Chapter 27: Wildcards

  Now that Ambrose was in Vanderborn’s office, he realized he was borderline terrified to touch anything. It wasn’t possible for everything to be trapped or warded; that would make it a tedious work environment, even if there were built-in exceptions for him. But anything sensitive or valuable was sure to require one of his [Skeleton Key]’s remaining charges.

  He started by grabbing the lamp next to the door. Nothing happened, so he twisted and the alchemical device flared a soft, yellowish light in all directions. Shadows danced as Ambrose scanned the area, stepping carefully as if one wrong move would end his thieving before it even started.

  The one thing he could take away from the office, as he often did, was that it had about as much authentic personality as Ambrose’s apartment. There were plenty of books on shelves, magical knicknacks that looked impressive but were likely useless, and paintings galore. Most of them were of Vanderborn’s past deeds immortalized in oil, but the giant portrait of himself looking stern behind the desk was a bit much.

  It gave the impression of a legend who appreciated himself, which was far from how Ambrose viewed him. The man had an ego, but he didn’t seem intoxicated with himself so much as how it made other people treat the wizard. He was too much of a canny, conniving bastard to be vain and complacent. This kind of giant, over-the-top portrait was to intimidate others.

  The truth was, there weren’t too many places to look in the office itself. There was the desk, a safe, and that was about it, unless one of the tacky decorations held a secret compartment. Ambrose would try that later.

  He started with the bedroom. It was, he figured, the least likely place, and would be easy to eliminate. Much like the office, it was a front. The massive, comfortable bed was believable, especially at the headmaster’s age, but the dressers contained only clothes, the nightstand had a journal written in a code Ambrose couldn’t understand, and that was it.

  Of course he did his due diligence and looked for secret compartments and hidden panels, loose stones, anything that didn’t belong. After about ten minutes, he had to conclude that Vanderborn didn’t spend much time in his bedroom. Men like him were too busy to just lie around anyway.

  Back to the office, he went for the obvious choice of the desk. Most of the drawers were full of stationery, pens, memos and notes to himself. Ambrose read some of them, interested in spite of himself. Most were about trouble with the border colonies, and whispers of some groups trying to rebel against the Amaric empire, and potential plans to deal with them. He paused when he saw the Ransa name mentioned as a possible troublemaker to keep an eye on.

  By the time he was done, Ambrose was a full believer that Vanderborn only took the job of Headmaster as a way to keep an eye on the continent’s best talent. The great houses ruled the day to day of the great country, but men like Vanderborn had de facto control of enough families’ votes and industries to be shadow rulers: all of the privileges with half the scrutiny.

  There was one drawer at the bottom that was not only locked, but zapped him when he touched it. Ambrose produced the [Skeleton Key] and opened it at the cost of a single charge.

  Inside were cards, sure, but they weren’t the Wildcard. Plenty of mind, primal, and dark affinity cards, organized alphabetically, almost all between levels five through eight. If he couldn’t find the Wildcard, he saw a demon that would be tempting to snag.

  That left only one other place to look. Ambrose approached the box safe behind the desk carefully. It had a combination lock, but that didn’t mean much. Once more, he swiped the metal hook of the [Skeleton Key] along the cracks. There was a series of clicking sounds, and two more charges vanished from the key.

  The safe opened to reveal…Mostly paperwork, some gold and jewelry, and a faded, washed out picture of a much younger Vanderborn with his wife. They stood side by side, each with an arm around the other’s waist. His beard was much shorter, and there was a hint of kindness and life in his eyes that wasn’t there in the real thing.

  “This is probably the only personal thing in here,” he muttered to himself before putting it all back. There had been no cards, and he’d been in there for nearly twenty minutes. Even if Vanderborn wasn’t coming back at all, Ambrose grew paranoid about lingering too long.

  With that in mind, Ambrose turned the lamp up and started touching things, feeling around for secret buttons on statues, or if a little abstract art box was secretly a miniature safe containing cards.

  Nothing.

  The longer he searched, the more desperate he grew. Eventually he looked out the double doors to the floating garden, and out to the lit up landing pad for Vanderborn’s ship, The Wanderer. The spot was empty, but he had a creeping suspicion that maybe Vanderborn kept the card on his person at all times. It would be safer than stashing somewhere a thief like him could find it.

  “Shit,” Ambrose groaned, rubbing his eyes. He turned to face the extravagant portrait behind the desk, dark eyes narrowed and stern. He stood with his staff in one hand, daring the viewer to cross him, practically demanding submission.

  “You’re a bastard,” Ambrose muttered. “How many other students get the promise of a reward? How many other people are going after the prize dangling in front of them?”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  This was stupid. He only had one charge left, and nothing had come even close. He thought about taking some other cards, but it felt oddly wrong. It was one thing to steal the prize ahead of time and then use it to win, justifying his possession of it in the first place, but grabbing something else just because he could? It would take some creative bullshit to justify that.

  All that waited for him was an estate on the verge of collapse, debts that would fall to him to pay or deal with, and the resentment of his siblings and parents if he was unable to make the barrage issues go away.

