and joking as they watched the Punishment Day videos, and for a moment I hated them so much that I could barely keep my bored, sleepy expression in place.
Maybe that’s why I wasn’t a Rebel. I detested the Elves, but I didn’t like humans either.
Well. That, and Morvilind would kill me.
Thankfully, the bus soon reached my stop, and I yanked the yellow cord and got out, leaving the other passengers to their Punishment Day amusements. The bus deposited me near the airport, on a street with a massive rental car dealer on the north side and a row of industrial and office buildings on the south side. I wandered past the office buildings, hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt, my eyes darting back and forth as I watched for pedestrians. No one was on the sidewalks, and only a few cars rumbled up and down the road.
I waited for a gap in the traffic, and then ducked into a windowless alley between two of the office buildings. The alley was deserted, save for a dumpster and a light scattering of trash. I took a deep breath, gathered magical power, and extended my right hand, silver light flashing around my fingers. I held the power for a moment, whispering the words of a spell in the Elven tongue as I focused my will, forcing the power to channel itself into my thoughts. The magic reached a crescendo, and I swept my hand before me, the silver light flaring up and down my body.
The Mask shimmered into existence around me.
The illusion changed my appearance. I stand only five foot three, so the spell made me appear six foot two. It made me look like a man instead of a woman. I had fashioned a Mask in the image of a middle-aged man, balding and slightly paunchy, clad in a white dress shirt, a black sport coat, black trousers, and black dress shoes. Anyone looking at me would see the image of the Mask, not me.
It was a useful spell.
Of course, like all useful things, Masking had limitations. I had to devote at least part of my mind to maintaining the illusion, or it would fall apart or develop obvious inconsistencies. No one would paid attention to a random middle-aged man, but people would notice if his clothes suddenly changed color or random body parts disappeared. It also took a continuous draw of magical power, and I couldn’t maintain it forever. Any wizard could detect the Mask easily enough, so it wasn’t a spell I could use against another wizard.
Yet when dealing with people who had no magical abilities, a Mask was exceedingly useful. My appointment was with a genius, but he dealt with computers, not spells. I had bought things a couple dozen times from him in the last few years, but he had no idea who I really was, or that I was even a woman. If he was ever arrested, the evidence on his servers would implicate my alias, not me.
I left the alley, strode along the sidewalks, and let myself into one of the office buildings. I headed down the hall until I came to a glass door with NILES RINGER COMPUTER SERVICES stenciled upon it. Beyond was a small waiting room stocked with old magazines and cheap folding chairs, and a bored receptionist playing a computer game involving pieces of fruit.
She looked up at me and managed a false smile. “Yes, sir?”
“Ernie Tesserman to see Mr. Ringer, please,” I said. The Mask disguised my voice. I was a soprano, but the Mask gave me the gravelly voice of a fifty-year-old man who had enjoyed a lot of cigarettes. “I should be his ten o’clock.”
“He’s expecting you,” said the receptionist, returning her attention to the fruit on her screen. “Go right in.”
I nodded, stepped past the desk, and opened the door.
Niles Ringer’s office looked more like a server room, with two rows of steel racks holding rows of humming black boxes covered in blinking green LEDs. Niles himself sat at his desk between the racks, its surface covered with half-assembled computers. He was the fattest man I had ever met, at least three hundred and fifty pounds, and
Maybe that’s why I wasn’t a Rebel. I detested the Elves, but I didn’t like humans either.
Well. That, and Morvilind would kill me.
Thankfully, the bus soon reached my stop, and I yanked the yellow cord and got out, leaving the other passengers to their Punishment Day amusements. The bus deposited me near the airport, on a street with a massive rental car dealer on the north side and a row of industrial and office buildings on the south side. I wandered past the office buildings, hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt, my eyes darting back and forth as I watched for pedestrians. No one was on the sidewalks, and only a few cars rumbled up and down the road.
I waited for a gap in the traffic, and then ducked into a windowless alley between two of the office buildings. The alley was deserted, save for a dumpster and a light scattering of trash. I took a deep breath, gathered magical power, and extended my right hand, silver light flashing around my fingers. I held the power for a moment, whispering the words of a spell in the Elven tongue as I focused my will, forcing the power to channel itself into my thoughts. The magic reached a crescendo, and I swept my hand before me, the silver light flaring up and down my body.
The Mask shimmered into existence around me.
The illusion changed my appearance. I stand only five foot three, so the spell made me appear six foot two. It made me look like a man instead of a woman. I had fashioned a Mask in the image of a middle-aged man, balding and slightly paunchy, clad in a white dress shirt, a black sport coat, black trousers, and black dress shoes. Anyone looking at me would see the image of the Mask, not me.
It was a useful spell.
Of course, like all useful things, Masking had limitations. I had to devote at least part of my mind to maintaining the illusion, or it would fall apart or develop obvious inconsistencies. No one would paid attention to a random middle-aged man, but people would notice if his clothes suddenly changed color or random body parts disappeared. It also took a continuous draw of magical power, and I couldn’t maintain it forever. Any wizard could detect the Mask easily enough, so it wasn’t a spell I could use against another wizard.
Yet when dealing with people who had no magical abilities, a Mask was exceedingly useful. My appointment was with a genius, but he dealt with computers, not spells. I had bought things a couple dozen times from him in the last few years, but he had no idea who I really was, or that I was even a woman. If he was ever arrested, the evidence on his servers would implicate my alias, not me.
I left the alley, strode along the sidewalks, and let myself into one of the office buildings. I headed down the hall until I came to a glass door with NILES RINGER COMPUTER SERVICES stenciled upon it. Beyond was a small waiting room stocked with old magazines and cheap folding chairs, and a bored receptionist playing a computer game involving pieces of fruit.
She looked up at me and managed a false smile. “Yes, sir?”
“Ernie Tesserman to see Mr. Ringer, please,” I said. The Mask disguised my voice. I was a soprano, but the Mask gave me the gravelly voice of a fifty-year-old man who had enjoyed a lot of cigarettes. “I should be his ten o’clock.”
“He’s expecting you,” said the receptionist, returning her attention to the fruit on her screen. “Go right in.”
I nodded, stepped past the desk, and opened the door.
Niles Ringer’s office looked more like a server room, with two rows of steel racks holding rows of humming black boxes covered in blinking green LEDs. Niles himself sat at his desk between the racks, its surface covered with half-assembled computers. He was the fattest man I had ever met, at least three hundred and fifty pounds, and
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