Magic on the Storm

Chapter Fourteen

I dodged, and wove Block. As I crouched, Block surrounded me in a defensive shield.

Shame’s spell burned past me, leaving a scorched stink of burnt cherries in its wake. While one part of my mind was pulling out the swearwords, the other couldn’t understand how he could have missed. Shame dealt Death magic. He was a master at it. If he wanted to hit something, that thing got hit.

I pulled my machete, to block his next attack.

Instead of attacking, he stood there, breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists in front of him, head tipped down so that I could not see his eyes.

But it was the smell of sweet cherries that told me exactly what was going on. Blood magic.

Chase had marked him, cut his gut. Bound him to her with blood. Now she was using him.

Holy shit. I’d thought he was going to call his mom.

Shame’s fists shook and the fingers of his right hand slowly opened, one at a time.

“Don’t,” he said, one ragged word. “Don’t let the bitch.”

He groaned. His hand jerked into the beginnings of another glyph. The grass beneath him was drying up, going brown as he drew on Death magic to fight her control over him.

Or-and this would be on my list of bad things-maybe she drew on Death magic through him to use it on me.

Shame tipped his head up, eyes burning with hatred. Sweating, teeth bared in a growl. Furious.

“Fuck her hard,” he said through clenched teeth.

To do that, I’d have to knock Shame out. He knew that. And he was buying me time.

I dropped Block, and stood back up while calmly reciting a mantra. I drew a spell for Sleep.

Not an angry spell, something a parent would use on a fussy child.

It’s always the simple things that no one expects to work.

Of course, I put so much magic into it, Shame would be out hard and fast.

His eyes narrowed, but I thought I saw him nod.

I finished the spell, and hurled it, filled with all the magic burning in my body, my bones. I threw it at Shame with everything I had.

He jerked, but didn’t lift a hand to block. He held his ground and let the spell hit him full force.

Gutsy. Like staring down a heat-seeking missile.

I felt an echoed flash of pain at my wrist, his anger-and that man knew how to hate-and then his eyes rolled back in his head. He crumpled to the ground.

Terric’s heartbeat sped up, his worry bleeding through.

Okay, maybe there was a downside to being connected to one another.

Greyson, my father said in my mind, his voice growing louder. Find Greyson.

For once, I was already ahead of him. Let Zay deal with Chase; let Terric cover our tracks. I was going to handle the real problem here-Greyson.

And since I had my dad, at least part of him, in my head, and Greyson very much wanted to get his slathering jaws on him, I was pretty sure I could find him easier than anyone on this side of death.

I glanced at Zay and Chase and Terric. They were gone. Nothing but an empty field met my gaze. Right. I’d let go of the Sight spell.

Okay, let me add awesome Illusionist to Terric’s qualities. I drew Sight again, and sucked in a hard breath.

Terric pulled in a huge amount of magic from deep beneath the ground to fuel the Containment. He was breathing hard and steady, like a man enduring a brutal run. I knew he wasn’t about to drop, but I also knew there was a limit to his endurance.

Zayvion beat Chase back against the Containment. She stabbed her knife into the wall of magic Terric had created and drew the magic out of it, channeling it directly at Zay.

Not a spell. Not a glyph. She sent a raging stream of magic burning at Zay like a flamethrower.

Zay held one hand out, palm forward, blocking the flame like some superhero in a movie. Magic poured around him, flaring and sparking metallic colors, filling the Containment space. But it could not get through the walls Terric held.

Zay should cast a spell to knock her out. He should smack her with the blade, hell, punch her, tackle her.

Instead, Chase yelled. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I guessed it was a spell.

And the Illusion that Chase had been casting, holding this entire time, shattered.

Fast. Too fast.

One heartbeat: Chase fell to her knees.

She redirected the stream of magic. Past Zay, who ran now, toward her, trying to stop her.

Magic poured past him. Just like she wanted it to.

Poured into the shadowy figure who ran on all fours, liquid, faster than any man, even Zayvion, at Terric. It was Greyson. Greyson running toward Terric.

I whispered a mantra. Maybe it was a prayer. Pulled on as much magic as I could contain.

Greyson leaped at Terric.

Terric raised one hand. Slow. Too slow.

Zay twisted. Threw a spell at Greyson.

