I emerged from the oracle into chaos. The waiting Nicolliens had broken out into loud arguments, some of them shouting at each other. Most of them brandished phones. Rasmussen, still in his circle of solitude, had his head down over his phone’s display and his brow furrowed. Judy stood next to him, reading over his arm because she was too short to see over his shoulder. As I approached him, he raised his head, and for just a moment a look of terrible indecision crossed his face. Then it was gone, and he was steely William Rasmussen again.
“That’s enough,” he said in a voice pitched to cut across all the arguments. “We will have to go immediately. Collect your teams and assemble at my home for ward-stepping.”
“That’s lunacy,” someone called out. I heard a couple of muted gasps. “Without familiars, there’s no way we can fight.”
“Magi fought the Long War for centuries without familiars,” Rasmussen said without turning around. “We have an obligation that transcends our temporary concerns. We will fight. And we will succeed.”
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Judy.
She had her attention fixed on her father. “Another attack,” she whispered. “Not one the Pattern predicted. In Palembang in Indonesia. They’re going even though they’re at half strength, and they’re going to get killed.”
Rasmussen put his phone away and held out his hand. “My augury, Ms. Campbell,” he said. “I shouldn’t have to ask you to make it quick, as I’m sure you see the urgency.”
“Of course.” I gave him My Enemy, My Ally and saw him do a double-take. Probably he’d never seen a Star Trek novel before and certainly never expected one as an augury. He glared at me as if the book were my fault. I shrugged and tried not to look annoyed. “$25.”
“Excuse me?”
“It surprised me, too. I guess the oracle wants—”
The door swung open, setting the bells jingling. Another familiar figure filled the doorway, this one tall and dark-skinned with muscles stretching his T-shirt taut across his shoulders and chest. The light gleamed off his bald head. “Blessings be upon this place,” Ryan Parish said. The Ambrosite leader looked like a bodybuilder—that made sense, that’s what he was—but was as formal in his manners as Rasmussen.
“Mr. Parish,” I said, forestalling more arguments, “this is Nicollien time. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Parish ignored me. “Will,” he said, approaching Rasmussen. “You heard?”
“We’re leaving immediately,” Rasmussen said.
“You’re under strength after the familiars—”
“Don’t you dare rub that in my face again, Ryan,” Rasmussen spat. “Ambrosites may be juvenile, but Nicolliens aren’t. We will fight regardless.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Parish said. He drew himself up to his full height like a soldier standing at attention. “I said some ill-judged things four days ago about Nicolliens and their lost familiars. I was wrong. I let my pride and hatred blind me to who the true enemy was, and I regret how long it took me to realize the truth.” He held out his hand. “The Ambrosites are going to Palembang, and we need the Nicolliens to join us. To fight together as we should have done all along.”
Rasmussen looked at Parish’s enormous hand, then at the augury. I held my breath. Despite my confusion over the oracle’s words, I was sure intervening at this point would be a colossal mistake. Judy’s hand closed on my arm painfully tight.
Slowly, Rasmussen reached out and clasped Parish’s hand. “You’re right,” he said. “This fight has gone on far too long. Anyone who’s willing to work with Ambrosites, follow me. If you can’t control your animosity, we don’t want you. Choose.” He shook Parish’s hand, then shifted the augury from one hand to the other and looked at the cover more closely. “I’m not sure I needed more than this title,” he said.
“Keep it,” I suggested. “It’s going to take more than one battle to bring the factions together.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “You’re right. Thank you, Ms. Campbell.” He left the store after Parish. Almost everyone followed him. When the store was nearly empty, I said to the lone remaining Nicollien, “Why not you, Brittany?”
Brittany Spinelli, Malcolm’s long-time enemy and an uneasy friend to me, shrugged. “I hate Ambrosites,” she said. “They caused the deaths of too many Nicolliens to change that. I’m never going to be friends with them no matter what Will Rasmussen tells me to do. I’ll go to Palembang on my own terms.” She shifted her weight in a way I was familiar with, one that said she was adjusting the set of her concealed guns. “I don’t need that augury, after all. Be seeing you, Helena.”
When she was gone, I sagged into the counter and let out a deep breath. “Did that just happen?”
“I didn’t think Parish had it in him to be so humble,” Judy said.
“Do you think it will last? The truce?” I gathered up the receipt book and put it away behind the counter.
“I don’t know.” Judy’s face paled. “Another attack. One the Pattern didn’t see coming.”
“They’re already changing their tactics,” I said.
We stared at each other in silence for a moment. Finally, I said, “I’ll call Malcolm. He may not know about it yet.”
Malcolm didn’t answer his phone. I texted him and got no reply. Anxiety built in my chest until I couldn’t bear to eat the tuna salad sandwich I’d brought for my lunch. We tried calling Lucia and got no response from her, either. Two o’clock rolled around with no sign of any Ambrosites. The silence nearly drove me mad.
Finally, with a bitter curse, Judy went online looking for news, something neither of us had wanted to do. The mundane world knew so little about what was actually happening, their reporting couldn’t be accurate. I didn’t want to watch them panicking when I knew they didn’t have the truth. But with so many hours passing with no news from Warden sources, we couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
The stories appeared almost immediately: terrorist attacks on Palembang, city in crisis. The news said the terrorists had made a number of small attacks, disappearing when the military showed up only to appear somewhere else. The death toll was estimated at upwards of ten thousand. “That’s wrong,” Judy said. “They always guess too high.” Three terrorist organizations had claimed credit, and two of them had threatened follow-up attacks unless their demands were met.
“I wish we know how much of this fighting was the Wardens stopping the invaders before they could do more damage,” I said. “It looks disastrous.”
“I picture our people chasing invaders all over the city,” Judy said. “Damn it, I hate that Mike and I fought just before he left. It makes me worry more that he won’t come back.”
“Don’t be superstitious. It doesn’t change anything.”
“I know.” Judy leaned her chin on her hand and sighed. “How are they doing it? The invaders, I mean? They’re good at illusion, but I didn’t think they were so good they could make themselves completely unseen.”