Another wizard comes around the corner, this one a woman in black with a red circle on her chest.
“We’re here for your registration, witch,” she says, not adopting the placating gesture like the male.
She strides forward confidently, passing the other man and stopping before us. I swipe at her but miss, only throwing myself over Bastian. I push off him, holding the blade with a weak hand and an elbow wedged in the dirt.
She looks down at us and harumphs with amusement.
“I’d heard their mates were dedicated, but to the death?” the man says with bewilderment.
“If onlywecould be so lucky,” she says as she clicks her tongue.
“Don’t…touch,” I growl, holding the blade higher.
She toes it away with a nudge of her boot, then looks at Bastian.
“Hello, Creature Nine E Five Seven C,” she says casually. “Time for your formal registration, too.”
forty-two
The Mages Guild, AKA the Interdimensional Bureau of Magical Affairs
My head hurts and my mouth is so dry. Did I stay up drinking? What…happened last night?
I crack my eye open to a dark room but immediately I can tell it’s not mine. The air feels weird. The ambient noise isn’t the same.
I open my eyes and the lights come on in the space, blinding me. I shield my face with my arm and sit up, pushing the blanket off me.
There’s a warbling sound and a flash of red light.
“You’re awake,” a woman says. “Good. We need your help.”
I throw my legs over the side of the—bed? Gurney? Whatever it is—and my bare feet land on warm glassy floor. The panes beneath my feet glow with orange and zip toward the wall. I get the sense I’min some kind of hospital but now that the room is lit, it’s impossible to tell.
There’snothingin here. Not even a bed when I look back at where I once was.
I reach out with both hands in this confusing space, looking for a countertop, or a table, anything. Anything withanything. But there’s nothing.
“Caitlin, there are no weapons in here,” the woman says.
I whirl toward her with my hands up like I might fistfight her. I would definitely lose a fistfight against her.
It’s the wizard with the red circle on her breast pocket. She has a round face that remains mildly annoyed as she assesses me. Her dark hair is slicked back with gel, and her eyes are a bright hazel. She’s muscular under her robes, but only about my height.
Her hands are clasped in front of her, and she looks at me with impatience. “Creature Nine E Five Seven C is not cooperating, and it’s dying.”
My mind chews on her words for a moment, sluggish like I’m hungover. “Bastian, dying?”
“His injury is severe, but he’s refusing treatment—violently,” she says, then beckons to me. “Come and save him, and me, from further headache, will you?”
My eyes dart around the room. It’s just a box with glass walls and a glass floor. Her red magic swirls around her boots, contained and controlled, while my orange lashes out like a solar flare.
“Where are we?”
“The IBMA headquarters, quadrant six eight one point three.”
“What does that mean,” I snarl.
She beckons to me again, unperturbed by my tone beyond annoyance. “Come with me and I will explain on the way. He’s several cubes down.”
