Spy Glass Read online

Spy Glass

  103

  “Anything else?” Zebb asked. His f lippant tone indicated

  he didn’t think I would request any more.

  He was wrong.

  “Yes. Can you contact Yelena Zaltana?”

  “The Soulfinder?” He seemed a bit shocked.

  “Unless you know another Yelena?”

  When he didn’t respond, I said, “You made that snide com-

  ment about my hanging out with Master Magicians and the

  Soulfinder, so why are you surprised?”

  “I thought you weren’t…”

  “Important enough to really know the Soulfinder?”

  At least he wasn’t tactless enough to agree with me. Progress.

  Instead he raised the glass goat. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  After a few moments he smiled. First genuine smile I’ve

  seen from him.

  “She wants to know what you’re doing in Fulgor,” Zebb

  said.

  “Tell her I’m assisting a friend, and ask her to contact Ghost

  for me. I need his help.”

  “Ghost? Who’s that?”

  “A mutual friend.” Ghost was Kiki’s name for Valek. Yelena

  could communicate with her horse, and Kiki had special horse

  names for everyone. Leif ’s was Sad Man, and Janco’s was

  Rabbit. I never did find out mine.

  Zebb returned the goat to his pocket.

  “Well?” I prompted.

  “She said he’s already on his way.”

  I should have known. Perhaps our immunity connected us

  and he sensed when I really needed him.

  “Do you think this Ghost can find the magician?” Zebb

  asked.

  “Oh yes. No doubt.”

  Later that day, Zebb told me Leif didn’t see Finn’s name listed in the Keep’s records. I wasn’t surprised. Not all magicians

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  Maria V. Snyder

  attended the Keep. The Sandseed Story Weavers taught their

  own children and new Stormdancers learned from the expe-

  rienced dancers.

  Before leaving, I carried a box of old documents down to

  the Councilor’s record room. I had waited until most of the

  workers left for the evening. Since this area only housed Tama

  Moon’s documents, it wasn’t staffed. The rest of the Moon

  Clan’s records filled up its own building and employed five

  people to keep it organized.

  I added my box to a stack before searching for design plans.

  Long sheets of parchment rolled into tubes lined the back wall, but after going through them, I realized they were blueprints

  for various buildings throughout Fulgor and not ones for the

  important structures like security headquarters, the Coun-

  cilor’s Hall and the prisons.

  After five such visits, I finally discovered a long metal cabi-

  net hidden under a sheet and under piles of boxes. Its long

  drawers were only a few inches deep—the perfect size for

  blueprints. They were also locked.

  I pulled my lock picks from the hem of my shirt. Using a

  diamond pick and my tension wrench, I unlocked the cabinet.

  Buried beneath detailed maps of Fulgor, I found the blueprints

  for Wirral. Each level of the prison had its own sheet. I gath-

  ered all ten oversize pages and folded them to resemble a stack of papers, which I shoved into a file folder. If Finn spotted me leaving the Councilor’s Hall with rolls of paper, my intentions would be obvious.

  However, it appeared as if Finn had lost interest in me. He

  had gotten what he wanted—my reason for being in Fulgor.

  I hadn’t seen him in days, but again, with someone like him

  it didn’t mean he wasn’t watching my every move. At least, I

  still had my escorts and I kept my guard up, determined not

  to relax.

  With all the information and documents I had collected on

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  105

  my excursions, I outgrew my tiny room at the Second Chance

  Inn. Time for a bigger place with more privacy.

  I hadn’t planned to buy it. My intentions had been to find

  an apartment or small cottage to rent. But when I passed the

  building with its bright For Sale sign hanging in the window,

  I couldn’t resist.

  I didn’t need it, didn’t know what I would do with all

  that space and equipment and couldn’t form a good enough

  explanation as to why I bought it. So much had happened

  there, and I had no fond memories of the place. Yet I couldn’t

  walk away and let someone else, probably a saner and more

  logical someone else, purchase Gressa’s glass factory. Mine

  now. I waited for the feelings of panic and buyer’s remorse to

  overwhelm me. Nothing.

  The two-story brick building was at the end of a long row

  of stores. Its narrow front masked the depth of the structure.

  Unlocking the door, I entered the salesroom. Dust-covered

  shelves lined the walls and display cases dotted the f loor. All of Gressa’s glass pieces had been sold. Since this room would

  no longer be used as a store, I made a note to buy curtains for the large front windows.

  The door into the factory was behind the register. The

  Employees Only sign remained, but the knob turned under

  my hand. I paused and viewed the four kilns and various glass-

  making paraphernalia. Familiar feelings bubbled, not because

  I had worked here before, but because the silent cold kilns and abandoned equipment matched my soul.

  No hum, no warmth and no magic.

