“So voyaged Alkhestra from her father’s hearth,

  Towards towers of glass and tracks of starlight.

  With men and women of her band she sailed,

  Over seas sovereign, bound to a dream of birthright.”

  – Salt and Bronze Cycle, Craenos

  Director Karrbach was still speaking. His refined bureaucratese and tireless tempo had protocoled any possible meaning into lusterless vapidity. The same words had been said in half a dozen variations since that morning: restructuring, reform, revitalization. The agents endured, some trying not to yawn, others watching the deceptive clock above the door. Even the administrative workers and aides in the crowd had stopped pretending to take notes.

  “…and that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the official mandate of the Bureau of Arcane Affairs as ratified by the Assembly of Eisenstadt and Office of the Mayor,” Karrbach finally said, pausing to sip from a glass of water he had also depleted. He wiped the sweat from his gray forehead with a handkerchief, then daubed the red glint from his eyebrows for good measure. “I trust you all understand the gravity of our renewed purpose. This city depends on us now, more than ever.”

  The promise of finality released a sweep of sighs and stirs in the room. No one got up yet. Fran Adamari, seated in the first row, looked up from her jotted notes. There’s always more with him. Karrbach smiled at her.

  “And now,” he labored on, “before we close, I’d like to introduce the person who will be overseeing the Bureau’s most ambitious effort: the Advanced Arcana Division.” He shuffled his papers needlessly, stalling for effect. “Senior Investigator Fran Adamari will have the honor of leading it as your first Division Leader. Know that she has my full confidence.”

  For the first time all day, faces lit up with interest and turned forward. Another set of reactions swept through the room as postures straightened, coughs died down, and pens were no longer fidgeted with. Karrbach’s tone softened, almost relieved. “Division Leader, the floor is yours.” Adamari stood from the chair and lowered her beige coat off her lap on it before walking to the podium. The faint sound of her heels was the only thing alive in the room. The Director stepped aside, grateful to have someone sharing the stern spotlight. Adamari adjusted the microphone with one hand, giving her best knowing smile.

  “Thank you, Director Karrbach. I know it’s been a long day, so I’ll try to keep this brief.” That simple acknowledgment was enough to make the air lighter. “The Bureau has been given a second chance; new funding, new oversight, and a renewed mandate to serve the people of Eisenstadt. But that also means we’re being scrutinized more closely than ever. We don’t get to fail or fumble quietly.

  “Our Division is compact by design. Do not think that makes us insignificant. It only means we can move faster and coordinate more efficiently. It means every one of you matters – and so do your mistakes. Everyone in this building understands the constant dangers of arcana. Yet how many of us fully grasp the nature of cultivation, or the progress made in the Arts? Do not fool yourself, the arcane advances – even in our humdrum Eisenstadt. It evolves and flourishes covertly, under our continuing regulations and enforcement. As the Advanced Arcana Division, we keep pace with what refuses to stay still.”

  Adamari paused to clear her throat and reached for a water bottle beside her notes. When she tilted her head and glanced toward the back rows, a pair of new eyes unsteadied her poised rhythm. A flicker of annoyance crossed her face before she subdued it. Her left hand tightened around the podium, tracing the cold edge of its reassuring metal frame. The bottle in her other hand glinted faintly blue under the lights. She fixed her sight on that calm color for a moment, long enough for her pulse to even out.

  “Since we are such a small Division,” she managed to continue, “we have a rare advantage: an opportunity to actually know one another. I personally shudder at the thought of using the word family – but you get the sentiment. Seniority does not give us license to push the Juniors around, and titles don’t make anyone indispensable. Our administrators and analysts are as vital to our work as the agents in the field. As recruits and support staff, you deserve the full respect owed to Bureau employees. Don’t be strangers; learn to rely on the people around you. As for–”

  A strangled noise came from the back of the conference room. Heads, young and old, turned in unison to locate the scraping chair. An SI straightened immediately, apologizing with a dry smile and open palms. A few agents smirked, others looked away unamused. Even Karrbach scoffed. Adamari stared with scorn. Even from a distance, she caught the faint shimmer of violet beneath his tinted lenses. Stop smiling, idiot. Why are you here? Why now… Exhaling, she forced her voice steady enough to conclude the speech. “That’s all you need to know for now,” she said, the words quicker than before. “The rest you’ll learn once we begin with work. Welcome to the Advanced Arcana Division. Thank you.”

