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

by Melinda Kucsera

  Amal cracked her beak in a smile as her claws caught on a fold of gray rock. She pushed her finger claws into another hole in the wall, and her toe claws scratched the stone, flaking off bits of it. That explained the strengthening spell the ancient builders of this place had left on this wall. Another cold spot popped up in her infrared vision, and it was rushing toward her.

  Amal climbed like her life depended on it as Thing once again reached out. This time, her mate tried to peer out of her eyes. Amal swatted his mind away. Really, he could be so overprotective at times. I'm fine, she sent.

  That bolt of dark magic struck the wall, and the sigil holding the weak stone up, failed. Stones rained down on Amal, but she kept climbing. She needed more height to compensate for her wounded wing.

  No, you’re not okay. I’m coming. Thing sounded exasperated, which was better than worried, and for a moment, Amal heard the others through his ears, not just the echoes of their speech. They had a plan. Good. So did she.

  Amal hoped she’d climbed high enough. She had to jump now before the wall collapsed and took her with it. It was crumbling away as she climbed, raining dust on her head. Light as a leaf, stiff as a stone, she sent as she let go and fell. Footsteps echoed—a lot of them coming closer with every second. They must be the other Guards coming to see what was going on. Iraine hadn't been gone long. Perhaps she hadn't far to go to fetch her fellows. It didn't matter. Amal’s aim was perfect, and her prey held the blue object above his tattered hood like a shield. Perfect.

  Amal slammed both her clawed feet into it, slamming the cold object into his hooded head and finally out of his hands.

  “No,” he screamed, his raspy voice breaking as he sank dazedly to his knees.

  The blue spiky object dropped to the floor and shattered, releasing a storm of power. Glowing rays of every color of the rainbow twisted into a brilliant cloud of magic and rushed around the bend. Before she could even think of sending a warning, Amal hit the ground hard on her feet and skidded through broken glass to get away from the falling rocks. The shards cut her feet.

  “No,” her attacker said in a hoarse voice, as shards of blue glass slid through his or her gloved hands. They tinkled when they struck the floor.

  But those footsteps were louder now. Three or four people were running toward them, and more rocks were raining down as the compromised wall struggled to hold itself up without the spell that had strengthened it. It was time to go before she was buried or worse, cut off from her loved ones.

  Hide now. They’re coming. I can't hold them for long, Amal sent as the first Guard stepped into view. Her attacker pulled something from his sleeve and threw it before Amal could dodge. The object struck the ground and smoke burst from it in great billowing clouds. She backed away, coughing, and her eyes streamed from the smoke as she sent another warning. They’re coming. Hide now.

  Not without you, Thing sent.

  The stones toppled and fell, just missing her as Amal hopped aside. They crashed into stalactites and stalagmites, cracking them. Amal ran on her bleeding feet away from the rubble piling up behind her toward his mind. It blazed in that darkness to her mage sight. Light as a leaf, stiff as a stone, Amal repeated as she raised her hands for a pickup. That rhyme could only help, so she pictured a leaf carried on a breeze as she jumped.

  Thing’s mind-voice joined hers as his dexterous feet clasped her hands then he swung back around, flying as silently as only an owl could as debris choked the tunnel behind them and hopefully buried those mysterious glass shards before they could do any more mischief. Silly mate, getting into danger without me, Thing commented, but he only mock-chided her in her mind, and she laughed in his.

  It was good to be loved. Fly swift and true, my heart. Amal felt the touch of her children—first Crispin because he was closest, then further away, Mixie, but her touch was full of worry and fear that set her maternal alarms blaring. What happened? Amal sent to Mixie because something had. She could feel it through their connection.

  He's gone, Mixie wailed.

  Who's gone? Amal felt Thing muscle his way into the conversation, but he kept silent.

  Furball's gone again. I only glanced away for a moment. Mixie sent an image of an empty nest of blankets.

  Then where is Furball? Amal asked all the minds she was in contact with. No one had an answer, but Crispin and Thistle remained curiously silent. That set off another maternal alarm as Amal recalled that blob of light and power rushing out of view and dear Creator no, head toward her family. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but she did now. Fly faster, my love, she urged, and Thing did. Like her, he was a strong flyer.