Chase was talking, singing, chanting.

Giving her magic, feeding Greyson.

And waiting.

For the second Zay’s back was turned.

For this second.

She threw her knife.

I yelled. Cast Hold. End. This had to stop. Something had to stop this. I had to stop this.

Greyson tore into Terric, knocked him down, sank teeth into his shoulder.

Magic slid under my feet, skipped, skittered, and was gone. The storm did it again-pulled magic out of my reach.

It was like someone had hit an off switch for me personally. I was empty. The magic I cast fizzled out before it even reached them.

I ran.

Chase’s knife found its target, buried hilt deep into Zay’s back. He yelled. And I heard it. Because Terric’s Containment was down.

Chase chanted. Fast, guttural. She was crying. And she was casting a spell.

The bitch.

Apparently magic was still working for her.

Zay stumbled, touched the ground with one hand, and pushed back up. Running. Pounding forward.

He was almost on Greyson. Spells and steel. He swung the machete.

Thunder rolled, a hard, crushing crack I felt in my bones. A gate between life and death burned into the air, yawned open between Terric and Zay.

Chase was a Closer. She knew how to close gates. She knew how to open them too.

Greyson let go of Terric, and lunged at Zayvion.

He leaped through the gate. From one side to the other. Onto Zay.

Terric rolled up on his knees. Raised a hand, threw magic at Greyson, at the gate.

Zay swung his sword, chanting a spell of pain and death.

But it was Greyson I heard. His growl. His howl. As he drank down all the magic, everything Terric threw. Everything Chase offered. Everything Zay swung. Sucked it all in. Then howled as Zay’s machete sliced into his ribs.

Except there was no blood.

What there was, was Greyson. Standing. More man than beast now. Muscled, naked, angry. Insane.

He cast magic, in exact and perfect rhythm and beauty with Chase.

Soul Complements.

Beautiful, battered, she moved up behind Zayvion, holding him trapped, the magic from her hands, the magic from Greyson’s hands, caging Zay and burning into his skin.

Burning into me.

Soul Complements. Rarest of the rare. We shared each other’s pain.

Just because Chase and Greyson hadn’t tested didn’t mean they weren’t meant for each other. Didn’t mean they couldn’t use magic together. Didn’t mean they couldn’t make magic do things it was never meant to do.

Didn’t mean they couldn’t become one person, one caster, one soul.

With one desire.

Kill Zayvion Jones.

I was almost there, almost there. My heart ran faster than my feet. My mind spun.

Greyson and Chase cast, chanted, bent magic to their will. Made it beautiful. Horrifying. And tore Zayvion apart.

Hold on, hold on, hold on. A chant, a fear I could not contain. Spilling out of me. With my breath. With his blood.

I could feel Zayvion’s heartbeat slowing. Too slow. Thudding. Heavy. Gone. Watched him fall to the ground. For a second, a moment, I saw him, on the ground, but also standing next to himself-seven-foot-tall warrior clothed in nothing but black flame and silver glyphs. Freed from his body, he still carried a shadow of the machete.

He swung it at Greyson’s head.

Just as Chase cast another spell, and threw it at the gate.

Greyson roared, a yell, more beast than man. The gate exploded, tendrils of magic whipping out tentacles, like fire, like a nightmare I could not stop, could not reach, could not end.

“No!” I yelled.

But the tendrils hooked into the dark warrior spirit of Zayvion and dragged him into the gate.

Something huge, fast, ran behind me, ran past me.

Shame?

No. Stone. Howling like a freight train from hell, he launched at Greyson. Wings pumped the air, and he came down, crushing the Necromorph into the ground.

Chase screamed. Fell to her knees. Lost hold of magic.

With her spell no longer feeding it, and Greyson’s spell no longer feeding it, the gate closed.

Zayvion did not move. Did not breathe. I felt the absence of his heartbeat like a ragged pain emptying me of everything-thought, heart, breath.

Emptying me of everything except anger.

I strode across the remaining distance, my sword drawn. Terric lay in a bloody heap to my left. I could still feel his heartbeat against my wrist.

Greyson snarled and squirmed beneath the crushing weight of Stone. Chase knelt, not far from both the gargoyle and the Necromorph, hands over her face, as if she endured, or maybe even Proxied for, the beating Greyson was receiving.

