The Rise of Ren Crown (18 page)

“They grabbed Iosef's scarf,” someone said grimly. “And mine.”

A flurry of “mine too's” echoed around the table.

“They got everyone's then,” Trick said, looking at Dagfinn, who was nervously chewing the skin of his thumb. Dagfinn, whose entire existence was dedicated to staying one step ahead of the authorities, looked as if he was one step from buying a one-way ticket to the psych ward.

“We took Epsilon offline immediately after Iosef's scarf was taken,” Lifen said, her usually mischievous and mysterious smile completely absent from her delicate features today. She looked weary and drawn, like everyone else. “We quickly unhooked the others as well—all but Alpha, which has a failsafe. But even with the others dead, the threads are there. They can reverse engineer them. We need to torch the entire network. We just need Crown's magic to give permission.”

I gripped my fingers together, as if my scarf was still within my grip. “I can't.”

Lifen's worn gaze met mine. Her straight dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her almond skin was lacking its usual luster. “You don't have to do anything magically, just authorize—the magic is permission based, tied to you and Price. Delia and I can unweave the threads. We can kill the lead scarf, or at the
very
least make it a complete mess.”

“No.” I shook my head. “That's not it. The lead scarf—it contains the link to Olivia. I won't let it be unmade.”

They all stared at me.

“I put the remnants of the magical...essence”—I circled my hand in the air for lack of a better descriptor—“around her disappearance into the scarf's threads.”

Lifen and Delia exchanged looks, kohl darkening both of their eyelids as their magic reacted synchronously.

My shoulders sagged. That was the type of exchange that usually didn't end in my favor. “What did I do? You aren't supposed to be able to do that?”

“No,” Lifen said quickly. “We put location magic into threads all the time. It isn't a terribly difficult piece of sorcery, and it is a quite common request—finding one's objects, keeping track of possessions, they are all frequently desired enchantments. But...it's the other part of it,” she said, somewhat delicately.

“What part?”

Lifen pressed her lips together, and Delia turned to me.

“Ren,” Delia said slowly. “What layer is Price in?”

“The Third,” I answered immediately.

“How do you know that?”

Helen had asked me that too. But with her, I hadn't wanted to answer, and therefore, had avoided thinking more deeply about it while under the truth spell.

I thought about how I knew. I'd become very used to the comfort of knowing where my parents were in the First Layer. The same feeling of separation was there with my connection to Olivia, but in an opposing direction. As if I had to pinch together space to breach it.

And I'd had a somewhat odd seven second adventure in the Fourth Layer over the holidays, due to a...mishap...I'd made in the Second Layer Depot while traveling to and from the Library of Alexandria with Olivia. The fleeting impression that had remained when I returned to the Second Layer had felt
farther
than the First. The impression from the scarf earlier had felt
as
far as the First, just different.

And, intuition told me she was in the Third, no question about it. I didn't need fully functioning magic to know it.

“I...just do?”

No one seemed surprised by this, but Lifen and Delia exchanged another quick look, and the others seemed to cotton on as well to their silent communication, tensing.

“Spells and enchantments that go
through
layers...are
not
common, Ren,” Delia said.
Origin Mage
uncommon went unsaid. “Port mages get tagged early by just such feelings.”

I knew a little about Port Mages from Will. Regular mages who were skilled in travel, like Will, could make arches, ports, and pinches, and other forms of Travel Magic like portal pads. And even those unskilled could do some of that as well, especially once the magic was created—like when Mike had been tasked with switching the runs in the skiing arches.

The real skill of the Port Mage came in their ability to create ports
between
layers.

There weren't very many of them—five or six, I think I recalled someone saying—and they were feared just a little bit less than Origin Mages. They couldn't destroy or remake the whole Layer System, like an Origin Mage could, but due to their abilities to rift the layers they could do damage.

That's how the Department justified keeping them under their control. An extremely powerful thing—controlling those who could open and close magical doors to magical worlds.

“I'm not a Port Mage.”