  Of course, if he stole things, he could either sell them to cover some of those debts, or go on the run. It might even be preferable to being suffocated by other peoples’ problems. There was always work for people like Ambrose, if he was willing to get his hands dirty. And if it meant not having an anchor tied to his neck…

  Ambrose’s heart sank. He glared at the painting’s stupid face, briefly considering vandalizing it before jumping off the garden. Then it hit him.

  “I’m an idiot,” he breathed. “Of course he hid it in the most obvious place.”

  The portrait took up most of the wall behind the desk, but when he tugged on the edge, it swung open easily, revealing the hidden safe embedded in the wall.

  “There you are,” Ambrose said. With one charge left, he swiped the [Skeleton Key]. The key turned to dust in his hand, but the safe opened up, revealing a small, ornate wooden box. Inside was his prize.

  With shaking hands, he pulled the box out and checked them out. The first five were enhancement cards, each level 4, to go along with the first time a wizard could equip them. There was one for each affinity, each of rare quality.

  “Wait, these are the advancement cards,” Ambrose said. His heart skipped a beat, and he checked the next five cards. Level 5 creature cards, one for each affinity. They were truly powerful, and would likely serve as the wielder’s greatest summon until their signature creatures changed to their next form at Affinity Level 6.

  Which left two remaining cards in the back. Two blank cards, shifting colors in his hand.

  Two Wildcards.

  The smart thing to do would be to leave the other alone. He might be able to justify taking one, but two…Would either make him incredibly powerful, or would sell for a lot. The idea of running off on his own had never sounded more appealing…but Vanderborn would hunt him down for sure.

  “I guess I can settle for just one Wildcard,” Ambrose said with a snicker. He sat down in the headmaster’s chair, setting the box down, sans one ever-shifting card.

  Just as he was about to add it to the open slot in his deck, the door to the office creaked open. He froze as Jessica stepped into the room, betrayal in her eyes.

  “He is in here,” she said.

  And following her came Luthor, Raeva, and Raeleq, still dressed for the party. None of them were amused, and standing together like that was actually a bit intimidating.

  “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Luthor asked. His voice was as level as usual, but there was no mistaking the sharpness in his gaze, even in the dim lighting of the office.

  “Is this a trick question?” Ambrose asked, holding up the Wildcard.

  “Put it down, Ambrose,” Raeva said, as serious as a heart attack. “Put it down, and let’s all leave here before we get in trouble.”

  “Fuck that, I’ve worked too hard to get this,” he said, standing up. They blocked the only safe exit, but if it came to it, he could jump off the floating garden and probably be fine. “What are you even doing here?”

  Jessica angrily brushed hair out of her eyes. “What do you think? Trying to stop you from throwing your future away. I saw you start to climb, and then the wards started going off. So I got the others, and here we are.”

  “So much for that [Skeleton Key],” he muttered. “But you’re too late. This card is going to become whatever I need most, and there’s nothing any of you can do to stop me. Unless you plan on fighting me all together?”

  Raeleq laughed, crossing two massive arms over an equally big chest. “It’s much too small to fight in here. No, if you aren’t going to listen to reason, we’ll just walk away and leave you to whatever happens. If Jessica doesn’t turn you in herself.”

  All eyes went to her. “I don’t want to have to,” she said, “but if a card is missing and Grandfather finds out, then I won’t have a choice. Please don’t make me do it.”

  Annoyance filled him. “Why? He hates you, Jessica. He won’t be grateful to you. He won’t give you any special treatment. Just walk away. All of you. I’ll beat Molly in the morning, and then there will be nothing standing between me and having earned this card.”

  “Ambrose,” Luthor started, but the shadow wizard had heard enough.

  He added the card to his deck.

  The card disappeared, and Ambrose was engulfed by rolling darkness, cloaking him in a shadow. His eyes went wide as the magic coursed through him, more vibrant and real than any card before it. Normally when he added to his deck, there was a sensation of part of his mind filling up, becoming more defined.

  This was pure, open-ended possibility.

  As the magic flowed through him, images of creatures and spells flowed in his mind’s eye. Devious demons, shambling corpses, dark energy capable of killing or raising the dead, spells that could shred one’s deck or find the right card and temporarily steal it.

  “Ambrose, you bastard,” Raeva shouted from a hundred miles away.

  The darkness deepened, and the flashes in his mind slowed down until the card settled into its final form. A horde of small, misshapen, monkey-like wretches, grinning at him as the words formed.

  [Oops All Imps]

  *****

  Ambrose Adams: Level 4 Shadow Wizard

  Hand Size: 5

  Mana: 5

  Combat Deck Size: 8/10

  Cantrip: Vampiric Kiss

  Signature Creature: Hateful Imp

  Spell: Assassin’s Strike

  Spell: Shred Mind

  Spell: Thought Tap

  Enchantment: Mark of Service

  Creature: Black Hound

  Creature: Festering Wretch

  Creature: Night Terror

  Enhancement: Oops All Imps

  Noncombat Deck Size: 4/5

  Utility Card: Contract

  Travel Card: Spider’s Ascent

  Travel Card: Cloud Cushion

  Ritual Card: Bind Creature