The Protection of Ren Crown (38 page)

“Did it? How strange,” I said innocently, trying to hide my concern.

“Ren.”

“Yes?”

Olivia was still looking at her desk, her gaze blank and unseeing. “Thank you.”

“Absolutely my pleasure.” I walked to my bed and changed out items from my bag, giving her some privacy. “You ready to do some serious justice-mongering tonight?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes.” Her voice was strong. Good.

“Awesome. Dinner first?” I needed the calories and the renewal energy of the cafeteria.

She nodded.

“And I, uh, was thinking we might make a stop after service?” I shifted on my feet, hoping she wouldn't change moods and kill me.

“To see Leandred?” She looked darkly resigned.

“Uh, no. I wouldn't do that to you.”

“Well, where to, then?” she said, motioning for me to hurry up. “My sense of disapproval is awaiting activation.”

I grinned at her dry tone and hurried to the door. Maybe I'd survive after all.

She slipped the caterpillar carefully into her bag and I adjusted my wavering tally.

Protection of friends: Restarting from 0

~*~

We were both exhausted at the end of our two hours of service, but it had been an invigorating and productive service session. New clients for Olivia and several new contacts for me—a communications mage who could hack any frequency, an alchemist who could exchange one metal for another, and a music conductor who could change the fabric of the air using sound!

There had been a few dull calls, of course. A girl casting a restricted love spell, a few people imbibing things they weren't supposed to be imbibing, two benign room explosions, and the relocation of an entire school of wild grouper to one of the science labs.

Cleaning up enormous, flopping fish had turned tedious after the first few fun zaps with Justice Toad. Lab accidents were normally under the dominion of the class professor, and not in our jurisdiction. But sneaking in after hours to use equipment in order to enchant the entire female population of Excelsine? That fell to us. That they had produced a school of groupers instead of a school of
groupies
...well, such subpar spellcasting deserved special punishment...a firesnake-skin-collecting sort of punishment.

Testing Olivia's patience near the end, we made a Level Three call to Constantine, who had invoked savage retribution on the girl who had cast the restricted love spell earlier. Why was it always Constantine they were trying to enchant? He might be the king of all that was sensually dark and brooding, but he was the
emperor
of revenge. I knew for a fact he had a device that downgraded his offense level, which meant he had enacted some serious Level Four vengeance.

The Neutralizer Squad had been called for the girl, so we hadn't seen the results of Constantine's revenge, but I had a mind to go find her again, then shake her with a few “
Seriously
? What were you thinking?” types of statements thrown in.

Our final service call was to Delia, who had successfully created a weaving pattern capable of hypnotizing the wearer into doing her bidding for a period of five minutes after donning the woven fabric.

Not really a problem—until she had tested it on an unknown subject and made the girl do her laundry.

For someone so determined to rule the world one day, Olivia was capable of a pretty deep well of disapproval, and Delia seemed to enjoy stepping on all of her buttons. I thought of Delia's words about Olivia and Olivia's mom. I wondered if they'd had some magicist war against each other in their previous school. I'd ask later.

Olivia left the punishment to me and I gave Delia laundry duty at the Fashion Design Center. I was pretty sure Delia had sought the punishment, after all—she got the best ideas when she went through the laundry at the Design Center and mentally mixed enchantments together as she sorted items.

Because if Delia had been trying to do something nefarious, it would have been far worse than making someone do her laundry—tracking bracelet or not.

Delia winked at me as we left, looking completely revitalized, as if the fiasco of Politics hadn't happened.

Olivia and I logged out of service and headed toward Dorm Five.

“So tell me finally, what is the purpose of this visit we are undertaking?” Olivia asked, tiredly and reluctantly following me.

“I need you to make sure I don't sign a faulty contract.”

She frowned. “A contract? Why didn’t you give me a copy to review?”

“Because it is going to be verbal.”

Olivia gave me a look deep from her disapproval well. “I'm not going to like this.”

“Not in the least.” I fished out the sketches I had made and hastily stuck them into a folder.