There was no magic in me. The approaching edge of the storm had sucked it out. I couldn’t access the magic deep in the earth. I didn’t know why.

But I had a backup. The magic I’d always had in me, the magic I was born with. A tiny flame no bigger than the flicker of a birthday candle.

I had just enough magic to cast one spell. And I was not going to waste it.

“Stone,” I said. “Tear him apart.”

The big bruiser snarled. Greyson and Chase screamed in unison. Music to my ears.

I knelt next to Zayvion. Bloody, bruised, he was mostly intact. A trail of blood tracked down his forehead, slick over his closed eyes and his nose, and filling the valley of his soft, thick lips.

I didn’t have to press my hand against his neck or wrist. I knew he had no heartbeat.

And I knew I had only a little magic.

I closed my eyes, calmed my mind. Focused on the small magic within me. I placed my hand on his chest, over his heart.

“Live,” I whispered. “Breathe.”

The magic spooled out of me like a thin thread. No spell. I didn’t need one. I knew what I wanted magic to do, knew what it had to do for me. I sent it to wrap around his heart, to make it beat, to squeeze his lungs, to make him breathe.

“Live.” No longer a request. Now a demand. Soul to soul.

If I could give my heart to replace his, I would. My breath for his, I would. My life for his, I would.

“Please,” I whispered.

Nothing. Nothing. I inhaled. And so did he. Shallow. His heart beat one slow thud.

I exhaled.

And so did he.

I don’t know how long I sat there, able to do nothing more than inhale and exhale, his heart a hesitant beat that followed my own, but a beat nonetheless. But I knew I would do this until the end of time if it meant he was alive.

A hand slid over the top of mine. I didn’t open my eyes. I knew who it was. The rough brush of fingerless gloves belonged to Shame.

“Keep doing that,” he said gently, his voice low. “You’re doing fine. Just keep breathing for him.”

Live, I thought, I begged. Because a body needed more than breath to be alive.

Another hand fell upon my right hand. Cold, trembling. The unfamiliarity almost made me lose concentration.

“Positive and negative,” Terric said, and I knew it was he who held my other hand.

I don’t know what they did, don’t know how they did it. I couldn’t access magic, but they did. Magic, a pure, even stream of it, poured in through my hands. And I sent that magic, willingly, carefully, gently into Zay, told it to knit, to mend, to fill, to support.

“Heal,” I said.

And magic leaped to my desire, rushing through Zayvion’s body and mind with a pure wave of healing.

He inhaled. Without me.

His heart beat. Steadied. Caught and lifted by magic, magic Shame and Terric accessed, magic I sent to blend with the small magic I carried. Magic that healed.

His heartbeat fell into a solid rhythm. Another breath. Another. The rhythm of his heart beneath my hand, against my wrist, beat stronger, strong.

Alive.

I opened my eyes.

Zay didn’t stir. There was more blood covering his face. He was breathing, though, on his own. With my hands still on his chest, with Shame’s hand still on my left, and Terric’s still on my right, I bent, and kissed Zay, his blood salty against my lips.

He didn’t move. I didn’t sense a flicker of his emotions, his thoughts. It was like kissing a hollow doll.

A new fear washed over me, so like claustrophobia, I swallowed back a whimper. “Is he alive? Shame? Is he alive? I can’t feel him. Can’t-can’t feel him.” My voice was ragged, too high, too fast.

I wanted this nightmare to end. But I couldn’t make myself wake up.

Shame’s other hand turned my face so I was looking at him. “He’s alive.” Fierce. No Influence, but the power of his conviction was a slap across my mind.

“Hurt,” he said, “but breathing. Alive. Panicking will make it worse. Got that?”

I blinked, nodded. Those words, his anger, was like pulling blinders off. I could see the world around me again, could smell again, could feel my body, my feet numb beneath me, the rain falling cold and hard against my head, face, hands.

The rain, at least, had arrived. How much longer until the wild-magic storm hit?

Shame, drenched, squatted on his heels next to me, one hand on mine, the other releasing my chin. He smelled of sweat, blood, cigarettes, and fear.

