Contract

After failing to draw a reaction from either Brighton, Cornelius fled the scene in a manner as frazzled as he looked. No one said a word until they heard the door click shut.

“My daughter and my Sage are both correct, however…” Lord Brighton broke the silence, sliding the ring back to John. “While the Order has some of the best craftsmen available, it does not have all of them, nor does it have the very best. I dare say only a Dwarf can hold that title, of which we employ none.”

John paused while leaning forward to take back the ring.

“Wait, Dwarves are real?” He asked.

“Quite so.” Lord Brighton nodded. “In the Abyss, you will find that most of the races of myth and fantasy you have heard of are very real- and very active.”

“That…” John slumped back into his seat. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“There is no way to truly measure it, but the Abyss is several orders of magnitude larger than Earth, perhaps infinitely so,” Moira said. “There are few things you cannot find there.”

“You guys don’t have like, a book that explains all this, do you?” John sighed.

“Yes, actually.” Moira nodded. “We will leave you with a copy when our business here is finished. Speaking of, we’ve dallied long enough. John Newman, we have brought you here to offer you an official Writ of Protection.”

“From what my daughter has told me, it seems you had an unfortunate encounter with Victoria Wentworth,” Lord Brighton said.

“Every encounter with the Witch is an unfortunate one,” Moira remarked.

Lord Brighton shot his daughter a scathing look for speaking out of turn. She wilted beneath it, scolded without words.

“To speak frankly, the circumstances of your awakening are suspect,” Lord Brighton said, dour. “However, your alibi holds. Our cybersecurity detected several inquiries about the Order of the Golden Rose via search engine earlier this morning. I feel safe in the assumption that was you?”

“Yes, sir,” John said. After catching that look Lord Brighton had sent Moira, John opted for brevity.

“And Moira informed me that Wentworth had raised a Barrier shortly thereafter,” Lord Brighton continued. “Only after that did you approach my daughter directly. Together this assembles a timeline that, despite the letter of introduction, suggests that the Witch has not empowered you for the purpose of serving as her spy.”

“No, sir.” John shook his head, then second-guessed himself. “I mean, Yes, sir. Or… um, whichever one means I have nothing to do with her. Uh, sir.”

Smooth.

Lord Brighton let John’s fumble pass without remark, not even a change of expression.

“In such case, heed my warning,” he said, leaning forward. “Do not trust her. Under no circumstances will I believe she simply sent you to us out of the goodness of her heart. She wants something from you, boy, be mindful of this and tread carefully.”

“I’d prefer to spend as little time around her as possible for the rest of my life, sir.” John nodded, gulping.

“That would be wise,” Lord Brighton said as he leaned back into his chair.

Silence reigned again as Lord Brighton reached downwards. John heard a drawer open, and the Lord-Protector’s hand returned with a rather sturdy and official looking piece of paper. He placed it neatly centered on the desk before addressing John again.

“With that said, this is a Writ of Protection, a standard offer we provide to all rogue mages we discover,” he said. “We do this in an effort to shield the unprepared from harm as well as to guide them in the right direction. An untrained mage, even one with pure intentions, can be a danger to everyone around them. We cannot afford such risks.”

Lord Brighton spoke the last few sentences with a subtly increasing gravity, and John understood. This offer did not come from purely altruistic motives. It was a means of regulation, a leash to make sure he behaved. John’s heart fell.

I should have known better.

“Okay, cool,” John said, trying not to let his cynicism bleed through. “But what about June? Isn’t she more important?”

Lord Brighton raised an eyebrow.

“June?” he asked.

“Something happened at school, Father.” Moira spoke with a sigh. She bit her lip in hesitation, and John could see her fists clench. “Between my call and my arrival.”

“Go on.”

“A Succubus infiltrated the school under the guise of the art instructor, Miss June Summers,” Moira said. “Somehow, she managed to bypass the accords and drain John Newman’s mana before I could stop her. Unfortunately, she had used him as a human shield and activated a Sigil of Recall before I could strike her down.” She hesitated.
“I…”

Moira knelt out of her chair. Her head sunk and she raised a fist to her chest.

“I am sorry for my failure,” she said, harsh. “I am shamed as a Warden for allowing such a creature to escape me.”

“Rise, and retake your seat, Warden,” Lord Brighton spoke with a voice that filled the room. “You chose life over justice. This demon can be found and dealt with, but the dead cannot be replaced. None can fault you for your decision.”

