1
THE THIEF AND THE NOVITIATE
Weirdwood Manor soared through the Fae like a lost balloon as the Novitiate tried and failed to tap into his magic.
Wally Cooper crouched behind a frozen bush, searching the courtyard for movement. Icicles dripped from the Manor’s eaves while snow erased the sky. An icy wind froze the sweat on his arms and back. If the Manor didn’t soar to a warmer pocket-world soon, he worried he might shiver to pieces.
Something caught Wally’s eye—a wisp of steam coiling behind the stone fountain. Sekhmet might have been a master of hiding, but she couldn’t keep her flaming swords from melting the snow.
Using his teeth, Wally tightened the straps on his gauntlets and then crept from behind the bush and through the howling flurries. Halfway to the fountain, the pressure in his ears shifted, and the blinding white of the sky disintegrated to murky green. The icicles dripped as the air grew thick, and the snow melted like butter in a hot pan.
Wally brushed the slush from his shoulders and loosened his collar, adjusting to the swampy atmosphere. He sloshed the rest of the way to the fountain where he’d seen the coiling steam … but all he found was a single sword with a thorn-designed hilt lying on the ground.
“Oh no,” he said.
He heard the splash of a footstep behind him and whirled, raising his fists just as Sekhmet’s other sword came slicing down. The blade sparked off of his gauntlets and deflected into a bush.
“Good!” Sekhmet said, rolling past him and scooping up her other trainer sword. “You made a mistake, believing I’d always have my weapons with me, but at least you stayed alert!”
Wally raised his gauntlets as she came at him again.
“Widen your stance!” she said, and struck—Kling! “But stay flexible.” She struck again. Clang!
The last hit woke a sickening pain in Wally’s left fist, but he swung with his right, trying to execute a sonic punch that would knock her flat. Sekhmet feinted back as smooth as smoke, throwing him off-balance.
“Remember, creativity fuels magic,” she said. “Not strength.” Before he could block, her left blade swept in and tapped his bicep. “It’s not here.” Her right blade tapped him on the temple. “It’s here. Watch.”
She closed her eyes and whirled her swords, sparking them together and sending out a flurry of flaming butterflies that Wally had to extinguish with his gauntlets before they singed his eyebrows.
“Hope that didn’t tire you out!” Sekhmet said, and came at him again, giddy with the thrill of the fight.
As she drove him backward through the courtyard, the sky shifted again and again—from mossy green to swirling gray to salty blue. The air howled with wind, then roared with waves, then grew stale as a desert. In the brief silence, Wally tried tapping into his magic—arranging his stance and fists like Sekhmet had taught him and waiting for that feeling to come alive in his chest.
He swung again … only to feel his gauntlet whistle harmlessly through the air.
Sekhmet laughed. “Lady Weirdwood may as well have strapped sponges to your fists for all the good those gauntlets are doing you!”
They continued to fight as the sky curdled with clouds. Thunder rumbled. Lightning struck one of the Manor’s spires. After a downpour of rain so thick Wally could barely see his own swinging fists, the sky froze over again, encasing the courtyard in ice. The next time Sekhmet feinted back, Wally lunged forward as far as his feet would carry him, hoping to get in one measly shot. But his feet slipped on the ice and flew out from under him, his face smacking the frozen ground.
Wally rolled over and stared at the sky’s shifting colors. A raw bruise spread across his cheek.
Sekhmet tapped his throat with her trainer sword. “Dead.” She clasped his arm and hauled him to his feet. “Final lesson of the day. Always pay attention to your environment.”
Wally removed his gauntlets and flexed the ache out of his fingers. “The ground froze beneath my feet.”
Sekhmet smirked. “I’ll make sure to send a note to the Order of Eldar, requesting they never fight us anywhere icy.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’ll tell them not to fight us anywhere unpredictable, then,” she said, holstering her sword. “But that’s going to eliminate most of the Fae.”
Wally rubbed his bruised cheek to hide his embarrassment.
She pointed to his chest. “Before you even think about swinging, you’ve got to feel that magic rise up in you.”
Wally touched his sternum. “What does it feel like again?”
Sekhmet shrugged. “The Wardens describe it all kinds of ways. A burning. A tingling. A fountain of stars. To me, it’s like drinking a glass of iced tea on my grandma’s back porch.”
