The Awakening of Ren Crown (40 page)

He pushed a button on his shiny, yellow tablet. “On this day of Libra, Forty-Two and a third, I Joseph Aldwin Peters, do sign in to swear to the accounting of Miss Florence Crown, who is charged with a Level Five Offense. Furthermore—”

I examined Peters for a second time as he talked to his tablet. He was still upright, uptight, and moderately tall. Clipped hair, pressed shirt. A boy soldier with a badge.

“—and following all laws, I do so swear.”

I saw magic lift off the tablet and twine around him. Interestingly, magic was easier for me to see at the moment. I wondered if dying or rebirth intensified the ability temporarily, or if it was the aftereffect of attaching to the wards. The justice magic settled back above the tablet, hovering there.

“How did you get into the vault, Miss Crown?”

The hum of the justice magic warned me against lying. I had done little research on the law officers, as they tended to make quick and unexceptional visits to me, but the tablets used truth spells when activated. The thought of my mind being probed always produced a slimy, itchy feeling under my skin.

How to answer... “Um, a little like this.” I stood and dove toward the floor. Yup, that was about right. I let my palms skid outward, though, skin peeling back from the bottoms. Ouch. But the whole thing looked like a giant trip now. “The door nearly shut on my foot.”

Peters's mouth looked as if he'd sucked a lemon. “What were you doing near the vault?”

“Oh, um, I was intending to draw.” That was true enough. I had been planning to draw a box after checking the wards. And I could play this game. “There is a great spot there. I go there often.” All true.

“At midnight?”

“Er, I use art as stress relief.” Also true.

“Students are not allowed in the vault without a qualified professor.”

“Ok.” I was denying nothing. I was going to be in real trouble if he asked pointed questions or got Stevens in here, though.

“Records show that tonight you have committed two Level One Offenses, a Level Three Offense, and a Level
Five
Offense. Do you know what the punishments for those are?”

“Um, no?”

The tablet zapped me. “Ow!”

“Lying?” He raised a brow and made a notation.

I rubbed my arm. “Well, I know punishments for levels one, two, and three, but not for five.” I knew how to run, scrub, and battle firesnakes. Point me to one.

Peters smiled. “Well, I expect you will remember your expulsion long into the future, as you twiddle your thumbs in the ordinary world, after being stripped of your magic by the Department.”

Oh, no—times infinity. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

To my amazement, the tablet zapped him. I stared for a moment, then a smile worked its way to my face. “Lying?”

It was probably not a good idea to piss him off, but I couldn't help it.

“
When I escape from here, I will end him,”
Christian said.

“You are in major trouble,” Peters said harshly, rubbing his arm.

I nodded, trying to figure out how to work this new angle that had been presented. The enforcement mages had to tell the truth too when they were wrapped in the magic? “Right. What has happened in the past to Level Five offending mages?”

“Level Five offenders have been expelled.”

But being expelled wasn't the worst thing that could happen to me, and Peters shouldn't have given himself away, by receiving that prior zap. “And what are three other punishments that have happened to mages who have committed Level Five Offenses?”

If I thought there was ever a possibility that I hadn't angered Peters, it was definitely gone. He gritted his teeth and shouldered my bag. “You can ask the provost.”

So I didn't have to answer—my answer just had to be truthful. That was some relief.

A long forced march—by the same type of magic that had prevailed the night of the door prize ticket—to the provost's office found me sitting, cuffed again, in a rather uncomfortable seat, awaiting my fate. There was a toothpick stuck into the area between the seat cushion and back of the chair on the seat next to mine. I quickly grabbed it and threaded it into the hem of my shirt. Gross, but I wasn't going to start being choosy.

“
Get out of here. Don't let them tag you completely!”
Christian said.

I tried to keep calm. Magic wouldn't let me leave. I could feel it hovering, waiting. Like the ticketing magic, I had to fulfill some sort of contract—likely something tied to the enrollment enchantment Marsgrove had put on me. But I wasn't out of options yet. And if the provost knew about Marsgrove's dictates and was going to do something horrible to me, hopefully he would lock me up first.

