Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  Behind her struggling and fuming mate, flew Crispin and Thistle followed by the less aerodynamic Mixie and her mate, Yarn. The four of them flew in a v-formation as fast as they could, but they were soft from living here where food was bought rather than hunted. Unlike her and Thing, they hadn’t grown up in the wild, hunted for no other reason than they were magical, and that made them weak. They might not be up to the task at hand.

  Thing sent something, probably a request she slow down, but Amal ignored it. As if she’d ever give up her advantage. Speed was her friend. She’d never met a creature who could outfly her.

  We’re coming, Mixie broadcast in a vain attempt to calm her baby, but her mind-touch wasn’t enough. Furball needed a hug and to go back to Nulthir’s flat to play in safety with the other kits.

  Did you know he went out? Amal sent to her daughter.

  No, I thought he was napping, Mixie replied in frustration. Yarn had earned her ire.

  “I didn’t either.” Amal had spent a long night easing Thistle. Her son’s mate had a difficult pregnancy thus far, but Thistle was determined to help Furball despite that. They were all worried about Nulthir, too. Whatever trouble he was in, it had to be bad if he couldn’t handle it himself.

  Can we handle it? Amal wondered as the prison’s wrought iron doors loomed before them. They opened to admit a covered cart as she slowed to let the others catch up.

  Thing gave her a reproachful look for doubting their capabilities as he drew even with her. Naughty owl. He’d been reading her mind again, but he was right. They’d saved Nulthir from a demon last year. Of course, His Orneriness was forgetting they’d had help with that from two traveling knights and a mage-gifted boy who had plenty of raw power but no idea how to use it. Amal didn’t remind Thing about that. A little confidence could go a long way in a crisis.

  Together, they entered the prison and flew high to stay in the deep shadows cloaking the ceiling. Amal and her family might be magical creatures, but no part of them glowed. Magic was light after all. It wanted to be seen and admired. For some reason, the magic that had made her and her family hadn’t chosen to express itself in a visible way.

  At the next turning, Amal dropped back and let her mate take the lead since he'd been here before. Thing gave her an approving nod and veered left then right then left again taking a switchback path through the dim tunnels that connected the well-lit cell-lined caves. With each turn, Furball’s mental shouts grew louder and nearer.

  The ancient builders of this place, the Litherians, had liked their headroom, so the ceiling was high here too, at least forty feet or so, reducing the chance that anyone would notice them even if they did look up. But hugging it meant dodging a veritable forest of stalactites every few feet that ranged in size from a hand span to as tall and wide as a man. All that dodging slowed their progress to a crawl, but they kept going until they saw a faint light outlining a dark figure amid the mist crawling through the equally dark tunnel.

  Had a patch of darkness just moved away from Nulthir? Or was anxiety playing tricks on her eyes? Amal scanned the area, in case she had seen something, but nothing else moved. All the other lights in this area had gone out, and that gave Amal pause. Humans liked light. They were blind without it, but this cellblock and the tunnel connecting it to the next one was as dark as black magic except for that soft, mysterious glow around Nulthir. Wait, something doesn't feel right, she said to her family.

  What doesn’t feel right? Thing demanded, but he pulled out of his floor-ward dive. He might be an ornery owl, but he recognized reason when he heard it.

  If I knew, I’d tell you. But you can't tell me this doesn't look just a little staged? Amal hovered over the scene, scanning it with all her senses, but she came up with nothing to explain the bad feeling in her gut.

  Mom's right. Look at the way Nulthir's fallen. I think he was hit from behind by something. Crispin pointed as he hovered beside them.

  I'm going down there. My baby needs me. Mixie dove for her frantic child.

  Wait, sis. It might be a trap. Crispin started to follow her then turned back to stay with his mate.

  Thistle had perched on a rock shelf three feet below the ceiling to rest her wings. She elbowed Yarn who'd landed beside her. You should help your mate save your son.

  Yarn gave her a look, then followed her mental prompt. He jumped off the edge and spread his wings. Yarn glided down in a series of wide looping spirals that should have drawn out anyone who was hiding in the shadows.

