enough.

  A sticker would work. Something with a painted ear. I could infuse it with authority and slip it inside Loki’s collar. Even if they inevitably kicked me out, I’d still be able to follow the trail. My second brain continued to work around the problem.