Moira’s head shot up, blame still painted on her face.

“But Father, if I had only-”

“SIT,” Lord Brighton commanded. The single word radiated from the man like a shockwave, piercing John to his gut. He pressed his lips together and swallowed. Even though the order was not directed at him, even though he hadn’t intended to say anything in the first place, John could still feel his throat close up. Lord Brighton’s command allowed for no argument.

“Yes, Lord Father,” Moira replied, docile. She did as instructed with all the practiced grace she usually had, even if her face wore a bitter mask.

“What do we have to work with?” Lord Brighton asked, immediately back to business. It shook Moira into a more attentive state.

“Only this.” Moira reached into her pocket and withdrew the necklace she recovered from the art studio. It was now tarnished by scorch marks and cracked nearly in half, but John could recognize it all the same. “The sigil she used to escape. It might help us find out who she is in league with.”

“it isn’t much,” Lord Brighton said. “But it is a start. We’ll have Cornelius study it, perhaps identify its creator. Is there anything else we can use?”

“Besides a description, no,” Moira sighed. “She bore no markings, nor did she employ any unique magics.”

Weighty silence fell over the room as both father and daughter sat back in their chairs to consider what few options they had. The Lord-Protector held a pensive serenity, while the Warden looked positively morose.

“Her name is Nazrinn,” John said.

“Excuse me?” Moira turned in her chair to face John with a furrowed brow.

“Nazrinn Lovejoy, Level 10 Cambion Temptress,” John said, recalling the results from Observe. Moira stared him down for a long moment before her eyes opened wide.

“You scryed her!” she exclaimed. “Bereft of mana, captive, concussed, and on your first day as a mage, you still had the clarity of mind to identify her?”

“It’s called ‘Observe’, but yes, I did.” John nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment for once. “My headache started to clear up, and after I realized I wasn’t being held by June, I used it on her to try and find out what was going on.”

John stopped for a moment, uncertain. Something had been bothering him since he woke up, and now seemed like the right time to ask.

“That reminds me,” he said. “I don’t remember getting knocked out, so why was I ****? And why was the door off its hinges and halfway across the room?”

“I-” Moira went rigid. “I cannot say. I found you both like that. The best explanation I can give is that you simply lost consciousness after being so heavily drained and hit your head on the floor. Yes, that would explain it.”

Moira nodded with less than stable confidence. That made sense to John, but the pieces didn’t completely fit together, and she seemed to be holding back on why.

“What about the door?” John asked again.

Lord Brighton cast a knowing look at his daughter, who shrunk under his scrutiny.

“That’s not important!” Moira blurted, returning to a precise seated posture. Her eyes stared forward, unmoving. “What matters is the investigation.”

John opened his mouth to speak again but thought better of it. Pressing the issue didn’t seem like it would earn him any brownie points. Besides, Moira was right, the more important thing was to find June, not solve mysteries about fallen doors. He turned back to Lord Brighton, who seemed to be impatiently waiting for the exchange to end.

“You’ve given us a lead that we must follow up on,” Moira said once she had regained her composure.

“Indeed.” Lord Brighton regarded John with the faintest hint of a smile. “The information you provided is more useful than you may realize.”

“Her identity as a Cambion is just as telling as her name,” Moira said. “There are few demons willing to let one roam so far away from their domain.”

“Happy to help, but, uh… I don’t know what a Cambion is,” John said, impassive. “I thought you said she was a Succubus.”

“I did, and I was wrong,” Moira admitted. “Partly.”

“She is a half-breed,” Lord Brighton spoke to clarify. “The spawn of a heretical union between demon and man. This Nazrinn is most likely descended from an Incubus or Succubus, which would explain the nature of her abilities.”

“So, what does that mean for us?” John asked.

“For you, little. For us, it means we will have an easier time tracking the culprit down,” Lord Brighton said.

John could see Moira open her mouth and begin to raise her hand, but cut her off. He knew what she was going to say and that it would be better to say it himself.

“Whatever it means for you it means for me,” he said. “I don’t know what the rules are, but I’m going to help. June means a lot to me, and I can’t live with myself if I don’t.”

The Lord-Protector rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. His eyes focused squarely on John beneath heavy brows in evaluation. John’s eyes were locked in place to meet the stare, but he could not tell if he felt like an item at auction or unwitting prey.

