Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

ALAN

I lay on my bed, the single flat pillow folded in half and stuffed under my head. I'd managed a brief conversation with Oscar around sunset. He was also a sorcerer and unregistered, wearing a suppressor cuff. He'd had no familiar— a question I asked as obliquely as I could in case anyone was listening— and hadn't had much of a support system back in the world, although he thought his neighbor might still be wondering where he was. Clearly, if anyone had looked for him in the last two years, they hadn't found him.

Not comforting, that.

I'd spent the rest of the afternoon and evening being loud and annoying, on general principles and to hopefully become the guy they ignored when they heard something. I'd chanted and meditated three more times, and, although it was partly a ruse, the familiar words and motions helped keep panic at bay. I'd also sung every earwormy popular song I could think of, and with my singing voice, had no doubt made any surveillance person quite unhappy.

As a side benefit, when I was bellowing the eighth repeat of "Cowboys are Frequently, Secretly Fond of Each Other" in my best Willie Nelson imitation, a very faint voice had come through the door.

"Jesus, kid, give it a rest!" A man's voice, not too young.

I'd stopped singing and waited to see if he'd speak again, but heard only silence. Of course, if he was a prisoner, not a guard, we were apparently forbidden to talk to each other. Perhaps he'd learned not to disobey. I thought about calling out to him, but I didn't want to get him into trouble. At least I'd learned that these cells weren't as soundproof as I'd thought.

When I'd started singing again, I kept the volume down, to only annoy the people with listening devices.

Now, my throat was dry as a bone— and not the good kind , I made myself quip, because damned if this place was going to rob me of my sense of humor. They'd brought by an evening meal of stew, with a spoon, but nothing to drink. I guess we had water in the bathrooms. I'd stuck my face down by the tap to slurp some once. I should get up and have some more…

But I didn't move. Minutes ticked by, slow as hours. I don't think I really slept, but I jolted out of an unsatisfying doze when I heard approaching vehicles through the small window. Not close by. Not where they'd hear me if I shouted. Of course, any car driving around freely on this property was probably part of keeping me prisoner.

I pounded the pillow into a better shape and rolled over, straining my ears to see if I could make out anything else. What are they doing at this time of night, whatever time it is? I'd swear we must be approaching morning, but I was probably overestimating, my time sense warped by how much I hated lying around unable to do anything. Helpless.

Like with that Taser. I shoved that thought down deep as hard as I could. I still ached in every muscle from the shock effect, and my bruises throbbed painfully, but what scared me the most wasn't the overwhelming pain, despite its nightmare level. It was the helplessness. Lying there while Poe lifted my hand and patted my damned head, unable to control my own body. I had a feeling that was where nightmares lurked— Stop. I shoved the memory away again.

Listen. Concentrate. What are they doing out there?

I couldn't make out enough to guess, but being awake and focused let me hear a familiar, soft pop under my bed.

Sunny! Relief rushed through me, but I bit back all the words I wanted to say and swung my feet to the floor. Stretching high, then doing the jazz hands thing for added flair, I launched into, " Kasulā dhammā, akusalā dhammā… " for the fourth time today.

Sunny was silent for so long I wondered if I'd misheard, but I guess he was playing it safe, waiting for an observer to lose interest in my nighttime prayers before he murmured, "Brought you a present, kid. A tube full of slippery."

Slippery?

Then the meaning surfaced and I could've kissed him. Dale's lotion, the one they made so magically slick it let Sylvester slide out of his bracelet. The thought that I could get the damned cuff off my wrist forced me to press my palms together hard so I wouldn't scrabble at that imprisoning wristband. I'd tried not to admit how much I hated having my magic locked inside me, prowling and circling in on itself with no way out… I made myself keep up the rhythmic chant, bow, straighten, not react.

"Not much, so use sparingly. It's heavy."

I supposed for a bird the size of Sunny, even a small amount would be a weight.

"We're waiting for reinforcements. Some sorcerer Silas knows. Play it cool." Sunny went on to describe the depressing level of security around the building.

I coughed, cleared my scratchy throat, coughed again with the word, "Trees?" blended in it. My magic was for growing things, and I might do a lot with a couple of trees.

"Ah. Just a few, mostly scrubby but scattered taller pines. One group of four out behind here, slightly to the left looking out your window, inside the fence."

Out of my line of sight, but I don't need to see them to be useful. I wanted to ask a dozen questions, to ask about Jason most of all, but didn't dare break the chant lulling any watcher into boredom.

Maybe Sunny guessed, because he said, "Jason's nearby, ripping himself up for not being able to get you out. He's fine, though. Clumsy as hell, running in the moonlight, but he means well. Now focus on your right foot. Tap once for yes, twice for no. Do you know why they brought you here?"

I tapped my sock-clad toes silently on the concrete, twice.

