We’ve become a well-oiled machine, a quartet of sorcerers whose magic is more than the sum of its parts. Just like Gunn said.
We cross into the clearing, where the other two factions of sorcerers are also winding up for the day. We’re down to eleven sorcerers. Besides losing Mark and Peter during Gunn’s demonstration our first day in the clearing, we lost a young guy named Carson Jameson from Tennessee a couple weeks back, a loner type, to an ambitious vanishing-reappearance trick gone wrong (flying swords that disappeared and then reappeared in unfortunate places). The other, one of Gavin’s Carolina Boys crowd, perished soon after. I didn’t see the trick, but Grace said that Gavin forced his team to try a time-space manipulation of the clearing, some kind of elaborate “folding” of the field in half, so that taking a step forward on one end would promptly put you on the other side. But the trick combusted, and one of their members became forever lost in the fold.
Eleven sorcerers, to become seven. Our foursome, the four Carolina Boys, and Stock’s trio, which consists of him and the strange brother-sister-questionable-lovers pair, Tommy and Rose Briggs. We’ve been like this since Carson died—three islands of sorcerers, with no bridges between us, and Gunn never giving any indication of which seven he wants to see win. The choice, apparently, is up to us, and we’re at a standstill. There’s an inherent distrust between Stock and me, and Gavin has a beef with partnering with women.
Grace, Billy, and Ral now plow hungrily into the clearing. Out of habit, I lag behind.
Ral sees me hesitate. “Joan, you don’t need to do that anymore. You’re running yourself ragged with the extra practice.”
“Grace’ll sneak me dinner after, she always does. Trust me, I need to keep up, stay on top of my game.”
“Keep up?” Billy gives a sharp heckle. “Kendrick, I’d bet at this point, you might well be stronger than all of us put together.”
“I still don’t have Ral’s self-sustaining magic down. Like how he creates a tree manipulation with enough magic to bloom on its own,” I say to deflect the compliment, but I don’t meet Billy’s eye. Because I’m not telling him the truth: that practicing magic has become something of a compulsion, a superstition. That if I keep putting in my time, learn and master as much as I can, I earn the right to stay here. I earn the right to win.
“Forget the trees. Billy’s right, Joan. You’re the last person I’m worried about,” Ral says, as Dawson shouts over the clearing, “Supper time!”
Stock, Tommy, and Rose, followed by the Carolina Boys, trek like hungry lumberjacks into the woods for supper near the warehouse. Our crowd moves to follow, but Ral extends his arm, holding us back. “But I am worried about fleshing out our ranks to seven . . . before someone else does it first. We need to figure it out, and soon.”
Before any of us can answer him, we spot Gunn and Dawson watching us from the border of the forest, and we fall to a hush. Gunn signals for Dawson to go back to the truck without him, and then he crosses the clearing toward us.
“Damn it,” Billy whispers. “Can’t stand being close to Gunn.”
Ral scolds, “Quiet, Billy.”
“You all have a good day out in the woods?” Gunn says curtly, his shiny brown loafers crunching over the grass. “I didn’t see you out there.”
We all shift uncomfortably, until Ral answers, “That magic enclosure was my idea, sir. I hope it wasn’t in poor form. We were practicing a dangerous trick, a new magic. Didn’t want to risk putting anyone else in jeopardy.”
Gunn smirks. “How thoughtful.” Then he adds, “And a truly impressive manipulation.”
Despite how Gunn keeps all of us tight, tense, and small, I feel a distinct surge of pride at his compliment. I’d bet money that the rest of my team does too.
Gunn looks at me suddenly. “And are you gracing us with your presence tonight, Ms. Kendrick? Or are you spending another night out here alone?”
I feel four pairs of eyes on me. This is the most attention Gunn’s given any one sorcerer, at least since he forced Billy to be a part of his “work-together” demonstration that first day in the clearing.
“I was going to practice, sir,” I say slowly. “If it’s all right with you, of course.”
Gunn looks at me intensely, curiously, like he’s sizing up a car, trying to figure out its make, its model. “Come to dinner, Joan,” he says. And then he walks away.
As soon as Gunn turns into the trees, Billy says, “Looks like someone’s been noticing where you go, Kendrick.”
I shrug him off, though I’m surprised too. Most times, I get the distinct feeling that we’re all still interchangeable to Gunn. “He keeps tabs on all of us.”
Billy stands tall and rigid, leans in with an exaggerated glare. “But he wants you to come to dinner, Joan,” he fake-barks, in Gunn’s flat, even cadence. “Not sure any of us have ever gotten such a warm invitation.”