I tried to show enthusiasm. Maybe I could sabotage the device on my side.
Olivia narrowed her eyes at me, as if she'd heard my thought, or read it on my face. “I just sent a communication to Dare. He said that his team will be ready as soon as Dagfinn and William deliver the pad and spell.”
“Oh. Great. Great.”
Sometimes...sometimes the efficiency and genius in my group of friends was not a benefit.
Olivia narrowed her eyes further. “Yes. Great. They are extremely capable of doing the rescuing. And if you leave the scene immediately, the praetorians aren't allowed to be in the First Layer without you present. A benefit for the non-magical population, don't you agree?”
Right. Definitely. And I could...totally leave without participating in the rescues.
Rocks formed in my stomach. “The Department isn't without strong first line resources. Their hunters and thieves are well-equipped with containers. They will give anyone a fight.”
I could channel my own magic in the First Layer whereas the others—the ones I would be sending into danger—could not.
Olivia stared at me. “Are you telling me that you don't think Alexander Dare will be able to handle hunters in the First Layer?”
Constantine didn't even attempt to hide his smirk, as he looped one string through another at my side, forming a pentagram.
“Of course not.”
“Good. Everyone knows the danger. This is not your war alone.”
“No. No, I know. I know.” Knowing was different than doing, though. I chewed a fingernail, wishing it was a pen cap. “I made the spell.”
Her eyes softened. “We'll be with you soon.”
That wasn't something that made me feel better.
Arms wrapped around me and I closed my eyes. The hug didn't include all the sensory details—the one thing the rooms couldn't provide was true physical interaction—but I could pretend. Those were Neph's arms wrapping around me, even though she was a layer away.
I kept my eyes closed and let myself pretend.
“Just another few weeks,” she said soothingly.
“Why does Leandred get to be there now?” someone groused. “We all took Individualized Study to minimize class restrictions this term, and are still confined to campus. How does he keep escaping?”
“I'm special. You should already know this,” Con said, leaning back in his chair and hooking strategically spaced knots into a thicker rope. He was always doing weird things with string these days.
“Your father is going to be crucified, if you get caught there,” Delia said in her blunt, sarcastic way.
“Concerning,” Constantine said blandly, not looking up.
“Your magic feels knotted,” Neph said to me, gently touching the threads around us which were vibrating. “Not like after Bloody Tuesday, but the edges look and feel the same. Is something wrong with the holomagic?” She looked at Constantine.
I scooted out from under her arm. Neph, of anyone, could gather more than the average sensory data from me—even in a virtual room, a layer away.
“What do you mean? What happened, Ren?” Olivia asked, frowning severely at me and ignoring the byplay that was continuing around us.
“Just tired. You know me, sleep is for when I'm dead,” I said. They both frowned. “That was a joke.”
“It wasn't funny.”
“No.” I leaned my head back. “It wasn't, sorry.”
“Ren—”
“Don't worry. Everything is working well! The gear was great today. Really took the load off.”
“You tried out the new pad?” Will hopefully asked, connecting to our conversation and, thankfully, bringing the rest of the room with him.
I smiled. “Worked perfectly.”
“And the traceability pouches?”
“Seems like Bandits Incorporated has a future hit on their hands.”
The involved mages did the magic equivalent of a high-five.
“The Department knows where you are, though, traceability be damned,” Olivia said angrily. “They can't go after you unless they declare all-out war on the Third Layer—they still have to go through the political arena right now—but it's only a matter of time.”
“Way to keep things upbeat, Majesty.”
“We aren't under illusions here,” Olivia said grimly to Patrick. “Stavros and Kaine can track her. They've been able to track her for a long time. She was safe at Excelsine because she was a student, and nothing had been proven yet. Both of those protections are long gone. The only thing keeping her safe is staying in the Third Layer.”
Constantine continued fiddling nonchalantly, emotions relentlessly in contrast to his bored expression.
Patrick nodded. “But even warriors need downtime and fun.”
Olivia's expression eased a fraction and she turned back to me, looking over my body and magic.
I wondered what she saw.
“I don't know what Nephthys can sense, but you painted two days ago. And Leandred is there now. You should be fine.”
I swallowed, shoulders tensing, and forced my hands to remain at my side instead of going to my nose. “I am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You are lying.” She looked at Constantine for confirmation. He blandly looked back. “Why?”
I looked at the floor.
“Ren?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you bleeding paint right now?” she demanded.
“It's fine. I must not have painted enough Tuesday,” I demurred.
“You need to paint fully.”
“I will.”
“You need to—”
“I know.”
“It's important to—”
“Definitely.” I stuffed a hand under my thigh and wiggled my smallest finger at the holotalk device.
“Ren, you can't keep—”
“Liv? Oh, no, I think the reception is going.” The image wavered with the quick movement of my pinkie.
“Ren—”
“May magic be ever at your fingers,” I said hurriedly.
The device switched off, and everyone abruptly disappeared, taking much of the light from the room with them.
Heavy silence fell.
“Really?” Constantine stated dryly.
I stared at the device, which was furiously blinking while Olivia tried to reconnect the magic on the other end. I grabbed it, extinguished the magic completely, and shoved the box in my pocket.
“Nicely done, darling. The reception? I will forever treasure the look I'm imagining on Price's face right now. You've given me an inconceivable gift.”
I pulled my fingers over my face and didn't respond.
“Good thing you can't get rid of me so easily,” he said, his voice as silky as the ribbon he always had in his fingers.
“No, you are a limpet I just can't shake.” But my voice was unsteady. Paint bubbled up in me again—as if punishing me for the abrupt dismissal of my friends.
He tapped a finger against the table, and a blanket of emotion crashed over me, pushing the paint back down again. He looked suddenly pale, oddly, as if he had encountered a snacking vampire. I blinked, and he was flush again with health. A trick of the light?
“Tell me about your paintings, darling.”
Dark thoughts immediately returned with visuals—darkness, despair, the end of the world. “I thought it was obvious that I didn't want to talk about it.”