Ten minutes later, Peters stormed out, bypassing me without a word or glance.

“Miss Crown, enter.”

I rose and walked inside, as calmly as I could. The man behind the desk was a solid, robust man. A jovial business type.

He swirled a finger and the cuffs dropped. Maybe a good thing, maybe bad.

I took a quick look at the name plate on his desk. “Good afternoon, Provost Johnson.”

“Let's cut to the chase, Miss Crown.” He had a kind, but booming voice. “You have committed a Level Five Offense along with a number of lower level offenses. You are in danger of suspension. Should you commit even one more Level Three Offense, I may be forced to expel you.”

Relief swept me that we were still talking about school infractions and punishment, rather than prisons and testing facilities. And I took note of Johnson’s wording—
may
be forced.

“I could suspend you now, but Doctor Greyskull submitted a sympathetic note, championing you, and I am partial to the good doctor's character assessment. He said you are a transfer student and don't yet know our ways.” His eyes dropped to the papers on his desk, and a disgruntled look briefly passed over his features.

Johnson hadn't been able to find my records and didn't want to admit it.
I had a school record because of my prior offenses, but didn't have an academic record, which obviously presented a conundrum.

“Greyskull suggested community service, and I am obliged to grant the request.”

I nodded quickly. Maybe I could get out of here before Johnson investigated further. Chasing snakes, planting flowers, and picking up trash? No problem. Maybe I could volunteer to assist Professor Mbozi or a chaos mage and advance my research at the same time.

“Answer two questions truthfully, and I will assign you to community service.”

“Ok.” Something magical wrapped around me.

“Mr. Peters said you truthfully told him you tripped into the art vault by accident.” Oh, yes, yes, yes. I thanked Peters's questioning oversight profusely. “But once you were in there...were you trying to break down the wards in the art vault?”

“Uh...” I paused, trying to figure out the angle of the question.

Johnson's smile turned less pleasant. “Failure to answer will result in your immediate suspension.”

“Don't you have law wizards or defense attorneys?”

“Legal mages, and yes. Next time you should think about calling one, before you agree to speaking directly to me. Agreeing to my questions made your trial inquisitorial, instead of adversarial. That means I am now in charge of your fate instead of a jury.”

If I had known, I might have been tempted to beg my evil roommate to represent me, since I'd figured out she was vigorously studying law, in between her world takeover plans.

I held my breath, then answered his question. “No, I wasn't.”

Nothing attacked me. Johnson looked surprised. “You weren't trying to break down the wards?”

“No,” I said much more confidently. I had been there to study them. I chose my next words with care. “I accidentally attached to the perimeter ward and couldn't get it off. I panicked.”

All true.

Johnson looked visibly relieved. “So, it was an accident.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, since I have you here and am asking everyone when given the opportunity, the second question you must answer is are you a terrorist?”

My eyes must have bulged, because they felt like they were pulling from my sockets. “No.”

“Great!” He made a little checkmark on the paper in front of him. “I will see about getting some of the orientation sessions you missed made available to you via vid screen. And a stint on the squad should save you from becoming a troubled soul.”

He said this cheerfully enough that I doubted his sanity—which made me wonder what the “squad” was. “Community service, Miss Crown, will show you what happens to the criminal types on campus. And will imbue you with a sense of duty to right any wrongs. Community service folks always use such creative solutions too. A win-win situation.”

He looked thoroughly convinced of his own reasoning. I was still choking over the fact that he had just blithely asked me if I was a
terrorist
while I was under a truth spell.

“Let's put it at...two hundred hours.” A second spell settled over me.

Two hundred hours?! But I just nodded, unwilling to test the bounds of the spell I was under.

“Excellent. The spell will motivate you to complete your hours in a timely fashion. I'll put your compliance on your transcript. In fact,”—he cleared his throat—“Let's just start a lovely new transcript, shall we? Give you a fresh start?” He waved his hand and a pile of paper leaped into a crisp folder. “Just press your finger right here.”