On the other side of me, of Zay’s prone body, was Terric. I thought Shame looked bad. Terric sat tailor-style, his hand still on mine. His head hung so that his heavy hank of shock-white hair fell over his left shoulder. And his hair was sticky, wet with more than just the rain. He did not look up, did not move. If I hadn’t felt his heartbeat at my wrist, I wouldn’t have thought he was alive.

“Stone?” I asked.

Shame shook his head. “I don’t know.”

I looked over where Greyson had been. Where Chase had been. Where Stone had been.

Nothing. They were all gone.

“When I got here,” Shame said, “it was just you and Zay and Terric.”

“We need to find them,” I said. “They can’t just do this and disappear. I want them dead.”

“First Zay,” he said. “Then we find them. Then we make them dead.”

Rain fell in a steady stream into his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice. There was a darkness in him that burned hot, strong. A killing hatred.

I liked it.

“Do we carry him?” I asked. The very mundane mechanics of getting Zayvion out of the rain and safe were suddenly more complicated than I had the brain to handle. Using magic, all that I had, all that they gave me, had left me weak, shocky, and not thinking straight.

Of course Zayvion dying might have something to do with it too.

“No,” Shame said. “They’re coming.”

And it was like magic words. Because I suddenly realized there were people walking toward us through the rain.

Even in the low light, even through the rain, I could make them out. Lean Victor, wearing a trench coat and carrying a sword that slicked silver and black in the rain. Next to him, tiny Liddy wrapped in an ankle-length coat that kicked open to show the whip she carried strapped to her hip.

The twins Carl and La strode step in step, heads up, moving as if the rain didn’t exist, curved scythes clenched in Carl’s right and La’s left hands. Other people too-short and fit Mike Barham, who wore glowing, glyphed gloves; Sunny, dark, angry, knives in both hands; the Georgia sisters, who each held a staff.

Maeve had pulled her hair back in a stark ponytail. She wore stiletto boots and a leather full-length jacket, two blood daggers strapped to her boots, her hands in her pockets. The hulking mountain of Hayden strolled behind her with a rolling gait, big as the world. I was wrong-he didn’t carry a battle-ax or a cannon. He carried a broadsword over one shoulder and a shotgun over the other.

Last was big Jingo Jingo, wool coat and fedora, his voice a low, soothing murmur, maybe a song, maybe a prayer, as they came. All of them. Toward us. To save the day.

This was not a funeral procession-Zayvion was still alive. This was the cavalry arriving a little too late.

As soon as they reached us, time, which had felt like it slowed, suddenly snapped up to normal speed.

I sat there while voices-while people-investigated spells, checked the area, made plans. I sat there, Zayvion’s heartbeat beneath my palm, while Victor and Maeve and Hayden came over. Maeve helped Shame to his feet, and Victor helped Terric. And lastly, big Hayden picked up Zayvion, like he was a child, and carried him to a gurney, then to a waiting van.

I pushed up on my feet, swayed. It was Jingo Jingo, of all people, who was there for me, his wide, warm hands catching under my arms, holding me upright while I breathed heavily and waited for my knees, my muscles, to start working again.

I would not cry. Not now.

I tried not to think about the ghosts of children who clung to Jingo like a winter cloak. Tried not to think about how much he bothered me. I focused, instead, on his strength-and he had a lot of it-on his warmth and his calm. I focused on his voice, low, soft, comforting.

“There, now, Allison, angel. You’re gonna be just fine. Take a step for me. That’s good. Good. You’re something, aren’t you? Yes. Yes, you are. And it’s gonna all work out. Keep going; you’re fine.”

I did as he said and walked, following Zayvion, because Jingo Jingo was one of my teachers and he was here for me, helping me. Even though he was a freak.

“You’re not gonna have to worry about tonight,” he said, and his words sank into my head and body with the weight and warmth of wine. A spell, I thought. Or maybe I was just exhausted and he was telling me what I wanted to hear.

“You’ve done enough for the night. Kept Zayvion alive.” He said it as if he hadn’t expected I would do it. “Done all you could. More than that. Rest now. Rest.”

And my knees, which were working, suddenly felt like they were made of water. I slumped against Jingo, fought not to pass out, not to sleep.

As he picked me up, I wondered why he had cast the spell on me. And wondered why behind every gentle word, I could sense his fear.