Perhaps someone should have tried to cast a dispelling spell on it, she thought. She kicked herself, mentally. She should have thought of that, back in the square. And yet, a Mimic couldn’t go after more than one target at once.
She considered it for a long moment. Justice hadn’t behaved like a Manavore, although she had to admit that she’d only ever seen one type of Manavore. There could be others, lost somewhere in the past. And yet, based on what she knew, Justice wasn’t a Manavore. It had certainly shown no sign of being unable to target mundanes as well as magicians. A Mimic was a much more likely answer…
But Mimics kill and replace their targets, she mused. She was, as far as she knew, the only living person who could build a Mimic from scratch, at least in theory. She’d never dared try. Justice killed.
She forced her tired mind to work. A Mimic could replace someone perfectly, perfectly enough to fool even their closest friends and family. She shivered against Caleb as she remembered Travis, mocking her as she’d waited outside the Warden’s office. She’d been talking to the Mimic, she knew, but there hadn’t been anything to give it away. The Mimic had duplicated Travis perfectly.
Although I didn’t know him that well, she mused. Travis had been an asshole, an older student who’d resented her – not without reason. She’d certainly done her best to have as little to do with him as possible. Someone who was close to him might have sensed something wrong.
But Justice had spoken in simple terms. He’d sounded as though he was speaking by rote.
“A supercharged spell,” she said. “Compulsion, but on a terrifying scale.”
Caleb looked at her. “A necromancer?”
“A necromancer couldn’t use compulsion like that,” Emily said. “Could he?”
She looked down at her hands. Shadye had used blood magic…but that depended on having a sample of the target’s blood. Dua Kepala hadn’t used any blood magic or compulsion spells, as far as she knew. Gaius had cast them for him, back when he’d been undermining Farrakhan’s defenses. More complex compulsion spells would be beyond most necromancers, as they relied on fine-tuning to overwhelm resistance. Even Mother Holly, who’d understood a great deal about making use of limited resources, hadn’t been able to use such spells after she’d become a full-fledged necromancer.
“The spell was blunt,” Caleb said. “It didn’t adjust itself to crack through wards and protections.”
“True,” Emily agreed. “Necromancers do use overpowered spells…”
And Mimics draw their energy from something similar, she added, silently. But a Mimic would be able to cast spells, wouldn’t it?
“Maybe one of the priests became a necromancer,” Caleb said. “But before he took the plunge, he swore a set of oaths that kept the madness in check.”
“Risky,” Emily said. Perversely, a selfish necromancer had a greater chance of surviving the necromantic rite than someone who wanted to do good. A fanatic might be dedicated enough to turn into a necromancer, but as the madness grew stronger he’d lose whatever sense of focus he’d managed to retain after the transition. “I wouldn’t care to take the risk.”
“They might,” Caleb said.
Emily frowned. A compulsion spell…more than one, mingled with an illusion and probably some subtle prompts to keep people from thinking logically. How could something be both infinitively huge and yet small enough to fit into the square? And the petrification spell, strong enough to not only turn someone into stone, but lock them that way permanently. She remembered the statues, screaming in agony, and shuddered. Sienna had been sure the victims were killed outright, but what if she was wrong? What if their souls remained trapped in the statues?
But what would happen, she asked herself, if a necromancer tried to use a transfiguration spell? Would it be so powerful that the victim would be trapped permanently – or killed?
“They must have known about Vesperian,” Caleb said. “The Hands of Justice must have guessed what was coming.”
“Probably,” Emily said. Vesperian’s Ponzi scheme had been doomed for months, once the borrowing had gotten out of hand. The notes – and the massive financial losses – would have weakened the city’s government, undermining the people’s faith in their leaders. Combined with a real god, or at least something that looked like one, the Hands of Justice might be able to take over without much opposition. “And they targeted his investors deliberately, just to speed up the collapse.”
“And then killed him themselves,” Caleb said. His hand ran down her back as she leaned against him. “And that started the collapse.”
“We need more information,” Emily said.
“A very good idea,” Sienna’s voice said. “And you also need that hand removed.”
Emily jumped. She hadn’t heard Sienna coming up the ladder behind them. Caleb yanked his hand away from her behind and tried to look innocent, even though it was futile. They might not have been making out on the rooftop, but they’d definitely been closer than mere friendship would allow. Besides, their relationship was no secret. Someone who saw them would know the truth.
“Mother,” Caleb said. “The wards would keep anyone from getting a good look at us.”
“I believe I told you to behave when you were under my roof.” Sienna gave Emily a sharp look. “Did your father not teach you that a sorcerer’s home is his castle? That you should follow the rules?”
Emily hesitated, unsure what to say. Her mouth was very dry.
“Apparently not.” Sienna sounded regretful, rather than angry. But she also sounded tired. “Caleb, go downstairs to your room and stay there unless the wards are threatened.”
“Yes, Mother,” Caleb said.
Emily watched him go, then looked at Sienna. Her face was so composed that Emily knew strong emotions churned behind the mask. She tried to keep her own face composed, even though she knew they were in trouble. Sienna would be within her rights to kick both Emily and Frieda out of the house for disobeying the rules – or worse.