Cryptic Magic

Prologue

RHAPTA

Tahir stood at the end of the Grand Hall, looking out onto the city of Rhapta. The wide, sweeping steps fanned out below him, but he did not descend. No, he would not do that. He belonged in the Grand Hall as all Elders did in times of strife. He stood positioned in the middle of the last two pillars and looked out.

The limestone city spread out before him in near-perfect symmetry, with the Grand Hall at the head of the central plaza. The only structure more grand was the magalkan’a that sat in the center of the Plaza itself. The massive, azure stone nearly pulsed with energy, and people flocked daily to place their hands upon its warm surface.

It has been confirmed, said a voice like darkness in his mind. A moment later, a shadow of a man materialized at Tahir’s shoulder; the light coming in from the archway seemed to shy away.

Tahir let out a long, deep sigh. He had spent years of his life, close to a century, devoting time and effort to protecting his people. All the Elders did, but him more so than others; whether or not they knew that. He prided himself in being able to make the difficult decisions the other Elders refused to do, and he would do so again.

You are sure? he asked. He had to be sure. The resources he had devoted to uncovering secrets long buried would boggle the mind of a lesser man, but he knew what knowledge costs.

Yes, he is, the voice replied back. The man waited patiently for his orders. He would wait until the sun set and rose again a hundred times or until starvation eventually took him. Obedience had been the heart of their training. But Tahir needed him a while longer and found no use in letting him rot.

Take care of it then.

The shadow man moved to leave.

Oh, and Yusuf? Tahir said, turning to look over his shoulder. The shadow man paused. Be sure to get there before the boy.

The shadow man gave an almost imperceptible nod and vanished into the pools of darkness that led deeper into the Grand Hall.

Tahir took another breath and let the familiar iciness loose. It crept down his legs to crackle over the marble floor. Frost spread around him in fractal patterns, traveling up the pillars to the sides of the room. The release felt good, and he reveled in the feeling.

It would be his last bit of peace for quite a while.

Chapter 1

Twisting Shadows

Ladies, are you finished with the toilets yet? Karin asked for the third time in ten minutes. Kinza didn’t have to look; she knew her boss was standing just outside the public bathroom, nose wrinkled because cleaning stalls were above her. The delight of scrubbing corporate toilets was bestowed upon newer employees, if Kinza’s three and a half years as a cleaner could be considered new.

Yes, your grace. We’ll be out in just a moment, Mitra said in a singsong voice from the next stall over. Kinza sniggered at the tone. Mitra had been hired a few months after Kinza, both of them fifteen at the time, and they had quickly become friends, commiserating over their shared disdain of Karin’s micromanaging tendencies.

Mitra had a tendency to lighten the gloomy atmosphere that Karin created. The few months prior to her starting, Kinza had worked with another older girl who liked to put headphones in and listen to music on full blast their entire shift. It’s not that Kinza minded, but it was a bit lonely with no one to talk to. Mitra had a way of making the time fly by whenever she was around.

The job didn’t have the greatest pay either, but finding a good job at their age was difficult with so many other teenagers in the area, and both girls had needed the money. So for the past few years, cleaning corporate offices in downtown Chicago after school had been bittersweet.

Tonight’s client was a small health food organization that rented office space in one of the fancy high rises. Wood paneling, infinity sinks, eco-friendly coffee machines, it smelled of high-end luxury. They had different clients most days of the week. Every Tuesday, Karin and her team would show up after the employees had left, and the three of them wouldn’t get out until close to nine.

Karin just snorted and put an imaginary hair back into her bun. She always came to work with her light brown hair in a bun so tight it made her already harsh features almost menacing. After assigning the two girls the more difficult tasks, she always left the ones that required the least physical effort for herself. So when their shifts ended, her clothes were never wrinkled, and she never had a drop of sweat on herself. I’m vacuuming the section by the elevator, and then I’m leaving, so you had better be done by then, she said, and Kinza heard her retreating footsteps down the hall.

