Mystics and Mental Blocks (Amplifier 3)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  “It’s going to sting me?” I finally asked. “Or …?”

  “Don’t worry. The rose bushes are going to get the brunt of it.” His tone was even, easygoing. The future he saw apparently held no real challenges.

  And that was fine by me. Once I cleared the trespassers from the yard, I could focus on getting Opal back to school and figuring out a fix for Samantha.

  Unless I was about to behead the mystic. That was a surefire way to lift the mental block on the telekinetic’s magic.

  “I’m sorry about the roses.”

  The clairvoyant shrugged, twisting his sword in tight circles, first warming up his right wrist, then his left. “I was having a problem with black spot. I’ll just replace anything that gets damaged with hardier heritage varieties. Plus, I have the roses Aiden found in London.” He grinned. “As close to black as I could source.”

  “Black roses? For me?”

  “Always.”

  I smiled, but then got us back on point. “Did you cast cards while we were gone?”

  He nodded. “They didn’t reveal anything other than what I’d already seen.”

  Again, I waited for him to elaborate. And again, he didn’t. I was on the patio, holding my blades at Christopher’s behest. He usually gave me more. Not necessarily instructions, but guidance. “But you see clearly.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, Socks. I see clearly. This plays out as it always does, with you standing.”

  I frowned. I was missing something, some nuance in his phrasing.

  “Socks,” the clairvoyant said, exasperated. “Since when have you hesitated when the opportunity to use your blades presents itself?”

  “When the house behind me is filled with people I owe protection to.”

  “No one in the house is going to get hurt. Not in any way.”

  Again, there was a specificity to his phrasing that bothered me. Samantha was clearly compromised. Aiden had already been injured. “More than they already are, you mean?”

  “Are you going to pull all my words apart? Or are you going to trust me?”

  “I always trust you,” I said. “But you’re being vague.”

  He shrugged, the white of his magic spilling across his cheeks. It wasn’t unusual for the clairvoyant to be distracted, terse, when navigating the future in his mind as the present unfolded.

  Perhaps it was just the incident with Samantha in the kitchen, and Christopher using me to hurt her, that had me on edge.

  A wave of magic shifted across the dense layer of wet snow near the center of the yard — between the orchard and the driveway — pulling me from my dithering. The barrier hiding the trespassers was losing integrity.

  I smirked, crossing my blades before me. “Want to see what the witch magic stored in the gems does?”

  “Well, yes. According to Zans, I need to earn my keep around here.”

  “How generous of her to provide you an opportunity.”

  Christopher laughed quietly.

  I took a step forward, leveling my right blade toward the shimmering wall of magic that had been creeping toward us. The barn and the house would provide some cover, but the leaf-bare trees in the orchard weren’t going to be much of a screen between us and the Wilsons’ property. I knew that I needed to at least try to mitigate the situation before resolving it with magic and violence.

  Though my rudely broken gate was irksome.

  “I invite you to retreat,” I shouted, unable to stop myself from grinning in anticipation. “Your encroachment on our property will be met with deadly force. There will be no further warning.”

  The magic cloaking the interlopers thickened, as if the still-invisible casters had just realized they’d been losing hold of it. But I caught the sound of laughter. Two voices, intertwined — the twin black witches.

  I traversed the wooden steps, marching steadily forward through the wet snow, blades at the ready. Christopher kept pace with me, slightly behind and to my left. Positioned so that Paisley guarded my right flank.

  I picked up my pace, pressing my palms firmly over the raw diamonds embedded in the hilts of my blade. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” A thin beam of light-blue magic shot up both blades, settling into a cold burn along the edges — a more intense version of the sharpening spell that Aiden had added to the gems before walking them into the demon dimension for me.

  I laughed.

  Magic bloomed behind the barrier, which was now plainly shimmering about three meters ahead of us. The invisible witches were about to hit us with something.

  “Now!” Christopher roared.

  Paisley transformed. The slick ground under my feet trembled under the onslaught of her magic. She grew to the size of a lion, her mane of tentacles sparking with dark energy, double rows of sharp teeth edging her massive maw.

