He unrolled the picture and held it. She would have to move closer to him to see it. Grace sighed and moved another three inches to the right. Their thighs almost touched.
Nassar showed her the paper. It was an aerial photograph of a city.
“Milligan City,” Nassar said. “Squarely in the middle of the rust belt. A couple of decades ago it was a busy town, a blue-collar haven. Good life, family values.”
“Defined future,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes. Then the conglomerates shifted their operations overseas. The jobs dried up, the real-estate values plummeted, and the residents fled. Now Milligan’s population is down 42 per cent. It’s a ghost city, with all the requisite ghost city problems: abandoned houses, squatters, fires and so on.” He tapped the paper. “This particular neighbourhood is completely deserted. The city council’s getting desperate. They relocated the last of the stragglers to the centre of the city and condemned this neighbourhood. In nine days, it will be bulldozed to make way for a park. The arbitration will take place here.”
“When I think of arbitration, I think of lawyers,” Grace said. “Both sides present their case and argue to a third party.”
“Unfortunately this case isn’t something that can be settled through litigation,” Nassar answered. “Think of it in this way: instead of having a large war, we decided to have a very small one. The rules are simple. This area of the city was warded off from the rest, hidden in the cocoon of magic and altered. It’s been officially condemned, so no others are allowed near it. Those who try are firmly discouraged, but if someone does make it through, to their eyes the area will appear as it always was.”
She chewed on that “others”. Normal, non-magical people. He said it in the way one might refer to foreigners.
“Arbitration by game is a big event. By last count, representatives often clans have shown up for the fun. Two weeks were allowed to each clan who so wished to dump whatever hazards they could manage into this space. It’s full of things that go bump in the night.”
“The other clans don’t like you,” she said.
“None of the clans like each other. We compete for territory and business. We have wars and bloody battles. And it will be up to you and me to help us avoid such a war this time.” He touched the photograph. “Somewhere in the zone the arbitraries have hidden a small flag. Two teams will enter the game zone to retrieve the flag, while the rest of the clansmen will bet on the outcome and enjoy their popcorn. Whoever touches the flag first will win and be ported out of the zone. Whether the flag is retrieved or not, in three days’ time the wards will constrict, sweeping anything magic from the area into its centre. The pyromancers will destroy it in a preternaturally hot bonfire, while the locals blissfully sleep.”
“Are we one of the teams?”
“Yes.”
Now she underst
ood. Mother was almost fifty and overweight. She wouldn’t be able to move fast enough. They needed someone younger and she fitted the bill. “Will the rival team try to kill us?”
Another light smile touched his lips. “Most definitely.”
“I don’t have any offensive magic.”
“I’m sure,” he said. “You’re entirely too polite for that.”
It took her a moment to catch the pun. “I’m a dud. I sense magic and I can do small insignificant things, but I can’t foretell the future like my mother and I haven’t been trained as a fighter like Gerald. For all practical purposes, I’m the ‘other’, a completely ordinary person. I’ve never fired a gun, I’m not exceptionally athletic, and my strength and reflexes are average.”
“I understand.”
“Then why do you need—” Magic stabbed her, cold and sharp, wrenching a startled gasp from her. Her eyes watered from pain.
“Lilian!” Nassar barked.
“Go!” The chauffeur mashed a square button on her dashboard.
The roof of the vehicle slid aside. A dark sheath coated Nassar.
The pain pierced Grace’s ribs, slicing its way inside.
Nassar jerked her to him. She collided with the hard wall of his chest, unable to breathe.
The dark sheath flared from him, filling the vehicle in long protrusions, shaping into a multitude of pale feathers.
“Hold on,” Nassar snarled.
Grace threw her arms around his neck and they shot straight up, into the sky. Wind rushed at her. The pain vanished. She looked down and almost screamed — the car was far below.
“Don’t panic.”