by A C Spahn
Putrid rot billowed out in a nauseating wave, assailing my nostrils with the stench of decaying flesh. I gagged, but forced myself not to gasp for air. Trying not to recoil, I tugged aside the burial clothes, searching the greenish-grey skin for the imprint of magic. Through touch I could sense magic kadum kadum kadumming in the corpse, but not its exact location.
It took me only a moment to find the enchantment on the body’s left calf. A black line traced a circular pattern on the dead flesh. It was small, the line thin, covering only a few inches. I flattened my hand against the enchantment tattoo, shuddering at the clammy feel of dead flesh. Steeling myself, I pulled on the magic. The lines shrank and retracted into my hand, circling into me until they vanished entirely.
KADUM! KADUM! KADUM! Even though I’d expected the pounding in my head, the magical assault battered me. Thoughts raced through my head, memories I hadn’t recalled in years, others I’d purposely locked away. I remembered the plush duck I’d lost in a lake when I was four because I tried to set it free. The swell of pride the first time my art teacher told me I had a future in crafts. The terror when I was six and I first felt the drumming of magic. The betrayal when my parents handed me over to Geralt for sacrifice. Pain. So much pain. All else seemed insignificant compared to the remembered agony.
I didn’t realize I was shouting for help until someone’s hands hooked under my shoulders, hauling me out of the grave. “Adrienne,” said Desmond’s voice from somewhere beyond the drumming in my skull. “Adrienne, what’s the magic doing to you?”
My vision blurred, past scenes superimposing themselves over reality, and remembered words poured from my mouth. “Don’t let him kill me! ¡Por favor, Mamá, por favor! ¡Papá, ayudame!” I wrenched my voice back to the present and cried, “Enchanting gear! Now!”
An agonizing few seconds passed.
“Adrienne!” Desmond sounded louder now. Distantly I felt the brush of his lips on my ear. He must be shouting right into me. “We have supplies for you. Channel the magic. Get it out!”
Someone shoved a leather cord into my palm, and a prick on my finger told me the rose accompanied it. Dimly I felt my other hand guided to press the free end of the leather against a flat piece of rock. My fingers brushed engraving there–another gravestone. Clawing my way out of the memories, I focused the magic on the stone. “Draw forth memories,” I chanted aloud, my words coming to me as if through deep water. “Serve as a touchstone. Recall fond thoughts to the minds of those who hold you.”
Magic surged out of me and into the gravestone, absorbing the remembrance represented by this final marker of someone’s life. It then flowed through the leather, channeled into the rose, where a line of grey traced its way up the stem to the base of the petals, marking the enchantment’s hold.
As the last of the magic channeled out of me, I stuffed my memories back into their closet and slammed it shut. Shuddering, I huddled in the dirt, staring down at the enchanted rose, its petals mangled by my prying hands. Sam squatted across from me, her blonde hair shadowing half her face. She’d hit a growth spurt this summer, and now had several inches on me. “Are you okay?” she asked quickly. “Is it gone? Is there any left?”
I shook my head. “It all went. The enchantment will hold.” I glanced at the gravestone, then at the rose. “Good thinking, using the grave as a focus.”
“You were shouting stuff. I figured the magic had something to do with memory.”
I nodded, forcing myself to take even breaths. “It wanted to be used for remembering. It accepted its new purpose easily. You’re getting better at recognizing what a piece of magic wants.”
She flushed. “Thanks.”
Desmond stood over us, the silver tip of his dagger now tarnished black. “The ghost went down as soon as you removed the magic from her corpse,” he said. “She shouldn’t bother anyone again.”
“Desmond, did the ghost say anything before she faded?”
He frowned. “No, why?”
“She broke through my shield ring. Most ghosts are angry and territorial, but their strength depends on the magic in their corpses. Her enchantment tattoo was small, but she broke through my shield. In only a couple hits.”
He frowned. “How is that possible?”
“It’s not. No more than three ghosts rising in one city in one week is possible. Something’s going on with this area’s magic.”