Wally had never felt anything like that. Not for the first time, he wondered if Lady Weirdwood had made a mistake bringing him on as a Novitiate.
Before he had come to Weirdwood Manor, Wally had been a thief, taking from others in order to survive. But now the Wardens were giving him an opportunity to save people instead. To protect them against dangerous Fae-born that slipped into the Real through Rifts in the Veil—like murderous dolls or scythe-taloned birds or tentacles the size of ship masts.
Wally Cooper’s life suddenly had purpose. And he didn’t want to lose that.
“Don’t worry,” Sekhmet said, throwing her arm around his shoulder and guiding him back toward the Manor. “You and I have nothing but time to train until the staff figures out how to exterminate those Scarab larvae. You’ll tap into your magic long before your first official mission.”
It had been a month since the Manor’s Abyssment had become infested with Golden Scarab larvae. The mechanical insects chewed on the roots, making Weirdwood hurtle from pocket-world to pocket-world—the Fae’s many different realms. This was what made the weather in the courtyard about as predictable as a baby’s temper.
“Focus on your drills,” Sekhmet said, clapping Wally on the shoulder. “I’ll see you out here tomorrow morning. Clock time, not sky time.”
She vanished down the western passage, and Wally massaged his sore fists. The sky had finally settled, gleaming with crystalline branches that stretched toward purple stars. He wondered how he could not feel magical in a place like this.
* * *
Arthur Benton was sitting so close to the courtyard’s exit, he was nearly blocking the door. Wally’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The only thing worse than being soundly beaten by Sekhmet was having an audience.
“You didn’t see that, did you?” he asked.
“Hmm?” Arthur said, glancing up from his notebook. “Oh! Hello, Cooper! No, no, no. I just wanted a scenic window by which to work on my own magic.” He gazed outside, where the colors shifted like a kaleidoscope. “Inspiring, isn’t it?”
Arthur wasn’t fooling anyone. The kid seemed to always be sitting right outside of Wally’s magic classes, trying to absorb the lessons. After Arthur had behaved selfishly on their last adventure, Lady Weirdwood had refused to bring him on as a Novitiate. The only reason she hadn’t dropped him off in Kingsport was because the Manor wouldn’t hold still long enough.
Arthur saw this as an opportunity to change the old woman’s mind about him.
“I’ll tell ya, Cooper,” he said, tapping his notebook with his pen. “This new spell is going to blow the wedding veil right off of Lady Weirdwood’s head!”
“What’s it do?” Wally asked.
Arthur smiled at his work. “It’s a story about a mean case of insect cavities that erode the pincers of pesky Scarabs! Once this spell handles the Manor’s current infestation problem, Lady Weirdwood will probably skip that embarrassing Novitiate business and promote me directly to Wardenship!”
Arthur was also clearly working out of guilt. Wally wasn’t sure whom he blamed more: his brother Graham for acquiring the pregnant Golden Scarab or Arthur for being gullible enough to sneak it into the Manor for him.
“Let’s see this story, then,” Wally said, trying to steal a peek.
“No!” Arthur said, snapping the notebook shut.
Beneath, Wally noticed the book Lady Weirdwood had given Arthur that told of their first adventure in the Manor. The book was called Thieves of Weirdwood.
Arthur blushed. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you with this spell, what with you struggling with your training and all.”
“Kind of you,” Wally said dully, and turned to leave.
“Wait!” Arthur leapt to his feet. “Where are you going?”
“Feasting hall. Fighting across half a dozen climates really works up an appetite.”
Arthur rocked his head back and forth, then quickly followed after. “Oh, why not? Gotta fuel the old word burner, eh?”
Wally didn’t point out that he hadn’t invited him. But he was too hungry to care. When he’d passed the kitchen earlier, it had smelled like October—roasted chestnuts, pumpkin stew, apple sausage, and cider. He’d been dreaming of those flavors ever since.
As they descended the western staircase, the Manor bucked like a dropped dollhouse, nearly sending them sprawling down the stairs. A splintering sound echoed in the distance, like an entire wing was threatening to snap off.
“Bloody Scarabs,” Arthur mumbled, using the bannister to pull himself upright.
An argument came storming up the stairs. Ludwig, the giant carpenter, stomped heavy, while Weston, his petite gardener twin, scrambled to keep up.
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