TWENTY-FOUR
Layla remained attentive and polite as she followed the path barred by Crusaders, but as she ascended the steps to the capitol, her attention shifted to the crystal dome that topped the stately, round building. Composed of sparkling quartz and surrounded by intimidating pillars, this structure was one of the biggest Layla had seen in the city, and her tummy tingled as she stepped through a large gap into an echoing lobby scattered with whispering officials.
Drexel led the way toward the inner chamber. Then he halted and looked back. “When we get in there, let me do the talking.”
He reached for a set of double doors, but Layla pressed a hand to the polished wood. “No.”
Quin and Drexel looked at her as the latter spoke. “No what?”
Layla stood tall and resolute. “No, I will not let you do all the talking. I’m not a puppet that you can dress up and parade around while putting words in my mouth. You didn’t ask for a mute with a pretty face. You asked for an angel, and an angel doesn’t sit down and shut up while mortal men and politicians pull her strings. You brought me here. Now I’m going to do what I came here to do, and I’ll do it better than you, because as useful as your brutish attitude may be on a battlefield, in a civilized situation, it’s antagonistic and annoying, and it makes people want to defy you just for spite. Is that what you hope to achieve? A pissed off council?”
Drexel’s nostrils flared as his jaw fluctuated, as if he was chewing his reply in an attempt to swallow it. “You know nothing about Maganthia.”
“I know what we need from them, and I didn’t leave my home to watch you wrestle for it. I came to see it done. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Now stop wasting everyone’s time, and let’s go in there and speak for ourselves. Deal?”
Drexel yielded with a stiff nod, so Layla stepped back, allowing him to open the doors.
Sunlight poured through the overhead dome, reflecting off the white, marble floor while nurturing the flowering vines climbing the quartz walls, which were lined with three tiers of curved benches lusciously padded with silver velvet. The seats on the far side of the room sat higher than the rest, raised by a platform and occupied by twenty witches and wizards in gold and silver robes. They’d been talking amongst themselves as Mekhi watched from the sidelines, but when Layla entered, the whispers faded, and all eyes turned forward, scrutinizing every inch of the so-called angel.
No one said a word as they sized her up, but the chamber echoed with shuffling feet and cloaks as most of the Crusaders found seats. Layla’s family claimed the closest bench, welcoming Timber on the end, but Tristan and Emrys followed Drexel and Bryce, who stuck with Layla and Quin.
The six of them halted in the center of the courtyard, within a bright beam streaming from the midday sun. Then Layla stepped to the forefront, hoping they’d address her instead of the men surrounding her.
After getting an eyeful, the council members traded a series of noteworthy glances, and the woman in the center of the front row cleared her throat. “You must be the witch causing a stir in our city.”
Layla maintained her composure as she scanned their expressions. None of them seemed impressed, most were annoyed or impatient, and a few were downright pissed. Layla weighed her options while noting their unremarkable powerbands. Then she braced her spine and moved closer. “I suppose I am. I was warned my reputation preceded me.”
The witch remained quiet, but the wizard beside her scoffed. “Sensationalized stories do impress the common man.”
Layla’s temper stirred, but she swallowed it down while focusing on the old geezer challenging her. “Are you implying you’re superior to the common man?”
“Yes… No… I mean…”
Another wizard touched the shoulder of the first, halting his stuttering before making an excuse. “What he’s implying is this council needs more than stories to buy into miracles.”
“We’re not asking you to buy into a miracle. All we want is access to the Buried Library, including the Dark Vault.”
Several council members chuckled as the witch in the forefront jumped back in. “Do you think we grant that kind of access to everyone who enters our city? Our library puts the Vatican Secret Archives to shame, and the Dark Vault protects artifacts that would flip the entire world on its head should they ever see the light of day. We don’t even have unlimited access to the Dark Vault, so why would we grant such a thing to you?”
Layla couldn’t deny they had a solid argument, so she took a moment to consider her reply. “To whom am I speaking?”
“Kyanna,” the witch proudly answered. “Senior spokeswoman for our esteemed assembly.”
“Nice to meet you, Kyanna. Are you aware of the Crusaders’ prophecy?”
