little out of breath, Raegan had no choice but to follow.
Despite her initial misgivings Raegan was soon a big fan of military
efficiency. The speed with which Raegan and Con were whisked through the Unit’s
various security measures was mindboggling. Raegan was glad. The initial
excitement had faded and she was knackered. Not to mention starving. Reduced to
a basic state where all she could think about was a cheese sandwich, she didn’t
feel much like a gifted being, or whatever Con had tried to convince her she
was.
Fortunately, all tests passed, it was not long before they
were in a lift zipping up to meet Mr Savage himself. Despite military precision
and economy of movement, Raegan did not miss the amount of effort it took to
work the lift; several cards were swiped, codes were punched, and their escort
even had to press a thumb into a groove by the button that said ‘Praetor’ (like
‘Penthouse’ in a hotel lift) before it would move. She couldn’t help wondering
what kind of person needed to surround himself with so
much security. But before she could say anything, Con – as if reading her mind
- gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Clearly it was not a good
idea to ask questions about their protective procedures.
Instead, she focused her gaze on the shiny metal surface in
front of her. She was interested but not surprised to see a white, delicately
cloudy stone embedded in it; she had noticed similar crystals set at regular
intervals all around the Unit. Now was probably not the time to ask about
these, either.
A few seconds later, there was a ping, and the doors opened.
It was like walking into a circular library. At least three
quarters of the vast, curved wall space was taken up, floor to ceiling, with
shelves of leatherbound, expensive-looking books. There were no crystals. At
four points in the circle, equidistant from the centre, the bookshelves parted
to accommodate four large windows, allowing the viewer to monitor the yard from
a variety of angles.
In the centre of the plush green carpet stood Max Savage,
commander of the Unit and Magister Militus of the Sentinel.
His power was immediately obvious. He was younger than she
expected, tall, but not that tall, and solidly built; yet, when he crossed the
room to shake hands with Con, greeting him like an old friend, he seemed to
dwarf the much larger man.
When he turned to Raegan, she was surprised at how nondescript
his features were when considered individually; brown eyes, neat jaw, very
short grey hair. And yet when he looked at her his eyes were no longer plain
and brown but deep and shrewd: glinting but giving off little warmth.
‘We’re so glad to have you here, Raegan. Welcome.’ The voice
was smooth and as crisp as the collar of his white shirt and perfectly pressed
dark suit. Raegan wondered how anyone could look so presentable at one o’clock
in the morning, and fought the urge to stand to attention. ‘I understand you
didn’t get a chance to see much of the grounds, but how did you find your first
glimpse of Unit Prime?’
‘Er, well…’ Raegan glanced at her grandfather nervously, not
sure what sort of response the Praetor was after. In the end she was too tired
to come up with anything better than the truth. ‘A little
scary, actually. Crossing the drawbridge was like walking through a
giant electric shock.’
Max smiled indulgently. ‘It is a forcefield powered by blood
recognition, so that makes sense. Blood magick,’ he added, then when Raegan looked none the wiser, he gestured to the armchairs in front of his
desk.
‘Please sit down. My house keeper, Mrs Crawfield, has
prepared some supper. We thought you might be hungry after your trip.’
Summoning every ounce of self-restraint she could muster,
Raegan replied ‘thank you’ before sinking into a chair and taking just one
triangle from the groaning stack of sandwiches. But that was where the
politeness ended. She could not stop herself from taking a
Despite her initial misgivings Raegan was soon a big fan of military
efficiency. The speed with which Raegan and Con were whisked through the Unit’s
various security measures was mindboggling. Raegan was glad. The initial
excitement had faded and she was knackered. Not to mention starving. Reduced to
a basic state where all she could think about was a cheese sandwich, she didn’t
feel much like a gifted being, or whatever Con had tried to convince her she
was.
Fortunately, all tests passed, it was not long before they
were in a lift zipping up to meet Mr Savage himself. Despite military precision
and economy of movement, Raegan did not miss the amount of effort it took to
work the lift; several cards were swiped, codes were punched, and their escort
even had to press a thumb into a groove by the button that said ‘Praetor’ (like
‘Penthouse’ in a hotel lift) before it would move. She couldn’t help wondering
what kind of person needed to surround himself with so
much security. But before she could say anything, Con – as if reading her mind
- gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Clearly it was not a good
idea to ask questions about their protective procedures.
Instead, she focused her gaze on the shiny metal surface in
front of her. She was interested but not surprised to see a white, delicately
cloudy stone embedded in it; she had noticed similar crystals set at regular
intervals all around the Unit. Now was probably not the time to ask about
these, either.
A few seconds later, there was a ping, and the doors opened.
It was like walking into a circular library. At least three
quarters of the vast, curved wall space was taken up, floor to ceiling, with
shelves of leatherbound, expensive-looking books. There were no crystals. At
four points in the circle, equidistant from the centre, the bookshelves parted
to accommodate four large windows, allowing the viewer to monitor the yard from
a variety of angles.
In the centre of the plush green carpet stood Max Savage,
commander of the Unit and Magister Militus of the Sentinel.
His power was immediately obvious. He was younger than she
expected, tall, but not that tall, and solidly built; yet, when he crossed the
room to shake hands with Con, greeting him like an old friend, he seemed to
dwarf the much larger man.
When he turned to Raegan, she was surprised at how nondescript
his features were when considered individually; brown eyes, neat jaw, very
short grey hair. And yet when he looked at her his eyes were no longer plain
and brown but deep and shrewd: glinting but giving off little warmth.
‘We’re so glad to have you here, Raegan. Welcome.’ The voice
was smooth and as crisp as the collar of his white shirt and perfectly pressed
dark suit. Raegan wondered how anyone could look so presentable at one o’clock
in the morning, and fought the urge to stand to attention. ‘I understand you
didn’t get a chance to see much of the grounds, but how did you find your first
glimpse of Unit Prime?’
‘Er, well…’ Raegan glanced at her grandfather nervously, not
sure what sort of response the Praetor was after. In the end she was too tired
to come up with anything better than the truth. ‘A little
scary, actually. Crossing the drawbridge was like walking through a
giant electric shock.’
Max smiled indulgently. ‘It is a forcefield powered by blood
recognition, so that makes sense. Blood magick,’ he added, then when Raegan looked none the wiser, he gestured to the armchairs in front of his
desk.
‘Please sit down. My house keeper, Mrs Crawfield, has
prepared some supper. We thought you might be hungry after your trip.’
Summoning every ounce of self-restraint she could muster,
Raegan replied ‘thank you’ before sinking into a chair and taking just one
triangle from the groaning stack of sandwiches. But that was where the
politeness ended. She could not stop herself from taking a
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