Dark Light of Day (8 page)

My demon mark burned beneath his hand and my magic flared, rushing over me as a searing wave and then crashing against the confines of Peter’s spell. The jilted force of it would have knocked me flat if Ari hadn’t been holding me. He pulled back and grunted, tightening his grip. This time it did hurt.

“Let go,” I said through gritted teeth.

“You need to declare,” he said roughly, releasing me with a shove. “Soon, it’s going to be too late.”

“I’m leaving,” I said suddenly and recklessly. I’d never wanted to come here. St. Lucifer’s was just a place to hide while Peter continued to search for the Reversal Spell. But if I left, I wasn’t sure where I’d go next. With waning magic, any work at a restaurant, hospital, or farm was out. Maybe I could become a dockworker or a cabdriver.

“Leaving won’t solve the problem!”

“But it isn’t
your
problem so you don’t need to worry about it,” I said, rubbing my shoulders and turning toward the door.

He snorted. “You’ve been my problem since yesterday. You think I couldn’t sense your magic on the boat?”

So why hadn’t he said anything then? Why was he cornering me now?

“I don’t understand you,” he said, circling around to stand between me and the door. He didn’t understand
me
?

“You should
want
to declare. If you declare, you’ll be taught an honorable career. You’ll be taught to control your magic, instead of having it be a potential danger to yourself and others. You’ve got raw power. I can feel it. We could use you.”

Ah, I thought. Finally. I got it. And him. Ari’s motivation in coming here was that of a good shepherd. He was trying to bring one of the wayward back into the flock. Well, Ari might be a good shepherd, but I’d never been a very good sheep.

“I don’t
want
to,” I snapped. “I don’t want any part of declaring. I don’t want
any
part of demons, demon law, or Maegesters. I can’t
stand
waning magic.”

Ari winced. “That’s blasphemy. You can’t mean that.”

“I can and I do,” I said, forcing my voice to sound angry instead of pathetic. “You don’t know what it’s like. You were born the way you were supposed to have been.”

He blinked and stared at me in surprise. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

“Noon, why do you waste one second on what might have been? What is, is. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Well, what
is
,” I said with false bravado, “is that I don’t
want
to declare.”

Ari said nothing, just stared at me with a hard look on his face. “Just don’t leave.”

I groaned.

“Please,” he said. I got the impression he didn’t use that word a lot.

“Are you going to declare for me?” I asked.

After a while, he shook his head.

“
You
need to declare,” he said ominously and walked out.

*   *   *

C
lasses started the next morning. I didn’t leave and I didn’t declare, and over the next few weeks Ari and I seemed to work out some kind of unspoken truce. He was in section three, of course—because I could feel Luck starting to turn against me—but he always sat down in front while I back benched it. Ivy and Fitz always sat somewhere in the middle rows.

“I feel like a referee,” Ivy said one day. “What gives? I thought you two were friends.”

“Friends?” I said, laughing nervously. “No, we just shared a ferry ride, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.”

In those first few weeks I didn’t really think (much) about Ari and declaring because, honestly, it was all I could do just to survive the basic Barrister classes.

Demon law school was hard enough all on its own without the added headache of Manipulation, which is what the Maegesters-in-Training were required to take. Five classes were held two to three times per week and most of them were a minimum of ninety minutes each. The prep time for each ninety minutes, however, seemed to take ninety days. I worked at becoming more efficient, but every time I found myself with three seconds to spare, the professors seemed to smell it and filled the time with more work. We read cases, briefed cases, discussed cases, and argued cases. I lived, breathed, ate, and slept endless cases. No two were alike and each had multiple parties, confusing procedural history, irrelevant facts, inconsistent holdings, nonsensical rules, hidden issues, poor judgments… The work seemed to go on forever.

Because it did.

