Magic on the Storm

by Devon Monk

  He pushed his shirt back down.

  “You’ll call your mom?”

  He held up the phone again. “Go. No one’s gonna find me under this Illusion, and if they do, I’m not without weapons. And a phone.”

  I nodded, and shut the door. Shame tipped the seat back a bit, and I saw a brief flash of the phone’s blue light against his cheek and jaw before I was out of the umbrella of the spell, and then couldn’t see the car at all.

  I started off in the direction Zayvion had run, concentrating on the heartbeats at my wrist. Shame’s was slow, labored, but even. I was glad he’d stayed behind.

  I shifted my focus on Terric’s heartbeat, fast, like he was running. His emotions: angry, but calm.

  Then Zayvion. His heart beat in the steady rhythm of a marathoner or an athlete. Someone who was used to this kind of exertion. But his emotions hit me like a brick wall falling. Surprise. And fear.

  Something was wrong.

  I broke out of my jog and into a run. The concrete beneath my feet gave way to soft soil, well-tended grass wet from all the storms and the night’s dew. Zayvion was near. I could feel him, like a heat beneath my skin.

  And he was in trouble.

  I broke out from between the buildings to the grounds in the back. Trees and outbuildings cut my view into bits.

  The acrid scent of a Confusion spell burned like black pepper at the back of my sinuses. I couldn’t tell which way I should go. Didn’t even know which way I had come from.

  Okay. This wasn’t the first time I’d been hit with Confusion. I knew what to do.

  I stopped, closed my eyes, because you can’t do anything if you’re staring at Confusion. I took a deep breath to calm myself. It didn’t matter how good I was—there wasn’t anyone who could cast magic in high states of emotion. Even Zay, whose fear I could feel in the tattering heartbeat at my wrist, still gave off a calm focus and determination.

  Sometimes casting magic meant you had to be of two minds, or two emotions, at once.

  I set a Disbursement—I was tired of muscle aches and went instead for a headache. I muttered a few lines of a coffee-commercial jingle to clear my mind. With my eyes still shut, I drew Cancel with my right hand and Sight with my left.

  Cancel should wipe out the Confusion. Sight should show me what other magic was being used.

  I opened my eyes. Cancel worked wonders. I didn’t even smell the pepper anymore.

  Sight showed me magic burning like carved fire on the buildings around me. I actually hadn’t made it all the way through the alley between the buildings, even though it felt like I’d been running for blocks.

  Confusion spread a sticky spiderweb between the structures, but now that Cancel was in effect, hovering like a shield over my head, the tendrils of Confusion were no longer touching me.

  I took a second to focus on the heartbeats again. Zay and Terric were near. Very near.

  I walked past Confusion, and stopped short.

  Just on the other side of the spell and buildings, the grounds opened up. It was too dark to see how far back the grounds reached, but somewhere back there were trees and shadows, and flickering lights in the distance.

  What I could see, very clearly, was the battle.

  Terric glowed like a slice of moonlight, his hair gone silver, his skin pure white except for where dark glyphs shifted and moved across his features. His eyes burned an eerie blue while he chanted, the words falling from his lips in a lyric prayer. He had his feet spread, hands out to either side, holding a Containment spell that covered a twenty-yard circle.

  And in that Containment spell were two people: Zayvion and Chase.

  I’d never seen them even spar before. Chase hadn’t been around during any of my training sessions. And the only time I’d seen her fight was when the gate opened during my test. She’d been fighting Hungers then, beasts from the other side of death.

  Now she was fighting Zayvion.

  Even with Sight, watching them hurt my eyes. Still, I didn’t let go of the spell. Zayvion was a seven-foot tower of black flame, silver glyphs whirling over him in liquid ribbons, glowing the same metallic shift of wild colors as the marks magic had left on me.

  He wove a spell with his left hand, heaved it at Chase like it was made of lead, and lunged, the machete in his hand pulsing with dark jeweled lights, a different kind of magic, dark magic, coursing through the blade.

  But Chase was good. Unlike Zayvion, even through Sight, even throwing magic around—and she was throwing a shitload of the stuff around—Chase looked like Chase. Pretty, a little gaunt, pale-skinned, dark hair pulled back in a braid, black jeans, and a black turtleneck.

  Except for one thing. Her eyes glowed red. It wasn’t just the light from magic. It was something else, something more, something dark, like the Hungers, like the Necromorph, burning out from within her. And it was not human.

  It scared the hell out of me. Instinct told me to run, to leave this place, to go somewhere where magic didn’t do what they were making it do.

  Yeah, well, instinct would just have to suck it.

  Chase, knife in one hand, caught the weight of Zay’s spell on the edge of her blade and tore it apart. She re-drew and recast that magic into something else, flicked it low at Zay’s feet.

  He dodged. The spell burned after him. He tucked and rolled over the spell, sliced it apart with the machete, and was on his feet again.

