Spy Glass
103
“Anything else?” Zebb asked. His f lippant tone indicated
he didn’t think I would request any more.
He was wrong.
“Yes. Can you contact Yelena Zaltana?”
“The Soulfinder?” He seemed a bit shocked.
“Unless you know another Yelena?”
When he didn’t respond, I said, “You made that snide com-
ment about my hanging out with Master Magicians and the
Soulfinder, so why are you surprised?”
“I thought you weren’t…”
“Important enough to really know the Soulfinder?”
At least he wasn’t tactless enough to agree with me. Progress.
Instead he raised the glass goat. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
After a few moments he smiled. First genuine smile I’ve
seen from him.
“She wants to know what you’re doing in Fulgor,” Zebb
said.
“Tell her I’m assisting a friend, and ask her to contact Ghost
for me. I need his help.”
“Ghost? Who’s that?”
“A mutual friend.” Ghost was Kiki’s name for Valek. Yelena
could communicate with her horse, and Kiki had special horse
names for everyone. Leif ’s was Sad Man, and Janco’s was
Rabbit. I never did find out mine.
Zebb returned the goat to his pocket.
“Well?” I prompted.
“She said he’s already on his way.”
I should have known. Perhaps our immunity connected us
and he sensed when I really needed him.
“Do you think this Ghost can find the magician?” Zebb
asked.
“Oh yes. No doubt.”
Later that day, Zebb told me Leif didn’t see Finn’s name listed in the Keep’s records. I wasn’t surprised. Not all magicians
104
Maria V. Snyder
attended the Keep. The Sandseed Story Weavers taught their
own children and new Stormdancers learned from the expe-
rienced dancers.
Before leaving, I carried a box of old documents down to
the Councilor’s record room. I had waited until most of the
workers left for the evening. Since this area only housed Tama
Moon’s documents, it wasn’t staffed. The rest of the Moon
Clan’s records filled up its own building and employed five
people to keep it organized.
I added my box to a stack before searching for design plans.
Long sheets of parchment rolled into tubes lined the back wall, but after going through them, I realized they were blueprints
for various buildings throughout Fulgor and not ones for the
important structures like security headquarters, the Coun-
cilor’s Hall and the prisons.
After five such visits, I finally discovered a long metal cabi-
net hidden under a sheet and under piles of boxes. Its long
drawers were only a few inches deep—the perfect size for
blueprints. They were also locked.
I pulled my lock picks from the hem of my shirt. Using a
diamond pick and my tension wrench, I unlocked the cabinet.
Buried beneath detailed maps of Fulgor, I found the blueprints
for Wirral. Each level of the prison had its own sheet. I gath-
ered all ten oversize pages and folded them to resemble a stack of papers, which I shoved into a file folder. If Finn spotted me leaving the Councilor’s Hall with rolls of paper, my intentions would be obvious.
However, it appeared as if Finn had lost interest in me. He
had gotten what he wanted—my reason for being in Fulgor.
I hadn’t seen him in days, but again, with someone like him
it didn’t mean he wasn’t watching my every move. At least, I
still had my escorts and I kept my guard up, determined not
to relax.
With all the information and documents I had collected on
Spy Glass
105
my excursions, I outgrew my tiny room at the Second Chance
Inn. Time for a bigger place with more privacy.
I hadn’t planned to buy it. My intentions had been to find
an apartment or small cottage to rent. But when I passed the
building with its bright For Sale sign hanging in the window,
I couldn’t resist.
I didn’t need it, didn’t know what I would do with all
that space and equipment and couldn’t form a good enough
explanation as to why I bought it. So much had happened
there, and I had no fond memories of the place. Yet I couldn’t
walk away and let someone else, probably a saner and more
logical someone else, purchase Gressa’s glass factory. Mine
now. I waited for the feelings of panic and buyer’s remorse to
overwhelm me. Nothing.
The two-story brick building was at the end of a long row
of stores. Its narrow front masked the depth of the structure.
Unlocking the door, I entered the salesroom. Dust-covered
shelves lined the walls and display cases dotted the f loor. All of Gressa’s glass pieces had been sold. Since this room would
no longer be used as a store, I made a note to buy curtains for the large front windows.
The door into the factory was behind the register. The
Employees Only sign remained, but the knob turned under
my hand. I paused and viewed the four kilns and various glass-
making paraphernalia. Familiar feelings bubbled, not because
I had worked here before, but because the silent cold kilns and abandoned equipment matched my soul.
No hum, no warmth and no magic.