  We must find out what happened to Furball, he said grimly but only in her mind. Mixie was distraught enough, and there was a glimmer of an idea in his mind, which he quickly hid before Amal could glimpse the shape of it.

  Great, so they were back to him hiding stuff again. Amal shook her head. Her mate could be so trying at times. Hopefully, that idea he’d just had was a plan for getting Nulthir out of here and reversing whatever that object did to him. Amal had hoped its destruction would weaken its hold on him, but it hadn’t for her. Her wing was still numb and dark, and that worried her.

  Speed was her weapon. Without two functional wings, flying would be difficult even for short stretches if not impossible. Amal might have to be carried out of here, and that rankled until someone screamed. What was happening now?

  Chapter Six

  “Nulthir, wake up,” Crispin begged. “I can’t hold you.”

  Nulthir struggled to open his eyes.

  “Don’t move, or you'll fall. The ledge isn't that wide.” Thistle’s hands tightened on his arm.

  Crispin had one of his ankles and indeed, Nulthir was about to fall off the edge. He shifted away from the long drop into impenetrable darkness to his right. The glow of his dawn rune, which had fallen out of his tunic, barely even made a dent in it.

  “Thanks for trying to catch me,” Nulthir said.

  “You’re welcome.” Crispin ducked his head. “That’s what family is for.”

  They both knew that hadn’t been the case in Nulthir’s human family, at least not all the time. But his family was a clan of witches and warlocks, so deceit and betrayal were par for the course. Still, Crispin looked away at that accidental reference to the reason Nulthir was lying here on a dusty stone slab barely wider than his torso.

  “What happened? Everything sort of went black for a moment.” Nulthir looked at the two owl-monkey-cats then realized who was missing. “Where’s Thing and Amal—I heard her scream. Is she alright?”

  Crispin and Thistle shifted uncomfortably at the question until Crispin finally answered, “You know Mom. She gets caught up in the thrill of the hunt.” He shrugged, as if to say what can you do?

  Now Nulthir wasn’t in any danger of falling, Thistle glided over to stand by her mate. “Father went to fetch her. They should be back any moment now.”

  They both glanced toward the cave known as Blue Block. It was dark still but not silent. Echoes of something breaking were followed by a shout and the rapid staccato clomping of steel-toed boots on stone.

  “Someone’s coming,” Nulthir said, but Crispin and Thistle just nodded.

  “Mom warned about that right before Dad took off.”

  “No, something else is coming. Look!” Thistle pointed, and Nulthir craned his neck to see. Around them, the tunnel brightened.

  “What is that?” Crispin leaned over the edge to get a better look.

  “I can't see it. I'm facing the wrong way.”

  “Then I'll show you.” Crispin sidled over until he could touch Nulthir’s hand.

  An image shot into his mind of a luminous cloud, sparking and snapping with power. Lightning bolts struck its interior, but Nulthir recognized it and shuddered. “It’s wild magic. It has no form or purpose. That's what it's searching for.”

  “Why?” Crispin sent another image. That cloud was rising and heading straight for th
em.

  “Magic might look like light, but it behaves like water in some ways, and water flows. It takes the shape of its container, so does magic.”

  “What will happen if it doesn’t find a container?” Thistle looked at him with wide eyes.

  Nulthir shook his head. “You don't get it. Magic always finds a container. It needs a purpose. In the absence of one, it'll find someone to give it one.”

  “You, you’re a channel. It’s coming straight for you.” Crispin stared at him aghast.

  “Yes. Help me sit up. I have to get grounded before it reaches me otherwise it'll fry my senses.” And other important internal organs that Nulthir needed to keep in working order if he wanted to live a good long life.

  Thistle laid a hand on his arm. “Can you tame it in this condition?”

  “I don't know, nor do I really have a choice. It wants me, whether I want to do this or not is irrelevant, so much of magic is,” Nulthir said. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Magic tended to be binary. In a world too often full of shades of gray, it was a refreshing change. “Help me up.”

