War of the Networks Read online

  Precautionary

  When the darkness faded, I found myself in a familiar cavern with red and yellow rock walls. Mabel’s personal chamber in the Western Network. The arid air turned my mouth into cotton in moments. Floor-length drapes edged in yellow lace split the space in two, and the hint of a canopied bed peeked through their gauzy linen. A curved balcony with a waist-high railing revealed a dark sky studded with stars.

  Mabel released me with a sneer.

  “Welcome home, Bianca darling.”

  I paused to survey the room, my heart pounding. Know where you are, Papa had always taught me, and the memory of his voice calmed my hot panic. Memorize everything you can.

  Books filled a mahogany shelf on the side opposite the balcony. A bright painting of fire filled the far wall, nearly blending into the rock behind it. The dry air seemed to crackle.

  “I’ll just be needing this.”

  Mabel grabbed my braid. A pair of scissors appeared in the air next to her. She clipped off a lock of my hair just before I jerked out of her grasp.

  “Don’t be so reactive, Bianca,” she purred. “It’s just a little piece of hair for the protective magic.”

  The lock of hair drifted to the doorframe that led into the hall and pressed itself into the wood, as if drawn there by a string. Mabel spoke under her breath, and a line of red flame zipped around the edges. A flare of heat rolled by me, so intense it stung my face. I turned away even though it disappeared in a flash.

  “There,” she said with a satisfied smirk. “No one—not even you—would be stupid enough to try to cross that threshold now that the magic knows you.”

  My stomach dropped. She was right. Papa had told me about spells like this before. If I moved too close to the doorframe, the red fire would shoot toward me in warning. If I pressed on, it would consume me until I burned to death.

  Lovely, I thought.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to state the obvious,” Mabel said, motioning around us with an outstretched hand. “But you are my prisoner. That manacle will prevent you from leaving the Arck. You may try to leave my room.” Her eyes flickered to the doorway with a wry grin. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  The manacle on my right wrist glowed light blue and silver, almost obscuring my circlus. The weight, though not enough to slow me down, served as a stolid reminder that she controlled me.

  “You’re keeping me here?” I asked. “In your chamber?”

  “Yes.”

  I stared at her. “You’re not going to lock me up in some kind of hellhole and torture me with your all-powerful Almorran magic?”

  She didn’t respond to the sarcasm in my voice, but her pause led me to believe something was off-kilter.

  “No,” she said. “I want you where I can see you at all times.”

  “Because you know Papa’s coming after me, don’t you?”

  Mabel grinned. “I’m counting on it.”

  She glided across the room with the same dangerous appeal she’d always had, this time magnified by her magic and the swirl of silent black flame around her legs. I’d witnessed many variations of Mabel since our first meeting, but never had she looked so unnerved.

  “Aren’t you afraid?” she asked, turning around to study me. “You’re in the hands of the enemy. Once again, I hold your life in my hands. It’s a wonderful feeling, you know. I rather enjoy the power.”

  I ignored her question. “Papa won’t let you have me for long. You just made a dangerous enemy.”

  “You put a lot of faith in him. He’s not so wise as you think in all matters.”

  “Papa doesn’t have to be all-knowing to best you.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh really? Please, enlighten me. What does the infamous Derek Black need to beat me?”

  “Motivation. He won’t stop until you’re dead.”

  A flash of something like uncertainty flickered in her gaze, then disappeared. She snorted.

  “Derek can try. I hope he does. He’ll never beat me. I’ll prove I’m better than all of them.”

  I was about to ask who all of them were, but a rustle of movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. A graceful, spotted cheetah strolled through two of the white curtains and stopped. My heart jumped into my throat. Why did Mabel have a cheetah?

  Mabel beckoned the cat closer with a twitch of her fingers. He responded to her silent call, settling with an obedient growl at her feet. She trailed her fingertip down his nose and over his neck.

  “Beautiful, isn’t he? His name is Juba.”

  Juba meant death in the Almorran language.