  Magic erupted from the invisible barrier.

  I spun right. Christopher stepped left.

  The demon dog leaped forward, directly into the path of the black-edged spell hurtling toward us. Paisley swallowed that spell, her massive, sickle claws raking deep gouges in the wet turf under the snow as she slid to a stop. Then she roared, releasing the spell back against the barrier, shredding the center section.

  I caught a glimpse of the wide eyes of the mystic as I slashed my blades across the right side of the frayed magic still hiding her and the witches.

  Christopher did the same to the left. “Step right. Drop. Kick.”

  My magically sharpened blades slid through the barrier, bringing me face-to-face with a pale-faced, dark-haired witch with blood-red lips. She was dressed in shades of light gray. She flicked her fingers toward me.

  I stepped right.

  The witch’s spell splattered against my shoulder, dissolving my clothing and searing me. I crouched, spinning into a sweeping kick as I did. The magic ate into my skin.

  I took the witch out at the ankles.

  She tumbled, magic lashing out from her hands.

  I dropped my right blade, lunging to grab her wrist, already wrenching her magic from her. She howled, convulsing. Her unfocused magic raged against me, tearing into my clothing, slicing into my skin. Shallow cuts, but it still hurt.

  The barrier hung in shreds — revealing Chenda, the so-called Mystic of the Golden Peninsula, and the second black witch. Chenda was in the same blue silk dress and quilted jacket she’d worn earlier. The black witch was identical to her twin, including the blood-red lips, except she was dressed in shades of dark gray.

  Paisley prowled forward, belly low in the snow. Her red-eyed gaze was pinned on the mystic.

  The second twin stumbled back from Christopher, narrowly missing a strike that would have taken her head off — possibly only because she’d twisted her ankle in the wet snow.

  I yanked the witch I held to her feet, bringing my left blade across her throat and holding her against me. Her back to my front as I continued to drain her magic. Slowly, steadily — and meeting the horrified gaze of the second witch as I tortured her twin.

  “What’s your name?” I murmured in her ear, holding the other twin’s gaze.

  “What do you care?” Her defiance dissolved into a moan as I drained another chunk of her power. She panted in pain. “Onyx,” she growled.

  That meant the charcoal-clad twin was Jet. I kept my blade to Onyx’s neck and my grip tight, but I eased off on the power drain. I had to assume that the black witches didn’t automatically deserve a death sentence just for doing the job Chenda was paying them to do. Guarding her. Though the encroachment on our property was clearly an assault, they were under orders from a superior. And I wouldn’t murder them for that unless I needed to.

  The mystic was gazing at Paisley with wide, delighted eyes. She’d seen the demon dog in the park, but not her magical capacity.

  “Paisley,” Christopher said sharply, checking the demon dog’s forward motion. “To Emma.”

  Paisley growled, directing her rage toward Chenda. But given the look of avarice on the mystic’s
face, I agreed that I didn’t want the demon dog anywhere near her.

  The second twin, Jet, steadied her footing, placing herself in front of the mystic and pulling a short obsidian knife from the sleeve of her tight-fitting jacket. I would have expected black witches to wear cloaks, not gear that resembled flexible armor. Jet’s gaze flicked to me.

  I deliberately pulled on Onyx’s magic again. She mewed. Jet’s face hardened. Then she glanced at Christopher as he stepped up to my left. Paisley settled on my right. We stood, facing off.

  “Clairvoyant?” Jet asked Chenda.

  “Delightfully, yes.” The mystic cast a self-satisfied gaze across all four of us, seemingly not at all concerned for Onyx or the blade I held to her neck.

  Jet sliced her short blade across her palm. She clenched and unclenched her hand three times, calling magic forth. Then she swept her bleeding hand forward, flinging drops of blood before her and the mystic in an arc across the melting snow.

  Magic sprang forth between us. A blood ward.

