The Black Veins (Dead Magic Book 1)

by Ashia Monet

  That’s news to Blythe. Blythe’s life has been in Katia’s hands more than once and Blythe’s somehow still breathing.

  “I don’t remember that,” Blythe blurts.

  Katia turns her fake smile to her, which is somehow much more threatening than her usual glare. “You were three. And there were seven of you. And one of me.”

  Carol’s mouth opens, closes, and finally come the words: “Miss Darkholme, I…trust that you are a responsible woman, otherwise the Sages would not have chosen you for this job, but…I must ask this of you personally.” Her voice trembles as much as her hands. She takes a breath. “I can’t begin to describe to you what it that night was like for us…the absolute fear we felt… Please…please keep my son safe. I just—”

  “I’m sure Miss Darkholme is more aware of the dangers than we are,” Silas interrupts. “She’s adequately prepared for them.”

  Carol sends Silas a withering look.

  “But in any case,” he hurriedly adds. “You must promise us that no harm will come to him.”

  When Blythe looks back at Katia, she is surprised to find that her expression has lost all of its fake joy. What is left is the solemn seriousness of the woman Blythe glimpsed when she started to cry in the van.

  “Daniel will be safe,” Katia promises. “You have my word.”

  Carol and Silas's heads bob in approval, but Daniel looks more terrified than before.

  Blythe almost pities them. They’re not like her family: the Quintons are reserved, passive. They are not built to survive danger.

  Silas clears his throat again. “Well, son,” he says to Daniel. “It’s time for us to go. Stay safe and be sure to write. Come, Carol.”

  Daniel stares after his parents, but his father walks to the door without a second glance. Carol hugs her son, a few seconds too long.

  “Carol,” Silas calls.

  Carol lets Daniel go, fixing his curls and his argyle sweater. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart, I promise,” she whispers. “We love you.” She smiles at the three of them. “Goodbye, Katia. Goodbye, girls. It’s been nice meeting you.”

  They leave like startled birds, the bells chiming as the door shuts behind them. Daniel lingers beside the table, clutching his small book.

  “Here, have a seat,” Katia scoots toward the window to make space. “We were just about to order some food, you can use my menu.”

  Daniel sits gingerly, placing the book on his lap. “N-No thank you,” he whispers. “I-I-I’m not hungry.”

  Cordelia watches him like he’s the human equivalent of a used tissue. Daniel meets her eye and instantly snaps his gaze down to the table, cheeks heating.

  “Your eyes are quite red,” Cordelia says.

  Actually, it looks as if he’s been crying the whole way here.

  “He probably has allergies,” Blythe lies. “Mind your business.”

  “Allergies, y-y-yes,” Daniel mutters. “I...umm...allergies.”

  When the waitress arrives, Blythe and Katia are the only ones who order. Cordelia pretends the woman isn’t there and Daniel mutters, “Ah…I’ll just…water…” to the table.

  For a few moments, the four of them sit in awkward, heavy silence. That’s until Daniel’s face skews and he sneezes—except a small burst of flames explode from his mouth, shooting red and orange embers that extinguish into smoke.

  Blythe and Cordelia gasp, almost in unison. Daniel’s face turns red.

  “I-I’m sorry!” he blurts. “T-That just started happening, I-I-I don’t know why, I’m sorry, r-really, I-I-I…” He covers his mouth, eyes brimming with tears.

  Katia frowns at him. “Gesundheit.”

  Daniel just sneezed fire. Fire…and he’s a Guardian. “You’re the Guardian of Nature?!” Blythe whispers.

  The Element of thunder and earthquakes, of oceans and mountains and tornadoes. The Guardian who can cause worldwide panic with a snap of his fingers.

  Daniel stares at her, brow pinched, hand still clasped to his mouth. He nods slowly.

  Well, shit.

  Katia leans forward, resting her arms on the table. “So, Daniel, tell us about yourself,” she prods.

  Daniel drinks his water, eyes huge. He is silent.

  “Well, you sound like you have a sparkling personality,” Katia says. “Glad you’re here.”

  Daniel stares at his shaking hands.

