ItCP29

## Chapter 29

**Chapter 29** of **Into the Crooked Place** stars **Wesley**.

## **Full Version**

WESLEY PINCHED THE BRIDGE of his nose with a sigh.

“You’re not punching right. How have you survived this long? Be honest, you bribed your way to second, didn’t you?”

Arjun mumbled something foul under his breath in Wrenyi. “Let us not forget that *I* am supposed to be training *you*,” he said, a little breathless from sparring.

Wesley shrugged. “I figured we could do an exchange. You teach me how to handle my magic, I teach you how to hit with your knuckles rather than your damn fingers. And you need to keep your wrist straight and throw your hips into it. Your whole body, really,” Wesley said.

He acted out the movement slowly, as though Arjun were someone who had never even seen a fight before.

Arjun only blinked. “Are you done?” he asked.

Wesley suspected that if he had his shiny little sword, Arjun might very well have used it to try to carve him to pieces.

“Give-and-take is the key to success,” Wesley said.

“And listening to a powerful Crafter of an ancient Kin is the key to learning how to use your magic properly.”

Wesley couldn’t argue there.

Or, he *could* but he decided not to.

“Take it away, o mighty teacher,” Wesley said, arms spread wide.

Arjun’s sigh was unreasonably loud and Wesley felt a small moment of glee. For some reason, he couldn’t help but want to annoy him. Kind of like Tavia, only without the added want of it to be more, more, *more*.

Besides, sparring was letting off some much-needed steam. Being confined to a train for so long did not suit Wesley, but at the very least this would satisfy his penchant for trouble and violence.

“Are you sure you are ready?” Arjun asked.

“Give me a minute,” Wesley said. “I need to catch my breath from barely having to move to avoid your—”

Arjun conjured a ball of lightning and flung it at Wesley.

Wesley twisted on his heel and threw himself onto the floor.

The supply carriage was large and empty, and the floors were cold and coated in small sparks of scrap metal and wood dust. When Wesley’s elbow hit the ground, it took all the arrogance he had not to let the wince show.

Arjun raised his hand again, but Wesley was already on his feet, eyes narrowed and smirk widening.

It had been a while since he’d been in a fair fight.

The lightning sailed past Wesley’s head and cracked against the train walls.

Wesley threw himself forward, kicking his leg out and swiping Arjun’s ankles from under him.

Arjun fell to the floor and Wesley didn’t hesitate at the advantage. His hand shot out and Arjun lifted into the air, held up by the collar, Wesley’s magic pinning him in place.

Arjun’s ankles dangled perilously as he clutched at his throat.

He wasn’t choking. Wesley wouldn’t press the magic that hard, but he could see Arjun’s breath catching, feel his powers begging him for more carnage. A greater victory.

Wesley pushed his palm farther upward and Arjun slammed into the small glass window of the train.

It shattered against his back.

Wesley felt hungry with the noise.

*Again. Again. There you are, my underboss.*

For the first time, Wesley didn’t swat the ghostly voice away. He let it linger in his mind, the pride in her imagined glee, all of his insanity bubbling to the surface. He relished in her praise and how mighty she thought him now that he had such power.

Perhaps being driven mad by guilt wasn’t so bad when you had this much magic to console you.

The wind rolled in from the broken window and Arjun snarled.

Around him the air grew heavy and hot with Arjun’s magic. Wesley could feel it whirling over to him, constricting his own breath, clogging in the back of his throat. Trying to tangle in his lungs.

Wesley took a step forward and his magic followed, pushing Arjun farther out of the window in an attempt to quell his magic.

The sea raged like a furious enemy below, water spitting up to dampen Arjun’s hair as the wind howled in his ears.

But he didn’t falter.

Arjun kept pushing back and Wesley’s own throat seized with his power. The air was burning in his mouth, too thick to swallow. Black splintered over Wesley’s eyes as he began choking on his own breath.

They were going to strangle each other before either of them gave in.

He started to feel half-bad for mocking Arjun so ferociously. He truly did hold great power.

But Wesley felt greater.

*Finish him*, the ghost urged. *It’s in you to finish him.*

And Wesley could feel that it was.