  I grinned. Jet likely referred to the obsidian blade as an athame and housed it in a silver container at night, feeding it with a mixture of herbs and blood.

  Black witches.

  So predictable.

  Including how they presumably shared magic in order to strengthen their spell work. I dropped my blade from Onyx’s throat, grabbing her by the back of the neck instead of the wrist I’d pinned to her chest. She fell forward, landing hard on her knees in the wet snow.

  “Twins,” I mused as if thinking out loud. “The cloaking spell was impressive. The defensive spells would have been more effective if implemented earlier, but they certainly stung.”

  Christopher started laughing, the white of his magic completely obscuring his eyes. I was pausing to taunt the trespassers, but I was still exceedingly aware that nothing untoward had happened to Christopher’s rosebushes. Yet.

  More was to come.

  I stretched out my left arm, still holding my blade, making a show of examining the unblemished skin under my torn clothing. “But what do you think happens to blood-bound witch twins when you completely drain the magic from one of them?”

  I ripped a large chunk of power from Onyx. She screamed, lashing out wildly at me with hands and magic. I shook her by the back of the neck. She subsided.

  Jet’s eyes widened.

  Chenda lost her smug look.

  The stillness of the day settled around us.

  Onyx started weeping. But in anger and frustration — felt through the involuntary empathic connection I’d made the instant I touched her skin — rather than fear.

  That was okay. The fear wasn’t far behind. Because soon, I’d be done with being gentle.

  Jet wavered, glancing back at the mystic. Chenda frowned at her imperiously.

  “What do you think, Christopher?” I asked conversationally. “Drain and kill one twin, and incapacitate the other at the same time?”

  “Most definitely,” he said agreeably. “But why don’t we put it to the test?”

  “No!” Jet cried. Involuntarily, given how she then snapped her mouth closed and grimaced.

  The twins appeared to be in their midthirties. Powerful, well trained, and presumably usually prepared. The fact that they wore flexible clothing, likely magically resistant, rather than cloaks told me that much. And for all my mocking, I expected that Jet would definitely be capable of hurting me before I managed to take her down.

  A witch willing to cut herself, to cast with the magic flowing in her own blood rather than what she could pull from external sources, wasn’t to be trifled with. A death curse from her would be difficult to thwart. So I would need to move quickly.

  I’d be triumphant — I knew that even without Christopher telling me so. But quite possibly weakened or temporarily incapacitated. And with Opal still on the property and Samantha compromised, I didn’t have time to spend healing.

  Still, I hesitated, because the witches did appear woefully misinformed. So the mystic hadn’t known that she’d be facing Christopher. And she also hadn’t told her bodyguards what to expect if I laid hands on them.

  Isa had indicated that Silver Pine had been magically gagged so that she couldn’t discuss the Five with anyone outside the Collective. Based on this ill-conceived skirmish, Chenda was similarly muzzled. So could I use that to my advantage? Did I want to?

  No.

  They had invaded my territory, broken my gate.

  I shifted my attention to Onyx, who was hanging limply in my grasp. I started draining the last of her power. She moaned, her magic welling up to batter me — ineffectually. As predicted, Jet grimaced, picking up her twin’s pain.

  “That’s enough,” Chenda snapped. “I came to talk. As we previously discussed.”

  But …” Christopher tilted his head to the side, his eyes still blown-out white. “Being a member of the Collective, you thought a power play was the best approach.”

  “Had I known you were in residence, clairvoyant, I would have called ahead,” Chenda replied, completely unflustered. “Three of the Five. Now that is a bonus. Might I assume the other two aren’t far away?”

  Christopher didn’t answer. His magic stretched out as if tasting the area around him. It settled on the blood tattoo on the back of my neck, seething.

  “The witches aren’t the only ones who are blood bound,” he murmured.

  Chenda’s grin widened. “Exactly.”

  I was fairly certain Christopher was speaking to the future. But the mystic was in the present. With me. And I really wasn’t big on chatting.

