He laughed, putting his hands on her arms and squeezing. “I think that’s a marvelous idea.”

“Good.”

She took a step back to give herself room, then dropped her body and swung out a leg. The next thing her supposed employer knew, he was on his back in the middle of the rug. She pulled on the spells around her, tying them around his vocal cords.

“For tonight, dear sir,” she said sarcastically, “you are mute.”

He opened his mouth, half outraged and half stunned by the turn of events. That was fine. No sound would escape until morning. Pulling the mana from more spells, she used it to flip him over and tie his hands securely behind his back. Then, bankrupting many other spells along the corridor outside as far as she could reach, she hefted him up and half floated him to the bed.

During this whole thing, she was careful not to touch the mana in the light spells or in the camera.

As soon as she had her outraged and wriggling prisoner on the bed, she turned up the light once more.

She patted his head mockingly and smiled directly at the camera as she spoke. “Don’t worry, dear sir, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to give you and your boss a message.”

It was nearly three in the morning before she left, a little tipsy because she’d ended up drinking the rest of her wine glass, but pleased with herself. This time tomorrow, half the city will know of the attack. She just had to make a short stop before going home.

And the best part was that her real target will know he’s being hunted.

***

Eblin: 15-Years-Old

It was Roryce.

What were they doing?! They couldn’t just tie up the potential heir of a House like that. Eblin glanced at the other boys, mouth open, before turning his attention back to the trussed-up boy.

Even though Roryce was glaring at them defiantly, Eblin could see the fear.

With his awkwardness, he’d been unable to fight off the more skilled and muscular boys. And with his small bowl, he would’ve run out of mana quickly without a written spell to ground it.

It was the helplessness of the position that made Eblin’s blood run cold.

“What… is this?” Eblin didn’t know what his voice sounded like. Everything had gone numb, so he wasn’t even sure what it should sound like.

“Here.” Alvis cheerfully passed Eblin a whippy willow branch. “If you want, you can have the first hit.”

“Hit?” he asked dumbly.

Alvis laughed at Eblin’s momentary stupidity. “You know, like this.”

He snatched up a second branch and deftly whipped out, smacking Roryce across the shoulder and grazing his cheek. It was a hard enough blow that the tip of his branch cut into Roryce’s cheek, causing a gouge of blood to instantly begin pooling.

Roryce gasped, unable to make much noise around the gag.

“Oops. We can’t go cutting my dear brother,” said Alvis lazily. “Take care of it.”

One of the other boys grinned and leaned over, brushing his fingers over the cut. It visibly bubbled into a scar.

“Healing shouldn’t be done without advanced training,” Eblin heard himself say, sounding like he was quoting from a textbook. “You can do other long-term damage that way.”

The other boys laughed.

“All the better,” Alvis sneered. “In fact, that’s a good idea. Tear off his shirt and we’ll give him a proper beating. But stay away from anywhere that’s visible.”

“He’ll retaliate.” Eblin’s voice rose as his insides began to thaw and something desperate tried to climb out.

“Don’t tell me the great Eblin Trovinski is afraid.”

All three boys turned on Eblin. Maybe it was just the way he was perceiving it, but their grins were similar to crazed, second-phase pitt slaves—almost demonic in their glee. Alvis used his willow branch to tap Eblin on the ankle.

“Go on, prove you’re not afraid. Or are you a whimp like this tripe here?”

Eblin glanced at Roryce, his gaze drawn to the helpless boy by Alvis’s waving weapon.

Roryce had lost some of his defiance with the smack and healing of his cheek. Now there was only fear and hopelessness. He saw no way out, and he expected Eblin to do exactly as Alvis wanted, as Eblin had always done.

Something about that snapped Eblin’s mind back to the present, and he took a step back, dropping the willow branch.

“No.”

“Pity. I guess all privileged brats are the same.”

Alvis waved his hand in a gesture that Eblin thought was dismissal. Instead, a second later, something smacked him so hard in the back of the head that he tumbled to his hands and knees. Before he could recover, or even understand what had happened, something else hit him.

Again and again. He tried to fight it off with his fists, but the branches kept his attackers out of reach. When he tried magic, he didn’t have time to form an intention strong enough to get them off. Not until he curled up and focused only on pushing.

It worked.

​

Like an immense pressure was suddenly slammed into them, the three boys were not only pushed to the edges of the room, but so was everything else. Eblin heard the window explode, loud enough to set the nearest guard dogs into barking frenzies.

​

Dazedly, he tried to sit up. Everything hurt from his head to the injuries he’d come with to the crack in his bottom lip that dripped onto his shirt.

It was difficult to see because the candle had fallen off its table and rolled to the side, miraculously still lit but creating odd shadows.

“Tears! The guards will be here in a minute. Shove them in the closet and let’s get out of here!”

Eblin didn’t have time to think before he was thrown into the big wardrobe. A second later, Roryce landed on top of him and the door closed with a click. He also sensed the mana that went into creating a lock almost simultaneously with the sound of something being pushed in front of the wardrobe.

He grunted and squirmed. “Get off me!”

Roryce made sounds that could’ve been words, but Eblin couldn’t understand. With grunts and lots of wiggling, the two of them finally found their seats.

