Stone Cold Magic (Ella Grey Series Book 1)

by Jayne Faith

  “You’ll get a text from me later tonight with tomorrow’s timeline,” Raf said, back to his focused intensity and the mission at hand. “It may change by morning, so keep an eye out for updates.”

  “Will do, and thank you again,” I said.

  Raf headed toward the front door. His gang had mostly dispersed, probably to go make noise on social media and rouse their journalist contacts. Damien still sat next to Roxanne, and it looked like they were playing some sort of game on her phone. Johnny and Deb were straightening the room and putting things back in place. I watched for a moment, feeling an odd mix of affection, protectiveness, and the urge to sneak into my bedroom, lock the door, and sit in solitude until someone forced me to come out. But this was my crew, and I couldn’t disappear just because having so many people around gave me a permanent case of the willies. They wanted to help Roxanne, but ultimately they were here because I’d persuaded them to get involved. Or they’d unwittingly gotten sucked in, like Damien.

  Damien glanced up and noticed me lurking. “Hey, I want to show you how to do something. A new skill you can take with you tomorrow.”

  He tried for a smile, but his face was too tight. A nervous little bolt of adrenaline sharpened my senses and amped up my pulse. Right, tomorrow. When I’d be walking into the lion’s den to take away the lion’s favorite new toy.

  I swallowed. “Sure, what do you have in mind?”

  “We’ll need your whip,” he said.

  Roxanne perked up, her phone momentarily forgotten as she glanced back and forth between me and Damien.

  I went into my bedroom to retrieve the whip, letting the coils unfurl when I returned to the living room. A satisfying zing of magical energy hummed from the handle, into my palm, and up my arm. It made my insides tingle with the desire to reach into the earth and pull more magic, a sensation that was both foreign and delicious. I tended to use my magic as little as possible—my low aptitude meant I couldn’t really rely on it for anything useful, and I’d put almost no effort into honing what little ability I had. Plus, there was always a vague sense of inadequacy whenever I wielded it. When most of the crafters around me could do the equivalent of magical backflips, or at least a really nice cartwheel or two, and I could barely manage to hop on one foot, well . . . my experiences with my personal magic were disappointing at best. The only time I’d ever been truly grateful for my paltry ability was when I decided to sign up for Demon Patrol, because magical aptitude was a requirement to join.

  Damien beckoned me over to the area near the front bay window, where there was no furniture.

  “I want you to know how to cast a circle with the whip. Casting that way will give you more power than you’d have normally,” he said, taking on a professorial tone. “And eventually when you get good with the whip you’ll be able to do it in the blink of an eye. The faster you can close a circle, the faster you’re protected.”

  A circle was actually a type of protective ward. It was the first type of ward crafters were taught. My mother had shown me how to cast a circle, and I could manage it if I had to, but it had been a long time since I’d done it.

  Johnny and Deb had stopped what they were doing, and they both stood near the kitchen doorway watching us. Great, an audience. Deb crossed her arms and cocked her head as she looked at the whip in my hand, and then a Cheshire grin spread over her face. I hadn’t mentioned Damien’s gift to her, and I could tell she was dying to grill me about it. She’d be stoked that I had a magical object. She used to encourage me to take more interest in developing my ability, but had just about given up in the past year or so.

  “Ohh, it’s charmed,” Roxanne said in a cooing voice. Her eyes grew glassy and unfocused. “And it’s charged, too. And Damien’s signature is on it.”

  “You can see that it’s charmed and charged? And you can tell who did it?” Deb asked, leaning forward at the waist and peering at Roxanne.

  The girl nodded, her eyes flicking around at our faces as if she were suddenly afraid she’d done something wrong. Deb and Damien traded a look, and I got the sense that whatever Deb had discovered about Roxanne’s abilities was of great interest to serious magic users. I wasn’t sure what it meant. In fact, I couldn’t even define the difference between charming an object and charging it. My mother had probably explained it to me at some point—she was my mentor when my magical aptitude came forth—but most of her teachings had faded in my memory. It was like calculus. I’d known it at some point, but damned if I could remember many of the details now. The dull weight of regret over my failure to take my mom’s lessons to heart settled on my upper chest. I took a breath and tried to shake off my musings.

  “Center yourself and call up your magic,” Damien instructed.

  I moistened my lips and tried to block out all the sets of eyes trained on me. I rarely summoned magic in front of someone else, let alone a group. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d cast a circle. But the magic-infused object in my hand made me feel more powerful, more attuned to magic than I ever had before.

  I let my eyelids fall closed and extended my awareness downward, imagining myself as a tree with roots extending deep into the earth. Every cell in my body seemed to wake up as magic flowed through me like a conduit. As if aware of the object I held, the magic streamed up to my right shoulder and down my arm.

  “Now use the whip to mark a circle around yourself,” Damien said.

  I opened my eyes just as he was moving clear of the whip’s reach. Raising my hand, I whirled it like a lasso, with only enough momentum to carry it in a cone around me. Apparently it was too much—instead of tracing a stationary ring, magic flung off the end in little green sparks, like water flying from a wild hose. The sparks ticked loudly against whatever they hit but didn’t cause any harm. At the end of the arc, the whip grabbed the curtain that was pushed over to the right of the bay window.