  “He’s the male and very territorial,” Mabel said with a little tsk in my direction. “He never leaves my room. You might as well become friends with him because he’ll always be here … watching you.”

  I made a sound in my throat. Did her strange ways have no end?

  “This is Juka.” Mabel waved a hand toward another cheetah that strolled over from the balcony. Their chests rose and fell rapidly in the sweltering night air. “She follows me everywhere. Precautionary, of course.”

  “Precautionary?”

  “Stay here long enough, and you’ll see what I mean. I wouldn’t get on their bad sides if I were you.”

  “Right,” I muttered, warily surveying their dark amber eyes. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

  Juba stared at me with a sense of keen intelligence that made me wonder if he was a cheetah or a witch. There was no way of knowing by looking at him; I hadn’t learned the skill of magical detection, and I wasn’t powerful enough to overcome transformative magic without practice and direction. Juba’s nostrils opened and closed as he lifted his nose in my direction. He was a little bigger than Juka. They shared the same white underbelly, narrow waists, and elegant movements. A ridge of hair flowed down the backs of their necks and between their shoulder blades, giving them a wild look.

  “So this is your plan?” I asked, whirling around to face Mabel as she strolled toward her bed. “You’re going to keep me in your room with a cheetah until my father rescues me?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happens if I escape?”

  She smiled. “Why don’t you try?”

  I didn’t rise to the occasion. While living with Mabel, I’d have to choose my battles. Getting myself hurt this early in the game would be unwise. Of course I would try to escape, but I wouldn’t be stupid about it.

  “I’ll pass,” I said, forcing nonchalance.

  She shrugged and continued on.

  “Wait,” I called, following close behind her. “What about—”

  Juba crossed the room in two leaps, snatched my arm in his pearly jaws, and yanked me to the floor. I fell to my knees with a cry. Pressure and pain shot through my muscles, right into my bone. The shock rendered me stunned.

  “Oh,” Mabel called airily over her shoulder. “Juba’s protective of me. It’s best that you not get too close unless I give you permission.”

  Juba snarled as he released me. Blood stained his white teeth and dripped down my skin, staining the rocky floor. Two crimson holes in the fleshy part of my arm dribbled blood when he slinked away. I wrapped my other hand around the puncture wounds, my breathing fast and shallow. The pain ripped through my arm in waves, catapulting my mind into panic.

  Stay calm, Papa’s voice directed from a memory of when I’d fallen out of a tree at age twelve and broken my arm. Always stay calm, B. It keeps your heart rate down and mitigates the pain.

  Mabel gestured to the bare floor at the foot of her bed. “Your accommodations while you’re here,” she said, chuckling under her breath. “Sleep well. I have some business to take care of and won’t be back until late. Don’t wait up.”

  A chain shot out and attached to the manacle around my wrist, jerking me off my knees with a cry. It dragged me across the stone floor until only a length of chain the size of my arm allowed movement. My arm throbbed, and I held a sob in my throat. The lights vanished, plunging the cave-li
ke room into darkness.

  Juba settled on the floor near the balcony, his eyes glowing in my direction. Struggling to keep my breathing under control, I clutched the bite wound and counted slowly to one hundred. Once I regained control of my thoughts, I reached for the hem of my dress. My bloody hand left rose-colored marks on the fabric when I tore off a long piece. Using an incantation to temporarily numb the pain, I gritted my teeth and carefully wound the bandage around my arm. At least I could still do magic. The enchantments on her room didn’t seem to suppress that ability.

  Juba settled on the floor not far away. I lay back, ignoring him, and stared at the striations on the ceiling while the magic wore off and my arm began to hurt again. Mabel thought herself clever, no doubt, managing to steal me—and Isadora—from the Central Network. Surely the old Watcher was here as well, hidden away like the Book of Light. My desire to retaliate momentarily overrode my fear. How wonderful would it be to turn my kidnapping back around on Mabel? To use this opportunity to gather information, to observe the enemy.

  To win.

  No matter how powerful her magic, there had to be something I could do to escape. Some hole in her reasoning, a flaw in her emotional, crazed plans. I’d figure it out. And then?

