Thursday, October 19, 2017

The Tower: Chapter Five, Part One

Notes: Okay, so don't kill me, I swear the cockblocking won't last. I swear! It's just how this one turned out!!!

Title: The Tower: Chapter Five, Part One

***


Chapter Five, Part One



One might expect that a lumière, one of the emperor’s cadre of elite investigators, a person imbued with more power and responsibility than any individual other than Napoleon III himself, would be staying at the best hotel in Zürich, not even contemplating anything less than that. One would be wrong. In fact, a little investigating of his own after the incident on the train had led Anton to the conclusion that the real value of a lumière came from his or her irreproachable reputation and devotion to the laws of the empire, and the power of the emperor. Nothing he could find, no news stories, no anecdotes even, could point at a lumière living a life of luxury. They were austere, serious in their dedication to the task at hand and unwilling to deal in petty local politics, which included refusing any signs of grandiosity.

He had wondered, idly, how many of them were like Camille—soulless, or at least unaffected by magic, ritually religious or otherwise. How many of them would have been excommunicated if not for the emperor intervening as he had with Camille, or finding some other lever with which to compel absolute loyalty. Part of him, the scientist in him, wanted to ask, to categorize and fit the group with the appropriate labels in his mind. The rest of him, the larger part, reminded himself not to be rude and to restrain his curiosity. The last thing he wanted to do was to make Camille think he was untrustworthy, digging for information like that.

Perhaps tonight would offer an opportunity to examine the issue further. Or perhaps it would lead them in an entirely different direction. Anton felt his face flush, and was grateful for the masking dark of twilight. He stopped in front of the Limmathof, a modest three-tiered place just a few blocks down from the train station, then squared his shoulders and walked inside.

The front entrance was a bit gloomy, the dark wood swallowing most of the light the lantern over the front desk provided, but the air smelled like hot roast and potatoes, and Anton’s mouth watered a bit despite himself. He stepped over to the desk and met the eye of the young man behind it. “Excuse me, could you tell me where I might find—” He faltered for a moment, unsure of how to introduce the very concept of Camille. Was he incognito? Would asking for the lumière give everything away?

“Ah, you are Herr Seiber?”

“Yes.” Of course Camille had foreseen this.

“Our guest has directed me to send you straight up to his room, number two-oh-four. Your dinner will be up shortly, sir.”

“Thank you.” He turned toward the stairs and headed up, keeping his steps brisk. There was no sense in letting his nerves get the better of him now. He got to Camille’s room, at the very end of the hall, and knocked twice. The door opened, and the warm glow inside cast Camille into a shadowy silhouette in front of Anton, dark and distant. For a moment he was stuck, immobile, before Camille laid a warm hand on his shoulder and broke the illusion.

“Anton.” He squeezed for a moment before letting go. “Please come inside.”

“Thank you,” Anton managed. He followed Camille into the room, tried not to let the quiet snick of the door closing affect his nerves. Alone at last…and Anton had no idea what to do with it, whether it meant anything beyond the business at hand. It was probably better not to presume. He sat where Camille directed him and cleared his throat. “So, you spoke with Doctor Grable?”

“I did.” Camille settled into the high-backed chair across from him and reached for the teapot on the side table, pouring a fresh cup. He handed it over to Anton, then continued. “He’s a rather intimidating man.”

“Yes, he is.” That, at least, they could agree on.

“I’ve met very few thaumaturges with combat abilities before. I wonder to what uses his might be put.”

Anton paused with the cup halfway to his lips. “Are you suggesting…that Doctor Grable might have—”

“Not seriously,” Camille said, but he sounded pensive. “Yet it’s suggestive, isn’t it? The only thaumaturge in a hundred miles that is an acknowledged master at manipulating the magic of others, and in such a position of power and responsibility. The good doctor is a man with many connections, not all of them clear enough for me to make out. I cannot know all of his motivations, and that makes me…questioning.”

