The Black Veins (Dead Magic Book 1)

by Ashia Monet

  “Please,” she says. “Please tell me you aren’t the Erasers.”

  The Man has not blinked once. “We have many names,” he begins. “That is one of them.”

  Blythe’s body curls in on itself. A single word drifts from her lips in a pained, weak whisper. “Fuck.”

  Tears burn in her eyes. So, here she is. At the end of her adventure. About to be erased. It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it? They’ve been trying to erase her since she was young.

  Isn’t it ironic? She would say to her parents if she could speak to them again. After everything I went through, after all the things I accomplished and the places I’ve been, I got ghosted by the most familiar threat of them all.

  “The other Guardians are not dead and will not die, Blythe Fulton,” says The Man. “And neither will you.”

  Blythe studies him. She can’t decipher anything on his blank face.

  “You do not understand why you are here, do you, Blythe Fulton?”

  “Y-You took the shard,” she stutters. “That’s what you wanted.”

  “Untrue,” The Man cocks the gun. Every muscle in Blythe’s body goes rigid.

  She is a teenage girl, a magician without magic, without a family or anyone to realize she’s gone, strapped to a chair in a place she does not recognize.

  Blythe chokes down the horrified sounds that claw at her throat. She could very well die here.

  “Let’s recount the events that brought you here,” says The Man. “Multiple inappropriate entrances and exits of the Black Veins’ Tempore. Summoning a ghost in Lavender Heights, Quebec. A motorcycle race through the streets of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, ending it yet another inappropriate entrance of the Black Veins’ Tempore. A car accident in a mall parking lot, followed by a hurricane on private residential property in San Diego, California. A short, morning tousle with us on the streets of Broughton, Montana. A magic-based hurricane attacking your family’s magic-based coffee café in Washington. And finally, an altercation with a magician gang in Washington that led to you carrying a stolen magical item across multiple state lines and into one foreign country.

  “And now, we are here,” The Man finishes. “Because you have done more in the past seventy-two hours than most of the general magician population does in five years. Of course, you have little idea, because we have handled all of these events in an efficient, timely manner, as we do with all of our cases, cleaning up all evidence and witnesses, so the world does not see any hint of magician existence. But allowing this to continue would be inefficient. Once we undo one of your fiascos, you head two more.”

  His cold eyes stare her down. Like a machine. “There are some constant offenders we can excuse,” The gun clicks. “You are not one of them.”

  Blythe screams. The sound is raw and sharp and terrible. “You said I wouldn’t die! You said I wouldn’t die! Half of those things aren’t our fault—you saw what happened! We were just trying to survive! I was just trying to find my family!”

  “It is not our job to care about the how or the why,” says The Man. “It is our job is to keep the Underground separate from the Overground. And we do whatever we must to complete this job to the best of our ability. You decided to embark on this adventure instead of heeding our warnings. Therefore, you will pay the price. There is nothing you need to tell me, Blythe Fulton. In less than ten minutes, you will not exist.”

  Blythe’s heart stops. Her tears burn down her cheeks, almost as much as her voice burns in her throat. “Y-You said I wouldn’t die.”

  “And I told the truth. You will not be killed. Being erased—being unmade—is a different creature than death. When you are unmade, no one remembers you. Your body, your soul, your essence, and your thoughts will disintegrate into nothing. Everything you have ever owned or created will disappear. The world will believe there have always been six Guardians, not seven. Your parents will only remember having two daughters. The only sister Lily and Lena Fulton will know are one another. Death is the end of an existence. To be erased is to have never existed at all.”

  Blythe trembles against her restraints. “No,” the word slips out as her mind enters a blind panic.

  “Repeat offenders must be handled in this manner. It is the only way.”

  “No! NO!”

  Did he do this to the other Guardians? He can’t have. He can’t. She remembers all of them. Cordelia and Daniel and Antonio and Storm and Caspian and Jay. Cordelia and Daniel and Antonio and Storm and Caspian and Jay.

