Dark Light of Day (20 page)

But first I had to make it through my first Manipulation class. I scurried across Victory Street, huddled beneath the warmth of my cloak and ten tons of books. I’d brought all of the books Seknecus had given me, all of the books I’d gathered at the library last night, and each of my demon law language primers. I was determined to be prepared.

I entered Rickard Building, lowered my hood, and adjusted my bag of books. I tried to convince myself that I couldn’t wait to get to Manipulation class so that I could put them all down. But I was filled with dread. I held my head high and forced myself to walk at a normal pace. My fingers started to curl inward and I realized I was hyperventilating. I slowed my breathing and stepped into the school’s lone winder lift. The lift operator shut the metal gate and tried not to stare when I told him my destination: the fourth floor. Heading to the fourth floor of Rickard was like handing out a calling card. I imagined what mine might look like:

Would my card really include that last line?

Was I falling in love with Ari?

I swallowed. As if I needed
more
to worry about… but
yep
, it was true. Despite the fact that I still desperately wanted to reverse my magic, it was impossible for me not
to be the least little bit emotionally affected by Ari’s unwavering acceptance of me and my magic,
as it was
. Not as I wanted it—or me—to be.

I
’d expected the fourth floor of Rickard to be like the Rabbit Warren. But the hallway I stepped into was long and infinitely straight. At its far end was a small block of light, one tiny dirty window. The light from this single source was all that lit the narrow hallway. At one time, St. Luck’s enrollment must have been larger. I passed several open doors to empty unused classrooms. The floor had a creepy, abandoned feeling and I wondered for a moment if I had read Ari’s note wrong. Just then my eyes started watering furiously and the unbelievable stench of rotting onions assailed me. I covered my mouth and nose with my hand and stumbled, hoping feverishly that I wouldn’t gag.

Someone bumped me from behind. Hard enough to knock my bag of books off my shoulder and onto the floor. He kept walking. I bent down to retrieve them, frowning at his back. Just before he stepped into the last door on the right, he glared at me. The young man was short and pudgy, with dull brown hair that looked like it had been cut with pinking shears. A blast of rotten stink like moldering cabbage struck me. I realized it was his signature, so I blasted back, but he’d already stepped into the room. Maybe someday I’d be good enough to reach someone through walls.

I gathered my books and repacked my bag. I walked to the end of the corridor and stepped into the room. Everyone stopped talking at once and six sets of eyes turned toward me. The largest man among them stepped forward. He was huge, in fact, and his signature felt just as big, like a marble pillar. It was patently obvious that should Quintus Rochester choose to throw his weight, either physical or magical, in my direction, he would crush me.

“Ah, Nouiomo Onyx,” he said. “You’re late.”

I frowned. I’d come early on purpose.

“Where were you after Yule when the rest of the class showed up?”

I heard a low snicker and dared a surreptitious glance at the source—Sasha. He reached out
with his magic to bump me, no doubt meaning to send me stumbling but I shoved it back at him, as easily as flicking a fly off my desk. His eyes widened and he sat back in his seat staring. He’d obviously expected the weak sputtering that he’d felt from me while Peter’s cloaking spell was still intact.

“I heard Bryde’s Day was the deadline for adding this class,” I said, chin up, unblinking. I sensed immediately Rochester would have no time for shrinking violets.

“Brunus Olivine,” he said, confirming my guess and launching into introductions without further preamble. He motioned to the man who’d knocked my books over in the hallway. Brunus leered at me and sent a rush of magic up my legs. This time there was no wall to block my return thrust. I sent a blast back at Brunus that I’d intended as no more than a magical slap on the cheek, but my lack of control turned the maneuver into a swift nose jab. Brunus cried out as a thin trickle of blood dripped from his nose. He threw no more magic at me but, instead, shot me a lethal look and left the room, presumably to find a tissue. Under ordinary circumstances I would have apologized profusely and walked him to the bathroom, but I instinctively knew, with this crowd, any apologies for defensive magic, no matter how poorly directed, would be a sign of weakness.

