The Knowledge (The Circle Book 2) Page 5

  Past the 'bathroom' was a slim shelf with power outlets, where most of the residents placed a kettle, some an electric hob. There were no formal cooking facilities within the apartments, the only sink was a tiny basin opposite the shower. If those that lived in the block decided to cook―gods forbid they harboured a desire for sustenance―they had to make their way to the fifteenth floor, at the centre of the building, to make use of the communal kitchen.

  'Kitchen', was yet another exaggeration. It was a room smaller than each of the apartments, and despite having three sinks for some reason, only had a microwave and a single electric hob that was screwed, glued and cemented into the counter, to prevent any of the residents from stealing it. Not that anyone of sound mind would ever want to, for it was also caked in grease and filth, and filled the room with a noxious smog when anyone even considered turning it on.

  The residents had many complaints.

  Those complaints gave them a common ground.

  The common ground gave them the foundations upon which to build a fantasy in the interconnected Dream Realm.

  A fantasy of what the housing block should be.

  And the whispers that each of them heard were encouraging them to do just that, to fantasise. And once they had that combined fantasy, once everyone's ideas had been included, it wanted them to build upon that. To invest in it. To throw all their intent into that idealised version of what their living arrangements could be.

  It walked them through the rituals they would perform, spoke in hushed tones as it encouraged them to practice the sigils it had taught them, that would bring their desires forth.

  Shana, Raven and Wilbur watched as the formerly disgruntled residents of the tower block walked through their creation. It was a thing of beauty. They had altered the spacial dimensions, done away with the bare and ugly concrete, removed all evidence that it ever resembled a prison. Shana didn't want to admit it, but a part of her wished that they could allow this thing to be created. It had bolstered the spirits of those that were trapped within concrete walls, brought a community together that would otherwise not exist. People that had avoided all eye contact in elevators, hallways and stairwells now knew one another by name―not just by name. They knew them as well as they knew themselves. They were a family.

  And it tore her up inside to realise that if the natural order was to be maintained, then this family would have to be torn apart.

  At that thought, it seemed as though the residents of the reshaped tower block knew exactly what she had been thinking. They appeared all around the three of them, came at them from both sides of a hallway that was painted a deep dark green, walls flowing with foliage and blooming flowers.

  Their eyes glowed with a subtle emerald sheen, and each was narrowed, a communal anger brewing at the infiltrators that wished to do harm to their perfect reimagined home.

  They came towards the three magickians, raised their arms and clawed their fingers. They were going to rip them to shreds, that intent was clear, the desire to destroy them, and any other interlopers that dare threaten the utopia they had created.

  “Get us out of here!” Raven gasped, as she kicked away one of the residents that was lunging for her eyes.

  Wilbur took hold of the two women and they flew straight through the wall of the apartment block, whipped out of the dream farther and farther until they emerged back into the starscape of the Dream Realm. The place they had come from returned to being just one pinprick in constellation of close to sixty.

  The three magickians glanced at one another. Their trip hadn't identified who―or what―the perpetrator was, but at the very least it had given them a direction to head in search of answers. Paris was their next stop.

  But even though they had glimpsed what would most likely be waiting for them when they arrived, they couldn't have imagined that their visit would result in so much avoidable death.

  17

  Fire on her fingertips

  EPICENTRE, THE CIRCLE

  Given that there was more intelligence behind the operation, the incursion to La Banane was classed as an infiltration into enemy territory, unlike the trip to Johannesburg. With that classification came the requirement for a full team of operatives, led by Raven.

  Despite Wilbur's excitement at the prospect of going on an operation, she told him in no uncertain terms that he was not part of the team―and she also told him to put his damn clothes back on. . . Raven decided that the best course of action was to bring in familiar faces from the roster of available operatives. People she trusted, people who wouldn't mind bending The Circle's rules as and when required. . .

  Sabre Lightfoot was first on her list. She stood a full foot shorter than Raven, had bright blue hair, that contrasted with her Filipina complexion and was an experienced markswoman. If things went down how Raven feared they might, a long range firefight was their best chance of getting out of there alive.

  Their closer range support was to be provided by Leopold and Jacobian Bly, identical twins that insisted on being an eyesore by inverting their aesthetics. Jacobian wore black whilst Leopold wore white. Leopold had long black hair, whilst Jacobian had long white hair. Both had thin faces with olive complexions, carved with identical long, sharp noses, prominent cheekbones and bright, wide eyes with not a single vein of red visible in that brilliant white. They were egotistical arseholes, and that's what Raven liked about them―even if she disagreed with their lifestyle choices of being entirely T-total, vegan, and fanatical about healthy living and working out.

  She could easily put those dislikes aside for this operation, and decided to only rag on them about their lifestyle choices when she had a particularly witty retort.

  Their team was set, as was their destination, and Faith concluded his briefing by reiterating explicitly that they were going in to observe, and if needs be diffuse the situation, rather than make things worse. . .

