The question startled Quinn. He rocked back on his heels, staring at Xavier like the man had gone mad. His fingers twitched and his voice dropped low, threatening. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a valid question,” Xavier said, tensing even as he tried to shrug nonchalantly. “I never gave it much thought, but the Department effectively owns you, don’t they? You can’t quit. You can’t refuse jobs. You can’t go anywhere without surveillance. I know I’d hate being restricted like that. You are a glorified slave.”

Was this a test? Quinn stared at Xavier. What did he really know about the man? He was a genius expert in a rare field, raised in the prime of great house privilege. Working at the Department afforded him theoretically neutral status while also showcasing his skills. He had no problem creating enchanted goods to entrap magical prisoners.

Was Xavier testing to see if Quinn was the leak? That made sense with his aborted question about Gloria’s mistake, but he’d certainly chosen an odd approach.

“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,” Quinn stated slowly, “I don’t like all of my restrictions, but I understand them. Death magic fucked up my life first. The Department saved me and then allowed me to use magic to make a difference in the world. I want that. Their rules keep me from relying on corrupted judgement to determine my limits and actions.”

Xavier tilted his head, pondering those words. Thoughts churned visibly behind his eyes until he shook his head to clear it. He gestured towards the pair of sliding rocking chairs near the front porch. “Join me?”

Quinn wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to sit again just yet, much less with an inquisitive Xavier, but his curiosity and caution drew him in. He plopped into one of the chairs, braced a leg against the porch rail, and started to rock.

Xavier took his own seat much more elegantly, perching on the edge with the air of a king gathering his thoughts.

“In the course of my work, I rarely work closely with the Department’s handled assets such as yourself. The handler has been my contact in the cases where it’s happened before. This level of prolonged exposure is unusual.”

“You make me sound like a contagious disease,” Quinn grumbled

Xavier smiled. “My apologies. I merely realized that, despite viewing myself as fairly enlightened, I possess internalized prejudices from my culture that I have never addressed directly. ‘Death mage’ still translates as ‘insane murderer,’ even looking at you and knowing that is not always true. Even our histories hold precedent for well-intentioned death mages. They invariably end up as tragic heroes once the corruption sets in, but they still acted for the greater good first.”

“I’m not a hero, tragic or otherwise.” Hero was a terrible term, used to pin responsibility and glory to a person, usually as the result of a single action. Helping others wasn’t a quest or a calling; it was Quinn’s job. He preferred it that way. Heroes handled a single high-profile case, but Quinn wanted to be the one fixing the constant stream of smaller problems.

“Aren’t you?” Xavier asked. “You may have been thrust into your calling rather than choosing it as some great sacrifice, but you are killing yourself by inches for the greater good.”

Quinn grimaced, both at the description and at the reminder. “Sure. The alternative is execution.”

“Something tells me you would still have chosen to help others instead of returning to your old life.”

Uncomfortable with Xavier’s determination to paint him as a hero, Quinn just shrugged. He could argue that he wouldn’t have made that choice way back at the start, having just been a recently traumatized student thrust into a dangerous world he didn’t understand. That Quinn would have leapt at the chance at normalcy. It wasn’t until he gained experience that Quinn understood how needed he was and how wonderful magic, even death magic, could be.

When Quinn remained silent, Xavier said, “Your skills and knowledge impress me. Just imagine the good you could do if someone learned how to remove the corruption from death magic.”

That comment hit Quinn right in his chest, aligning with those bubbling thoughts he’d had ever since Riordan had woken up as a miraculous anomaly.

The root of suffering was desire. Quinn had stumbled on that Buddhist idea and embraced it. If he didn’t want anything more than what he had, then he was never left unsatisfied.

But now? Oh, how Quinn desired to be relieved of his death sentence. The hope burned painfully in his gut, taunting him. His corruption could be removed. But how? And would the discovery come in time to help Quinn?

“Quinn? Are you alright?” Xavier reached out to lay a warm gentle hand on his arm, once again the picture of gorgeous concern. His concern rankled. However woke Xavier felt now, none of the issues affected him directly.

“It would be nice if death magic was safe to use, wouldn’t it,” Quinn replied thinly, feeling chilled and floaty despite the sunshine. He suppressed the urge to shake off Xavier’s hand. “There are humane ways to gather death affinity magic. Collection jars in hospices. Small blood sacrifices. Legal executions. So many people would volunteer to be a death mage if the whole murderer, insanity, and death sentence aspects were removed. They would leap at the chance to use magic.”

