Mandi's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Mandi wanted the archmage's youth-relic, and she had already picked the man who would hand her the map to it. His name was Simmy. She had spent three weeks in an art class learning his weak spots. He was a traveling musician, gentle and shy, and rich enough to matter. He also happened to be a sorcerer, which she chose to ignore. She worked him the way she worked everyone. She wept about a dead mother she never had. She let him pay for her paints, then her rent, then a debt she invented on the spot. She kissed him in the supply closet and cried that no one had ever been kind to her. Simmy believed all of it. While he toured two towns over, Mandi emptied his purse. She took the coins he kept for his instruments. Then she went to the class instructor and the other students. She told them Simmy had grabbed her, threatened her, followed her home. The lies were easy. People love a big woman who trembles and calls herself a victim. Within a week the community banned him. When Simmy came back, they turned him away at the door. He had lost his students, his coins, and the woman he thought loved him. Mandi watched from across the room and felt nothing but satisfaction. The scam had worked. She had squeezed him dry and walked free. She walked home to her sagging townhouse, the one with cracked shutters and boarded windows. On the front step sat a purple bush she did not own. It had pink blossoms and needles like a pine. A card hung from one branch. The card read: "You forgot I know things you don't. Keep the coins. I know why you wanted them." Mandi's stomach dropped. She spun around. Simmy stood at the corner, calm, not banned, not broken. He was not trembling. He was smiling. "You told everyone I'm dangerous," he said. "You have no idea how right you are." He touched the bush. The blossoms turned black and fell. "You asked me once about the old archmage in the hills. About his relic. I remember every question you asked." Mandi's mouth went dry. She had let one detail slip during a night she thought was harmless. She had told the mark her real goal. "You want the youth-relic," Simmy said. "So do I. And now you're going to help me get it, or I tell the archmage exactly who's been asking about his treasure." He stepped closer. "He does not forgive thieves. But he might spare a useful one." Mandi stood frozen on her broken step. She had beaten Simmy, robbed him, ruined him. Yet somehow he owned her now. The relic was still her dream. But she could no longer chase it alone. "Pack a bag," Simmy said. "We leave for the keep at dawn."