We both avoided looking at Sam. Last time something had been odd in the local magical field, she’d been the cause. I crawled over to the open grave, peering down at the body within. The corpse was old, grey-haired and wrinkled, yet her face retained some of the sharp features of the youthful ghost we’d fought. “She must have seen herself as young at heart,” I said. “That’s why her shade looked like her younger self.”
“What did her enchantment tattoo do?” Sam asked.
“I think it must have been to combat dementia,” I said.
Sam’s eyes widened. “So if it makes an old person remember what they’ve forgotten, when it went into you, you remembered ...”
I realized my hand was tracing a pattern just below my left shoulder, around my heart. Furiously I clenched my fist and lowered it. I turned to Sam. “We need to talk about obedience.”
She huffed. “This again.”
“You can’t keep putting enchantments on yourself in battle.”
“How do you know I wasn’t wearing fire jewelry?”
“I saw the tattoo on your hand.” I turned Sam’s palm upright, wincing as the movement stretched the cuts on my arm. There was no trace of the black line I’d seen on Sam’s skin, but I knew what I’d seen. “Also, you haven’t made any fire jewelry, at least none that I approved.”
Sam’s mouth thinned. “Okay, so I improvised. But it was only a little magic. I used the whole enchantment up in just a couple fire blasts, see?” She wiggled her fingers, drawing attention to her magic-free palm.
“Fleshwriting is dangerous no matter how weak the magic. You’re using yourself as focus, channel, and target all at once. Any one of those alone can be risky, but all three ...”
Sam crossed her arms and sulked under my lecture, but that wasn’t what made me trail off. A small shape darted out from the trees, sprinting toward us. Puddles of moonlight illuminated a red-furred squirrel, ears back and fluffy tail straight out behind her. Mid-step the squirrel seemed to grow, limbs lengthening, body widening, fur receding into white skin and spiky red hair, until my best friend was running at us, stark naked. Desmond coughed and turned aside, but the terror on Kendall’s face left no room for embarrassment.
“Adrienne!” she shrieked. “Hurry!”
I caught her before she could crash into me, hearing the rasping panic in her breaths. “What happened?”
“It’s a b-body,” she stammered.
Sam rolled her eyes. “We’re in a graveyard.”
Some of Kendall’s spirit returned, and she glared at Sam down her pointy nose. “I know we’re in a graveyard, mini-mage.” Looking back at me, she swallowed. Her voice dropped as if afraid the dead would overhear. “There’s a corpse in the dirt over there. Fresh. And Adrienne ...” She swallowed again, her eyes darting to my heart, where I’d been tracing that circular line. “He’s enchanted.”
Chapter 2
DRY LEAVES CRUNCHED UNDERFOOT, but California’s long summer hadn’t quite drained all life from the foliage. Pines and stubborn deciduous trees encircled the cemetery, forming a perimeter to block nosy onlookers. Now they hid us as we trekked through dry mud into the thick of the treeline, tying up our injuries as we went. When I glanced back I could barely make out the clear lawns and straight rows of headstones rolling away beyond the trunks and branches. Magic drummed lightly on my senses, ever-present, but after how much we’d used in the battle, the pressure felt distant and easy to bear.
A fence divided the tree perimeter, with thick woods on both sides. Black wrought iron bars stood topped with unkind spikes to ward off birds and adventurou
s teenagers. Kendall led us to this fence, then stepped aside, pointing at a hollow in the dirt.
I drew in a shaky breath. A body lay there, face up, arms stretched toward the cemetery. He was about my age, maybe a little younger. Out of high school, at least. His brown hair was overgrown and unkempt. Dark eyes stared unseeing at the stars. His clothes were plain, but the silver stud in his nose and the black polish on his nails hinted at a personality I would have liked. That wasn’t what seized my attention and froze the breath in my lungs, though. A rip in his shirt exposed a broad section of tan skin from his collarbone to his side. Around his heart, a black design swirled, a single unbroken line forming a circular pattern. I knew that pattern.
Tied on the altar. Hooded figures surrounding me, chanting. Magic stirring.