  “I hate to interrupt this heated conversation but I have to use the bathroom,” Katia says. “This is the only potty break we’re gonna get for a while, so it’s now or never, kids. Our next stop is California.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Cordelia says.

  “I think all of my internal organs dissolved as soon as I saw that monster in the Tempore,” Blythe says.

  Daniel stares at Katia.

  “Just me then,” she says. “Don’t go anywhere, because I will be a total mom and drag all of you into the bathroom with me if I have to.” She eyes them as she leaves, heels clicking against the tile as she goes.

  With Cordelia being Cordelia and Daniel staring at a nonexistent spot on the table, Blythe doesn’t have many options for conversation.

  “I-I’m fourteen,” Daniel suddenly whispers.

  “Oh, that’s cool!” Blythe says. The last thing she wants is for him to feel like he can’t talk to them. “I’m sixteen, and Cordelia is…uh…”

  Cordelia’s on her phone again. “Minding her business.”

  Blythe smiles at Daniel. “Probably also sixteen.”

  “Fifteen,” Cordelia corrects.

  Their food arrives; Katia’s omelet and Blythe’s bacon and waffles. Daniel’s eyes droop sadly as he watches the plates sail right past him.

  Blythe offers to share. He thanks her so quietly she almost doesn’t hear it and, gingerly, digs into a waffle.

  Cordelia sighs. “Finally,” she mutters, dropping her phone on the table.

  Blocks of small words like her screen, but the words “Classified: Trident Republic” jump out.

  Cordelia snatches her phone up, turning up her lip at Blythe. “I’m sorry, did you just spend three hours hacking through Trident Republic servers using only a single Zadis phone?”

  “You’re a hacker?” Blythe’s jaw almost drops. “Jesus, if you weren’t so terrible we’d probably be able to accomplish a ton of stuff. We’re literally in the same situation—”

  Cordelia barks a laugh. “Oh, we are not in the same situation. I want nothing to do with all of this magic, Sages, Trident Republic nonsense. My family is safe at home as we speak, and the second all this is over, I get to go home. There will be no gallivanting across God’s green earth for my relatives. As soon as I stop the Trident Republic—which I will—I’m taking the first jet home, where I will take a nice, big, long nap.”

  Blythe clenches her teeth. The only thing keeping her from attacking Cordelia is the weight of Daniel’s terrified gaze.

  “Don’t get haughty,” she snaps. “There is nothing you know that I can’t get out of Katia.”

  Cordelia’s lashes don’t even flutter. “You’re an idiot if you think she’s actually going to tell us everything.”

  Eight

  They eat without speaking, barely acknowledging the presence of anyone else at the table.

  Cordelia’s nails tap against her phone and Katia’s knife clinks against the plate as she cuts into her omelet. Blythe hopes to find some company with Daniel, but he stares at an invisible spot on the table, pressing his lips into a fine, worried line.

  Friendship sure is great.

  When their plates are clear, Katia pays the bill and only tells them where they’re going when they’re already walking in the opposite direction of the Tempore.

  “It’s called Gilded,” she says, and does not elaborate.

  Gilded, it turns out, is a small shop bearing the full name “The Gilded Wardrobe”. Thrifted Goods, reads the subtitle on the sign sticking in the withered lawn.

  It is a weathered, single floor building with no wi
ndows. It is also completely unimpressive.

  “I hate to sound like Cordelia, but…we’re going thrift shopping? Now?” Blythe asks.

  Cordelia doesn’t even grace her with a glare, and Katia shoves the door open without bothering to hold it open behind her.

  Blythe snatches hold of it. How chivalrous.

  “Hey!” Shouts someone inside. “Don’t leave the door open, you’ll let in a draft!”

  “It’s at least seventy degrees,” Cordelia grumbles.

  “A draft of hot air,” the voice amends.

  The items in the Gilded Wardrobe are crowded together and slightly askew, making the space feel more like someone’s neatly organized attic than an actual store.

  Rows of clothes form messy racks in the center of the room, while bookcases line the walls, displaying cups, vases, silverware and other knick-knacks.

  At the front of the room is a glass display case, where pieces of fine jewelry glitter inside.

