I stepped up to the door, searching for any fault in the illusion. The door appeared as real as I’d ever seen, the glass perfectly reflecting my appearance back at me. Cirian was right, this veil was on par with those used to conceal the entrance to Paradise, which were woven by Wilhelm herself. Did the Converts have Reviled practitioners amongst their numbers? And if so, what reason would the Reviled have to support them?
“What do we do?” Cirian asked as we stood, exposed, on the sidewalk.
“We can’t just abandon him,” I said, my breath quickening as the realization of our remaining option sank in. “So, we follow him in.”
Cirian squared his shoulders, giving me a firm nod.
With a steadying breath, I stepped forward, passing through the door and into the café. The weight of the magic against my skin felt foreign, completely dissimilar the familiar tingling sensation of passing through a veil. This felt more like walking through water, as if my body were weighed down by the magic till I passed through it.
The first thing to hit me was the warmth of the café’s interior. Inside, it wasn’t as dark as the view from outside suggested. The tables and chairs were pushed aside, stacked on top of oneanother, creating a path forward to the basement access—an open door from which light poured out into the rest of the dining room like a beacon calling us forward.
My pulse skipped at the sight of Malachi, standing a few feet in, looking back at us expectantly, as if he had been waiting for us to join him the whole time.
“Bunny follows into ocean,” he said to me as I approached, his wide eyes locked onto me.
“Yuck, I hated that,” Cirian’s voice sounded behind us. “That magic is so bizarre.”
“Shh,” I shushed him as drones of voices wafted up from the basement door. Pausing to listen, it was easy to estimate their numbers to be in the dozens. “They’re below us.”
Malachi nodded, moving for the door to the basement, but I caught him by the elbow, holding him in place.
“Bunny dives into the burrow,” he muttered, an edge to his voice.
“Hold on,” I urged him. “We can’t just walk in without a plan. If they recognize you, then our cover will be blown. But I can make it so that you don’t look like yourself.”
Malachi merely continued to watch me, the intensity of his gaze unchanging.
“Are you going to cast a veil over him?” Cirian asked.
I nodded, pointing to the small utility closet that sat at the edge of the dining room. “I’ll take him in there while I weave. I need you to keep watch.”
“Fine, but make sure it’s a good one. If we’re stepping into this lion’s den, I would prefer that we not be devoured on the spot.”
I rolled my eyes, pulling Malachi towards the closet. “Just keep your eyes peeled and your mouth shut, Cirian.”
Inside the tiny space, I kicked aside a mop bucket to make room for the two of us. A single bulb illuminated the room fromabove, and I struggled to ignore the burn of cleaning chemicals in my nose.
“I’m going to cast a veil over you,” I said to Malachi, still holding him by the elbow in case he wanted to try and bolt again. “It might feel strange at the start, but I assure you that it doesn’t hurt. I’ll make you appear as someone else, so the Converts won’t recognize you. Do you understand?”
“In the din, I hear it all.”
“I’m going to take that as a yes.”
Releasing my hold on Malachi, I pressed my hands together, forming a sigil with my fingers that sang to life the magic in my blood. Drawing in a deep breath, the first thing I did was create a small tear into the Ether in the space in front of me. To Malachi, or anyone else watching, I simply extended a finger into the space before me, drawing it down as if I were tracing the outline of an object. But I was privy to the exhilarating sensation of the Veil between our world and the Ether parting, allowing me access to the strands of reality that waited on the other side.
Once the incision was made, I continued to the next sigil, twisting my fingers to form the shape as I recited the incantation taught to me nearly thirty years ago by Gran. The filaments of ether began to seep through the opening I created. Strands of the various hues of the rainbow wriggled their way into the space like the limbs of a wild animal, caught in a snare. Reaching out, I plucked the strands I would need, tying them together with the will of the magic coursing through me and the force of my incantation. Weaving threads of Ether was difficult work, and before long, my brow was slicked with sweat. But Cirian’s comment before was correct—I had been practicing. And thanks to my recent dedication to increasing my proficiency in the art, it took a little more than a minute for me to complete the veil and settle it over Malachi.
His features blurred as the magic snapped into place, layering over his body and twisting the shape of it into the visage of a man I had seen earlier that afternoon on the streets of Briarwood. He was older, with grey-streaked temples and a worn flannel shirt that sat untucked over his denim trousers.
“There,” I concluded, allowing the tear in the Ether to seal itself back up and wiping the perspiration from my brow. “That ought to do it.”
“Bunny washes away the stain but doesn’t take the ink.”
“Right,” I agreed, hoping that the statement wasn’t some kind of criticism. “Couldn’t do anything about the language, but at least you shouldn’t be recognized now. Stay close to me, yeah? It’s harder for me to hold the veil in place the further you go from me. Understand?”
Malachi stomped his feet in a strange rhythm.
“Splendid. Now, come on. Let’s go find some answers.”
