19. To Reach the End of the Night (Patreon)

A boy a year or two older than Oz ambled over, his hands behind his back. He wore fine, ruby-red robes, edged in ornate black. A black-silver and ruby circlet clasped his temples. Grinning down at Oz like a fat cat facing a mouse, he rounded toward him. “Well, well, well. I never thought I’d see you leave the safety of the library. Not after… last time.”

“Excuse me? Can I help you?” Oz asked. Ah, shit. I don’t see his face in Genealogy, which means he’s my and Aisling’s era. He might know me—that is, Ossian. If he knows me well, I’m in trouble.

The boy made an exaggeratedly disappointed face. “You don’t remember your old buddy, Baltair?”

Oz raised a brow and said nothing. Better to keep my mouth shut in this situation. I can only give myself away by speaking.

A bolt of white, brown, and black fur shot across the room. Sid jumped to his arms, then up onto his shoulder. She squatted there, peering down at Baltair with big black eyes.

Baltair stared, taken aback. “Why is that thing out here?”

Oz petted Sid. “Her name is Sid, and she’s a cat.”

“A fey beast, you mean.” Baltair lifted his lip, disgusted.

“Looks like a cat to me,” Oz said evenly.

Snorting, Baltair put the matter of the cat aside. He raised his finger at Oz. “Pretending you don’t know me, now that you’re big? It’s okay. I’ll remember you for the both of us.”

Oz sighed internally. Whoever this guy is, he seems like a douchebag. If Ossian was friends with him, I’ll have to apologize, but I don’t want to be friends. Externally, he let out a dramatic sigh and shrugged. “I guess I couldn’t be bothered remembering you.”

“Ha!” Baltair threw his head back, but the laugh was artificial. He lowered his gaze, staring Oz in the eye, His gaze narrowed, like a panther at the zoo. Hungry. Predatory.

Yeah. I think I chose right. Oz smiled blandly. “Excuse me, I’m going home.”

Baltair lunged, suddenly. Instantly, his hand latched onto the back of Oz’s head. Fingers already pinched to grab, his other hand hurtled toward Oz’s left eye.

Oz stared him down. He refused to flinch.

Bangles rang. Sachairi latched onto Baltair’s wrist. “I don’t think so.”

Baltair scoffed. He went to pull his hand back. “I was only playing.”

Sachairi held onto Baltair’s wrist. The boy’s cool turned to muted panic, a flinch passing over his hand. In Sachairi’s grip, Baltair’s flesh sizzled.

Baltair flinched. “Ow!”

At the sound of his cry, several nearby members of the crowd turned. They murmured to one another, the women hiding their mouths behind fans or gloved hands, the men’s eyes quietly narrowing.

Sachairi released him. Putting his hands up, he laughed lightly, backing away. “Oh my! Sorry, sorry! I forget how hot my grip is, sometimes. Do you need a salve? I carry some with me…”

“I’m fine,” Baltair growled. His eyes locked onto Oz, behind Sachairi.

Oz kept up the same bland smile. Fuck with me and find out, motherfucker. Divine punishment!

Baltair shook his head. His lip lifted in disgust. “You aren’t Ossian. I don’t know what you are, but you aren’t Ossian.”

A few closer members of the crowd murmured louder. Their eyes cut to Ossian, as ice cold as they had been when he’d arrived.

“Why would you say that?” Oz said lightly, putting his hands behind his back to hide the way they tensed. His heart hammered in his chest, but he forced himself to keep smiling. He’s just a bully. No need to panic.

“The rumors are true. You’re hiding in that Library because you’re afraid someone will notice. Changeling. Soul-snatcher.” Baltair spat, turning on his heel.

Oz shook his head, letting out a light chuckle. “You’re delusional.”

The murmurs changed in tenor. Some of the nearby people glanced at Baltair, and one of the women even scoffed and turned away entirely, turning her attention to more interesting things. Oz held his breath. Did it work? Did they get even a little distracted? Even if his accusations aren’t true, I don’t want to be caught.

He waved his hand, Sachairi’s grip sunburn-red around his wrist. “I’ll enjoy watching the Inquisitors tear you apart.”

“All because I have a little confidence,” Oz scoffed. He swallowed his panic, forcing it down. Panicking does me no good. Damage mitigation. Act confident. None of this matters to me.

Shit. Rumors, huh? Whoever called me into this world wants it known. Do they want me dead?

No… why not kill Ossian, then?

I know what it is. He looked at Sid, thinking of Fenrir, locked under the library. If I’m not human, I have no rights. They’re free to use me as they wish.

And that’s exactly what they want.

To them, to whoever called me here, I’m not a human. I’m not Ossian. I’m not even Oz. I’m a tool. A key to the library.

As soon as they socially corner me with what they already know to be true, they lock me into two bad choices. Choice one, I become their puppet, in which case, I assume the rumors go away, but remain a threat for the rest of my life. Choice two, I don’t give in, they publicly reveal the truth, and I’m sentenced for being ‘inhuman’ and, I don’t know, probably ‘killing Ossian,’ too. Regardless, it ends with me sealed away like Fenrir, nothing but a cog in a magical device.

He stroked Sid, taking comfort in her soft fur. For now, it’s only a school bully accusing me. What happens when someone with some reputation, like Cecil Daggarty, starts spewing the same rumors? Or Gregoir, Sachairi, hell, even Roan?

