Instead, my attention was drawn out the window by a vibrant white light in the front yard. He’d forgotten to close his curtains.
Five glowing points. Arrayed in a circle.
Magic.
Magic I didn’t recognize by sight.
My heart rate ratcheted up. All four tattoos adhering to my spine expanded, then contracted.
There was absolutely no chance the mystic had Daniel and Bee. Getting her hands on the nullifier or the telepath, even aided by the twin black witches, was … well, I didn’t like dealing in impossibilities, but it was highly improbable. Plus, she would have used them against me in our first conversation.
She had, however, flashed the five glass-and-platinum charms she wore as a talisman during our altercation. Each filled with the blood of one of the Five. And now there were five points of magic arrayed in a circle on my front yard.
Idiot.
Casting any spell with the blood of the Five would burn through the magic held within it. She’d get one shot with whatever she was brewing.
“Socks?” Christopher murmured.
I glanced at the clairvoyant. He hadn’t moved except to open his eyes a crack. The white of his magic lit his face, and I had no doubt that one of the points of light in the front yard was a perfect tonal match. Though seeing magic in such fine detail wasn’t a talent of mine.
I turned away, steadily crossing down the hall. Paisley was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Without a word, we descended together. My blades were in the study. Christopher swore quietly above and behind me.
Even anchored by the blood of the Five, the mystic wasn’t going to get by the new house wards. Which meant I had to go to her. For Zans. For the insult of Chenda’s trespass on my property, in my life.
And for turning Christopher against me. No matter how easy it had been for her to do.
I eyed the mystic’s intricate spell through the window inset into the front door. The glowing white magic contrasted against the night-shrouded sky, yet it reflected the snow-covered yard at the same time, forcing me to squint. I couldn’t see the mystic. Or the black witches. But this wasn’t the sort of spell that could have been cast remotely. And it seemed unlikely that the witches could hold a masking spell in place at the same time.
Still, the trio was powerful. I had no interest in underestimating them.
Paisley was in her large pit bull form at my side and was peering out the window as well. My blades felt like a perfect extension of my reach, my power, in each hand. The black witches wouldn’t be able to stand against me armed. Especially because the mystic had given them less than twelve hours to recover their magic after being severely drained, first by me, and then by all the magic they’d thrown in an attempt to quell me.
The death curse especially. There was a reason that sort of magic didn’t get used lightly. Some Adepts believed a wielder had to fuel death spells with a chunk of their own soul — a life for a life.
What I could see of the spell the mystic was casting was intricate. A spiderweb of magic. But it was currently contained within a larger circular area. Whatever Chenda was in the process of building, she wasn’t trying to breach the house wards. Yet.
Magic shifted on my spine, announcing the clairvoyant a moment before he stepped up behind me. His magic slipped across my shoulders, up my neck, but I ignored it.
“A frontal assault?” Christopher asked quietly. “Before she finishes casting?”
“You will stay behind the wards,” I said. “I don’t need you further compromised.”
“Don’t be stupid, Socks. You’re always stronger with me at your side.”
“Zans is dying, Christopher,” I said, quiet but sharp. Still not looking at him, because I wasn’t sure I could do so without losing control.
He flinched, but didn’t deny my assertion.
“Aiden is drained,” I continued. “You’ll stay in the house. Even if the mystic somehow gets me, she won’t be able to get past the wards before you can call in reinforcements.”
“And if she kills you?” he asked darkly. “We’ll all die anyway.”
“She’s not going to kill me. I’m the reason the Collective made the Five. I’m the Amplifier Protocol. That ability alone makes me too valuable.”
“And the rest of us are expendable,” he spat.
I didn’t bother to answer him.
He tried a different tack. “That didn’t stop Silver Pine.”
Silver Pine, during her rotation as overseer for the Collective, had issued a kill order for me eight years before. The other four had gotten caught up in the black witch’s attempt to cover her tracks. She had plotted and executed the kidnapping of Kader Azar, working with his own son, Isa Azar, and apparently with Chenda as well. We five had rescued the sorcerer Azar, inadvertently foiling an internal schism.
“It didn’t stop her. Then.”
Christopher’s magic welled up again, spilling down my spine.
I closed my eyes, refusing to ask him what he was seeing. I shifted slightly, brushing Paisley’s shoulder with my knee, keeping myself grounded. The demon dog hadn’t acknowledged the clairvoyant’s presence, so I might have been wrong about how easily she forgave. “I can’t trust you.”
“Ever again?” he whispered.
I looked at him then.
He blinked rapidly, clearing his magic until he returned my gaze with his light-gray eyes devoid of power. He reached to brush his fingers across my cheek.
I turned my head sharply.
He didn’t close the space between us. “Sometimes you make it difficult to love you, Fox in Socks,” he whispered, though without heat.
“I’m exceedingly easy to love,” I said stiffly, willing myself to believe the words as I voiced them. “All I ask is for you to have my back. It’s your heart that doesn’t have that capacity.”
He curled his fingers into his palm, dropping his hand. “Fine. Have it your way.”
“I’ll say hi to mommy for you.” Briefly shifting both blades to one hand, I grasped the door handle.
