Page 17 of Junk Magic

“Then this could be an accident?”

I shook my head. “The guys in the lab don’t think so. Street drugs are all about the high; everything done to them is to try and increase that. But this stuff doesn’t really get you high. It gets you . . . something else.”

“What else?” Cyrus said. “What was that thing?”

I debated hedging, because Cyrus did not look like he needed that information right now. He looked like he needed a stiff drink and some sleep. But in a real sense, he had formed his own little pack out of those forgotten boys.

And you don’t treat a pack leader like a child.

“Colin,” I said bluntly. “Just a very different version of him. Colin if he’d been born millennia ago, in a harsher world. Apparently, this new strain of punch does more than bring out a few latent traits. It brings out the latent you, whatever that may be. In humans, that means talents and abilities that have been mostly weeded out of the magical gene pool: telekinetics, necromancers, firestarters, and so on. In Weres—”

I reached into my coat and took out the photo of the creature that Jenkins had given me. I wasn’t trying to hurt Cyrus, but Sebastian had to know what he was dealing with. Both of the men just stared at the thing, which . . . yeah.

It was just as bad as I remembered.

“Selective breeding was done in the magical community to eliminate certain traits,” I explained. “The junk magic that nobody wanted. Because if someone went dark with some of those gifts, they could wipe out whole communities. But the old abilities weren’t entirely eradicated. They still show up sometimes, which is why the Circle runs schools for children with unapproved gifts, where they are supposed to learn to control them safely away from anyone they could harm.”

“And if they don’t?” Cyrus said, because he knew how the world worked.

“Then they stay there, or in another facility, for life. It isn’t a perfect system,” I admitted. “But neither would be letting them, and their gifts, fall into the hands of the dark. Only we think that’s what somebody is trying to make happen.”

“Please explain,” Sebastian said, looking concerned. Or as much as he ever did. The smooth forehead was unlined for a reason, despite the butt load of problems he dealt with every day.

I swear the man had ice water in his veins.

It always came as something of a shock, because he and Cyrus looked so much alike. Sebastian had a slightly broader jaw, a narrower mouth, and a more Roman nose. But his hair was the same shade as his brother’s, although not as curly, and cut shorter. He looked older, too, despite the lack of lines, maybe because of the air of gravitas he wore like a cloak.

The head of house Arnou did not mess around, and neither did I in answering his question.

“It’s awfully convenient right now for the dark to have humans getting high off of punch and then cursing each other into oblivion because they had mage blood and didn’t know it. It keeps the Corps busy running around putting out fires, just when we need our manpower the most. It also gives the dark a whole new group to draw soldiers from.”

“They’re using humans?” Sebastian’s voice was sharp, because that was the one universal agreement in the magical world. No matter your politics, or which side you were on, you didn’t involve humans in your business. If word got out that magic was real, everybody would be at risk. Humans outnumbered and outbred us by terrifying amounts. Magic or no, we’d be wiped out or destroy each other in the struggle and everybody knew it.

But, clearly, somebody no longer cared.

“That’s what the Circle is afraid of,” I admitted. “We’ve had casualties; the dark has, too. And there weren’t as many of them to begin with. The fear is that they’re recruiting, using punch to sort through the human population and identify those with something unusual in the mix, then cull them out. Train them up, put them under a compulsion, and hey, presto. New soldiers.”

“And, if they’re really lucky, ones with abilities that you don’t have,” Sebastian added, because he wasn’t slow.

“Didn’t have until recently,” I admitted. “I’ve been assigned a new group of students taken from the Circle’s schools. They were offered a deal: work for the Corps helping to counter others like them on the other side, and win their freedom. As long as they keep their noses clean, they’ll be out, without having to check in with a parole officer for the rest of their lives and without the usual restrictions on travel, jobs, etcetera.”

“Sweet deal,” Cyrus said, with a look.

Because he didn’t believe it any more than Sophie had. The Circle’s back was against the wall, more than most people knew. We’d been hemorrhaging mages recently, and calling up retirees was only going to last so long. We needed troops and the Circle was willing to make whatever kind of promises necessary to get them.

But after the war?

“Yeah,” I said, and left it at that.

“And this . . . thing?” Sebastian said, one well-manicured finger resting on the edge of the photograph.

It was almost impossible to believe, looking at him, that the two creatures were in any way related. But a saber-tooth tiger and a housecat don’t look much alike, either, although they have some of the same instincts. And every one Sebastian had was sounding an alarm right now, judging by the look in his eyes.

“It could just be bad luck,” I said, although I heard the doubt in my own voice. “A young Were buys a common street drug. Later, he gets angry, wants to calm down, and thinks “why not? I’m nowhere near civilization anyway. What’s the harm?” He takes the drug, only it isn’t the normal kind of punch that he’s used to, but a souped-up version the dark mages have been using to find themselves extra troops. Only they were giving it to garden variety humans—”

“Which he wasn’t,” Cyrus said harshly.

“Which he wasn’t.”

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