His magic clawed inside him.

Wesley could thin the air out if he wanted. He could turn the night to day and throw Arjun out of the train and into the seas and swallow the realms whole. His magic was a hungry beast demanding to be fed.

*Give in to it. Give in to it like I did.*

Wesley released Arjun, took a somewhat breathless step back, remembered himself.

Arjun coughed in a breath and the air returned to normal as his magic ceased its own attack. In turn, Wesley swallowed his ravenous power and that awful voice that always brought out the worst in him.

This new magic he had, the wickedness of it combined with Wesley’s growing insanity, was truly worthy of Ashwood. It was, perhaps, what the Kingpin had wanted for him all along—his right hand, doused in black magic, sitting beside him as the realms burned. Which meant that when Wesley next saw him, he could use the very thing the Kingpin had always hoped for to bring him to his knees.

Wesley patted Arjun on the back, just as the door to the carriage slid open. It was sudden enough that Wesley tensed.

A rush of new air rolled in when Saxony entered, her hair wild and her eyes wide, with a look that told Wesley she hated few people more than him.

Beside her was Tavia, dressed in blacks and grays, with a smile to cut through steel.

Everything about Tavia was always so monochrome. From the raven hair cut to a point along the angle of her chin, to the color of her eyes, which resembled a watered-down swatch of her stark black lipstick. Even her clothes: leather trousers, steel-tipped boots, and a sweater the same shade as her irises, that stood bold against her moonlight skin.

The realms may not have been black and white, but Tavia was, and every time Wesley caught sight of her, he almost forgot himself.

It was odd how someone could do that, even after so many years. Sometimes, Wesley thought that it was her greatest trick, to catch him so off guard, so often.

“Were you trying to kill each other?” Saxony asked, taking in the broken glass and the sight of Wesley and Arjun, equally breathless.

It was a pretty stupid question, because if Wesley wanted to kill Arjun, then Arjun wouldn’t be alive.

Wesley didn’t *try* to do anything. He just did.

“We’re training,” Wesley said. “A bit of practice with my new powers.”

“You’re practicing trying to throw Arjun off the train?” Tavia asked.

The way the light cut through the broken window and caught her smile made Wesley’s throat go dry.

“Everything an underboss does involves trying to hurt someone,” Saxony said.

It wasn’t technically a lie, but it soured Wesley’s mood nonetheless.

Saxony was good at a great many things, but it seemed what she liked best was making Wesley feel like he would never be anything more than a petty crook. Considering her choice of girlfriend, Wesley thought Saxony would be a bit less judgmental about people letting off steam with harmless violence. But it seemed that when it came to anything she thought Wesley might like, Saxony truly was a killjoy.

“Shouldn’t you be helping Tavia?” he asked.

“Helping her with what?”

Saxony’s hand was on her hip, eyebrows raised, like she relished being older than an underboss and thought it offered her some authority.

Wesley looked at Tavia, almost pleading. He was trying, if not just for their army’s sake, then for Tavia’s—because she truly had the worst taste in friends—to rein himself in.

“You have the magic from the consort that you haven’t finished reading yet,” Wesley said. “Saxony could help you with that.”

“Did we interrupt your boys’ club?” Saxony asked.

“No,” Wesley said, feeling petty. “Just all the fun.”

“Trust you to think beating people up is fun.”

“It can be,” Arjun said with a shrug.

The remark was enough of a surprise that Wesley laughed. He was starting to like Arjun more and more.

Wesley gestured to him with a satisfied flick of the head. “See? You’re outvoted.”

Tavia rolled her eyes, sensing the growing hostility. “Settle down, kids. No need for a pissing contest. We’re all friends here.”

Wesley liked the way she said that she was his friend, as though it wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

Tavia nudged Saxony and gestured toward the door. “Let’s leave them to kill each other,” she said. “Many Gods know that it would give us all some peace and quiet.”

She did a half smile that made Wesley want to tell her that he’d changed his mind and they could most definitely stay.

But he didn’t.

Never did, never would.