Breathing hard, they sat in silence for a long second. Outside, Eblin could hear the muffled yells of people trying to find where the disturbance of earlier had come from. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Ok, first, let’s get out of here.”

Roryce made an annoyed grunt.

“Fine, fine. First, let’s get you untied.”

He’d been struggling with the ropes for half a second when he smelled something odd. Frowning, he gave in and tapped into his mana bowl to untie the other boy, feeling the rope fall away through his fingers. He felt but didn’t see when Roryce started yanking and working the gag free.

“Do you smell that?”

Roryce grunted and made a retching sound. “Smell what?”

Eblin raised his nose and took a deep breath. If there’d been light, Roryce would have seen him pale. “Smoke.”

As though to confirm what he’d said, he heard muffled shouting outside. “Fire! The annex is on fire!”

Roryce cursed and changed positions to begin pushing on the door.

Why a fire?! Why go that far?!

Panicked, Eblin stood and began pounding on the wardrobe door, yelling for help as he tried to push it open alongside the scrawny Roryce. It creaked but held firm, their combined weight and strength nowhere near enough to break it open.

Meanwhile, the flames crackled beyond the door.

“Use magic!” Roryce shouted at him, just as frantic.

“I’m trying!”

Eblin’s big bowl of mana was useless if he couldn’t concentrate his spells into being. He did manage to release whatever spell Alvis had used to lock them in, but by then, he could hear the increased roar of the flames, and smoke was pouring into every crack. The heat was intensifying. Was the wardrobe itself on fire now?

All those years of meditation and practicing mental imagery were not enough against the panic of this moment. All he managed to do was waste his mana as the spells dissipated in his fear.

Just as he was about to give up, now sitting with his back to the door and using his legs to push with everything he had, the door suddenly popped open.

Two rough hands grabbed the boys by the collars, dragging them to their feet and through the room, flames on both sides and smoke choking their lungs. Eblin felt like his skin was being broiled alive.

By the time they exited the building, mages from the Academy were there, putting out the fire.

Their rescuer practically tossed them onto the ground, then collapsed next to them, breathing in gasps and shudders.

The boys had miraculously escaped with only the lightest of burns and smoke inhalation. Their rescuer, however, was burned badly enough that his skin looked warped rather than wounded, his hair burned away, his breathing already shallow.

How he'd kept moving for so long, Eblin had no idea.

They couldn’t even recognize him, though Eblin vaguely guessed he was a groundskeeper from the general shape of his clothes.

“H-help! He needs help!” Royce frantically rolled to his knees, adrenaline keeping him from feeling his own injuries, though he coughed through his pleas.

A mage, someone from the infirmary department, streaked over to them. Eblin wasn’t the only one who guessed their rescuer’s status because she stopped a few feet away and calmly replied, “I’ll tend to you first.”

“No! We’re not dying. Help him!”

Royrice began coughing again as he struggled to his feet, his scrawny height making him half a head taller than the woman.

“He’s just a peasant. My priority is you—”

Eblin watched, dazed, as Roryce grabbed her by the collar. It was not something you did to a lady, but the other boy wasn’t being rational.

“I’ll pay you, damn it! Just take care of him. Now!” 

***

Present: 24 Years Old

Eblin had spent most of the morning interrogating everyone. The guard at the gate, the servants, and the victim. The Lord Calvin sputtered furiously, even though he was still a bit drugged from the spiked wine his attacker had forced him to drink at the end of the event.

“I’m going to kill that wretch!” he exclaimed more than once instead of answering questions. “Find her for me, boy. I’ll wring her neck my-myself!”

Privately, he thought the whole situation was funny. He’d known this man personally since he was a child and hadn’t liked him. Ever. Not for a moment.

“Why don’t you go lie down, Lord Calvin?” he said, with a nudge that looked gentle but pushed the man off balance for half a step. “We’ll keep looking around here.”

“You’ll… catch that wretch… right?”

“Of course, of course. Now, I know there’s a bed with your name on it.”

Literally. He was almost sure the bed actually had his name on it. He watched the overweight nobleman stagger a few steps away, immediately joined by his valet, who helped him back up the steps to the second floor.

“How’s it looking?” Michelle, the familiar overworked investigator assigned to this case from the City Guard, looked over his shoulder at his notes. Her frown deepened as she scowled at him. “What is that?”

“What?” he asked innocently.

Irritated, she poked a finger at the top page of his notebook. “You know what I’m talking about. That.”

He shrugged, glanced down at a cartoonish cat that wouldn’t even make it into a newspaper, and still grinned as he looked back up. “My dream date?”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I can’t believe they want you in the Bureau.”

“I can’t believe it either,” he said with mock seriousness. “Can you convince them that I’m unfit for the job?”

“Working on it. Did you at least get a statement?”

Becoming serious, he flipped the top page and turned it over for her to see. “Honestly, he couldn’t focus. I’ll have to come back when the drug is out of his system.”

She sighed. “That leaves only reviewing the recordings. When is your master going to get here?”

They’d been trying to wait for Jacques, but since he hadn’t been at home when the message was delivered, he still hadn’t made it. Eblin shrugged.

“Fine. Come on.”