Prologue
Running away so soon, are we?” the man said in a soft tone that held poison. Clarence covered his eyes. “Wouldn’t stick around to help clean up, would you?” the man said louder. “Already tired of the project just because the police break in?” “Farfield is over…” Clarence managed to hiss, hardly able to breathe. He looked up. “You’ve already failed, Joris. The police are onto all of you. Baslyn is dead, his spirit is gone…and Emry will hide her son well enough so you’ll never bring him back.” “But you know where she’s taking him,” Joris said. Clarence pulled his head away, refusing to speak. Very slowly, Joris stepped into one of the headlight beams, casting a shadow down upon Clarence. “You know where he is, don’t you?” Joris stated. Clarence shook his head. No…he wouldn’t tell. He would not betray Emry. “I—I don’t know where she’s taking him,” he stammered, fighting back terror. Joris narrowed his eyes disbelievingly. “Well then,” he said, “we’ll just have to…convince you to tell us, won’t we?” “I won’t,” Clarence choked. “I can’t break my promise—the boy is gone. Farfield is over.” Joris gave a dry smile. He leaned down so close his whisper was loud in Clarence’s ear. “Farfield isn’t over yet,” he hissed. “We’re going to find Bran Hambric, and we’re going to bring him back.” A freezing wind blew across the alley where Emry Hambric had parked her car. Her windows were down. The cold chilled her face—but not nearly as much as the sudden feeling of dread that crawled across her skin. “Clarence…” she whispered. Something was desperately wrong. He should have been there by now. She glanced into the backseat: in it was the limp body of a small, six-year-old boy. My son. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say. If only the apology could take back years of mistakes, so that maybe she wouldn’t be there, running from all she had done…if only she could have lived a few more weeks, she might see herself turn twenty-seven. But she knew in her heart she would not even see the next sunrise. Emry never cried; she was always the strongest—always pretending to be the strongest. But now, as she looked back on her life, and down at the child she loved so much, tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She would never see him again. “I won’t let them get you. I promise.” The moment the whisper left her lips, she felt a start. Her gaze jerked up, out the back window. She had sensed something move—a shadow, or rather the feeling of a shadow, watching her. Someone was coming. And Emry knew who it was. She’s found me. Emry thought she would be safe in Dunce. No mage would follow her in there, none of the police from outside either. She glanced back at her son. It was too late to run—she’d have to send him elsewhere. There was no more time to waste. She spun around quickly, searching the floor for something to write on. She tried her pockets and finally found an old scrap. Without hesitating she scribbled her note on it. “This is all I have to give you,” she whispered, stuffing it into the little boy’s fist and closing his fingers around it. She knew he wouldn’t remember anything—her magic was strong enough for that. But at least he would have the note. She hopped out and threw the back door open, pulling the boy up to her. Much as she longed to, she could not hold him for a second more. The darkness of the alley swept over her as she punched the button on the trunk of the car. The lid swung up, and she pushed her son down into the cramped space. She reached to her neck, touching the string of a necklace that was hidden under her shirt, but before she could take it out, she heard a scrape far behind her. She jumped forward, slamming the lid shut. Her skin crawled again. Her breath came quickly. She pulled from deep within, drawing on magic. For the magic to work, she needed something that came from the intended destination: a note from a neighbor’s house, and he’d materialize there; a shirt, and her son would wake up in a department store. But as every sense within her screamed out in impending danger, her mind drew a blank. In that desperate instant, she flung the magic at the trunk, hoping it would find something to use, anything to send her son from this terrible place. “Sideni aywa!” she gasped out. She couldn’t manage another breath before a hand burst out of the darkness. It caught her by the throat, throwing her backward to the pavement. Her arm scraped against the hard road as she fell. “You fool.” The woman’s voice was harsh. Emry looked up, her back to the ground. She couldn’t make out her attacker’s form in the dark, but Emry knew who the woman was. Emry heard the click of a gun, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t speak—she just lay there, bleeding. “Lock him in the trunk?” the woman said sharply. “You can’t hide him from me.” She punched the button, and Emry heard the lid pop, sweat forming on her brow. What if it didn’t work? Emry’s heart began to beat faster… but then, the woman stopped. “Where is he?” the woman hissed. Emry closed her eyes. He’s safe…She heard the lid slam, and she looked up again. The woman stood over her. “Where have you sent him?” she hissed. Emry said nothing. “You’re going to die either way,” the woman stated with no emotion. “And we’re going to find him either way. It’s only a matter of how long it will take.” Emry stared at the end of the pistol. With no traces of magic, the Magic Investigational Police wouldn’t even notice the case of a woman’s death by bullet, even if they found a way into Dunce. The woman gave an evil smile. “Who’s the powerful one now?”