Delia shook her head slowly. “No, but you could be.”

Door number two...being the lesser monster. It still got me a one way ticket to the Department's basement.

Trick clapped his hands together. “Everyone, stop looking so grim,” he said, but there was a manic, worrying light in his eyes. “We've all taken our oaths, which will give protection to
all
of us. And Crown invoked the silencing spells on the scarves, which will at least give us a modicum of superficial protection there. So, back to what to do about the scarves and our communication angle. Unmake all but the lead scarf?” He looked around, sharp eyes reading each person's expression.

“It's risky not to do them all,” Loudon said, shaking his blond head.

“It's our link to Price. We aren't destroying it,” Patrick said, venom leaking into his voice.

Loudon put his palms on the table spread apart from each other, a gesture of compliance. “I'm here, aren't I?” he said very deliberately. “But it's risky. For all of us. And every moment increases that risk.”

“Were there any scarves that weren't taken?” Will piped in. “Perhaps we could draw the captured magic through another one. What about Bryant's?”

“They have his too,” I said. “It wasn't in Constantine's room in Medical. I checked while I was there.”

Looks were exchanged that I couldn't interpret.

“Where
is
Olivia's scarf?” Saf asked me.

“Dean Marsgrove took it. It was either that or letting Helen Price take it.” More than one expression grew darker at that statement. “I've been told the scarf is still on campus, but that it will be requisitioned by the Department within twenty-four hours.”

“The dean must have burned a bridge for that one.” Loudon tapped a finger against the table. “You think he will let you have it back now that Priggy Price is gone?”

“Not a chance,” I said grimly.

“If it gets taken by the Department, you have to burn it, Crown,” Loudon said, examining me. “It won't do anyone any good, least of all you.”

They'd all either seen the leash aspect in effect on me—or been told later about it. Leashing my magic to the scarf's network was what had kept the network active when the Administration Magic had gone down.

“I'll get it back,” I said. I
would.
“Or transfer the locating spell to something else.”

“Okay.” Patrick clapped his hands again, but his skin looked even paler. “Unravel all scarves except for the lead.” Patrick motioned to Lifen, who held her hand out to me.

I gave the mental permission, making sure to keep at the very
forefront
of my thoughts, that I needed the lead scarf whole.

Lifen's free hand went to her mouth as her other hand gripped mine. “Your magic.” But then she got it together and delicately weaved a pattern in the air. She sent it splintering in all directions. Tendrils whooshed outward, then down through the vents, under the door, through the cracks in the window, and joining with the ward lines filtering everywhere in the air, seeking out all pathways.

Lifen quickly let go of my hand, as if she couldn't bear touching my broken magic any further.

“We are all subject to dorm meetings, club meetings, emergency meetings, and general Administration Magic shivit for the next few days,” Patrick said. “And you know that the Department is going to grab some of us as soon as they can. We could be interrupted at any minute here, so we can't tarry on the subject. We need an alternative communication immediately.”

“Not frequencies. Not even the dark channels. It's open season right now,” Dagfinn said, dragging a hand over his freckled skin.

“Mate, you need to reeeelax. No one's going to hack your pits,” Loudon said. “And if they do, they're going to take you and strap you to a command center somewhere and feed you continuous olives. The rest of us are the ones who are getting deep troughed.”

Loudon was a thin, blond-haired mage with wild curls and an angelic appearance who specialized in Demolition Magic—dismantling magic, and
sometimes
getting it to a recycling device. He loved his explosives a little too much. And like Patrick, he was fey and unpredictable.

Not characteristics that were desired in good government assets. They were more likely to be treated in whatever way rabid dogs were treated in this world.

“Command center,” Dagfinn muttered somewhat hysterically. “I'll take them
all down
.”

“Wearables?” Lifen said, getting the conversation back on track while simultaneously pulling Dagfinn's hand away from his ear.

We were all just trying to back away from true panic.