"Have they hurt you?"

A rush of remembered pain almost made me double over, but if I said yes, I knew Jason and Sunny would take stupid chances to get me out. And really, they hadn't done any damage. I tapped twice.

"Have you made contact with anyone else?"

One tap yes .

"Any useful info we should figure out how to pass along?"

Two taps no . Nothing Oscar had said was so helpful it was worth a risk.

"What was their name? Alphabet taps."

I used both feet, so it would look like fidgeting. ABCDEFGHIJKLMNO. Working my way through the letters.

"Oscar?"

One tap yes .

"Last name?"

I spelled out Ibsen, glad his name wasn't longer. "… Ime dhammā kasulā… "

"We'll try to find out more about him, see if it helps figure things out. Hold still now." I felt Sunny tug at my sock with his beak, then the brush of his feathered head against my calf.

I wanted, wanted, wanted to see him — I held still, pretending he wasn't there.

Something cool and hard slid inside my sock against my heel. "Don't lose it," Sunny muttered. "I only do cosmetics delivery one day a week. Lucky for you, it's a Saturday."

I choked on a damp laugh and rubbed my face to cover it.

For just a second, I felt Sunny's beak caress my leg. "Don't do anything stupid. I'll be back tomorrow night."

Don't go! I tapped my toes once for yes and strained my ears for the little pop of air displacement, but my own chanting covered any noise. I waited till I was sure Sunny was long gone before I wound down to silence. Carefully, moving an inch at a time, I swung my legs up into the bed and lay down, pulling the thin blanket over me, and rolled to face the wall. Fetal position with my knees against my chest let me slip a hand down to my sock.

My fingertips found a slim plastic tube like a lipstick. I eased the tube out and raised it close to the edge of the blanket where a little light leaked under so I could see what I held— a ChapStick holder in Erin's favorite flavor. A strip of masking tape held the cap on and I touched the tab to peel it loose, then hesitated.

Is now the right time to do this? What if they can tell when I get out of the cuff? What if Sunny shows up tomorrow with a plan and I've blown our shot?

On the other hand, if I didn't try it out and the lotion failed in the moment of crisis, we might be even worse off.

Or at least, that was the excuse I gave myself as I peeled the tape free. How much of the decision was me desperate to touch my own magic, I'd never know.

I held the tube upright as I slid the lid off, then tipped a small amount into my left palm, awkwardly replaced the cap, and smoothed the tape back in place. I'd taken less than half. If this worked, I could do it again. The dollop of ointment sat on my hand smelling wonderful, of mint and eucalyptus and freedom. I made a mental note I might have to do something about that scent to keep this secret.

Will it work? I clenched my teeth, afraid to try, afraid to not…

Don't be a chickenshit, as Sunny would say.

Using two fingers, I swiped up a dab of ointment from my palm and smeared it thinly around my arm just below the cuff, pushing the metal band as high as it would go to slip ointment under it. Then another glob, smoothed over the base of my thumb and my wrist bones at their widest point. A last scoop and I turned my arm over, covering my forearm below and just above the cuff. The lotion flowed across my skin like liquid silk, thinning and vanishing under my touch. Is it supposed to do that?

I made sure I'd used every drop, set my fingers on the cuff with my arms well under the blanket, and took a breath. Here goes nothing.

I started with a twisting motion, the skin-warmed metal rotating around my wrist. Is that smoother? Easier? I pushed the cuff lower over the skin I'd anointed. Maybe? The edge of the cuff caught the base of my thumb, and there was no way this could work, not a chance, pure size and physics… I closed my eyes so I couldn't see that impossibility and twisted the cuff round and round, pushing down as it turned.

Nothing happened. My wrist heated under the metal, the base of my thumb stung from the rubbing— the side of my thumb hurts! Well below any point that cuff could've logically reached, I felt the tugging rub of the metal abrading my thumb. Eyes squeezed shut, I pushed harder, rotated faster, round and round… imagined the silver circle sliding over my hand and popping past my fingers?—

Holy shit! The cuff slipped off over my fingertips, opening wide now it was removed, and I barely caught it, careful not to put my fingers inside. My power roared through me, an angry pent-up wave of green that wanted to barrel onward and smash my cell to pieces. I clutched at my magic, holding every fragment back inside me. Wanting to smash wasn't the same as being able to smash. My power had an affinity for living things, for grasses and trees, not stone and cement. I couldn't break out and the last thing I wanted was for my magic to be seen.

Hold back. Wait. Stealthy. I wrestled down the flow that bucked and strained like a living thing, wanting to get loose, and pushed the power into my core. I hadn't fought for control this hard since before the fire. Overstraining my magic

during that desperate moment, and having it return slowly, had been the best thing that could've happened. I knew tricks now, techniques to narrow down and control the flow.