She didn’t have the energy to throw a retort back; she was exhausted from another nightmare, the sixth in the last week. Who knew that you could be tired when you were both awake and asleep? The nightmare was always the same. She was crawling past a barrier of shimmering air, dense forest around her, and a flat-topped mountain in the distance. She never knew why she had to go; she just did. As soon as she got past the barrier, the scene shifted. There were twisting, dark shapes in a vast room of god-like statues and marble floors. She remembered they were marble because the moonlight would glint off the floors from the skylight above. Something sinister emanated from the cluster of dark shapes, an intention that left her skin feeling oily and her chest heavy the morning after. Unable to speak or move, she would just watch them until suddenly they would all turn to her, eyes boring directly into her. That’s when she would wake up and still feel as if they were watching her.

I swear, she thinks we’ve never done this before, Mitra said, popping her head into the stall Kinza was cleaning. She had waist-length, raven hair in a braid and long, dark eyelashes framing deep brown eyes. It was ridiculously unfair how good she looked, even after hours of work cleaning toilets, emptying the garbage, and hauling vacuums up and down stairs.

Kinza just rolled her eyes. Clearly, was all she said. She flushed the soap down the toilet and grabbed her bucket, but Mitra was blocking her way out of the stall, hands on her hips. An all-knowing look was on her face. Honestly, Mitra could read her like a book, so it wasn’t too far off. When Kinza wanted to vent, it was great, but when she just wanted to close up like a clam, Mitra was there, trying to pry the pearl out for her own good.

"You had one of those nightmares again, didn’t you? You don’t even need to say it; you have the worst bags under your eyes. I could sell those as knock-off Gucci and retire early. You know my mom has this really good tea you can—"

Sheeeesh, Mitra. Relax, I’m all good, Kinza said, shouldering past her out of the stall. Of course, she had only vaguely mentioned it a few days ago, and now Mitra was trying to single-handedly cure her of all possible ailments. It was touching, but sometimes she could be smothering. She walked by the enormous backlit mirrors on the way out of the bathroom. Glancing at her reflection, she realized Mitra was right, though; dark circles ringed even darker eyes. It didn’t help that the fluorescent lighting washed out her normally soft brown skin. Before she had left for school that morning, she had scraped her hair into a low, sleek ponytail at the nape of her neck. Unlike Mitra, Kinza had to spend hours flat ironing her usual curls to get them to be that straight. But now, at the end of the day, errant strands stuck to her face, and the ponytail was coming halfway out.

Well, you look like poop. So I beg to differ, Mitra said, hauling their stuff out of the bathroom to meet Karin by the elevators.

Kinza laughed. Poop? Who says poop? Whatever, let’s just get out of here. I have so much homework to do tonight. She followed Mitra through the halls to the lobby by the elevators where Karin was waiting, wrapping up the vacuum cord. On the way, they passed by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and up on the tenth floor, they had a spectacular view of downtown Chicago at night. This high up, you couldn’t see any of the grittiness, just the neon lights of the city’s nightlife, the reflection off Lake Michigan, and the ever-present flow of traffic on the expressway.

Didn’t you just start classes a week ago? Mitra asked.

Yeah, but apparently, there’s no ‘easy first week’ with college courses, Kinza said, throwing up air quotes. We’ve already had two quizzes. I’m going to die, she said dramatically.

Yikes, Mitra grimaced.

Both girls had graduated last June, and while Mitra was taking a gap year to save up money, Kinza had started on her bachelor’s degree at National Louis. The four-year scholarship into the Human Services program wasn’t entirely a surprise with Kinza’s 4.0 GPA and an extensive list of volunteer and extracurricular hours, but it had her dancing around the kitchen when the acceptance email had come through. Grams had tried to hide her happy tears but failed miserably. Before they died, Kinza’s parents had wanted her to go to college, but with almost no money left behind, the prospect had been bleak. Life had decided to put her into Difficult Mode, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her.

The three of them switched the lights off and took the elevator down to the main lobby. They waved at Phil, the night security guard on the way out. Phil was in his late forties, a single dad from a nasty divorce. He had the belly of someone who spent their evenings drinking beer and eating frozen dinners in front of the tv. He loved his kids, though, and frequently worked doubles so he could buy them nice things. The last thing he wanted was for his kids to get teased for being poor as he had been when he was young.

