The Rise of Ren Crown Page 9

  The purple outlines were likely due to a backlash through the scarf system. It made me wonder what everyone else had experienced when I'd taken a turn toward the insane after Olivia had disappeared.

  Purples necessitated heavy concern, both emotionally and magically, and they were horribly present in pockets of students scattered throughout the sea of yellows.

  Black encompassed the emotional and physical turmoil of the purples, but also indicated something was severely wrong with the person's magic.

  I was the only one in the entire room showing black.

  I folded my arms tightly against my chest and refused to look up again. There was nothing helpful in seeing the looks of horror and fear...or of seeing the more calculating and sly glances.

  “He-her-here,” someone stuttered. Magic “supplements” were shoved into my hand by a scared-looking slip of a mage who had been tasked with delivering them where needed.

  “Crown, back to your room,” the dorm head said, frowning. “Medical will come for you.”

  I pushed out of my seat, happy to leave the staring behind.

  Back in my room, I chucked the supplements into the trash and started scrubbing my desk. They wanted me to feel better? Destroying the taint that Helen Price had left behind would make me feel better.

  I hoped she had accidentally ported to hell.

  A discordant tone rang through the air like a mangled foghorn. From my tablet, I could hear voices on the main frequency channel stilling, then a voice that sounded like Patrick's said, “Here comes lockdown, hold onto your butts!”

  I sat on my bed and leaned against my window, magic sponge in hand. Outside, the magic shimmered, then grids of air flipped like invisible louvers, one after another, molding together and locking—sealing us in.

  Trapped.

  From my tablet, I could hear the voices of the other students. It was a discordant background mix—a low hum of nervous, traumatized voices, blending with calm and steady ones. How officials were justifying this to the parents across the Second Layer, I had no idea. Although, until mages reached the age of twenty-two, society considered them unsteady—not yet ready to be out in the world making independent magical decisions. Even in the First Layer, where eighteen was considered adulthood, none of the adults really seemed to trust anyone during that four-year spread.

  It was some sort of weird limbo where we were expected to act like adults, but always with the air that we weren't really.

  They'd trapped us in here. For our own good.

  I looked around my room. Olivia's things sat immobile.

  I looked out the window. At the Department stooges combing campus. At the panels of magic keeping us locked inside. Safe against the outside. Trapped within. With supplements, and calming spells, and empty reassurances.

  While they chose our paths for us.

  I would have traded myself for Olivia today. I would have bitten Raphael's obvious lure.

  It would have been a stupid choice. I knew that—because with me under his control, Raphael could pinch Olivia's life force between two fingers—but the choice to go with him had been made from emotion, instinctive.

  Emotion that had been telling me that only I could fix things.

  I looked at the empty bed across the room.

  But I wasn't the only one involved. I hadn't been for days now, weeks.

  I dropped the sponge, and slowly picked up my tablet. Before we'd had the scarves in place, we had used a temp system.

  Taking a deep breath, I clicked a button and said, “Hello?”

  A flurry of voices answered, magically wrapping around me.

  “Lady-in-waiting, we've been waiting for you to call,” Patrick said, in a satisfied voice—though there was a large dose of relief to his tone as well.

  Other members added their comments as well, their voices more subdued. They were waiting for me to speak. Justice Toad was vibrating with the tension of it.

  I wondered how long they'd been waiting for me.

  I swallowed and activated the charm that popped everyone's full-color holograms into view, then spread them out in a visual grid before me. It was similar to what Godfrey had done hours before—spreading nearly the entirety of the Second Layer in view.

  Faces appeared, arrayed in front of me. I was so overcome with relief that I had to get hold of myself for a moment. These people had helped me save campus.

  Patrick said, “Got to tell you, Crown. Was worried there for a bit.”

  I focused on his hologram.

  “Worried you might go all—” He made a looping motion around his head. “And scupper without any of us the wiser.”

  I cleared my throat. “No. I, uh, worked through a few things.”

  Whatever that tunneling light had been when Marsgrove had taken the scarf from me... The light had felt world-ending. Whether I might have blown a hole in campus, or the layer, or Earth, or existence with my mangled magic...yeah. Relying on my emotions made me extremely responsive and focused. But when I didn’t temper that with practical planning, it made me actively dangerous.

  It was something I’d have to put real effort into working on...the tug against my chest to go after Olivia was getting tighter with each hour that passed.

  Everyone was watching me closely.

  “Plan Fifty-two is complete,” I said. “You have no further commitment to fulfill. And our...previous line of communication is unsafe.”

  Thank God, Saf and Trick had already had the presence of mind to have me silence the scarves, though. In the Administration's or Department's hands...

  Mike, Delia, Will, and Neph said nothing, and I didn't look at the other members of Plan Fifty-two, concentrating instead on Olivia's terrible twosome.

  Asafa stared silently, while Patrick's eyes were manic and deadly. “Do you think that is why we answered this call? To be released?”

  “No,” I said softly.

  The edge disappeared from his gaze. “Good.”

