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“I have way more questions than that, actually. I didn’t even know gods existed, to start.”
Prudence’s lips went tight as she considered her response. “We try to ease new recruits in slowly. It’s crazy enough for the newly awakened to discover they can wield magic, or that there’s an entire arcane underground separate from reality.”
The Veil, they called it, the masquerade us mages were bound to uphold, just to make sure that the world didn’t erupt into havoc when they realized that people walking among them could vanish into thin air, call lightning out of the sky, or bend time itself.
“But gods? Really?”
“There’s a lot more to it than that. I think it’s best if we let Thea guide you through it. But take some friendly advice. You didn’t hear it from me, but I’m pretty sure the Black Hand is involved in this.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry. The Black Hand?”
Prudence bent closer, her voice dropping. “The Eyes have been at work, and they’ve picked out that it’s some kind of organization. A cult, very likely, that likes to play with the kind of dark magic they really shouldn’t have access to. Things like that book you had to retrieve. And murdering a god? Sounds like it’s right up their alley.”
My blood went cold. A cult? “Prudence. You don’t mean to say – this Black Hand. Do you think they were the same people who – you know, did a number on me?” My hand reached reflexively for the scar on my chest, just above my heart.
“It’s possible. The Lorica has reason to suspect that it might well be the same people responsible.” She glanced around, then touched me on the back of my hand. “I shouldn’t say more. Thea will fill you in the next time you speak, I’m sure of it.”
The Black Hand. It had only been weeks since my murder, since the entire incident that set my life down the path that took me to the Lorica. I’d done what I could to shove that all out of my head, but the trauma lingered. Dying wasn’t fun. But at least we had a lead, a name for that cabal of strange men in their black robes and their bronze masks. At least I was a step closer to justice. My scar throbbed, and my hand clenched.
I watched on as the Lorica t
eam swept the premises. The house was so much warmer now that it was full of bodies in motion, sweatier, even, as my colleagues went about their business. A couple of Wings were talking about what they had planned for the weekend. Closer to the kitchen, two women spoke in a low murmur as they gesticulated over the Pruitt corpses, preparing their mystical energies for the task ahead.
The women – Hands, both of them, clerics with very specific and very important talents – bent over the Pruitts, each of them picking one of the couple and placing their hands in the air, just inches above their gruesome wounds.
Ever mixed up some mac and cheese from the box, or maybe some carbonara, right when you stirred it up with the raw eggs? That was the sound the corpses made when their flesh began to knit itself right before our eyes, squishing and squelching as muscle and fat and skin spontaneously regenerated to narrow the gaping holes in their bodies.
A faint, yellowish light permeated the space between the women’s hands and the Pruitts’ bodies, a manifestation of their magic, the way that Prudence’s fists glowed a vibrant blue when she punched things into oblivion. The Hands kept working, closing the wounds tightly enough so that they only resembled knife stabs and not – well, who knows what was even used to kill them in the first place? A cannonball?
“Still amazes me, what people can do,” Prudence muttered.
“Hmm? You mean how they’re closing the wounds, or are you talking about whoever murdered the Pruitts?”
“Both, probably.” Prudence shook her head. “All this work the team is putting into making it look like a murder. You know the sad reality of it? This happens in the real world all the time anyway, normals killing each other left and right. The news will go nuts for this, but that’ll fade. Nobody’s going to miss a couple of dead bodies.”
“Hey, we’re doing the best we can, too.” I patted her on the shoulder. “The normals have their police and their people to help them with this stuff. We’re just making sure they don’t have any reason to panic.”
And normally, they didn’t, but a spell book that could be used to create magical pestilence, and two normals dead? Not to mention a slain god. Something was definitely up. I wanted to reassure Prudence, but this was all making me a little nervous, too.
Like Thea always said, the Lorica’s purpose was damage control, to stop absolute chaos from happening. However bad it was out in the regular world, it could always go worse if some psycho, or hell, just someone who had no idea what they were doing got their hands on a deadly artifact. The Book of Plagues, for example.
Sure, medical technology has made it so that the plague is total peanuts to cure, but bungle an incantation, or throw in the wrong reagents? Amateur, unpracticed magic could easily create hellish epidemics. That was exactly the kind of scale things could fuck up on when spells went sideways: mass destruction, genocide, possibly even extinction. Whoever this Black Hand was probably had designs on setting off a new form of the plague, bioterrorism at its very worst.
Lights flashed, cameras flickering as the Lorica team worked to capture the scene. Everyone in that house was a magic user, sure, but magic still couldn’t beat the sheer convenience of recording images with a DSLR, or a good old smart phone. Technology came into play all the time at the Lorica, especially when it involved communication, though, as the opal at my throat began to warm gently, I recalled that there were a few exceptions.
And what perfect timing for Bastion to amble up to us again, his hands folded behind his head, eyebrow cocked and lips crooked like he couldn’t have been more bored. Prudence tapped her foot and sucked on her teeth.
“Really, Brandt? You done already?”
Bastion shrugged. “Easy peasy. The book put up a fight, but it’ll be safe enough to transport back to HQ.”
He jerked his head in my direction and snaked out one hand to flick at my pendant. And like that wasn’t enough, he hooked a finger under the leather cord, then tugged.
“Your rock is glowing again. Mommy’s calling. Shouldn’t you pick up?”
“Step off,” I muttered, swatting at his hand hard enough that it made a loud smack.
Bastion stepped back and sneered. “Watch yourself there, maverick, or you’ll find out what happens to bad little puppies.”
