Deadly Magic Read online

  ‘Well, this is it,’ Riff said. ‘R4.’

  Our rendezvous point loomed in front of us, grand and imposing: a cavalcade of stone columns, bronze sculptures and sweeping lawns. An enormous dome rose above it, glinting like a crown of glass and metal.

  The State Library of Victoria.

  We hurried forward, clambering up several sets of flattish steps. To our left, there rose a statue of St George slaying a dragon: a massive work of bronze, depicting the knight thrusting his weapon into the writhing reptile.

  ‘Still behind us?’ Riff whispered.

  I glanced backwards, as surreptitiously as I could manage. The Inductor stood a single block behind us, caught behind a line of traffic on Little Lonsdale Street. But at any moment, the lights would change.

  ‘He’s here.’

  Inside, we headed through a foyer, up a flight of stairs and into the Cowen Gallery: a gaggle of paintings, plaques and busts on pillars. From there, we bustled up another flight of stairs towards the Domed Reading Room.

  The Reading Room was breathtakingly huge: at least six storeys high, ringed by vast white walls and capped by an enormous dome. Oak desks unfurled from its centre, extending like strands of a spider web, as the dome soared high above us: an artificial sky of glass and metal.

  Along the desks, bright green lamps sprouted from wooden stems, looking for all the world like a crop of luminescent capsicums. No one spoke. No one whispered. The silence was disrupted only by faint echoes, the occasional rustle of pages, or the creak of an old wooden chair. It felt oddly like standing in a cathedral.

  High above us, windows and balconies punctured the walls. I glimpsed snippets of the higher galleries: a tangle of corridors and private rooms. The higher levels were closed at this time of night, so their corridors were dark. The windows resembled large black eyes, lidless and leering.

  ‘Up there, right?’ Riff whispered.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’ve just gotta check – the others should let us know which level they’ve picked.’

  As I sank into the tenebrous shroud, a dozen greyish quintessences flared into life. The other library patrons sat studying, ignorant of the light that skimmed around their bodies. I forced myself to focus, sinking deeper into the shroud. The world darkened around me as I gazed up at the walls and windows, searching for a sign of magic.

  There!

  A flash of colour, a whiplash of light. It was Phoenix’s signal: a single tendril of quintessence, draped across a balcony. As if an army commander had waved a flag, signalling the commencement of a battle.

  ‘Up there!’ I whispered. ‘Level Six.’

  Riff nodded, his expression tight. He wasn’t a Witness, so he couldn’t see the flash of sorcery. But this was a deliberate signal from Phoenix and Orbit, letting us know where to meet them.

  And where, of course, they had laid their trap.

  In the adjoining foyer, I pressed a button to summon a lift. We bundled inside, selected Level Four and waited for the doors to close. Faster! I urged them silently. Come on, come on! Finally, they began to draw inwards, moments away from a metallic embrace …

  And in that moment, I saw him.

  The Inductor was hurrying up a staircase from the Cowen Gallery below. He looked upwards, scanning the foyer – and in a rush, he spotted us through the closing crack between the doors.

  Our eyes met.

  The Inductor charged. He sprinted up the last few steps and made a violent lunge towards the lift, thrusting out his arms to stop the doors from closing, but it was too late. The doors met, the floor jerked, and all I could see was metal.

  With a jolt, we rose.

  I glanced at Riff. He shook his head, ever so slightly, to warn me against complacency. We hadn’t escaped yet. Right now, the Inductor would be frantically pushing buttons, summoning the second lift. We had bought ourselves a minute at most; even now, he might be rising beside us, encased in a parallel cage of metal and mirrors.

  Worse, we were now illegal trespassers. At this time, Level Four and upwards were off-limit to the public. We were lucky the lifts hadn’t been programmed to exclude the upper floors at night. Perhaps librarians used the lifts after hours – or worse, security guards. If anyone tried to arrest us, we’d be sitting ducks for the Inductor …

  Ding!

  The lift deposited us on Level Four. We stumbled out into a carpeted foyer, bookended by vast glass windows. I used my phone as a torch, angling a thin beam of light to illuminate our path. The windows shone black, reflecting our pale faces back at us.