  “You can’t do this! You can’t erase me! I haven’t, I won’t—"

  The Man rises and aims the barrel of the gun between her eyes. Blythe’s words clog in her throat. If he pulls the trigger…if he pulls the trigger…

  “We have followed you since you were initiated as a Guardian. And it was out of necessity,” The Man says. “There may be seven Guardians, but only one of you is the Guardian of Ether. Only one of you has the power to potentially rewrite the fabric of the world itself—and that is you. We try not to take direct action, but in the instance of your life, it was necessary for the safety of the people around you. We are grateful that your parents did not attempt to interfere and report us to the Sages. I assume it was out of fear of losing you.”

  Blythe shuts her eyes, but it does not help. The Erasers didn’t follow the Fultons because of something her parents had done, or because of the café, or because they were just terrible people.

  It was because of her. Because she was the Guardians of Ether. And they were waiting for her to screw up. To cause mass destruction, as the Sage of Ether before her had.

  If her parents would’ve told the Sages about the Erasers, the Sages would have whisked Blythe away to Frost Glade before she could even start school.

  Her parents didn’t move from state to state to protect themselves. They moved to protect her. And she couldn’t even protect them.

  “Do you know what you could do, Blythe Fulton?” The Man continues. “You could transform this gun into sand. You could transport this entire room to a river in Italy. With nothing more than a blink of your eye, you could unmake me. So, make your move, Guardian of Ether. If you do not wish to be unmade, if you do not wish to be erased, then free yourself.”

  Blythe’s whole body has gone cold and numb. She cannot die here. She wants to see her family again, to hug her mother, to listen to her father’s voice, to apologize to the twins for everything. But she won’t. Because she does not know how to use her magic. She has never known how.

  She does the only thing she is good for, the same thing she did back at the café.

  She ducks her head, pulling her body into a ball, and she cries. She cries so hard her ribs ache. Because after all of this, after how far she’s come, after everything she has accomplished, after learning what the Guardian of Ether can do, should do…she is still incapable of anything more than crying.

  She is powerless.

  The Man steps back. “I assumed as much,” he says. “But it was only an assumption and therefore required testing. A change of plan, then.”

  Through the haze of her hiccups and tears, The Man places the gun in the holster at his hip, walks to the front of the room, and taps on the glass.

  A piece of the wall slides backward like a sliding door, revealing a stark white hallway. A second suited man walks in, expression equally unreadable.

  He removes Blythe’s restraints as The Man watches. Blythe stumbles free, massaging the red marks circling her wrists.

  “I will reunite you with the other Guardians,” says The Man.

  The words bring her, just barely, the smallest bit of relief. Because The Man mentioned a change of plans, but that could mean anything at all.

  He leads Blythe down the hallway as if the entire situation is normal. The sound of their footsteps echo off of the walls until they reach a wide, open space resembling an open warehouse—or some sort of futuristic lab, with long white tables and holographic diagrams floating in front of suited men typing on
tablets.

  Identical blank faces rush this way and that, unblinking. Everyone is hard at work, but Blythe cannot discern what it is they are doing. Maybe because her tears keep obscuring her vision.

  They pass a white stand beneath a pillar of light. Blythe’s breath hitches. Hovering above it is the bronze shard, glinting like a museum item on display. The Man does not even glance at it as they pass.

  They come to a grey door. The Man swings it open—and there the Guardians are. They are crowded together, Daniel on the ground beside Antonio, Cordelia hovering over them, Storm slouched against the wall, Jay pacing. They are spotless and untouched and alive.

  Daniel jumps up. “Blythe!”

  Blythe rushes in and they meet her halfway. She runs into Antonio’s arms, hiding her face against his shoulder. Her tears sink into his t-shirt. Someone touches her arm gently.

  “It’s okay,” Antonio whispers, holding her tight. “It’s okay.”

  What’s happened? Cordelia’s voice echoes in her head. God, where would Blythe even begin?

