The Black Veins (Dead Magic Book 1)

by Ashia Monet

  They are on a road with the night sky hanging above them. Blythe’s skin has returned to a normal, un-glowing caramel brown.

  It feels like someone has carved out her soul, leaving an empty, throbbing husk. Her mind is heavy. Too heavy for consciousness.

  The world shifts sideways as she drops.

  Twenty-One

  Storm’s voice comes from someplace far away. “It wasn’t your business, we just agreed to take you to the airport. And we didn’t even have to do that.”

  “She didn’t mean for that to sound so rude,” Antonio’s voice is closer. Clearer.

  “Yes, she did,” Storm snaps.

  Antonio sighs in frustration. “Jay, listen. We’re sorry. Really. We were just trying to help you…wait, shh, shh. Hey, Blythe.”

  A white streetlight illuminates the Guardians and the raindrops bouncing off of their shoulders. Antonio sits on the ground beside Blythe, letting her lean into him, her head on his shoulder.

  “How do you feel?” Antonio asks.

  Blythe’s not sure. Drained, mostly. “I’ve been worse,” she says.

  “I haven’t,” Storm snorts. She leans against a streetlamp across the road. “I thought they were fucking around when they said they took our magic.”

  Antonio pouts. “Yeah. My wings are gone. But it’s just for now! The second we’re on magician territory—”

  “It’s bullshit is what it is,” Storm interrupts.

  Everyone turns away, making eye contact with anything and everything other than each other. But the absence of magic is palpable.

  Now that it is gone, Blythe realizes that there was actually a constant energetic buzzing around her, inside of her, that has died.

  It feels as if she’s been cut off from the world.

  Cordelia stares at Blythe. “At least you got to use your magic for the first time before you lost it,” she says. “We didn’t know you could do that.”

  “I didn’t know I could do that,” Blythe mutters. Her magic has never responded to her. Ever. But something must’ve happened back there, something that just made her snap.

  Antonio shrugs. “I thought it was cool. Except for the part where you passed out.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jay’s voice pierces the conversation like a blade, sharp and sardonic. His dreadlocks have fallen long and loose, just as black as the sky behind him. “Still doesn’t explain why the fuck no one told me anything.”

  “We thought—”

  “I don’t care about what the fuck you thought,” Jay interrupts Cordelia. Antonio tries to speak, but Jay won’t allow it. “You’re all bullshitting me right now. You mean to tell me you just happened to find me beside a road, noticed I could heal, and then you were going to…what? Just let me go home? When you had like, forty crazy ass…magicians after you? That doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes any goddamn sense.”

  Apparently, Jay knows about magic now. Blythe’s glad she was unconscious for that conversation. Doesn’t seem like it went well.

  “I was the one who wanted to take you with us,” Antonio says. “It was my idea. I saw that you were hurt, and when you started to heal I thought…I thought that made you one of us. And that you should come with us.”

  “And what would you get out of helping me?” Jay snaps.

  Antonio recoils like Jay has just asked him to murder someone. “I didn’t do it to get anything out of it. I just didn’t want to leave you there. So, if anyone deserves to be yelled at for all this, it’s me. It’s my fault you’re here. And I’m sorry.”

  Jay seems like might just yell at him. But he only scoffs, shaking his head.

  Blythe may as well make it worse. “The Trident Republic took the shard,” she says. “I saw one of their members sneak into the Erasers’ base and leave with it.”

  Storm, the one who this affects the most, only folds her arms tighter, staring off at some unseen point.

  “I can protect us,” Cordelia promises. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  Blythe’s not sure if she believes that. But she’s not really sure what she believes anymore. Between Jay’s self-obsessed anger, the Erasers and their self-righteous justice, and the Guardians’ eyes all looking to her for leadership, who is Blythe supposed to look to?

  The pieces of her hockey stick are beneath the streetlight, both ends fragmented and ragged. But the Continental is nowhere to be seen. And they are on a street with grass and towering palm trees. This does not look like Nevada.

  “Where…” Blythe’s voice trails off. “Where are we?”

