The background image then switched to a panel of reporters waiting for the Department press conference to commence.
The news anchor continued, “The statements were met with split reactions among the public at large, and are very much aligned along political lines. Greater Europa, a bastion of progressive ideals—or a fetid pool of anarchy, depending on one’s perspective—has sided against the Department's edicts, as usual. But they only carry the support of thirty percent of the other countries, territories, principalities, and domains in the Second Layer. Support is wavering among the middle thirty percent that identifies as intermediaries, especially in light of these most recent attacks and the real concerns that an Origin Mage can upset the balance of our layers and world.”
“We will interrupt our broadcast when officials begin the press conference. In other troubling news, the Library Bank has confirmed that four more of its deadliest tomes have been stol—”
The feeds abruptly ended with a sweep of Constantine’s hand. “Stop listening to the trash, darling.”
“It begins,” I murmured, touching the device in my pocket without letting my thoughts dwell upon what it was.
“Or it ends.” He twirled his ribbon.
“You need to check your golem again.”
“Later,” he said blandly.
Other than the half hour I’d talked to Olivia days before, he hadn’t left me alone. And he hadn’t gone to check on his spells unless I accompanied him—like he was afraid I’d take the moment to run.
“I need to finish this.” I pointed at the half-crafted rune in my journal.
“I’ll wait.”
“You are stretching it on the spells.”
I cleared my mind of the device and let only feelings of exasperation remain. He’d been sticking to me like magic glue. I couldn’t even have nightmares without him waking up first. “I’ve been downright boring in the last few days. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Same.”
I sighed and pricked my finger, rubbing it on a seal near the door. “I swear to remain in this room for the next hour, or until you return, whichever comes first—unless you release me from this promise—I so do vow.”
He tapped his fingers together, watching me through narrowed eyes, but the vow was solid. He was hooked into the wards enough to know it. He unfolded from his chair and I felt the brief touch of his thoughts. I reiterated the promise, thinking of the drawings that I needed to do.
He slipped through the door.
I watched the compound’s wards and waited for him to descend the stairs, enter the atrium, and call up his first spell, before I activated the device in my pocket that only one person knew I possessed.
The pressroom bloomed around me in full hologram.
Shelle Fanning, the public relations speaker for the Department, was still the PR head, but a hawkish woman named Morven Jance had replaced her on the podium. Shelle Fanning was the softer side of the Department. Morven Jance was the predator, the aggressor stamping out all dissidence.
In the holographic viewing room, Jance watched the reporters' feeds and holos with a combative gaze, daring them to speak against her. “There was container evidence at the scene. The evidence suggests the Crown girl is taking their magic.”
A reporter looked visibly disturbed by this—his image flickering—but said, “But why? She has plenty of magic at her disposal already.”
I walked my mental projection slowly around the hologram figures, taking in the live images as the magic allowed. It was like being a specter in a manse. I could see and observe, and walk between, but not affect the interactions—all while never leaving the safety of my tower.
“Who knows how a broken mind works. We all know that Origin Mages can't be trusted to know their own minds. It's common knowledge. Fact. The facts cannot be dismissed. The girl is a danger to everyone around her. She must be brought in safely, so we can keep our layer, our lives, intact.”
“With all due respect, Secretary Jance, we haven't verified that—”
“Are you saying that you want this layer destabilized? That you think terrorist actions, which hers surely are, are justified?”
“No, of course—”
“We need to return our world to the stable one it was before she Awakened. Terrorist activity rose with her Awakening. It's become a world problem. When will this stop?”
The reporter changed tactics. “Terrorist activity has steadily been on the rise for years. Yes, it rose with her Awakening, but it was already ris—”
“It rose with her. This is an absolute fact that you just agreed with. Next question.”
Another journalist jumped in. “If she is unstoppable, how can you stop her?”
“She's a girl. Young. She has powers that are dangerous if left in her hands, but, ultimately, that won't be a problem. She won't stand up to the might of the Department. No one does.”
“So, is she powerful or weak? You do understand your message is confusing, and one might say that you are using political tactics that—”
“Get her now—contain her—we all win. Let her continue her destruction, all will suffer. I hear every day from people who are scared. Mages who want the suffering to end. Everyone agrees. Next question.”
Jance was relentless and unwavering in her condemnation of me, mowing over all who began to express an opposing viewpoint.
“Not good, dear roommate,” a new voice lilted.
I looked to the side. Bellacia's specter was standing next to me. Media spells were interesting when connected to frequencies. She and I had set up a weekly chat—with me using the frequency feigner in my pocket that identified me as Burt Watson, Second Layer Inspector. We had met twice in these holographic press conferences where privacy spells allowed anyone to be a fly on the wall.
“I wasn't sure you would be participating,” I said. “I am here for the...pain of it, I guess.”
“Daddy has me on other, more devious assignments. I need to separate myself from the appearance of misjudgment. But I plan to be in the thick of it soon, when I see the way the wind blows.”
My fingers tightened into fists. The direction was decidedly not in my favor. “I thought you'd want to be the one blowing the wind.”
“There's a time and place. Timing is so delicate. And right now, war is brewing, Ren,” she said.
“I'm not the one brewing it.”
“No. But you are the one in the thick of it, and that's a powerful and dangerous place to be. What will you do?”
I looked at the crowd. Stavros and his press secretaries had many of the media personnel already under their thumbs. But they didn't have all of them.
“I don't know,” I whispered. I was out of my element in this way, spinning webs and manipulating events. “What can I do?”
She looked at me, cat eyes slitting. “There were others with you at today's event.”