With her Magical sight, she could see his fist start to glow as the energy coalesced inside it, and then suddenly, he let his punch fly.
Bark and splinters of wood flew everywhere as his fist smashed straight through the side of the tree trunk. She also noticed the flow of Essentia through the tree judder and ripple, like the surface of a pond that had just had a stone dropped into it. The flow stabilised through the rest of the tree over the next few seconds, but the area around the broken trunk seemed eerily static.
“Wow, that was impressive, so it was,” Amanda said.
“Essentia Strikes are powerful and primary weapon of Magi. You need to study this,” he said.
“Of course, Gentle Water,” she said and moved in to get a closer look at the tree.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked, wiping his forehead with his arm.
“I am, a bit,” she said.
“I get us drink,” he said and turned to walk away. “Practice, Amanda. Always practice,” he called over his shoulder.
Looking down at her fist, Amanda took a calming breath and concentrated on pulling some Essenita into herself. She’d done it many times and found it almost second nature. Having a store of excess Essenita within you was always a good idea as a Magus. It turned your body into a battery and gave you quick access to greater levels of Magical energy for larger, more powerful effects. She could release it easily enough, too, but to release it through her fist in a sudden wave of power was something new to her.
With her fist glowing, she focused and released the Essentia, trying to make the whole lot rush out of her fist at once. It kind of worked. So Amanda tried it again, and again, and after several attempts, felt sure she had it.
Looking up at the tree, Amanda stepped over to it and narrowed her eyes. With a thought, she pulled the Essentia into her fist, making it glow in her Magical sight. And then, taking a deep breath, she flung her fist forward and released her Essentia.
Amanda’s fist slammed into the tree trunk and came to a sudden, bone-crunching stop. She knew right away that she hadn’t done it right. The sound of her bones snapping and the incredibly intense pain that exploded in her hand told her everything she needed to know.
Her legs started to wobble as she pulled her hand away from the tree and looked at it. It was a mess. Several bones had broken and were sticking out of the ripped skin as blood flowed from the wounds. Her fingers either wouldn’t move correctly, or at all, and the pain was beyond anything she’d ever felt.
As she looked at her hand, she dropped to her knees and let out a shriek of anguish. Suddenly, a wave of nausea swept over her, and she heaved her breakfast onto the grass before dizziness overtook her and everything went black.
***
Opening her eyes, Amanda found herself on her bed in her cottage as the fog of unconsciousness faded away.
She felt groggy, but was slowly coming to her senses. As clarity started to return, a dull ache grew in her hand, and she suddenly remembered the idiotic action she’d taken by punching a tree with all her strength.
She lifted her hand and took a look at it, expecting to see a bandage or scars, but instead, her hand looked as good as new, as if nothing had ever happened to it. Amanda raised her eyebrows. She closed her fingers and made a fist before releasing it. There was stiffness and an ache there, but it was fading fast.
Gentle Water walked into the room carrying two glasses of water.
“Aaah, you awake. How you feel?” he asked.
“Um, I think I’m fine, actually,” she said. “Sorry, that was a silly thing to do.”
“It is understandable. No harm done, and you okay.”
“I am,” she agreed, sitting up fully and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She flexed her hand once more before taking the glass from him. Her grip seemed unchanged, and by now, even the ache had gone. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she’d dreamed it. “You Ported us here?” she asked, using the Magi word for teleportation.
“Yes,” he answered with a smile. “I leave you for moment, have rest, feel better,” he said as he walked out the room.
Taking another sip of her drink, Amanda sat back against her headboard and flexed her hand again, holding it up before her. The world was full of wonder and Magic now, literally so. Her ability with Magic had progressed to the point where she knew exactly what time it was and where on the earth she was at any given time, and she knew she’d only been unconscious for a few minutes at most. But in that time, Gentle Water had Ported them from the clearing back here and Magically healed her hand before going to get them a couple of drinks.
She shook her head in astonishment. She wondered if she’d ever get used to this. She also felt incredibly grateful to her mentor for healing her yet again. She was lucky to have him.
It kind of reminded her of Howie, and how he’d taken her in during her time of need a couple of years ago. She’d run away from the orphanage at seventeen, having finally had enough of their rules and with a desperate need to see the world. Somehow, following a series of lucky breaks, she’d managed to stow away on a cargo ship bound for New York. Back then, she’d taken it in stride, although she’d also recognised just how lucky she’d been. Now, though, as a Magi and knowing that her Magic had manifested as luck and good fortune for her and those close to her before her Epiphany, she had a new perspective on things.
Her successful trip across the Atlantic was almost certainly due to her unconscious Magic. But even with that luck, it didn’t mean she’d had an easy time of it. Her good fortune only took her so far.
Once in New York, her money soon ran out, and within days she was sleeping rough with the other homeless. She’d curl up on benches or beneath elevated roads, but she often got moved on or came into conflict with the other guys out there on the streets.