  The Guardians don’t answer right away. That scares Blythe the most. “We figured out not long after you fainted,” Cordelia finally says. “We’re in Miami.”

  “Florida?” Blythe’s voice is a broken, shrill whisper. “Do we…have our things?”

  “Most of our stuff was in the trunk,” Daniel answers. “And we have a few backpacks but…”

  Blythe’s heart thumps in her chest. “Do we have money? Cordelia, you could—”

  “Remember when I said I…emptied my bank account for the hotel?” she asks. “In hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest idea.”

  Miami is so far from Nevada. It is on the complete opposite side of the country. “Though, we could still use the Tempore,” Cordelia says, then glances to Jay. “It’s a time bending forest. Takes no time to travel through and can get you across the world in seconds. We could possibly also use it to get you home.”

  “The Trident Republic has either made that place into a death trap, or there’s Black Veins soldiers everywhere,” Storm says. “It’s not an option anymore.”

  “W-Would we even be able to use it without magic?” Daniel asks. “I think we’ll just have to…travel like normal people.”

  Whatever hope Jay held in his face is gone. “So,” he begins. “You’re miles from where you needed to be, you’re all stranded, and I’m stranded with you.”

  Blythe studies them. They are tired. Everyone is soaking wet from the rain, hair stuck to their skin, clothes drenched dark. They have been traveling across state and country lines for almost a week nonstop, until heavy bags became permanent under their eyes.

  They are tired. They have battled monsters and escaped the Erasers and now they have even lost their magic. They have no money and are comically far from where they need to be, with no feasible way of getting there.

  And they are tired.

  Blythe’s eyes burn as she stares at her hockey stick. She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what to do.

  “I just wanted to find them,” she whispers. “I didn’t want to ruin anything. I wasn’t trying to be difficult. I just…I just wanted my mom and my dad and my sisters back.”

  She bites her lip to hold back the tears. “I was terrible to you, I lied, I kept things from you, I was a bitch. Now you’re stuck in the rain, stranded in fucking Florida, for something that has nothing to do with you. Because of me. And there’s nothing I can do to fix any of it! Because I’ve barely known what I was doing from the start! Everything that went wrong, everything you all went through, it’s all my fault. And I can’t even make it better. You probably hate me, and you deserve to hate me, but please just know that I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry…”

  Tears spill from her eyes, hot on her cheeks. They are indistinguishable from the rain that soaks through her clothes, but her body shakes as her mind replays the guilt, over and over again.

  This is not the Erasers’ fault. It’s not even Caspian’s fault. It is hers. Only hers.

  Rollerblades scuff against the ground, coming toward her. When Storm speaks, her voice is gentle with supportive strength. “Pick your head up, sis.”

  Blythe looks up.

  “I’m gonna be honest, you have pulled some shit,” Storm says. “Like when you forgot to tell Antonio y’all weren’t going to Frost Glade. Or when you agreed to let a damn ghost come with us and he screwed us over like I knew he would. And I swear to God, you are the nosiest
bitch alive. But we put up with it. Because you’ve done a lot of good too, and you have a cause worth fighting for. We want your family back too, Blythe. We travelled with you through getting arrested, getting thrown to hell and back inside a rusty old 1950’s car, facing the goddamn magician boogeymen…and last time I checked, ain’t none of us said we was leaving.”

  Daniel, Cordelia and Antonio stare down at her, raindrops shining in their lashes. But they are not looking at her with anger, or malice, or hate. There is nothing like that in any of their eyes. Cordelia looks at her with sympathy, Daniel with concern, and Antonio with hope.

  They just want her to be okay.

  “You admitted it yourself, you got us into some shit,” Storm says. “So now it’s our turn to get us all out. You’re not alone, Blythe. You got a whole group of people who agreed to be here. I said I wouldn’t leave until one of us got what we wanted. Even if it takes another three, four weeks, even if we have to live off of cheap fast foot and hitchhike for hours, we are getting into Electric City. And you best believe we walkin’ out with your family.”

  Antonio squeezes Blythe tight as she wipes the rain and tears from her face.