Ivy and I were both late-nighters, but Fitz was an early riser so we had all worked out a schedule. We met at Corpus Justica an hour before our first class to go over the day’s assignments. We ate lunch at Marduk’s, discussing cases, classes, professors, and other students’ answers the entire
time. After lunch we had our last two classes—together, a three hour grueling ordeal that was only possible because of the coffee breaks—and then went back to Megiddo. Ivy and I always crashed then and slept for at least a couple of hours. When we woke up, it was already dark and we met Fitz for dinner, sometimes at Marduk’s, sometimes somewhere off campus just for a change. Fitz would leave after that to sleep and Ivy and I would hit the books until early morning, sleep for a few hours, and then get up the next day to do it all over again. Our entire world was quickly reduced to four buildings and one hundred people.

It was impossible, since he was one of the one hundred people, to stop thinking about Ari entirely. Occasionally I wondered if he would keep his word and not declare for me. I had no further incidents with plants, other Maegesters, or losses of control, and I never saw my name put up on the Maegester’s List outside Waldron Seknecus’ door, so I had to assume my cover was still holding. Around the second week of classes, my magic stopped flaring up around Ari. Maybe it was constant proximity; maybe it was a lack of reciprocity. I knew I shouldn’t miss the flare-ups, but I did. It seemed like the connection between us had been broken. But it was stupid to mourn for something I’d never had and, besides, hadn’t I told him I wanted nothing to do with him?

During the third week of school, Peter called me. The electro-harmonic machine that had been installed on the wall of our dorm room had to have been one of the first five ever made. Connections were often horrible, even on the newest machines, but this one made Peter sound like he was calling from under the Lethe, not across it.

“—on, ss— Peter. How—” Static burst from the receiver so loudly I had to hold it away from my ear, which precluded me from hearing the next ten words Peter said.

“Peter!” I yelled into the box on the wall. “It’s a bad connection!”
When weren’t they?
“I can’t hear you—”

But his connection must have been even worse because he just kept talking. I knew if I didn’t calm down and listen, I’d burn the box right off the wall.

“—ou? ’z… ’ell Holding up?… I—”

After seven dropped connections and as many call backs I finally understood that Peter wasn’t coming as planned. It was impossible to hear his entire explanation. But the gist of it seemed to be he’d found a new lead and he was staying in Etincelle to pursue it. He’d contact me (hopefully by letter, messenger, or in person!) once he was here in New Babylon.

In an effort to distract myself from the constant anxiety created by Peter’s absence and what it might mean, I threw myself into my classes with renewed vigor. I stopped back benching and joined Ivy and Fitz in the middle rows. I participated more and my answers were articulate. I stopped verbally stumbling when I didn’t know the answer and got better at modifying my arguments midsentence. Verdicts that had seemed unfair or illogical on the first day of class became clear when reread within the context of the entire body of law known as demon law.

Under demon law, rules were gods not to be crossed. Lucifer was king and in his absence no other demon could take his place. Halja—our very existence—depended on following, to the letter, the rules laid down in the aftermath of Armageddon, the last battle of the Apocalypse. Halja’s
regulare
demons were capable of wreaking havoc, but they knew what they were about. They did not want chaos or anarchy. They’d had enough of that prior to Armageddon. Now, all they wanted was adoration. So the
regulare
demons and their Maegesters set up a very strict form of government. No clemency, no leniency, no second chances—that is if you’re a demon.

If you’re a Hyrke though, pick a demon to appeal to. They
loved
that. They
lived
for that. A demon wanted you to state your case, they wanted to hear your pleas, they wanted to aid in your defense. So most Hyrke families appealed to a single hearth demon. It was kind of like an inherited deity-client relationship. Hyrkes almost never saw their hearth demon. But so long as a Hyrke’s pleas were respectfully spoken and accompanied by the required sacrifice, pleas were usually granted. Problems happened when demons started fighting
over their Hyrke clients—or anything else. That’s when the Maegesters stepped in. But Barristers didn’t have to worry about that. Their job was mostly preventing the Hyrkes from abusing their client privileges and reporting any activity that could lead to demon fighting.

Training to become a Barrister was rigorous work. I wouldn’t say I was happy, but I’d settled into a rhythm.

