Bereft: Foretold

34 | A City's Heart

The mage reached and trailed a pricked fingertip across the mirror's face.

The circle he drew was crude, inelegant, lacking the usual perfection mages imbued their diagrams with. It was my understanding that constructs and runes were ineffectual if not drawn with precision, but Lucian was using black magic, which meant the standard rules for magecraft did not apply. 

I stood in the man's office again, holding the unconscious mortal child in my arms as Lucian drew bloody circles on the ethereal glass. My reflection showed my displeasure as I shifted my hold and felt the taut material of the syndicate coat tighten around my arms. A cast-off from one of Lucian's associates, the coat fit better than his did and gave me a measure of anonymity, but it was still too small. I was not a large man, and yet most mages were smaller. They were creatures of intellectual pursuit, men who allowed themselves to soften, to shrink, and to become fat, effete scholars.

Grimacing, I rolled my shoulders and glanced instead at the boy standing next to the black mage. He wasn't a boy, precisely, but he was young by mortal standards. His face had yet to lose its juvenile roundness and his chin sported the fuzziest of blond beards, his cheeks marred with fading acne splotches. I wasn't one to be fooled by appearances, but even I would have thought him innocent when the boy was actually a black mage like Lucian. Lacking a record, he informed on the Syndicates for the older black mage and acted as—for lack of a better word—a spy.

The boy kept throwing furtive glances in my direction and biting his nails. I ignored him.

Lucian used his prepped needle to prick another finger as he began a second diagram on the mirror.

"Shall we discuss the plan again while I work?" he asked, breath fogging the glass. I shook my head—and he continued as if he hadn't seen my negation in the reflection. "Fate's predicament is a tragedy, but it affords a priceless opportunity for your infiltration of the Bronze Tower and the Facility below.

"The syndicates are often the target of tyrannical propaganda and much of it isn't misplaced. They are a tyrannical bunch who think themselves better able to lead—and thus subjugate—the whole of Terrestria. In some regards, they are better suited, and one of these regards is their capability of handling misplaced children who've suffered...traumas." Lucian's gaze flicked toward the girl, then away, as if guilt prevented him from looking upon her. "She didn't have family beyond the farm, but the syndicate will be able to take care of her. Give her a home, and a chance."

I said nothing, as he'd already told me this information earlier in the day. 

Lucian cleared his throat and took note of the drying blood on the mirror. Steeling himself, he began another arch. "Bringing her into the Tower with Jordan here will provide you with the distraction and the credentials needed to pass undetected into the main lobby. From there, you need to move swiftly to enter the—." 

"I am aware of your directions. You have repeated them twice thus far, and the second iteration was unnecessary. I promise you a third rendition will be equally pointless."

Lucian breathed in as if to lecture me—then seemed to remember to whom he spoke, and decided against it. "All right."

The mage's hands moved faster then, and the spell he worked upon the mirror ignited when a sudden spear of his energy struck the room and the blood sizzled upon the glass. I sank my teeth into my tongue, tasting blood as the lights flickered and the witch Marian complained from the kitchen. Connie was with her, as the huntress wasn't needed for this particular part of my quest.

Lucian's blood began to smoke and the black mage twisted his fingers, joining them together then pulling them apart as if shifting the pages of a newspaper. The pressure excited by the presence of his magic caused my ears to pop. Without any visual cue, Lucian shouted, "Back before midnight, Mar!" and stepped into the mirror. The boy, Jordan, followed.