  The cash register rests atop it, and behind that register, on a stool, is a young man. Judging from his head of shaggy dark hair, the comically large glasses on his nose, and his very tired expression, he’s probably a college student.

  He’s watching Katia as she looks through the bookshelves. “I remember you,” he says. “How’s that cape holding up?”

  “It’s been great but, for the record,” She sends him a look over her shoulder. “It’s a cloak. I don’t wear capes.”

  “Okay, Dracula,” says the boy.

  Blythe is walking before she realizes it, following a line of items, each more interesting than the last. A miniature glass airplane hangs from the ceiling and refracts light onto a silver globe, spinning atop a table covered in abstract art. Blythe has to say, she doesn’t hate this place.

  A row of Matryoshka dolls sit on the edge of the table, smiling cheekily. They are round and porcelain, each more dainty than the last, but they emit…an energy. A magical energy.

  Blythe steps back. She looks around the shop again. It’s like a blindfold has been stripped from her senses.

  Her skin prickles with chills. The Gilded Wardrobe appears the same, but every item, every nook and cranny, even the very walls, everything hums with magic.

  “…what is all this?” Blythe asks.

  The boy’s tired eyes lock on her. “This is called a store. You can buy things here, with money. Money can be exchanged for goods and services.”

  Great, another smartass. “Hilarious,” Blythe quips. “I meant is it all…” She lets her voice trail off to imply the word. The m word.

  A small smile curls on the boy’s face. “Nobody’s gonna arrest you for saying ‘magical’ in here, it’s safe. And yes, we sell people’s donated magical items. Speaking of—” the boy looks past her. “—is that a grimoire?”

  Blythe glances over her shoulder—and is shocked to see that the boy is speaking to Daniel.

  Daniel jumps. He presses the small book to his chest. “Y-Yes. I-It’s mine.”

  “Fascinating,” says the Register Boy. “Where’d you find it? Those things are usually ancient.”

  But Daniel’s face twists and his shoulders set tight. Blythe’s never seen him upset before—she didn’t know he could get upset.

  “I made it,” he snaps.

  “What?” Blythe blurts.

  A stillness falls over the room. Even at the back, Katia looks at Daniel with new eyes.

  The Register Boy raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “Why’d you make a grimoire?”

  Daniel’s gaze drops to his feet. He does not speak.

  “And what, pray tell, is a grimoire?” Cordelia asks. She’s still by the doorway, as if her ears are deaf to the Gilded Wardrobe’s siren song.

  “It’s a book of Learned Magic rituals and information. A spell book,” Katia speaks while her gaze burns through Daniel.

  The people who make grimoires are experts with a deep, unparalleled understanding of magic. They are scholars and thaumologists who have studied their craft for years. And yet Daniel is here with one of his own making.

  “What’s it for?” Blythe asks.

  Color blooms from the tip of Daniel’s hairline to the bottom of his neck. Still, he does not speak.

  “Well, this magic shop is unaffiliated to any government and any magician rules, so we don’t judge here,” The boy leans over the counter, extending his palm. “Mind if I take a look?”

  Daniel clutches his little leather book so hard, his knuckles turn white. His eyes have gone wide, but his jaw is set firm. Translation: absolutely not.

  The boy sighs, plopping back onto his stool. “Oh-kay then, nevermind.”

  And just like that, the conversation is over.

  Blythe isn’t sure what to feel. Learned Magic isn’t inherently evil, it’s just another form of magic. In fact, the cloaker used to conceal the Full Cup Café was Learned Magic.

  But if Daniel isn’t doing anything wrong, why is he being so secretive? He could just be nervous. Or maybe there’s something more at hand.

  Either way, he isn’t going to speak about it now, so Blythe moves on. She drifts over to the clothes, looking through enchanted prom dresses from the eighties and business blazers with unknown origins.

  Katia heads to the register carrying a pile of throwing knives, setting them before the Register Boy.

  He studies them for a moment, then taps the edge of his glasses. The coppery metal flicks out rows upon rows of lens, descending in scale, like a Victorian watchmaker’s glasses.