  I would eventually need to sell the machinery, but for now

  I explored the office. Colored glass sheets hung on the walls,

  and the clear glass desk, tables and chairs remained, but Gressa’s personal things and documents were gone.

  The upstairs apartment had also been stripped of Gressa’s

  belongings. However, there was furniture in the six rooms,

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  Maria V. Snyder

  and no one had removed the beautiful stained-glass murals.

  Their intricate swirls of color captured and ref lected the weak afternoon sunlight. Truly talented, Gressa had wasted her gift, letting her ego drive her actions.

  Cobwebs and dust coated every surface, and the linens

  would need to be replaced. I left my saddlebags in the one

  bedroom and spread out my notes and files on the prison in

  the upstairs office.

  Living here would take a while to get used to, and I needed

  to change the locks and buy an extensive list of items, yet I

  felt…comfortable. Strange.

  It was seven days into the warming season, and instead of

  meeting me at the inn per our routine, I had asked Nic and Eve

  to come to the factory in the morning. They were unhappy

  with my new location.

  “Do you like being an easy target?” Nic asked. “There are

  too many points of entry, it’s too big to guard effectively and the neighborhood is too deserted at night.”

  “You’re right,” I said and laughed at his shocked expression.

  “But I’m not moving. Can you make it safer for me?”

  He grumbled and hedged and finally agreed to try. We

  walked to HQ and joined in with the morning training. While

  we practiced, a large group of men and a few women arrived.

  They bustled about the west end of the building, carrying

  shovels and pushing wheelbarrows.

>   “Construction crew for the expansion,” Eve said.

  And jobs for the fired guards. I scanned the workers, look-

  ing for Cole’s cousin. Even though the prison guard at the

  Spotted Dog hadn’t taken me up on my offer, I had located

  his cousin, securing him a position with the crew. “Who are

  the people in the blue jumpers?” I asked.

  “Prisoners,” Eve said.

  “From

  Wirral?”

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  “That would be unwise. And I’m starting to think you’ve

  been hanging around Nic too long.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Nic asked her.

  “It’s called thinking before speaking. You ought to try it

  sometime. It’ll reduce the number of bar fights I have to break up.”

  Before they could launch into an exchange of insults, I

  stepped between them. “Prisoners from the low security

  prison?”

  “Yes, from Dawnwood,” she said. “The ones who have

  gained a certain amount of trust, and it’s also a way for them

  to give back to the community.”

  I spotted a few correctional officers. Instead of helping with

  the construction, the COs watched the blue jumpers. Although

  they were armed, they were also outnumbered. “Aren’t they

  worried the prisoners will try to escape?”

  “A few have tried over the years, but they earn points for

  good behavior and for volunteering for these work details. If

  they accumulate enough points, then their sentences can be

  reduced.”

  We finished out the practice time with a few self-defense

  moves, breaking a front choke hold, an arm grab and a rear

  choke hold. Even though I had broken these holds a thou-

  sand times, the response to an attack needed to be automatic,

  almost instinctual, and the only way to achieve that was by

  mind-numbing repetition.

  Nic and Eve filed into HQ with the others to change

  and report for work. Since HQ was across the street from

  the Council Hall, they trusted me to arrive there without

  trouble.

  I picked up my cloak. Instead of leaving, I ambled over to

  the construction site and stood to the side. At this point, there wasn’t much to see. Workers shoveled dirt into wheelbarrows

  which were dumped in a back corner of the training yard.

  Others strung ropes to mark future walls.

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  Maria V. Snyder

  Bored, I turned to leave and a familiar voice called my

  name. I grabbed the handles of my new sais and spun around,

  stepping into a fighting stance.

  My heart lurched when I met his blue-eyed gaze.

  Devlen.

  “What are you doing here ? ” we asked in unison.

  He laughed. I didn’t.

  “I thought you were in Wirral,” I said.

  He set the wheelbarrow he had been pushing down. “I

  thought I would be, too, but they sent me to Dawnwood for

  five years.”

  When I thought of all he had done while addicted to blood

  magic, five years wasn’t near enough. But after I had stolen his magic, he tried to make amends, claiming his obsession for

  power had driven him to do those vile deeds. He had saved

  Zitora’s life and helped in capturing Ulrick and Tricky. But

  still…

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  The strong features of his face had haunted my nightmares.

  Just a glance at his powerful build and the scar on his neck

  had sent me into a panic. Those cold, killer eyes had burned

  into me despite the distance from him.

  Yet, that same face smiled at me, pleased. Humor and kind-

  ness radiated from between those long eyelashes and softened

  his sharp nose. He had pulled his long black hair into a braid.

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  Maria V. Snyder

  Sudden warmth pulsed through me when I remembered his

  goodbye kiss.

  I snapped back to reality. “I’m training with the guards,

  keeping in shape.”

  “I meant here in Fulgor.”

  I debated, and decided to tell him part of the truth. “I’m

  helping Councilor Moon.”