  “You just have to trust us,” Storm says.

  Cordelia, whose life she indirectly saved back in Philadelphia. Daniel, who she has always supported and who has supported her in turn. Antonio, with his huge, overflowing heart, who probably loves Blythe as much as her own blood relatives. And Storm, this mysterious vigilante, who could have left as soon as Blythe told her they no longer had the shard, but is kneeling in front of her as if she could will strength and power straight into Blythe’s bones.

  Somehow, through some weird twist of fate, these people have not deserted her. She has shown them the worst sides of herself, and yet here they stand, refusing to abandon her.

  Blythe’s words come out through choked sobs. “I trust you,” she whispers. “I trust you.”

  Storm nods. Daniel gives his awkward half-smile. They’re here for her. They’re here. Blythe’s going to get her family back.

  And they’re going to keep going. They’re always going to keep going.

  “We just need a car,” Cordelia says. “And money, preferably.”

  A loud sigh directs everyone’s attention to Jay.

  He stands like a god in the rain, strands of baby hair curling along his face. “If you tell me what the fuck is going on, I’ll help you. We could catch an Uber to my house from here, it’s not too far.”

  Blythe sits up a bit straighter. “I thought you lived in L.A.”

  “I said I lived in a couple places,” Jay corrects. “The L.A house was just closer at the time. I can get you guys a rental and tickets back to Vegas, but you’ll be on your own after that.”

  “As soon as we’re set up with WiFi, I can get to work on our infiltration of Electric City,” Cordelia says. “I can have a full layout of the city by tomorrow morning.”

  But Storm is still looking at Jay. “Nigga, are you rich?” she asks.

  Jay, pointedly, does not answer.

  Their Uber saves them from the rain, a huge Ford truck that rolls to a stop in the road behind them. Antonio helps Blythe up, but as they walk, something pricks in Blythe’s chest. A tug that tightens and settles. She stops in the doorway.

  “Caspian,” she calls into the night.

  She can see him down the street, a formless cloud of dark mist. Blythe wants to leave him there, to return back to his sad graveyard in Lavender Heights, a town with dying tourism and dying plants. But what Caspian did was not done out of spite, but out of stumbling yearn to survive. And, technically, Blythe has done no better.

  “You should…” Blythe’s voice trails off. “You should come with us.”

  He does not answer. He disappears, taking the tug in her ribs with him. Which means he has genuinely, completely, gone.

  “Caspian’s still here?” Antonio asks.

  Blythe feels a chill in the air, but it is simply the rain. “Not anymore,” she says.

  The Ford is dark, but at least it is warm and dry. Blythe settles in the third row of seats between Cordelia and Daniel. All of them are dripping onto the leather seats.

  “Was there really a person there or is this just a Blythe thing?” Jay asks.

  “No, Caspian’s real,” Storm says. “He must’ve died when emo bands were still a thing.” Her braids shake as she turns to Blythe. “I can’t believe he did us like that. I liked him.”

  “I think it was more complicated than that,” Blythe mutters.

  Between the rhythm of the windshield wipers and the rain tapping against the glass, their ride is almost soothing. The farther they drive, the more the weather lightens, until the only remnants of a storm are the puddles of water on the sidewalks.

  They find themselves pulling into an affluent area where new houses stand like modern castles. Palm trees sway outside of their picaresque porches. These are the homes of young millionaires and beautiful heiresses.

  “Right here’s fine,” Jay says to the driver. “Thanks.”

  They hop out in front of a white house with pillars towering above its front door and a massive, sprawling driveway.

  “Whoa, dude!” Antonio exclaims. “This looks like a house from a movie! Your room must be huge—wait, where are you going?”

  Jay is walking in the complete opposite direction of the door. “I don’t live there,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m just not allowed to get dropped off in front of my house. C’mon.”

  The Guardians exchange quizzical looks, but follow him nonetheless. He travels down quite a few quiet streets, bathed in golden lights, until they reach a steep hill.

  And, cresting over said hill, is a mansion.