Kinza knew all of this because he would talk her ear off as she and Mitra waited for Karin to arrive on Tuesdays. He was always nice to them and held the door if he saw them coming and waved goodbye when they were done.

The girls lugged their stuff to Karin’s van parked down the street just a few minutes before the meter was set to expire.

All right, ladies, great work tonight, but let’s try to finish a little earlier tomorrow, yeah? Karin said. As if they hadn’t been trying to finish as early as possible already.

Uh, yeah, sure thing, Karin, Kinza said. She had to scrape the bottom of the barrel to muster even that bit of enthusiasm. She and Mitra grabbed their bags and sweatshirts from the van and waved goodbye, heading down the street to the bus stop. Kinza pulled the ponytail out of her hair, letting the strands flow freely.

Sure thing, Karin, Mitra mocked, shaking her braid back and forth.

"Finish a little earlier tomorrow, yeah?" Kinza mocked back, shaking her head like Mitra, making her hair flip.

Both girls looked at each other and erupted into hysterical laughter. As soon as one would calm down, the other would start up again, and it would take them until the end of the block before they could utter another word without giggling. A few people looked at them in annoyance as they walked by, but they didn’t care. It was Chicago, and everyone was annoyed.

They stopped at the bus stop, Mitra pulling out her phone to show her the Instagram pictures of the guy she was currently talking to. She had been telling Kinza about him earlier before Karin had told them to chat less and work more. "Seriously, Kinz, look at him. He’s so preeettty." She sighed. Mitra was constantly on a hunt for a boyfriend; she had five just in high school. Kinza didn’t know how anyone could even like that many people.

Kinza looked at the shirtless picture of a guy about their age, brown hair perfectly coiffed, sitting in the leather seats of a car that he clearly couldn’t afford. He had a jawline that could cut glass. Okay, yeah. He’s cute. What does he do?

Umm… Mitra swiped to another picture, orange nails flashing across the screen.

He has a job, right? Or is he in school or something? Anything? Unfortunately, Mitra attracted a very specific type of guy. The kind that had all the charm of a goldfish and rode on good looks and the silver spoon they were born with. Kinza didn’t know what she saw in them.

Mitra just gave her a look that said I don’t really care about that.

Nope! Hard pass, Kinza said. He’s clearly a player, Mitra. The bus pulled up, and they got on. It was pretty empty. Two older men sat on the left, and a woman and a baby were on the right. The girls sat about halfway to the back, avoiding the seat with the stain, and the bus lurched forward, taking them out of downtown and toward the west side of the city.

I don’t see you tryin’ to find somebody. Don’t you want a boyfriend? You and Max broke up over a year ago. Images of gorgeous green eyes and a dazzling smile flitted across Kinza’s vision. Max had been her high school sweetheart. When they had started dating freshman year, he had doted on her, bringing her flowers and chocolates to school all the time. When he had gotten a license (and a shiny car from Daddy), he had picked her up every day and drove her to school. He always told her how pretty, and beautiful, and cute, and sweet she was. She was fairly certain that was the only thing he liked about her because all she could remember now was Max’s irritated tone anytime she raised her voice or laughed too loud. They had ended the relationship last year, Max stating that he needed to think about his future and he would need someone a bit more reserved. Kinza was pretty sure he wanted a throw pillow for a girlfriend. Silent and decorative.

The breakup had stung, though. She missed having someone who would laugh at her jokes and eat the pickles she didn’t like, and someone who believed in her. After her parents had died ten years ago, she decided she wanted to change the world. She wanted to house the homeless, feed the poor, establish better education for inner-city kids, the works. Max had told her it was a pipe dream, and human services careers didn’t make nearly enough money. Either way, when she and Max had started dating, she had thought she had the perfect relationship. It was a pretty picture for a little while, but she refused to be a trophy, even if Max’s distasteful expression came up anytime she made herself heard.