My trembling hand rose to press against my chest. Against the matching tattoo embedded in my own flesh.
Pain. So much pain.
“He’s like me.” The steadiness of my voice surprised me. Trees and sky swirled in my vision, circling the dead man’s tattoo like a whirlpool, but somehow my throat held steady. “The line. It’s thick. There’s almost as much magic tied up in that as in ...” I realized my hand had started tracing the circular pattern around my heart again. I forced my arm to lower. Still my gaze held on the corpse’s enchantment tattoo.
I must have not sounded as in-control as I thought, because Desmond took my arm and forced me to turn away from the body. Once the corpse was out of sight, the world stopped spinning. The pressure in my chest remained, though. Desmond stared at me, his warm brown eyes catching everything in my body language. I swallowed, forced myself to meet his gaze. “I didn’t know there were others. That’s the truth.”
He cursed softly. “Adrienne, I’m not gathering intelligence for the Union. I’m trying to see if you’re all right.”
I shook my head, swatting down the paranoia that tried to rise. “I’m sorry. It’s just habit to be suspicious. I’m fine.”
“Hell no, you’re not, you liar,” said Kendall. She crouched behind some bushes a few feet away, hastily pulling on the clothes she’d abandoned in her squirrel form. Black cargo pants with lots of belts and zippers, and a baggy t-shirt that said I Less Than Three Coding. “This guy has the same enchantment on his heart that you do. The one you said the cult used to store a metric crapton of magic. The one you said would kill you if they ever tried to take it out.”
“Maybe you should say all that a little louder,” said Sam, still standing over the body. “I don’t think they heard you across the Bay.”
Kendall stuck her tongue out at Sam, who promptly flipped her off.
“Children,” said Desmond mildly, “focus, please. Let’s figure out who this guy is and what he’s doing here.”
Kendall came out from behind the bushes, re-attaching her earrings, which looked like a shark eating somebody. “There’s fabric stuck to the fence spikes,” she said. “Probably how he tore his shirt.”
Desmond promptly went to look, keeping a hand on his dagger. “Lots of footprints on the other side of the fence,” he said. “He must have been running, and hopped the fence to try to escape whoever was chasing him.”
“They got him anyway,” Sam said quietly.
We all fell silent. My three friends studiously avoided looking at me. I folded my arms across my chest, sheltering my bound wounds and trying to hide the fact that I was trembling. Through the trees, the rising moon cast shadows on my deep beige skin. Piel canela, my mother had called it. I shoved thoughts of her back behind the locked door in my mind.
The quiet grew oppressive, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn and look at the body again. “Does anyone see a cause of death?”
Rustling sounds came from behind me. Desmond spoke. “No rigor mortis. He hasn’t been here long.” He paused for a long time. “No obvious cause of death.”
“Then it was probably magic,” I said. “An enchanter killed him.” Again the flatness of my voice shocked me. Fear still swirled within me, but I felt detached from it, like I’d erected a wall between my emotions and thoughts. That probably wasn’t a good sign.
Kendall eased up to me and put a careful hand on my shoulder. “Maybe it was some other enchanter. Maybe this guy has nothing to do with your cult.”
I shook my head. “The tattoo looks exactly like mine. That means the enchantment that made it was exactly like mine. Down to the people who cast it. He’s from Geralt’s cult in Virginia. They ... they replaced me with him.”
“Do you recognize him?” asked Desmond.
“No. But I escaped almost eight years ago. Plenty of time for them to find new victims.”
Desmond shifted his grip on the dagger, peering into the night as if he expected Geralt himself to jump out at us.
“Whoever killed him must have fled,” said Kendall in soothing tones. “Maybe our fight with the ghost spooked them.”
“They’ll be back,” I said. “The enchantment on the corpse is still good. They won’t leave that much magic lying around unused.”
“Then we’d better get the Union down here,” said Desmond. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. Kendall was still patting my back when he returned.
“Are you ...?” he began.