  All was dark. All was silent.

  Our friends were waiting on Level Six – but first, we had to lose our pursuer. The lift display in the foyer would tell the Inductor that we had travelled to Level Four. If our ploy worked, he might waste precious minutes searching this level while we took an alternate route upwards.

  We hurried into a ring-shaped corridor, which curled around the dome in an enormous loop. An identical corridor lay on Level Five above us.

  When we’d first explored the library, Riff had called these corridors a ‘tower of doughnuts’. I’d rolled my eyes at his junk food obsession, but I had to admit he had a point.

  ‘Left or right?’ Riff whispered.

  I hesitated, trying to establish my bearings. The librarians ran a daily guided tour here, and we’d tagged along a couple of weeks ago to suss out possible escape routes. This corridor had been open then, lit by daylight from the dome above and spotlights on the exhibits. Now, it lay black and abandoned.

  ‘Left,’ I said.

  Since the corridor was a loop, it didn’t really matter which direction we chose. The important thing was to move away from the lifts – and from the Inductor.

  As we scurried along, the corridor grew even darker. My phone light glinted off glass display cabinets, filled with ancient texts and informational plaques. Skin prickling, I peered over my shoulder at the darkness behind us. A second later, I collided with a display case, inhabited by an enormous old handwritten book. Pain exploded down my shinbone and I hissed out a panicky spatter of swearwords.

  ‘Gee, Nomad …’ Riff said. ‘I know you’re supposed to “hit the books” on the night before an exam, but don’t you reckon that’s taking it a bit too literally?’

  ‘Oh, shove off.’

  I led the way onwards, moving a little more carefully this time. Slowly, the corridor wound around in its massive circle, following the curve of the library’s dome. We passed displays of medieval manuscripts, woodblock prints and an old religious book with a heavy metal chain built into its cover.

  A moment later, we emerged into a brighter area. An enormous window overlooked the Reading Room, allowing light to leak into our corridor. I peered across the room below, surveying the windows and balconies on the far side of the building.

  ‘Anything?’ Riff whispered.

  ‘Hang on, I need to concentrate …’

  I blocked out distractions, gritted my teeth, and forced my vision to sink into the tenebrous shroud. The windows all looked dark and empty – but then I caught a flash of crimson light, fluttering as its owner reached an open balcony.

  It was the Inductor. It had to be. As I watched, the figure peered out across the room, searching the opposite windows one by one.

  Too late, I yanked myself out of sight. ‘He’s here!’ I whispered, struggling to keep my voice steady. ‘He’s on this level, and I think he saw me.’

  Riff swore. ‘Let’s move.’

  When we reached a pair of wide modern staircases, we climbed the stairs two at a time, too flustered to properly conceal the sounds of our footsteps.

  Level Five looked much like its twin below. Just another long, ringed corridor, coiling in a loop beneath the dome. The exhibit portrayed the history of Victoria, so the display cases brimmed with early maps and artefacts from the Gold Rush and the Eureka Stockade.

  Riff studied the darkness of the corridor and shook his head. Then he turned back towards the stairs, as
if to head straight up to Level Six.

  ‘Wait,’ I whispered, grabbing his arm.

  Level Six was a trap. Unlike Four and Five, its corridor did not provide an uninterrupted loop around the library. If we climbed these stairs, we would find ourselves in a confined balcony room, corralled by locked doors and maintenance cupboards.

  Right now, Orbit and Phoenix were frantically laying a trap in the space above. But we couldn’t join them – not yet. Our friends needed more time to set up their gadgets, to hide their traps and engage their sorcery.

  In the meantime, it was our job to keep the Inductor occupied.

  ‘Not yet,’ I whispered. ‘We’ve come up too high, too quickly. The others might not be ready.’

  Riff shook his arm free. ‘If we stay here, we’re gonna have some uninvited company. Dunno about you, but I’m not too keen on ending tonight in a body bag.’

  ‘We’ll go up.’ I pointed beyond the modern staircase, towards a dark curl of metal that nested in a shadowy part of the corridor. ‘Just not all the way up to Level Six. Not yet.’

