The mage reached and trailed a pricked fingertip across the mirror's face.

The circle he drew was crude, inelegant, lacking the usual perfection mages imbued their diagrams with. It was my understanding that constructs and runes were ineffectual if not drawn with precision, but Lucian was using black magic, which meant the standard rules for magecraft did not apply. 

I stood in the man's office again, holding the unconscious mortal child in my arms as Lucian drew bloody circles on the ethereal glass. My reflection showed my displeasure as I shifted my hold and felt the taut material of the syndicate coat tighten around my arms. A cast-off from one of Lucian's associates, the coat fit better than his did and gave me a measure of anonymity, but it was still too small. I was not a large man, and yet most mages were smaller. They were creatures of intellectual pursuit, men who allowed themselves to soften, to shrink, and to become fat, effete scholars.

Grimacing, I rolled my shoulders and glanced instead at the boy standing next to the black mage. He wasn't a boy, precisely, but he was young by mortal standards. His face had yet to lose its juvenile roundness and his chin sported the fuzziest of blond beards, his cheeks marred with fading acne splotches. I wasn't one to be fooled by appearances, but even I would have thought him innocent when the boy was actually a black mage like Lucian. Lacking a record, he informed on the Syndicates for the older black mage and acted as—for lack of a better word—a spy.

The boy kept throwing furtive glances in my direction and biting his nails. I ignored him.

Lucian used his prepped needle to prick another finger as he began a second diagram on the mirror.

"Shall we discuss the plan again while I work?" he asked, breath fogging the glass. I shook my head—and he continued as if he hadn't seen my negation in the reflection. "Fate's predicament is a tragedy, but it affords a priceless opportunity for your infiltration of the Bronze Tower and the Facility below.

"The syndicates are often the target of tyrannical propaganda and much of it isn't misplaced. They are a tyrannical bunch who think themselves better able to lead—and thus subjugate—the whole of Terrestria. In some regards, they are better suited, and one of these regards is their capability of handling misplaced children who've suffered...traumas." Lucian's gaze flicked toward the girl, then away, as if guilt prevented him from looking upon her. "She didn't have family beyond the farm, but the syndicate will be able to take care of her. Give her a home, and a chance."

I said nothing, as he'd already told me this information earlier in the day. 

Lucian cleared his throat and took note of the drying blood on the mirror. Steeling himself, he began another arch. "Bringing her into the Tower with Jordan here will provide you with the distraction and the credentials needed to pass undetected into the main lobby. From there, you need to move swiftly to enter the—." 

"I am aware of your directions. You have repeated them twice thus far, and the second iteration was unnecessary. I promise you a third rendition will be equally pointless."

Lucian breathed in as if to lecture me—then seemed to remember to whom he spoke, and decided against it. "All right."

The mage's hands moved faster then, and the spell he worked upon the mirror ignited when a sudden spear of his energy struck the room and the blood sizzled upon the glass. I sank my teeth into my tongue, tasting blood as the lights flickered and the witch Marian complained from the kitchen. Connie was with her, as the huntress wasn't needed for this particular part of my quest.

Lucian's blood began to smoke and the black mage twisted his fingers, joining them together then pulling them apart as if shifting the pages of a newspaper. The pressure excited by the presence of his magic caused my ears to pop. Without any visual cue, Lucian shouted, "Back before midnight, Mar!" and stepped into the mirror. The boy, Jordan, followed.

It made my skin crawl to watch the glass ripple in their passage, rolling like the waters of a disturbed pond, leaving no evidence of Lucian behind. The feel of the spell was unnatural and rough, as it carried the tell-tale taste of metal that was common to arcane magics, and it sat upon my shoulders like heavy pauldrons without the padding between my flesh and the iron. It cut into the skin without drawing blood.

Unhappy but resigned to my fate, I hurried after the black mages and stepped through the rippling mirror. 

The wind struck with such force I nearly toppled, but I managed to stand upright and blink against the pain in my eyes as I surveyed what I had walked into.

We were upon a cliff, stumpy shrubbery scratching our legs as the wind whipped across the bluff from the ocean it overlooked. I inhaled the bitter taste of the salt-laced air and found it refreshing after spending the day trapped in the black mage's study, where we'd poured over detailed designs of the Facility and its layout. Higher on the cliff, a hundred yards or so along a paved road, waited the Bronze Tower. It was brightly lit by outdoor lamps and angled spotlights, so it shone like a heralded beacon against an evening horizon clad in black clouds.

I glanced over my shoulder to see if there was a mirror behind me, but there was nothing there. Farther west where Itheria sat humble and dim around the calm waters of the harbor, lines of smoke were visible as they rose toward the sky. 

"If you both do as you've been told, you'll be fine," Lucian said, dark eyes on the distant tower, the collar of his coat flared against his neck in the wind. "Everything will be...fine." 

Shoes sliding on the wet sand, I adjusted my grip on the child in my arms. She'd been unconscious for most of the day, as far as I knew, though she'd woken up screaming near nightfall. Marian Harris had used one of her mixed concoctions to put the girl in a charmed sleep, rendering her little more than a prop in this charade.

Jordan slit his palm and proceeded to pat blood about his neck and jaw like it was expensive cologne. He painted a trail of it along his shirt's buttons, adding a few fingerprints on his throat and stomach. Lucian helped him add a few tears into his coat, then popped the boy in the mouth with a swift jab of his fist. Jordan whimpered as he accepted the blow, which served as a finishing touch to his eye-catching, haggard disguise. He appeared as if he'd been out in the field for a day and a night and hadn't had a chance to rest.