Xavier perked up, intrigued. “I hadn’t considered that. Mundanes desire magic, even if the affinity was merely that of the dead and dying.”

“There’s a lot that can be done with blood and death magic besides hurting people,” Quinn pointed out. He stood to get Xavier’s hand off of him. Quinn’s discipline was so damned misunderstood. “Any affinity can be flexible in how it is applied. We might even find more of the composite affinities that include death energy. Blood can’t be the only one.”

“Composite affinities?” Xavier leaned back in his own seat, barely rocking. His gaze turned abstracted. “They are narrower than the primary affinities, but they have some fascinating inherent effects. Just consider the shifter affinity. It spawned its own culture due to its unique characteristics. Shape changing with raw life and spirit magic is a complicated and messy affair, only for advanced mages. The composite affinity bypasses that.”

Quinn began to pace. His restless mood and dissatisfaction gave way to scholarly ranting, punctuated with wild gesticulation. “The blood affinity is well documented to exist. Almost every death mage acquires it. Yet we don’t know its specific composite strengths and weaknesses. Its effects just get lumped into ‘death magic.’ Hell, even death magic is poorly documented! Mages just kill the mages, destroy any records, and move on. The only archives on death magic techniques are those of the Department and the great house of life, since those are the groups with death mage hunters, and even then, the archives are stupidly restricted!”

The Department called Quinn their top death magic specialist, but they had provided only the most minimal explanation on anything unless it became directly relevant. He’d earned his specialty via surviving this job so long, gaining experience, and that came from his self-taught efficiency and the trick of corrupting body before spirit. That trick was the one good thing that the Department made sure to teach Quinn.

Quinn had worked hard for his knowledge. He’d begged to be able to train his replacements in the Department or even just record his techniques to be added to the archive. The first request was denied while the second remained under review indefinitely. It was damned wasteful. Quinn saw how quickly the other Department death mages acquired corruption without his efficiency methods.

Parents and teachers gained a form of immortality via the lessons passed to the next generation. Quinn hated the idea that his knowledge might die with him.

“If I had my way,” Quinn said, frustration prompting unwise honesty, “I’d train the shifter shaman in death magic. They are long lived with a strong oral tradition and share knowledge between community groups rather than leaving it rotting in basements.”

A strange look of both horror and hunger crossed Xavier’s face, drawing Quinn up short. He stopped to study his colleague, remembering again how little he knew about Xavier. He hadn’t shown the same prejudice against shifters that Drika and Vergil had, but he still was a born house mage. He’d even admitted to his own internalized cultural prejudices, though that had been regarding death mages.

Xavier redirected the subject. “The Department would never allow that. Knowledge is temptation. Until the issue of death corruption could be addressed, having access to even the benign and beneficial aspects of death magic would only lead to them being used in moments of desperation, creating more tragic heroes.”

Quinn knew that. He dropped the subject. He’d already said too much. Well, one last thing slipped out as he flopped back into his vacated rocking chair, nearly tipping it over. “Riordan wouldn’t have that issue.”

That look of deep hunger returned to Xavier’s face, darkening his eyes. “Riordan Kincaid possesses the potential to revolutionize death magic as we know it. I would be… interested in seeing what he could do with your training.”

Okay, something about Xavier’s behavior was making Quinn intensely uncomfortable now, even if he couldn’t pinpoint more than the overly familiar attitude of the privileged claiming to understand the oppressed. Well, and the greediness that house mages got towards new sources of power. Also, Quinn didn’t like the idea of handsome Xavier courting Riordan for the Department.

Fine. There were plenty of reasons to be uncomfortable.

Quinn plastered a smile on his face. “Too bad it’ll never happen. As you said, the Department restricts death mages too much for that.”

“Hmm, yes,” Xavier nodded. “The Department would never back that unless they had full control of him. Pity.”

Despite his words, the enchanter did not seem upset. Quinn maintained his smile and made what he hoped was an affirming noise. It seemed to appease the other man.

Xavier stood and stretched. “I should return to work. There is much to be done. If you want to vent about your working conditions more later, I’m happy to lend an ear. You deserve so much more than this, Quinn.”

The man reached out and stroked Quinn’s cheek lightly. The intimate gesture startled Quinn. He froze. Xavier let his touch linger and then turned and walked inside.

What the hell just happened here?