“Mercator Palladium,” Rochester said, pointing to the Maegester who’d been sitting next to Brunus. Mercator looked like he might be as tall as Ari, but he was thinner, almost gaunt. His hair was nicely trimmed and he wore clothes that were more formal than the rest, a gray linen shirt, black leather vest, and a platinum pocket watch, complete with chain and a half-dozen charms in the sorts of shapes my mother would have approved of (bells, stars, arrows, hearts—but
no flowers
). His eyes were a striking light gray and he looked like he wanted to wink at me. Instead, he tapped me with his magic. I had no idea what the proper etiquette was, but the gesture appeared to be no more than a magical handshake. Mercator felt like silver—shiny and hard, but something I could probably bend if necessary.

“Sasha de Rocca,” Rochester said, moving to the next table.

“We’ve met,” I said, preparing for whatever blast Sasha decided to throw my way. But none came. He sat still, narrowing his ice blue eyes at me, no doubt furiously recalculating stronger means of bringing about my demise. I moved to the person sitting next to him.

“Tosca Kaolin,” said Rochester. Tosca’s signature was erratic, like the wind. A gale force struck me as if I were the broad side of a barn. I lifted one foot preparing to step back so I wouldn’t fall, but then I sensed the gust was over, blown out. All that was left was the whistling sound of wind at the window. I slammed my shutters. Tosca sat in front of me with two bright spots of color forming on his cheeks. He hadn’t been quick enough getting out and my magic had caught his, pinching it like fingers in a door.

Last was Ari. I’d been waiting. After all this magic muscle flexing I needed a dose of his warm, therapeutic signature. But when I stood in front of him, I felt almost nothing, just the same low-dose trickle I’d felt last night. Like drops of icy water. Ari looked up from his books as if just noticing me and nodded. What was going on? Was he still ticked off that I’d rather be down in southern Halja with the Mederies?

Then I remembered that signatures could change depending on what the sender was experiencing. Maybe Ari’s signature felt cold to me because I’d been pushing him away. What was it he’d said the day I touched his demon mark?
You could never hide from me, any more than I could hide from you.

What would happen if, instead of pushing him away, I tried to pull him closer?

I wasn’t ready to find out. But Rochester was staring at me, as if expecting something. Ari was reviewing his notes,
ignoring me. His indifference felt like a challenge. Was it feigned?

Did it matter? I nudged Ari with my magic. He brushed it off with no more effort than I had with Sasha. I was stronger than that, almost as strong as Ari. I narrowed my eyes, thinking. This class had nothing to do with academics. Rochester wasn’t judging me on how I used my mind, only my magic.

I realigned my feelings and concentrated on sending out a strong dose of pure magic. I miscalculated. The blast singed Ari’s books, cracked the crystal in his watch, and exploded his pen, splattering ink all over. A creaking sound preceded the shattering collapse of the table behind him. But Ari was unaffected. He made a great show of wiping down his books and then calmly reached into his pack for another pen.

Brunus returned from the bathroom and all eyes were on me. I knew the next few seconds would establish my rank in the class. Coming in at such a disadvantage, I could hardly afford to lose more ground. Did I dare try to really manipulate Ari? Was I brave enough to reach for him magically using the feelings that were between us?

Is that what he wanted?

Suddenly, I wanted to wring his neck. He made me angry. He got under my skin. He made me feel things I didn’t want to feel and he made me afraid. Every time I was around him, I felt agitated and aroused. But I also felt invigorated and energized. Being around Ari, for me, was like lying in the sun. All that warmth and heat, I wanted to feel it on every part of my body. I closed my eyes imagining what it would be like—

“Stop!” Rochester’s deep voice boomed. “What you’re doing is dangerous. No more,” he said, waving a flat palm through the air. It was unquestionably a gesture of cessation. Woe to any student who ignored it. I slid into the seat beside Ari and dared a quick look at him. My last little magic trick had finally gotten his attention. He stared at me. At once I felt like a rabbit caught in a snare. Had I gone too far? I swallowed and fought not to twitch my leg.

“Noon,” Rochester said. My attention snapped to him. “You’ve developed bad habits as a result of insufficient training. You add emotion to your magic to make it stronger but that makes you vulnerable to enchantment. We will work on this.” He walked to the center of the room and addressed the whole class.