  I’d find Isadora and the Book of Light.

  A pair of gleaming fangs woke me the next morning.

  Juba’s breath hit my face hard and fast, smelling like decay and iron. His teeth shone with dripping, hot saliva. I waited, holding my breath to keep from screaming. After what felt like an eternity, he slunk away. My heart slowed. I stared at the red rock ceiling until I gathered my composure.

  I winced when I sat up. My hips ached from sleeping on the stone floor, but they didn’t hurt as much as the bite on my arm, which had swollen in the night. I’d have to take care of it with magic to keep it from getting infected.

  Waves of heat already permeated the air, making everything move like a mirage. The chain connecting my wrist to the bed had disappeared, so I pushed myself to my feet. Juba watched my every movement but stayed sprawled on the cool floor, panting. A small porcelain jug of water stood on a table near the head of the bed. I padded over, unwrapped the cloth, rinsed the blood from my arm into the bowl, and surveyed my throbbing wound. The two puncture marks appeared black in the morning light, surrounded by a purple and blue bruise. I cast an annoyed look at Juba, who twitched his tail as if he were amused.

  “Witch,” I muttered. “Definitely a witch.”

  A few pieces of flat, warm bread, accompanied by a small jar of thick brown paste, waited on a low table across from the bookshelf. I ate while surveying the room, eyeing the walls for hidden doorways or anything that seemed out of place, and headed to the bookshelf as soon as I finished. I sat on the floor and started pulling books off the bottom shelf. Most of them were new, with fresh pages, a fine script, and a leather binding that indicated they were handmade. I sorted them in stacks and fanned through the pages. The Book of Light could look like any book. Mabel could have disguised it with magic to be something simple like the tattered Everyday Potions Volume 23.

  After sorting through each book, I used a revealing incantation, which would force any magic to undo itself, but nothing significant came of it. Dark Potions and Everyday Use fell apart, crumbling into little more than a pamphlet with no spine, no cover, and handwriting so illegible I didn’t even try to decipher it.

  Thoroughly frustrated, I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of Juba’s constant stare.

  “Nothing,” I said. What had I expected? If Mabel possessed the counter magic, wouldn’t she just destroy it?

  Unless she couldn’t destroy it. It stood to reason that the counter magic would be just as powerful as Almorran magic, only less evil. Maybe she couldn’t destroy one without the other.

  The manacle lay heavy on my wrist. I wrapped my hand around it, feeling its cool weight against my skin. With one quick movement, I tried to jerk it all the way off my arm. The cool silver metal tightened, fitting so close to my wrist I could barely spin it.

  Too easy, I told myself. If I’m going to outwit Mabel, it’s got to be more complicated than just removing the manacle.

  Juba sighed, resting his head on top of his paw. My eyes narrowed on the balcony. Could I go outside? That opened a new bevy of possible escape routes.

  Juba watched me with detached interest as I abandoned the mess of books and slipped onto the balcony. The sun seared my skin the moment I stepped outside. The red rock castle, despite having endured thousands of years of the unforgiving sun, felt cooler than the scorching summer air. When nothing painful prevented me from going forward, I moved into the middle of the balcony with measured steps.

  Mabel’s room looked out over the city from at least seven stories high. No one would recognize me this far up. No doubt layers of magic prevented my escape off the balcony. I eyed several pots of tall flowering cacti placed a few paces apart near the edge. On the balustrade ledge behind the massive cacti sat smaller decorative pots.

  I picked up a small cactus and inspected it. The dark red earthen pot matched the sands that seemed to stretch out to an eternal horizon in the east. A green spiked bulb sat in the fine dirt, as anemic as sand. The slightest hint of a bloom lingered on top. No doubt it had taken months for that little bud to sprout, inching toward the sun despite the soil’s poor nutrients and lack of water.

  “Merry part,” I said under my breath as I tossed the pot off the balcony. An explosion sent me ducking for cover. Pieces of the shattered pot rained over me, freckling my hair with baby cactus spikes.