  “Yo bitch,” Storm shouts to The Man in the doorway. “You better get to fucking talking.”

  “What the fuck did you do?” Jay growls.

  The Man is not intimidated. Nor does he answer. “Follow me toward the exit,” he says.

  “We aren’t moving until you answer us,” Cordelia’s voice rings clear and defiant.

  “You are welcome to stay,” says The Man. “But you will not be offered a second opportunity to leave.”

  Blythe pulls away from Antonio, sniffling. She has to stop this. “I’m okay,” she insists. “I just…let’s just go.”

  The Man ushers them back into the bustling lab. Except this time, floating in the center of the room, is Caspian.

  He is not looking at them. Blythe boils with anger at the very sight of his stupid face. The Man goes up to him, even as Caspian’s ghostly form drifts, just slightly away.

  “We had a deal,” says The Man. “And for substantially fulfilling your end of our agreement, I shall fulfill ours.”

  “Don’t,” Caspian whispers to the floor. “Leave me alone.”

  “I cannot break the agreement. Opportunities in exchange for information,” He points to the golden chain wound twice round Caspian’s wrist. “That is from your family.”

  Caspian’s eyes flare. “That’s it?” he asks.

  The Man stares at him.

  Caspian raises his wrist. “This was my mom’s. I know that. You broke into my graveyard, set me up with an ultimatum, and told me something I already knew?!”

  “You will interpret the information as you wish,” The Man says blankly. “What I have told you is an immense truth.”

  The Man walks on without him. The Guardians have no choice but to follow him. Even Caspian must, though he keeps his distance, either out of necessity or fear, Blythe is not sure.

  The Man brings them to a raised platform that looks like something out of a sci-fi movie. He gestures for them to stand atop it and they do, standing crowded together as if being closer will keep them safe.

  Caspian lingers behind. The Man stares at him until, slowly and carefully, Caspian enters as well.

  “Wait here,” The Man instructs, and leaves them.

  Blythe whirls to Caspian. “What. Happened,” she growls.

  Caspian begins to fade. “No, don’t you dare disappear, what the fuck happened?!” Blythe screams.

  “He’s letting us go,” Caspian’s voice wavers. “So, it’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine! Fuck you, it’ll never be fine!”

  Caspian’s face fights between neutral uncaring and visible hurt. He won’t look her in the eye. “I told you I didn’t want to come.”

  As if that explains everything. As if it is her fault.

  “Blythe,” Jay says, smooth and beautiful, as he lays a hand on her shoulder.

  She shoves it off. Her gaze spears through Caspian. “You told him you’d bring us to him?! For what?”

  “They came to the graveyard and told me that you would be on your way and to bring him the shard,” Caspian explains. “They promised to tell me what I needed to know.”

  “About what?! Your family?” Blythe screams. “You don’t screw people over just for your own family!”

  Her voice lingers in the silence. And Blythe hears her own words.

  Caspian is a boy they found alone in a graveyard. His family, assuming from the tomb he did not let them see, is dead. The Guardians have never seen Caspian alive. He may very well be dead as well.

  He has lost everything. All he has are memories. Maybe this is why she can’t truly hate Caspian. Because when she looks into his eyes, she sees a bit of herself staring back.

  This time, when Jay turns her around, she lets him, even though his words travel past her. “…says he’s gonna let us go. We’ll be alright. Just sit tight with us, okay?”

  Blythe doesn’t look at him. At the end of the warehouse, the shard hovers glimmering. Through the wall above it comes two hovering Krubim.

  A young woman with a scarred face follows them. She is the one from the Tempore, still wearing her billowing sleeves—and her bronze trident pin.

  She looks back and forth, as if she isn’t supposed to be here. Her eyes catch on Blythe. Her lips curl into a smile as she presses a finger against them.

  Swift as a breeze, she slips a bag over the shard, carries it through the wall with the Krubim on either side, and is gone.

  Fuck.