I would eventually need to sell the machinery, but for now
I explored the office. Colored glass sheets hung on the walls,
and the clear glass desk, tables and chairs remained, but Gressa’s personal things and documents were gone.
The upstairs apartment had also been stripped of Gressa’s
belongings. However, there was furniture in the six rooms,
106
Maria V. Snyder
and no one had removed the beautiful stained-glass murals.
Their intricate swirls of color captured and ref lected the weak afternoon sunlight. Truly talented, Gressa had wasted her gift, letting her ego drive her actions.
Cobwebs and dust coated every surface, and the linens
would need to be replaced. I left my saddlebags in the one
bedroom and spread out my notes and files on the prison in
the upstairs office.
Living here would take a while to get used to, and I needed
to change the locks and buy an extensive list of items, yet I
felt…comfortable. Strange.
It was seven days into the warming season, and instead of
meeting me at the inn per our routine, I had asked Nic and Eve
to come to the factory in the morning. They were unhappy
with my new location.
“Do you like being an easy target?” Nic asked. “There are
too many points of entry, it’s too big to guard effectively and the neighborhood is too deserted at night.”
“You’re right,” I said and laughed at his shocked expression.
“But I’m not moving. Can you make it safer for me?”
He grumbled and hedged and finally agreed to try. We
walked to HQ and joined in with the morning training. While
we practiced, a large group of men and a few women arrived.
They bustled about the west end of the building, carrying
shovels and pushing wheelbarrows.
“Construction crew for the expansion,” Eve said.
And jobs for the fired guards. I scanned the workers, look-
ing for Cole’s cousin. Even though the prison guard at the
Spotted Dog hadn’t taken me up on my offer, I had located
his cousin, securing him a position with the crew. “Who are
the people in the blue jumpers?” I asked.
“Prisoners,” Eve said.
“From
Wirral?”
Spy Glass
107
“That would be unwise. And I’m starting to think you’ve
been hanging around Nic too long.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nic asked her.
“It’s called thinking before speaking. You ought to try it
sometime. It’ll reduce the number of bar fights I have to break up.”
Before they could launch into an exchange of insults, I
stepped between them. “Prisoners from the low security
prison?”
“Yes, from Dawnwood,” she said. “The ones who have
gained a certain amount of trust, and it’s also a way for them
to give back to the community.”
I spotted a few correctional officers. Instead of helping with
the construction, the COs watched the blue jumpers. Although
they were armed, they were also outnumbered. “Aren’t they
worried the prisoners will try to escape?”
“A few have tried over the years, but they earn points for
good behavior and for volunteering for these work details. If
they accumulate enough points, then their sentences can be
reduced.”
We finished out the practice time with a few self-defense
choke hold. Even though I had broken these holds a thou-
sand times, the response to an attack needed to be automatic,
almost instinctual, and the only way to achieve that was by
mind-numbing repetition.
Nic and Eve filed into HQ with the others to change
and report for work. Since HQ was across the street from
the Council Hall, they trusted me to arrive there without
trouble.
I picked up my cloak. Instead of leaving, I ambled over to
the construction site and stood to the side. At this point, there wasn’t much to see. Workers shoveled dirt into wheelbarrows
which were dumped in a back corner of the training yard.
Others strung ropes to mark future walls.
108
Maria V. Snyder
Bored, I turned to leave and a familiar voice called my
name. I grabbed the handles of my new sais and spun around,
stepping into a fighting stance.
My heart lurched when I met his blue-eyed gaze.
Devlen.
“What are you doing here ? ” we asked in unison.
He laughed. I didn’t.
“I thought you were in Wirral,” I said.
He set the wheelbarrow he had been pushing down. “I
thought I would be, too, but they sent me to Dawnwood for
five years.”
When I thought of all he had done while addicted to blood
magic, five years wasn’t near enough. But after I had stolen his magic, he tried to make amends, claiming his obsession for
power had driven him to do those vile deeds. He had saved
Zitora’s life and helped in capturing Ulrick and Tricky. But
still…
“Why are you here?” he asked.
The strong features of his face had haunted my nightmares.
Just a glance at his powerful build and the scar on his neck
had sent me into a panic. Those cold, killer eyes had burned
into me despite the distance from him.
Yet, that same face smiled at me, pleased. Humor and kind-
ness radiated from between those long eyelashes and softened
his sharp nose. He had pulled his long black hair into a braid.
110
Maria V. Snyder
Sudden warmth pulsed through me when I remembered his
goodbye kiss.
I snapped back to reality. “I’m training with the guards,
keeping in shape.”
“I meant here in Fulgor.”
I debated, and decided to tell him part of the truth. “I’m
helping Councilor Moon.”