He shook his head before Anton could press him on the point. “But his very expertise makes him less likely to be the murderer, because one assumes he could make those deaths look completely accidental, not so deliberately the work of a thaumaturge. Let us move on to the other candidates.” He picked up a sheaf of papers and glanced at the one on top, then handed it over to Anton. “These are his picks for potential killers among your ranks. Tell me your impressions of them.”

Anton set his tea aside unsipped, his attention wholly focused on the names in front of him now. Ten people, nine men and one woman, all students at the university with him. “Not Bella,” he said immediately.

“Why not? Because of her sex?”

“Oh no, that wouldn’t be an impediment for her. But she’s not…she’s…” How did he explain something like this? “She has far more pressing concerns than murdering for the Devoué.”

“Such as?”

“She is in competition to become the court thaumaturge in the canton. Her skills are by far the best, but the rest of the competitors are all men, from well-placed families, so she is working twice as hard for half as much recognition.” Anton pursed his lips. “She wants to become a part of the status quo, not fight against it.”

“An acceptable interpretation. And the others?”

“Hmm.” He scanned the list again. “The five who are underclassmen, I sincerely doubt have it in them for this. They are all powerful, in uniquely different ways, but again, they all come from locally influential families. They have little reason to disrupt their futures.”

“Little reason that you know of. There are few things more opaque than the aristocracy, and motives come from all quarters of the heart and mind.”

“Even if they wanted to work against their own best interests,” Anton persisted, “our younger students are monitored with far more rigor that our graduate students. I sincerely doubt they could have mustered the time away to effect one murder, much less four.”

“We’ll save them for later, if our early investigations don’t bear fruit,” Camille said.

Assuaged, Anton looked at the next name on the list. Lucardo Klein. His eyebrows raised without his permission. “Oh.”

“Oh what?”

“I should have—hmm. I didn’t even consider Lucardo.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he’s also studying forensic thaumaturgy,” Anton explained, feeling a bit on the spot. “But honestly, he’s got a long way to go before he’s ready for work in the field. I—I know because we take certain classes together, having the same specialty. He’s quite powerful, it’s true, but his power isn’t very…subtle.”

“He sounds like he would be better suited to another specialty then.”

“Try telling him that.” Anton hadn’t been brave enough to attempt it after listening to Lucardo eviscerate a professor who tried to steer him in a different direction at the beginning of the term. His vicious outburst led to a suspension and he’d been better behaved ever since, but apart from those times when being in his presence was unavoidable, Anton never sought the man out. The reverse wasn’t quite true; Lucardo knew Anton was further along in his studies and approached him several times for assistance, but with such an air of petulance that it was more of a chore than anything else to deal with him.

“He’s worth looking into,” Anton said. “But knowing what he does about our craft, I would have expected him to be more careful as well.”

“And the last three names?”

Anton looked down at them and burst out laughing. “Gerald Montgomery. Naturally.”

Camille leaned forward a bit. “You know him as well?”

“Not as well as he’d like me to know him, but somewhat.”

Now Camille’s eyebrow rose. “In what way is he interested in you?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I’d rather not find out.” Anton sighed. “He’s a nobleman, with all the attendant inability to take ‘no’ for an answer. The world must bend to suit his wishes, or he becomes obsessed. I haven’t bent for him yet, and I don’t intend to.” He looked at the next two names. “Percival MacPherson and Harry Beaufort. Likely more aristocracy, of lesser rank if the way they cling to him is any indication.”

“Doctor Grable ranks their abilities highly.”

“He ranks their power highly,” Anton corrected. “The term is scarcely over, he hasn’t yet had ample opportunity to observe their abilities with any certainty. Gerald is powerful, I can attest to that. Possibly more so than any other student at the university, but it is an undirected force. He has great strength of will but little discernment of how to properly harness it.”

“And the other two?”

“I can’t say.” It grated on him, not being able to be of more use. “I should know, but I’ve spent more time evading these gentlemen than evaluating them. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Camille stretched out a hand and Anton gave the paper back to him. “This is a good place to start. We’ll begin with your Lucardo tomorrow morning, and move on to the fractious aristocrats in the afternoon.”