Eventually, she ended up finding a large stoop in front of an apartment building that had a little corner that was somewhat out of view and not in the way of the residents. It had been created by an air conditioning and heating unit that stuck out into the upper level of the stoop. At night, her alcove was hidden enough to be dark, and she could curl up there beneath boxes and other rubbish she’d collected. If she was lucky, the fan in the unit she was next to was on and would kick out some heat. She got her best night’s sleep there since she’d been forced onto the streets.
Some of the residents noticed her and gave her dirty looks, including a large, broad-shouldered black guy with close-cropped hair. About a week into her stay on the stoop, the rain came thundering down and even though she was under cover, she was still cold and damp and sat there shivering.
The black man ran up from the street and shook off his coat under cover of the ledge above the stoop, his eyes flicking up at her for a moment.
She watched him closely, her fingers on the shiv she’d made after waking up in the subway one night to find a man standing over her, his hands between her legs, and pawing at her chest. She’d kicked that attacker before running from the subway, and the next day made herself the knife from a shard of rusty metal.
The building's resident went to head into the apartment, but hesitated, teetering on the edge of indecision for a moment, nearly heading inside a couple more times before he stepped back out and moved closer to her.
“Hey, um, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind…” he started.
Anger flashed within her, and she interrupted him. “No, I won’t fecking move on, you bloody gobshite. It’s lashing down and it’s feckin’ freezing. Now, piss off,” she blurted out.
The man raised his hands and recoiled from her outburst. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, but, yeah, it’s cold, so I was wondering if you wanted to come in and get a hot chocolate or something?”
Amanda was stunned by the man's offer and just stared at him for a good few seconds. Suddenly, tears filled her eyes as emotion got the better of her.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked, suddenly unsure if he’
d actually said what she thought he’d said.
He’d repeated his offer to her again with a warm smile, and gestured into the building.
“Oh, um, sure,” she said, before hesitating and gripping her weapon again. She’d frowned at him then. “You’d best not try any funny business; I have a knife, you know,” she warned him, flashing the shiv.
But Amanda needn’t have worried. His name was Howard Galton, although he insisted she call him Howie, and his intentions towards her were entirely honourable. They’d ended up sitting on his sofa, drinking hot chocolate, munching on cookies, and were soon deep in conversation. They’d got along famously, and when the end of the night came, he offered her his sofa for the night.
Within days, she’d moved into his spare room and they were on their way to becoming good friends. Howie was a doorman at a local nightclub called The Dark Side of the Moon, and she was soon spending some of her evenings there and getting to know some of the regulars.
Her life had changed dramatically over the course of just a few days. In many ways, Howie had saved her, not unlike Gentle Water had today, and in a more profound way several weeks ago when he’d taken her on as his apprentice.
Of course, looking back now, she wondered how big a part her Magic had played in that lucky break with Howie.
She supposed she’d never know.
- From the book, ‘A history of the Dark Nomads’ by Trevelyan
The earliest known record of Yasmin the Dark comes from the legend of Red Yasmin in northern Italy around nine hundred years ago. An eyewitness reported seeing Yasmin, a known local girl of about thirteen years, walking through the town in the dead of night, covered from head to toe in blood. She was never seen again after that, but her parents and three brothers were found mutilated in their family home—their chests cut open and their hearts ripped out. A set of bloody footprints, clearly those of a child, led out of the house and into the night. It was said that Yasmin was beaten and abused as a child, and the villagers distrusted the family due to their violent ways. Many locals thought they’d received their just desserts. The hearts of Yasmin’s family were never found.
Visits
Rome, Italy
Raphaella sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the stocking the rest of the way up her leg before clipping the ends of the garter belt to the top of it. Satisfied with how it looked, she pulled on her underwear last so they could be removed quickly and easily without needing to remove the stockings. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled, knowing that her visitor, who was due to arrive in about ten minutes, would be thrilled with how she looked. Picking up her nun's habit from the bed, she slipped into it, hiding the lingerie. She’d had the robes made with a hidden zip at the front so she could remove it easily, as well as open it slightly to allow cheeky glimpses of what was beneath.
Her body was just one of many methods she used to get the information she wanted. It was also the most fun way. She could use her Magic, of course, to pluck the answers she and her mistress needed from the heads of her victims, and often did, but there was a risk involved with that where the Vatican was concerned, and it didn’t serve to corrupt those she wanted in her debt, either.
Raphaella stood at five foot seven, although the heels she wore added a few inches to that. She wore her jet black hair long with a severe fringe, and just for tonight, ruby red lips that glistened in the hotel room’s harsh light. She twisted to the left and right, checking herself in the mirror one last time. Satisfied, she went into the small living area attached to the bedroom and sat down on one of the chairs beside the window that looked out over the city. In the distance, she could make out the Vatican easily. It was lit up like a gaudy Christmas tree by hundreds of lights and positively glowed. She’d be back there later, she thought.
Suddenly, Essentia surged close by, and with a whip-crack of rushing air, two figures appeared in the room with her.