  Without the shard, the Angelus will have no reason to track them down, which means Storm has no reason to stay. And what if Cordelia isn’t powerful enough to protect them from being mind controlled anymore?

  It’s too much. It’s all too much.

  “Blythe?” Antonio asks.

  “Nothing,” Blythe insists. “Just…nothing.”

  The platform vibrates with magical energy. The Man returns, holding Blythe’s hockey stick in his upturned palms.

  “This encounter will be erased to ensure confidentially,” The Man says. “The seven of you and our organization will be the only ones aware of what transpired. Through no means—magical or scientific—can your memories of this event be accessed or transmitted, because they will not exist to someone who is not us. If you try to speak of them to someone not currently present, you will not be believed.”

  “…what the fuck…?” Jay whispers.

  The Man continues over him. “Your previous actions cannot be overlooked, but you have recently brought into your mix a magician with a potential reach of over six million people worldwide, which means another careless magical escapade could be catastrophic.”

  Six million? Antonio frowns at their newest addition. “Is that you?” He asks, but Jay doesn’t get a chance to answer.

  “Because of this,” The Man resumes. “When you leave this place, you will enter a neutral area, and all of you, excluding Caspian Compton, will be stripped of your magic upon exiting. Unless you are in a sanctioned magician-safe area, you will be unable to use magic, Outer or Inner. This brings an end to your case and, hopefully, means we have no reason to see each other ever again.”

  Blythe’s stomach sinks. The shock echoes throughout all of the Guardians.

  “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Storm scoffs.

  “How is that fair?” Daniel asks.

  “What?” Blythe yells. “What?!”

  How are they supposed to get inside Electric City without magic? How are they supposed to breathe without magic?

  The Man regards Blythe. “Consider yourself lucky, Blythe Fulton. If you had full control over your magic—if you had attempted anything in that room—we would have proceeded to erase you. However, you seem to even lack any knowledge of your capabilities, and therefore, are not enough of a threat to be erased.”

  The Man takes both ends of the hockey stick in his hands. With a quick jerk of his arms, the hockey stick snaps. Breaks as if it were a toothpick.

  The wood shatters. A bl
ast of magical energy escapes it.

  “You do not need to be erased,” says The Man. “For you are already nothing.”

  He drops the pieces to the floor and they clatter like the useless pieces of trash they now are.

  “Go home, Blythe Fulton,” says The Man.

  The pile of splintered wood on the platform at her feet whispers of weak, broken magic. Without it, she has no way to fight back. Without the shard, she has no way to protect herself. Without either of these things, she has no way of finding her family.

  Tears well in her eyes. “My home is wherever my family is,” Blythe says. “I have no childhood home where I belong, no house where I grew up.”

  And inside of her, there comes a humming. A buzzing. An energy.

  She glares up at The Man. White light bursts from her mouth as she speaks. “You made sure of that.”

  Her skin starts to glow as if the moon itself shines within her. Every inch of her is fluorescent, and just beneath her skin lies a galaxy of stars. Constellations drift up and down her arms. Ribbons of outer space have unraveled inside of her.

  “You destroyed my family’s lives,” she hisses. “They raised me in fear, constantly running, waiting for the day they’d be able to raise me and my sisters in peace.”

  Her light intensifies. The whole room bleaches white, draining the world of its color.

  It is all nothing to Blythe. It is all unseen. “Now they’ve been kidnapped,” she says. “And you want me to ‘go home’.”

  Wind whistles like a tornado has gathered. It rips at the walls, sucking its pieces into a frantic vortex around Blythe.

  “You are the evil, soulless people who stop magicians from using their abilities to help the world. You are not heroes. You are empty husks.”

  A tear slips from Blythe’s eye, but she clenches her jaw. “And you are the only person here who is nothing.”

  An explosion of pure energy bursts from her body.

  As soon as it does, the platform beneath their feet opens into a gaping, open hole.

  The Guardians drop. Blythe’s body shifts and tumbles into a black void. Existence is quiet and dark.

  And then the world reappears. It is not the place they left.