With conscious effort, I unclenched my fists. “I’ll be fine.” I forced myself to turn around, to gaze upon the dead man. It was just a body. I’d seen plenty of them before. The fact that he had the same tattoo ... the fact that someone from the cult had been within a hundred feet of me, committing murder, and I hadn’t known ... that Geralt’s people had stood right here only a few minutes ago ...
I whirled away from the crime scene just in time. My stomach emptied itself onto the dirt, and the shudders that wracked my body had nothing to do with nausea.
The Void Union told us to remain where we were and “guard the scene from prying eyes.” As if anyone else would be poking around a secluded graveyard during a full moon. Soon the thrum-thrum of engines revved to a stop on the far side of the tree line. Desmond tensed, Kendall braced to shift, and Sam and I both raised enchanted rings before we recognized the leader of the team that approached the fence.
Axel was a big man, in the sense that the Transamerica Pyramid was a big building. He towered over the other Voids in his party, and most of them looked like they could play pro football. Possibly some of them did; the Void Union recruited from all walks of life. They hopped the fence easily, disdaining the spikes topping its bars, though they took care not to obliterate the footprints left in the dirt. A pair of husky women remained on the other side of the fence and began examining and photographing the tracks.
Void Union Hunters were the paranormal world’s police force. Besides preventing drunken shifters from mauling hapless normals and ensuring no merfolk revealed their sea forms in public pools, the Voids kept tabs on enchanters like me and investigated supernatural crimes. I knew for certain some of them were cops and FBI agents in their everyday lives, and the Union made good use of their skills. The Voids also chose a handful of powerful normals to let into the secret of the paranormal world’s existence. Those chosen had usually risen to prominence in government or law enforcement, and their cooperation ensured the Voids could operate without worrying about the normals’ laws. Those who didn’t agree to the Union’s demands disappeared, making their successors more pliable.
“Desoto,” Axel said, giving Desmond a perfunctory nod. The ice in his voice was hard to miss. His bald head reflected the moon like he was wearing it for a hat. His ear gauges were plain black, as always. What was the point of wearing jewelry if you never changed it, I wondered, grasping for anything to distract myself.
“Axel,” Desmond said politely. The brown skin of his ears flushed darker with embarrassment beneath his tousled black hair. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
Axel grunted. “Make it worth my time.”
Desmond gave Axel a quick explanation of what we’d found, until I managed to find my voice and jo
in in. When we came to the part about the tattoo matching my own, all the Voids turned appraising stares on me. Their musculature and suspicious gazes made me hyper-conscious of my small size. I shifted uncomfortably, raising my chin even as I tightened my grip on Desmond’s arm. He drew me closer and glared back at the other Voids, standing unified with me. Their suspicion didn’t soften for him.
When we’d finished explaining, a porcelain-skinned woman beside Axel spoke up. She was on the buff side, but not that much taller than my five-foot-nothing. She wore her long brown hair in a braid that reached her mid-back, and skin-tight leggings tucked into enormous combat boots. “You were right here and you didn’t see anything?” she demanded of us.
Desmond grimaced. “We were a little busy.”
“Yeah, with one ghost.”
“I didn’t hear you volunteering for exorcism duty.”
“I don’t hang out with enchantresses. Or help them evade the law.”
The flush in Desmond’s ears crept down his neck. “Adrienne put the ghost down. She was the only one who could.”
The woman sniffed. “How do you know she didn’t slip off during the fighting and kill this boy?”
Before Desmond could answer, Kendall planted her hands on her hips. “Maybe because I saw the entire fight from the trees, and Adrienne was out there with the ghost the whole time?”
“You’re her friend.”
“I’m also a squirrel. Squirrels are known for honesty.”
“They are not.”
“You saying I’m a liar? ‘Cause that’s species-ist.”
“You’re a human, shifter. Enchantresses aren’t quite.”
Kendall raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you aren’t quite human, either? The way I understand it, Voids and Enchanters are basically opposite ends of the magical spectrum.”
The woman’s fists clenched. “I’m as human as you are.”
“I spend half my time as a squirrel.”
“You know what I–”