Loudon angled his thumb down. “When you say wearables, I hear shiny and pink and hangs from my ears. Tattoos?”

“When you say tattoos, I hear, skulls, glow snakes, and vibrating pixels,” she shot back.

“You could make them pink,” Loudon said with an angelic smile.

Lifen made a scathing hand gesture.

Dagfinn nervously drummed his fingers against the table. “Something easy to remove, without magic.”

“Another garment?” Saf asked, leaning back in his chair.

“We stood out with the scarves,” Lifen said in her deceptively soft voice. “It was great for earlier today, during that initial confusion of the attack. It gave a central, trusted group for people to rally around. Identification made things
much
easier when there was no set plan in place for campus. But now, now that we want to blend in, now that the population is enacting its
own
contingencies for the next few days and weeks, we don't
want
to stand out.”

I looked down at the leather band Will had made for me. To replace Christian's band. Christian and all of his friends had gotten their bands during the previous summer, and the rest of our year had followed suit upon school restarting.

I slowly twisted the band around my wrist thinking about what it represented.

“The memorial ceremony,” I offered. I wasn't sure exactly what would happen during the ceremony, but mages were
people.
And people sought community. “What about a memorial tag? A token offered to everyone on campus on Top Track. Something without too many spells—something nice. But in
our
pieces, we hook spells into place. Hiding in plain sight.”

Lifen nodded decisively. “Yes. That.” She started flipping the air with her fingers, looking at something I couldn't see.

She pushed her palm against the clear magic and colorful designs twirled into view in the center of the table, rotating slowly. “We can start that trend in the Craft Circuits. My roommate's friends are littered throughout the Goodwill Clubs. With the memorials and vigils, people will wear them for weeks. Delia, can you give your next hour to this?”

The two of them had grown closer in the last week, with all the Plan Fifty-two theatrics and crafting the scarves. Many of the members had—a bit of fun mischief inherent in Plan Fifty-two bringing them together. I looked around the room, at the links between the mages at the table now. Today had turned burgeoning affiliations into something far stronger.

Delia nodded, eyes narrowed on the designs. “Let the Goodwillies pick the design, or make them think they are picking it. The knit bracelet, choker, or armband would really be ideal. Maybe with a memorial plaque that the band runs through—we can use enclosure spells on the metal. Get the prototype activated, then we can do our own thing with it later.”

Lifen flipped her fingers to add a plaque to the designs, then nodded. “Frequency sent.” She let her fingers drop and tilted her head to the side. “Fannie just spread it through a thousand students—twelve hundred now—fifteen hundred. Should hit max load in five minutes.”

Gaping, I quickly shut my mouth before I uttered something like, “hive mind!”

In the First Layer, communication was nearly instantaneous now. It shouldn't be a surprise that with the ability to send
thoughts,
that it would be even quicker here.

No wonder everyone was already staring at me around campus—tracked magic or not. Frequencies really were that fast.

“With the Legion heading up security and the current sweep ongoing, we are going to have to do some massive trail wiping around campus, and fast.” Saf looked around the table. “Everyone is at risk.”

The regular members of the delinquents' club all looked steely in their assent.

“They are going to be looking over all the magic trails on campus. All of the little traps we set? And anything that looks 'evil' or ‘unusual’ will get reviewed,” Patrick said. “They'll especially target anyone who has gotten Justice Magic hits. The more hits procured, the more the mage will be scrutinized.”

I didn't know how Constantine would survive that procedure.

“The Department being here is
very bad
. And if they can show that the administration has been too lax, which, it
has
, then they will have grounds to take control. And with them taking control...” Saf shook his head.

“They've always wanted an in to campus,” Will said to me. “Stavros wants to track rare mages. Too many mages that attend here slip by. If you make it to Excelsine, you've gone to schools that already test, and you've made it through those tests. Rare mages that have gotten to this level aren't rabbits awaiting slaughter like you might find in secondary school with mages who've just Awakened. If he can show that we have more than a few...”

Great. No way was I letting that happen.