The Awakening of Ren Crown (43 page)

Christian's evil voice was growing more demented and his sane voice more wistful and cautious. I was becoming terrified that if I didn't retrieve him quickly, I might lose him completely. I had a thousand soul purification rituals to try. I just needed a moderately safe place to try them.

Opportunity intersected with determination finally on Tuesday morning, the fifth day of my Midlands search.

A building with the letters OKAI emblazoned over the doorway had repeatedly drawn my eye. It looked eerily similar to a building I had drawn for Christian back in the second or third grade. I had gotten angry with him over something stupid while finishing the sketch, and had overlaid a Gothic roof with jagged tiles that threatened to impale anyone who came too near the stoop.

There was an intoxicating thread of magic that came from the building every time it appeared near me—magic that was sympathetic with mine. Magic that stroked and snapped, both embracing and dangerous.

The problem was that the Okai building tended to disappear the instant I walked toward it.

The other pressing concern was that I needed to locate the building in the future, no matter where it popped up. Standard maps didn't work in the Midlands.

I activated my new and improved encapsulation field, then spent an hour making a map dragon and imbuing my own experiences in the Midlands into his consciousness—creating a little beast that wasn't afraid to fly and catalog the Midlands on paper. A concentrated drop of paint later, I carefully removed him from his paper sketch. He flapped his parchment wings and roared out streams of papercut-sharp confetti, then dove downward through the leafy canopy.

I watched the paper I had removed him from and sure enough, as he soared across the Midlands, the lines of the buildings and landscapes started to sketch themselves on the page. I doubted the paper magic would be able to handle the landscape shifts in the Midlands—yet. But cataloging what was actually here at different points in time would definitely help. Tiles tended to attract to their same neighbors over time.

I drew and released three more dragons from the paper and sent them out in different directions. Lines, landmarks, and buildings began forming on the sketch like a possessed Etch-a-Sketch. I made it so I could zoom in or out at will.

A burst of sweat wet my brow as I stared at Okai, which had stayed in my view while I had been sketching and using the paint. I still needed to secure it.
Need
rocked me.

Gold the hue of Mr. Verisetti's spell glowed from under Okai's entrance door, and opportunity presented itself with one thought.

Maybe I could use
myself
to hook the location.

I squeezed a bit of lavender paint onto my forefinger, then channeled my need between the still-expanding map and the real door of Okai. I pressed my painted finger against the door in the map as I concentrated. Both began to glow.

I secured Guard Rock, threw everything back in my bag, shimmied down the tree, and jogged toward the building. It abruptly disappeared, and the landscape changed. My shoulders fell. Christian was screaming again.

My map suddenly glowed, and I felt a tug. I stared for a moment, then followed the tug, keeping my eyes alert for predators and the strange magic swirls that sometimes twisted down the urban streets. I rounded two corners, then three, then the tug abruptly settled, and the Okai building was in front of me again. As if
I
had gone around the block, but it had never moved.

This happened three more times—but each time I was able to approach a little bit closer before it disappeared, as if the building was skittish, but slowly growing accustomed to me.

I took a deep breath as I successfully made it onto the eerie stoop, then touched a painted finger to the real door. The ground shook, and I closed my eyes. At least if I blew up in the Midlands, the chaotic magic would contain the blast.

The shaking abruptly settled and I cracked an eye to find both myself and the building intact. I cautiously opened the door.

Square load-bearing pillars dotted the open single-room space. Dust bunnies littered the area, hopping around.

I carefully stepped onto the parquet floor, thankful it was sturdy, and locked the door behind me. I quickly weaved the spell I had used in the art studio, but this time to check if anything nasty was waiting for me. No trip lines or magic holes presented themselves.

A large staircase at the back of the room lead up to four smaller rooms and a bathroom.

One room contained rows of empty bookshelves. Another contained pedestals and ritual bowls. The third was empty. All three rooms returned neutral results to the spell checking the space.