  “And more to the point, the goal of the operation is―and I stress this, for your sake, Raven―to take in as many of these magickally-enhanced mundanes as bloody possible. Y'get me?”

  Raven rolled her eyes.

  “Don't want you being a bloody nuisance and killing for the sake of it, we need these people alive for a thorough interrogation.”

  She did not feel the need to dignify that request with a response.

  “Can always make Kanta the operative in charge, if you're going to―”

  “No!” Raven grunted. “I'm going to bloody do it right. Have some faith.”

  He was not amused at use of his name in wordplay, and simply scowled to impart as such.

  Raven took that as a sign that the operation was still going ahead with her in command, and thanked him sarcastically before she led her team out to the tac room.

  Despite the operational parameters being limited to non-lethal weapons, she grabbed her favourite knuckle dusters when the others had their backs turned. After all, the people they were after had a tendency to burst into flames one way or another, so she didn't see what difference a little magickal fire on her fingertips would make. . .

  18

  The nature motif

  PARIS, FRANCE

  Three teleported the team to the slim cement path that led directly to the entrance of the tower block, and as soon as the light fled from their vision, it was immediately apparent that all was not as it should be.

  In the dream that Raven and Shana had infiltrated, the housing unit was a massive grey monument to utilitarian brutalist design. It was intentionally ugly, for there was no reason to make it attractive, no need for flourishes of any kind. It served a single purpose, to be filled with as many people for as cheaply as possible, and thus, it was perfectly fine for it to look more like a penitentiary than a housing development.

  But now, that was no longer the case.

  As it currently stood, the building looked as though it was a magnificent vertical garden. The walls were overgrown with thick vines, bright flowers blossomed from gaps between the lat
tice of greenery with a rainbow's worth of colour. There was nothing brutal about it, not any more. The building had become a marvel that others who lived nearby should be envious of. A truly beautiful structure, at one with nature. Something the likes of which the mundane world had never seen. Something that was more at home. . . in a dream.

  Raven glanced up at the building and scowled. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the beauty of the structure―it was impossible to contest whether or not it was a stunning creation. It was the flagrant use of magick that perturbed her, the fact that she was constantly admonished for using magick in a fashion that was deemed unbecoming of a magickian. And here, these damn mundies, gods-damn magitards, had been able to do what they damn wished with the place. . .

  She did her best to push the anger down as they walked towards the door to the building. This time, they weren't going to be caught out by the inevitable traps that lay in wait for them at the entrance. She gave Sabre a nod, and with a quick flick of her wrist, the doors were blown from their hinges in a blast of light. Fire erupted from the frames, but they were too far away to get caught up in the blaze. The roar of the explosion petered out impotently, as the trap-casting ran out of steam.

  Raven let a small smile come to her lips, proud of herself for having the foresight to bring a long-range specialist on their sojourn to Paris. As they entered, she made sure to quash the self-satisfaction that was brewing. As much as it was in her nature to be cocky, that wasn't going to help on this operation. . . there was no way to tell what the dream whispers might have taught its pupils, and no way to tell what might be lying in wait as they ascended the massive, magickally-enhanced structure.

  The inside of the building continued the nature motif of the facade, much like it had in the dream. The walls were no longer the dull and depressing grey, paint had been cast upon them, a base of green, with vines and flowers made to grow upon it, turning every hallway into a botanical garden.

  They found no residents on their quick tour of the first floor, and Sabre was made to blow out the door to a stairwell to allow them access to the next level. But it too was empty, as were the third and fourth floors.

  “This is getting bloody annoying,” Raven grunted.

  “You must have patience,” Shana told her, in an attempt to be reassuring.

  All her reassurance did was piss Raven off all the more. She slipped the knuckle dusters on and laid a fist into the wall. The vines burst into flames that rocketed along the corridor in either direction, sending every iota of the foliage up in smoke. The rest of her unit cast themselves some rebreathers as the air filled with a thick purple smog. Their magick filtered clean, breathable air out from amidst the toxins, and stopped it from stinging their eyes, but there was little that sigil could do to clear the way ahead for them to see.

  “Shana,” Raven grunted, “clear this damn mess up. . .”

  With a sigh, Shana did as she was told. It was Raven's mess, and she was certainly able to cast a gust of wind by herself―but when she was in charge of an operation, such an act seemed beyond her.

  A heavy breeze blew out from Shana's sigils along either side of the hallway, sending the smoke away from their position. But the howl of the wind was loud enough to cover the sound of the footsteps down the stairwells from the floors above. And the smoke was still thick enough to cover the presence of the people that were filtering through the doorways on both sides of the corridor.

  By the time Shana's casting had done its job and blown the fumes away, the unit were surrounded, just as they had been in the dream. Eyes glowed with a pale green as far as they could see to either side of them, saliva frothed at the corners of snarled lips, hands were clawed, ready to strike―and more worryingly, some looked as though they were ready to cast.