  When no one attacked him, Crispin followed, and so did Thing, but Amal beat them all in a heart-stopping dive that had Thing glaring at her when he landed.

  Show off, he said.

  Amal might have fluffed her feathers out and preened just a little. Then she was all business again. After all, she was the matriarch of their clan of owl-monkey-cats, and that came with certain responsibilities.

  Amal approached Nulthir carefully, every sense afire for trouble as she scanned the ground for clues that wouldn't have been visible from above. The only illumination close to hand was Nulthir’s pendant, the dawn rune, which was unhelpfully tucked inside his tunic to hide its soft bluish glow.

  He lay on his side curled protectively around the frightened Furball who was bouncing up and down in the space his body enclosed. Nulthir was a good man, and that just made saving him that much more important. Thank the Creator, he was still breathing. Nulthir was too young to die. He was only in his early twenties.

  While Amal worked to remove his pendant from under his clothes, Mixie climbed carefully up Nulthir’s back until she could reach down and scoop up her now cooing baby. Mixie only tore his tunic a little, exposing the runes tattooed on his back. They glowed a dark blue, which explained the dim glow around Nulthir. But that was the least of his problems.

  “Take him home. Yarn, go with her. The four of us will help Nulthir.” Amal pulled the dawn rune out of his tunic and shed some much-needed light on their surroundings.

  Thing gave her a reproachful look for ruining his night sight and removing his advantage, but not all of them could see as well in the infrared as he could. He gave Mixie a gentle shove after he patted a yawning Furball on the head. “Do what your mother says.”

  Mixie nodded and took off after she tucked Furball into her belly pouch. It was a clever fabric contraption with straps that Mixie could step into and pull up with her dexterous hands, and it made carrying little ones easier. Without it, Furball would have had to cling to her back, and that was just asking for trouble. The youngster had a short attention span. Hopefully, he'd grow out of that when he fledged. The pouch was one of the many improvements to their life that had come with befriending a lonely human boy.

  Thing hovered by Nulthir’s head, unsure of how to help his oldest and best friend. He touched two fingers to their friend’s carotid but didn’t like what he felt. Nulthir was pale and breathing shallowly, not a good sign in any creature, especially a warlock.

  “His magic—” Thing shook his head unable to put into words what he was sensing. Had he been human, he’d have wrung his hands.

  “It’s changed. Look.” Amal pointed to the rune on his forearm. The inked curves bulged like swollen veins. She pushed his sleeve up higher and noted all his tattoos were engorged like that and glowing a strange blue, ringed with black.

  “They’re cold too. I thought human magic was warm.” Crispin regarded them curiously. He had her amber eyes. They were a raptor’s eyes, but his face was more feline than hawk- or owlish.

  Amal shook her head. “The ones he’s worked with before were, but that doesn’t mean all human magic is.”

  Still, his condition was strange. Nulthir didn’t have a strong magical gift—meaning he didn’t carry a lot of magic around inside him because he lived in a country where just about everything was enchanted.

  Since magic ran through almost everything, Nulthir could tap into it and channel it into runes. They were the basic building blocks of spells, and Nulthir k
new quite a few runes thanks to his upbringing deep in the hinterlands of Shayari where the old ways still held sway. But he hadn’t cast any runes except the fading one on his breast pocket. That must be where he'd tucked Furball to keep the little one out of danger, and it had worked.

  Amal checked again in case her first inspection had missed other runes. Spells and the runes that generated them tended to dissolve rather quickly when spent, but she would still see some sign of it if Nulthir had cast another rune, and the few magically enhanced items he always carried were untouched, which meant he hadn’t used them either.

  “What could cause his markings to do that?” Amal looked to Thing for an answer. He and Nulthir had grown up together, but Thing just ran his hands through his feathered crest. That was an answer of sorts, just not the one Amal had been hoping for.

  I don't know. He’s gone dark in here. Thing pounded his chest with a closed fist. He’d switched to mind-speech again in his agitation. It was effortless for him.

