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There were several greater principles of magic. Elemental magic, the most common across the world, spoke for itself. Using the elements was generally the first thing any wizard learned. Then, there were spells—which included hexes and curses, but also protection shields; anything that took the energy of the universe and morphed it into a concrete thing.

Spells were interesting. Hard to execute, precise, demanding focus, spellcasting and spellcraft—the art of writing something entirely new—was a direct communication between an individual and the universe. Spells could be good, or devastating. One look at my arms made that clear.

The third primary principle was enchantments: the manipulation of objects andminds, could be seriously morally questionable, and yet, all three of these were dubbed “light” magic—a stupid word in itself, given the fact that actual light powers existed.

Everything else was considered arcane—or dark—magic. In short, the kind of magic that couldn’t solely be explained in a book.

The exception was blood magic—anything perpetrated on or using living things. The uninitiated freaked at the very name, but technically,healingfell into that category. So did many potions, if they required the bone or blood of organs of something previously alive. Blood magic was its own thing, neutral, neither light or dark, as it could be used for good or ill.

Summoning, the ability to instantly grab someone or something and bringing them before us, its little sister, telekinesis, and their cousin, portalling—actually opening a doorway to another place in this world or another one, wasn’t in any way good, or bad, but these were all considered dark magic. These days there were enough spells to move small objects within reach that it was considered no big deal, but it didn’t change the fact that the magic was technically considered dark.

So were prophetic powers, binding magic, and a large variety of skills anyone would use if they knew how.

“Dark,” I proclaimed, “basically means arcane, not necessarily evil.”

“Yes, well, I’m not a complete idiot,” Silver said. “But those people get away with literal murder. Proudly. Not a week passeswithout the runners having to hunt down someone from the underside for crazy craps none of us lots would ever think of doing. Be careful.”

I sighed. All of that was true. It didn’t necessarily apply to Lucian, however. Yes, he had killed before, but Gideon told me who, and why. Gently, I said, “You know the guy he killed—the one that landed him in the Guard—was a rapist? And a murderer. And he also lived in the vale, not unders.”

Silver chewed on her tongue, annoyed. “Yes, well. There are bad eggs everywhere.”

Shealmostgot the point. That’d do for tonight.

12

KLEOS

Somehow, the world continued spinning. Gideon didn’t get himself murdered in the week following Lucian’s departure, and was assigned a perfectly boring partner he hated, no doubt for the sin of not being Lucian.

The first trip to his office I had the time for between my personal research, training, and my archives hours, showed me how much Gideon missed his new friends. Poor Timothee wouldn’t ever compare, that was certain.

Seated in the familiar guest armchair, a coffee in hand, I already noted the differences in the office space—it was much, much messier, for one. It also faintly smelled of male odor, which had never been the case with Lucian.

Lucian smelled great. I was close enough to detect a lot of the notes last week, and I’d spent every moment I wasn’t researching runes over the weekend mixing various scents to attempt to recreate it, because I figured it would be the best home fragrance known to man. So far, I’d added grapefruit, mandarin orange, white musk, mint, bergamot, cardamom, a touch of nutmeg, lavender, cinnamon, violet, geranium, vanilla, sandalwood, leather, guaiac wood, and tonka bean. It was so close, but not there yet.

Maybe I should try oakmoss and patchouli, too?

I could have just hunted him down and demanded to know what perfume he used, but I was attempting to pass for a sane person. So instead, I brewed.

The office was diffusing a minor eau de sweaty socks. Poor Gideon didn’t smellterrible, for a guy, but his work was highly physical, and he didn’t hop into the shower before coming back to the office.

Most of the upper levels of the Guard—the training facilities and the runners’ floors in particular—were rather gross. But for six blissful months, this office had been the exception. Not anymore.

The next surprise was the coffee I promptly coughed up. “What is this dilutedpiss?”

I came to Gideon’s office during my breaks because his coffee was far, far superior to the one we had downstairs. This, if anything, tastedworse.

“Turned out, Lucian replaced the coffee with his own. The bastard ground it himself, and it was fucking delicious.” Staring down at his cup, Gideon looked like he might cry. That made two of us. “This is what the department keeps in stock.”

“Oh, well, I like it!” Timothee replied cheerfully. “Thank you for the drink, partner!”

I gave the coworker all the attention he deserved: none. “Then you’d better get your own coffee.”

“I guess. I just likedhis.”

In short, he missed his friend. “Reach out. Ask him where he buys his likely way overpriced coffee beans. You have his number, right?”

Suddenly cheered up, Gideon grinned. “Yeah. He also gave me this before leaving on Friday.”