  Crispin folded his furry arms over his chest. “If you're going to pass out again, then you should stay prone. You’re less likely to fall that way.”

  That was true, and they were out of time. That wild magic was almost upon them. Nulthir closed his eyes and concentrated on grounding himself. A burst of cold left him shivering uncontrollably as a dark power shot through him. Oh, no, the runes tattooed on his back must have absorbed some of that dark magic, and now that dark power was oozing through his veins like sludge, freezing him from the inside out.

  Nulthir had to transmute it into the magic he could use, but there wasn't time nor was he certain how to do that. He hadn’t worked with a magic that wasn’t light-based, not even during that demon incident because that mage boy, Sarn, had been there to feed him all the light magic he’d needed to fight that demon off. Nulthir braced himself and hoped the wild magic would burn out the dark, not burn him or his gift out. He was rather fond of magic. This was going to hurt.

  A flash turned the backs of his eyelids scarlet, then a pop sounded as the air close by was momentarily displaced, then a soft ball landed on his chest. Nulthir opened his eyes and stared into the wide, terrified eyes of Furball. What was that little critter doing here?

  “Neeeeep?” Furball crawled into Nulthir's breast pocket, seeking comfort and protection, but the rune had faded, and with it, the spell that had shielded Furball last time Nulthir had been attacked.

  “G-get h-him a-w-way fr-from he-here!” Nulthir stammered through chattering teeth.

  Crispin dove for Furball as the wild magic rushed toward them. Furball screamed, and his ululating howl set Nulthir’s teeth on edge for the second he could still perceive anything at all. Then the wild magic was on him. Nulthir reached past the pain and grabbed that magic. It was his only hope now.

  Instead of transmuting it like he would normally do, he slammed it into his gut where that dark, cold magic was massing inside him for an attack. Raw power burned through him, and the world winnowed away again as Thing screamed something in his head.

  At least he’d stopped shivering. Nulthir took that as progress of a sort. Dark magic and light magic battled for control inside him as the world slipped away, and there wasn't anything he could do except let the world fade to black again, but first, he had to know. “Is Furball okay?”

  But there was only silence broken by racing footsteps drawn by that intense burst of light. What happened to Crispin and Thistle? Had they been harmed during his brief struggle with that wild magic? Nulthir tried to ask, but the darkness was dragging him down into unconsciousness again, and he couldn’t fight it.

  Chapter Seven

  No, don't! Thing shouted in her mind almost deafening Amal. He made distressed chirping sounds while her mental ears rang.

  “Don't do what?” Amal switched to regular speech to conserve energy. An image passed from his mind to hers. In it, light exploded around a prone Nulthir, and a dangerous blue glitter appeared in his normally brown eyes. Not good. Magic wanted to be used, and the more magic a warlock used, the less he noticed the risks. Magic tended to give its users tunnel vision, and it temporarily short-circuited their sense of self-preservation.

  They rounded a bend, and Amal let go. She flipped midair and landed on the ledge, then waved to Thing. “Go. I know your mind, heart of mine. Do what you must. I'll see to this.” Though Amal had no idea just how she would do that, but her mate didn't need to know that.

  Thing ignored her and landed beside her, so he could rub against her in a very cat-like gesture. “You’re mine,” Thing murmured aloud and in her mind.

  “Forever and always; go do what you must.” Amal returned the full-body caress then froze as Furball waddled over. “What are you doing here?”

  “Neep neep neep?” Furball pointed frantically at Nulthir.

  Amal pointed to her head. “Think it like I taught you.”

  Furball rocked back and forth and hopefully gathered his thoughts into some sort of sense before sending a barrage of questions at her. Want to know if he’s okay. Is he? Furball pointed at Nulthir again.

  That's what I want to know, Thing broadcasted to all of them, then he leaned in and put his face close to Furball’s. No more teleporting. Is that clear?

  Furball bobbed up and down in a full-body nod.

  Think it. Thing put a little psychic pressure on the little guy, but Furball had earned a little of his ire, and if it kept the babe from scaring them all half to death again, it was worth it.

