Sparks

PROLOGUE

 Cyrus Boyd placed his tea cup to the side of his desk, careful to avoid the papers spread out before him. The clink of the bone china was the only sound in the office with the exception of the crackling of the fire in the fireplace.

           Leaning back in his leather chair, Cyrus braced his elbows on the arm-rests and steepled his gloved fingers. The Delta Project was progressing fast, but not fast enough. Not with the desperate way things were deteriorating in the United Kingdom.

           A knock on the door interrupted Cyrus’s musings. The minister sat up and smoothed down the front of his waist coat.

           “You may come in,” he said as he swept the papers on his desk back into their manila folder. The hand-carved oak door of his office opened and a warden stepped in. He quickly saluted Cyrus with military precision, exactly the way the minister had instructed the wardens be trained.

           The warden wasn’t one Cyrus knew, but then the wardens were not his division. The one sweating before him was wearing the usual uniform – grey jacket, pants, and hat, with black gloves and boots and the warden insignia over his heart – was unremarkable. He appeared to be in his fifties, with a weak jaw, watery blue eyes and sallow skin. The uniform, which had been designed to appear imposing, was ill-fitting on him.

           “What is it?” Cyrus asked, his low voice rough with impatience. There was always so much to do and not enough time to do it. He didn’t have the luxury of adding late-night visits from Academy wardens to his schedule.

           “There’s a problem at the Academy, Minister,” the warden said, still standing rod-straight by the door. “One of the students has escaped.”

           Cyrus was on his feet before he even realized he’d stood. He leaned forward, bracing himself on his desk.

           “What do you mean, escaped?” Cyrus hissed. “No one escapes the Academy.”

           “This one did,” the warden said, wilting under Cyrus’s glare. “But the wardens are in pursuit, sir. They’ve closed the grounds and they’ve unleashed the psy-hounds. We’ll catch her. She won’t get far.”

           “Who is it?” Cyrus demanded, retaking his seat. Everything would be fine if the student hadn’t left the grounds yet.

           “Victoire Duvenay, sir,” the warden said, paling even as he spoke the girls’ name. Of all the people it could have been…

           “I believe Miss Duvenay has earned herself a stay in solitary confinement for the next forty days,” Cyrus said, his icy blue eyes glinting behind his glasses. “See to it she makes it there. After the forty days are up, Miss Duvenay is to have a permanent escort while on Academy ground. Understood?”

           “Yes sir, Minister,” the warden said, saluting again.

            Cyrus nodded. “Dismissed.

           The warden turned on his heel and left, closing the door behind him. Cyrus waited until he could no longer hear the warden’s footsteps. He then stood up and came around the side of the desk. He picked up the tea cup and held it up to the light of the fire. The cup was smooth, white and delicate.

           Cyrus hurled the cup at the fireplace. It struck the mantle and shattered into thousands of pieces, the china shards bouncing across the carpets. Tea dripped off the stone mantle and onto the hearth below.

           What the hell was he supposed to do about the United Kingdom?