Olivia looked at the drawings as I moved them. “Art Expressionists Club?” She looked puzzled.

“Gamers. Fun guys.”

Patrick opened the door, his eyes bright. “Welcome!” He swept his hands through the air, inviting us inside. “Please, enter our humble abode.”

I whistled at the interior of their room. It currently looked like something straight out of a sci-fi dream—projections and holographic images danced on every surface, tests ran, and code scrawled. “Nice.” I handed Trick the folder then poked at one of the images in the air.

In the midst of the chaos and equipment, Olivia held herself stiffly and regally, coolly waiting for an explanation.

“We got in a few tests tonight,” Patrick said. “No alerts issued, but thanks for telling us about your service time, Ren. Fantastically useful.”

Olivia gave me a deeply unimpressed look.

“We'll be just a minute,” Asafa said. He smiled out at us from where he was situated under a large worktable hooking up wires with magic pliers. “Have a seat. Trick forgets his courtesies when excited.”

“I do no such thing.” Trick hastily cleared off space on the small couch in the midst of the chaos.

Dorm Five was laid out in a slightly different fashion from Twenty-five. Larger rooms accommodated a communal work area for the two students sharing the space, but the bathroom was shared with a room of students on the other side. I was a fan of our personal bathroom, but extra workspace was always a good thing. Saf and Trick had chosen to convert their extra living space into a gaming area—with a couch, two reclining chairs, a coffee table, and numerous screens and projector devices—to the surprise of pretty much no one, I'd bet.

The space was currently drowning in magic and tech.

Olivia looked dubiously at the couch, but sat down regally with her legs crossed at the ankles and to the side. I energetically dropped next to her, right foot tucked under my left thigh. We both looked over the back of the couch while Patrick opened the folder. Asafa finished his machinations under the large table, his hair sticking out from his head without a single drooping spike.

“These are...” Patrick trailed off, flipping through my pages. “Saf, wait until you
see
these.”

He put his hand on the manticore-like beast that was snarling and pacing on the page, and
pulled
a visual duplicate of the animated drawing into the air. His other hand circled the creature, pulling a string of code from one of the displays and making it encircle the image.

The string of aerial code bloomed into a suspended three-dimensional scene with a jungle landscape. Several associated animals populated the landscape.

My beast moved in jerky motions within the new setting, but each movement grew more fluid as Patrick tweaked the circling code.

I wanted to try my hand at that.
Desperately
.

A whistle sounded from under the table. “Look at the movement. It's learning every time you poke the scene. Sentience, in a completely new construct.” Asafa's gaze turned to me. “You did that in two days?”

“They are just drawings with a bit of imagination.” I had done enough monster artwork in my lifetime—and Christian and I had always created a backstory for each design—that it was second nature now to mentally assign complete stories to my creations.

And now my magic
made those imaginings real
. Like Guard Rock... I hadn't consciously chosen his personality—my magic had made it happen and given him free will by pulling on the imaginative practice I had used for years, consciously and subconsciously.

Asafa didn't say anything, but his pliers tapped thoughtfully on his chest. Olivia stiffened next to me, and I automatically sent out a pulse of reassurance along her thread.

We all watched Patrick work for a moment as he pulled one of the robot designs into the air. The monster and robot started fighting under Patrick's manipulations.

“Will would love this,” I said to Olivia, trying to distract her from whatever was aggravating her. “Only his love of physical machines must have stopped him from being a twenty-four-hour gamer.”

“Will Tasky?” Asafa cocked his head, pliers working steadily again and emitting little sparks of magic. “I saw you sitting with him in politics. Had a mech class with him last year and we got into a bit of quality control trouble. Haven't seen much of him this year. Tell him to stop by any time. Could always use more testers.” He gave me a wide grin and a wink.

I grinned back. Having Christian as a brother had made me adore charmers.

Asafa's fingers flashed and energy surged along the wires and connections under the table, then everything disappeared from view with a
pop
.

Olivia huffed a breath, but relaxed a bit. “Do you have
any
written terms I can look over?”