  The applause that followed was restrained but sincere, mostly polite hands and a few genuine claps from the rear. Karrbach stepped forward to reclaim the microphone. “Well done, DL Adamari. Inspiring words. Well done, everyone. We’re done here.” Adamari only nodded, her appearance recomposed, though the brief exchange left her throat tight. She sat, needlessly, as everyone else was getting up. It’s over. You did it. The air loosened with conversations, reserved comments, handshakes, polite exchanges, the shuffle of papers finding briefcases. She was starting to join the crowd when Karrbach called her name, his tone carrying both authority and want. He was waiting by the side door, waving her over with an expression of relief. Everything about him was tidy, symmetrical, faintly gleaming – a respectable, ordinary Hridanaha man. Yet the longer one looked, the less there was to see.

  The Director’s office was twice the size it needed to be, overlit and sterile in its design. All the necessary accoutrements were arranged with care, every surface polished to reflection. Not a paper, pen, or personal trace in sight. Only one object interrupted the gloss of the desk: a blocky statuette of a blackbird perched on a low pedestal. It looked heavy, gritty in texture and far too precious for the Bureau. After closing the heavy door, Karrbach gestured toward the seat across from his. The wide black chair behind the desk, modern and angular, dominated the room so completely that the man seemed smaller inside it.

  “Quite the day,” he remarked genially. “I’d say the Bureau’s rebirth is off to a strong start. What did you think of the speech?”

  Adamari sat, crossing one leg over the other. “It was comprehensive.”

  “Comprehensive,” he repeated approvingly, fingers steepled. “Good. I worried it might be too much detail for the lot, but one can never go wrong with generosity, can one? I always say: confidence begets confidence. And confidence, in this line of work, is half the battle.”

  “I’m sure the staff found it reassuring.”

  “Precisely! That’s what I was aiming for: reassurance. We’ve all endured so much uncertainty these past months. It’s important they see stability radiating from the top. Leadership that listens…” He paused, studying her with faint curiosity. “You handled that follow-up well. Good, firm tone. They like you.”

  “That’s kind of you, sir.”

  “Not kindness, just observation,” he replied pleasantly and coughed into his hand. “How’s the city been treating you? Homesick yet? The provinces can be charming, but nothing matches the pulse of the capital. Adjusting to it can be stressful. Saints, don’t I know.”

  “It’s worth it,” she said evenly. “Even with the stress. Diligence prevents nostalgia.” The response incited a chuckle from Karrbach. Before he could circle back, she added: “May I ask what prompted this meeting, Director?”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Business.” He straightened a few papers that didn’t need straightening and smirked at the blackbird. “I wanted to make sure you’re properly set up by now. Equipment, communications, the… er, haul from the old building?”

  “Everything’s there. Arrived during the week. Admin helped us set it all up. I’m used to simpler things, but the trappings seem fine. The Juniors are in love with their phones. I’ve already begun a review of the backlog.”

  “Excellent, excellent. And your Acting Lead? Have you decided yet?”

  “I’ll offer it to Senior Investigator Farnan. Kotko’s made it clear she’s not interested in additional responsibilities, especially unpaid ones, and Zakharov’s still adjusting to the new environment.”

  “That woman avoids burdens like debt collectors. Immune to shame and pressure.” He chuckled to himself, waving a hand. “Eddie will do just fine. And yes, Zakharov… came with quite the stack of recommendations. He just needs time. That kind of distinctiveness always takes a while to fit into the system. The four of you complement each other. That’s a good mix.”