  Riff followed my gaze. ‘Seriously?’

  I nodded. ‘Seriously.’

  It was an antique spiral staircase, crafted from cold black iron. It was visibly cramped, built in an era when the average person was considerably shorter and skinnier. It twisted its shadowy coil between the levels, like a worm wriggling up a narrow shaft.

  A hundred years ago, this spartan staircase had been used by librarians to scurry up to higher levels and fetch books for their patrons. Now, a clear plastic barrier blocked the entrance onto the stairs. The staircase was just another part of the exhibit: a relic from a forgotten age.

  Riff gestured at the plastic. ‘There’s a barrier.’

  ‘You’re a sorcerer.’

  ‘Hang on, are you giving me an excuse to levitate in public?’

  I hesitated. He had a point. The library was a public building, and it would be a serious risk to use sorcery here. But there was no one around, the corridor was dark, and there was no sign of security. The only CCTV cameras were pointing at the exhibits, not at the staircases.

  ‘Go on, knock yourself out.’ I paused, reconsidering my choice of words. ‘Preferably not literally.’

  Despite its plastic barrier, this antique staircase held one massive advantage over the modern stairs behind us. Where it reached the floor of Level Six, a few shadowy steps were obscured from sight, crouching in limbo between the two levels of the library.

  It wasn’t the greatest hiding place in history, but it would have to do. In Disguises briefings, our tutor had taught us that pursuers rarely looked up. ‘If you’ve gotta hide, best to do it above people’s eyeballs.’

  As Riff prepared to levitate, I sank into the tenebrous shroud. As darkness spread, my vision focused, and a world of magic blossomed in the dark. Riff’s quintessence was flickering, coloured red by his tension. It spiked a little, dancing and spluttering, as if his nerves had manifested in a burst of fire.

  Riff grabbed three strands of his quintessence and wove them together. It was faster to construct a circuit with a single strand, but a braided wire would be stronger and easier to control. As he grappled with his magic, the torchlight flickered.

  Riff wound the wire into a spiral levitation circuit, which he wrapped around his left hand. It looped around and around, encircling his wrist like a shining bracelet. He deftly wove another spiral around his right hand, and then his waist, and finally his ankles.

  ‘Hurry,’ I whispered. ‘He’ll be here in a sec.’

  Riff pressed down on the air to test its buoyancy. He gave an almighty push, as if launching himself up from underwater – and with an easy kick, he propelled himself into the air, paddling up and over the plastic barrier. His quintessence flowed around him, painting luminescent trails on the air. Light as a feather, he landed on the stairs.

  It was a textbook example of levitation: neat, perfect and silent. And finally, despite the utter inappropriateness of the circumstances, Riff capped off his descent with a neat little bow and a grin.

  Sometimes, I wondered if his obsession with levitation was entirely healthy.

  At the same time, I performed the routine with considerably less finesse. I didn’t have time to braid my magic, so I wrapped a few hasty single-strand spirals around my limbs and launched myself over the barrier. At the last minute, a thick strand of my quintessence slipped from around my waist. I stumbled, struggling to keep my balance as I tumbled up and over the plastic barrier.

  My boots hit the steps with a clang.

  ‘Damn!’ I hissed, wincing. ‘Sorry …’

  When we reached the crook between the levels, we dropped into a crouch. I switched off my phone light, plunging the corridor into darkness. An iron step dug into my spine. Too late, I realised how constrictive our hiding place was. The Inductor was armed with a torpefier, and yet we were shielded by nothing but shadows. My skin felt tight, and my lungs felt sharp. We might as well have locked ourselves into a cage.

  All we could do was wait.

  The seconds crawled by, scorching my throat as I fought to stifle my breathing. My shin throbbed, my back ached, my nerves stung …

  And finally, the Inductor came.

  The Inductor crept in darkness.

  Silently, I slipped back into the tenebrous shroud. As the Inductor ventured into my line of sight, my focus was rewarded. His quintessence billowed around him, embossing his shape with an unnatural shine that only I could see.