I need to watch my step. Leaving the library is even more dangerous than I thought.

And yet, if I’m to fight this in any meaningful way, I have no option but to leave the library. If I hole up the whole time, I’m only playing into their hands. I appear afraid. Cowed. Hidden away in the library, I have no way to fight back against the rumors. They can burn freely through the mages, and without me to provide a counterpoint, grow from a match’s flame to a wildfire.

Right now, I need to look confident. As if I have no fear that I’m human. In fact—what I need, is to make whoever summoned me here, wonder if they even summoned me at all, or if I’m the Ossian they used to know. Oz’s eyes shone with determination, his jaw set.

“Are we going?” Sachairi asked, waving a hand in front of Oz’s face.

Oz startled. Right! Now is not the time to get lost in my thoughts. Once I get back to the library, then I can do as I please. He pressed a hand to his forehead and wobbled a little for dramatic effect. “Yes, let’s. I’m so exhausted I’m falling asleep on my feet.”

“I’m quite sorry about that boor. I didn’t know our Sect Master had such little taste as to invite the Blood Hawk Clan. Honestly, it’s a surprise they’re still allowed in the Mages’ Quarter, as borderline dark mages.” As he spoke, Sachairi led the way to the gates, which swung open before them with no visible force. The cloth-canopied carriage they’d rode in here pulled up of its own volition, and Sachiari climbed up into it.

“The Blood Hawk Clan works with demons?” Oz asked as he followed Sachairi in. I understand single mages doing it, but entire clans? That’s a lot of demons!

Sachairi paused, blinking, then burst out laughing. “Ah… dark mages don’t necessarily work with demons. They merely pursue dark magic. Blood arts, death arts, demon-manipulating arts, and foul workings.”

“Ah,” Oz muttered, embarrassed.

“Don’t get me wrong. Some dark mages do use demons. It’s simply not a requirement.” Sachairi shrugged.

“Like the ones we met in that secret realm,” Aisling explained, hopping up into the carriage.

Oz nodded. That must be where I misunderstood.

The carriage rolled away, leaving the party behind. Oz breathed out, relaxing for the first time since he’d arrived. He shook his head, watching it fade out the window. It was fun, but exhausting. Served its purpose, too. I know who my enemies are. Cecil Daggarty, and that Baltair boy.

He touched his eye. Did he attack Oz’s eye before? But Oz had both eyes when I received this body.

I wonder what that was about.

“Still, it must have been a shock, seeing your old sect-mate as a member of a near-dark-mage sect,” Sachairi commented.

“Oh? Yes, well,” Oz said non-committaly. He was a disciple of Madame Saoirse? Explains how he knew me. With Gian and Cian, who hid in the library, that makes three out of four ex-disciples who turned to dark magic. Three out of five, if you count me, but that’s still a lot. I’m starting to wonder if Madame Saoirse’s teaching methods were a bit off.

Though, on the other hand, the ones who immediately came after me would probably be the most aggressive and desperate, the most likely to turn to dark magic, so maybe I shouldn’t think too much into it.

Sachairi chuckled to himself and turned, angling his head to see out the loose-hanging window flap.

Oz watched him for a moment. Cecil Daggerty’s words replayed in his head. Looking for a place to die. He frowned.

Catching his stare, Sachairi grinned. “Am I that handsome?”

Oz quickly tore his eyes away. “No, no. I was just… it’s nothing.”

Sachairi cocked a brow. “Now you’ve piqued my interest.”

Hesitating, Oz sighed aloud. “I… Cecil said something that’s been bothering me. That you’re looking for a place to die.”

Sachairi snorted a laugh, sitting back. “Cecil says a lot of bullshit.”

“Sorry,” Oz said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I’m not suicidal, if that’s what you’re wondering. I simply find myself in a unique place, where threatening to die is worth more than threatening to stay alive. I have no interest in dying early. In fact, I want to cling to every moment I have left. I merely realize the practicality of my position. If I don’t leverage an apparent willingness to die, I have no power, as a weak mage who will soon be dead.”

“You aren’t weak. You’re fifth rank,” Aisling interrupted.

Sachairi waved his hand. “I do not want to die, no. But by appearing willing to do so…”

Oz nodded. “Right, I understand.”

The carriage rattled on. Oz yawned, staving off sleep. By the time the carriage drove up to the library, his head lolled against his chest, his eyes half shut. He jolted awake as the carriage rolled to a halt and looked around. “Ah… we’re back?”

Sachairi reached out, barring him from exiting. “Aisling, go check for assassins.”

Aisling nodded. She leaped out of the carriage.

“Thank you,” Oz said, nodding at Sachairi. I was so tired I almost forgot my life was under threat.

No, wait. Couldn’t Sachairi handle them from the carriage? He looked Sachairi in the eye. “This isn’t about assassins, is it?”

Sachairi’s lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. A wisp of dark smoke escaped the corner of his mouth. “You’re a bright one. No. This isn’t about assassins.” Sachairi leaned in, gesturing for Oz to sit forward as well. He flicked his fingers, and a ring of bright orange flame encircled him and Oz, muting all the sounds beyond the ring’s perimeter.

Curious, Oz obeyed, leaning toward Sachairi.

“You aren’t Ossian Vestal, are you?”