“We’ve heard rumors.”
“You don’t believe them?”
“Do we look worried?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“If we made decisions based on rumors, we wouldn’t be a very good council, would we? Such haste could lead to unfair judgments. For example,”—she paused long enough to summon a sheet of paper—“we received a report a few weeks ago detailing the gruesome murder of a hexless man in a den of vice.”
Layla’s vitals faltered as her stomach dropped, but Kyanna didn’t even look up from the report as she continued.
“A place called The Witch’s Titty in Galway, Ireland. It says here a female foreigner and her three male companions entered under the guise of being customers and proceeded to harass the establishment with a long list of charges, including assault on multiple patrons, deadly threats toward the guards, kidnapping, and murder by bludgeoning and dismemberment. Quote: ‘The assailant kicked the hexless customer’s head with sharp-toed, stiletto boots, rendering him unconscious. Then she decapitated the victim with her bare hands and used the severed head to intimidate other patrons and threaten security. Following the abduction, T.W.T.’s guards attempted to locate the missing wizard, but neither him nor his wife and young son have been seen or heard from since the incident.’ Unquote.”
The witch looked up from the paper, and her fellow council members whispered judgements as she dug deeper. “This report claims that assailant was you, and rumor has it the attack was unprovoked, so if we were a council that governed according to rumors, not only would we ban you from freely roaming our city, we’d bring multiple charges of murder against you.”
The tension in the chamber spiked as seated allies shot to their feet, and before Layla could find the will to swallow a painful lump into her churning stomach, she found herself shielded by Quin’s body and flanked by Tristan and Emrys.
“This is outrageous,” Drexel objected, stepping to the forefront. “You have no jurisdiction in Galway.”
“Indeed,” Kyanna agreed, “but it just so happens one of the wizards she assaulted is Maganthian. He has the right to press charges, and we reserve the right to convict magicians for crimes against the hexless regardless of where the crime was committed. It’s unlikely we’d pursue such matters if the perpetrator never entered Maganthia, but when they come into our city, they’re subject to our laws.”
“This was a mistake,” Quin hissed, practically on top of Layla, who’d recovered from the right hook to her reputation and was brainstorming ways to reverse the situation.
“This is bullshit,” she mumbled. Then she wiggled out of her protective huddle and squared her shoulders. “Are you charging me or not?”
Quin refrained from moving in front of her, but a step forward put him at her side. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll have you out of the city before they can formally read the allegations.”
“I’m not leaving,” Layla refused. “And they won’t follow through with their ridiculous threat.”
The councils’ smug expressions melted as they narrowed their eyes on her, but she stood firm. “Your attempt to blackmail me was fun, but it’s time to move on to a legitimate threat. Unless you’d prefer to continue shining a light on your immorality by seeking vengeance on behalf of the Dark Guild, because that’s who your so-called victims worked for. As for the Maganthian I allegedly assaulted, if he has the guts to go public with his D.O.V. exploits, he’s more than welcome to seek restitution for the pain and suffering he endured while defending a known Dark Guild associate. Would you like me to wait while you summon him to give his testimony?”
Quin’s chest expanded with a relieved breath, and Layla could have sworn she heard Brietta giggle, but her focus was on the council. They’d lost their leverage and were fuming, but they had no recourse.
Following a glance at her peers, Kyanna simmered a response. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Great,” Layla approved. “Now you can offer us seats so we can move on to the next order of business.”
Kyanna glanced at Mekhi, who rushed to summon wooden armchairs. Then she eyed Quin while speaking to Layla. “Will your guard continue to hover?”
Layla took Quin’s hand and linked their fingers. “Do you honestly think I share heavenly lights with a mere guard? Quin is my heart, my shield and my right hand. My merits are his, so put his seat next to mine.”
“You are bold,” Kyanna noted.
Layla stood her ground. “A necessity when met with resistance.”
Kyanna motioned toward Mekhi, instructing him to place two chairs front and center, and Layla adjusted her short skirt while sitting as lady-like as possible. Quin took the chair next to her, but he remained tense and alert.
