“Eleven Martial Magi were murdered tonight.”
“Holy…fucking shit," murmured Caren. "Are you serious?”
It was shocking news, for sure. Even Tito Lenny gasped. But Caren found herself wondering if she was supposed to feel…bad. She’d dealt with members of the Order of Martial Magi quite a bit in the years she’d worked as a ratcatcher, but it wasn’t like she and any of them were exactly besties. She herself was factionless, born to a Rising House, as the more “progressive” Old-World politicians euphemistically termed it. Most of the elite Martial Magi barely disguised their scorn for her. They’d gladly turn on her in a heartbeat if so ordered, she was sure of it.
“Anybody you were close to?” she asked Peri, cautiously.
“Well, of course I knew more than a few of them.”
Caren touched Peri’s hand lightly, then hastily withdrew when the contact went ignored. “Peri, I… Really. I don’t know what to say. I’m…really sorry.”
Peri’s hazel eyes switched over to Caren for a moment; conducted a brief but thorough survey of her face. Caren did her best to look as sympathetic as possible.
“Common decency doesn’t become you, Care.” Imperia once more directed her gaze frontward.
Lenny gave a low whistle. Caren elbowed his ribs hard enough to evoke a pained grunt.
“Okay, fine. You know I hate ’em all. But I’m not a fuckin’ monster.” Caren hustled to keep up with Peri’s long-legged strides. “I mean it. I’m sorry for your loss. How the hell did it happen?”
“Each of them was lured independently to the city, to a planned location, then mobbed by tranquilized mundanes. Beaten or stabbed to death. Some literally torn to shreds.”
Caren’s stomach lurched. She stopped short, barely noticing when Lenny smacked into her from behind.
It took Peri a few paces to realize Caren wasn’t following. She paused then herself, a sober smile stirring her lips. “You really aren’t a monster, I guess.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” murmured Caren. “Who could’ve…? How…?”
Peri shook her head, I don’t know, and resumed her pace.
After a numb beat, Caren followed.
The small entourage turned a corner. Enforcement headquarters loomed into view.
The wailing was louder here, underscored by drumming and a dirgelike chant. Caren glimpsed what looked like a heavily guarded assembly underway in a far-off courtyard—what she could only assume was a ritual mourning the dead. Many of the mages gathered around the large bonfire were flamboyantly dressed—probably still wearing their Saturnalia garb—except for the night-black cowls that enwrapped their heads and shoulders. Some were prostrate on the ground, others engaged in a grotesque dance. Still others stood with arms outstretched, their faces upturned toward the moon.
More Ordinators dutifully made way as Imperia and company mounted the long marble stair leading to the entrance to the Enforcement building.
In contrast with the solemnity outdoors, the broad main hall of Ordo Arcanus Enforcement headquarters was in an uproar. Enforcement officials, Martial Magi, pages, and Ostiaries zipped back and forth in the dozens, all looking like they had someplace direly important to be. None of the many desks or adjacent small offices appeared to be staffed.
“I don’t see Sten at his post,” said Caren, looking for the Martial Magus who usually processed her bounties this time of night.
“You won’t, ever again,” said Peri. “He was among the dead.”
“Really? …Sten?” Caren briefly pictured the bald beefy pyromancer with the perpetual scowl and from-left-field sense of humor, then blinked. Shook it off. “Well…fuck. I mean. If no Sten, then what am I supposed to do with fucking Uncle Lenny?”
Peri pulled up short, swept the room with her gaze. “There.” She pointed.
Caren looked where directed and saw a lone quiet figure apart from the hubbub: a wispy kid behind a giant desk in the remotest corner, head bent low over a four-inch stack of paperwork, face obscured by a short, disheveled curtain of black hair.
“Who’s that?”
“Apprentice Grenville. Go see him; he’ll process Lenny for you.”
“Apprentice Grenville?”
“Yes, ‘Apprentice.’ Our little Ashton is a rookie, fresh from the hazing. But don’t worry, he’s a smart cookie. Fraternitas Mercurii pledge; classic overachiever; old-school daddy’s boy. You’ll love him. Go ahead; he’ll get you sorted out.”
“‘Daddy’s boy’? You fucking kidding me?”
“Caren, I have my own agenda here. You can’t expect me to babysit you all night.”
Caren’s cheeks burned.
“Go.” Peri shooed her. “You and the Apprentice should get along fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She turned and swept off in the direction of the Master-General’s office, pausing once on her way to toss a glance over her shoulder at Caren, her hand forming a telephone sign next to her ear.
After a beat—
“Are you fucking the Master-General’s daughter?!” exclaimed Lenny.
Caren whirled on him, menacing. “Snitches. Get. Stitches,” she hissed, and grabbed him roughly by the arm.
