“Okay. Clearly I’m dreaming.” I splayed myself across the floor, laying my head back, crossing my arms across my chest, my shirt soaked with sweat. With my eyes closed, I stilled myself and did my best to relax. “Wake me up when it’s over.”
Thea laughed.
Chapter 8
Days passed. The Lorica took me in as one of its own. You know how they say when life becomes a whirlwind? Well, it was. Everything moved too fast for me to really have a say in anything, and before I knew it I was under the Lorica’s employ, with Thea as my supervisor. I didn’t know where else I could go, anyway.
What was I going to do, go back to my dad? “Hey, remember when we fought? Also, I’m supposed to be dead. What’s up?” That was a whole other can of worms, but I knew it’d be something I’d have to deal with in time. I couldn’t just show up on his doorstep, dead man walking. At least I didn’t want to.
And the Lorica deal wasn’t all bad, either. They gave me a stipend to figure out my living situation, in a block of apartments not all that far from where my dad lived, and not so far from HQ, either. It turned out that quite a few of the Lorica’s people lived on the same block, which also meant that I had some semblance of protection. It was different, almost comforting being around people who were like me, especially when those people were nothing at all like the rest of the human race.
Thea said that I was learning to use my magic quickly enough. She watched over me while I practiced. I can’t say that shadowstepping – or stepping, that’s what we call it now – was my favorite activity, considering I had to move through the darkness each time, that dimension that has things crawling and living in the shadows. But the power definitely came with its conveniences.
I didn’t tell Thea, and nor would I ever, but after I had some practice with stepping I did go back to my old apartment, the one I shared with shitty roommates when I was still functionally “alive.” I stepped into my old bedroom – was it still considered breaking and entering if it was your own bedroom? – to reclaim some of my stuff. Mostly some clothes, a few valuables, and a favorite jacket mom gave me, but I also swiped the last of the beers out of the fridge. You know, just a last middle finger to those two butt holes.
So sure, I was starting to get the hang of things, but I wasn’t too fond of my new designation. Or the jewelry that came with it, for that matter.
“How come I don’t get to be a Wing?” I was perfectly aware of how whiny I sounded. I really shouldn’t have been, but Thea was infinitely patient like that, which had the net effect of me behaving like a brat whenever possible.
“Because Wings transport other people,” she said, gently, but firmly. “You can’t do that. That’s the distinction. You can only transport yourself.”
I huffed. It stung enough that I didn’t get to be a Hand.
“Sit still,” Thea said. She was fiddling with a leather thong, the middle of it weighed down by a gemstone the same color and size as the others that she wore on her fingers, around her throat. An opal, by my best guess.
“I’m not sure that goes with my eyes,” I said.
“Shush. It’s not meant to be decorative.” She fastened the thong around my neck. I hooked a finger over it and shifted it around. At least it didn’t feel too obtrusive. With time I could even pretend it wasn’t there. “This lets me keep track of you, and it lets us communicate. I want you to wear it, at least for now. Think of it as part of your training.”
I nodded. Best not to push my luck with all the whining, plus I knew I could stand to learn a lot more about the Veil and the arcane underground it was concealing. Thea was clearly the perfect person to teach me.
“Now,” Thea said, reaching for a glass of water on her desk. “Being a Hound is a perfectly noble thing. You’ll be hunting down contraband and evidence in support of the Lorica’s agenda, which is to keep both mages and humans safe from irresponsible use of the arcane.”
I blinked. “Okay.”
Thea sipped and made a face. “You get to break into people’s houses,” she said slowly, as if for my benefit.
Maybe I shouldn’t have seemed so enthusiastic, but I grinned at the sound of that. “Oh.” I liked a little bit of excitement. Sue me. And I’ll be the first to admit, I was never above a little bit of casual thievery.
“But I’m not sending you out alone. Not just yet. You’ll need supervision.”
I shrugged. Fine by me. It’d be helpful for someone to show me the ropes, plus a new friend – especially someone who already understood all this strangeness – would definitely be nice to have.
Thea leaned over her desk and pressed a button. That was one thing I’d learned in the little time I’d been with the Lorica: wizards weren’t afraid of a bit of technology here and there.
“Send them in.”
Which was a weird thing for her to say, in retrospect, considering Thea didn’t have a secretary, but the door swung open anyway.
You know how sometimes you just have a feeling you’ll get along with someone, and sometimes you see a person and hate them on sight? That’s exactly how it went with meeting Prudence and Bastion.
Chapter 9
Prudence Leung and I got on immediately. We took a hired car to our destination – just one of the perks of working for the Lorica, it turned out – and I quickly learned the basics of our mission. She and Bastion were meant to be the diversion, and I was supposed to go in and locate a designated artifact. A sword, as it turned out. Interesting.
Prudence herself was – well, badass was the easiest way to put it. She had the cool air of someone who’d seen enough of Valero’s streets not to be frazzled by its potential dangers, and the same level-headedness that ensured she wouldn’t be easily dazzled by anything either. There was a precision to her, how her nails were so well-buffed and neatly manicured, how there was that one hidden section of her hair that was dyed electric blue and was only ever visible when she turned her head just so.
She was barely years older than me, but somehow radiated this seen-it-all vibe that told me she wouldn’t buckle under pressure. Hell, she seemed more likely the type to exert that pressure. It was something about how her hands rested in her lap, fingers splayed in a neutral position, as if constantly ready to gnarl into talons or curl into fists. She was a Hand, after all, and a pretty literal one, I was soon to find out. And, all right, she was pretty cute.