In retrospect, I think it was the drawing that summoned me. Given the way life had gone to that point, I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’m a painter, but not like the kind you can find in art museums and galleries, and somewhere above your average house painter in skill. I can use color and shapes and patterns to infuse them with power. In that, I’m more like a wizard than anything, except I don’t have any spells or incantations. Sometimes I wished I did; it might be easier than working the magic I command.
I’d only been back in Conlin a few months, hoping to learn enough to keep a friend alive, when I felt the power of the drawing. For me to detect it meant serious power was used. Sitting cross-legged in my living room working with a new colored ink, enjoying quiet and peace and the fact that no one tried to kill me, I felt it thrumming against my senses, like an aching tooth. Since my return, I feared discovery. It had been hard enough breaking away as it was. Now that I’d returned to my childhood home—a place where I should have been safe—I thought my friend Devan and I had several more months before we were discovered, not the barely two months it had been.
Power drew me to the park abutting my house. The park in Conlin was a wide expanse of wooded lawn surrounded by a high river rock wall, the last remnants of a different era when the park needed to be protected. Paver stones led to a central plaza where an enormous water fountain sculpture occupied most of a clearing. Spartan cement benches were set around it. A soft burbling came from the water fountain and the air still carried the charge of the recent storm.
I found her sitting alone in the middle of it all.
She had her legs crossed over each other like she was in meditation, eyes closed with her petite chin tilted toward the center of the plaza where the fountain resembled a demonic creature. The girl’s jet-black hair hung past her shoulders and caught the occasional gust, the dying remnants of the storm from earlier, and framed her olive face. She was beautiful and exotic and clearly didn’t belong in Conlin. She sat, sketching quietly. The sketch must have been what drew me here. At least she wasn’t what I feared.
I still considered turning back. I knew where she came from. I didn’t fear her but still didn’t want anything to do with them. And, as far as I knew, theywanted nothing to do with me. Or they hadn’t. For her to be here meant something had changed.
Instead of turning back and heading home, I hesitated at the edge of the plaza. Enormous oaks ringed it, their leaves dripping from the recent rain and obscuring the rest of the city, even filtering the noise of traffic along the street. Aromatic pine trees dotted the park, so common around Conlin, their long, brown needles leaving soft trails through the woods.
I dragged my foot through the dirt, parting the needles as I went, working up against the gray stones that made up the plaza and moving slowly to avoid her notice as I formed my protective circle. Not a true painting, but creating this shape didn’t require much power from me, barely more than the lightest touch. After I completed the circle, a soft pop of electricity worked over my skin, little more than a static shock.
“Are you finished?” She opened her eyes and spoke without facing me.
She’d sensed me. Or my power. Either should have warned me more than it did.
I stepped across the threshold of the circle, careful not to disrupt it. A simple shape, one of the earliest a painter learns to create, but in a place like this, even the circle was difficult. Too much power worked through the park as it was. It was the reason I dared returning home. Whatever I added now should barely register.
“Who are you?” I asked, careful to keep my distance.
She pushed herself to her feet and I noticed the wide sketchpad she held in one hand. Her other clutched two thick pencils. My eyes caught some details of the dark sketch she’d been working on. I saw only glimpses, but enough to tell me that she had skill.
A relieved smile parted her lips. “You’re him.”
I frowned and kept my legs separated slightly. The stance held power of its own that I could augment. A small sachet of red-colored ink was hidden in my palm. If needed, I could splash a quick pattern, enough to protect myself. That is, unless she was an artist. Despite what I saw of the notepad, I still couldn’t tell.
Artists were painters like me: able to use shapes and colors and patterns to draw power. True artists were rare. Me, I’m the kind of painter known as a tagger. I can pull power—and quickly—but nothing like what an artist could achieve. Taggers were still not common, but more so than artists.
“You’re Escher Morris.”
If I had any question about where she came from, the fact that she knew my name answered it. A gift from my disappeared father—not dead, though I might be the only one who believed that—he named me Escher as a nod to the old Dutch artist. Mother never loved the name, but like with so much else, she wouldn’t go against him. Instead, she gave me her father’s name as a middle name. It’s what I preferred.
“Oliver,” I said, squeezing the ink in my hand a little more tightly. “And you are?”
The woman turned slowly, eyes scanning the edge of the trees, before working back to fix me with a flat, gray-eyed stare. The wind gusted again and she jumped slightly before answering. “Taylor.”
