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Authors: Jill Archer
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cornering me now?
“I don’t understand you,” he said, circling around to stand between me and the door. He didn’t understand
me
?
“You should
want
to declare. If you declare, you’ll be taught an honorable career. You’ll be taught to control your magic, instead of having it be a potential danger to yourself and others. You’ve got raw power. I can feel it. We could use you.”
Ah, I thought. Finally. I got it. And him. Ari’s motivation in coming here was that of a good shepherd. He was trying to bring one of the wayward back into the flock. Well, Ari might be a good shepherd, but I’d never been a very good sheep.
“I don’t
want
to,” I snapped. “I don’t want any part of declaring. I don’t want
any
part of demons, demon law, or Maegesters. I can’t
stand
waning magic.”
Ari winced. “That’s blasphemy. You can’t mean that.”
“I can and I do,” I said, forcing my voice to sound angry instead of pathetic. “You don’t know what it’s like. You were born the way you were supposed to have been.”
He blinked and stared at me in surprise. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“Noon, why do you waste one second on what might have been? What is, is. That’s the only thing that matters.”
“Well, what
is
,” I said with false bravado, “is that I don’t
want
to declare.”
Ari said nothing, just stared at me with a hard look on his face. “Just don’t leave.”
I groaned.
“Please,” he said. I got the impression he didn’t use that word a lot.
“Are you going to declare for me?” I asked.
After a while, he shook his head.
“
You
need to declare,” he said ominously and walked out.
* * *
C lasses started the next morning. I didn’t leave and I didn’t declare, and over the next few weeks Ari and I seemed to work out some kind of unspoken truce. He was in section three, of course—because I could feel Luck starting to turn against me—but he always sat down in front while I back benched it. Ivy and Fitz always sat somewhere in the middle rows.
“I feel like a referee,” Ivy said one day. “What gives? I thought you two were friends.”
“Friends?” I said, laughing nervously. “No, we just shared a ferry ride, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh.”
In those first few weeks I didn’t really think (much) about Ari and declaring because, honestly, it was all I could do just to survive the basic Barrister classes.
Demon law school was hard enough all on its own without the added headache of Manipulation, which is what the Maegesters-in-Training were required to take. Five classes were held two to three times per week and most of them were a minimum of ninety minutes each. The prep time for each ninety minutes, however, seemed to take ninety days. I worked at becoming more efficient, but every time I found myself with three seconds to spare, the professors seemed to smell it and filled the time with more work. We read cases, briefed cases, discussed cases, and argued cases. I lived, breathed, ate, and slept endless cases. No two were alike and each had multiple parties, confusing procedural history, irrelevant facts, inconsistent holdings, nonsensical rules, hidden issues, poor judgments… The work seemed to go on forever.
Because it did.
Ivy and I were both late-nighters, but Fitz was an early riser so we had all worked out a schedule. We met at Corpus Justica an hour before our first class to go over the day’s assignments. We ate lunch at Marduk’s, discussing cases, classes, professors, and other students’ answers the entiretime. After lunch we had our last two classes—together, a three hour grueling ordeal that was only possible because of the coffee breaks—and then went back to Megiddo. Ivy and I always crashed then and slept for at least a couple of hours. When we woke up, it was already dark and we met Fitz for dinner, sometimes at Marduk’s, sometimes somewhere off campus just for a change. Fitz would leave after that to sleep and
“I don’t understand you,” he said, circling around to stand between me and the door. He didn’t understand
me
?
“You should
want
to declare. If you declare, you’ll be taught an honorable career. You’ll be taught to control your magic, instead of having it be a potential danger to yourself and others. You’ve got raw power. I can feel it. We could use you.”
Ah, I thought. Finally. I got it. And him. Ari’s motivation in coming here was that of a good shepherd. He was trying to bring one of the wayward back into the flock. Well, Ari might be a good shepherd, but I’d never been a very good sheep.
“I don’t
want
to,” I snapped. “I don’t want any part of declaring. I don’t want
any
part of demons, demon law, or Maegesters. I can’t
stand
waning magic.”
Ari winced. “That’s blasphemy. You can’t mean that.”
“I can and I do,” I said, forcing my voice to sound angry instead of pathetic. “You don’t know what it’s like. You were born the way you were supposed to have been.”
He blinked and stared at me in surprise. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“Noon, why do you waste one second on what might have been? What is, is. That’s the only thing that matters.”
“Well, what
is
,” I said with false bravado, “is that I don’t
want
to declare.”
Ari said nothing, just stared at me with a hard look on his face. “Just don’t leave.”
I groaned.
“Please,” he said. I got the impression he didn’t use that word a lot.
“Are you going to declare for me?” I asked.
After a while, he shook his head.
“
You
need to declare,” he said ominously and walked out.
* * *
C lasses started the next morning. I didn’t leave and I didn’t declare, and over the next few weeks Ari and I seemed to work out some kind of unspoken truce. He was in section three, of course—because I could feel Luck starting to turn against me—but he always sat down in front while I back benched it. Ivy and Fitz always sat somewhere in the middle rows.
“I feel like a referee,” Ivy said one day. “What gives? I thought you two were friends.”
“Friends?” I said, laughing nervously. “No, we just shared a ferry ride, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh.”
In those first few weeks I didn’t really think (much) about Ari and declaring because, honestly, it was all I could do just to survive the basic Barrister classes.
Demon law school was hard enough all on its own without the added headache of Manipulation, which is what the Maegesters-in-Training were required to take. Five classes were held two to three times per week and most of them were a minimum of ninety minutes each. The prep time for each ninety minutes, however, seemed to take ninety days. I worked at becoming more efficient, but every time I found myself with three seconds to spare, the professors seemed to smell it and filled the time with more work. We read cases, briefed cases, discussed cases, and argued cases. I lived, breathed, ate, and slept endless cases. No two were alike and each had multiple parties, confusing procedural history, irrelevant facts, inconsistent holdings, nonsensical rules, hidden issues, poor judgments… The work seemed to go on forever.
Because it did.
Ivy and I were both late-nighters, but Fitz was an early riser so we had all worked out a schedule. We met at Corpus Justica an hour before our first class to go over the day’s assignments. We ate lunch at Marduk’s, discussing cases, classes, professors, and other students’ answers the entiretime. After lunch we had our last two classes—together, a three hour grueling ordeal that was only possible because of the coffee breaks—and then went back to Megiddo. Ivy and I always crashed then and slept for at least a couple of hours. When we woke up, it was already dark and we met Fitz for dinner, sometimes at Marduk’s, sometimes somewhere off campus just for a change. Fitz would leave after that to sleep and
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