Asafa, still on his back, sent a considering glance Olivia's way, charming grin turning into something more serious. Patrick's eyes brightened as he looked at her while his fingers still danced in the images. “The legal gal! We've heard many tales of your wit and prowess.”

“Trick is practicing lines for the game. Ignore him.” Asafa twirled his tool and pushed out from under the table, his eyes never leaving Olivia as he rose. “Olivia Price?”

“Present,” Olivia said crisply.

He passed the pliers from right hand to left and back again, considering.

“Is that a problem?” There was a dark undercurrent in her voice.

He looked between us for a moment, then smiled slowly at her. “No.”

If I didn't know Olivia so well, I might have missed the momentarily taken aback expression that crossed her features before her cool facade was once more in place. “Then shall we get started?” she asked crisply.

I wanted to continue watching Patrick work, but I couldn't use Olivia's time indiscriminately, so I nodded.

Patrick pulled a string of code from a red box on the worktable and encompassed the aerial display, then threw the entire thing at the box. It swept inside and emitted a little chirping noise, saving his progress.

Patrick and Asafa looked at each other for a long moment, holding a silent conversation, then both nodded.

The initial terms were easily laid out. “This folder of Ren Crown's art in exchange for Asafa Frey and Patrick O'Leary's latest and greatest compulsive game controller.” Patrick held up both items, one in each hand, to allow contractual magic to circle and assign them as the contract's properties. Asafa stood next to him, passing his pliers between his hands.

The contractual magic hovered in the air, awaiting my response.

Olivia's fingers clamped around my wrist, halting me from agreeing to the terms.

Trick's mouth curled and his eyes lit joyously. “Ah, excellent. Saf, you ready?” Trick waved a hand so that the couch turned ninety degrees and two chairs popped into existence across from us with a table in the middle.

Asafa sat in the chair next to his excited roommate. “Yes. Go.”

“Negotiation in progress,” Patrick said. The contractual magic spread over our four heads, hovering a few feet above, waiting.

“No decisions until the agreed upon words are uttered by each participant—name first, then the word
agrees
,” Olivia said briskly.

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

Olivia's fingers pressed briefly and I repeated the word, “Agreed.”

Olivia held out her hand for the controller and Patrick handed it to her. Spells of all sorts twisted out from her fingers and fell over the device, feeling for its secrets. I could tell when she got to the compulsion aspects, because she shot me a look that said we would be having a “talk” later.

“This is your best design?” she asked them.

“Newest and brightest!”

Then, like a switch had been flipped, terms flew back-and-forth in machine-gun fashion.

“The controller, four hours of personal command, upgrades for anything you produce on a controller of any sort in the next six months, and a seven percent stake,” Olivia said.

“The controller as is and a fanlee,” Patrick replied. I wondered what a fanlee was, but didn't take the time to translate it, as Olivia's facial expression said she already knew.

“Trite. The controller, upgrades as previously described, and a ten percent stake.”

“The art, plus fifteen more pieces in the next month in exchange for the controller, any upgrades on it
specifically
, and a three percent stake.”

“My previous terms modified to a seven percent stake,” Olivia said.

“Three and a half.”

“Bump back to ten, then.”

“You wound me terribly. Four.”

“You shouldn't play at using a sword, then. Nine, and the four hours back on the table.”

“My heart. Battered, fair lady. Twenty instead of fifteen, the four hours back, five percent.”

A small smile hovered on Asafa's lips as the two batted terms in increasingly quick fashion. Patrick looked as if Christmas had come twice in as many weeks.

They started speaking faster and it took great effort for me to keep track of “previous terms” and “modifications” as they morphed and changed into nothing that resembled the initial transaction. Anything that wasn't expressly addressed got rolled in automatically to the next sally. Contractual magic was wildly outside of my experience and skill set. If called upon to say anything at the moment, I'd be dead meat.

Asafa said nothing, but every once in a while when Patrick paused, I saw Asafa tip his head. They were talking to each other via frequency, then.