I made a point of walking along the edge of the stone plaza, keeping both Taylor and the statue at the edge of my vision as I circled around. At this time of night, no one else came to the park. That Taylor had been here at all shouldn’t have surprised me—if she was an artist, no gate would keep her out—but artists generally feared the night, even one as calm and clear as tonight. And usually for good reason.
“How did you know about this place?” I asked.
She gave the statue a wide berth as she came toward me. The thing looked less like the mixture of wolf and man some claimed it to be and more like the demon I saw in it. Agony of the Chase, it was called. A famous statue—well, as famous as they get in Conlin—and placed here by my father. I still didn’t know why.
“You don’t deny it?” Taylor asked.
I shrugged. “Would it matter if I did? Seems you already know.”
“Hard said—”
I stiffened at the mention of his name and glared at her. “If Hard sent you, I’m not interested.” I started to turn away. She might have triggered me coming to the park, but there wasn’t much she could say to convince me to remain.
She stopped in front of me, blocking my path. She dragged her feet as she went, leaving a faintly shimmering trail along the damp stones. Power I hadn’t noticed radiated from the irregular triangle she formed.
Damn. She was good.
Most in Arcanus never learned to be subtle with their power, especially artists. They preferred using paper or canvas for their work, never thinking of using the larger canvas available in the world. Taylor did.
Arcanus was a place to study the power painters could wield, but more than that, it was a place of safety. Hidden and buried deep in the Rockies, no one other than painters went to Arcanus. Some left, though they were mostly taggers like myself. Artists never left. They stayed, presumably to study, but the real reason was what they feared would happen if they left.
I met her eyes. “What do you want?” I could leave her here, but it was night and she wouldn’t have any other place to safely go, not without risking herself. She knew that, which was at least part of the reason she’d come here.
“What is it?” She waved the hand holding the pencils toward the sculpture.
Like her, I pulled my foot through the rainwater as I slid toward the sculpture, leaving a slight trail as I did. I wondered if she recognized the pattern I made, if not the intent. Combined with the circle I’d made outside the plaza, I added interlocking angles, distorted in such a way to confuse the eye. Arcane patterns. With it, I could hold her in place and buy myself enough time to get away. The rainwater would be transient but should hold in the stone well enough, especially if I pressed enough intent into it.
“It’s called Agony of the Chase.” I dipped a hint of red powder into the pattern as I went. It was the only color I had with me, but would work well for what I had intended. With painting, color mattered, as did intent and the patterns used.
She flipped her hair back and stared at the bronzed plate set in the stone in front of the statue. The surface of the plate was completely smooth, as if time had weathered away whatever had once been written there. “A bit melodramatic of a title, don’t you think? You might as well call it Big Scary Manwolf,” she said as she kneeled before the plate. Her fingers lingered as she dragged them over the surface.
The comment caught me off guard and I laughed. “That’s not really how he preferred to name his sculptures…” I trailed off as I saw the dark blue powder dusting her fingers. I wondered what she planned. Blue had its uses—not as many as red or black when it came to defending yourself—but if she was an artist, I couldn’t put much past her.
I stopped moving, cupping the satchel of powder. With a practiced flick of my wrist, I could send out a pretty good circle of ink and quickly infuse it with energy to do some damage. Not as neat as what I could do given more time, but effective. Normally I’d worry about who else might be around me, but the circle I’d created around the edge of the trees would contain any extra energy. And I didn’t have to worry about Agony; as far as I knew, nothing could destroy it.
“You didn’t come to look at the local artwork, so why are you here, Taylor?” I asked carefully.
She gave me a forced smile. Her eyes didn’t change or soften, but she shifted, sliding her hands into her pockets. When she pulled them out, the pencils—and the hint of blue powder—were gone.
“I need help.”
“And Hard sent you to me?” Considering what happened the last time we saw each other, that seemed unlikely. Like his assumed name, he was a bastard, but he was a skilled bastard. An artist, in the truest sense of the word. Had he come, there would be different questions, but he never ventured outside the safety of Arcanus. As long as I didn’t get too close to him, I’d be fine.
She followed me to a rain-soaked bench. “I found something in the library. I…” She hesitated and pulled something out of a deep pocket, flashing the cover of a leather-bound book toward me. “I hoped you might have some way to decipher it.”
