I head to the storeroom. One unlocking spell, and the door swings open. I flick on the light.
Lander trails behind me, peers inside, and freezes.
“What’s this?”
“My armoury,” I say.
“Oh,” he breathes.
Paper covers every wall, floor to ceiling, in every weight and texture: crisp white sheets, creamy rag paper, thick cardstock, rice paper and newspaper.
I lift a heavy ream and carry it back to the kitchen. After clearing the dining table, I lay the large sheets flat.
My magic seizes the paper, folding and stretching each sheet until a map unfurls. Ink blooms across the surface as I work: buildings, paths, wards, terrain. The map ends up eight feet by four; it mirrors itself on the television in the living room. I prefer the real thing in front of me rather than a screen; modern ways are not always better.
More magic. More paper.
The map ripples and begins to rise. A three-dimensional version takes shape—mountains, buildings, elevation lines—like an architectural model rendered in pulp and ink.
Lander stares at it, then at the screen in the living room, then back again.
“How on earth…?”
I shrug. “I have never done this before, but I thought it might be neat.”
“You’ve never done this before.” He circles the table and kneels to study a section. “And you’ve never been here?”
“No. Have you?”
“No. Not many people have.”
“This is all from the information I just sent you, plus a few checks of my own.” I keep my tone matter-of-fact. “I monitor people.”
“This is what happens whenyoumonitor people?” he asks, arching a brow.
I ignore the question and begin pointing out areas on the model. “This is the main building. That is the library. Knox’s quarters are here. The conference hall. These L-shaped buildings are staff housing and security. Gym and pool over here. Beach access there.” I tap the narrow strip of land. “And this is the causeway—the only drivable entrance. Tides are high around midday and again in the late evening at this time of year.”
We study the map in silence.
“Can I bring people in?” Lander asks. “Just a small quick-reaction force, a QRF—three teams.”
“No.”
He exhales. “Okay. One team of four people. They’re good. We can’t do this alone.”
I appreciate that he is asking instead of telling me.
I nod. “One team of four. And we cannot rely on my magic—not with the paperweights in play. They are using them to block me. I cannot see. I cannot do much of anything.”
“Then we get in,” he says, voice hardening, “and we get rid of them.”
“If you do that, I can help. While they are active, my hands are tied.”
“Then you can’t come.”
“I’m coming.”
“Harper, you’ve only just turned human.”