Arrhythmia struck a week before Bryde’s Day.

We were between afternoon classes and I was in Rickard Building on my way to my locker to change out my books. We’d just endured a particularly painful session with Meginnis in Evil Deeds. My mind was positively reeling from all the archaic rules on defamation, false light, and alienation of affection. Personally, I thought it all boiled down to “don’t mess with another man’s demon” but I knew sweeping summaries would never do. Scrupulous rule following was
praeceptum primum, praeceptum solum
.
The first rule, the only rule.

Ivy and Fitz wandered down to the coffee kiosk in search of caffeine and sugar. I dropped my stack of books in front of my locker. Around me, students were also dropping books, slamming the metal doors of their lockers, and trying to talk over each other. I was bumped from behind by elbows, shoulders, and, occasionally, a backpack. The hallways of Rickard were filled with the blood of students coursing from one class to another. I grabbed the silver catch on the front of my locker and pulled it up and out. My locker door swung open. There, sitting in the middle at the very edge of the top shelf, was a small unadorned evergreen tree.

A real one.

It was only about four inches tall and no more than three inches at its base, but this tiny tree meant the end for me. I stared at it, numb from too many emotions, felt all at once. Who had left it in my locker? And why? In and of itself, the thing was fairly innocuous. Hyrkes sometimes gave them as gifts this time of year. But that tradition was frowned upon here at St. Luck’s in deference to the Maegesters. Still, it hadn’t been strictly forbidden either. Hyrkes brought plants
to St. Luck’s at their peril—and apparently, mine. Did I have a secret Hyrke admirer? One who was oblivious to what this “gift” might mean to me? But figuring out who put it there and why was irrelevant. My immediate problem was how to get rid of it without giving myself away. I knew full well Peter’s cloaking spell wouldn’t help. There wasn’t a spell in Halja that would allow someone with waning magic to actually touch a live plant without killing it. I’d have to come back later and get rid of it when there were fewer people.

I was just about to close my locker when a thick, pasty white arm stretched across my face and reached up for it. Short, stumpy fingers closed gently around the tree, killing it instantly. I turned.

Standing beside me was a barrel-chested man with a longish blond beard that was just a shade lighter than dirty dishwater. He gave me a twisted smile and chucked the dead plant into a nearby trash can. He waved a slightly plump hand in the air in a fluttering, dismissive gesture.

“Plants have no place at St. Lucifer’s.” His voice was so deep, I thought I might be in danger of falling into it.

“Who are you?” I asked, involuntarily taking a step back. Recoiling from him just seemed like the natural thing to do. His expression was simply
not friendly
.

“Sasha de Rocca,” he said, keeping his hands clasped behind his back. “I’m a Maegester-in-Training in section two.” He stared at me, as if daring me to say something. But I was speechless.

“I’m also a distant cousin of yours,” he said blandly, “Our grandfathers were brothers.”

Oh, right. I remembered who he was. His mother was Livia, my mother’s first cousin, but they’d never been close—even before Night and I were born. Sasha was one of seven. Most of his siblings had magic. He had two older brothers who were already Maegesters and one sister who was a Mederi. His two younger sisters had been born without magic and were living as Hyrkes. I think I’d actually met one of them during my last year at Gaillard.

But I’d never met Sasha. I would have remembered. And
now seemed an odd time for a family reunion between two distant relatives who’d never met and didn’t want to. Sasha’s face said it all. He’d been forced to come talk to me. But by who? Aurelia? Livia?

“Ari thinks we should talk,” he said.

“About what?” I said, narrowing my eyes.

Sasha arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you know—evergreens, gardens, babies—the usual.” He snorted. “What do you think he wants us to talk about?”

I stared blankly back at him, proud that he couldn’t see how hurt I was that Ari had betrayed my trust.

“And if I refuse?” I whispered fiercely. “Another tree for me tomorrow?”

Sasha shrugged. “Where do you want to meet?”

I gritted my teeth, staring down at my books.

“Timothy’s Square, after our last class.”