"Hurry now," Lucian said as he rubbed his swollen knuckles and looked again at the sole building on the ridge. "I cannot linger here, and nor should you."

Without another word, the boy and I set off at a brisk pace through the dormant bushes and came out on the flat asphalt of the road. We broke into a steady run, and though I was carrying a human being, I soon out-distanced the young mage and had to pace myself so he would be at the fore of our miserable little group. It was essential for Jordan to be seen, to be noticed, and for me to slip under their detection as a two-dimensional lackey.

We passed three unmarked vehicles on our way. They drove fast and without headlights, disappearing below where the road curved along the bluff and descended toward the city. The asphalt merged with an easement, and we crossed into an unmanned parking lot where the mages left their cars while visiting or coming into work. It was a surreal thought, seeing those vehicles and knowing the men who drove them viewed this tower as the place of their employment—and there was a prison housing the world's most dangerous and wily criminals in the earth at their feet.

Mages were an odd collective. I would never understand them.

The Bronze Tower was, at first glance, a modern conception. It was built with steel and marble with many levels of reflective windows, the casements enclosed with brushed nickel finishes and flat, contemporary lines. On closer inspection, however, one could see the age of the building in the cracks easing their way north of the foundation, and in the ivy layering the first level like calluses over old skin. The entrance was shaped like a dolmen, with two pillars and a crude stone lintel laid flat across their tops.

Several men dressed in their gray coats came streaming out of the entrance as Jordan and me came to it. They spoke in quiet voices, their mannerisms rushed, and took no notice of us despite the blood prominently displayed on the boy's chest and face. I took this to mean wounded mages coming into the building had become a regular occurrence.

As we passed one another, I heard one disgruntled man quietly snarl, "Those fucking witches will be the death of us all."

I recalled the smoke rising from Itheria I'd noted only minutes earlier. Were the fires the handiwork of Saule and her fellow witches? How well had they managed to distract the syndicates this evening?

I didn't have time to consider it as we crossed the threshold.

The harshness of the exterior angles continued into the building's lobby, where the ceiling's planes converged in an off-putting geometric pattern. Looking up was dizzying and would have thrown a lesser man off his feet. Though the main hub of a syndicate, there were no overtly peculiar items on display as this area was accessible to mortals. There was only the occasional rune showcased as art, or a script shimmering in the epoxy floors.

There was a seating area and numerous halls breaking from the main lobby. The barrenness of the space led me to believe it was normally quite busy, filled with bodies and mages from every corner of the world here to negotiate business with the head syndicate. Now, given recent events, the lobby's stillness echoed like thunder across an open plain.

This was the heart of civilization for the other populations in Terrestria. Somewhere in this building, laws that determined the fates of entire species were being created, deliberated, and dispensed. The leaders of the Blue Fire Syndicate sat in session and commanded followers in every city in the world.

The magic here was thick, unworldly. Lucian had stated a dampening field lain into the very streets of Itheria kept the city from the notice of invaders like Absolians—but I remembered how, as a Sin, this place had repulsed me. The power it emanated had warned all of my kind to stay clear of the Bronze Tower and the city of mages.

Ignoring the subtle stabbing sensation radiating through the floor into my feet, I scanned the western wall and counted the slim, rectangular archways until I spied the one Lucian had instructed me to go through.

Halfway across the lobby, Jordan cleared his throat and shouted, "Help! We need help, we have an injured child with us!"

Then he tripped and collided with an end table stationed by one of the seating area's beige couches. A glass decanter of water shattered when it hit the floor, an ashtray was slung into a wall, and the table's marble top split down the middle.

What few mages were in the lobby rushed forward, two exiting one of the roomier halls, a third leaving his post by the entrance, and a fourth moved from behind the reception desk. They moved as predicted to help Jordan and to take the unconscious girl from my arms.

I was relieved of her weight and exhaled, dropping my arms to my sides as Jordan made a spectacle of himself. He fainted against one of the smaller mages, toppling him.

The man's a better actor than I gave him credit for.

Bending at the waist, I grabbed the fallen Blue Fire mage under the arms and hoisted him to his feet—and took the name tag from his chest with a slight flick of my wrist. I retreated after releasing the man, and as Jordan woke and exploded into a colorful rendition of a vampire fight he hadn't witnessed, I quietly hurried across the foyer to the waiting archway. Slipping inside with no one the wiser to my presence, I took an immediate left into an enclosed staircase—per Lucian's directions—and headed downward.

I jumped the last of the steps and landed on silent feet before a welded door. It was taller and heavier than I was, a door that belonged in a vault and not in a professional business setting. The emblem of the Blue-Iron Syndicate was embedded into the thick metal, three bleached topazes inset within four interlocking circles, a dull, iron star placed in the middle. I was about to cross from Blue Fire territory into the subterranean domain of the Blue-Iron mages.

The success of my goal hung upon tenterhooks, the possibility of failure greater than it had ever been before. One false move and I'd be discovered. If I proved too slow or too fast, too clever or too dumb, I'd ruin my only chance to free Cage and bring Sara back.

Ignoring the sweat building on the back of my neck, I swiped the name tag along the dusty reader located by the door at eye level. A green light flashed, preceding the jarring thud of solid tumblers being thrown aside. I touched the handle, twisted it, and shoved the heavy door in with all my considerable strength, hearing how the hinges protested the motion. Cold air escaped the inner tunnel, and I shivered despite myself.

Without pause, I dove into the inner heart of Itheria's mage tower.