  Adamari inclined her head and sighed. She waited and said nothing, knowing where this was going. Karrbach hesitated, fingertips drumming lightly against the desk. He cleared his throat again, searching for the right transition. “Of course, not everything’s new. There’s one more—”

  A knock at the door saved her from hearing more about it. “Enter,” Karrbach shouted as Assistant Director Lugo was already stepping inside, whistling and nodding. In a few steps, he made his way behind the Director’s chair and leaned on the windowsill behind it.

  “Apologies for my tardiness, Director,” he announced, favoring Adamari with a sincere smile. “Division Leader, congratulations on your appointment. I was just conversing with your people. Good material overall.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied. “I hope so.”

  “I’m sure. As is the Director.” Lugo’s gaze moved back to Karrbach, still smiling but with a faint undertone of admonition. “You weren’t cloying her down with additions to your mighty speech, were you sir?”

  Karrbach looked behind him, crossed his arms, then leaned back into his soothing chair. “No, of course not. Fran and I are old friends, she would tell me. Right?”

  Adamari didn’t look at the Director. “Right,” she managed to say while staring at AD Lugo, a shapely Southern Kalzanaha with persimmon hair and skin. The former leaned blonde, the latter bronze. He wore a narrow teal jacquard tie and gave her a wink as soon as he was done adjusting it. She tried to grasp her coat before realizing it was not in her lap. In a proficient voice that betrayed nothing, Lugo said: “Director, I’m sure that the DL has other responsibilities this evening. There are the release forms for the Junior Investigators, and then the dinner. Best not to have her late for her first assignment.”

  Adamari made a show of checking her watch. “I’d rather not make that my first impression.”

  “Yes, of course, by all means,” Karrbach agreed, though his expression dimmed. “No reason to keep you from your duties.”

  “Thank you, Director Karrbach and Assistant Director Lugo. I look forward to seeing you both on Monday.”

  Lugo opened and held the door for her. “Enjoy your evening, Division Leader.” It closed behind her, cutting off the start of their conversation. Adamari breathed out and called the elevator. She found Junior Investigators Barre and Dressler two floors down in the AAD reception. Barre had retrieved her coat, and Dressler was at the desk, waiting with a form for her signature. Both inquired whether the dinner was mandatory.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  *

  The A-Tier was one of the choicer, high-rise restaurants within the Eisenring. Spacious, polished, and too expensive for anyone at their table to visit twice in a year. The walls were lined with dark wood, the tables heavy and spotless, the lighting low enough to flatter every face. Unobtrusive instrumental music played in the background, filling the gaps between conversations. Most of the other patrons were also in Bureau attire and from other Divisions. Pairs and clusters of Investigators, Inspectors, even a few Operatives nursed their drinks in weary anticipation of ensuing workweek.

  Adamari let her head rest against one hand, gaze drifting through the tall glass pane beside her. Eisenstadt stretched outward, a sprawl of wintry brilliance. The lights and clouds swallowed the dusk into a thin, wine-colored line in the crenellated horizon. Blue. White. Gray. And now violet. I wonder where he went. Her mouth tightened, but she forced the thought away. The cityscape reasserted the image. A thump snapped her out of it. Chairs scraped, glasses rattled, people laughed and cheered. She blinked and turned in time to see SI Zakharov, wiry and compact without his dark coat, in the final moments of throwing JI Taron Sahikin to the floor.

  The table erupted in applause. Farnan slapped his hand on the table, Kotko smirked, and even a few of the Inspectors clapped along. Zakharov only gave a small bow, then reached down and helped the larger man up. Sahikin, crimson hair loose and crimson eyes alight, rose without a wince. He grinned wide, shook Zakharov’s hand eagerly, and immediately peppered him with questions about form, stance, weight. The clamor carried on, voices overlapping, another glass lifted and tipped in toast. The attention seemed to make Zakharov cringe and more wary than the act itself. He sat down hastily.