I glanced at the book. The library in Arcanus had a massive collection. How many of those books had notes written by my father in the years he’d been there? How many would help me with my work? Since leaving Arcanus—well, since I was expelled—I didn’t have access to the same quality of work. It didn’t mean my studies ended, only that I no longer learned from books. I’d had different and far deadlier tutors. I had hoped some of that would end now that I had returned to Conlin. Here, I might be stuck using whatever texts I could find among my father’s old belongings, but at least I didn’t risk death with everything I did.
“What’s in the book?” I asked.
She flipped open the first few pages and showed me. Intricate shapes streaked across the page, looking more like an ancient language than any kind of pattern. I’d seen similar shapes before. And if Taylor worked with Hard in Arcanus, she had, too.
“You recognize them,” she said.
I nodded. No use denying it.
“Have you…” Her head swiveled slowly, as if studying the trees, or trying to look past the trees and into Conlin. It was a bedroom city, the streets filled with brick and wood homes, most decades old. Most were well kept. There was pride in Conlin, but there wasn’t much else here, other than the park. “Have you found anything to decipher them?”
“Would I tell you if I had? Would I let him know if I had?” I took a steadying breath, getting control of my voice. It had been years since I’d seen Hard, but the mention of his name still angered me. It was partly because of him that I left Arcanus. He might not have been the one to banish me, but he’d been the reason the process had started. And Hard could have stopped it at any time, but didn’t.
Her hand dipped back into her pocket. I wondered what color powder she palmed. I dragged my eyes away from her pocket, wishing I hadn’t come. I wanted nothing of Arcanus business. Since leaving, I’d discovered lessons the Masters there would never have been able to teach. Given what they feared, why should the Masters in Arcanus care what I researched? They all thought my father dead, destroyed by his own arrogance. Funny they should consider him arrogant.
Besides, I had a new life since leaving Arcanus. I’d learned things about patterns and colors that I could never learn there, things the Masters refused to teach. Of course, I’d nearly died a dozen times acquiring that knowledge.
I tipped my head toward the book she’d pocketed when she went for her powder. “If you’re here, it’s because he sent you.” I stood and wiped my hands on my pants. “Hard wouldn’t have shown you those patterns if he didn’t think you could help. And he wouldn’t have let you out of Arcanus with that book if he didn’t think you could learn something.”
She shot me a look that bordered on pouty. For the first time, I wondered how old she was. I thought with her hardened eyes and the soft curves, she had to have been in her twenties. Now I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t remember a Taylor from my time in Arcanus, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have been there. Or maybe they’d found her. Painters were discovered all the time and brought to Arcanus to study, all searching for the next artist.
Soft white lights flickered on from the three lanterns circling the plaza holding Agony. Taylor’s head jerked around at the sudden change in lighting. I smiled. Likely she felt the power I surged through the bulbs as well.
The sculpture might be my father’s, created for reasons I hadn’t discovered, but the protections around this park, protections I had placed since returning to keep people like Taylor out, were all mine. I might not be an artist, but in spite of what Hard and the others in Arcanus believed, I was more than a simple tagger.
More lights flickered on in the park, each adding to the pattern. Night could be dangerous for an artist—even for a tagger, though we generally had less to worry about than artists did—and the lights did more than brighten up the park. They kept it clear of them.
“This is your work,” Taylor said.
“Some of it.”
“It’s…” She seemed to struggle for the right word. “It’s powerful. Does it work?” she asked, intensity burning in her eyes.
It hadn’t been tested before. Hopefully it wouldn’t be tested tonight. “Well enough.”
“What about the…”
She didn’t finish, but since she studied in Arcanus, she didn’t have to.
There was a reason painters stayed in Arcanus once their abilities manifested. In Arcanus, they called them hunters. Creatures that came in the night, drawing on artists, feeding on their power. Vampires, if you ask me, only no one did. They’d never been seen, not even by the Masters, but stories of painters falling to them made all fear them. Boogeymen who only came out at night, their haunting howls the only warning. Those who left Arcanus lived with the fear that the hunters would come for them.
“That’s why you never returned,” Taylor said.
She shifted nervously and another gust of wind fluttered through. As it did, I noticed the blue streaks deeper in her hair. I studied her eyes, saw the drawn expression on her face that belied the confident way she questioned me. Something wasn’t quite right.
I didn’t fear the night the same as I had when I first left Arcanus. I’d seen too much since then. Not hunters. As far as I knew, they were nothing more than superstition, but there were other creatures of power, other reasons for me to place protections around the park.
“What aren’t you telling me, Taylor?”
She bit her lower lip, again looking like a younger version of herself, and pushed blue-stained fingers through her hair. Did she know how that augmented her power? Was she not an artist as I first believed? But for Hard to have shown her the book, she had to be.