“You want me with you for this?”

“If you have another of those disguises handy, yes. Having your insight into their powers will be invaluable assistance.”

Anton’s heart swelled with contentment. He was good, he was useful. “I’m well-prepared, I assure you.”

“Good. Now that that’s out of the way, then.” He fixed Anton with a stare that was blatantly heated. The power of it was so unexpected that Anton almost flinched, and that wasn’t the impression he wanted to give. “Perhaps we may speak of what occurred between us on the train moments before we parted. If that’s of interest to you.”

“Oh,” Anton breathed. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“Excellent. In that case—”

A rap on the door postponed whatever Camille was about to say, followed by a voice announcing, “Brought your dinner up, sirs!”

“Damn it,” Camille muttered.

Anton had to agree.


Tuesday, October 17, 2017

A Necessary Delay

Sorry darlins, but I defy anyone to write a decent sex scene while their baby is crying inconsolably. It's been a rough day. I'll try to have more Tower out tomorrow, but at this point--we'll see.


Tuesday, October 10, 2017

The Tower: Chapter Four, Part Two

Notes: This isn't what I had planned on writing, but plot and character intruded where I wanted something a little...sexier. It's also on the short side, but I had a surprise outing with Baby Girl and feel fortunate I got enough time to eat, much less write a thousand words. So please, enjoy, and rest assured that I'll do my best to give the next chapter a more satisfying conclusion.

Title: The Towe: Chapter Four, Part Two

***


Chapter Four, Part Two



Anton was never one to regret time spent in study, but even for a student as keen as himself, the day dragged. It didn’t help that he had no time to spend on his own work—he assisted in the first two classes, then narrowly evaded being dragged to a lunch he no doubt couldn’t afford by Montgomery and his companions by hiding—or rather, evading notice—in an empty classroom.

The increasing interest that the other man had in trying to monopolize Anton’s time was irritating, and put him in mind of a little boy who, upon being told no, promptly threw a tantrum. Probably at this point, the fastest way to get rid of the man would be to go and waste some time with him in a public setting, to make it clear that whatever game they were playing at, he had won. It would require nothing more than for Anton to swallow his pride, really. He ignored the uncomfortable squirming sensation in his stomach at the thought of being seen with peers of the realm, however removed they were from their homeland, and mentally shook his head. Perhaps when he had resolved things with Camille. For now, he had no time to waste on braggarts and buffoons.

After lunch Anton had office hours, which were interrupted halfway through by Doctor Grable himself. He shooed the underclassman out of the small room that had been set aside near his own, much larger office, shut the door, and turned his famous glare on Anton as he crossed his arms. 
Doctor Grable was a brilliant thaumaturge, one of the few researchers who Caroline spoke well of, as well as a reputation for prowess at using his gift in combat. Where he had learned such skills no one was exactly sure, and the dour, stern-faced doctor wasn’t saying, but everything about his demeanor, from his craggy face and stormy brow to his stark black robes, warned the wary to tread cautiously. The unwary rarely got far enough to annoy him before he removed them from his presence. And now he was here.

Anton gulped.

“I understand you’ve been in contact with one of our emperor’s lumières.”

Wait, what? Anton thought the whole reason Camille had gone without him to see Doctor Grable was to keep his involvement quiet. His mentor must have read something of his confusion in his face.

“After Lord Lumière informed me of the circumstances of the deaths, I offered him the use of my best forensic thaumaturge—you. He politely refused, which is not the action of a man who wishes to solve crimes. It didn’t take long to realize that he must have felt at liberty to refuse my offer because you had already given him assistance. This whole matter…does it have anything to do with that bloody business on the train?”

“No, sir.” Anton found his tongue at last. “No, not at all. That is merely where I made his acquaintance. There’s no connection, as far as I know.”

“But you are working with him.”

“He asked for my assistance and I gave it.”

“Then you know what—who—he’s looking for.”

