Shadow Magic (Darkling Mage 1)

A static-muffled voice sounded out through the ancient speaker, its yellowed plastic in stark contrast to the faux dark stone finish of the facade. “Password,” the voice asked.

I looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, recalled it was a Tuesday, then bent in closer and whispered. “Manticore.” A different word for every day of the week, and sometimes the sequence changed, which wasn’t much of a pain when admin remembered to email us a fresh batch of codes.

The speaker crackled back with something vague and noncommittal, and a low click from the door told me that it was safe to enter. That was crucial, see. The Scions liked to keep a contingency of protection spells active, just in case. They were more like traps, really, and the whole point of buzzing in was to make sure nobody accidentally walked through and took several fireballs straight to the face.

A gust of warm air welcomed me as the door swung inward, a nice change from the cold of the early Valero morning. The warmth wasn’t from an internal heating system, either, but from one of several magic-fed fires kept burning throughout the building, whether from braziers or fireplaces. No wood or coal, so no smoke. Why resort to magical flames, you ask? Who knew. The Scions had their own way of doing things.

That, and maybe the fact that the fire went with the decor, and the reality that everyone who worked at the Lorica was, in some shape of form, a real life frigging wizard. The inside of the Lorica was honest to goodness like the interior of some enormous library, looking like it had been hewn out of only the most expensive lacquered wood, the floors carpeted in massive, sumptuous rugs, all the light coming from eldritch flames flickering in polished brass candelabras, or smokeless fireplaces, or the aforementioned braziers positioned in every corner.

Did I mention that the place was huge? Because that’s important. You could see all the action from the mezzanine, but for the most part every department could be found on one of only two floors. From the outside, HQ looked like it could be about the size and importance of a local post office. The interior, however, seemed to stretch on for at least a mile along both axes. I didn’t know how the geometry of it all worked out, but for whatever the Lorica paid in terms of property tax, I’d say that it was pretty damn worth it.

And the style – the utter, heartbreaking style of the place was something else. It was a magical office for magical people, after all, so it wasn’t uncommon to see paper planes sailing through corridors, or books flapping their pages like birds. Sure, it was just as easy to fire off an email or get a courier to do all that, but this was the Lorica we were talking about.

From where I stood, a sleek, spiny dragon made out of sheaves of documents roared and flew from one end of the library to the other. I guessed that it was heading towards the accounting department. Sure, they had to do tons of paperwork, but they definitely knew how to make it fun.

Further off from the central work area alchemists stirred and scrambled colorful liquids and reagents in bubbling beakers and flasks full of who-knows-what, their laboratory set apart to avoid mishaps, just in case something exploded.

The astrolabes, sextants, and compasses set by the huge, glowing map of the earth that the Eyes used to do their surveillance work made it feel like a proper magician’s study, albeit a massive one. It was every fantasy nerd’s wet dream, and that’s without even mentioning all the cool artifacts and devices they kept in the Gallery.

It was a conundrum, how they fit all that into the building. I had considered that maybe the exterior was just some kind of illusion, versus the possibility that the enormity of HQ’s insides meant that it dwelled within its own pocket dimension. Nobody had a straight answer for me, not even folks who had worked there for years, and the Scions probably wanted to keep things that way. It helped keep the Lorica and its secrets secure.

“Heya, Dustin,” the girl at reception cooed, peering around from behind her flatscreen monitor. Her cheeks lifted as she smiled in greeting, the beautiful bronze of them going just a bit rosier, or so I liked to believe.

I ran my fingers through my hair, black and a little clingy to my forehead, brushing it out of my face and grinning, because people seemed to like it when I did that. It brought attention to my eyes which, as many women have said, are the best part of my face.

Okay, fine. It was just my mom. Shush.

“Hey yourself, Romira,” I said, giving her my best smile.

She cocked her shoulder, black hair spilling in waves over her back, her lips just friendly enough, but never too friendly. She had all the trappings of a sweetheart, with a pretty smile and laughing eyes, which made her seem totally harmless. The keyword was seem. That was probably why the Scions liked to keep her up front.

Romira just looked like a nice young woman who worked in reception, but she was supposedly one of our most powerful Hands, the literal beast that guarded the gates. She also occasionally put in work as an Eye, which was the first I’d heard of anyone at the Lorica doing double duty. Her specialties were probably what made her so ideal for manning the front desk.

Anyone who miraculously made it past the traps up front had to contend with Romira. I’d never seen exactly what it was she could do, but office gossip told me that the last poor soul who thought they could barge their way through ended up as a greasy black smear on the floor, which they k

ept covered up with a rug in the center of the room. I tried to stay on her good side, which, frankly, wasn’t that hard considering how she was always nice to me anyway. And I mean really nice.

She leaned her chin into her hand, drumming her fingers on her desk and putting on a piteous expression. “Aww. Rough night, Dust? You look exhausted.”

“Totally destroyed,” I said, shrugging. “But you know how it is, gotta come to work anyway. The boss wants to see me.”

Romira cocked her head, her smile spreading wider. “Lots of people want to see you, Dust.”

“I. Uh.” I chuckled nervously, scratched at the back of my neck, and cleared my throat. “Gotta go.” Like I said, I could be good with people, but only to a point. Being charming was easy until someone tried to be charming right back, and Romira played this game like a grandmaster.

Her eyes twinkled a kind of red as she laughed, her teeth sharp and glinting. “Come back here,” she teased. “I’m not done with you.”

I half-stopped and half-stumbled away from her desk, watching as she muttered and wove her fingers over the reception area, drawing an intricate web out of pale fire. She ended the spell with a snap, and the pattern vanished.

“Take over for me, Mary,” she said.

I knew about Mary by then. That was the name Romira gave to the elemental construct she sometimes used to staff the reception desk when she had to use the ladies’, or, as in this case, when she felt the need to taunt me a little bit more. Mary manifested out of thin air, a wispy silhouette of a woman made out of orange fire. The construct put on Romira’s headset, then answered a call in a voice I could best describe as sultry, and a little smokey.

“Honestly jealous that you can do that, you know.”

Romira smirked. “We all learn at our own pace, Dust. You’ve been here what, a few weeks now? Took me ages to master how to summon Mary, much less get her to pick up a phone. Also to stop her from setting everything on fire.”

Mary penciled something into a legal pad, then gave us a thumbs up.