“I have determined new pairings for this semester’s client representation. Noon, you are
Secundus
now. You and Ari are in opposition. Mercator, you’re
Tertius
now opposing Brunus. And then Sasha and Tosca.” I gathered from everyone’s reactions that these were the new rankings caused by my late entry. The only Maegester to take it magnanimously was Mercator, who nodded conciliatorily in my direction.

Beside me, Ari’s signature felt like the smoldering coals of a banked fire. I made the mistake of looking at him again. His gaze captured mine, his eyes dark and unreadable. His hair fell in unruly waves, just past his ears, its color somewhere between burnt amber and black coffee. Under the weak, diffused light of the indoor classroom, Ari’s skin looked like stone. But I knew he would be hot to the touch, like lit charcoal. He winked at me, his signature never changing, never giving Rochester a reason to look over at us. A sweet painful burst of something shot through me. My whole body suddenly felt like my jaw would have if I’d bitten down on a thousand lemon wedges. I fought to keep my signature steady and switched my gaze back to Rochester.

Rochester paced the front of the classroom, his massive bulk moving effortlessly back and forth from Brunus to me. He explained that, as of Bryde’s Day, we would be assigned a real client.

For a moment I wondered how big a mistake I’d made by waiting to declare. I’d missed nearly a quarter of the class. But by not paying attention now I was only making matters worse so I diligently refocused on Rochester, who was assigning the first case to Brunus and Mercator. It was an Oathbreaking case. Rochester gave us the background.

“About a year ago,” he said, “a young Hyrke couple, Temone and Finora Greenwald, purchased two annual passes
from Western Myst Cruise Line to travel the upper Lethe. Under the terms of the contract, which was printed on the back of the passes and countersigned by the Greenwalds, a full price ticket entitled the pass holder to unlimited access to all outposts between New Babylon and Morkill Steppe, for a period of one year from the date of issuance.

“The Greenwalds are farmers. Their plan was to stake a claim using one of the Lethe outposts as a base for supplies. They bought their passes to explore the outposts and determine which area would be best to settle in. Because the Greenwalds have limited capital, they worked out an oral agreement with the owner of Western Myst, James Ashe. Instead of requiring full price up front, as the preprinted terms dictated, Mr. Ashe agreed to accept installment payments. The passes were issued, five installment payments were made, and six outposts reached when the level of the Lethe dropped so low further travel was impossible.”

“Wait!” Brunus interrupted, raising his hand but shouting out anyway. “Where are the demons? I thought we’d be representing demons. This sounds like something for A and A.”

“Not all of you will be representing demons. But that doesn’t mean Maegester services aren’t required. Listen, learn,
live
, Mr. Olivine,” Rochester said, giving Brunus a look that would have gelled my insides if directed at me. Brunus swallowed and shut up.

“After a few months of living tethered off of the Blacken Ridge Outpost, the Greenwalds asked Mr. Ashe to reduce the amount they were paying for the passes that were taking them nowhere. An argument ensued. Ashe called upon Rictus, the Demon of Rules, insisting that the couple pay the full rate as agreed. When the couple threatened to call their hearth demon, Ashe reconsidered and agreed to a fee reduction.”

Rochester paused, peering down at Mercator and Brunus, gauging their understanding. There was obviously more to the story, otherwise, why would this be a Manipulation case? Something must have happened to set off the demons or this would not be a matter for Mercator and Brunus to handle.
Mercator wore an expectant look that told me he was waiting for the rest of the story. Brunus just looked bored and impatient. Rochester continued.

“A few days later, Ashe introduced the Greenwalds to a seed merchant, who sold the Greenwalds some Mederi-blessed seeds for their future farm. The price of the seeds was exactly the difference between the old pass rate and the reduced pass rate.”

Ah. The first wrinkle. I felt sorry for the poor Hyrke couple, who I suspected had been swindled. Most Hyrkes weren’t as well-off as Ivy and Fitz and the rest at St. Luck’s. Many were poor and could barely afford the services of a Mederi midwife when their children were born. This couple must have thought Mederi-blessed seeds would be the boon their new farm needed to make it a success.