The Rise of Ren Crown (50 page)

The rest of Friday evening was a last minute mass of gathering and gatherings.

We met up for a final group dinner at Patrick and Asafa's. The meeting had a “last meeting” vibe to it—in more ways than one. We all huddled around the round table, going over final plans. Who would be where, doing what.

Our plan would start at precisely noon on Saturday, but I was going to need to spend most of my time between midnight and noon in the two rooms that I was expected to be in, filling up on whatever magic rejuvenation and renewal spells I needed.

“Before you turn in for the night, Crown.” Saf pulled a tiny orb from a box and held it out to me.

It was a container for magic. Tiny and powerful and already filled.

There was a warm, living vibe to it. Comforting and exhilarating at the same time. I looked at the others in question.

“We all gave some,” Saf said.

My stomach dropped in a heart-wrenching form of shock and gratitude. I clutched the tiny marble against my chest, protecting it.

“In case of need,” he said solemnly.

Loudon motioned to me, and I looked down at the ouroboros ring hanging from a cord around my neck. The orb fit exactly inside. I secured it there and it warmed my chest.

“And here.” Delia held out two bands. “You need to cover your cuffs the second before you leave. These will dim them. In the Third Layer, especially in Outlaw Territory, they tag anyone with a Second Layer cuff, and there are groups who will hunt you down for them.”

The hatred went both ways between the layers.

Constantine would be able to remove his cuff, but mine was an absolute cuff. Marsgrove always made sure that I couldn't remove mine.

I nodded.

“Guides will meet you at the point we talked about. Say as little as possible to them, just give them the half-payment and the town name of where you are going,” Delia stressed. “I had to call in a lot of favors for this.”

I nodded more slowly. Delia seemed nervous, agitated. “I will.”

Dagfinn's gaze narrowed on me—whatever he was thinking was sharp and serious. “You have a lot of protectors already, Crown. But know that if you get sucked into the system, you
will
be found.”

Trick raised a dubious brow at him.

“You might not get rescued,” Dagfinn allowed. “But there will be an entire frequency dedicated to the injustice and effort at getting you released.”

Like a prisoner of the state.

I smiled softly. “Thanks, Dagfinn.”

~*~

I walked back from Patrick and Asafa's with Delia and the others. We stopped at Mike and Will's to do the last fittings on the cloaks.

“As camouflage, the cloak will work for a week or until it takes a few specifically targeted hits,” Delia warned. “The magic starts to ebb and be called in different directions.”

I examined the material, which flowed around my fingers. “Battle cloaks must have different properties then?”

With the way the combat mages took hits, there was no way the cloaks could stop working like that.

“Battle cloaks use magic that has been partitioned
just
for that use. It's not permanent, but it's not temporary either. You have to get special permits.” She looked up at me through her bangs, magical pin held between her lips. “There's no way we could have gotten permission for creating one for this mission. And with the Legion staring in our windows, we can't have you breaking the layer in order to enact permanent space.”

Delia patted the folds of the cloak and made an adjustment. “But this will work perfectly with your shields as long as you wear it
judiciously
.” She cocked her head. “Your shields really are better than most I've seen. During the battle, you took more hits than anyone around us.”

I knew by now that I'd probably have been dead a thousand times over without the shields Raphael had given me, and that Marsgrove had made stronger. After doing a little more fact finding, I'd discovered that while Raphael had been considered a shoe-in as a Protection Prodigy, he'd made very few things for the marketplace in the time before he'd “disappeared.” All of the things he
had
made, had been given to friends.

He'd had all the time in the world to become a market sensation. Only, he hadn't.

And after he'd broken out of captivity—after that long stay in the Department's Basement? Raphael hadn't been interested in protecting people any longer.

Most people didn't have access to a Raphael Verisetti shield.

I cleared my throat. “Thanks. Where do you usually secure shields?”