The fourth room...returned sharp black and white beams. Cracked mirrors surrounded a glossy and undamaged full length Cheval looking glass in the center of the room. I avoided looking in it for no rational reason. Icy chills and visions of fairytales filled me:
Snow White
and
Beauty and the Beast
. No good came of magic mirrors in the sharded worlds of Grimm and beyond.

I closed the door firmly behind me, put shield and alarm wards over it, and decided to set up shop on the ground floor.

There was a weird silence to the building, enhanced by the sweep of wind that flowed over the jagged roof tiles every three or four minutes. The brush of branches, the creak of boards, then silence again.

Creepsville. My new home away from home.

I carefully removed and activated the device I had made just for this moment. Ward lines transformed the space around me into a five-by-seven-by-five enclosure. I would figure out a way to increase the size and permanently attach it to the building later tonight.

I set up my supplies: a large piece of canvas carefully smoothed and affixed to a frame made from wood I had gathered in the Midlands, some paint I had mixed with Stevens, tubes I had purchased from the Art Expressionists meetings, three brushes, six charcoal pencils, some scrap paper. Materials easily stored in my bag for exactly this purpose.

Guard Rock tumbled out of the harness I had made for him, walked over to the front door, and thumped his pencil stick before standing at attention.

Charcoal, brush, and paints in hand, I took a deep breath. “Ok, let's do this thing.”

A butterfly—a
real
one—flew free an hour later, soaring to the ceiling then back down to perch on top of Guard Rock. Its wings whispered gently. Guard Rock shook himself and the butterfly took to the air, fluttering up the stairs and away from view.

The exhilaration from my success rocked through me, making me dizzy with adrenaline. I could do anything.

Like free Christian.

“
Yes, yes, yes!”

“
No, no, no!”

I did a quick sketch, then painted without thought, bursting color onto canvas in some mad Pollock liberation. And the magic burst with and from me.

I could see paint splatters seeping into the floor and around the canvas, but it barely registered, as my creation took form.

The tension in me unwound and stretched, emptying from me for the first time since I'd arrived in the Second Layer. Finally, a place where my magic could fly free without consequence. Magic slipped happily past my cuff.

The features of my brother took shape and he became more and more real on the canvas. I concentrated everything I had on my memories of him and projecting them onto the page.

“
Yes, yes, yes!”

“
No, no, no!”

I added the last bit of lavender shading, then tentatively reached inside, fingers dipping into the canvas. A thrilled shudder shook me. I touched his wrist, which was cool, but firm and
real
, not paper, and pulled.

Just like the butterfly. Just like the dragons. But real. Come on...

Paint chips fell to the floor.

“Ok.” I nodded. “Ok.” I grabbed my notebook and tried the soul binding ritual I had been saving up. The backlash knocked me into a pillar. When I finally regained my feet and reached in to the canvas again, dried brown leaves emerged as crumbled paint. And again the second time, and the third. A repeat of my fruitless efforts in my bedroom.

I tried another ritual. Guard Rock started running toward me on his thin rock legs a second before the backlash knocked me clear across the building floor. When I awoke, Guard Rock was pacing on my chest, spear pointed outward. I lifted him, gave him a pat, and dragged myself forward, my head pounding more fiercely than the worst migraine I had ever experienced.

A quick look at the time indicated five hours had passed while I was unconsciousness.

One ritual per day. Right.

But I was running out of time. I narrowed my eyes at the painting and thrust my hand inside.

“Come on, Crown!”

My hand gripped and tugged something free. The lack of resistance sent me falling to the ground.

I stared at the laurel wreath coronet in my hand for a long time. And as I exited the Midlands it burst into flames.

~*~

Bruised, confused, starving for lunch, and determined to do better—while also figuring out a way
not
to ignite my brother when I got him back—I entered Top Circle paying only half-attention to my surroundings.

“
Tricorn!
”

Tricorn?

