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Marla squinted at him. Illusions were easy, after all, if you knew what you were doing.
Sight depended on the eye interpreting various wavelengths of light reflected from and
absorbed by objects, and a talented sorcerer could make those wavelengths twist and
bend in order to deceive the eye; sound was equally simple, requiring only minor
variations in the vibrations of the air. Marla’s eyes weren’t like normal ones, though—
with a bit of effort, she could see in the dark, and around metaphysical corners, and
through illusions. She stepped up her vision, peering through to Finch’s true form…and
she saw a grizzly bear.
Finch had transformed himself into an actual (though certainly magically augmented)
bear, and that was heavy-duty totemic magic. She whistled. “Wow,” she said. “Not just
a pornomancer, but a dancing bear, too. You’ve got range, Finch, I have to admit. I bet
you’re a lot older than you look, to have learned all that.”
The bear was gone, and Finch was back, still yawning. “And you, Ms. Mason, are
almost exactly the age you appear, I would wager. Don’t try to outclass your elders and
betters, especially when we’ve already reached an accommodation. I’m sure you’re
formidable, in your own little way—otherwise, you’d be of no use to my city—but I’ve
been doing this a lot longer than you have.”
Marla thought about reversing her cloak, but it would be criminally stupid to do so in
this context, just to show off. She’d probably end up attacking him before she could flip
the purple safely back to the inner lining. Besides, that wouldn’t prove anything—the
cloak was a powerful artifact, but it didn’t have anything to do with Marla’s power as a
sorcerer. It was just a weapon, and while Marla could do more with the cloak than
someone with no experience could, it didn’t prove anything about her intrinsic abilities.
She still thought she could probably beat Finch in a fight, but if she tried to prove that
now, the whole house would likely as not come tumbling down, and with Finch crushed
under a pile of rubble, how would she ever find the Cornerstone?
Letting go of her pride when it conflicted with the best interests of her city was one of
the hardest things about being chief sorcerer. She simply couldn’t engage in a pissing
contest with this ghost-fucking bear. There was too much to lose.
“Take me to the Cornerstone tomorrow, and I’ll get out of your pelt,” Marla said. “I’ll
let you get back to ravishing the dead.”
It was hardly an exit line for the centuries, but she’d had a long day, and it would have
to do.
Marla found B and Rondeau, still alone in the hot tub. Marla crouched behind them. “I
thought you’d be hip-deep in some fan of yours by now, Bowman,” she said. “And you,
Rondeau, why aren’t I pulling you off Zara and dragging you out of this party against
your will?”
“Zara was otherwise occupied already,” Rondeau said, glaring down at the bubbling
water in the hot tub. “She’s an impatient woman with many strange and varied needs.”