A Practical Guide to Sorcery (Book 3)

Chapter 90 - On the Nature of Shadows (Part 1)

Thaddeus

Month 1, Day 21, Thursday 7:30 a.m.

Thaddeus made his way through Harrow Hill Penitentiary's cafeteria, a squat, dark room that carried over the feeling of confinement from its cells. He took a small breakfast plate and coffee, adding a few drops of his own specially formulated wakefulness tincture into the liquid. He drank it black. Any added cream would curdle, and nothing could mask the taste.

Thaddeus grimaced as he gulped down the eye-watering liquid. He hated the combination of sludge in his mouth and the deep, dark smell that would rise from his stomach afterward, so that he could still half-taste it. His tincture was not as long-term a solution as Siverling's sleep offloading spell, but Thaddeus had no desire to give up his rest forever, even in exchange for gaining more productive hours. Studies had been done; powerful thaumaturges who structured rest into their lifestyle and indulged their mortal desires were much more likely to maintain their sanity. Work-life balance and hobbies, so to speak. Thaddeus's work was his life, and he had few hobbies that did not involve magic in some way. Thus, sleep remained one of his few indulgences. Besides, he had spent too many years going without it for long stretches at a time.

The thought of his provisional apprentice brought to mind the boy's foolishness. Young Siverling had tried to be secretive, but Thaddeus suspected the boy had been snooping into dangerous secrets...and perhaps hiding a few embarrassing ones of his own.

The clothes Siverling had been wearing the night of the latest Aberrant incident, in addition to those stuffed hastily into his bag, were evidence enough. The boy may indeed have been at the Silk Door, but he had been in a liaison with someone wearing men's clothing, while Siverling had worn a dress.

The boy must have needed to leave in quite a hurry when Newton Moore set off the alarm on that clever little linked bracelet, and ended up borrowing his paramour's clothing to do so. Siverling's normal clothes were of much higher quality than what he'd been wearing, and there was no other reason for a dress to be stuffed so thoughtlessly in his bag. If his paramour had been wearing the dress, he would have left it for her. It made the boy's obliviousness to—or perhaps thorough disinterest in—the girls who flirted with him around the University take on new meaning.

Thaddeus remained deeply disinterested in his apprentice's sex life or specific proclivities, but if the boy wanted to keep his activities a secret, he would really need to learn to be more discreet. Siverling was brazen in many ways, but not yet bold enough to do as he wished without fear of the whispers.

Not like the Raven Queen.

Both Morrows had refused to speak of her at first, not with complete silence like Canelo, but with a strange combination of belligerence toward the coppers and fear of the Raven Queen. However, their reticence eventually crumbled under pressure. As soon as they were cleared to move on from the quarantine zone, they had gone into separate interrogation cells at Harrow Hill. When the standard intimidation tactics and attempts to sow distrust failed, they resorted to mild torture—nothing that would leave them looking too pitiful in front of a potential audience—and that did the trick. Unfortunately, Harrow Hill employed no professional information extractors, so it took longer than Thaddeus would have liked for the coppers to break the two, and he had to wonder about the quality of the resulting statements. Pain was one of the less effective ways of extracting coherent, truthful information, after all.

The mysterious woman had made enough of an impact for them to endure through the pain where many would have broken. The young one had even started blubbering aloud, praying for her to save him, and then, when he could hold out no longer, for her to forgive him.