  “Jikes,” I whispered. Only a few remnants littered the balcony floor. I brushed a few shards off my shoulders, carefully untangling the cactus spikes from my hair and sleeves. Well, so much for the idea of sending messages over the railing.

  Juba stood up, his hackles raised. I straightened, ignoring his throaty growl. “What? You think I’m going to jump off after that?”

  He slowly lay back down, protected from the sun by the shade of Mabel’s bedroom. But his slitted eyes remained on me, his paws lined up next to each other and ready to spring.

  I sighed and leaned against the balustrade, peering down at the market below. Heavy canvas stalls stood in rows. Woven baskets piled high with dates, old books, leather water pouches, and shiny camel bells awaited buyers beneath the bulky material. An older woman with deep wrinkles from the hot Western Network sun sold spiny green bushes enchanted to bloom on command. The low bellow of gangly camels and the occasional shout of a merchant reached my balcony.

  Just when I’d had enough of the heat, an odd witch standing beneath a braided blue canopy caught my eye. His yellow blonde hair—common in the Western Network—was pulled back into a ponytail, a few wispy strands curling out onto his wide shoulders. Nothing about him was unusual, but the confident way he stood with his legs braced and his head upturned to stare right at me arrested my suspicions.

  “Zane,” I whispered in relief. The Head of Protectors. Aside from Papa, no other witch was as talented or sneaky as Zane. He’d transformed his appearance to blend into the Western Network, but I knew it was him without a doubt. He must be here for me.

  I gripped the hot stone in my palms and leaned forward to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. A shot of white-hot pain ripped through my fingertips, down my body, and into my heels, flinging me away from the balustrade. My ribs hit the wall of the Arck with a crack. The cloudless sky swam between dark spots in my vision until the colors faded and everything turned to black.

  “Ah, delightful. You tested the boundaries, didn’t you?”

  Mabel’s voice moved in ripples through my buried levels of consciousness. I ascended them slowly, aware first of my throbbing head, then the burn of sun on my skin, and at last the still-smarting cheetah bite on my arm.

  “It’s a powerful little manacle,” she said, her voice sounding further away, then closer, then further away again. “I told you it wouldn’t allow you to l
eave the Arck.”

  Bit by bit, I put the pieces together. Zane. Leaning forward to see. Darkness. The magic of the manacle had thrown me back, preventing me from escaping. How long had I been lying there? Sweat coated my back. My skin burned. I would have moaned, but I didn’t want to give Mabel the satisfaction of knowing I hurt.

  When I opened my eyes to the blistering desert sun, Mabel was pacing back and forth, her arms folded and her fingers drumming a rhythm against her arm. Juka stood next to Juba at the balcony opening, watching her with an intent, tense gaze.

  She stopped to stare at me. A slight breeze rustled her hair.

  “I paid your father a little visit today,” she said. I pushed myself off the floor, scooting backward into the shade with my good arm.

  “You went to the Central Network?”

  Her eyes gleamed. “Something like that. The wonderful thing about Almorran magic is that I don’t even need to leave to go somewhere. I can be everywhere if I want. It’s lovely.”

  Like a coward, I thought. Frightened enough of Papa she won’t see him in person.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him I will accept his full surrender in exchange for his beloved daughter.

  “And his reply?”

  Mabel smiled, slow and steady. “He told me to burn in the fires of my own magic.”

  So Papa had neither refused nor accepted her offer, which put both Networks—and the war—into a strange kind of limbo. I wasn’t surprised. He was stalling for time, likely. Giving Zane and me a chance to figure out how to break free.

  “Will you kill me now that he didn’t give you what you wanted?” I asked.

  “Are you afraid that I will?”

  I paused, wondering if I should put on a brave front and tell her that nothing scared me. Deciding to stick with the truth, I said, “Yes.”

  She studied me for a moment, as if she were surprised, then turned her back on me, the gauzy fabric of her dress floating around her.

  “I never expected Derek to agree to my terms. Not right away. There’s time to drag this out. Besides, there’s no reason to kill you just yet,” she said. “Not until I get what I want.”