  I swallowed around the emotion. I smiled—a smile that started out strained, but gradually worked into something more real. “I would really appreciate your help with...” My voice came out far more steady than what I felt, but I still had trouble finishing. “With making sure every last one of our members returns to full health and safety.”

  Every single one of them knew I was talking about Olivia.

  If there was one thing I had learned this past term—wasting willing help was not an admittance of failure. Christian and I had always been a team. So much of one, that we'd really been more an extension of each other. When I'd lost him, then arrived at Excelsine, furiously trying to revive him, I had been a one-woman squad of destruction. This past term had taught me a lot about the value of teamwork: working with Dare, working with Olivia, Will, Constantine, and Neph, working with Patrick and Asafa, working on Plan Fifty-two…

  No, I wasn't going to go off half-cocked this time. Not when I understood there were better ways to proceed.

  “Excellent, that is exactly what we were hoping you were going to say.” Asafa's voice was even and calming. “There's another mandatory assembly in our dorm in an hour to discuss habitation and roommates. They are checking everyone.” I heard Will and Neph chime in with their assembly times too. “When do you want to meet?”

  I felt a stirring along one of my strongest connection threads, and some of the tension I'd been holding dissipated as I recognized that the magical coma that had been holding Constantine had started to lift, somewhere in the bowels of the Magiaduct.

  They might not be letting anyone in to see patients yet, but I'd been mandated for a medical check, and I wasn't going to wait here to be called. Not when there were other places I could be.

  I gathered my things together.

  “An hour after the last mandatory assembly?” I asked, and was met with a flurry of positive responses. I looked at the empty desk across from mine. “And...maybe in your room, Saf? Trick?”

  I didn't want a new roommate. I didn't wa
nt to leave our room. But I also couldn't stay in our room right now, surrounded by the moroseness that was swallowing me. It was unhelpful to action. I needed to get out. To plan.

  “Absolutely. See you soon, Crown. Saf out.”

  The others called in their agreements, and I gripped my tablet fiercely and walked from our room toward the underworld below.

  Chapter Eight: Relationships with Thorns

  The medical ward under the Magiaduct was bustling with activity and magic. Carved slightly into the interior of the mountain, the “recovering” ward was more easily able to access the magic that circulated throughout the mountain, allowing the patients to get the benefit of the rejuvenating magic swirling around from so many powerful mages living above it.

  Especially now, with none of us able to leave, the circulating magic was heady and thick.

  The pass that the mage had shoved into my hand, along with the supplements, had gotten me inside the level without having to resort to more nefarious tactics.

  The long, wide corridor stretched forever. Every dozen feet there were small arches in the wall that led to other areas, and other wards. Unlike campus proper, the arches were labeled clearly here. No freshman hazing for the medical students. Healing people was serious business in the magic world.

  Patient rooms, labs, sitting areas, and offices lined the four-mile corridor loop on each side.

  A number of the windows were darkened, but many were clear and allowed the viewer to see through to the “windows” on the other side of the rooms. Charmed windows displayed views of fantastic landscapes—deserts, oceans, mountains, and forests, all filled with beasts and magic—for the recovering patients to enjoy. Some displayed environmental cross sections, like a Midlands’ puzzle, stitching together multiple landscapes.

  As I walked the long corridor, a haphazard grid of crisscrossing color snapped into place, overlaying my view with their hues. It was like looking at ward lines, but these weren't wards—they were active magic trails.

  In the different rooms, and through the corridor, tools and magic flew through the air. Their long arcs of color trailed their path, and thinner rays of light showed where the magic was headed, with the intention of the caster connected to the destination of the magic.

  I blinked, but the paths remained for a few moments, fading like tracers after their mission was complete. Being able to see the trajectory of magic was new for me. Something to examine later.

  Rubbing the inside of my elbow, I stopped in front of the room to which my crippled magic had led me.

  Constantine wasn't awake to have chosen a landscape, so someone had visually perched the room on a cliff overlooking an ocean. The slight tang of sea spray and soft sounds of gulls completed the full-sense illusion.

  I wondered idly what view he would have chosen. A jagged pit surrounded by beautiful flowering meadows to entice the naïve?

  I put my hand against Constantine's window.

  “Ren Crown.”

  I turned sharply to see a Medical mage striding toward me. She was looking at a tablet in her hand, which had to be displaying my name, and probably my medical status.

  “You shouldn't be in this wing. Your pass is for the scanning and regulation section with...”

  Her gaze took in my hand against the window, then traveled to the ceiling. I looked up at the crisscrossing lines, but I didn't know what she was observing or why her expression looked suddenly conflicted.

  “Wait here.”

  I hadn't been planning on going anywhere else, so I did as directed.

  As soon as she disappeared into a doorway farther down the corridor, though, I withdrew my picks and picked the magical lock to Constantine's room. I could feel the wards testing my depleted magic, looking for my intentions.

  I entered the room and the wards welcomed me in.

  I immediately strode to Constantine's bedside and touched his forehead, painfully “asking” his magic if anything harmful had been done to him since I'd put the painted spell in place while he'd been laying broken on the battlefield.

