forms. The brief flashes did little to illuminate the room. While a light hung from the ceiling, it failed to expose the circle of singers.
No, mages.
Music mages worked in the South, the only quadrant where a song could lead to death or create a miracle. Often congregating in Florida, safe from the fluctuating boundary in Georgia, the music mages had a reputation of limiting their powers to softening their hurricanes and otherwise making Florida a little easier to live in.
They lived longer that way.
Wise music mages avoided Georgia, they gave New Orleans a wide berth, and stuck to Miami or Orlando, where they were prized for their versatility and ability to dampen storms.
I pitied the South, where most viewed music with open suspicion, only licensed singers could work entertainment venues, and only if they could prove, without a shadow of a doubt, they weren’t a music mage and were willing to pay hefty insurance premiums just in case they developed the ability to weave magic through their songs.
When I took the time to think Tulsa’s situation through, things made a lot of sense to me; why couldn’t a music mage fuck around with the Alley’s weather? Unlike most other magic types, they could combine their power, assuming enough of them were willing to work together. According to my magic, a whole lot of murderous bastards thought it a good idea to sing a song of death and destruction.
It annoyed me that my magic couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give me the damned address so I could storm to the South and start bashing heads together.
I bet I could talk Peace into helping out.
Peace hated murderers.
If Peace wanted to help out killing off a bunch of murderous assholes, I’d be happy to make a trip to the South, assuming my damned magic would get its ass in gear and provide me with a few more clues.
Well, in a way, it had. Wherever the mages were, it likely wasn’t in Georgia.
Unlike the other boundary lines, which remained somewhat stable, something about Georgia made the boundary dance around worse than a kid on a sugar high, creating a zone of pure chaos. Sometimes, the boundary hung out around Atlanta, sometimes it headed to Savannah, sometimes it cut all the way down to Valdosta, where it worried the residents of Florida, who enjoyed general stability.
For whatever reason, the boundary stabilized in Alabama, although sometimes it shifted north into Tennessee, which became a veritable war zone of boundary lines as it butted up against the Alley and the East.
Once, the boundary lines for the East, the South, and the Alley had converged on poor Jackson, leaving the stunned residents struggling to cope with the influx and ever-changing magic. Not even quadrant masters could handle where three boundary lines collided.
I avoided places like Jackson, where the bad could go to worse in a hurry.
The music mages continued to sing, and the electric charge intensified.
Only a fool stuck around where electricity sparked over skin and clothes alike, and if I’d been given a choice in the matter, I would have fled for the relative safety of Tulsa and its endless storms. I gave it a matter of minutes before the electric charge building in the air took a lethal turn.
My magic liked offering me hints of impending doom, which I took seriously.
The past couldn’t hurt me, but what I witnessed always left some form of mark.
The magic the music mages wove didn’t leave me waiting for long. With a deafening crack of thunder, light flashed through the room, bathing the choir in a blue-white glow. Then, because my magic wanted me to remember, time froze.
I refused to question my magic’s choice, although I wondered what was so important about that specific moment my magic halted the flow of time for me to better witness it.
The robes all matched, black with dark blue stitching, which the lightning revealed in an oddly stark contrast. The distinct shape of twisters decorated the sleeves and hem of their garb.
A single tornado embroidered in gold thread over their hearts suggested a group or cult, and I took my time memorizing the design. The first thing I would do once I headed back to Tulsa involved hunting for Sandro, cornering him, and asking him if he could get information on the design. Then I’d question him about his willingness to venture into the South to chase after me, as I had a violent date with a bunch of murdering assholes planned.
I wouldn’t mind the help of a