van.
Valentine whistled as she slid into the passenger’s seat, resting a huge Dunkin’ Donuts bag in her lap. “ Nice . I can see I’m going places with you. You didn’t put this car in your own name, did you?”
“Conjured it from blank paper.” Paul plugged his leg into the USB port to charge it, feeling supremely cocky.
“Dude!” She offered the high five, then frowned, scrutinizing him. “What is your school?”
Paul froze, caught in a tug-of-war; he wanted to share all his secrets with Valentine, exchange ’mancy tips, geek out over this amazing thing they shared – but then he thought of her future targets. Secluding her for the weekend meant she couldn’t kill innocents today, but… that was just delaying the inevitable.
She didn’t feel like a killer. But Imani hadn’t felt like a cheater. And Paul had been a mediocre cop, his dogged attention to detail offset by his eagerness to look for the good in people.
He remembered her first words to him, words that defined the ’mancer lifestyle: I don’t like killing . He didn’t like killing, either. The one time he’d shot someone had almost destroyed him, and he’d barely known the illustromancer. Killing Valentine would be destroying the only person who understood him…
Could he kill a ’mancer again? Even for Aliyah?
“That’s… hard to explain.”
She looked hurt. She reached down into the Dunkin’ bag to bring out a box, a cruller in the center.
“…donut?” she asked.
He craved sweetness. He went with a glazed.
“You struck me as a cruller guy,” she said, leaning back. “Instead, you went with the donut that’s almost interesting. Glazed is the donut for people who don’t know what donut they like.”
“You sound like my friend Kit,” he chuckled. “He does Dunkin’ prognostications.”
“That guy is one wise dude. Never trust a man who doesn’t like a donut.” She swigged her coffee, eyeing Paul guardedly. Then: “Is that something you… can do?”
“Can do what?”
“Getting vans. Is it part of your raison d’être ? How bad’s your flux level? I got a backseat full of hematite; I don’t wanna get pulled over.”
“I don’t know how bad it is. I haven’t done this enough to compare, remember?”
“And you’re not sharing enough for me to tell.” She crossed her arms, fuming; it reminded Paul of Aliyah holding her breath until she got what she wanted.
Paul ate his donut.
“… be that way.” She blew a lock of hair away from her forehead. “Flux is all about the SFX.”
“The what?”
“ Special effects .” She huffed a perfectly teenaged “Ghod” under her breath. “If the stuff I do is related to videogames? Low flux. If I get a van, they either fade away like a power-up after fifteen minutes, or arrive with a squad of cops in pursuit.”
Paul remembered the forms, flying like falcons at the apartment’s flames. He’d pushed his bureaucromancy to save his daughter, but… even then, it felt like cheating. No wonder it had rebounded so terribly.
“It’s a balance between ‘how difficult would it be to do without ’mancy’ and ‘how in-flavor is it,’” Valentine continued. “Turning the bathroom door into something you couldn’t kick open woulda taken me ten minutes with a hammer, so… final blowback? I chipped a nail.” She displayed a nasty blood blister.
“So,” Valentine concluded. “How big a stretch is ‘getting a van’ for you, O Mystery ’Mancer?”
“I’m a…” He trailed off. “I’ve got some juice for this.”
“Tell me, tell me!” She bounced up and down like a kid waiting for her birthday cake. “You’re only the third mage I’ve ever met. You know my juice. It’s only fair; give it up!”
Her excitement buoyed him up; he couldn’t remember finding someone who wanted to talk about ’mancy. “…only the third?”
“Hey, it’s not like there are support groups. I read somewhere just one in ten thousand people fit the
Valentine whistled as she slid into the passenger’s seat, resting a huge Dunkin’ Donuts bag in her lap. “ Nice . I can see I’m going places with you. You didn’t put this car in your own name, did you?”
“Conjured it from blank paper.” Paul plugged his leg into the USB port to charge it, feeling supremely cocky.
“Dude!” She offered the high five, then frowned, scrutinizing him. “What is your school?”
Paul froze, caught in a tug-of-war; he wanted to share all his secrets with Valentine, exchange ’mancy tips, geek out over this amazing thing they shared – but then he thought of her future targets. Secluding her for the weekend meant she couldn’t kill innocents today, but… that was just delaying the inevitable.
She didn’t feel like a killer. But Imani hadn’t felt like a cheater. And Paul had been a mediocre cop, his dogged attention to detail offset by his eagerness to look for the good in people.
He remembered her first words to him, words that defined the ’mancer lifestyle: I don’t like killing . He didn’t like killing, either. The one time he’d shot someone had almost destroyed him, and he’d barely known the illustromancer. Killing Valentine would be destroying the only person who understood him…
Could he kill a ’mancer again? Even for Aliyah?
“That’s… hard to explain.”
She looked hurt. She reached down into the Dunkin’ bag to bring out a box, a cruller in the center.
“…donut?” she asked.
He craved sweetness. He went with a glazed.
“You struck me as a cruller guy,” she said, leaning back. “Instead, you went with the donut that’s almost interesting. Glazed is the donut for people who don’t know what donut they like.”
“You sound like my friend Kit,” he chuckled. “He does Dunkin’ prognostications.”
“That guy is one wise dude. Never trust a man who doesn’t like a donut.” She swigged her coffee, eyeing Paul guardedly. Then: “Is that something you… can do?”
“Can do what?”
“Getting vans. Is it part of your raison d’être ? How bad’s your flux level? I got a backseat full of hematite; I don’t wanna get pulled over.”
“I don’t know how bad it is. I haven’t done this enough to compare, remember?”
“And you’re not sharing enough for me to tell.” She crossed her arms, fuming; it reminded Paul of Aliyah holding her breath until she got what she wanted.
Paul ate his donut.
“… be that way.” She blew a lock of hair away from her forehead. “Flux is all about the SFX.”
“The what?”
“ Special effects .” She huffed a perfectly teenaged “Ghod” under her breath. “If the stuff I do is related to videogames? Low flux. If I get a van, they either fade away like a power-up after fifteen minutes, or arrive with a squad of cops in pursuit.”
Paul remembered the forms, flying like falcons at the apartment’s flames. He’d pushed his bureaucromancy to save his daughter, but… even then, it felt like cheating. No wonder it had rebounded so terribly.
“It’s a balance between ‘how difficult would it be to do without ’mancy’ and ‘how in-flavor is it,’” Valentine continued. “Turning the bathroom door into something you couldn’t kick open woulda taken me ten minutes with a hammer, so… final blowback? I chipped a nail.” She displayed a nasty blood blister.
“So,” Valentine concluded. “How big a stretch is ‘getting a van’ for you, O Mystery ’Mancer?”
“I’m a…” He trailed off. “I’ve got some juice for this.”
“Tell me, tell me!” She bounced up and down like a kid waiting for her birthday cake. “You’re only the third mage I’ve ever met. You know my juice. It’s only fair; give it up!”
Her excitement buoyed him up; he couldn’t remember finding someone who wanted to talk about ’mancy. “…only the third?”
“Hey, it’s not like there are support groups. I read somewhere just one in ten thousand people fit the
Similar Books