For a long moment, I looked at the paper he held as Christian yelled wildly in my head. Then I pressed my finger to the page. I could feel a thread prick my finger and the blood seep into the sheets.

I was now fully tagged. Easily found in the system. Christian's hysteria started to ooze into my veins.

“You will need to re-register for classes, but you can do that tomorrow. I'll leave a note in your file. Report to Professor Wellingham and begin your service by Sagittarius Rising under Maiden's Drawers.”

I just nodded, because otherwise, I was going to attract the white coats again with mad laughter. I think he had just given me some date in December. Or a date with a naughty archer. I might need to take Will up on that app for my translation enchantment. And perhaps increase my research on how to get off campus completely.

“Plus, I think you should help put the vault back together, at least the preliminary laying of the lines.”

I stared at Johnson, unable to believe my ears. Opportunity simmered my panic for a moment. He was telling me my punishment was to assist the reconstruction and warding of the vault? I would have
burned it down on purpose
, had I known that might happen.

“I know.” He held up his hand. “Laying ward lines is grueling grunt work, but you must be punished, Miss Crown.”

I nodded. Yes, yes I must.

“Wellingham will have that information too. I hope we meet under more favorable circumstances next time, Miss Crown.” He handed me my bag.

“Thank you, yes. Good day, Provost Johnson.” I needed to get out of here.

“Good day, Miss Crown.”

I exited as quickly as possible. Thankfully, I felt the truth spell pull off and dissipate behind me, leaving only a shiver across my skin in its wake.
Free
.

Yet still trapped. Far more trapped.

Two hundred hours of community service? I could only hope that I would be able to serve that much time and not be arrested or captured beforehand. Two hundred hours of cleaning flower beds and picking up trash was infinitely more painful than ten, but I was going to watch a chaos field being constructed. I headed out to find Professor Wellingham right away. The sooner the better—for everything.

~*~

Professor Wellingham was an associate professor of political science among other things. He was a harried and wan looking man, with wildly spiked hair and an ashen complexion. I hoped like hell that it was the craziness of the political world, and not that of community service, that made him look like a street artist who hadn't slept for three months.

He gave me a handful of papers that contained the information for remaking the vault. I clutched them to me.

He muttered a few sentences that I was pretty sure veiled obscenities, then communicated my service task and unceremoniously handed me another stack of papers.

I blinked, certain that I had heard incorrectly. “I'm going to do what?”

“You are joining the Justice Squad. Or being forced into servitude, I suppose.”

“The Justice Squad?”

“A group that addresses all student behavior issues that are Level Four and under, such as students cheating on exams or doing prohibited enchantments. They also do the preliminary questioning for Level Fives.”

Like
you
, his look said.

“Wait, you mean I'm going to police the student population?” I was going to be
Peters
?

“Yes.” He didn't seem put off by my obvious mortification or panic.

I needed to remain unnoticeable. I was going to be punishing people—who were definitely going to
notice
me. “But...but...I'm a delinquent too!”

Christian's sane voice groaned in my head.

One of Wellingham's brows rose. “And the thought is that you will be rehabilitated by doing service and assigning punishments.”

That made some weird sort of nonsense. “You don't believe that, do you?”

“Not in the slightest.” He searched through a bag. “But Provost Johnson does, and his opinion is the one that matters in this situation.”

Wellingham finally pulled out a chunky tablet like the one Peters had. The intent of his actions seemed to indicate that I would be getting the strangely colored olive and lime tablet.

“This tablet will be your responsibility until the end of spring term. You have until then to complete your two hundred hours. You can accept special assignments that will help you burn more hours, or you can just be part of the daily or weekly on-call roster. The tablet only works on campus unless you receive special permission to use it off campus. The enchantments on the tablets are actually the one thing that is student proofed around here.”

He looked at me in a sort of deadened way. “But feel free to try it—attempting to modify the tablet means automatic expulsion. And I don't think I need to tell you what will happen, if you fail to complete your task or lose the tablet?”