Burned by Benedict Jacka Page A

girl’s eyes were drooping. She was still trying to pay attention, but she was exhausted. She’d probably keyed herself up for this conversation, working herself up to a state of nervous tension, and now the after-effects were kicking in. ‘That’s enough for now,’ I said. ‘You know the basics. Enough to keep you alive, as long as you don’t do anything stupid.’
    The girl nodded and I could sense her relief. ‘What should I do now?’
    I tore a note from the pad on the desk and started writing on it. ‘This is the name and number of a mage I know who lives here in London.’ I pushed the note over. ‘Keep practising for a few weeks, then when you’re more confident, give her a call. She might be able to find you a teacher and she might not, but either way, she won’t do anything you don’t want her to. She takes confidentiality seriously.’
    The girl took the paper. ‘You’d better get home,’ I told her.
    The girl nodded and stood up. She got to the door, unlocked it, paused, then turned back to me. ‘Why are you doing this?’
    ‘Doing what?’
    ‘You said Dark mages are out for themselves,’ the girl said. ‘And Light mages just care about following the rules.’
    ‘Pretty much.’
    ‘Then why are you helping?’
    I shrugged. ‘Somebody has to.’
    The girl gave me an odd look, as though she was trying to figure out what I meant. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Bye.’ She paused. ‘Thanks.’
    ‘You’re welcome.’ The girl opened the door and disappeared out into the street.
    I watched her go through the futures, then stirred and rose to my feet. I locked the door, pulled down the shutters and cleaned the counter. Only as I took a last look around before switching off the lights did I realise that the uneasy feeling I’d had before was gone.
    How many people like that girl had come into my shop over the years? Hundreds, maybe thousands. All looking for something, help or advice or direction. Sure, most of the customers who visit my shop don’t get anything out of it but a funny story and a souvenir, but for the young adepts and mages, it’s not funny. It’s deadly serious, and what they learn can make all the difference in the world.
    I spend a lot of time and energy protecting myself against people who are trying to hurt me. When you do that, it’s easy to focus on it more than you really ought to. And among other mages, it’s mostly the destructive things I’ve done that I’m remembered for: the Dark mage I studied under, the people I’ve killed in combat. That’s what I’m associated with, and that was why I was being targeted now.
    But maybe, at the end of the day, the most important things I’d done with my life wouldn’t end up being the battles, or the escapes or the times I’ve survived against the odds. It’d end up being little things like the meeting with that girl. She’d never told me her name, and there was a good chance I’d never see her again, but the couple of hours I’d just spent had made a difference.
    Maybe that wasn’t such a terrible legacy to leave behind.
    I switched off the lights and went to check in on Luna.
    I took a bus to Islington and walked the rest of the way to the gym, shivering slightly in the cold. Most of the building was dark but I could see light from a couple of top-floor windows. The front door was locked and I had to circle around and enter from the side.
    Inside, the building was badly lit and cold. There was no heating, and in the faint light filtering in from the street, I could see my breath in the air. Looking through the futures, I could sense people above, and I started climbing the stairs. As I ascended, I began to hear sounds: stamping feet, and the whoosh of heated air. It sounded like a fight, but I knew it wasn’t combat. The stairs ended in a landing and a hallway, with several open doors. Light was spilling through one of them, and as I approached I saw Chalice silhouetted through the doorway, leaning against the wall.