To Catch A Sorcerer

To be fair, Gray thought, he’d gone through all of Longwark’s things.

But, Longwark had locked Gray in the office for over four damn hours. Gray didn’t know what was happening, if the griffin was rampaging the town, if Longwark was dead and Gray would be stuck in that office forever.

Longwark grabbed Gray up by the front of his shirt, lifting him off the ground. Gray’s heels knocked together and he latched onto Longwark’s ropey wrists, his breath leaving him.

‘You …’ Longwark seemed to be struggling for words. He trembled. He stank of sweat and forest, and blood.

Gray’s fingertips pressed into Longwark’s thrumming pulse.

‘It’s,’ Gray said, his throat closing, ‘it’s just Dragon’s Stone. Sorry. I’ll clean it up.’

Longwark’s grip tightened. His breath was in Gray’s face.

‘Let - let me down. I’ll clean it up. OK?’

‘You been calling griffins into town?’ he said, softly.

‘No, Mr Longwark. No.’

‘You bonded with any of them?’

‘No - I don't know how. No, sir.’

His breath swathed Gray’s face.

‘Griffins are just … showing up of their own accord, are they?’ he said.

Gray risked lifting his gaze. Longwark’s face was shadowed.

‘There have been more, in town?’ Gray said. ‘There was one, this morning. It …’

‘It?’

Gray shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

Longwark hoisted him higher. ‘You been doing magic?’

‘No - I wouldn’t -’

Like an angry toddler with a ragdoll, he dumped Gray on the floor outside his office. Gray stumbled, getting his feet underneath him. Longwark threw Gray’s satchel. It hit Gray hard and he staggered, fumbling to catch it.

In the process, Alistair’s slingshot fell out of his pocket.

There was this awful, long moment as Longwark and Gray stared at the slingshot.

Gray clutched his satchel to his chest. Mouthed a soundless word.

Gray fled.

‘Gray. Gods. Gray.’

Longwark shouted, a rare northern dialect Gray didn’t know well.

Gray turned a tight corner. Then another. Into the shadows. Slung his satchel over his shoulders, and threw himself out of the school gates.

Gray swore, kicking at a loose stone. He blinked furiously, shoving his trembling hands deep into his pockets.

The street lamps were already lit. The shops nearby were closed. Some had boarded up their windows.

Huge tawny and gold feathers littered the ground. Some were twice as large as a man. Fresh gashes marked the cobblestones and walls.

Gray glanced at the clock tower, jutting up high from one street over, and squinted in the fading light. It was after seven.

He ducked his head, weaving through the nervous crowd emerging from the homes and shops. People were starting to call to each other from across the street. Gray kept his gaze on the cobbled ground.

‘Hey. Gray.’ Harriette ran up to Gray as he crossed the oddly shaped town square, skidding to a halt, barely missing knocking Gray over. Her auburn hair was pulled into tufts.

‘Woah,’ Gray said.

He was so pleased to see her. He held onto her shoulders as she swayed to keep her balance. She talked at top speed about the mountain griffin. ‘... And then, the mage guy, the one in room ten, he created this fire shield thing from his wand, and it flew away - the gust blew out the window in the leather shop - and half of Endell Lane’s in ruins, and I can’t believe you missed it -’

‘You OK?’ Gray said. He checked her over. Her lace shirt and linen trousers were crushed. Stained. ‘You’re not hurt? Was anyone hurt?’

‘Nup,’ she said. ‘I was inside with dad. He’s fuming. Why aren’t you or Alistair home yet?’

Gray stilled. ‘Alistair’s not home?’

‘Nup,’ said Harriette. ‘You coming?’

‘Uh.’ Gray crunched his shoulders back. ‘Yeah. I’ll be right behind you.’

‘You better hurry.’

Gray waited until Harriette had bounded out of sight. His stomach knotted. He ran down a skinny side alley. Alistair liked a night café down there. It’d be weird for him to be there now but … Gray had to check.

The café was crowded and thumping with live music. People excitedly talked, heads bent together. There were some kids there from school, crushed against the brightly lit window and clutching red patterned mugs of coffee. Gray withdrew. Alistair wouldn’t be in there, with those particular kids.

He strode away, running his hands through his hair.

The clock chimed seven-thirty.

Gray stilled, glancing up at the clock face.

Barin would be waiting. Barin would be furious.

‘Shit.’

The oddly shaped town square bustled with more people emerging from hiding spots, and surveying the damage. Gray dodged a group of workers clearing rubble from a fallen roof and spire.

