As Darkness Fears the Sun

I: The Girl With Living Tattoos

I

The Girl With Living Tattoos

This was the fifth cup of coffee Claudia had brought her and the amount of Charisma in each cup was beginning to go to Brontë's head.

She wrapped her right hand tight around the mug, raising it to her lips as the fingers of her free hand danced across the keyboard in front of her. She scanned the computer screen, brain interpreting almost faster than her fingers could type. But she was too skilled for them to fall behind.

She blinked at the thought, and set her mug down. Too much Charisma, for sure.

Pride goeth before the fall.

She returned her eyes to the computer screen, watching as the firewalls protecting the University server fell, one after another. She was in.

Brontë scanned the files, searching for the one that she needed, the one that would prove everything for the Holmewood family, and for countless others as well.

Under the New Law, using magical ability as a deciding factor in university admissions, job offers, anything, was illegal, in the same way it was illegal to discriminate based on gender, or skin color, or sexuality. But that didn't stop certain organizations from doing just that, even if they had to be a little more creative in hiding the guideline.

And it was Brontë's job to find them out.

Regina Holmewood was one of many students denied admission to the prestigious Marison University, even with her stellar grades and impeccable background. Or, most of her background. Her only fault was that she had been born human, not a drop of magical blood in her veins. Perfectly Normal. And that did not line up with standards set down by University Admissions.

Brontë clicked around a bit more. There is was. The file she needed. Brontë clicked on it, starting the download, being sure to save it to the clean flash drive plugged in to the side of the computer. Almost no one used that sort of hardware these day, preferring to transfer and share everything digitally via the MagiNet. She had needed to get the computer specially modified to use thumb drives and other, older tech; everything she dealt with was sensitive information, the kind of stuff she didn't want to be traceable until she chose the right time for it. Using the MagiNet ran the risk of a leak before she was ready.

No. Older tech was much safer.

Out on the crowded city street, she could hear the blare of sirens. The University had tech watching for intruders at all times (she would know, as she had been dancing around it for about an hour), and those sirens probably meant that they had found her breach.

Good. Let them come.

The file was nearly downloaded, and the cop car was just pulling up to the curb. Brontë scoffed at the fact that the force had only sent one car after a hacker. This was too easy.

The boys in blue leapt from their vehicle, pulse guns still in their holsters, but ready to be fired if necessary. Brontë's eyes flicked to her computer. Nearly there, nearly there...

The police entered the shop, just as a small ping confirmed that the download was a success. She ripped the drive from her computer and tucked the small piece of plastic in her pocket, clicking her computer to a new, less conspicuous window. If they used magic to search, they would never be able to find the drive; the old tech couldn't be detected by magical means, making all her findings on the case safe and nearly untraceable. In Brontë's opinion, it was genius.

The cops walked through the coffee shop, making as if to order from the counter. But Brontë knew they were here for more than the espresso.

Just like she was here for more than the Charisma.