When do I have time for a boyfriend? I have four classes worth of homework to do, then I have to get back up tomorrow for school, and then we are working tomorrow night again. I look like I haven’t showered in months, and I’m pretty sure this is a bleach stain on my sleeve, she said, picking at the threads of her gray sweatshirt.

Girl, we both know damn well that given a nap, a shower, some makeup, and a change of clothes and you would be the hottest person, like, ever! Mitra said, throwing a hand up. Kinza knew she was exaggerating but appreciated the effort she put in. She just rolled her eyes and rested her head on Mitra’s shoulder.

As they moved further west out of downtown, the shiny high rises gave way to the trendy neighborhoods of the Chicago Loop. Shops, restaurants, parks, and some smaller apartment buildings passed by the bus windows. That would eventually fade to the areas of Section 8 housing and broken down parks. People were still outside this late, enjoying the last bit of nice weather in early September. As Kinza was looking out the window, she felt the back of her neck tingle. It was probably just the wind blowing through the open window, but on instinct, she whipped her head around, slapping a hand to her neck.

There was nothing there.

But to her surprise, someone sat at the back of the bus. That’s odd, she thought to herself. I know I didn’t see anyone else behind us when we got on. Maybe he had been lying down. It wasn’t unusual for the occasional drunk person to be seen passed out on the back seats late at night. But this person didn’t look drunk. He was wrapped in swaths of dark material from ankle to wrist. It looked like both pants and shirt could have been made from a single bolt of fabric. A hood hung low over his eyes, and a mask pulled up over his nose. Kinza could feel him looking at her, though. The light seemed to bend away from him as if repulsed, casting the back of the bus into shadow. She honestly couldn’t tell what he looked like with how covered he was. Maybe it was some new tech-wear style. She tried to keep up with current fashion trends, but her budget kept her on a strict leash.

She quickly turned back around.

What? Mitra asked, looking at her and then throwing a quick glance over her shoulder. Mitra didn’t seem to think anything of the man.

Nothing, just a mosquito or something, Kinza replied. But for the next few stops, she could feel eyes burning into her back, goosebumps running up her spine. It took all her effort not to turn around. Something about him just felt off.

Growing up in Chicago’s west side had taught her how to handle herself and recognize when she was in a shady situation. While her neighborhood was relatively safe, any big city had its downfalls, creepy stalkers being one of them.

In third grade, a friend of hers had gotten beat up on the way home from school one evening. The group of older kids had come out of nowhere. She had learned to always walk home with another person whenever she could. When she turned fifteen, she started getting catcalls from sleazy men as she walked to the bus stop. After that, she kept a little switchblade with a plastic green handle in her purse just in case. She had never needed to use it, but it made her feel better to have it on her.

Mitra got off a few stops later, promising to find her a boyfriend by the end of the month. Kinza, still distracted, absentmindedly said, Yeah, sure.

The little squeal Mitra let out pulled her back to the present, and she realized too late that she was going to be receiving a slew of profiles later that evening.

As the bus pulled away again, Kinza looked into the window’s reflection, hoping to catch a glimpse of the shadowy person, but couldn’t see anything. She slinked a little lower and casually peeked over her shoulder, feigning adjusting her hair.

There was no one there. Maybe they had gotten off? She sent a quick text to Mitra, telling her to let her know when she got home safe. Mitra texted back almost immediately that she would.

She relaxed a little now that the person was gone. Moving her hand under her shirt, she scratched lightly at the tattoo on her upper abdomen. It was a palm-sized mandala with two smaller circles in the center that looked like symbolic eyes. The whole thing was surrounded by delicate chains and inked gems that stretched to the sides of her stomach. Her parents had told her they had taken her to get it when she was little, but it had been there for as long as she could remember. And there was no way any licensed tattoo artist in the state of Illinois would tattoo a child. She had given up asking her parents for the truth and just accepted it as a sort of birthmark instead. Sometimes it would tingle softly, just like the back of her neck had only a few minutes before.

She got off two stops later and threw her light blue backpack over her shoulders. The bus stop was at the corner of a small park. The next block up