“Your willingness speaks well to your character, Mr. Newman,” Lord Brighton said, still inspecting the boy. “But you are out of your depth. I cannot in good conscience have you sign a Writ of Protection only to send you into the belly of the beast.”

“I know, I know,” John said. “I could have my skin ripped off, my soul torn apart, and be subject to a thousand horrors a thousand ways until I finally drop dead. Moira gave me the spiel.”

Moira once again opened her mouth and began to rise from her seat, likely making to reprimand John for his tone, but she was silenced by the raised hand of her father. John could feel the weight of his stare increase.

“And yet you are not frightened?” asked Lord Brighton.

“Terrified, sir,” John nearly choked. “But even if you save her, how could I look June in the eyes again after running away when she needed help?”

Lord Brighton leaned back and removed the contract from the table in one fluid motion.
“I see,” he said. “As the case is, my words still stand. I cannot have you sign a Writ of Protection and allow you to wantonly put yourself in danger.”

“But-!” John shouted, trying to call back the will he had to snap back at Moira. Unfortunately, this time all it took was a single scolding finger raised in his direction by the Lord-Protector to shut him down. He remained, half-seated, with his heart in his throat.

“I can, however, offer you a Writ of Contract and direct you to aid the effort in a manner which best suits your talents,” Lord Brighton said. He pulled open the same drawer as earlier and replaced the old contract. He returned with a similar sheet of paper, which he slid across the table to John. “You have already proven to be of assistance. I hope not to be disappointed in the future.”

“Father, forgive me for questioning your judgement, but is this wise?” Moira asked, looking quizzically between the two. “He is a rogue, with a tenuous grasp on his power at best. I agree to allow him to help, but to make him a formal contractor? This seems unnecessary.”

Even without a full appreciation of the contracts offered, John knew he didn’t like the immediacy of Moira’s disagreement. Even after accepting his help, even after telling them their target’s name, she still doubted he would be all that useful. It annoyed John to no end.

“Consider this, Moira,” Lord Brighton said. He did not hold any sort of commanding or punitive tone for his daughter’s insubordination, as she might have expected. Instead, he spoke evenly measured, instructive, “I expect that, should we not allow Mr. Newman to assist us, he would make the attempt on his own.” He turned to John. “Is that not correct?”

“I…” John began. The idea had been in his head, but with the Order around it was always a secondary option. If he really thought about it, if he had been booted from the manor without having any say, he had to admit that it would become much closer to reality.
“Yeah, probably.”

“I intend no offense in this, but you would fail,” Lord Brighton said. “In the best case scenario, you would find nothing. In the worst, well, you have already summarized that earlier. In the most likely, you would simply perish.”

John was getting pretty tired of people telling him he would die the second they took their eyes off him. The fact that he almost immediately fell into the clutches of a half-demon might prove them right, but John refused to accept that as valid evidence.

“And then what, Moira?” her father asked.

“We would have failed,” she answered with sunken eyes. “Regardless of the success of the mission, there will have been one casualty we failed to prevent.”

“Correct.” Lord Brighton nodded. “And so?”

“Better, then, to guide his efforts in a safer manner,” Moira replied.

“And help develop him into a mage worthy of The Lady’s Grace,” Lord Brighton finished.

Um, I’m sitting right here, guys.

“Protection is oftentimes more than simply being the shield before the sword,” Moira recited. “A Warden must not only deter direct harm but foresee future dangers and prevent them from happening entirely.”

“Good.” Her father nodded again. “If you know this, then you should know that this is one such occasion. You must also learn that, sometimes, one must protect someone from themselves.”

Could you not?

“I understand,” Moira said behind closed eyes.

“So, am I just a lesson, or do you really mean to let me help?” John asked, finally fed up enough to say something. This kind of treatment didn’t sit well in his stomach. For some reason, it reminded him too much of high school.

“Both,” Lord Brighton said. “Read the contract, I trust you will find it to your liking.”

John picked up the paper and looked it over. Despite the quality stationary, fine calligraphy, and the Brightons’ stiff way of talking, he found the contract to be in easy-to-understand, plain English. It said that, within reason, he could call on the Order for protection at any time. Additionally, he would offer his service when asked and even receive payment for doing so. There were a few other bits about how the contract didn’t make him an official member of the Order and things along those lines, but they didn’t seem all that important.