  I didn't have the medical knowledge that Doctor Greyskull contained in his pinkie finger, but he had given me a very positive demonstration when he'd fixed my broken toe. The medical practitioner helped tweak the magic of the patient into fixing itself. It felt like ages ago that I'd watched in awe as he worked to patch me back together.

  The paint I had placed on Constantine had strengthened the link between us. I could feel him stirring toward consciousness, reaching toward my stroking fingers. He was unable to block the new connection, at least while in such a deep state of recovery.

  He would be...displeased about that.

  But it allowed me to see that everything seemed to be positive about his healing.

  I had very little magic available to me—unless I used a device to pull it out of the Earth or air and set the northern hemisphere on fire.

  Or unless I had paint. Awakening paint.

  I hesitated for a second, finger tracing his forehead where I'd placed the painted line, then gave into the urge and directed my limited energy to go to Constantine, working through the echo of his painted skin.

  It was second nature for me to give whatever I had, and I directed the energy hovering beneath his skin to dive in and fix him. I pulled the zigzagging wards that were gently filtering through the air into view. One of the lines zagged toward me, tapping against my chest in polite question. I opened my twisted magic in permission and the healing field in the room hooked into me, then connected to Constantine's forehead.

  The process would sap more energy from me, before it would eventually return in the continually circling feedback loop, but I'd deal with that. I always did. I put my head in my hands for a moment.

  Looking back up and around the room, I noticed that Constantine's scarf—Bryant's scarf—was nowhere to be seen. Someone had taken it too. I grimly sat in the chair next to his bed. It was likely that they had them all.

  People were filing past in the hall. More than one person slowed as they saw me inside the room. I located, then fumbled with, the spell connected to the outside window. The glass finally dimmed.

  A few moments later, the door opened and I stiffened, but didn't rise. Settled in the chair next to the bed, I tried not to look up as the familiar presence approached.

  “Miss Crown. You aren't supposed to be in here.”

  “Oh?” I looked up. “Good evening, Doctor Greyskull.”

  He looked between me and the door, his gaze unsurprised, but still calculating. “How did you get in?”

  I shrugged. “I opened the door.”

  “The door was locked.” He gave me a half smile. “And no one is allowed inside. The wards are very specific.”

  “I won't hurt him,” I said, not answering his implicit question of how I'd gotten past the lock.

  Greyskull looked at the ward lines around the room. “No, I don't think you will. The wards are showing that your presence is helpful. Very unusual.”

  He pulled up a chair next to me. “But you are used to the unusual, are you not, Miss Crown?”

  I'd probably pay for the proof that my presence was helping rather than hindering Constantine. All of those very long looks from the medical staff probably didn't precede anything good, but the Band-Aid had been ripped from my anonymity hours ago.

  “It is a good thing you are here, in the medical ward,” he said. “An Administration summons would have been issued otherwise.”

  “I'm fine,” I said with a smile. “I've been worse.”

  “You were far less untruthful last time I saw you.”

  I let my smile slip. “It is hard to determine where truth should be placed these days.”

  He tipped his head. I could see his tattoos moving along his skin, peeking over the collar of his coat as if peering at me before retreating again. “I am in charge of this room's wards. I can do your examination here, though it would be better to do it in another space.”

  “I'm fine her
e, without an exam.”

  “Are you?”

  I couldn't answer in the positive again.

  “Come then,” he said gently. “Let's take a look at what has been done to you.”

  A tattoo slithered down his arm and wrapped his pointer finger in dark coils that ended in a point at the tip. The tip touched my skin and the tattoo rotated forward, like a screw being drilled into my flesh. I could feel the magic, the familiar foreign energy searching and examining blocked pathways.

  Scanning me.

  “How does that work?” I asked, slightly breathless and trying to control natural panic.

  Even if my magic weren't working as well as it normally did, I could still trace the path of his. It flowed down the twisted routes, mapping the blocked paths rather than trying to heal them, navigating the knotted coils, as if trying to flow through a garden hose that had been yanked into a series of knots that was stopping the water from going further down the tube.

  It was pretty bad.

  “Someone used a leech on you today, and poorly,” he said, almost absently. “Multiple leeches.”

  I tensed and couldn't prevent my gaze from going to Constantine, who was still out cold and doing his best impression of Sleeping Beauty on the bed.

  I tore my gaze away and met Greyskull's. “Godfrey. He had...something.”

  “Mmmm. You have remnants of other leeches too, but those have been able to naturally unwind themselves. You could file a report with the Magisters, if you desired,” he said casually. Too casually—I could tell he was angry on my behalf.

  Still tense, I replied, “No, thanks.” I hadn't thought that type of thing would be revealed by a scan. “Is that how my magic got so twisted?”

  “It was a contributing factor, but not the only one. You drained yourself, replenished your magic...in some manner...then drained yourself again. This happened a few times. Think of it like stripping a ribbon, then badly stapling another ribbon to its tail. It will hold for a little while. But it will eventually break and leave the ribbon more frayed than before. Do this a couple of times? You can damage the original ribbon more than can be repaired.”