“Broadly speaking,” Anton extemporized. Doctor Grable didn’t seem to appreciate it. He took two steps closer, the storminess of his thoughts darkening his eyes.

“If there is a murderer among our students, I want to know about it. It becomes my business, whether Lord Lumière wishes it or not, because I am responsible for them.” He held up a hand as Anton opened his mouth. “In the broadest sense, I am responsible for the actions of all the gifted who reside in this school. If one of them is misusing their gift in such a heinous way, then it falls on me to act. Not him. Me.” The passion in his voice spoke of violence, and Anton barely resisted the urge to shudder. When Doctor Grable took a step back, it was as though Anton could finally breathe again. “I trust you’ll tell him this when next you see him.”

“Oh, I—I don’t know if—”

“Don’t bother trying to deny it—he would be a fool not to make more use of you. You might be rather too narrowly focused in your studies at times, but where you make an effort, your results are always exemplary.” It was perhaps the first open and direct compliment Anton had ever had from the man, and he tried not to let the glow of accomplishment it lit within his chest shine too brightly on his face. “That said, if you don’t involve me in the prosecution of this matter, I am perfectly prepared to make your life quite difficult, Mr. Seiber. Quite difficult. Do you understand me?”

The glow was promptly snuffed out. “I do, Doctor.”

“Good. Carry on, then. Consider yourself relieved of your teaching duties until this mess is resolved.”

“I—thank you.”

“Thank me by catching the bastard responsible for this.” A moment later Doctor Grable let himself out, and Anton slumped back into his chair, winded without even having moved. He wasn’t intimidated by many people—annoyed by them, forced to be polite to them, reluctantly respectful to them yes, but intimidated? That honor was reserved for people he was attracted to and Doctor Grable, possibly not in that order.


Being relieved of his teaching duties was pleasant, but of course no one had thought to tell the students that, and Anton felt obliged to see the ones who had been waiting outside his office before leaving. By the time he was done with them all, the sun had vanished over the edge of the mountains, the time to meet with Camille was drawing near, and he had managed once again to eat nothing since breakfast. Anton stopped in the dormitory long enough to grab a cup of tea, constantly alert to evading notice, but he seemed to have weathered the worst of other peoples’ unwanted attentions at this point. He grabbed his holdall, not sure what might be required of him this evening but wanting to be prepared for anything, and headed to Camille’s inn.

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

The Tower: Chapter Four, Part One

Notes: It's short but it's here! Two weeks in a row, booyah! Have some planning and preparation, and also some cake. Mmmm, cake.

Title: The Tower: Chapter Four, Part One

***


Chapter Four, Part One



It was not that Anton couldn’t see that Camille’s determination was logical. When working a crime that involved thaumaturges, especially ones capable of killing each other, it made sense to steer the investigation toward the highest density of magic users. In this case, though…

“You do realize there are over four hundred students, graduate students and professors at the university, don’t you?” Anton questioned over tea and tortes in a little café not far from his dormitory. Camille had insisted on buying him breakfast after their early morning, and Anton soon recovered enough of his appetite to make the idea of eating appealing. He added a bit of jam to his pastry and bit in, doing his best not to moan at the taste of it. He hadn’t eaten out in…well, perhaps since arriving and having a welcome dinner with Doctor Grable. The food provided in the dormitory cafeteria was simple and filling and, best of all, cheap, but it rarely came with jam.

“I realize that, yes.” Camille sipped at his cup of coffee, which Anton had to admit smelled good even if it tasted vile, then shrugged. “But the vast majority of them are easy to exclude.”

“How do you figure that?” Anton asked after a hasty swallow.

Camille waved a hand at him. “Consider what we know, and then tell me who we’re looking for.”

Anton frowned. “Are you trying to turn me into an investigator?”

“Simply trying to expand your already-impressive powers of deduction. You are a man of logic. Approach the problem logically, and you’ll soon see why a near-hopeless task becomes quite doable.”

“Fine.” Anton set his pastry down and thought about what they’d seen that morning. “It must be someone powerful. But, power is difficult to quantify, and in fact there are rules against trying to categorize ourselves, in order to keep down abuses of authority.”