  “As an Adviser?”

  “No. Her assistant.”

  I expected him to chuckle at my new job, but the humor

  dropped from his face. “You’re better than that, Opal. You

  should be—”

  “What? I have no magic. The Council has no use for me.”

  My tone sounded harsher than I wanted. “I’m needed here.”

  “The Councilors are idiots. Just because you have lost your

  magic doesn’t mean you are no longer valuable,” he said.

  “I stole your magic and here you are, moving dirt.” I ges-

  tured to the full wheelbarrow.

  “You see it as moving dirt. I see it as a worthy project. A

  way to help atone for my misdeeds.”

  “Even after you’ve spent time in prison?”

  “More so, because I would rather be here than sitting in

  my cell with nothing to do.”

  I pished. Silver lining and all that nonsense—he could

  deceive himself. I preferred to look at my situation more

  realistically.

  “Back to work, Devlen,” a big guard called as he hustled

  over.

  “Come on, Pellow. She’s a friend,” Devlen said.

  “You know the rules. Go on or I’ll report you.” He rested

  his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Devlen turned to me. “He’s all bluster, but I don’t want him

  to get into trouble.” He grabbed the handles of the wheelbar-

  row, then shot me a look I had never seen on his face before—

  vulnerable. “Visit me?”

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  Unable to speak, I nodded. He beamed and delivered his

  load of dirt to the growing pile.

  “Ma’am, you’re not allowed to fraternize with the prisoners.

  It’s against the rules,” Pellow said.

  I glanced at the guard. As tall as Devlen, his oversize muscles strained the seams of his uniform, but his doughy face contrasted with his solid build. I wondered if the Dawnwood COs

  had nicknames for their positions, as well. Would Pellow be

  called a babysitter?

  A hardness in his gaze belied his pleasantness. “And it’s

  dangerous. We’re not in a controlled environment.”

  “Is any environment truly controlled?” I asked him.

  Pellow conceded the point. “Better to stay away al-

  together.”

  Sound advice, yet as I moved through my day, my mind

  kept returning to Devlen. The shock of seeing him wore off

  by nightfall, and then I realized my stupidity. I could have

  questioned him about my blood. He had been with Tricky

  and Ulrick, he might know if they had saved a vial.

  Guess I would visit him after all.

  Not quite a strip search, but the female CO ran her hands

  all over my body—an unpleasant experience. I had already

  surrendered my weapons, and my identity had been verified.

  Dawnwood’s prison walls didn’t press down as hard on my

  shoulders as Wirral’s, and I could breathe in here. The bright-

  ness and cleanliness masked the buildings true purpose for a

  little while, but the double sets of solid doo
rs still slammed

  with a tone of finality.

  Visiting hours spanned late afternoon to early evening each

  day. After completing my tasks for the Councilor, I had prac-

  ticed with Nic and Eve and walked home with them. I had

  waited until they were out of sight before heading to the

  prison.

  Once through security, I was escorted into a visiting room.

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  Maria V. Snyder

  Iron bars separated the square space into two sections. On my

  side, an uncomfortable-looking chair faced the bars. But on

  the opposite side, a sturdy metal chair had been bolted to the

  f loor.

  My escort ordered me to sit and said in a monotone, “Do

  not approach the bars. No touching and no inappropriate lan-

  guage or topics of conversation. Any of these things will result in your immediate ejection from Dawnwood. You have ten

  minutes.” He stood by the door with his arms crossed and his

  face devoid of emotion. His bored demeanor an act to make

  me relax and forget he existed so I might blab something

  important.

  The door across the room opened and Devlen entered, fol-

  lowed by Pellow. Devlen’s hands were manacled behind his

  back, but he smiled at me. Pellow unlocked the cuffs, pushed

  Devlen into the chair and then shackled him to the chair’s

  arms. The guard stationed himself behind Devlen.

  “I thought this was low security,” I said.

  “It is. But you’re my first visitor, and they don’t know how

  I’ll react. Better safe than sorry.”

  His first visitor? A pang bounced in my chest. He wore

  another short-sleeved blue jumper and black boots. A number

  had been printed across the front of the shirt with Dawnwood

  written underneath. I noted he’d kept in shape. The uniform

  clung to his powerful frame.

  Pulling my thoughts to the present, I asked, “So if you play

  nice, then you won’t be cuffed to the chair next time?”

  “Yes. I earn points for being well behaved.” He tilted his

  head. “I told you back in Hubal I’d cooperate fully.”

  “I was still having trust issues.”

  “And

  now?”

  “It’s better, but it will take me a long time.”

  “I’ll be patient.”

  Another oddity about him struck me. “What happened to

  your Sandseed accent?”

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  113

  “Gone for now. I already stand out in here so I don’t need

  another…quirk.” He leaned forward. “Now, tell me why