  Only Barre and Dressler, sitting nearest to Adamari, stayed still as their peers leaned into the evening with enthusiasm, laughter and clinking glasses. Barre kept her chin propped on one hand, stirring her drink with detached precision. Her dark purple hair was short in front and framed the mauve noiselessness of her face. The short forelocks framed the smooth curve of her Kalzanaha horns. In the back, it was long and bound into a white-wrapped braid, ending in a brushlike tuft at the middle of her back. Next to her, Dressler leaned back, inspecting his glass as if it were consuming him. His fiery ginger hair glimmered faintly blonde under the lamps above their table, a small rebellion against his ash-gray Hridanaha complexion. His eyes were large and soft, flecked with all earthen colors and meant for aspects kinder than his current frown. Both dressed with only casual anonymity in mind, preferring the exact, most neutral, version of dress code expected of them. Clever and just as cureless, my two little Stravinskys. You know how to pick them, Fran.

  “If this keeps up, Legal’s going to assign us a full-time babysitter in the first month,” muttered Dressler.

  Barre nodded slowly, her voice a quiet afterthought. “Bon mot,” she sighed.

  Adamari leaned closer, lowering her tone so the others’ chatter wouldn’t swallow it. “You two could try relaxing. Or at least stop brandishing those mean faces. Live a little. Monday’s just around the corner.”

  Barre looked up, surprised but not offended. Dressler’s mouth tilted into a thin smile. “I don’t think anyone here would mind seeing us that way,” he said. “Not like we have to do this again.”

  “You don’t have to enjoy it,” Adamari advised, “but pretend to. It’s a social skill you’ll need on the job. Learn it.”

  “I doubt anyone here’s learning much from the example,” Dressler retorted, glancing around for further evidence.

  “The place is packed; I feel smothered,” added Barre, sulking in her drink.

  Before Adamari could press them further, the noise spiked again. She glanced up just in time to see JI Rivash, sharp and Soshosi-lean, face bright with overconfidence, hit the floor with a heavy thud. Zakharov stood over him, composed, as if the throw had cost him less than the first. The applause came again, louder this time as a female voice called across the table, “Third time's the charm!” The laughter redoubled.

  Rivash groaned, then started laughing at himself as Zakharov offered a hand. “Alright, alright,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “Very impressive. Thank you.”

  Adamari shook her head and smiled as an example to her recruits. She turned back to them, rising slowly. “See? It gets easier.” They did not follow her.

  Adamari slid the door aside and stepped into the quieter lounge at the end of the restaurant. The lighting was low, the smell of beer overpowering any hint of food. DLs Weiss and Lancarra were already there, slouched in their chairs with sleeves rolled up.

  Yanis Weiss sat with a glass in hand, his frame so large the seat seemed undersized beneath him. Black fur showed at his throat and forearms. Gold gleamed whenever he moved; teeth catching the light, rings set neatly into the curve of his Toranah horns. His pale-gold eyes lifted toward her. Deep but oddly muted, his voice rumbled low as if always held back: “Adamari! Sit down.”

  Tereza Lancarra sat opposite, cherub-cheeked from drink. Reddish-blonde hair framed her face in a careless fall, and her darker gaze sharpened as she lifted her glass in greeting. “Fran, darling, save me from this beastly dunce. He thinks two is somehow holier than one. I say if women can’t make it work, how could men?”

  Weiss exhaled slowly, as if he had rehearsed the reply many times. “Marriage is a sacred pact. The dyad transcends individual weakness. Our own Art, and the whole of Life, proves it. Nothing in Necromancy endures alone. One can exist only through two.” He turned to Adamari with a faint grin. “Our Reza remains exceptional. She’s earned her solitude.”

  “Call me what you like, Yan.” Lancarra tipped her glass at him, unbothered. “I’ve had my share of failures, of both kinds… It’s not proof of anything except that problems pile up when you add them up. Not like you ever pinned one down, even with all those gold rings on…”

  “You’re unmatchable, Reza,” said Adamari with a smirk, setting down her coat. “And you’re hopeless, Yan. But both of you are crazy. Mavash not coming tonight?”

  “Family issue,” Weiss rumbled. “He sent his regrets.”