John pulled the paper closer to read the fine print. The only things that would end the contract would be if he made a formal cancellation, joined another Abyssal organization, or willingly acted against The Order of the Golden Rose. That sounded easy enough to avoid.

“This, uh, sounds fine,” John said. “And you guys will contract me for help finding June?”

“You have my word,” Lord Brighton smiled. It was a professional smile, the kind John recognized on the faces of the people his father shook hands with after a successful deal. He found that, if nothing else, to be reassuring.

He picked up a pen and signed the paper.

As before, there was no dazzling light show of mana swirling from the pen or paper as some sign of magical binding, but he did feel a faint tingle thrum through his body. A quick check of his character sheet showed Writ of Contract (Golden Rose) under his status. He also noted a blinking red exclamation point in the top right corner but ignored it for now.

Lord Brighton examined the paper and signed it himself before offering John his hand across the desk. John offered his own in return and shook. The hand in his was thick-skinned, large, and lightly calloused. Lord Brighton’s grip was not bone-breaking, but John knew it could easily become so, and he hoped his wasn’t just a wet, bony fish in comparison.

“So, um…” John said after returning to his seat, “now what?”

“Now we do research with the information we have,” Moira said.

“And what do I do?” John asked.

“You wait for us to call on you, and you practice,” Lord Brighton answered, standing. “Hone your skills, privately. If you truly desire to help your teacher, become the sort of mage who can.”

“Can you guys help me with that? My powers didn’t exactly come with a manual,” John said. He sure wished they did. He used to enjoy reading game manuals when he was a little kid, before all they contained was safety information.

“Would you please stop referring to The Order as ’you guys’?” Moira barked.

“Can you please stop calling me by my last name?” John jeered.

Both of them expected a comment from Lord Brighton, which he did not give. He only wore a faint smirk as he walked across the study to the doorway.

“To answer your question, Mr. Newman,” he said after a pause, “we can, and we will, but Late Bloomers are notoriously varied in their powers. None among us can teach you directly. For now, we will provide you with some reading material. When you have commited it to memory, we will find you a training partner.”

Yaaaay, homework...

“I guess that makes sense,” John said. “And, uh, thanks. For everything. You guys are doing a lot for some rando, I get that. So, uh, yeah...”

John could feel the heat entering his cheeks as his words escaped him. He at least took some solace in catching Moira rolling her eyes as he ignored her request. Without an end for his sentence, he stood and made for the door. Moira followed.

“It is how The Order operates,” she said, deliberately stressing her words. “But we have a lot of work to do. We’ll have someone take you home for tonight and discuss later.”

Lord Brighton opened one of the doors and ushered them through. John felt a wave of shock when he saw Reginald standing stock still on the other side, holding a trio of books. None of them looked very large, but he could tell they were dense with information.

“These will teach you the basics of the Abyss and Barriers,” Reginald said, offering them to John. “This is universal knowledge for mages of all kinds. Read well if you intend to flourish.”

John took the books with a thank you and all but scampered out of the room, towards the foyer, away from the strangely creepy butler. He heard the door close behind him and turned to see that only Moira remained with him in the hallway.

“I’ll see you out,” she said on her way past him. There was no intonation to it, simply a declaration of fact.

John followed. He glanced at the paintings lining the walls again as they passed through the foyer and only had to bear a few moments of awkward silence outside before he saw a black SUV begin pulling up the long driveway.

“My father seems to like you,” Moira said, eyes to the horizon.

“Are you serious? Half the time he talked like I wasn’t even there,” John said, taken aback.

“I know my father,” she replied, turning to look at him this time. “And I’ve never seen him offer a Writ of Contract to a rogue upon first meeting, let alone a Late Bloomer.”

“I… uh, cool?” John’s face twisted in confusion. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you do not want to see how my father interacts with people he doesn’t like.” Moira’s gaze hardened. “We’ve taken a chance on you. Don’t betray our trust.”

John could have sworn the temperature dropped. He wanted to say something, to earn some shred of the respect he felt he deserved, but whatever it was simmering beneath the Warden’s disciplined surface kept him back. Not out of fear, but some feeling John couldn’t quite grasp.

“I won’t.” Was all he said.

“Then…” Moira gestured to the now parked car and stepped back towards the manor. Her face softened into something approaching what might be considered a smile.

“Be safe, Newman.”