“As an Adviser?”
“No. Her assistant.”
I expected him to chuckle at my new job, but the humor
dropped from his face. “You’re better than that, Opal. You
should be—”
“What? I have no magic. The Council has no use for me.”
My tone sounded harsher than I wanted. “I’m needed here.”
“The Councilors are idiots. Just because you have lost your
magic doesn’t mean you are no longer valuable,” he said.
“I stole your magic and here you are, moving dirt.” I ges-
tured to the full wheelbarrow.
“You see it as moving dirt. I see it as a worthy project. A
way to help atone for my misdeeds.”
“Even after you’ve spent time in prison?”
“More so, because I would rather be here than sitting in
my cell with nothing to do.”
I pished. Silver lining and all that nonsense—he could
deceive himself. I preferred to look at my situation more
realistically.
“Back to work, Devlen,” a big guard called as he hustled
over.
“Come on, Pellow. She’s a friend,” Devlen said.
“You know the rules. Go on or I’ll report you.” He rested
his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Devlen turned to me. “He’s all bluster, but I don’t want him
to get into trouble.” He grabbed the handles of the wheelbar-
row, then shot me a look I had never seen on his face before—
vulnerable. “Visit me?”
Spy Glass
Unable to speak, I nodded. He beamed and delivered his
load of dirt to the growing pile.
“Ma’am, you’re not allowed to fraternize with the prisoners.
It’s against the rules,” Pellow said.
I glanced at the guard. As tall as Devlen, his oversize muscles strained the seams of his uniform, but his doughy face contrasted with his solid build. I wondered if the Dawnwood COs
had nicknames for their positions, as well. Would Pellow be
called a babysitter?
A hardness in his gaze belied his pleasantness. “And it’s
dangerous. We’re not in a controlled environment.”
“Is any environment truly controlled?” I asked him.
Pellow conceded the point. “Better to stay away al-
together.”
Sound advice, yet as I moved through my day, my mind
kept returning to Devlen. The shock of seeing him wore off
by nightfall, and then I realized my stupidity. I could have
questioned him about my blood. He had been with Tricky
and Ulrick, he might know if they had saved a vial.
Guess I would visit him after all.
Not quite a strip search, but the female CO ran her hands
all over my body—an unpleasant experience. I had already
surrendered my weapons, and my identity had been verified.
Dawnwood’s prison walls didn’t press down as hard on my
shoulders as Wirral’s, and I could breathe in here. The bright-
ness and cleanliness masked the buildings true purpose for a
little while, but the double sets of solid doo
rs still slammed
with a tone of finality.
Visiting hours spanned late afternoon to early evening each
day. After completing my tasks for the Councilor, I had prac-
ticed with Nic and Eve and walked home with them. I had
waited until they were out of sight before heading to the
prison.
Once through security, I was escorted into a visiting room.
112
Maria V. Snyder
Iron bars separated the square space into two sections. On my
side, an uncomfortable-looking chair faced the bars. But on
the opposite side, a sturdy metal chair had been bolted to the
f loor.
My escort ordered me to sit and said in a monotone, “Do
not approach the bars. No touching and no inappropriate lan-
guage or topics of conversation. Any of these things will result in your immediate ejection from Dawnwood. You have ten
minutes.” He stood by the door with his arms crossed and his
face devoid of emotion. His bored demeanor an act to make
me relax and forget he existed so I might blab something
important.
The door across the room opened and Devlen entered, fol-
lowed by Pellow. Devlen’s hands were manacled behind his
back, but he smiled at me. Pellow unlocked the cuffs, pushed
Devlen into the chair and then shackled him to the chair’s
arms. The guard stationed himself behind Devlen.
“I thought this was low security,” I said.
“It is. But you’re my first visitor, and they don’t know how
I’ll react. Better safe than sorry.”
His first visitor? A pang bounced in my chest. He wore
another short-sleeved blue jumper and black boots. A number
had been printed across the front of the shirt with Dawnwood
written underneath. I noted he’d kept in shape. The uniform
clung to his powerful frame.
Pulling my thoughts to the present, I asked, “So if you play
nice, then you won’t be cuffed to the chair next time?”
“Yes. I earn points for being well behaved.” He tilted his
head. “I told you back in Hubal I’d cooperate fully.”
“I was still having trust issues.”
“And
now?”
“It’s better, but it will take me a long time.”
“I’ll be patient.”
Another oddity about him struck me. “What happened to
your Sandseed accent?”
Spy Glass
113
“Gone for now. I already stand out in here so I don’t need
another…quirk.” He leaned forward. “Now, tell me why