  It was as if the dream itself had been a training exercise for the residents of the tower block, as much as it had been an investigation for the Circle. This time, however, they was no quick exit, no realm to simply withdraw to. If they expected to survive. They were going to have to fight―and if they were going to fight, they would have to deal with every one of the sixty-some residents most likely going up in flames as soon as they laid a finger upon them.

  But despite that being on the minds of her teammates, and despite it going against the strict orders that had been given, Raven was more than willing to enter the fray. After all, it had been the best part of a day since she last had the chance to punch someone in the damn face. . .

  19

  A new era shall dawn

  The five Circle operatives remained in a holding pattern, waiting for those that surrounded them to make the first move. That was protocol in situations like these, they were never to be the aggressors. If there was the possibility of negotiation over altercation, then it was to be taken.

  “Any of you brainwashed bastards want to chat about this?” Raven asked, whilst flames licked across her knuckle dusters, as if to imply that they―and she―would rather that they chose not to take the diplomatic way out.

  “Nous,” the crowd around them said, each speaking with one voice, “ne parlons pas.”

  Raven glanced at the others in her party. “Do any of you speak frog?”

  Shana nodded, but the rest did not. She raised her hands to cast, and the mob around them fidgeted at the sight of raised palms. “Je traduirai,” she explained, as she slowly drew out a sigil to translate for the others. “Répète, s'il vous plait.”

  “We,” they repeated, “Will not speak.”

  Raven glowered. “That hardly seems worth the time that took. . .”

  “We are the voice for one greater than you.”

  “Is it worth asking who?”

  “Its name is not to be spoken out loud.”

  “Oh gods. . . It's not Voldermort, is it?”

  “Your manner is not befitting its glory, and that is in part why it will not speak with you.”

  “That seems just rude. . .”

  “You are exactly what it is tired of, the ego, the selfish, the individualist. It knows your kind all too well. It has seen you and your ilk across time, from the beginning to the end. And it has deemed that your time has come, that you will end, and a new era shall dawn for humanity. It is the knowledge, the gift, there shall be no secrets once its glory is brought into this realm―”

  “For people who said they wouldn't speak, you sure do talk a lot,” Raven scoffed.

  The throng of Parisians did not seem to take kindly to her mockery. Their bodies snaked back and forth as they shifted weight on the balls of their feet, from the left to the right and back again. They said no further words, and yet their mouths remained open, their breath deep and heavy, with a wet growl that accompanied every exhalation.

  “Well, this probably isn't good. . .” Raven muttered.

  The others found themselves concurring, and Shana couldn't help but wish that command of the unit had been left in her hands―Raven was a perfectly fine operative when there was a fight going down, but negotiations―or, in fact, any kind of non-violent conversation―was hardly her speciality.

  She observed Raven's fists close tight, so much so that her skin became pale. The fire once again rippled over the knuckle dusters. It was clear that as far as she was concerned, the negotiations were over. . .

  The horde launched themselves towards the Circle agents, and Raven burst into action before the others even had a chance to cast. Her first punch from the right took one of the assailants' jaws clean off and sent the bone into the face of another. Both erupted into flames, the light glimmering in Raven's wide, excited eyes.

  Taking the cue from her, Leopold and Jacobian jumped into the fray of those that came from the opposite side of the corridor. Much like their appearance, their choice of casting contrasted too, Leopold throwing up sigils for attack and Jacobian for defence. They smiled with glee, taking great pleasure from dealing out damage to those that wished them harm, as fire burst into life ahead of them.

  Shana watched in
horror as Raven continued her assault. Her left fist landed in the gut of another attacker―a girl of no more than fifteen―and threw her back into the crowd. The young woman was trampled underfoot as they tore onwards, her flames licked up their legs, and them ablaze, one by one.

  It was a massacre, pure and simple, and Shana couldn't―and wouldn't―be a part of it. She whipped her hands ahead of her and threw up a barrier. There was likely nothing that could be done for the residents of the apartment block, but at the very least she could hold her colleagues back from being directly responsible for any further deaths.

  The fire raged through the hallway on either side of them, and Raven punched over and over at the magickal wall that had been put in her way.

  “I'm not bloody done with them!” she shouted, whipping around on the spot and facing off against Shana, whose hands were still ahead of her, holding the barrier in place. Raven slapped them away, but Shana did not let the barrier down. “Stop it, you dumb cow. This is my op, and I want to hit more of these bloody powder kegs.”

  “No.” Shana glared at her, as the world outside the barrier disappeared from view behind a thick cloud of smoke that shifted in hue from yellow to red as the flames continued to lick deeper in the fumes.

  Raven raised her fist to Shana's eyeline, to let her get a nice close view of her knuckle dusters. Heat radiated from the the enchanted metal, scorched at her skin, made her eyes water, but she would not let the barrier down.