Patriarch said at last. “You let me know. I’ll see it done.”
Nine
It’s finished, the first one whispered.
Not well.
No. But it is finished.
Too bad we didn’t know the wards would blow. Hungrily: We could have killed her ourselves, in that case.
They were silent for a moment, savoring that concept.
She had a rich life, one said at last.
A full life, another agreed.
Delicious.
And we can go home, now. Yes?
They turned to the one who had become, for lack of a better title, their leader.
We go home, he told them. But not just yet ....
Ten
Damien thought: I just can’t believe she’s dead.
A shapeless heap of blackened rubble was all that remained of the Fae Shoppe. Investigators had been sifting through it for almost 24 hours now, but still hadn’t offered any explanation of the blaze more plausible than their first hypothesis: Something had attacked the shop, powerful enough to set off a chain reaction in the protective wards. Ciani’s own defenses had killed her.
It can happen, he reminded himself. For all that we Work the stuff, its easy to forget just how unstable it is. Even in the hands of an adept.
Those who court the fae must pay the price.
He blinked the growing wetness from his eyes, and focused his senses on the ashes. Even knowing that half a dozen adepts had already done the same—and discovered nothing—he had to try. The pain of losing her was bad enough; the frustration of inaction was more than he could bear.
Though the ashes were cool to the eye, they were white-hot to his inner senses; it took only a minimal Working for Damien to see the power that remained there. It was as if all the tamed earth-fae that had been in the shop had been boiled down and concentrated into one hot spot of chaotic power. He wondered, distantly, how it would affect the local currents, to have such a chancre of raw heat located here. Then wondered who would bother to map it, now that Ciani was gone.
Stop it. Now. You’re only making it worse on yourself.
How long before some idiot would try to harness that stuff? He looked for a telltale mark, saw a sigil chalked on a bit of brick. Ciani would have been outraged. Gods in heaven, she would have said, is there nothing so dangerous some fool won’t try to Work it?
Once more, he tried to Divine just what had happened. Once more, the sheer mass of unfettered power clogged his senses, and his Working accomplished nothing. It was like trying to focus on the flicker of a candleflame, when that candle was in front of the sun. His head hurt from trying.
And then there were footsteps behind him, and he turned to see who else had come to this place.
Senzei.
The man looked terrible. Haggard. Drained. Damien guessed that he hadn’t slept since the accident, and wondered if he’d had the time to eat. Or the desire.
The man looked about nervously, as if checking for eavesdroppers. There were none. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Damien, then quickly looked away. In that instant, Damien thought he saw fear in them.
“I need to talk to you,” he said. His voice lacked substance, like that of a ghost. It took effort to hear him. “But not here.” He looked up and down the street again, a quick and nervous gesture.
“Where?”
“My place. Can you come? It’s ...” He hesitated. Met Damien’s eyes. “It’s about Ciani.”
Wild hope lurched inside the priest. “She’s alive?”
Senzei looked thoroughly miserable; it struck Damien that he seemed afraid to speak. “Come with me,” was all he would say. “I ... we can’t talk here.”
He wanted to shake him, to demand answers, but with effort he bested that instinct. Instead he nodded stiffly, and let Senzei lead the way.
Just beyond the narrow, stone-paved streets of the city’s mercantile district was a small residential neighborhood. The house that Senzei took them to was one of a dozen similar buildings, modest brickwork abodes whose narrow structure and lack of yard space made a clear
Nine
It’s finished, the first one whispered.
Not well.
No. But it is finished.
Too bad we didn’t know the wards would blow. Hungrily: We could have killed her ourselves, in that case.
They were silent for a moment, savoring that concept.
She had a rich life, one said at last.
A full life, another agreed.
Delicious.
And we can go home, now. Yes?
They turned to the one who had become, for lack of a better title, their leader.
We go home, he told them. But not just yet ....
Ten
Damien thought: I just can’t believe she’s dead.
A shapeless heap of blackened rubble was all that remained of the Fae Shoppe. Investigators had been sifting through it for almost 24 hours now, but still hadn’t offered any explanation of the blaze more plausible than their first hypothesis: Something had attacked the shop, powerful enough to set off a chain reaction in the protective wards. Ciani’s own defenses had killed her.
It can happen, he reminded himself. For all that we Work the stuff, its easy to forget just how unstable it is. Even in the hands of an adept.
Those who court the fae must pay the price.
He blinked the growing wetness from his eyes, and focused his senses on the ashes. Even knowing that half a dozen adepts had already done the same—and discovered nothing—he had to try. The pain of losing her was bad enough; the frustration of inaction was more than he could bear.
Though the ashes were cool to the eye, they were white-hot to his inner senses; it took only a minimal Working for Damien to see the power that remained there. It was as if all the tamed earth-fae that had been in the shop had been boiled down and concentrated into one hot spot of chaotic power. He wondered, distantly, how it would affect the local currents, to have such a chancre of raw heat located here. Then wondered who would bother to map it, now that Ciani was gone.
Stop it. Now. You’re only making it worse on yourself.
How long before some idiot would try to harness that stuff? He looked for a telltale mark, saw a sigil chalked on a bit of brick. Ciani would have been outraged. Gods in heaven, she would have said, is there nothing so dangerous some fool won’t try to Work it?
Once more, he tried to Divine just what had happened. Once more, the sheer mass of unfettered power clogged his senses, and his Working accomplished nothing. It was like trying to focus on the flicker of a candleflame, when that candle was in front of the sun. His head hurt from trying.
And then there were footsteps behind him, and he turned to see who else had come to this place.
Senzei.
The man looked terrible. Haggard. Drained. Damien guessed that he hadn’t slept since the accident, and wondered if he’d had the time to eat. Or the desire.
The man looked about nervously, as if checking for eavesdroppers. There were none. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Damien, then quickly looked away. In that instant, Damien thought he saw fear in them.
“I need to talk to you,” he said. His voice lacked substance, like that of a ghost. It took effort to hear him. “But not here.” He looked up and down the street again, a quick and nervous gesture.
“Where?”
“My place. Can you come? It’s ...” He hesitated. Met Damien’s eyes. “It’s about Ciani.”
Wild hope lurched inside the priest. “She’s alive?”
Senzei looked thoroughly miserable; it struck Damien that he seemed afraid to speak. “Come with me,” was all he would say. “I ... we can’t talk here.”
He wanted to shake him, to demand answers, but with effort he bested that instinct. Instead he nodded stiffly, and let Senzei lead the way.
Just beyond the narrow, stone-paved streets of the city’s mercantile district was a small residential neighborhood. The house that Senzei took them to was one of a dozen similar buildings, modest brickwork abodes whose narrow structure and lack of yard space made a clear
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