“Now,” Layla started, flashing a cool smile, “rumors aside, I need access to the Buried Library. What can we do to get it?”
Kyanna summoned another sheet of paper and floated it to Layla. “Fill out a request. Approval takes three to six weeks and grants you twelve hours of access to the unrestricted floors.”
Layla rolled her eyes and engulfed the form in flames, brushing away the ash and fumes with a flick of her wrist. “Try again. By modest estimations, hundreds of magicians believe the Dark Guild poses a legitimate threat to humanity, and they want me to stop it. Whether or not it’s true is beside the point. I have way too much invested in this world to risk watching it burn. If there’s a chance I can protect future generations, I will, and I need your library to do it. You give the average citizen twelve hours upon approval. Let’s not pretend the application process is anything more than bureaucratic bullshit, a formality disguised as a security measure. But here’s the thing, I’m not the average citizen. I’m Willa’s angel, so I’m going to skip the application, you’re going to give your approval, and my allies and I will spend as much time as we want in your library, including supervised visits to the Dark Vault.”
The council gawked at her moxie, and a witch in the back row couldn’t hold her tongue. “I’ve heard enough. Angels are nothing more than fairy tales spun from happenstance and heroic deeds. The Crusaders are lying to you, child, and you swallowed the bait without realizing it was trash. We aren’t so gullible. Millions of prophecies have been made throughout mankind’s reign, and nearly as many have proven to be nothing more than dreams or the ramblings of an inebriated soothsayer. The world of magic is full of miracles, but goddess-sent angels are not one of them.”
Boom, another point for the council. Sometimes Layla still had trouble believing she was a witch, so her claims that she was an angel were full of doubt. Some would call that a weakness, and the council had just proven them right by using it to take her down another notch.
“Let her prove you wrong,” Drexel suggested.
Everyone’s eyes shifted to the commander as one of the council members responded. “How would she go about doing that?”
Drexel threw a quick glance Layla’s way before answering. “Let her run the gauntlet.”
Quin’s aura swelled and thickened as he twisted in his seat. “No.”
“What’s the gauntlet?” Layla asked, eyeing the council as they discussed the option in an indistinct wave of whispers.
“It doesn’t matter,” Quin replied. “You’re not doing it.”
Bryce shifted forward and held out a hand. “The Crusaders’ new recruits run it. She can handle it.”
Quin turned his scowl on the lieutenant. “The Crusaders have to conquer a low-level run. They don’t risk their lives.”
Layla kept an eye on the council, watching them nod and flash satisfied smiles.
“Very well,” Kyanna conceded. “If she can defeat a level five gauntlet we’ll grant her, and only her, supervised access to the Dark Vault.”
Everyone jolted as Quin’s empty fist splintered the arm of his chair. “No!”
Kyanna composed herself and rose from the bench, a smirk dancing on her lips as she addressed Layla. “It seems your right hand doubts your celestial powers.”
Layla narrowed her eyes on the antagonistic witch. “He’s also my shield.”
“Indeed, and his resistance means we’re done here. Enjoy your visit.”
The rest of the council stood, and Layla panicked, jerking her hand from Quin’s as she shot to her feet. “Wait.”
Everyone halted, and she tried not to squirm under their expectant stares as she grasped for a solution. “What is the gauntlet?”
Quin had abandoned his seat, and his whole body seemed to grow as he curled his fingers into fists, but Drexel had no qualms about risking a punch to explain. “Think of it as a magical obstacle course.”
“Sure,” Quin added, “if you want to coat it in sugar then dip it in bullshit. It’s a deadly trial that puts you on defense. If you falter at the wrong time, you die. And no one runs at a level five anymore. They don’t even allow attempts.”
“She insists she isn’t an average witch,” a council member excused. “If she’s truly Willa’s angel, she should be able to run the same gauntlet her creator ran. In fact, this one should prove easier. Modern magicians can’t match the power of the pure-blood challengers Willa conquered.”
Layla kept her gaze forward while considering their options. Then she braced while filling her lungs. “I’ll do it.”
She closed her eyes, unwilling to watch Quin’s ominous aura swallow her, but she could feel its weight, and his gaze might as well have taken a chisel to the side of her head.