  “More throwing knives?” he plucks one up. “These are still in mint condition. Do I have to give you the whole spiel or—”

  “No, I know,” Katia interrupts.

  Blythe’s not sure how Katia’s been here before. If she was in Broughton earlier, why not pick up Daniel?

  It makes Blythe grind her teeth. Too many things about Katia Darkholme are confusing. Too many things don’t add up.

  She parts through a line of hanging blouses and spots a hockey stick lying on the carpet. It’s blue—Blythe’s favorite color—with white stripes shooting up its side.

  Blythe’s never played hockey in her life, but for some reason she likes the energy rising from this thing. She kneels to wraps a hand around its handle; the material chills her skin, like it hasn’t been touched in years.

  She likes it.

  “Um, excuse me?” she calls. Katia and Register Boy stare at her as she holds the hockey stick up. “What’s this?”

  The lines of lenses make Register Boy’s eyes bug-like and huge as he squints.

  “Oh,” he says. “It’s an enchanted hockey stick. It’s been there for a while though, I don’t really remember what it does.”

  He ducks behind the glass case and pops back up with a Zadis tablet. After scrolling a bit, he says, “It’s an average hockey stick, but, when swung backward, the stick charges and builds up energy. When struck against an object or—oh my god, this is really ominous—living creature, it exerts that energy into a blast of force. The impact of their force depends on the magical ability and intent of the wielder.” He pauses. “And when the tip is held out it fires beams of light like laser beams.”

  Blythe knows a joke when she hears one. “Funny.”

  “No, I’m serious,” the boy insists. “That’s what the description says. Sounds like a powerful item. It’s enchanted using Learned Magic, obviously, and the Element of Ether.”

  Ah. Maybe that’s why Blythe likes it. Ether is, after all, her Element.

  Katia smirks at Blythe as if she’s realized this too. “Unsurprising,” she says. “Too bad I never said you could buy anything.”

  “Aw, what?” Blythe whines. “You’re getting something.”

  Katia cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah but it’s not a weapon.”

  “They’re throwing knives!”

  Katia is clearly messing with her. “And they cut a mean steak. You don’t know what I’m using them for.”

  “I watched you kill a monster with them! Your
jokes suck!”

  A loud groan echoes through the shop. “Can you just let her get the hockey stick so we can leave?” Cordelia huffs.

  Katia gives Blythe a once over. Blythe tightens her grip on the hockey stick. If Register Boy was telling the truth, she could use this thing to defend herself. She wouldn’t have to worry about being powerless ever again.

  And if Katia doesn’t buy it, Blythe’ll just have to find her way back here once she finally manages to—

  “Fine, I’ll buy it,” Katia relents.

  “You may need something to hold that in,” Register Boy says, and disappears behind the display case.

  He returns with some sort of leather sling that reminds Blythe of a fantasy scabbard; except instead of a rounded end, there are two openings.

  Huh. “That’s…weirdly convenient,” Blythe says. “…thanks.”

  “Anybody else wanna get some weird shit?” Katia asks. “It’s Christmas and I’m Reluctant Santa Claus.”

  Daniel holds up a bouquet of withered, odd looking flowers. Katia’s nose wrinkles. “Eew. You really want that?”

  Daniel bobs his head.

  “Why?” Katia spits.

  “I need it,” Daniel whispers.

  Katia recoils. “Holy shit, I thought you were mute. Alright, fine, go ahead.” She turns to the only other Guardian. “What about you?”

  Cordelia’s arms are folded, hip poked out. “I’d rather die.”

  “I wish you were mute,” Katia mutters.

  Katia pays for their items and they leave the shop with her throwing knives hidden in her cloak, Blythe’s hockey stick slung across her back, and Daniel’s flowers in a plastic thank-you-for-shopping bag.

  Blythe waves goodbye to Register Boy as they go.

  “Come again,” he says. “Or don’t. It’s fine either way, honestly.”

  Despite time ticking into the afternoon, Broughton is no more alive than it was that morning. The only difference is that Blythe no longer fears what could be following them, or following her.

  The hockey stick is awkward to carry, but the warm, magical energy emanating from it is comforting. Blythe dares someone to come fuck with her.