  Amal gave the kit a stern look, making it clear she was on Thing’s side on this.

  No more teleporting, Furball finally sent in a terrified whisper.

  Amal gathered him into her arms, and he burrowed into her. “There, there now. All’s forgiven.” She rubbed his back in between his stubby little wings.

  Thing unbent enough to add a caress of his own then he approached their son.

  “Dale’s coming. Mixie and Yarn are with them,” Crispin reported, then he received an earful from his worried father.

  Amal listened into the highlights as she cuddled Furball close. He deserved a hug for managing several, mostly full, sentences. Though this teleporting business needed to be sorted out and somehow stopped until Furball was older. But that would have to wait until Nulthir was awake and able to craft a binding to keep Furball out of trouble. For now, a promise would have to do.

  “Shh,” Amal said to Furball. He’d chirped in distress at the news of his furious mother's imminent arrival, but he only had himself to blame for that.

  Voices below signaled the Guards had arrived. What would they make of this? Would they even look up? Amal glanced at the dawn rune resting on Nulthir’s chest and considered hiding its glow, but she wasn't Thing. She liked having some light to see by, especially a pale bluish one that reminded her of the first rays of dawn. It was a comforting sight against all that darkness.

  Thistle tapped her on the shoulder and startled Amal out of her thoughts. “Dale and the others are almost here, but part of the tunnel collapsed. They need a distraction to get past the humans crawling around the rubble over there.”

  I'll do it. Stay here, Thing said, then he stepped off the ledge. His wings snapped open to their fullest extent, and he glided as silently as a ghost on the breeze blowing through the prison. Now who was the show off?

  “They're bringing the blanket. If you can wake him up to activate it, we can all fly out of here.” Crispin gestured to Nulthir then he stepped off the ledge and followed his father.

  “What blanket?” Thistle looked to Amal for an answer.

  “A magic one. It has a modified float spell on it like the 'light as a leaf' spell Nulthir used earlier.”

  Thistle gawked at her. “Are you saying the blanket can fly?”

  “Sort of. It'll float, but we’ll need to steer and propel it. That was good thinking on Dale’s part.” Her youngest was ma
turing nicely and would be a credit to their family. Amal tested her left wing, but it was still out of commission. Thank the Creator, Dale had come up with a solution that wouldn't require her to fly out of here with her numb wing.

  Thistle still didn’t understand, but she would. That blanket was one of the best magical contraptions Nulthir had fashioned. But he’d been a child then, which explained its ugliness. Children had no sense of which colors were complimentary and which weren’t. The blanket had started out life as red as a sunset before Nulthir had inked runes on it.

  Would the spell worked into the warp and weft of it be strong enough to support his weight, plus hers and Furball’s and possibly Thistle’s too? Because her very pregnant adopted daughter looked tired out by their adventure thus far. Well, they'd find out when Dale and the others arrived.

  “Where are we going?” Crispin asked. He flew behind and to the right of his father to stay out of his wings. Thing had the second-largest wingspan in their family; only his mom’s were longer.

  Thing didn’t answer. Worry tended to make him more taciturn than usual.

  Crispin ground his beak in frustration and switched to mind-speech. Maybe that would provoke a response. What's the plan?

  The tunnel connecting the cell-lined caves wasn’t that long. Below, rubble choked the passage, which explained the problem. Thing hovered over the edge of the debris piled up nearly to the ceiling. There was a crawlspace between the ceiling and the rubble pile large enough for their kind to fit. Gloved hands poked through that hole and probed it for loose rocks, so the Guard on the other side could widen it.

  Finding none, the Guard poked his head through, but the hole was narrower than his shoulders. He reversed course and stuck his hand through, and gold light fell upon the gray rocks blocking the tunnel.

  Thing shot toward that gap without any warning, startling the Guard. He pulled his wings in close to his body and hurtled through it, like the crazy owl-monkey-cat he was. Dad sometimes let his wilder instincts out to play, but he never let them take him over completely. Damn, that was some mighty fine flying. But his father had a lot of practice over the years.