Gray checked the now-dark and deserted park. There was a weeping willow, and he and Alistair spent hours behind the green curtain of privacy, Alistair smoking and Gray playing cards. But he wasn’t there.

Gray bit his lip and stalked out of the park. He checked the town library, tucked away four buildings down from the school. No.

The crow menagerie. Closed.

The alehouse that didn’t care they were underage. There were a couple of boys Gray knew from school – Rowan Conn, with his silver eyebrow stud and his shirt sleeves rolled up, frowning into his pint, and Jude James, with his leather jacket and quaffed hair, animatedly waving his hands. They were seniors with Alistair – they hung out with him.

Jude stopped talking as Gray approached. Gray wove through the tables and stools, and Rowan turned his frown on him.

‘Alistair’s not here yet,’ said Rowan shortly. His eyes looked distinctly red.

Gray averted his gaze. ‘He’s meeting you? You’ve seen him?’

Rowan shrugged. ‘Yeah, I’ve seen him. He told me he and Rosie would meet us here.’ Rowan’s voice was forcibly calm. ‘They’ll be together somewhere.’

Gray nodded and walked out, a strange mixture of relief and something else, something hotter, washing through him.

Last time Alistair had disappeared from the tavern, he’d been with a girl.

Barin had tracked him down and clouted him over the head for it. Gray couldn’t believe he was doing it again.

And with Rosie.

Something hot simmered and then boiled in his stomach.

He pushed it firmly away.

It was fine.

Fine.

Gray knew Alistair was friends with Rosie.

Rosie wasn’t Gray’s. Rosie didn’t know Gray existed. The few times Gray had interacted with her, he’d come across as a gormless idiot.

Shit, he was a gormless idiot.

The town clock struck eight.

Wincing, Gray ran out of the alehouse.

He sprinted the winding back alley, Raven Drive, towards the service entrance to the tavern, sweaty and out of breath, the cobblestones hard underneath his boots.

He flew past the homeless woman, Kraus, with the curse mark on her face like sprawled lightning, who slept in their street, and past the stray ginger cat that picked food and rats from the tavern bins.

He slowed as he passed the stables attached to the tavern and through the back door that led to the kitchen. Gray stayed on the threshold for a second, standing on the welcome mat, catching his breath and letting his eyes adjust to the light and bustle of the kitchen in full swing.

His gaze darted from person to person, searching for Alistair’s mop of curly hair, but he wasn’t there.

‘Gray.’

Gray held back a wince and faced Barin.

He had neatly side-parted his auburn hair, which he always oiled down to stay in place for the nighttime rush, and he wore his newest shirt with a winged collar styled in the latest fashion.

‘Sorry,’ Gray said. ‘I had detention, and then I was stuck in Longwark’s office because of the griffin.’

‘Detention. Why?’

Gray hesitated, resting his hand on his school bag, but not yet pulling out the note from Longwark. He didn’t want a row between Barin and Alistair. Not this early in the night.

He needed to speak to Alistair first. Come up with a game plan.

‘Just Mr Longwark,’ Gray said.

Barin snorted.

Barin and Longwark loathed each other. A lot of people were wary of Longwark - he was a cantankerous cliche of a mage - but, Longwark really got under Barin’s skin.

And Gray thought Longwark liked doing it.

Honestly, the animosity was so bad that Gray was surprised neither of them had issued the other a challenge to fight a duel in one of the battle arenas.

‘You’re a mess,’ Barin said. ‘You been fighting?’

Gray glanced down at his crumpled clothes and straightened them while Barin watched.

’No, Barin,’ he mumbled.

‘Where’s Alistair?’ Barin said.

Gray shrugged, pushing the thought of Alistair and Rosie sitting somewhere romantic and sequestered from his mind.

Gray dumped his school bag underneath a counter, and moved around Barin to get his apron. Gray kept his back to Barin, tying his apron around his waist and made to walk over to the sink. The pans and dishes were already piled up.

Barin stopped him, a hand on his chest. ‘Was he in detention with you?’

Barin would explode into a rage when he knew Alistair failed and got kicked out of alchemy. He’d be mad at Alistair and mad at Longwark, but neither of them was here. Gray was. He’d explode at Gray.

‘No, sir,’ Gray said.

‘But?’

Gray tried to keep his voice cool, ignoring the heat from Barin’s palm pressing into his chest. ‘Nothing.’

Barin’s mouth curled. ‘Nothing?’

Gray nodded, hoping he’d get a chance to tip Alistair off. Maybe they could forge Barin’s signature on Longwark’s note.

