I’ve got Conrad and Jacob to heal those wounds, I remind myself, sipping the tea and letting the silence linger, ready to return to The Winter Quarter and an eccentric wizard who had a lucky escape this morning.
I say my goodbyes with a gentle kiss on my mum’s forehead, promising to return for Jacob’s twenty-first birthday in a few weeks. We also say goodbye to Laieya and Erivan for a while, remembering that creatures and humans exits on an equal footing. Our feathered friends have their own places to roam, temporarily free of the duty we have chosen to burden ourselves with.
With Laieya and Erivan squawking a temporary farewell, we make our way to the small study by the narrow door in a corner of the room. Going through the standard ritual of pulling the brass door handle outwards, we squeeze through and shut it behind us, occupying an all-glass room.
From here, we can study all buildings in each of the quarters making up The Society Sphere: The Winter Quarter, The Gothic Quarter, The Hollow Quarter and The Singing Quarter. This used to be Isiah Renn’s house, after all, the once-infamous wizard who turned out to be the Society’s saviour. During Isiah’s time as a wanted man, this room of glass served him well, providing a bird's-eye view onto every aspect of the Society: ideal for a man in hiding.
Each part of the room of glass moves, the floors becoming walls and the walls becoming ceilings, bringing on a feeling of dizziness as I try to zone in on the image of The Chattering Tap. Conrad handles the moving walls and floors better than I do, probably because he’s more used to spinning and free falling with his Williynx.
The image of The Chattering Tap appears beneath our feet, Conrad tracking the moving floor as it becomes a wall. He taps the pane of glass framing the desired location, causing the image to separate from the glass structure, stretching as it floats down and wraps itself around us. All that’s left to do is to reach out through the image as if we’re piercing a fine layer of Society life.
We’re inside the busy pub seconds later, stepping between two tables as we make our way to the crowded bar. I keep an eye out for Joseph Flint: a wizard who owes us a round of Jysyn Juice. We find Joseph in his usual position, sitting at the bar surrounded by a rowdy crowd who are trying to get Lorina Lellant’s attention: the girl with a crush on Conrad. Joseph spots us as we approach the bar, offering a forced smile.
He knows he’s about to be questioned on his secret meetings with Alice Aradel, and he’s clearly on edge about it. At least he’s not trying to sneak out again, like he did earlier this morning. That would make him look suspicious which wouldn’t bode well for him. I push my way through the impatient group of twenty-something Society members, returning Lorina Lellant’s glare. She can pine after Conrad all she wants; he’s mine.
“Miss Grayling, Master Kusp,” Joseph Flint offers as we sit on either side of him at the bar.
“Oi!” comes an annoyed grunt from the tallest of the twenty-somethings shoving into us: crude wizards with an attitude problem. “They’re our seats, little girl.”
The comment brings a hush to the pub — an acknowledgement of a mistake made. At the risk of sounding big headed, Eli Blin should have done his homework: a thin, oily specimen. His limited brain cells and sense of entitlement make him ignorant to Society history, including my skill in battle.
He’s already had two warnings about his attitude, the last one linked to his secret taunting of one of the men in his group: Adam Creswell. Adam’s got a stammer which the rest of the group endlessly tease him about. They’re not his friends, but Adam’s chosen safety in numbers as a survival tactic: a boy who isn’t cut out for Society life.
“I said they’re our seats, little girl, so unless you … ”
Eli doesn’t get to finish his sentence … a small object floating towards his head, making him lose his balance … his skinny frame leaning one way then the other to the delight of the pub. It’s fair to say Eli isn’t a popular character, and the slow clapping starts, signalling the start of mild combat.
Eli’s bravest comrade reaches for something in his pocket, only to have his hand wrapped around his neck courtesy of the Weveris charm: a simple web to end his involvement. With Eli still struggling to regain his balance, I step closer to him, ducking as he swings at me.
“You little upstart,” he spits as he swings again, failing to make contact. “Get the Ozzer off me!” he demands, still under the illusion he’s got any control over the situation.
An Ozzer is the artefact I’ve used to put him in his place: an object you throw in the air to destabilise your enemy. Eli is more an annoyance than an enemy although he needs to improve his manners, and I’m just the teacher to guide him.
“You didn’t say please, Eli.”
He swings again, this time with a lot more force, and I decide to swing back with a handful of Oomph powder — the yellow substance used to ignite an empty fireplace bringing a painful scream from him.
“All you’ve got to do is find your manners, Eli,” I add as the crowded pub continues to clap, enjoying the duel.
He’s in no fit state to fight back because he’s a second-grade wizard, granted entry into the S.P.M.A. by the skin of his teeth. If anyone’s marked for a dark path, it’s Eli. His whole energy is wrong: a feeling I get every time I meet him.
“Okay, please,” he finally relents and I deactivate the Ozzer, knowing this isn’t the end of it.
As he whips out his arm, attempting to send the Promesiun charm my way, I