  “Divorce,” Lancarra blurted after a sip, her lips curling around the word. “Mel’s tied up with papers and lawyers. So don’t preach to me about sacred twos, Yan. Even a decent man like him can’t keep one – two? – together.”

  Weiss raised his palms in surrender. “Fine, you can have this round.” He turned his broad frame toward Adamari, pale-gold gaze softening. “Those two thumps we heard earlier, they your people?”

  Lancarra leaned forward and jabbed with her glass. “They’d better not be making a kerfuffle in this place. It’s fancy and I’m not leaving just because your pups start kicking furniture around.” She drained what was left and set the glass down with a clink.

  “Nothing dramatic. Two of the Juniors wanted a martial demonstration from one of the Seniors. He was nice enough to oblige them.”

  “Marital?” Lancarra squinted disapprovingly. “I just told you there’s nothin’ in it.”

  Weiss chuckled, low and rumbling. “Same rules apply, don’t they? Both are battles you’d better prepare for.”

  Adamari tapped Lancarra’s shoulder, laughing despite herself. They rode the glee for a moment before Weiss raised his glass toward her. “In all seriousness, congratulations on the new seat. Our Fran’s made Division Leader already. Quite the climb.”

  “Fifteen heads, counting your swarthy self,” said Lancarra collectedly. “Better to start lean than bloated. Just don’t fuck any of your subordinates and you’ll do great.”

  “And if I did, would I go from great to exceptional?” she shot back and delighted in Weiss’ convulsive reaction. “What are we drinking?”

  *

  The night was wrapping up. Elevators filled, rooms emptied and corridors echoed. In many rooms, the music played unattended. Adamari stood in front of the bathroom mirror, rinsing the stick of spilled beer from her fingers under the cold fluorescent light. She lingered over a spot on her left hand, moving with soaped care where the skin flaked. Her reflection was more flushed than she expected, eyes too tired and heavy. You really should have unwrapped that mattress by now. When she reached for a paper towel, the door swung open.

  Lancarra stumbled in, grinning and giggling, tossing her head like a horse shaking off reins, then lurching forward. Adamari barely had time to drop the towel before Lancarra pressed into her, hands at her waist and pushing her against the cold tile. She stiffened, grabbing Lancarra’s shoulders. The features of her face and loose copper hair smeared together in Adamari’s sight, a tawny smear of light that consumed her vision. The kiss came hard and sour with alcohol, messy in its eagerness. Harsher and louder than any touch of skins, she felt fabric, cotton and silk, grating against each other. For a heartbeat, her pity kept her from toppling the inebriate woman. Lancarra broke off on her own, trying to murmur flirtatiously with a laden breath: “Welcome back to Eisenstadt. Jog sometimes?”

  Before Adamari could respond, Lancarra spun away in a similarly rushed motion and swayed towards the nearest stall. A golden ring, too wide for her finger, slid off as she shoved the door aside. It rolled towards Adamari as the door swung back with a thud. The sound of retching followed almost immediately. Catching her breath through her nose, her heart tight with lingering bewilderment, Adamari brushed her palms down the brown corduroy of her trousers. The sensation of coarse ridges steadied her. The cold blue tiles in front of her, barely distinct and oceanic, cleared her blurry sight.

  Weiss was dozing off when she came back for her coat, his head buried in his arms on the table, the base of his horns visible at the bent nape of his neck. She drew out Lancarra’s ring, turned it once between her fingers, then slipped it back over one of his stubby horns. It fit perfectly. “Sorry it didn’t work out,” she mumbled. “She’s too slim for you.” Patting his broad shoulder once, she left him to his dreaming and snoring.

  In a nearby room, what remained of her Division were still holding court. The lights had dimmed, but life had not. Senior Investigator Edward Farnan and Junior Investigator Diana Lowry, both of matching Trianaha stock, were sitting upright and steady enough to seem sober. The greener, the thirstier. They were talking over empty glasses, a mild debate that ended the moment Adamari appeared.

  Farnan turned around, greeting her with a stable smile. “Division Leader, come to rejoin your own?”