  But Amal liked speaking aloud. She liked shaping those sounds, and the feeling of them leaving her beak. Their language practically begged for it. “How is that possible?” She didn’t doubt her mate, but Amal switched on her mage sight and it was just as Thing had reported.

  The spark that dwelled in everyone wasn’t sure and bright as it had been only a few hours ago. It was dim and guttering. What could do that? Prolonged magic use wouldn’t even cause that, not in a channel who could draw more magic, but Nulthir hadn’t cast more than a minor protection spell. Even if he'd linked it to his personal store of energy, that spell shouldn't have drained his spark. So, what had?

  “It’s not gone. It’s suppressed. No, that’s not the right word.” Amal butted her head against Nulthir’s and carved off a chunk of her spark to give to him. That should help.

  The loss weakened her a little, but his breathing eased. Nulthir still didn’t look good. Thing was so distraught over it, he was making distressed sounds instead of coming up with a plan to get Nulthir out of here before someone saw his tattoos and recognized him for what he was—a warlock, whose very existence was illegal. His continued survival hinged on secrecy and hiding.

  Then it was up to her to arrange that. Amal ransacked Nulthir’s utility belt and inventoried the magic-imbued items. Most were single-use items, but he must have something she could use. Nulthir was a resourceful young man. Amal was so intent on her search; she didn't hear or sense anything until Thistle whistle-clicked a warning that came too late.

  Amal spun around and stared at the approaching woman. She knew his secret now. Nulthir was a dead man if this woman told anyone. Amal extended her claws as she approached the woman who must die, so Nulthir could live. They hadn't lost him to a demon, and they wouldn’t lose him now to an oppressive law or the Guardswoman who would rat him out. He'd suffered enough at the hands of people he should have been able to trust. Amal would save him from this betrayal too.

  Chapter Three

  “Oh, my God,” the Guardswoman said. Her dark eyes widened as her gloved hands flew up to cover her mouth. The woman wore the same blue uniform as Nulthir. Her death might be problematic, but it was necessary.

  Amal hissed at the Guardswoman as she squatted to get a better look at Nulthir. In the light of the dawn rune, Amal saw the worry etched on the newcomer’s face, and she retracted her claws before she did something she might regret.

  The Guardswoman must have sensed her wavering distrust, because she held up both hands to show they were empty, which calmed Amal. She was quite familiar with that gesture. Nulthir had used it when he’d stumbled upon her caught in a trap years ago.

  It hadn’t quite been love at first sight, more like love at first bite since Thing had flipped out and sent a barrage of panicked threats at her then unprotected mind. But they weren’t necessary because she'd had no intention of harming the little human boy who had a fully-fledged owl-monkey-cat like her for a friend. Such fond memories, but now wasn’t the time to indulge in them. Amal quit hissing, but she held her ground, ready to attack at the slightest provocation.

  “I get that you’re upset. I don’t know if you can understand me—” the Guardswoman broke off when Amal and nodded.

  Amal gestured with her furry hands from the woman to Nulthir. She hoped her eyes said: Help him. Amal could mind-speak the Guardswoman, but not all humans reacted well to strange voices invading their heads. She could also speak the human tongue of this land, but why should she let the Guardswoman know that? She’d use hand signs for now and keep things simple. Humans tended to react badly to magic, especially under this mountain. The denizens of this gloomy place tended to treat all magic as suspect. After all, magic was illegal.

  “Let her help,” Amal said to Thing in their language of whistles and chirps.

  But her mate was so lost in worry, he didn’t hear anything. All his attention was bent upon his stricken friend. Thing had met Nulthir when he was small. Something had happened to her mate’s mother, leaving him orphaned and alone in the enchanted forest with no way to feed himself until a young Nulthir had stumbled upon him. They’d become fast friends, and Thing had gained a warm place to sleep, plenty to eat, and a lifelong companion.

  Amal laid a hand on her mate’s back, then another, gently pulling him away from Nulthir. “She wants to help,” Amal said when Thing saw the Guardswoman, and her presence raised his hackles.

  Amal understood his distrust. It hadn’t been that many months ago that Nulthir had been the unwitting pawn in a game of spells. His own people had tried to use him in ways that still gave her nightmares.