  I grumbled and went to pull the fabric free. “How do I get the circle to stay put?” I asked.

  “Instead of letting the magic fly free, keep control of it all the way down. Guide it, indicate where you want it to go. It’s yours to wield, and it’ll do what you tell it to do.” Damien said it as if it were all quite obvious. Maybe it was to someone who had more than a spoonful of aptitude or training.

  I tried again, with basically the same result.

  He stepped forward. “Here, let’s go outside where the dark will show the traces better.”

  I ticked a look at Johnny, and he winked at me and then hurdled over the back of the sofa to sit down next to Roxanne. Apparently he was willing to wait until my lesson with Damien was finished.

  Deb remained inside, too, and I welcomed the cover of darkness with relief.

  Damien reached for the whip, his face cut in planes by the weak light coming through the kitchen window. His brows were drawn low in concentration.

  “Watch,” he said.

  His hand began to glow as if a pale green flame engulfed it, and the magic coiled down the length of the whip. With an easy swing of his arm, he twirled the whip around his head like I’d done inside, except instead of flying out in all directions,. his magic seemed to fall off the end of the whip and hover in a waist-high ring around him.

  “You can set the circle on the ground or in mid-air,” he said. “One isn’t really easier than the other, but since you’re more familiar with earth magic, try the ground one. Oh, and picture where you want the magic to land first. See the circle around you in your mind as a ring magnetized to magic, or a wire that will absorb and conduct magical energy.”

  “Ah,” I said. The visual helped a lot. He passed the whip back to me.

  I did as he instructed, visualizing the line of a circle formed of dry, flammable tinder that could only be lit by magical energy. Then I centered and called up earth magic. Without opening my eyes, I raised my right arm and circled my hand. When I heard the crack of the whip, I winced—too fast. My eyes popped open, and I expected to see magic splattered like paint aro
und the yard. But instead, I stood in the center of a glowing ring. It was already fading, though. I thought I’d failed, so I hadn’t bothered trying to keep the circle in place.

  “Nice!” Damien said with approval brightening his voice. He strode toward me, his phone in his hand, and stood next to me. “You’ve already got the hang of it. Take a look.”

  He tapped his phone’s screen. He’d videoed my attempt, and I was glad he did because what I saw wasn’t what I would have expected. He put the video on a loop—it was only a few seconds long—and we watched it in silence a few times. Instead of swinging out straight, the whip seemed to coil in the space around me, tracing a much tighter circle than if it had flown free.

  “See? It’s like you’re pulling it through water,” Damien said, his voice charged with enthusiasm. “It stays close to your body because you’re controlling it with magic instead of allowing the natural physics of momentum to make it flare wide.”

  I nodded and felt a slow grin break across my face. “It helps if I don’t look while I’m doing it,” I said.

  “That’s a good thing to know about your ability,” he said, clearly excited about this development. “Most crafters can’t work much beyond the context of their physical surroundings. If you’re able to wield more effectively with your eyes closed, it means there’s a strong visualization element to your ability.” He turned to look me in the face. He his eyes were wide, but I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

  I gave a little shrug. “Uh, okay?”

  “That’s awesome, Ella,” he said. “It means you’re not reliant on the reality that surrounds you. You can use your imagination to aid your craft. Believe me, it’s a prized skill, and not one that’s easily taught.”

  I snorted a laugh. “I don’t see how you could know that after just one little demonstration.”

  “Trust me, I’m right. The way you wielded completely changed on that last one. It was the first time I’ve seen you do it with any kind of ease. You need to trust yourself more. And you need to practice. A lot. Push yourself and do it every day, and you’ll be surprised how adept you can become.”

  “I don’t have time to practice before we have to go to Gregori,” I said. My stomach knotted as the next day’s plans rushed back to the forefront of my mind.

  “No, but now you know what it feels like. Do it a dozen more times before you go to bed tonight, and you might be able to make use of it if you have to tomorrow,” Damien said. “And after, start a daily practice.”

  “Okay,” I said, surprised to find myself agreeing to any sort of magical practice. Deb would pee herself with delight. “Thank you for showing me, and for this.” I lifted the handle of the whip. “You’re a really good teacher.”

  He shoved both hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “It’s no problem at all.” He tilted his head and looked at the ground, seeming embarrassed by my gratitude.

  “I think I’ll head home,” he said after a beat of silence. “Big day tomorrow.”

  “You sure you’re okay with being involved?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

  Inside, Roxanne had changed for bed and folded out the sofa, and she was lying on her side with her book spread beside her, with Loki taking up half the bed next to her. His tail thumped a couple of times when he saw me. The sound of Deb in the shower came from behind the closed bathroom door.

  Johnny was sitting on the blue leather chair, his cheek propped against his fist as he flipped through messages on his phone. His arm was partially flexed, emphasizing the solid roundness of his bicep. His hair was just long enough to show some natural curl, and a dark C-shaped strand hooked over his ear. I blinked hard, mentally smacking myself. I really needed to get a grip. Just then he looked up and flashed me a smile, and I willed my cheeks not to flush.