I had no idea where mine were attached, but it seemed like a good idea to find out. Just that everyone who knew, looked at the top of my head. I'd just assumed my shields were some...layer that went around my body. Like a lotion that never washed off.

I had looked into protection wards extensively, but not shields. Wards were what I had needed to secure my parents. And later, what I had used for Olivia. Wards, especially those that could be drawn, were directly in my skillset, which, for the distinctly small amount of time I had been in the magical world relative to everyone else, was a bonus. Shields required a different sort of engineering. One that I would like to tackle at some point in the future.

Since I'd been gifted with a stunning set, I'd put it on my list of things to examine later.

Delia examined my expression and said, “Undergarments work really well, but I'm guessing that's not what you have.”

I looked down at my arms. So where were mine? I wasn't wearing any jewelry that I'd had at my Awakening.

“True masters can embed shield sets into skin—so deep that they never shed. I've even heard of prodigies being able to concentrate them in hair follicles, so that they always renew.” She shrugged.

And...there was my answer.

“That is outside of my expertise. But I'll make you lots of things when you get back. You can thread all sorts of things in the fibers of a bland, innocuous shirt.”

That made sense. I had seen Bellacia's shirt
glitter
as her shields shifted into place against Constantine.

“Thanks, Delia.”

She smiled wanly. “Buck up, Crown. Tomorrow you get Brittle Britches back. It is going to be an
adventure.
”

Will and Neph joined us, and we all took a moment to strengthen our ties before we turned in for the night. The twilight before battle.

Chapter Forty-one: Tattoos and Memories

I did have one more stop to make, before turning in for the night.

Greyskull wasn't in his office. But there was a little spell that started ticking a countdown saying he'd be back in eight minutes.

The wards had let me in, so I walked further inside and poked around his office. There were a number of pieces of art and some fun posters that I thought were probably magical medical jokes—stick figure mages running around and getting into scrapes, then being treated in all sorts of horrifyingly amusing ways.

Surprisingly, there weren't any personal pictures in the room or on his desk.

A small magical bookshelf was bolted to the wall. Inside, a number of medical texts were taking bites out of each other, then healing their neighbors. Small chains connected them to the case.

Five tomes stood together at the left side, steady and slightly glowing. I recognized them as Excelsine's yearbook equivalent.

Impulsively, I reached for one and pulled it free. It was a different year than Constantine had shown me. Even better, this one was like a book in the library, complete with its own spells.

Not knowing what I was looking for, I paged through the book, letting the spells attach.

The spells read me and flipped through to show me the hundreds of pages I was looking for. The taste of memory and the smell of emotion curled around me with each new page experienced.

It was...mind-bending.

From an artistic perspective, Raphael was one of the best looking men I'd ever seen with his golden skin, symmetrical features, and laughing, intelligent eyes. I knew that already, though. He had been my very respectable teacher for a month, and he had been just as good looking at thirtysomething as he was at early-twenty-something, even when he had finally let the insanity bleed into his gold eyes at my Awakening.

What
wasn't
expected was how he was portrayed in the memories preserved on the pages—memories that remained unaltered—freshly bestowed a little over a decade ago.

Mind-bending.

Raphael had been a mischievous, well-liked mage who people had thought of as
kind.
And though he'd been friendly with everyone—people staring after him longingly or fondly in every captured memory—his overt affection for his close set of friends—Greyskull, Marsgrove, Stevens, and a man named Lassiter—was obvious. His magic draped every one of them in the memories—the flutters of feeling on the pages.

Marsgrove
and
Greyskull
had been the ones who everyone stepped softly around in the memories. And the three of them were thick as thieves, all over each of Raphael's pages. There wasn't any statement of it on the page, but the notes of caution whenever the other two came into frame were easy to interpret.

I mean, I had always been actively terrified of Marsgrove, but that was because he held my fate in his fists. His classmates had been afraid of him for other reasons. And Greyskull? My mind boggled.