“And yet, you are ranked as students,” Camille pointed out. “Thaumaturgy has never been about simple raw power. It is a combination of finesse, attention to detail, willpower and, only lastly, the inherent strength of one’s ability. Given what we know of our murderer, I believe that no one in less than the top tenth percentile of practitioners could do what has been done.”

“That still leaves you with forty people to consider, and that’s if it’s a student at all. It could be a local, or someone working here—after all, the men killed were workers, not students.”

“True, but one must start somewhere.” Camille dabbed at his lips with a linen napkin. “And I believe we can narrow it down even further.” He didn’t continue, just looked at Anton patiently.

“Because…you believe the killer is…” What had he insinuated before? “A fellow Englishman?”

“I think it entirely possible.”

“But the Devoué are not as well-established in England as they are on the continent. Doesn’t it make more sense for the killer to be one of them?”

“The Devoué are merely one branch of a larger movement, one that encompasses the British Isles as well as all of the mainland. And, as you say, they may not be well-established in England, but they’re not unheard of.”

It still seemed like an awful lot of guesswork to Anton. “So you think we’re looking for an English thaumaturge who is ranked in the top ten percent of students at the university?”

“It’s merely one possibility,” Camille said. “But a strong one, strong enough to begin with. The timing works, if we assume that it’s the palimpsest the killer is after. And that assumption isn’t one we can easily dismiss.”

“The Universität Zürich has a very large population of foreign students.” But among the best in his classes… “I think there are perhaps eleven or twelve of my fellows whom I would categorize both as adept enough to do this and of my own nationality.”

“Excellent. I shall confirm this with your Doctor Grable and begin my enquiries this afternoon.”

“I can meet you at his office by—”

“No.” Camille’s brisk headshake put an end to Anton’s brief hopes. “I don’t want to throw any more of a spotlight on you than I already have. We still don’t know the entirety of the killer’s criteria when it comes to choosing his victims, and I don’t want to make it any worse for you by singling you out.”

Was Camille going to push him away, now that he had utilized Anton’s particular expertise? “I can still help you.”

“You have already done so, most admirably.” Anton opened his mouth to object, and Camille raised a hand. “And you shall continue to do so after I’ve met with Doctor Grable and procured the information I need. But I will not be careless with your safety, Anton. Your disguises are no doubt excellent, but remember—there are no guarantees. What one can do, another can see through. Let me do this on my own, and we shall meet again this evening to begin narrowing down our search.”

Well, damnation. It was hard to argue with the man when he based his entire argument on protecting Anton’s life and livelihood. “You swear you will not cut me out?” he pressed.

“Absolutely.” Camille gave him a half-smile. “Anton, I came to you this time, not the other way around. I’m not planning on relinquishing your assistance before the murderer is caught, or before I am made to for some unavoidable reason. I promise.”

There was more to the heft of his words and the heat of Camille’s gaze than Anton was entirely comfortable staring down, but he didn’t look away. He had never been so infatuated with another human being in his life, and the very idea that his interest was still reciprocated, perhaps strongly enough to act on this time… “Where should we meet this evening, then?”

“My rooms are private enough, I believe, and I don’t want to give away my presence to the general populace at the university too soon.” He gave Anton the address. “Meet me there, discreetly, at half past seven. I’ll provide food and drink, you can provide me with your opinion on the people who make the cut.”

Anton swallowed. “I’ll be there.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Camille paid the bill, then pressed to his feet. “Until this evening, then.”

“Mmhmm.”

He smiled and left the café, and Anton reached for his tea and swallowed the remnants down in one enormous gulp. Good lord, could he be any more awkward?

Then again, if awkwardness hadn’t put Camille off of him so far, it wasn’t likely to at this point. Feeling cheered, he finished his torte and stood up, heading out into the street. He carefully dismantled the spell obfuscating his appearance as he went, so that by the time he reached the university, he once again looked like himself. He had ten minutes left before his first class began.