  “I’m spent for tonight,” she said. “But I’ll give you a reason to go on: Acting Lead post, six months mandate. If you want it.”

  “Second-in-command, before day one?” He blinked, then laughed. “Guess I did something right.”

  “Congratulations, sir,” added Lowry, raising her empty glass. Her face was quick and youthful, slightly freckled, with prominent ears escaping her lush hair. “Drink to that too?”

  “This gamine’s plenty good,” teased Farnan and shook the girl gently. “I’m a little bit mad she wasn’t assigned to me.”

  Adamari gave her a stern look, more than she intended to. “Any idea why your supervisor wasn’t here tonight?”

  Lowry hesitated, caught between dizziness and embarrassment. “Doctor’s appointment,” she said at last.

  Adamari gave a short, humorless scoff while Farnan snickered. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” she said and headed toward the elevator.

  In the lobby below, she bought her brand from the cigarette vending machine and stepped out beneath the overhang. The pavements outside shimmered from a light drizzle that had come and gone without notice. Adamari crossed the road to a lamplit pathway and walked instead of calling a car. The air was too good for it. The long route home seemed better.

  Smoke curled against her cheek and drifted up under the canopies of well-maintained oaks and elms. Pedestrians passed in pairs and groups, drifting towards the cafés that worked throughout the night. Along her path, only the old memorials and busts watched from their plinths. Politicians of reconciliation, poets of friendship, architects of peace. Passing the bust of Johan Kaminski, she tried to recall his words. My hope, lay waste to all my wars. My love, let my lives be yours. She stopped and burped, nearly vomiting. Something like that… Her building stood near the edge of the Eisenring, one of those pale, rectilinear, newly restored blocks. Every window was curtained in the same beige cloth and the balconies too shallow to use.

  Adamari unlocked the apartment door, inhaling the scent of cardboard and varnish. Boxes were stacked in clusters and most of the furniture was unassembled. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat on a chair. The mirror near the entrance caught her as she passed, a tall, blank pane without frame. She stopped, checking if she recognized her. The reflection stared back with dark blue eyes framed by silver eyelashes. She leaned forward slightly, exhaling mirth that left a smudge. “Welcome back to Eisenstadt,” she repeated, slurring the words enough to regale herself. Poor girl. I’ll have to take her up on it.

  The fridge was too large to be stocked. She got a can of Obsidian Brew from the lowest shelf and returned to the mirror, undressing haphazardly on the way. At the spot, she announced to her likeness, “Well done, brave sailor,” and responded with “Thanks, you washed-up hag.” They toasted and drank together, continuing the act for a while. Their face was neither sharp nor soft, neither striking nor plain, with black hair hanging straight nearly to her shoulders. Pleasant, yet forgettable. The bones were modest, the blue eyes dark enough to seem green, the lips and nose temperate. How I resented you. You’re a good canvas. I’ll give you that. Her features were adaptable, her body compliant. Even her reflection approved: agreeable, average, and apt for her Art.

  After the giggling and pretending subsided, she brushed back her black hair and pressed her palm against the cold surface. A flake had lifted near the base of her thumb. She frowned, rubbed it with a free finger, then peeled with her nail. Artificed layers of glamor came off in curls of glitterrot. The muted onyx skin, cool as the mirror, was scarred with three lines running from between her thumb and forefinger, curving toward her wrist. That clawed, fucking thing. She drank and peered back into her silvered eyes. And that fucking asshole, not hiding his. “Blame him? It was his life’s work.” The reflection heard her say more about him, the man in the back of the room. Frowning and mouthing, she seemed to relish the words without believing them. After exhausting her audience, Adamari asked, “Mean, dusky people, aren’t we? Or is it just me?” and answered with: “All of us, sister. But you most of all.” They shared a last, lonely laugh before parting ways.

  “Lousy company… Both of you,” she muttered while stumbling away and throwing the empty can at one of the boxes. Seeing that the bed was not set up, she returned to the living room and collapsed on the closest couch. The thud echoed in the barren space.