“Oww!”
“Come on.”
Caren stormed across the room, Tito Lenny in tow, dodging the Enforcement officials and staff who continued to cross her path from every direction.
She came to a halt in front of the corner desk where the Apprentice sat scribbling at his paperwork. “Grenville, right?”
His head snapped up abruptly, like he hadn’t noticed her coming. Black curtains fell back to reveal a pristine china-doll face. Not a beard hair in sight, baby-pink lips and cheeks, eyes like a newborn deer’s framed by round wire-rim glasses.
“What are you, thirteen?” blurted Caren.
He didn’t look amused. “Eighteen.”
“Dude. Since when do they let teenagers into the Order of Martial Magi?”
“Since I hosed five of Prefect Weyland’s adamantine battle golems in a combat demonstration in front of the Council of Elders. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for smalltalk. Is there something specific I can help you with?” He scanned her over, then turned his gaze on Lenny, looked the man up and down once, and pointedly arched one feathered eyebrow.
“I’m Caren Navarrete, here to collect the bounty on Leonardo Navarrete.”
Grenville switched his gaze back to her. “Any relation?”
“He’s my uncle.”
“Not one for family loyalty, are you?”
“Nah. Can’t say I’ve ever been much of a ‘daddy’s boy.’”
Grenville shot her a puzzled look, then got up from his chair. He was shorter than Caren, probably no more than five-three.
“One moment,” he said.
Velvet vestments dragging, he crossed to the nearby oak file cabinets that spanned the width and height of the wall, hauling over a stepstool to access one of the higher drawers. He shuffled briefly, nimbly through the drawer’s contents, withdrew a massive file, and climbed down, restoring the stepstool neatly to its place before returning with the file gripped in both hands. Caren noticed some kind of tattoo on the back of his left hand, peeking out from under his robe-sleeve.
“Quite the rap sheet, Mr. Navarrete.” Grenville dropped the file on the desk, sank into his chair, and began rifling through. “Let’s see—six-fifty? Isn’t that low for a record this extensive?”
“Uncle Lenny’s not worth much. He only commits little bullshit apostasies no one cares about.”
“I’m really not a bad man, sir,” said Lenny to Grenville, his wide mouth drooping in a pout. “I just do what I gotta to make a living.”
“Lenny, you dumbass,” said Caren. “Grenville here doesn’t give two shits. He’s just some desk-jockey peon who has nothing to do with deciding your sentence. Jeez, you’d really think you’d fucking know how this works by now.”
Grenville’s eyes lifted briefly at the word peon, then lowered again to the file. “All right, well.” He waved over a pair of Ordinators. “Take this man to holding and summon the Namer,” he ordered them, then stood from his desk and addressed Caren. “Wait here. I’ll step over to Accounting and have them issue your reward.”
“No family loyalty is right!” Lenny erupted at Caren, as Grenville paced briskly away, and the Ordinators moved to take the senior Navarrete into custody. “I’m gonna beat your wise ass stupid next time I see you, you ungrateful little shit!”
“I’d love to see you try, Lenny,” Caren fired back as the guards led him away. “Rot behind bars, shitstain! I hope they fucking tranquilize you.”
She turned away, tuning out the retreating sounds of her uncle spitting curses at her. “‘Family loyalty,’” she exhaled. “What a fucking joke.”
“Everyone, may I have your attention, please.” The voice, magically amplified, reverberated throughout the hall, evoking instant silence. Caren, along with everybody else in the room, turned toward it.
Abram Sauvage, Master-General of Enforcement for Ordo Arcanus East—his grave bald countenance a jarring contrast with his bright Saturnalia garb—occupied a small platform at the far end of the room, on which stood a podium inlaid with the seals of Ordo Arcanus and the Order of Martial Magi. His second- and third-in-command, three Apprentice-rank aides, two Ordinators, and his daughter, Imperia, stood lined up behind him.
Peri’s keen gaze was fixed on Caren. When Caren met it, she looked away, with an expression on her face Caren didn’t understand.
“It is my solemn task to share with you two updates regarding tonight’s tragic events,” the Master-General began. “First: The Onomagnostikon has determined the identity of the twelfth magus slain by the tranquilized mundane hordes.”
“Thought there were just eleven,” mumbled Caren.
Every mage in the room seemed to be holding their breath. Caren felt Peri’s eyes on her. When she looked at Peri, Peri again looked away.
“He was factionless,” Abram Sauvage continued.
The collective relief was almost palpable. Caren gritted her teeth. You Old-World pigs don’t give a fuck about factionless or Nameless. Only people you see as people are your own kind.
“Twenty-six years old,” Sauvage went on. “Name of Luke Gabriel De Leon Langit.”
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