  It is white, modern and boxy, with windows that span almost every inch of its exterior. A glass bridge links the furthest right wing to furthest east, and beneath it spans an azure pool the size of a basketball court. The shadow its form casts along the grass is the shadow of a titan.

  “Wait a minute…” Blythe begins. She’s seen this place on YouTube videos, like the one she watched with Jamie on her parents’ anniversary. “This is Hoffman Manor.”

  She looks Jay in his face. And as he stands silhouetted by this monolith of a home, she finally, truly, sees him.

  He is a perfect blend of his parents: his father’s commanding height and toned muscles, his mother’s deep copper skin and dark hair that is so thick and beautiful, it sings of secrets it will never tell. His eyes are like the grey of his mother’s, but better, multiplied by a thousand, until their beauty is almost unfathomable.

  “You’re JOSHUA HOFFMAN?!” Blythe screams, gaining a gasp from everyone—except Daniel.

  Jay’s lips are set in a line. “Yeah.”

  “W-Who is Joshua Hoffman?” Daniel stammers.

  Cordelia spins around to him. “Did you just ask who Joshua Hoffman was?”

  “I-I think so,” Daniel agrees.

  Jay is already starting toward his house; the Guardians scuttle after him like a bunch of ducklings. Who would have thought their biggest distraction would turn into their greatest ally?

  “Do you really not know who the Hoffmans are?” Cordelia asks. Daniel shakes his head.

  Cordelia scoffs. “You fool,” she says, and Daniel makes a face. “Charles Hoffman is the creator and CEO of Zadis Industries. He is the most innovative mind of the century. He develops technology fifty years more advanced than anyone alive—he invented my phone. And Elizabeth Hoffman has won three Oscars, two for Best Actress. She is the most gorgeous woman alive and does active worldwide charity work. And they got together and made him.” Cordelia swoons. “A god among men.”

  “Oh! I know Charles Hoffman,” Daniel says. “My parents used to speak of his work with thaumol—”

  “Time to go in,” Jay interrupts.

  Their shoes click against the spotless tile leading to the back door. The scent of the pool’s chlorine has taken over the air.

  “W
e could’ve gone in through the front but we’ve got this extra ass security system. It’s annoying,” Jay says. “This is easier.” He places his hand on a scanner beside the door. With a beep, the lock clicks.

  If his parents are home, they could be meeting celebrities tonight. “Is anyone home?” Blythe asks. It’s the least invasive phrasing of her question.

  But Jay’s brow still furrows. “No.”

  He leads them up a narrow staircase, where their voices bounce off the walls. “Joshua was in a lot of iconic movies as a kid,” Antonio says to Daniel. “But he stopped when we were all around like, nine.”

  “People say he’s heading to the Olympics soon,” Storm adds. “I mean, I’on know much about swimming, but he’s a bullet in the water. Doesn’t even need to come up for air. Like a goddamn fish.”

  Alright, now Blythe wants to join in. “He always runs from the paparazzi. And he won’t take pictures. Ever. Like a celebrity cryptid.”

  Daniel seems bewildered with all this new information, his gaze hopping from one person to the next.

  “I bet he’s as smart as his father,” Cordelia muses. “Can you imagine being that talented? That creative? And that attractive.”

  “I-I-I’ve never been any of those things,” Daniel admits.

  Antonio laughs before turning to their host. “Hey, Joshua, have you ever—”

  Jay stops. It is so sudden, Blythe almost runs into him. The look he sends over his shoulder could cut diamonds. It is the same look Blythe saw in his eyes back in the hotel.

  “Don’t call me that,” he says. “Ever.”

  Gone is the charming, flirty boy from the gas station. This is someone else entirely. Even Antonio seems slightly off-put. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I didn’t know.”

  But because he is Antonio, he bounces back easily. Jay does not. His muscles stay tense and his jaw stays locked, even when he brings them into the kitchen.

  The conversation has been killed. When they see the kitchen’s massive countertop and fridge setup, with a bird’s eye view of Miami, no one even voices their awe.

  “You guys can do whatever you want,” Jay says. “Treat it like it’s your own place. Just don’t get lost.”