Even though the mere thought of it made him grin: sparring with Tavia’s new magic versus his Crafter powers, both of them primed with their street smarts and a shared history of each other’s worst weaknesses. It would make for a damn good fight.

Wesley stayed silent.

Tavia’s quip seemed to satisfy Saxony enough and she smirked at Tavia, then glared at Wesley—because that was all she ever did when it came to him—before making for the door.

As soon as it clicked shut, Arjun rounded, his fist hurtling for Wesley’s nose without warning. It was good, just like Wesley had shown him.

Straight wrist, primed knuckles, and his entire body thrown in.

But Wesley still saw it coming.

There wasn’t much that surprised him these days, save for tricks and charms. Magic kept him guessing in a way few people ever managed to.

Wesley caught Arjun’s fist in his hand, a few inches from his nose, and smirked.

“Good use of surprise,” Wesley said. “Though some might say that was nearing a sucker punch.”

“You are fast,” Arjun said.

Yes, Wesley was fast.

He prided himself on that. On many things, really, but that especially.

Magic had always been kind to him and it whispered sometimes, in the very back of his mind, whenever it was near.

A sense, Wesley always thought.

But now it was different.

Now the magic *screamed*.

*I’M HERE*, it said. *DANGER. RUN, ATTACK, GO.*

And so Wesley listened.

Moments before Arjun threw yet another burst of lightning, perhaps before he even thought to, Wesley moved. He spun on his heel, curved a little to the left, and then thrust his own hand out.

It was different to before.

It was energy. A spirit. A piece of Wesley’s heart, pushed into the air and hurtling at Arjun faster and brighter than any bolt of lightning could be.

All of his excitement and anger and hope and frustration.

All of his worst fears and forgotten memories.

And the magic, Wesley’s old friend, twisting into something he could use.

It struck Arjun in the center of his chest and he careened through the air, spinning until the glass door of the carriage was perilously close.

Wesley held out a hand, stopping Arjun in his tracks, inches from the door, his head so, so close to cracking. Shattered glass, spilt blood. Usually those were the things that would give Wesley cause to smile, but Arjun wasn’t his enemy and this wasn’t a fight to the death.

Wesley dropped him to the floor.

For a few moments, Arjun didn’t move, so Wesley sauntered over, feeling kind of pleased with himself. Taking down a Crafter was a pretty big deal and he’d done it twice. Three, if they counted Granka. It was a shame Wesley couldn’t brag about it to the Kingpin, since he was too busy plotting realm domination and being a complete bastard.

Ashwood would have been proud of him.

Wesley hated that a part of him still craved that.

“Knocked the wind out of you, did I?” he asked.

Wesley held out a hand and Arjun took it, pulling himself to his feet.

“What did you just do?” Arjun asked.

Wesley shrugged. “Energy sphere?” he offered. “Light circle? Great big ball of doom? I haven’t thought of a name for it yet. Maybe Wesley’s Crafter Slayer.”

Arjun didn’t laugh.

“It was a joke,” Wesley said. “I do that sometimes.”

“This is not about your sense of humor,” Arjun said. “I saw things in that light, underboss, and I was paralyzed by them.”

That was daunting and not in the fun way Wesley was used to.

“Like illusions?”

Arjun shook his head. “Those were no illusions. They were …” He stumbled on his words, sighed, and then seemed to abandon them altogether.

Wesley did not care for the tense silence that followed.

It seemed everyone wanted to rain on his new Crafter parade and it was doing nothing for his mood. First he wasn’t worthy enough for the magic and now it was somehow faulty?

“Does this mean the student has become the master?” Wesley asked, his grin positively shit-eating.

Arjun’s blank, unimpressed stare returned. “Hail the crooked king, master of defective magic,” he deadpanned.

“At least I’m being hailed,” Wesley said. “I can live with that.”

Arjun rolled his eyes, but there was a smile in the corner of his lips that Wesley was rather proud of.

“We go again,” Arjun said. “And this time, I will not let you win.”

Wesley opened his arms in welcome.

If preparing for the upcoming war against Ashwood involved kicking Arjun’s ass repeatedly, for *training*, then he was not about to complain.