Unless Hard hadn’t.
“You found another book,” I realized. “That’s why you came.”
I crossed the distance separating us too quickly for her to react. Doing so disrupted the pattern I’d been creating, but I didn’t care about that, not now. I slipped my hand into her pocket and grabbed as she protested, trying to push me away. The force from her ink-stained hand almost managed it, but I kept my feet set wide, the placement practiced, as I did.
The book looked much like the other I’d seen. The cover was different, a darker leather with a strange grain to it, but inside resembled the one I’d taken from Hard, the one my father had intended for me. I flipped through the pages, ignoring Taylor as I did, eyes scanning the shapes for patterns, translating those I recognized, as I searched for anything that might help.
As I studied the book, I ignored the buildup of energy. I shouldn’t have.
A burst of force struck me in the chest, knocking me down. The book went flying from my hands. I rolled, the breath knocked out of me, reaching for a handful of powdered ink and readying my attack.
Could Taylor have attacked me like that? I didn’t think anyone in Arcanus learned enough offensive magic to matter. They focused on defense. On hiding.
Taylor screamed. The wind caught her voice.
Not her then.
I stumbled to my feet. Only then did I realize the lanterns around the plaza had gone out.
Shit. The lanterns had taken nearly a week to construct. Enough power had gone into them that they shouldn’t simply go out like that. That they did told me that whatever came was powerful.
I grabbed a fistful of powder and dumped half in the other hand. With a flick of my wrist, I scattered powdered maroon ink in a quick circle, closing Taylor in with me. If I was wrong—if she had been the one to attack—then I was making more trouble for myself.
“Are they here?” There was an edge of panic in her voice that had replaced the calm.
Within the circle, her voice seemed overly loud, but I didn’t think it wouldn’t carry beyond the edge of the circle. “Quiet,” I hissed.
She looked over, her eyes wide. “Is it the hunters? I haven’t seen any sign of them in my time out of Arcanus. I thought I was safe.”
Now I knew she wasn’t the one to attack me. As much as the hunters might frighten her, this kind of attack wasn’t from them either.
But there were other magical creatures. More than even the Masters in Arcanus cared to admit. The thing was, from what I’d seen of the protections my father had set around the town, Conlin was protected from them too, so I should be safe here. So what had changed?
Something she said caught my attention. “What did you say?”
She spun in a circle, dragging her foot slowly around her. A blue flash appeared on the stone. If I let her complete it, she might destroy the defense I’d created.
“Taylor!”
I shouted it at her, hating to yell but having no other choice. For a moment, I considered slapping like they always did in the movies, but with the power she controlled, I didn’t dare. If she released it unintentionally, she might accidentally strike me. I might be able to deflect most—the charms woven into my belt would help—but I didn’t know how skilled she might be. Instead, I grabbed her arm, and jerked her around to face me.
“What did you say about the hunters?”
The question more than anything else pulled her back together. Her eyes hardened again and she paused in her circle, her boot stopping just as she was about to seal it. The growing pressure from the surge of blue energy she worked built around me. Useless. Worse than that, wasteful. She might be an artist, but she knew nothing about the nature of colors.
“They followed me. The hunters must know I’m here—” She started away, as if preparing to run deeper into the park, and I definitely couldn’t let her do that.
There was no other choice. I knocked her out with a pinch of ink scattered across her circle, infusing it with a surge of power. Her eyes went wide as she fell. I scooped under her head, catching her before she managed to reach the stones.
Taylor was lighter than I expected. Pencils spilled out of her pocket as I lifted her into a fireman’s carry. I glanced around the plaza. Nothing else moved, but without light I couldn’t be certain. As usual, Agony seemed to watch me.
I shot it a glare and hurried to the edge of the stones. Once I left this circle, I would have to rely on whatever protections I could muster. My charms would protect me, but I doubted they would extend to Taylor. I checked the ink in my satchel. Not enough for what I might need. When I came to the park, I hadn’t really known what to expect. During my time back in Conlin, I hadn’t sensed other painter magic. When I did, I’d grabbed what I’d had on hand—thankfully red ink or I might have really been in trouble—and hurried to the park. Now it was mostly gone. I wasn’t completely helpless without it, but it would be close.
The ground rumbled and power built.
