The guard didn’t linger. She was already turning a great gear that slid the entry shut behind them. Apparently, he was worth noticing, but not much beyond that. At least it saved him from answering any questions.
In stark contrast to outside, the town within the stronghold’s walls was packed and thriving, like some modern reinvention of a Renaissance fair. Houses had been converted to apartments. Apartments had been built upon and converted into multilevel units. Laundry stretched from roof to roof, flapping like flags above stalls selling the last of the season’s fruits and vegetables. He inhaled deep. There was even the scent of baked bread. Three years had passed, and with the Resurrection had come the fall of modern man: no more smartphones, no more internet, no more technology. All of it had been rendered useless with the onslaught of magic. But here, in Outer Chicago, humanity actually seemed to be doing more than holding on. It seemed to be crawling forward.
His cheerfulness cut short when he stepped in a pile of crap. He glanced down, nose instantly wrinkling, and wondered if it was human or dog. He hadn’t seen a dog in years.
“Careful where you step,” Jarrett muttered. He didn’t seem amused.
Even though they were surrounded by people, and even though the guard had very clearly known them, no one in the city met their eye. People walked about in a crazy mismatch of fashion: high-end coats and shabby jeans, dresses layered with parkas, piles of jewelry amid rags. Like they’d just raided whatever shops they could, and had been stuck with it ever since. The citizens all milled or argued or hurried past. They talked to each other, but it felt like Tenn and his comrades were invisible.
Someone elbowed him in the side as they rushed past. Tenn started, but Jarrett’s hand was on his shoulder before he could react.
“Don’t bother,” Jarrett said, his voice still a low grumble. He was watching the crowd with outright animosity. “To them, we’re as bad as the Howls. We keep them alive, but we still use the magic that put them here.”
Tenn kept his head down and his eyes peeled after that, feeling the weight of the city press against his shoulders. He’d experienced this before, in smaller communes. Hunters used magic; civilians didn’t. And even though Hunters fought off the Howls and the necromancers, even though Hunters were sworn to defy the servants of the Dark Lady, they were still viewed as the cause of the Resurrection. With so much spite concentrated in one spot, he was surprised there wasn’t a riot.
He wanted to scream at them as his group pushed their way through the crowd. He wanted to yell at them just how many good men and women had died to keep them all safe, the names and faces that would go unmourned, unburied. Worse, he wanted to tell them about the Farms, where unturned humans were kept as cattle, and how much worse their lives could be. But he didn’t. He feared what speaking up would do. There might not be a riot now, but he knew the desire for vengeance like a bad taste in the air.
Water churned in Tenn’s stomach, twisting with guilt and fear. Water wanted to show them all, too. There was so much pain in this city, and it resonated in Tenn’s gut like a minor key. He kept the power forced down. Was it even safe for him to be here? Even without Matthias and the Kin, he could barely trust himself with Water’s urgings. Maybe these people had been right all along...maybe he was a danger.
He glanced at Devon, heard the guy’s words filter through his head. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even me anymore...
What the hell am I?
The only thing keeping him grounded was Jarrett’s hand on his shoulder. The guy’s grip was strong. Heavy. For an Air user, he had a weight, a presence, that snared all of Tenn’s senses like a sun.
Right before they rounded the block, Jarrett leaned in and whispered into Tenn’s ear, “Whatever you do, don’t kill him. The council looks down on that sort of thing. Even if it’s Caius.”
Chills raced down Tenn’s neck at the feeling of Jarrett’s breath on his skin. It didn’t take him long to figure out what he was talking about.
A man stood on a pedestal in the center of the street. He wore a faded three-piece suit that barely covered his potbelly, his messy gray hair unsuccessfully slicked back with grease. He reminded Tenn of Matthias, albeit much less refined. Despite the man’s ragged appearance, he still had a crowd. It was the only part of the city that didn’t seem to be moving. People crowded around the dais like sheep as he spoke, his words cutting above the din of the city around them.
Whatever rant or sermon he had been on cut short when Tenn and the others rounded the corner. The man sneered over at them from his perch, causing more than one head to turn. Their venom was palpable.
Water seethed.
“So, the child army returns,” the man said. He had the voice of a man who used to smoke a pack or twelve a day.
Adult mages existed, but were rare; for some reason, kids seemed more adept at attuning to and using the Spheres than adults. Although Matthias seemed to be a terrifying exception to the rule. As it was, very few people lived beyond their twenties: if you could wield magic and fight, you would probably die in battle. And if you couldn’t fight, you were probably already a Howl, or food for one.
“How many have we lost today, friends? How many souls have you handed over to Satan?”
“Ignore him,” Jarrett whispered. He took Tenn’s arm and guided them around the crowd. Small picket signs had been thrust into the grass.
MAGIC IS SIN
THE END HAS COME
Classic. Tenn had seen those since before the Resurrection, in the scant months between magic becoming mainstream and magic fucking everything up. Hell, the signs still littered the highways, more common than bodies.
Tenn envied the twins; they walked on as though completely oblivious to the world around them. Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe they just hadn’t deemed the outer world worth noticing. It was a skill Tenn wished he could employ, especially right now.
“Oh, look,” Caius said. “God must have been on a break today, friends. He let the queer live.”
Jarrett grunted under his breath and said nothing, but his hand tightened on Tenn’s arm, anyway.
“It’s not worth it,” Jarrett said, dragging him on.
Tenn made sure to kick over a God Still Hates Fags poster on the way.