“On three conditions,” she stipulated, forcing her eyes open. Yep, Quin’s aura was blazing. “First, I want it in writing that you won’t charge any of us for perceived crimes committed outside the city.”
Kyanna immediately agreed, proving her threats were empty. “Draft the contract, Mekhi. Brand it with your seal.” Then she returned her attention to Layla. “What else?”
“I’ll need time to train, at least a couple of weeks.”
“A month,” Drexel suggested.
“Or more,” Layla continued. “However long it takes for me to feel confident in my run. In the meantime, I want immediate, unlimited access to the unrestricted floors of the library for myself and my companions. That’s the deal. You don’t have to take it. Just as I don’t have to keep my mouth shut about how the Maganthian council sided with the Dark Guild over Willa’s angel. Work with us, and I’ll seal my lips on that fun fact. Refuse, and every tavern in the city will hear my song by sunrise.”
Kyanna motioned for Mekhi to bring her the contract. Then she signed with a summoned pen before having him deliver it to Layla. “We’ll meet your demands, and we look forward to watching you meet ours.” With that, the council bowed their heads at their guest. Then they filed through a side door and moved out of sight.
Layla sighed as she snatched the contract from Mekhi’s hand, and following a quick scan, she passed it to Quin. He remained pissed, but Layla didn’t have the energy to look him in the eye and try to fix what she’d done.
“How do we access the library, Mekhi?”
“I will have to issue special permits to everyone who plans to enter. Then I’ll need to provide the librarians and guards with a list of names.” He reached into his robes and withdrew a card scrawled with his name and contact information.
Layla accepted the card then passed it to Drexel. “Where can I train?”
“The Arena,” Mekhi answered. “Independent access requires passes. If you’ll call and let me know where you’re staying, I’ll have them delivered with the library permits.”
“We’ll get you a list of names this evening. Thanks for your help.”
She extended her hand, which received a nervous kiss instead of a shake. Then she skirted her chair and headed for the exit, her uneasy stomach plagued by the mess she’d gotten herself into.
The crowd outside had thickened, and as Layla descended the capitol steps, harp music trilled through the busy atmosphere, a celestial tinkling of notes that seemed to follow her like an angelic soundtrack.
She furrowed her eyebrows while looking up, and Brietta laughed as she pointed toward the bottom of the stairs. A harpist and flutist had claimed a section of the path. Now their attention was on Layla as they played a mellow tune.
Layla was far from thrilled with the spotlight, but the music was lovely, so she paused near the duet while instructing Quin to tip them. Though he continued to fume, he dropped a Maganthian medallion into the satchel at the flutist’s feet. Then he took Layla’s arm and steered her through the parted crowd to their waiting boat.
“Where to now?” the captain asked.
“The Spire,” Drexel answered, climbing in with Bryce. Then they floated away from the platform, leaving the chaos behind.
The passengers stayed silent as they traversed the rest of the capitol tier, and Layla did her best to ignore the anger rolling off of Quin, focusing instead on the city’s sights and sounds.
Aside from the capitol building, the highest level of the business district was lined with offices, museums, art galleries and bistros, some of which were tucked into ancient structures carved from the mountain, while others occupied new structures stacked atop the old. Those that weren’t chiseled from the mountain were built with granite, quartz or colorful clay, and while greenery and flora encroached on nearly everything, drawing huge butterflies, fat bees, and colorful birds, there wasn’t a speck of garbage. Not so much as a wadded piece of paper or a chewed piece of gum, and she had yet to see a trash can or dumpster. The white curtains fluttering in the windows and doors were spotless; the polished walls of the canal reflected the passing boats; and she’d never seen purer water, as if it had never been touched by oily fingers. She was tempted to scoop her palm in and see if it felt as refreshing as it looked, but she worried that was against the law. How could they possibly keep it so clean if everyone in the city was allowed to dip their grubby hands in it?
When the end of the capitol tier was in sight and the canal curved to the right, Layla expected the captain to stop so they could disembark, but they barely slowed as they entered the large entrance to the boathouse. Dim and humid, the inside was lit by slivers of sunlight creeping through the high windows, and the adjacent walkways had drastically narrowed, forcing onlookers to stay behind.
