Magic Rises

of Aunt B’s misfits, acted as my nannies. Jezebel watched my back, and Barabas had the unenviable task of steering me through the Pack’s politics and laws.
    Slender and pale, Barabas was born with a chip on his shoulder, and he made everything into a statement, including his hair. It stood straight up on his head, forming spiky peaks of brilliant orange and pretending that it was on fire. Today, the hair was particularly aggressive. He looked electrocuted.
    “Yes?”
    Barabas opened the glass door and stepped into the gym, his eyes tracking the movement of my swords. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes you scare me, Kate.”
    “Barabas, you grow two-inch claws and can bench-press a Shetland pony. And you find me scary?”
    He nodded. “And I work with some very scary people. That should tell you something. How do you not cut yourself?”
    “Practice.” I’d been practicing since I was tall enough to keep my swords from snagging on the ground.
    “It looks impressive.”
    “That’s mostly the point. This is the style of bladework used when you’re knocked off your horse and surrounded by enemies. It’s designed to let you carve your way out of the crowd as quickly as possible. Most people will see you doing this and decide they should be somewhere else.”
    “I don’t doubt it. What if it’s one super swordsman guy that jumps in front of you?” Barabas asked.
    I raised Slayer and drew a horizontal eight with the sword, rolling my wrist.
    “Infinity symbol.”
    “Butterfly.” I sped it up and added the second sword below. “One butterfly higher, one butterfly lower, switch arms, repeat as necessary. Throat, stomach, throat, stomach. Now he isn’t sure what to guard, so either you kill him or he gets out of your way, and you keep walking until you’re out of the crowd. Did you want something?”
    “Curran is here.”
    I stopped.
    “He came in about an hour ago, stood here for a while, watching you, and went upstairs. I think I heard the roof door. I thought that perhaps he would come down, but it’s been a while, so I thought you might want to know.”
    I put the saber down, grabbed Slayer and the sheath, and went down the hallway to a short staircase. The first landing led to our private quarters, the second to the roof. The roof was our sanctuary, a place we went when we wanted to pretend we were alone.
    I pushed the heavy metal door open and stepped outside. The roof stretched before me, a wide rectangle of stone, bordered by a three-foot wall. In the distance, at the horizon, the skeleton of Atlanta rose against the backdrop of moonlit sky. Haze shrouded the ruined buildings, turning them pale blue, almost translucent, and the husk of the once-vibrant city seemed little more than a mirage. The night was almost over. I hadn’t realized so much time had passed.
    Curran crouched in the center of the roof, on top of some cardboard. He was still wearing the same gray T-shirt and jeans. In front of him a black metal contraption lay on its side. It resembled half of a barrel with long metal bits protruding to the side. The long bits were probably legs. The other half of the barrel waited upside down to the left. An assortment of screws in small plastic bags lay scattered around, with an instruction manual nearby, its pages shifting in the breeze.
    Curran looked at me. His eyes were the color of rain, solemn and grim. He looked like a man who was resigned to his fate but really didn’t like it. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t in a good place.
    “Hey there, ass kicker.”
    “That’s my line,” he said.
    I made my voice sound casual. “What are you building?”
    “A smoker.”
    The fact that we already had a grill and a perfectly fine fire pit about ten feet behind him must’ve escaped his notice.
    “Where did you get it?”
    “Raphael’s reclamation crew pulled a bunch of these out of the rubble of an old home improvement store. He sent me one as a gift.”
    Judging by the number of parts, this smoker was more complicated than a nuclear reactor. “Did you read the instructions?”
    He shook his head.
    “Why, were you afraid they’d take your man card away?”
    “Are you going to help me or just make fun of me?”
    “Can’t I do both?”
    I found the instructions, flipped to the right page, and passed him the washers and nuts for his screws. He threaded them onto the bolts and tightened them with his fingers. The bolts groaned a bit. If I ever wanted to take