  I yanked a stream of magic from Onyx, allowing it to gather in the palm I’d pressed against her neck. I still held my blade in my left hand. The black witch screamed. Her agony abruptly quelled as her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and she passed out. Unconscious, not dead. I could still feel her pulse hammering away under my fingers.

  Jet stumbled. The blood ward between us flickered.

  I let Onyx fall to the side, thrusting my hand and all the magic I held toward the second twin, unleashing it on her blood ward. The power spattered against the barrier, spiderwebbing across it. It wasn’t a focused spell, just a push of power. But I was fairly certain that one twin’s magic would destabilize the other’s.

  Jet gasped weakly. She settled down on her knees, anchoring herself. She raised her hands, one of them still bleeding, as if she could physically hold the barrier in place between us.

  “Hold her,” I barked at Paisley as I scooped up my second blade.

  The demon dog stepped on the unconscious witch’s back, pressing Onyx’s face into the mushy snow. Large sickle claws shot out to score the witch’s flexible armor.

  I raised my blades, stepping forward.

  “I said that’s enough!” Chenda snarled. “I demand retribution against Tek5! As the leader of —”

  I sliced at the blood ward standing between me and Jet, carving a thick gouge through its magic. The sharpening spell on the blades held. Jet swayed on her knees, muttering to herself. The ward resealed. But it was scarred.

  I locked my gaze to Jet’s. Her eyes were bloodshot. Deep blue veins stood out starkly against her pale skin. “As I’m sure you’ve just figured out for yourself, the problem with a blood ward of this type is that you can’t cast through it.” I lifted my gaze to eye Chenda. “That includes the so-called mystic. No telepathic strikes for you.”

  “An oversight,” Chenda said stiffly.

  “Two more hits and I’ll break through. Shall I give your witches a chance to walk away from your employ?”

  The mystic sneered, tugging at a gold chain tucked into the collar of her dress. The artifact of power I’d sensed in the park, no doubt. “There is no walking away, Amp5. Just as there was never any escape for you, not unless it was by my leave.”

  I stepped back so I could lunge forward, throwing my weight into two more successive strikes at the wards. I scored the magic again. Jet slumped to the side, bleeding from her
nose. She wiped her face. Then, grinning nastily at me, she flicked the blood from her fingers, reinforcing the ward.

  Christopher stepped up beside me, uncharacteristically laying a hand on my shoulder to hold me back. I glanced at him quickly, reluctant to take my gaze off Jet or the mystic.

  The clairvoyant’s magic writhed around him in a halo of intense power. His gaze was pinned to the mystic. “Speak, Chenda, Mystic of the Golden Peninsula. We will assess your truth.”

  Like hell we would. The blood ward wouldn’t hold against another dual strike. And since tearing through it would incapacitate the second witch, the mystic would be the most dangerous player on the field once it was down. But I needed only a moment to lay hands on Chenda, and I could easily quash any physical assault she could throw my way.

  That she could hurt me mentally was evident in what she’d done to Samantha. But I had a high resistance to all magic.

  Christopher tightened his grip on my shoulder. “Just a moment, Emma. Please. I’d like to hear her assertions voiced in the present.”

  Chenda, smiling benignly again, finally freed the gold chain from her collar, revealing that it was strung with five charms. She held the loop aloft toward us, peering down at it.

  The charms appeared to be glass bulbs set within platinum housings. The metal was scribed with runes, though I couldn’t distinguish the exact shapes from where I stood. Each of the glass bulbs held what appeared to be a dark liquid glistening with magic. Intense, vibrant magic, given that I could feel it even through the witch’s blood ward.

  Just like I’d felt it in the park, over and above the magic the mystic wielded.

  The tattoos on my back stirred. But Christopher was still gripping my shoulder, so I kept my gaze on the mystic and my blades at the ready.

  Jet, still on her knees, started gathering magic to her, pulling it through the earth this time. So her soul wasn’t so blackened that earth magic no longer heeded her.

  I stomped my foot, pointing my left blade at the witch without looking at her. “My land. My magic!” The command rang across the property, backed by a push of my power.