Anton already knew that the day would drag, but at least he had something—someone—to look forward to at the end of it.

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

The Tower: Chapter Three, Part Two

Notes: Oh my god, I did it! I managed to get some words down while my baby was napping! Have some Anton and Camille and dead people, enjoy, yaaaaay!

Title: The Tower: Chapter Three, Part Two

***


Chapter Three, Part Two



The second morgue wasn’t quite as neat and kept up as the first, but it was still a testament to the cultural fastidiousness of Zürich’s population. There was almost no smell of death at all, and while the walls and floor weren’t clean enough to eat from, they were a far cry from the charnel houses of London. This morgue was kept along a dark side street near the red light district, and while the stars were beginning to disappear overhead by the time they arrived there, there was still plenty of darkness left to assure a successful miasma.

The proprietor, a woman this time, let them in silently. She took the handful of coins that Camille proffered, pointed toward a heavy wooden door, then took herself off to another part of the house.

“Curious,” Anton murmured.

“Not really. Frau Schumacher and I came to an agreement over the bodies yesterday. She knew to expect us. And as she is functionally mute nowadays, I didn’t expect much in the way of verbal interaction.”

“Mute?” Anton blinked. “What happened to her?”

“I believe it was an unexpected side effect of a particularly nasty spell, but it’s impolite to speculate about such things. What affects one person one way—”

“—might have a completely different effect on another, yes, I know.” It was one of the first things any thaumaturge learned in school: you could predict the outcome of a spell down to the minutiae, that was what all the symbols and equations and paraphernalia was for. The less you left things to chance, to variability, the more control you had over the outcome. However, no spell was completely foolproof, and little things about the people you cast it on or around, from their emotional state to the clothes they wore to the changing direction of the wind, might wreak havoc on it. Anton still remembered an incident when he was young, when one of his fellow students cast an illusion on another, then promptly began shrieking with horror when the illusion made the boy appear as a hideously mutilated corpse, instead of simply altered to be paler.

Camille’s gentle touch on Anton’s elbow broke him out of his remembrance. “Shall we?”

“Uh, yes. Of course.” Anton led the way into the morgue, cool and quiet. A dimmed lantern already hung on the wall, providing just enough illumination to see the two bodies, five feet apart. “Which one first?”

Camille stepped up to the body on the right and checked beneath the linen cloth covering it. “This one. This is Jackson Clark, our most adept street mage. One wonders what the finder was being asked to find.”

“The palimpsest, surely,” Anton said as he set up his equipment again.

“Yes, but by what means? If it is as secret as I suspect it to be, then there should be no way to locate it directly. The more details with a finding spell, the better, correct?”

“Always. A resonance spell would have been ideal, but without coming into contact with the palimpsest there was no way to know the resonance of it.” Anton chalked the path to the body, then went back and lit his little flame. Camille kept silent, and a moment later, as the smoke wafted over the body, the scene played out. It was sadly familiar. The man writhed on the ground, caught in the grip of an unseen hand, and after a few moments, his throat was unceremoniously slit.

Camille sighed. “As I suspected.”

“If only some of them had invested the time in learning defensive spells.” Anton shook his head. “It might have saved their lives.”

“Yet magic is notoriously poor at being quick-cast.”

“Proper defensive spells are not quick-cast,” Anton replied. “Offensive spells might be, but that is a special branch of thaumaturgy that I’ve never delved very deeply into. Defensive spells, though, those can be linked to anything, like this charm I’m wearing to hide my face. They might not be very powerful, but they could be the difference between life, and…well.” He waved at the body of Jackson Clark. “That.”

Camille seemed interested, stepping closer as Anton began to set up for the final death miasma. “Do you employ them yourself?”

“Well, I didn’t before the—the incident on the train.” And it was a shame, because being better prepared might have saved Anton from several beatings. “But since then, I’ve begun studying it a bit. The knife, you know, was a variant on a defensive spell, a very powerful variant. I’d never go that far, but.” He shrugged. “It certainly pays to be prepared.”