The urban noises muted, intensifying the echo of sloshing water, and Layla risked a glance at Quin, finding him pale and pissed as he kept an eye on their path.
She swallowed a lump and looked ahead, immediately distracted by an upcoming ledge. The water tumbled over it in one smooth sheet, but Layla couldn’t hear it splashing and wondered just how far it dropped. She was about to find out, and she couldn’t help but tense and grip the side of the boat as it drew closer to the waterfall.
The captain had stood and squared his stance, ensuring he knew what was coming. Then Quin shed his temper long enough to lay a calming hand on her thigh. “We’re not going over it.”
Her pulse mellowed as the boat slowed to a stop, its bow barely peeking over the edge. Then they waited for the watercrafts behind them to catch up. Once all the boats carrying Layla’s companions had lined up side by side, gravity shifted, and Layla’s tummy flipped as she glanced over her shoulder at a lengthening wall of water.
Noticing her shock, the captain offered an explanation. “We’re on a lift. It’s easier than forcing the canal to defy gravity.”
She acknowledged him with a distracted oh. Then she peered toward the edges of the cavern, discovering the narrow sidewalks had given way to steep stairs.
When they reached the surface of the central tier, the boats floated forward, and a whoosh of water rocked the passengers as the lift began its ascent behind them.
Taking the lead once more, Layla’s captain waved at a smiling boathouse attendant. Then they floated into the sun and curved into a canal twice as wide as the last one. The walkways were bigger, as well, and they bustled with magicians taking advantage of the countless shops, restaurants and taverns.
The music floating through this tier was more upbeat than the harpist’s composition, and the fashion was more diverse. Some people dressed in fine jewelry and luxurious fabrics; some made creative statements with unique outfits and artistic makeup and hair; and others simply wore lightweight cloaks or casual attire that could have been pulled from Layla’s closet. They all wore shoes, either high heels or comfortable sandals and slip-ons, and for every modestly dressed witch, another donned something risqué. Armored guards strolled through the crowds or stood at busy intersections, keeping an alert eye on the high-strung activity, but Layla hadn’t witnessed so much as a frown, let alone a crime.
The foot traffic grew thicker the further they floated, and the buildings climbed higher and higher until they stretched into the glare of the sun, making it difficult for Layla to ascertain just how tall they stood.
As she approached the biggest bridge she’d seen in the city, she spied a few signs advertising a Central Market. Then the sidewalks opened up into two large squares lined with merchant booths.
The canal widened, as well, making room for boats to dock, but Layla’s continued under the bridge, floating past the bazaar before veering toward a towering structure with at least thirty floors, a steepled roof, and terraces on all sides. Its intimidating shape and black, marble walls were softened by the silver curtains fluttering over the balconies and entrance, which was capped with a platinum sign boasting large, onyx letters – The Spire.
Crusaders lined the sidewalk, clearing the way inside for Layla, who tried to ignore the crowd that gathered the second she docked. “What is this place?”
Quin took her hand, helping her from the boat while making sure someone thanked the captain. Then he led her into The Spire while eyeing onlookers. “A hotel.”
“The finest in the city,” a doorman added, holding open the curtain at the entrance. “Enjoy your stay.”
Once inside, Layla gazed around a gorgeous, upscale lobby draped in black velvet, silver trim and onyx chandeliers, but the atmosphere was far from welcoming. Around two-dozen magicians stood near the front desk, frustrated as they complained to each other or bickered with the frazzled receptionists.
A female employee apologetically shrugged at a wizard, who threw his hands in the air and stomped toward the exit.
Pulling Quin with her, Layla intercepted the disgruntled customer, making him stumble to a halt. Then she ignored his open mouth and wide eyes while motioning toward the tumult. “What’s going on?”
He shook off his shock and scowled over his shoulder. “They’re bumping reservations. They claim it’s for the sake of security, but it sounds like they have an entitled jerk coming in.” His voice trailed off as his gaze flitted over the Crusaders. Then his face paled as he looked at Layla and gulped. “You’re the… it’s you.”