  Pushing to his feet, he grabbed the handle of the black case next to him. He must have run out to his car for his instruments while I was in the back yard with Damien. He glanced at Roxanne, who was thoroughly absorbed in her book, and then tipped his head toward the kitchen. I nodded, and we went through the doorway and over to the table, where he laid the case. But instead of opening it, he turned to me.

  “So what is it you need examined?” He arched a brow, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “Nothing that requires the removal of any clothing, so don’t get excited.” I shot him a withering look, feeling some relief at knowing we could still keep up our usual banter. “But I was wondering if you could use your supernatural X-ray thingy to, um, see what registers when you turn it on me.”

  His lips parted as his usual come-hither expression seemed to slide of his face, replaced by something I couldn’t quite identify. He blinked a couple of times. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Ella?”

  With a mirthless little laugh, I propped my hands on my hips and tilted my gaze downward. “A bit, yeah.”

  I looked up at him, and our eyes locked for a long moment. Then he turned and flipped the latches on the case and pulled out the tablet he’d used on the gargoyle that first night at Roxanne’s. When it powered on, it illuminated Johnny’s face with the pale blue light of its screen. He tapped it a few times, glanced at me, and then trained his attention on the instrument. His eyebrows drew together, and a vertical crease formed between them.

  My heart pattered nervously, and my chest felt tight. “What? What do you see?”

  I tried to come around next to him to get a look, but he turned slightly, keeping it out of my view.

  “Johnny, what is it?” I asked, expecting him to say that he detected two entities—me and the Reaper—similar to what he’d seen with the gargoyle.

  He squinted at the screen, staring at it as if expecting it to say something else. “You . . . you’re not entirely human, Ella.”

  Chapter 21

  WHEN JOHNNY FINALLY raised his eyes to mine and I saw the stricken look on his face, my heart stuttered in my chest.

  Swallowing back the sour sensation of my stomach dropping straight through the floor, I grabbed one of the handles of Johnny’s tablet and yanked it over so I could get a look at it. But of course I had no idea how to interpret what I saw. There was a grid with a bunch of numbers, plus one of those heat-map type pictures.

  “Where does it say I’m not human?” I demanded.

  “You’re human, but you’re something else, too.” He pointed to an area of the colored image, which looked like a blurry, misshapen, multi-colored hologram of me from the waist up. Then his finger moved over to the grid of numbers. “It’s—I want to say it’s something of an angelic nature, but it’s not quite that. It’s much too dark. It’s almost like a cross between an angel and a zombie, with something else thrown in.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to settle the churning bile in my stomach. “Angel of death, maybe?”

  He lowered the tablet and looked at me, still except for his eyes roving my face.

  “Maybe,” he said quietly. Pulling back a couple of steps, he held up the tablet. “Let me get a full-length image. It might help the numbers fall out a little more clearly.”

  I stood still while he snapped another picture. He absently reached for the nearest chair with one hand, pulled it out, and sat down. I dragged the other one next to him. Shoulder-to-shoulder, we stared at the screen. The numbers in the chart flickered and changed, and then after a moment they seemed to settle into their final values.

  “I’m not really sure how to interpret this partial human aspect of the data.” He swiped the screen to scroll down the chart.

  “I need to know how much.” I licked my dry lips. “What percentage of me is still human?”

  “Sixty-seven percent.” He set the tablet down and angled his body toward me, with one arm resting on the back of his chair and the other on the table. We were sitting so close together, his knee pressed against mine. His gaze was searching my face again. “You wanted me to confirm something you already know. Something that has
you scared.”

  I pressed my lips together, trying to steel myself but feeling dazed and off-kilter. “A reaper’s soul latched onto me when I died. Now it’s trying to consume me. Apparently it could eat up my soul at any moment, and then poof! No more Ella Grey. Like, at all. My soul would cease to exist.”

  I made a sound that was something partway between a squeak and a sigh. I pushed one hand into my hair, surprised to find my fingers were trembling. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. For some reason Johnny’s readings drove home my predicament in a new way. He was right, he was essentially confirming something I already knew, but something about seeing it on the screen and hearing him say it brought it into a whole new level of reality.

  Johnny grasped both my wrists, pulling my hands together in between his. “Hey. Look at me.”

  His voice sounded like it was coming down a long tube, like the cardboard ones in the middle of a roll of Christmas wrapping paper. Evan used to beg me to have sword fights with them when we were kids. We’d whack at each other, with me holding back to make the match more even, until one of our tubes buckled.

  “Ella.”

  The firm pressure of Johnny’s hands around mine finally brought me back. I focused on his face.

  “You died and came back. You’ve survived this long with that thing riding around on your soul,” he said. “You’re going to make it long enough to figure out how to cut it loose. I’m sure there’s a way, there’s got to be.”

  I closed my eyes and slowly shook my head. “I can’t get rid of it. I need it.”

  I gave him the short version of what happened to Evan, and why I wanted to keep the reaper around.

  Johnny was silent, his jaw muscles working and his mouth pinched into a tense pucker.