Anthony Francis - Blood Rock

Except Nyissa. Scara’s crossbow bolt left her mute. The doctors think that they may eventually restore her voice, but until then, it serves a purpose. She comes as my escort, glares ominously, twirls her metal poker anytime anyone says anything threatening-and, when it comes up, gives Iadimus an excuse to tell Scara to leave. This happens all too often.

Everyone on the council, me included, is looking for my replacement. No one wants me heading this board permanently. But they’re all helping me find people they think can do the job. Unfortunately, while there are plenty of good candidates on paper, it’s hard finding anyone who is competent in practice, willing to take on the problem, and acceptable to everyone.

I’ve even talked to Philip about replacements, but our relationship is strained. Personally, he still resents me dumping him for Calaphase. Professionally, neither he nor Namura are happy about this new concentration of power. But we’re civil, and so, as Alex has taken on speaking for the Council of Wizards, I’ve taken on responsibility of speaking for the DEI.

Hopefully, soon, better hands will take this over. I’m not trained in law enforcement, or law, or even management. Heck, I’m only half-trained in magic or science; I’m a dropout. I’m supposed to be a tattoo artist, for goodness sake. I know I can’t keep doing this forever.

But I’m not going to go through life in the dark anymore. I’m not going to hope that if shit sweeps up on me I can clean up the mess. I have a daughter, friends, and colleagues that count on me, people that have my back, and I’m not going to let them down.

I know I can’t fix everything-the world is darker, deeper, stranger than I ever imagined. I know I can’t make my little corner of the world into heaven-but God gave me the skills to keep it from going to hell, and by God, I’m going to keep it that way.

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I’m Dakota Frost, skindancer-and Atlanta is my city. Nobody trashes it on my watch.