Barin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Something happen to him?’

‘I think he’s just out with a friend. I don’t know.’

‘Gray? What aren’t you telling me?’

Gray pressed his lips together.

Barin shoved Gray, not hard, but it was enough warning for Gray to step back out of his reach.

‘Gray. He’s been gone all afternoon. There was a griffin in town. You’re not worried about him?’

Gray hesitated, glancing down at his book bag.

Stupid.

Barin was damn smart, and he was quick enough to follow Gray’s gaze. He yanked Gray’s bag up and rifled through it, drawing startled stares from the workers in the kitchen. He dumped Gray’s textbooks and notepads and quills and ink onto the flagstone floor. Pages fluttered over Gray’s boots.

He found the note from Longwark and read it, his eyes widening as he scanned the page.

His face seemed to swell.

The whole kitchen whirred to a stop. The only sounds were the sizzling and bubbling of food cooking on the huge stove.

‘Where’s Alistair?’ he said. ‘He hiding from me?’

‘No. Course not.’

Barin turned on the kitchen, at the staring staff. ‘I’m not paying you all to stand around. Get back to work.’

The kitchen staff hurried back to their stations.

Barin shoved Gray towards the scrubbing sink. ‘Start scrubbing.’

He stomped over to the door and snatched up a random coat. Gray thought it belonged to the head cook.

‘Where’re you going?’ Gray said. ‘I can help – help look.’

Honestly, Alistair was more likely to come to Gray than to Barin.

Barin shrugged into the coat. It was too small across his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to notice.

‘Just earn your keep. I’ll let you know if I need you to scrub more pots or mop up vomit.’

He glared at Gray, waiting for him to argue.

Gray silently turned back to the scrubbing sink and began filling it up with hot water.

Gray waited until he heard Barin stomp out, and then he shut off the water. He dried his shaking hands on his apron. He went back to his spilled books and belongings and gathered them up before the kitchen staff stepped all over them.

The ink from the smashed bottle had already sunk into the flagstone floor, staining the stones. Gray hastily swept up the glass and then shouldered his bag, about to slip through the tavern to stow his bag safely away in his room, when, ‘Gray?’

Gray froze, confused and terrified, his bag on his shoulder, his soul leaving his body.

‘Um, Gray?’

Rosie Thindrall hovered in the doorway to the kitchen. One of her red laces on her boots had come undone, and she said, with her voice that was always warm from humming, ‘Can you do me a favour?’

She handed Gray a slip of parchment that had the Krydon Hall seal on the top.

It was an order for some Krydon guards’ dinner.

Gray glanced up at her, slipping his bag gently back onto the floor. ‘Yeah. Sure.’

She followed Gray into the busy kitchen and watched as he pulled fresh bread and basil pesto from the pantry. He sliced up cold chicken, feeling coherent thought slowly return to his brain, and gentle warmth from her standing close.

Say something, Gray urged himself. Say something now.

Ask her if she was just with Alistair. Tell her to warn him Barin’s out for his blood.

A sudden thought came to Gray. Maybe this order wasn’t for the guards. Maybe it was for her and Alistair.

Maybe a midnight picnic, up on the mossy tiled rooftops of Krydon.

Gray opened his mouth, pausing layering tomato slices over the chicken, his gaze fixed on her.

But she beat Gray to it.

‘You see the griffin?’ she said.

Gray shook his head.

‘Man,’ she said, ‘I know they’re dangerous and all, but … it was awesome.’

Gray smiled. Desperately, he racked his brain for something to say. He opened his mouth, and a strange noise came out. He pretended he was clearing his throat.

‘It’s my first night,’ she said. ‘Just got a summer job in the Krydon Hall kitchen.’

‘Got to love hospitality,’ Gray said.

She laughed.

Gray got so flustered he said, ‘Sorry.’

‘Huh?’

‘Uh.’ Gray quickly wrapped the stack of sandwiches in brown paper. He handed them to her, brushing her fingertips with his. ‘Let me know if you need anything else.’

‘Thanks. Put it on their tab?’

‘Er. Sure.’ Gray stared at her, hesitating. ‘If you’re working, where’s Alistair?’

For a second, she just looked at Gray. Then, her cheeks flushed furious pink. ‘Alehouse.’

Gray frowned, vaguely aware something was off.

He nodded and watched her leave.

Eventually, he shook his head and slipped through the tavern and to the stairs to store his book bag in his room.

Only problem was that the old mage was sitting on the foot of the stairs.