  A thicker swirl of magic obscured his face, suggesting that he wore a Spectral Mask. His quintessence was no longer the colour of blood. It was navy blue, as cold as the sea. For some reason, that scared me more than the crimson. Somehow, he had brought his emotions under control. No more anger, no more panic. The blue was cool and calm.

  He knew he had us trapped.

  I allowed a wisp of air to escape my lips, and then drew a trembling breath to replace it. Don’t move, I ordered myself, although my entire body was too stiff to even consider it. Some basic, animalistic instinct had seized hold of my limbs. In the grips of this terror, I doubted I could move even if I wanted to.

  Step by step, the Inductor drew closer to our spiral staircase. He scanned the passageway, his eyes intense, highlighted by eerie tendrils of magic and darkness. Here we sat, only metres away from our pursuer, straddled in limbo between Level Five and Six.

  Yet from his perspective, we had simply vanished.

  With one slender hand, he aimed his torpefier into the shadows. With the other, he drew a torch from his pocket and switched it on. A narrow beam of light sliced through the gloom, glinting off glass display cases in the corridor ahead.

  If he looked up now, we would die.

  Darkness prickled on my skin, like static on my fingers from rubbing a balloon. Our own quintessences jolted around us, stuttering and flickering, coloured red by fear and tension.

  In desperation, I reached into my pocket, fishing around for inspiration until I located a stubby old pencil. It was nothing special: not a secret gadget, not a hidden weapon or a sorcerous disguise. But right now, I’d take whatever I could lay my hands on.

  I threw the pencil.

  It wasn’t exactly a perfect throw – my old coach would’ve had a fit if I’d tried it on a cricket pitch – but it was enough. My pencil whooshed through the shadows into the exhibit below. It hit a display case with a ping, clunked to the floor and rolled away with a satisfying clatter.

  My insides twisted. I’d used a similar trick once before, trying to escape an enemy in London. It had saved me then – but would the same ploy work tonight?

  The Inductor strode along the corridor, heading straight towards the source of the noise. As he passed beneath us, I knew this moment would decide everything. He was out of patience, and we were out of time. If he looked up, we were dead. But if he let his fury drive him deeper into the shadows …

  He passed us.

  I closed my eyes, dizzy with
relief. By the time I found the sense to open them again, the Inductor was disappearing into the glinting glass of the exhibit. He glanced around, searching for the source of the noise, and then hurried onwards.

  For thirty long seconds, we simply sat there, frozen. I’m not sure whether it was terror or relief, but it kept us glued to our perch. In the distance, the Inductor’s footsteps were beginning to fade, moving into the depths of the gallery.

  For now, at least, he was gone.

  I leaned towards Riff’s ear. ‘Up!’

  It was closer to a breath than a whisper, but he grasped my meaning. Awkwardly, we crept up the rest of the spiral staircase. Every step felt like treading on a land mine. All it would take was a single creak …

  If the Inductor searched all of Level Five below, we had perhaps four or five minutes before he looped back around and tried his luck up here on Level Six. We had to hide, and we had to do it fast.

  The only artistic exhibit here was a stained-glass display of William Shakespeare. Beyond it, part of the wall jutted out in a large, clunky box that housed the lifts. It was the only decent hiding place on this level.

  ‘It’s us!’ I whispered, switching my phone torch back on. ‘You can come out.’

  A flurry of footsteps scrambled behind the lifts. A moment later, Phoenix and Orbit crept out into the torchlight.

  Phoenix greeted us with a worried scowl. She stood with crossed arms, dressed in a black leather jacket and chunky boots, as a wild mix of green and pink highlights tumbled through her dark ponytail. She had more piercings than a pincushion, and her new silver nose ring glinted in the torchlight.

  ‘Are you guys okay?’ Phoenix glanced between us. ‘Where’s the Inductor?’

  I bit my lip. ‘He’s still searching Level Five.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘A few minutes, I reckon,’ Riff said. ‘Five, tops, if he’s thorough.’

  Phoenix accepted this news with a short nod. She fingered her belt, her expression tight. She was the sort of girl who caused old busybodies to mutter about ‘bad attitude’ and ‘kids these days’ when they passed her on the street. But despite her glares – and her multitude of piercings – they couldn’t have been more wrong.