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Mage houses are fucking fortresses. They’re covered from head to toe in the mage’s own personal magic and really damn hard to break into. I should know. I’ve tried it.
Raven seems to throw caution to the wind and transforms, his wings sprouting out, and leaps forward, sending up a flurry of snow as his wings beat against the ground. He tackles the mage into the snow as the man yelps.
North is right on top of them moments later. Raven hauls the man up and North whips out one of his daggers, pressing it to the mage’s throat. Most mages, even powerful ones, can’t really fight against having their throat slit.
“Okay, okay, okay!” the mage yelps, sagging in Raven’s hold. “I yield, I yield.”
Cain looks around. “We need to get inside. Someone might’ve noticed that.”
We all look at the mage, who sighs. “You can join me in my house. My neighbors don’t know what I am. Come.”
Raven keeps a hand on the man’s upper arm, like he’s ready to yank it out of the mage’s socket at a moment’s notice, but the mage gets to his feet and leads us down the ‘street’, such as it is, to his house.
His dog growls at us as we approach “Down, boy,” the mage says wearily. “It’s all right.”
His dog quiets and obediently follows us inside. That strikes me as odd. I know it’s a little thing but didn’t the dog just have to go on a walk? Doesn’t that mean he needs to go to the bathroom?
I can feel the magic wash over me as I enter. This place looks like just an ordinary house. It’s cozy, with what looks like a homemade quilt draped over a couch. There’s a rug, and a fire going in the fireplace. Dog toys are under the coffee table, and there’s a bookshelf crammed with books. Underneath it all, though, I can feel the magic. A human couldn’t, but I can sense it. This place is covered in wards.
“This feels like a retirement home,” Cain murmurs.
I agree. This is the place that this guy has decided to settle in for the rest of his uneventful, quiet life.
“Who are you?” the mage asks. “Also, would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you,” North replies. “And we’re here about Roanac.”
“Ah.” The mage gives a small, grim smile. “He’s decided to have me assassinated, hmm?”
“No,” North replies. “We’re here for information about him.”
“Ahh. You’re from the other side. Well.” The man gestures. “You’ll want to sit down.”
We all take a seat on the couch. I’m wedged in between Raven and Cain, which I don’t mind at all. I want to keep the guys close. Both so that I feel safe, and I feel like they’re safe. This man’s being polite, but he did try to attack us straight away. Mages are tricky. He might be planning something else.
“I’m Alexei,” the mage tells us. “And you are?”
I look over at North. I’m not sure we should tell him our names.
“We’re here about Roanac,” North says. “And that’s all you need to know.”
Alexei nods, as if he’s not surprised. “I knew that my sins would catch up with me eventually.” He sits down. “I had hoped that this was how I would atone for them, but, well. Fate has her own designs.”
“I don’t see much atonement going on around here,” Cain notes, his tone just barely sarcastic enough while still technically being polite.
Alexei sighs, and claps his hands.
Immediately, the couch I’m sitting on feels rougher and harder. I’m colder. Everything around us disappears, including the dog.
We’re now crammed together in what is basically a hut. A hovel. There’s still the fire, but it’s smaller and it’s in a carved-out pit. The room is cramped. There’s no rug, and the furniture is bare and rickety. Alexei is sitting on a chest with magical runes on it, probably where he keeps his magical books and scrolls. Behind him I see another, smaller room that’s just a low bed and another chest, possibly for clothes.
“I prefer to maintain the illusion for my neighbors,” Alexei informs us. “I don’t want them to ask many questions. At first I thought I would be a proper hermit, hide out in the bunker itself or some cave nearby, but I feared I wouldn’t know about any danger until it was too late so I stay in town. The folk are kind, keep to themselves.”
He claps his hands again, and the illusion returns. The dog’s lying on the carpet, chewing on a toy. That must be why the dog doesn’t care about going or not going on a walk. It’s not real. The comfy couch we’re sitting on, the warmth we feel, the things we’re seeing, none of it is real.
But it is very powerful magic.
“You know your stuff,” North says. “Must’ve been why Roanac chose you to help him.”