Teeth clinched, Layla resisted the urge to blame Drexel. Watching the commander get engulfed in an angry mob would be a lot of fun, but unless Layla wanted a city full of enemies, she need to make things right. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Wait here.”
Leaving her security behind, she used her lights to maneuver through the angry crowd. Then she addressed the wizard who seemed to be in charge of the front desk. “Hi. I believe you’re bumping reservations for me.”
She flashed her gaze around, hoping the slighted guests wouldn’t get physical, but they’d given her space while staring at the air around her, and Quin had shadowed her, ready and willing to strike them all down.
“You’re Layla,” the manager mumbled. Then he snapped out of his reverie and smiled. “We have you in the Spire Suite. Your security will have the two floors beneath you.”
“No,” Layla refused. “We’re not staying here, so track down everyone you’ve turned away and reinstate their reservations. When they check in, offer them my deepest apologies and put their first night’s stay on my bill, which can be delivered to the Crusaders.”
The man blinked a few times, as if struggling to keep up, but no one replied or objected, so Layla offered her audience a parting nod. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience. Have a good day.”
She took Quin’s hand as she walked away, and Drexel rushed to her side, his aura simmering as he hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“The right thing.” She stepped outside, finding the sidewalk still blocked by soldiers, and her frustrations flared as she spun toward the commander and whispered. “Do you want everyone in this city to resent me? Because that’s what will happen if you keep treating them like they’re nothing more than the stepping stones I walk on. The only leverage I have with the council is my ability to gain their citizens’ favor, and I can’t do that by treating the city like shit while looking down on it from the Spire Suite.”
“What?” Brietta blurted, craning her neck so she could see the top of the hotel. “They were going to give you the Spire Suite?”
Kegan tugged on her hand, pulling her out of the conversation. “Not now, hon.”
Layla’s focus stayed on Drexel, who kept his voice down as he responded. “Now we have nowhere to stay.”
Layla rolled her eyes and moved to the middle of the walkway. “Are you telling me this is the only hotel in the city?”
“It’s the biggest,” Bryce answered. “We’ll be taking over reserved rooms anywhere we go.”
Layla’s nostrils flared as she drew a deep breath, trying to stay calm in front of the bystanders. Then one of them, a woman around the same age as Layla, raised a hand and waved for her attention. Layla took Quin with her as she cautiously approached the blockade of Crusaders, and the local witch produced a faded business card advertising the Diamond Resort.
“My grandma has guesthouses,” she revealed. “Ten of them, plus room to camp.”
Layla skimmed the card. Then she handed it to Quin and motioned for the guards to let the woman through. “What’s your name?”
“Jade.”
“Nice to meet you, Jade. I’m Layla.”
“Of course you are!”
“Are all ten guesthouses available?”
“Yes. Gran can’t keep up with them since my grandpa passed, so they’re in need of some TLC, but it won’t take us long to get them ready for you.”
Layla scanned the woman’s aura while considering the offer. “We don’t want to impose on your grandma. If she’s not accepting guests, she doesn’t need us moving in. We’ll be here for a while.”
“That’s okay,” Jade insisted. “My sister and I will do most of the work, and I know Gran would be honored to host you. At least come see the place and meet her. If you don’t want to stay, we’ll help you make other arrangements.”
Layla looked to Quin, who passed the card to Drexel while nodding. “We’ll take a look.”
Jade brightened and hopped. “Yay. Gran will be so happy to meet you. Are you ready now? I can show you the way. It takes about thirty minutes if you use the tunnel and fly.”
“We’ll stick to the surface,” Quin refused. “You can go ahead and let your grandma know we’re coming. We’ll find our way.”
“Okay. Just call the number on the card if you have any questions.” She grinned and waved as she shuffled backward, but once she was past the human barrier, she turned and pushed through the crowd. “Excuse me. Coming through. Excuse me. I’ve got important things to do.”
Layla laughed at the excited exit, but then she caught a glimpse of Quin’s turbulent aura and sobered. As wondrous as the city was and as kind as the locals had been, all wasn’t right in their world, and it probably wouldn’t get better until she defeated the gauntlet or died trying.