Before the fire, I'd been clumsy and inept all my magical life. Trying to work with my power had been like trying to do calligraphy with a firehose. Too much, too fast, and no amount of training and examples did anything to make neatness and precision possible. I'd smashed things, destroyed things. Morrison, my first mentor, had forced me to practice over and over with increasingly harsh measures. Sylvester had tried to teach me with patience and kindness. That hadn't worked either, but at least it had healed some broken bits inside me. I'd assumed I was just bad at magic.

Then, when I'd thought my power was gone and instead found it seeping back slowly, returning to my training was a revelation. Suddenly I had a fine-tipped brush, and all those exercises I'd practiced and practiced and failed at came easily. By the time the flow built up and the brush became a hose again, I'd learned to divert and control and restrain.

And damn , I was glad of that now as I wrestled my magic under control.

And waited, my heart in my mouth.

Could they tell? Was there an alarm on the cuff? Did they see anything? My arms shook. My fingers gripping the cuff from the outside trembled against the mattress. I could slip it on at any moment and pretend…

Outside the building, I heard the faint sound of vehicles departing. Inside, there was near-silence. A few distant thumps, barely audible above the rustle of my body against the sheets. No alarm, no one shouted, no feet stomped my way, although I hadn't heard them last time.

Slowly, I began to believe they hadn't noticed my cuff coming off. Would they leave a sorcerer unrestrained minute after minute? Surely not.

I kicked the blanket sideways till a corner drooped to the floor. Then I sketched a small rune under the cover by my knee, out of sight, and let the rune slither down to my feet, seep over the side of the bed under the blanket, and vanish into the dark space below. No one shouted, no one opened the door. I nudged the rune toward the outer wall and could taste the first hints of a magical barrier as it neared.

Abort, abort! I pulled my magic back immediately, hoping I hadn't rung any alarm bells. I hadn't actually touched the barrier, only sensed it…

I spent more long minutes deep breathing while waiting for the goons to come crashing in. Nothing moved, the door stayed firmly shut, silence reigned. All right, then. I sent my power onto the floor. Whatever barrier was on the walls, maybe the ceiling, they hadn't spent the power to cover the whole inaccessible-from-outside bottom of the building as well. My magic touched ordinary unspelled concrete, dense but not impenetrable.

Closing my eyes, I visualized that floor. Little bits of stone trapped in a matrix. Micro-fissures, the boundaries between grains of sand and fragments of rock, were portals, spaces my magic could slide through to reach the sandy soil below. There was plant material down there, roots and fibers. I sent my magic out venturing. Go deep into the soil, then turn horizontal. Head out under the window and to the left.

Once past the shadow of the foundation, the plants multiplied, although still sparse and arid compared to the lusher growth on the other side of the mountains. Trees? Where?

Magic flowed from me, feeding the seeking rune as it traveled. There! Life, strong and noble and powerful, called to me. I let the rune seek its goal. There were several trees there, roots dug deep and wide to gather nutrients in this scant soil. I sketched another rune and sent it to follow the first. My spell danced tree to tree, calling, coaxing.

A big root quivered.

No! Too much.

I throttled down the call, wrapped my power in close, and tried again.

This time, a small root at the end of a cluster slid against my runes and grew a few inches. Yes, slowly. I fed power into the root, up into its tree, and pulled back, inch by inch. The little rootlet followed along, growing and extending as I pushed magic out and pulled it back. In my core, my power churned restlessly, wanting to grab that life , those trees, and haul them close.

Not yet. Not yet. I coaxed the small root across the compound a few feet below the surface and then under the building. Here, what you want is here. I fed magic into that little tendril of tree, calling it to me and the well of green inside me.

The rootlet stopped at the bottom of the slab, stymied by the concrete, but my magic revealed the cracks and fissures it'd traveled down. Nothing's better or more inexorable at splitting the irregularities in rock than an eager tree root. Mine followed the pull of my power, slipping a hair-thin tip into a fractional gap, then growing wider, cracking stone from crystal, rock from matrix, just enough to advance another half inch. Then another. Like decades of time compressed, powered by my magic, the little root tunneled its way up until suddenly resistance gave way and all it knew was air. There it stopped, since roots want to be buried, its tip tasting the open space.

If I looked down at the floor, would I see anything? I hoped not. The root tip I'd guided was smaller than a wire, the concrete it'd displaced just a few grains of dust. It should be invisible but real, a breach in my cell, a crack in the prison. Knowing I'd done that made me want to grin and shout and dance. Take that, Poe, you bastard. You think you're so smug, Underhill.

I still had power reserves. I could make the root bigger, could crack the concrete, maybe bring down part of the wall. But how fast, and then what? How would I get past the fence and the open space beyond, the guards and their guns? I couldn't expect to outrun pursuit on foot in open flopping sneakers. Cracking the wall wouldn't be silent, and they'd be on me before I could get far.