  “Let her help,” Amal said to her mate.

  Thing glared at the interloper. The Guardswoman had raised both hands above her head again to emphasize their emptiness and her peaceful intentions, but Thing was having none of it. He no longer trusted humans with the care of his friend, and Amal didn’t blame him. Nulthir’s family had tried to sacrifice him to a demon, after all. Amal still wasn’t sure what his parents’ end game was. Or if they’d even had one beyond increasing their power.

  “Look, I mean him no harm. We’re sort of friends, since we both work the swing shift. We prison Guards have to watch each other’s backs.” The woman smiled nervously. Her skin was very dark, and healthier looking than Nulthir’s pallor.

  Amal gestured to Nulthir again. She believed the nervous Guardswoman. She and Nulthir were both in their early twenties.

  “You understand me, don’t you?” the Guardswoman asked.

  Amal nodded. Should she try mind-speech?

  Thing folded his furry arms in a very human gesture of impatience, but he stayed silent. With his wings swept back like some great feathered cloak, Thing looked rather imposing even though he was only about two feet tall. He was full of righteous fury.

  The Guardswoman sat back on her heels and shook her head. “He needs a healer. I’ll send for one and get some extra hands to carry a stretcher. He’s too heavy for me to lift on my own.” The Guardswoman gave Amal an apologetic look.

  No healers, Thing broadcasted to everyone's mind, startling the Guardswoman.

  “So, you can speak.” Her black brows vanished into the braids wrapped around her head. A neat column of ties held them out of the way.

  Yes, we can, Amal said when Thing just glared at the woman.

  He raised one tufted brow in a challenge. Thing needed to calm down. He could be unreasonable when it came to Nulthir’s safety. But normally that wasn’t an issue. Nulthir was a capable human who didn’t get into much trouble, which made this doubly perplexing. Amal wouldn’t get any answers until he woke up, or Furball calmed down enough to mind-talk.

  “What are you called?” the Guardswoman asked.

  “No healers,” Thing repeated, both aloud and mentally to ensure he got his point across.

  Because a healer might have more than a spark of magic himself, and he might be tempted to tell someone Nulthir did too, especially if that would save his own skin. The Seekers of
Truth had informants everywhere, and that militant order of magic-haters wouldn’t care how benign Nulthir’s gift was, or that she and her family were too. They would hunt them all down and destroy them because of one stupid, short-sighted law that condemned all magickers and magical creatures to death. Amal wouldn’t let that happen. No one was dying on her watch.

  “No healers,” Amal confirmed in a less confrontational tone and hoped that put an end to the matter.

  The Guardswoman raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, fine, no healers. But I still want to know your names.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to know what to call you, so I can give you the all-clear. In a few minutes, this place will be crawling with Guards. I doubt you want to be seen.”

  Amal shook her head. She would have hidden from this Guardswoman if her distress hadn’t deafened her to the woman’s approach. Just thinking about that raised her hackles. Amal sized the Guardswoman up and decided her name was a small price to pay. This human had no magic anyway, so there was no danger in telling her. The Guardswoman couldn't do anything with that information.

  Amal touched her chest. “I’m Amal,” she said, then she nodded to her mate. “He's Thing.”

  Nulthir hadn’t been a very creative child. When he’d found Thing in the forest, he hadn’t known what to call him. So, he’d referred to him as ‘Thing’ which had worked fine until Amal had shown up, but he was too ornery to change his moniker to a proper name.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Iraine, and I’m going to fetch help, so you’d better make yourselves scarce. But do stay out of the cells. Whatever struck your friend down, struck some of the inmates too. Best not to get too close to them until we figure out what’s going on. I’ll fetch a healer to look at them, but—”

  “No healers.” Thing clicked his claws loudly on the stone floor, startling Iraine.

  The Guardswoman raised both her hands, palm out, for the fourth time to calm him. “I gathered that. I’ll find some way to keep the healer away from him.” Iraine gestured to Nulthir. He still showed no signs of returning to consciousness. That wasn’t a good sign.