“Indeed.” Camille looked down at Anton warmly, and he felt his cheeks heat in reaction. “You’ll have to tell me about the fruit of your studies at a more opportune moment.”

“I-I would be delighted to, of course.” Anton looked down and cursed himself silently for blushing. Would he never have better control over his own emotions where Camille was concerned? “Give me a moment.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Anton focused his energies and cast the spell for the last time. The smoke rose toward the fourth body, the final unfortunate soul who had been lost to this killer. Anton expected the death scene to be much the same as the others, but instead—

The man’s body jerked and flailed, staggering to his feet and dropping down to his knees again as he slapped ineffectually at his chest and face. His smoky mouth opened in a silent scream, hands clenched like claws on either side of his head. Something appeared to dart down his throat, and a moment later, he convulsed and fell onto his side.

The scene repeated. It repeated again. By the third time, Anton was more than ready to abolish it, and Camille finally nodded. Rather than looking disgusted, he appeared intrigued.

“Ah, now that is interesting.”

“He was…” Anton had seen this before, just not as violently. “He was being eaten alive.”

“Indeed he was. I knew that Garth Killian’s body had been found somewhat chewed, but—” he walked over and checked under the cloth “—I didn’t know that it was because he had been attacked by his own magic.”

“What do you mean?”

“Give me a moment to confirm.” Camille pried the poor man’s mouth open and peered inside of it. “Yes. There’s a rat down there.”

Anton’s stomach swooped dangerously. “He was forced to swallow a rat?”

“He was. Mr. Killian was a very effective exterminator—it was his sole focus. For his own magic to be turned against him, or at the very least for his spell to be overwhelmed by someone else’s, he must have been killed by another thaumaturge.”

Anton slowly felt the logical part of his brain begin to function again with a little bit of distance from the horror now. “It’s hard to beat someone at their own game. There are intricacies that can only be known through years of experimentation and practice.”

“Indeed. So, it must have been a very strong thaumaturge, someone strong enough to force their will on a street mage with little to no damage to themselves.”

“Dangerous,” Anton said. “But possible.”

“The act of someone steeped in contempt for who he was dealing with, and filled with a powerful sense of his own abilities,” Camille agreed. “Well. This narrows the field considerably.”

“Where will you look next?”

Camille smiled, the warmth replaced by something sharper. “Why, at your university, of course.”


Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Oh Baby

My baby is here! Oh my gosh, my baby is here. I am so full of love it's overwhelming.

I'm also tired, sore, sleep deprived, tired, hungry, sleepy, and did I mention tired? Because I am.

I will have more Tower for you as soon as childishly possible, but my kiddo has needs, and those include most of my time and brain power at the moment. First kid, what can I say? There's a learning curve.

Thanks for being patient, and for the lovely well wishes :)

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Moving Things Up--ie, Why There's No Tower Today

Hi guys.

So, there should be a chapter here, yeah? Or at least half a chapter. But life has gotten in the way, in a BIG way. After a doctor's appointment last week, it was decided that Baby Girl needs to come out sooner rather than later, so tomorrow we're going in to be induced. Technically she's full term and everything looks like it's working okay, we're just three weeks earlier than I thought we'd be.

Three weeks. Three WEEKS. I was counting on having those weeks to get all sorts of stuff done, and now life has turned into a mad dash of getting the house ready, buying whatever else we might need, making preparations for our dog, readying ourselves for the hospital--you get the drill. I've been the next best thing to frantic, and tired and super pregnant to boot, so...yeah. I wish I'd gotten it done, but I didn't. I don't know when the next chapter will post, since after tomorrow I'll have a tiny human depending on my and my man, and our tiny human expertise is limited. I see a lot of trial and error in my future.

I'm excited to welcome my baby, though, and excited to get the pregnancy part of this experience over with, and excited about labor--or, wait, that might be anxiety. Probably anxiety. I'll try to let you guys know how things go as soon as possible. In the meantime, thanks for reading (or trying to read) and best of luck in whatever you're doing this next week.

Cari