My power, ignoring my logical thoughts, nudged the root and it thickened.

No. I fed a bit of calming magic into the root and its tree, a flow of gratitude, praise, support for growing so well. The tree didn't talk to me or anything, but I felt a loop of rightness, satisfaction, as it waited for more. Later. I'll call you when I need you.

Then I dropped the connection and went questing out. Another tree, another root. The spell structure was easy this time, the tiny root sped my way faster. This one I stopped before it poked through the floor. Another. Another. If I wanted destruction, I'd need a whole bunch of weak points.

By the time I had a network of roots from all four trees leading up into my floor, my power no longer wanted to explode things. Precision work like this wore me out more than an uncontrolled blast of magic. My core wasn't close to empty, but it was telling me that a nap and a bit of midnight snack would be great. Or two a.m. snack, or whatever it was.

Sadly, I had no hope of food, but I did have a bed. Maybe finally I'd sleep. I let go of the seeking runes and felt the power that'd built them seep into the soil and the trees.

Sleep. Except… I still had one hand pressed over the open bracelet, pinning the metal circle to the bed.

I can pretend. I could slip the cuff onto my arm but not activate it. Except even a cursory glance would show the cuff wasn't closed, since its unlocked size would accommodate a far bigger hand than mine. The metal circle would dangle loosely against my wrist, and my T-shirt had no sleeves to hide the lack of a snug fit. And then the shit would hit the fan.

I should put it back on properly. That truth was inescapable, but I didn't want to. Fuck, I absolutely, totally, did not want to go back to having my power caged and smothered by that spell. Necessary. Temporary. I could think those words, but they didn't lift my hand off the pinned power suppressor.

Maybe they won't notice. Maybe no one will check. I could wait till the door is opening, do it then if I have to. That was a lovely lie. Putting on the cuff was quick. They were designed to corral someone's magic, so it took just a slide on the arm and a touch to the locking rune, compared to the usual coded unlocking sequence. But unless I wanted to spend all my time hiding under the blanket, whoever was behind the cameras would be watching. If I was woken from sleep, would I find the right rune to lock the cuff in place in time?

There's half the slippery lotion left. Jason and the others are making plans. You know what you need to do.

Sylvester's a better man than you are.

That thought made me ashamed. Because Sylvester accepted the necessity of his cuff, had even put it on himself more than once. He hated having his power smothered, and when he was confused, he tried to get out of the restraint. But when he was still Sylvester Oakbree, the master of protective runes who'd taught me all I knew, he understood that the safety of us all depended on keeping his magic locked down. He would hold out his bony arm, slide that suppressor cuff over his hand, grin that wry smile I'd hold in my heart till the day I died, and press the lock button.

Slowly, my fingers reluctant to obey, I lifted the cuff off the bed and brought my hands together under the blankets. The open circle slid easily over my left hand. The cool metal brushed my wrist. I pushed the cuff higher up my arm, trying to get the lock to close into a bigger circle. My skin wanted to crawl away from under its touch.

There was just enough light below the edge of the blanket to see the dense runework on the outside of the cuff. Just enough to make out the locking rune, with its oval mark for a fingertip. I stabilized the cuff around my forearm, clenched my teeth… and touched the lock.

A curtain of smothering fog came down between me and the roots, the trees, all the life out there. My magic surged against the barrier and fell back, thrashing. The cuff shrank and slid down my arm to clasp my wrist in a snug, unyielding, suffocating embrace. My magic raged and charged, buffeted back, strong despite the use I'd already put it to.

I pulled the blanket around me more closely and curled up, slipping the ChapStick tube down into my briefs alongside my dick. I wasn't sure if that was the best hiding spot, but I couldn't bear to leave it out of reach in the cell when I got up. The slick plastic tube might fall out of my sock, and given the tight fit of my jogging pants, it might show in a pocket. I pressed the loose end of the masking tape against the fabric to hopefully give insurance against falling out. A good thing I liked my running underwear snug, too.

The hateful weight of the suppressor magic made it hard to breathe. Surely, the feeling should've been easier to tolerate now than the first time, especially since I'd chosen to endure it again, but somehow this time was worse. The suppression sat on me like a gorilla on my chest. I pulled my knees up in a fetal position, protecting my groin and that precious tube, and tried will my heart to a slower rhythm. With all the power I'd spent finding and coaxing roots, I'd thought I might sleep at last, but I lay there minute after minute, my eyes wide open, dry, and blind to magic.

Eventually, I began singing about gay cowboys again, just loud enough to annoy the right person. I might do "YMCA" when I got tired of this one. Closing my eyes, imagining Jason and Sunny somewhere out there beyond the fence, I hit one flat note after another, and waited for morning.