I hesitated, focusing on the signature of the power. Not hunters. From what I’d read, they came with howls and violence. So far, Conlin had avoided drawing the attention of hunters. Whatever this was felt different. Powerful—especially if they managed to nearly knock me out while I stood in my circle. And strong enough to overcome even my father’s defenses around the city.
But where did it come from? I saw no sign of anything outside the circle. With all the precautions I’d placed around the park, I should feel something if a magical entity approached, but there was nothing there. And for me to have been attacked while in the circle…
I cursed myself for stupidity and turned back to Agony.
Whatever attacked had to come from within the circle. I thought it Taylor, but she’d been too frightened to do anything. As I watched, the small plate at the foot of the sculpture bulged slightly.
Nothing had moved that plate before. Others had tried, the city determined to have something meaningful written on it, but hadn’t managed to lift it and they didn’t want to damage the sculpture. Too valuable, they felt. I always wondered if there wasn’t a different reason, one my father had a hand in.
The plate bulged again.
At least now I understood how I’d been attacked, if not by what.
I could run, get away before whatever it was came through that plate and hope the protection I had around the park would keep me safe, but that would only buy me time. If something could push through the plate like that—and with enough force to overpower not only my protections, but my father’s—then I wouldn’t be safe for long.
Palming the last of the powder, I sprinted to the plate. After lowering Taylor to the ground, I traced patterns as quickly as I could along the stone, pushing the ink into the stone: a broad circle for containment, a perfect square representing protection, and the last—a flourish I wasn’t certain would work—a tight inverted spiral I hoped would obfuscate whatever magical entity tried pushing through.
With that, my power sagged. I’d spent more than I was accustomed to using. Painter power was like a muscle and I hadn’t really been exercising it in the time Devan and I had been back in Conlin. Even the initial circle had been a relatively potent creation. An artist might find it easier, but then again, an artist would have a more elegant solution than what I did.
The bulging of the plate eased.
I leaned back, relief working through me. Damn, but it had worked.
I glanced at Taylor. The power I’d struck her with kept her unconscious. Maybe I’d used more than I intended on her, but that was the risk I took with my type of power. At least she still breathed.
She moaned slightly and rolled over. Her leg caught the edge of the powdered ink sinking into the stones. I grabbed her and pulled her away. As I did, the plate began to glow with white-hot light.
Scrambling back from it, the power working through the plate was more than I could imagine. I jumped to my feet and hauled Taylor back. How much time did we have before the plate burned away? Seconds? Minutes?
Something about the plate changed. I stared at it, drawn toward it like a moth to a bulb. Or a mosquito to a bug-zapper. I knew I shouldn’t, but I went anyway.
Where before it had always been perfectly smooth and flat, now dark shapes writhed within the glowing plate, shapes I had seen before. At that moment, I knew I needed to see them closer. The pattern emerging on the plate might help answer the questions I’ve had for nearly a decade. The heat radiating from it sizzled in the air, pressing me back. Ignoring it, I crawled forward, oblivious to anything but the pattern.
I reached the edge of my circle and crossed the threshold, knees dragging through the fresh ink and breaking the containment I’d formed.
The plate exploded with power. Energy surged through me. Colors swirled around it. My ears thundered. The hair on my arms stood out as I stretched toward it. I could feel my face burning but didn’t care. I needed to see that pattern. I needed to understand.
And then it faded.
It happened with nothing more than a sizzle. Power and light were there and then they were not. I crouched on arms and legs, staring at the now-bronze plate, unable to understand what had happened. Answers had been there. Power great enough to surge through both my father’s protections and mine had nearly come through.
“Escher?”
I licked cottony lips and twisted around. Taylor stood next to Agony, one hand resting on the statue’s hip. Dark brown ink stained the tips of both index fingers and I understood. Somehow she had managed to contain whatever attempted to push out through the plate.
I had underestimated her again.
“Can you stand?” she asked.
In answer, I pushed to my feet. My head pounded and the flesh on my face felt raw. Electricity sizzled through me as if I’d just stuck my finger in a light socket. I’d felt power like that a few times before, and never from anything on this side of the Threshold.
She reached into my pocket and grabbed the book I’d taken from her. The look on her face dared me to stop her. The way I felt, I wouldn’t be able to stop a child right now.
I looked at the plate. Now it looked no different than it ever had.
“How did you—” I licked my lips again and swallowed, trying to force moisture down my throat. “How did you know?”
Taylor’s dark eyes turned to the plate, now looking no different than it had ever appeared. “Because that’s why I’m here.” She motioned around the park. “Come on. There must be someplace safer than this we can talk.”