He snorted. “Try to not get the rest of us killed.”
“Don’t worry.” I glanced back at him as I opened the door. “I’ll be back to help Samantha recover and you to pack.”
He crossed his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I stepped out onto the patio with Paisley at my side, tired of trading ineffectual words with the clairvoyant. Taking action was easier. More clear-cut. I would deal with Christopher after I helped Samantha.
“Be wary of the circle, both outer and inner,” I said to Paisley. “It might be designed to trap us rather than repel us. I’m likely going to have to cross into it either way, but we don’t need both of us compromised.”
She sniffed offishly, tentacles sparking with dark energy as they unraveled from her neck.
“And don’t let the witches get a piece of you. Your main mission is to protect the house. Protect Samantha. So you fall back if needed.”
The demon dog grumbled under her breath, but she didn’t otherwise protest.
Aware of Christopher watching us from the house, I traversed the ice-slick patio stairs onto the path with a black blade in each hand and their half-spent sharpening spells glowing under my palms. The dark sky was speckled with stars. The moon — a few days shy of being full — was high overhead. The temperature had dropped overnight, icicles crusting the gutters of the house. The remaining snow was crunchy under my bare feet.
But there was no reason to mask the sound of my approach. The mystic was calling me out of the house, using the blood of the Five to do so. I had to assume she was going to try to compromise me with the spell she was in the process of casting.
As I approached, I could see that the mystic and the witches had cleared a broad swath of the front yard, melting a large circular area in the remaining snow to expose the grass. Three indistinct figures sat within the cleared area — the mystic’s light-blond hair marking her out in the middle. They didn’t
react to my approach, at least as far as I could see. Magic shifted and writhed across the ground between them.
Until the witches had tried to access it during our first confrontation, I’d never realized how much untapped magic lay in the land, both natural and what had accumulated from the mere fact that we had claimed the property and lived on it for fifteen months. It was residual the witches could tap into, though I was doubtful that it could have been used against us. Not effectively enough to kill us, at least. Daniel’s nullifying cages had demonstrated as much, their construction showing that our own magic couldn’t be turned against us. And since we were bound, I was betting that the mystic couldn’t use the blood of the Five to kill me either.
But I didn’t doubt that she could use the power held within her blood charms to incapacitate me. Or Paisley.
“Don’t step off the snow,” I murmured to the demon dog.
She dropped back a few steps, blending into the night.
The witches had scribed a five-point circle within the large swath of exposed grass. Each point, set within a smaller circle, was anchored by one of the glass-and-platinum charms that Chenda had claimed were crafted from the blood of the Five. Each point was glowing brightly, so that I couldn’t see if the vials had been cracked, the blood they held now pooling on the wet grass, or if they were still whole. But I assumed the charms would have to be ruined to craft the spell, given the intense power shifting around the inner circle.
My eyesight finally adjusted to the high contrast between the magic, the deeply shadowed sky, and the moonlit snow. Either that or there was more magic at play than I could feel — a masking or obfuscation spell perhaps — and my own magic had just needed time to compensate.
The dark-haired twins — Onyx and Jet — sat in the cleared grass area just outside the white-etched circle, between two of the five points. Both were wearing dark-colored cloaks, so I couldn’t tell them apart. Their eyes were closed, legs folded, palms up on each knee. I could feel power dripping down from their wrists, fueling the circle. Presumably with blood, but I couldn’t see that clearly in the dark.
The mystic stood within the inner circle, eyes closed, hands held slightly to her sides. The white of the magic she’d cast illuminated her light-blond hair. She had situated herself slightly back from the center of the circle, between its top two points.
The three interlopers were either highly involved in the magic they were weaving, or they were ignoring me.
As I watched, magic originating at the point on the circle closest to the mystic’s right shoulder spiraled upward, then stretched inward, reaching a long arm toward the point situated at the left knee of the twin on the right side of the circle. That magic, seemingly pulled from one point to the other, settled down into a glowing line.
Based on the layout of the other points, Chenda had just called forth the first arm of a pentagram, layered with the established central circle.
A second point welled, spiraling up in a fount of power, then streaking out from the point near Chenda’s left shoulder and attaching itself to the point near the second twin’s right knee.
A third point welled up, then anchored itself to the top peak of the pentagram.
The lines weren’t perfectly straight or sharply defined. The magic was more nebulous than that, hovering about a hand’s width over the grass. And the pentagram was still missing its last two arms. But still, it was meticulous and impressive spell work.
It was also time consuming. I had no idea why the mystic had expected that I would sit in the house, simply waiting for her to complete the casting.
They were still ignoring me. Feeling Paisley pacing around the outer circle, I did the same in the opposite direction, noting that each glowing point of the inner circle was slightly different from the other. One a bright white. One shot through with licks of gray. One wider but more transparent, and one thinner but dense. Had I been more sensitive to magic, I might have been able to determine which point belonged to which of the Five.
Back in line with the top peak of the pentagram, I stood directly across from the mystic. My back was to the front door of the house, my feet set firmly in the snow-encrusted yard — not the cleared grass. Paisley took up position at the mystic’s back, keeping away from the cleared grassy area as well.