She looked up, surprised, before quickly standing and fixing her eyes on the floor in deference once she saw who it was. “Baal Yasmin, I had no idea you were coming to see me tonight. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, using the required honorific for her mentor and superior.
“Raphaella, it’s always a pleasure to see you,” Yasmin purred, her voice languid and sensual. “How is life in the Vatican?”
Raphaella looked up at her mistress. Yasmin was stunning. She was tall, perhaps about six foot with a lithe, taut body that was clad entirely in a shiny, black, form-fitting outfit. Only her hands and face were uncovered. The edges of the outfit she wore looked like liquid with runnels of black reaching down onto her hands and up her neck. Falling from her shoulders and billowing over the ground was a black mist that she wore like a cloak, the effect was quite intimidating.
Focusing on her face, Raphaella enjoyed the rather cruel beauty of her mistress. She was a good-looking woman, striking really, and looked like she was made from harsh straight lines. There was little about Yasmin that looked soft or kind.
The woman behind Yasmin was Kez, Yasmin’s personal assistant and closest confidant. She ran errands for Yasmin and generally got her hands grubby doing the dirty work for her mistress. Kez sported a long ragged, patched-up, layered cloak that covered her entire body with a voluminous hood that looked like it had been worn for centuries. She was pale with thin, off-white hair, somewhat oversized eyes, sharp features, and two scars that ran parallel from her hairline, down through her eye sockets to her jaw. Together, the pair were a terrifying sight, not least because Raphaella knew just how powerful Yasmin was.
“Life is good, thank you, my Baal,” Raphaella said. She wondered how long this meeting might be—she didn’t want Yasmin scaring off her visitor.
“I wanted to hear more on the report you made about the Inquisitor visiting New York,” Yasmin said.
“But of course,” she said. She’d only sent in the report a few days ago, so Raphaella had wondered if this visit might be related to that, but this was unusual. If Yasmin was curious about some detail or other, usually Raphaella would get either a request for clarification or, on rare occasions, she might get a visit from Kez or one of the other Nomads in Yasmin’s Dark Knights Coven. For Yasmin herself to visit meant there was something significant in there that required her personal attention. “Mary Damask sent Vito De Luca to investigate a report by someone that they had seen a demon in an alleyway in New York. The assumption the Inquisition made was that a young Magi had summoned the demon. Naturally, the Inquisition’s bias led them to certain conclusions, but it does seem that a Scion attacked a girl, possibly a Magi, in an alleyway. We don’t know why,” she said.
“But that wasn’t all, was it?”
“No, the Inquisition had a good description of the girl, who they believed to be a witch, to use their terminology. So, they were monitoring the transport hubs and found her at JFK airport. Their asset, Vito confronted the witch, but she got away.”
“So, what do we know about this witch? The description mentioned red hair,” Yasmin stated. Raphaella noticed how Yasmin was watching her very carefully, listening intently, but keeping her face completely neutral, never betraying any emotion at all.
“That’s right. The report described her as having long, bright red hair and was of a slim but busty build. She stood out, in other words. I have a little more information on her now, though, which would have been in my next report to you. From interrogations that Vito carried out on her friends in New York, they know her name to be Amanda-Jane Page.”
As she said the name, she noticed Yasmin’s eyes widen ever so slightly—the first and barest trace of genuine emotion that Yasmin had displayed during her visit.
“You’re sure of this?” Yasmin asked, relaxing again slightly, looking away from Raphaella in thought.
“Absolutely, it wasn’t the name she used on her passport, though, on her flight to Ireland, that was…”
“I know what that was,” Yasmin interrupted her. She turned back and smiled. “Raphaella,�
�� she said, and stepped in close, taking Raphaella’s jaw between her fingers and thumb. “Thank you, you have done well,” she said and kissed her on the lips. A long, slow, but gentle kiss before she pulled away.
“My pleasure, my Baal,” Raphaella answered. Energy surged through the room once more, and with another snap of air filling the void they left behind, the two women were gone, leaving Raphaella alone.
Raphaella raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t sure what that was about, but it sounded like this Amanda meant something to Yasmin. Whoever it was, Raphaella did not envy the girl.
Moving to a nearby mirror, Raphaella checked her make-up, and with a quick working of Magic, removed the smudge of lipstick from the kiss.
There was a sudden knock at the door. Raphaella smiled, this would be her visitor. Walking around, she unlocked the door and swung it wide, making sure to part her robes and show off her lingerie as she did so. The man on the other side of the door looked down at her, taking in her long slender legs and the swell of her breasts with a hungry lick of his lips.
“Oh, my child, you look radiant,” he said.
Raphaella smiled. It seemed her outfit had indeed had the desired effect. “Thank you,” she said. “But I’m even better to touch. Please, won’t you come in, Cardinal?”
***
Lucian walked along the dull concrete corridor of his Sepulchre with Raal by his side. He was still annoyed by Ekua’s outburst in the meeting earlier today, but it was just another in a long line of insubordinate comments and actions by his coven mate. One day, Ekua would need to either act on his clear dislike of him or shut the fuck up.
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