But, in the magical world, I had figured out quickly that when people yelled things, it meant:

A) you should run;

B) you had to watch for other mages, for as a society they ascribed to the well-used rule that you didn't have to be faster than the bear, you just had to be faster than whoever you had tripped in front of the bear;

C) that you should pay special attention to the exact word being yelled, so you'd know what you were running from.

To fulfill Point A, I started sprinting. B had me quickly sidestepping a particularly sly looking mage with dirty blond hair and errant feet. And, C had me thinking of the American Revolution and men with bayonets and pointy hats charging after people in retaliation for dumping their tea. I could imagine people shouting about reading leaves in the harbor.

A horse with three horns wasn't quite what I had in mind. But when it shot toward me, I quickly changed course and adjusted my mental image.

Tricorn. Got it.

The animal was fast. And it could fly. Well, more a flying gallop, but it definitely was leaving the ground every few strides.

It was faster than I was, and the dirty, blond-haired mage was extending an ankle. I darted to the side before he could trip me—thank-you, football drills—and he swore loudly, then got poked in the rear by a tricorn horn. He leaped forward, leading with his hips, yowling profanities.

“Ha!” I threw over my shoulder. “Creep.”

I dashed behind a tree as threads of offensive magic raced toward the tricorn. It sidestepped and ducked as the multiple flashes converged. Then it rolled its head and flung three jets of magic, one from each horn.

I edged around the tree, back pressed to it as people shouted and booms sounded on the other side. My headache had cleared right up with the triple-shot of adrenaline.

A guy ran past me with a sword, charging toward the melee. Seconds later, I watched him flee in the other direction, his rear lit with blue flames.

I needed a weapon. I rummaged through my bag looking for possibilities. Pen, no. I could barely remember how to draw a square at the moment. Though, if I threw some paint on something, maybe a squad member would show up. Notebook, no. Justice tablet? Maybe. But I didn't think the tricorn was going to agree to community service.

Why hadn't I brought my Marsgrove snare sketch?

A loud explosion rocked Top Circle, and a body landed ten feet from me, rag-dolled on the grass. His limbs were entirely too still—like Christian's had been. All I could think of was
ninety-five-percent
and
ten minutes
.

I automatically started for the boy, but loud breathing—huffing—stopped me in my tracks. The tricorn was on the other side of my tree, snorting and breathing heavily. I remained as still as possible, my eyes glued to the unmoving body splayed on the ground.

Not funny. Not at all.

Where were the professors? Or the Justice Squad? Or
whomever
?

Then again, here I was with my justice tablet, a law breaker
and
new purveyor of order. Who in their right mind was running this place and letting people like me dole out punishments?

I could hear a stamp and snort on the other side, and the rampaging tricorn took off again. I ran to the body on the ground and thanked all that was holy that I had read the first one hundred pages in my manual already. First Aid spells used campus magic and came standard on the tablets, due to all the accidents that occurred with magic offenses.

I snapped off a First Aid enchantment by pressing the clearly marked button. I wasn't in the least qualified to do more to help, though. I didn't think the guy would want me leaping ahead of the ten minute death limit, trying to raise him with my purely paper knowledge of how to bring someone immediately back to life or with one of my sketchy rituals. I'd probably make twelve toes grow out of the guy's forehead, even in death.

I kept an eye on the galloping horned beast. It was headed for a door opening in a building directly across from us. The opening door was the only movement in the now-still field.

It seemed a pretty reliable theory at this point that a tricorn's predatory senses relied on movement.

The person opening the door was screwed. Whoever it was had no idea what he or she was about to walk into.

I saw a slick pair of Mary Janes, before my brain clicked to the realization that it was my
roommate
exiting the building.

I lurched in her direction, chasing after the rampaging beast.

“Get back, Olivia!”

She looked up, startled, and froze as one ton of horse flesh lunged toward her.

I threw my tablet forward and magic shot up my arm. I shouted the first thing that popped into my head as the magic raced back through my arm and into the tablet.

“Toad Justice!”