I poked the edge of what I had assumed was an outer circle with the tip of my blade. It passed through without resistance. So the circle carved into the grass either wasn’t closed, or it wasn’t meant to be a barrier. The witches, sitting outside the glowing inner circle, appeared to have no protection at all. And with the pentagram unfinished, the mystic would be vulnerable as well.
As far as I could see and feel, I could simply decapitate all three of them and be done with it.
It was obviously a trap.
But had that trap already been triggered — drawing me from the warded house? Or were they still in the process of setting it up?
Was I meant to be drawn into the circle? Or was the pentagram contained within the inner circle an assault spell?
The door to the house opened. I glanced back to see Aiden and Samantha stepping out, both pulling on winter coats. Their faces were shadowed, their attention riveted to me. Christopher was already leaning against the post at the top of the stairs. All three remained behind the wards.
I reached out with my senses, double-checking that the demon dog was still a few steps away from the cleared grass — and wishing I could communicate telepathically with her. Then I made a choice and stepped into the cleared grassy area.
A secondary circle snapped into place behind me, surrounding the full area the mystic and the witches had cleared in the snow. I had stepped over the dormant magic without feeling it, then had presumably triggered it by using my own power.
Not unexpected. But I took a moment to ensure that I hadn’t trapped Paisley with me. Not feeling her magic anymore, I decided I hadn’t. I could still feel power radiating from both witches and the mystic.
So they were still vulnerable as far as my senses were concerned. Because any magic I could feel, I could drain. Or harvest and use for myself.
“Hello, Emma,” Chenda murmured without opening her eyes. “You were always so delightfully prompt. And woefully arrogant.”
Ignoring the mystic, I strode toward the inner circle, raising my right blade to take the head of the nearest witch.
She opened black eyes and flicked the fingers of her right hand toward me. Blood that appeared almost black in the brilliant white glow of the encircled pentagram streamed down her forearm from an open wound on her wrist. A sharp snap of power tore the blade from my hand. It spun away, somehow slashing through the outer circle, then slicing into the snow-covered ground.
Out of reach.
Having already committed to the blow, I stumbled slightly, managing to jab a fist to the side of the witch’s head as I regained my footing. Bone cracked under my hand, presumably her jaw. She slumped sideways, insensible.
Chenda clicked her tongue. “Nasty, Amp5. Poor Jet.”
I spun back, tightening my grip on my left blade. “You should know that I don’t need weapons to take you out.”
“I completely agree,” the mystic purred. “Why don’t we make quick work of it, then? Please, join me.”
A final arm of magic welled up, sealing the pentagram.
Nothing else happened.
So the mystic still needed me to step into the intricately crafted spell.
Instead, I paced around toward the second twin. Onyx. Her eyes snapped open as I approached, revealing seething black pits of magic as she flicked three premade spells at me. I sidestepped the first two — they imploded behind me, but I didn’t pause to assess the damage or their function. The third wrapped around my right ankle, then burrowed its other end into the ground, yanking me off balance.
Apparently, I was just supposed to stumble haphazardly into the circle.
I didn’t.
Instead, I threw my weight onto my left
foot, awkwardly slicing a downward blow toward the witch’s neck. I couldn’t take her head from that angle, but I could still kill her.
The magic contained within the first two premade spells lashed out, roping around my left wrist and forearm. Sidestepping them had just delayed the spells, which had apparently been crafted to home in on me. Chenda must have used every single drop of my blood that she’d held in her charm.
I wrenched against the black ropes of power. The magic stretched. My blade descended toward the twin, who still sat cross-legged at the edge of the encircled pentagram with blood dripping from her wrists.
Concern flitted over Onyx’s face, but she didn’t move. Presumably because she was tied to whatever she was doing to help Chenda cast and hold the primary spell.
It occurred to me that I should have yanked Jet out of position instead of simply knocking her out.
“Come,” Chenda intoned. “Come to me, Amp5.”
Her voice resonated through my mind. Her compulsion was heating my skin. I had never felt the like before, not even with Bee’s magic. But then, Bee had never tried to force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. She’d never tried to control me. Not like the Collective had controlled me. Or how the mystic wanted to control me now.
Harnessing my seething anger, I sneered, shaking the feeling off. But the distraction had given Onyx time to hit me with another binding spell. It wrapped around my left shoulder. She held one end for herself, grappling with me. But despite being magically aided, from her seated position, she didn’t have much leverage.
Even though they might have been cast with my own blood — old blood — the black witch’s spells wouldn’t hold me for more than a few seconds. I could already feel the ties weakening, being consumed by my unnaturally gained immunity. Unfortunately, I had yet to develop the ability to drain magic from spells or artifacts as I could from a person.
Chenda paced forward, leaning over the top point of the pentagram. She pressed her fingers into the glowing circle of magic then straightened, holding the three fingers of her right hand aloft.
Those fingers were now painted with the same white light that fueled the top of the pentagram — intense power shot through with licks of gray.
Mystics and Mental Blocks (Amplifier 3) Page 20