Spellhacke- M. K. England Page 0,80

and I believed that maz-15 is the fire at the heart of our planet, the source material for all other maz. What we do know for sure is this: the longer the rift stayed open, the more maz-15 poured out, the more the oceans started to warm, and the more frequent the disasters became. Hurricanes here, quakes in Kyrkarta, volcanic eruptions in Tolenne and Nuramoto. Correlation does not imply causation, as any good researcher will remind you, but the evidence is damning, no? These natural disasters spiked sharply in frequency after the spellplague, and have been getting worse year after year ever since, to the point where I fear the planet will rip itself apart. And MMC caused it all.”

I yank at the hanging thread at the end of my sleeve harder and harder until it snaps, and with it, my anger. Nausea roils in my stomach, and my vision blurs, black and white sparks dancing at the edges. In my ears, my mother’s voice: “Your father died at work, baby. But I’m okay. It’ll be okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before my eyes, her body slumps in the corner of the grimy bathroom she’d lost the energy to clean, her face mashed against the filthy tile floor with a trickle of bile at her lips, her skin so ashen, and her arm twisted under her in a way that couldn’t be comfortable, but she was dying at the time, or dead, dead already, and who cares about comfort then? Who cares about a seven-year-old girl alone in a run-down subsidized apartment with a dead body, too frozen and beaten down to do anything but vomit into the toilet, add to the mess, but not cry, never cry, not until Davon came and made the call and made a promise and held everything together.

A gentle touch on my knee brings me back to the present, and I realize I’m hyperventilating, noisy, ragged gasps, with sweat dotting my forehead and the table before me gripped hard between both hands. Ania pats my knee again, but otherwise stays back, grounding me but giving me space. I can feel the eyes of the others on me, but can’t bear to look up, to endure their pitying gazes. Remi and Jaesin were both orphaned even earlier than me, but their parents just never came home. They didn’t have to find them, lie next to them, dead flesh touching live flesh. My stomach lurches.

“I can’t . . . I need—”

I stumble down off my stool and run.

Twenty

I BURST THROUGH THE BATHROOM door and vomit, my mostly empty stomach contracting again and again in painful spasms. This bathroom is so different from that one, so many years ago. That bathroom had a big frosted window. This one is part of an underground bunker, lit with maz but closed off from the rest of the world. The tile here is a cool, clean, neutral marble of white and gray. Back then, it was green, or it was when it was clean. Blue towels here. Ragged, threadbare things with ugly patterns there. Bathtub here. Single shower stall there. Empty here. There . . .

I squeeze my eyes shut and take three deep breaths before pushing myself to my feet and stumbling over to the sink. There’s mouthwash in the cabinet, thank the stars, and I rinse once, twice, three times, four, before I finally drink deeply from the tap and shut the water off. I avoid my own eyes in the mirror, already knowing what will greet me. Light brown skin gone ashen, just like hers. Rich brown eyes, just like hers. Black hair. Hers. Limp, sallow, wrecked.

I’m okay. It’ll be okay.

Liar.

She was never okay. She lied to me, and nothing was ever okay again.

With that thought, the world snaps back into focus, back into sense. I straighten, meet my own eyes in the mirror, shadows and all.

Three more breaths.

I unlock the door, close it behind me, and walk back to the study where the others wait. Remi stares straight at the deck screen, glazed over and unblinking, while Jaesin’s and Ania’s eyes snap to me as soon as I arrive.

“Sorry,” I say curtly. “What did I miss?”

The professor frowns. “Are you—”

Ania catches his eye and gives a slight shake of her head. Good. Normally I’d chafe under her coddling, but now of all times, I really need to not be asked if I’m okay. I lean against the edge of the table, bracing on my forearms and letting