Stevens was much the same as I was used to—active, driven, and icy. She frequently looked irritated or exasperated with the boys, but a fond affection always softened her eyes. And Raphael was frequently tweaking her in memories given by outsiders to the group, pulling unwilling smiles to her face when she thought no one was looking.

Lassiter was a wild card. A crafter. Weapons and devices. He was in the background of a lot of the pictures I flipped through, my mind not seeking information on him, and therefore, the pages not flipping to memories that had him in the foreground. He was still a decided part of their group, though.

Looking through the pages and experiencing the captured emotions of friendship and love—was
painful
.

There was a wild aspect to young Raphael that he still retained—like he lived in a world of endless possibilities and just couldn't be bothered to come back to reality, but the overall feeling in young Raphael was far more
fey
. The jagged lines, vast canyons of insanity, and cliffs of emotion, were missing.

Instead, there was a huge well of protection and love lacing each picture.

No wonder all his classmates stared longingly after him. He was a small sun that made sure to never burn those around him.

I could see aspects of current Raphael in the pictures of young Raphael—the mischievousness, the cleverness and brilliance—but it was all doused now in insanity and revenge. The well of positive emotion had turned into the jagged cliffs, the protection of those around him had turned into a complete disregard for the safety of others, and the feyness had turned into psychopathy.

“What did they
do
to him?” I whispered.

“No one knows.”

I jerked my head up to see Greyskull leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed. Greyskull was watching me carefully, and I quickly reined in my emotion and expression.

I closed the book and slid it carefully into its spot. “Sorry. I...I shouldn't have been nosing around your office.”

“I wouldn't have allowed the wards to let you in, if I'd been afraid of that result, Miss Crown.”

He pushed away from the wall and walked to his desk. “May I help you with something?”

“Yes. I need your help with,” I cleared my throat, “Raphael.”

He stopped his movements, and I could see his tattoos growing restless. “Miss Crown. I know I wasn't being explicit before, but I thought you understood—”

“It's not just that he has Olivia, my roommate. He has Marsgrove.”

The skin at the edges of Greyskull's eyes and mouth pinched. He pushed his medical implements around the desk. “I told Phillip I would not get involved. He knows that and he knew that when he left.”

“Raphael will kill him,” I said.

Greyskull stopped his motions. “I know,” he said quietly. “That hasn't been in doubt for years.”

It was more painful to hear the emotion in his voice now that I had experienced the emotion on the pages. The emotions of
all
of them. They had each freely given their emotions to the pages that held their own memories.

“Listen, I don't like Marsgrove and he doesn't like me,” I said. “But I'm not leaving him with Raphael. And I will be getting my roommate back.”

Greyskull looked at me from the sides of his eyes and he smiled, just a bit. “You are a lot like him, you know. Raphael. From before. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for a friend.”

I swallowed. “Well, he's not like that now.”

I didn't want to be unnecessarily cruel, but the man Greyskull knew was not the same man running around killing people. If anything, the yearbook had highlighted that completely.

“I know.” Greyskull said it simply. “But I won't aid in his capture.”

I jumped on it. “Not his capture. He can go free.” That would kind of suck, and Constantine would be
pissed
, but I could make it the truth. It would be
easier
to make it the truth. “I have to meet him, in order to get Olivia back. I just want to be able to return from that with Olivia and Marsgrove alive and in tow.”

Greyskull tapped a scope and looked off into the distance, in some memory I couldn't know. “Just you?”

I cleared my throat. “There will be others...possibly...maybe.” Greyskull
was
still staff. “But I don't want them to engage with Raphael anyway. And we'll have Kaine and the praetorians to deal with. So if I have something that puts him out of commission...?”

After experiencing the yearbook memories, I was even more convinced that Greyskull could help. Marsgrove had been chasing Raphael for years—they knew all of each other's old
and
new moves. Greyskull had been silently carrying out whatever penance he had claimed for his own on Excelsine's campus for the last however many years.