Southwest Truths (Semiautomatic Sorceress Book 3) by Kal Aaron (the red fox clan .txt) 📗

wooden arms of the clock on the wall. In some ways, the place was a throwback to a distant pre-industrial past, but it was hard to claim that a place that had a floating palace and people who could fly was less advanced than the outside world.

Lyssa walked over to the window with a frown. She wasn’t here as a tourist. The accommodations didn’t matter, and her entertainment was irrelevant. If everything went well, she’d be gone sooner rather than later. If it went poorly, she’d be dead and not in a position to care.

Was Tristan already here? She’d worried about being attacked on the yacht, but the trip had been the same as she remembered, a pleasant diversion followed by a few minutes of terror and excitement. She would stick to the plan, first visiting the Vault of Dreams and going on from there. As long as she avoided wandering into dark corners or the mountains by herself, she wouldn’t get jumped right away.

“Do you ever miss this place?” Jofi asked. “It’s been some time since you last visited. Ten years.”

“I don’t like it. Never have. I think I have too American a mindset to genuinely appreciate it.”

“What does being American have to do with it?”

“All these masked servants and the extreme class-system stuff.” Lyssa waved her hand. “I get it. Being able to use sorcery does make us fundamentally different, but it still doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Is that so important?”

Lyssa shook her head. “It’s also not my home. I grew up in California. Last Remnant is strange to me, foreign. Far more foreign than Mexico or Canada.”

“But it’s an ancient society, older than any country,” Jofi replied.

“I guess, but if the Society cared about keeping us together, they’d force us all to live here when we’re growing up. I have my loyalty to our people and understand we wouldn’t be safe without someone watching out for this, but I don’t have any loyalty to this specific place. If they wanted us to care more, they shouldn’t have made it a place to aspire to be versus a place to call home. You shouldn’t have to get special permission to return home.”

Lyssa wandered from the window back over to the bed and sat on the edge. Samuel’s people might have blown up her house, and she wouldn’t know for days.

“Interesting,” Jofi said. “Do you think the Elders and the Tribunal are aware of the implications of what you’ve said?”

Lyssa snorted. “Being aware of something and caring are two different things. A lot of people think there’s no point to ambition if you don’t have something you can lord over other people.” She shrugged. “Being Sorcerers and Sorceresses isn’t good enough for a lot of us. We’re already special people among millions, but that’s not enough.”

“You harbor no greater ambition than being a Torch?” Jofi asked. “Is it avarice to want more?”

“You’ve asked me that before, but the answer’s the same. I don’t. Not really. I like what I do, and I don’t want to hide in a place like the Traveling Club, thinking of new ways to boss people around. Taking down scum is a good way to make the world a better place.”

“But you often complain about your leadership being backward and ignorant. Wouldn’t it be better if someone like you were a leader? You could bring them fresher ideas.”

Lyssa laughed. “They need fresher ideas, sure, but someone like me? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.” She pointed to the side of her head. “Recognizing a problem doesn’t mean having the solution. I might have a mouth, but I do get that I don’t know it all. We’ll see where I’m at in three or four decades.”

She kicked off her boots and removed her jacket, draping it over a chair near the glass table. Spreading her arms, she dropped onto the bed and took more long breaths, still trying to get used to the intensity of the sorcery surrounding her.

“I still get our version of jet lag. I think I’ll order some dinner soon and make it an early night. Tomorrow, I’ll be in a better position to check things out.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

A woman spoke in the darkness. There was a familiar quality to the voice, but Lyssa couldn’t quite place it.

“The seal is weak,” the woman said.

Lyssa shot up, but she wasn’t in bed. She was in an endless void, only the dimmest light in the far distance distinguishing it from nothing. Her body floated in space, her hair a strange nest without the aid of gravity.

“Wait.” Lyssa lifted her hands. She wasn’t in her regalia. The shirt was familiar, if out of date, as was the skirt. “I haven’t worn anything like this since I was a teenager.”

“The seal is weak,” the woman repeated. “You know this.”

“What is this place?” Lyssa asked. “Who are you?”

She brought up her hand and concentrated. Nothing happened. She added a Phrygian chant—still nothing. A strange environment with odd sensory cues and a complete inability to do sorcery usually pointed to one thing.

“This is a dream.” Lyssa rolled her eyes. “Just what I need, my subconscious messing with me.” She raised her middle finger. “I’m self-hating enough without this. And before you try to convince me this is someone with a dream or mind essence playing tricks, I don’t think you’d be wasting time mentioning Jofi’s seal.”

The shadowy outline of a person floated past her before fading into nothingness. Lyssa stuck her hands behind her head.

“You don’t understand, Lyssa,” the woman said. “The ritual bound him tightly to both the Night Goddess and your soul.”

“I do understand that part because they explained it to me. Hence the whole not being eager to have him wake up or have a bunch of Elders messing around with anything that might wake him up.” Lyssa sighed. “I only wish I didn’t need to lie to him.”

“There’s only so much the seal can do. His true nature is rapacious and unforgiving. He’s nothing but