  In Chase’s other hand was a sword. Not a machete, no. This thing was beautiful, slick, graceful, powerful. Maybe a katana. It burned, not with flame, but with darkness. The air around it seemed darker than the night, and wavered as if heated.

  Chase cut a spell into the air with the tip of the blade.

  Zayvion closed the distance.

  Blades and magic met, clashed. Fire exploded on a viscous wind. Terric, standing inside his Containment spell, turned his face away from the blast, adjusted his grip on the spell, and did something that extinguished the fire.

  Silent. I heard nothing. Smelled nothing. Felt nothing but the hard-hitting heartbeats at my wrist. The Containment Terric held was amazing. It made it seem as if there were no one on the grounds, no fight, no magic. Nothing but a quiet night in a quiet field.

  Zayvion pressed Chase, chanting, even though I couldn’t hear him, the machete in his hand flicking like a rapier, then slashing out like a broadsword. The blade changed as he used it, and used magic to morph it, a wicked weapon of speed, power, steel, and magic.

  Chase gave ground, breathing hard. She was bleeding—at least I think it was her blood that left a dark trail on the grass behind her.

  I’d fought with Zay. I knew the punishment he could inflict on the practice mats. And that had been sparring. I had no idea how Chase endured his assault.

  Why didn’t she give up? What did she think? That she could beat him down? And then what? Kill him with Terric standing by? Kill Terric too? Run? It didn’t make sense. Zayvion was the best at what he did. And it didn’t look like he had any trouble not pulling his punches.

  Chase was not stupid. She was a Closer. She certainly wasn’t foolish enough to take on Zayvion and Terric alone.

  The soft moth-wing flutter of my dad in my head brushed behind my eyes. Then snapped so hard, I gasped. Stars flickered at the edge of my vision, and my dad’s awareness pressed down on me like an avalanche.

  Something was wrong. Something was wrong with this whole thing.

  Zay had said where we found Chase, we’d find Greyson. So where was he?

  The flutter behind my eyes flicked hard again. Pain snapped at my temple. Allison, Dad breathed. Behind you.

  I turned, and dropped Sight just as the man—no, not man; Shame—lifted his hands and threw the world at my head.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I dodged, and wove Block. As I crouched, Block surrounded me in a defensive shield.

  Shame’s spell burned past me, leaving a scorched stink of burnt cherries in its wake. While one part of my mind was pulling out
the swearwords, the other couldn’t understand how he could have missed. Shame dealt Death magic. He was a master at it. If he wanted to hit something, that thing got hit.

  I pulled my machete, to block his next attack.

  Instead of attacking, he stood there, breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists in front of him, head tipped down so that I could not see his eyes.

  But it was the smell of sweet cherries that told me exactly what was going on. Blood magic.

  Chase had marked him, cut his gut. Bound him to her with blood. Now she was using him.

  Holy shit. I’d thought he was going to call his mom.

  Shame’s fists shook and the fingers of his right hand slowly opened, one at a time.

  “Don’t,” he said, one ragged word. “Don’t let the bitch.”

  He groaned. His hand jerked into the beginnings of another glyph. The grass beneath him was drying up, going brown as he drew on Death magic to fight her control over him.

  Or—and this would be on my list of bad things—maybe she drew on Death magic through him to use it on me.

  Shame tipped his head up, eyes burning with hatred. Sweating, teeth bared in a growl. Furious.

  “Fuck her hard,” he said through clenched teeth.

  To do that, I’d have to knock Shame out. He knew that. And he was buying me time.

  I dropped Block, and stood back up while calmly reciting a mantra. I drew a spell for Sleep.

  Not an angry spell, something a parent would use on a fussy child.

  It’s always the simple things that no one expects to work.

  Of course, I put so much magic into it, Shame would be out hard and fast.

  His eyes narrowed, but I thought I saw him nod.

  I finished the spell, and hurled it, filled with all the magic burning in my body, my bones. I threw it at Shame with everything I had.

  He jerked, but didn’t lift a hand to block. He held his ground and let the spell hit him full force.

  Gutsy. Like staring down a heat-seeking missile.

  I felt an echoed flash of pain at my wrist, his anger—and that man knew how to hate—and then his eyes rolled back in his head. He crumpled to the ground.

  Terric’s heartbeat sped up, his worry bleeding through.

  Okay, maybe there was a downside to being connected to one another.

  Greyson, my father said in my mind, his voice growing louder. Find Greyson.

  For once, I was already ahead of him. Let Zay deal with Chase; let Terric cover our tracks. I was going to handle the real problem here—Greyson.

  And since I had my dad, at least part of him, in my head, and Greyson very much wanted to get his slathering jaws on him, I was pretty sure I could find him easier than anyone on this side of death.

  I glanced at Zay and Chase and Terric. They were gone. Nothing but an empty field met my gaze. Right. I’d let go of the Sight spell.

  Okay, let me add awesome Illusionist to Terric’s qualities. I drew Sight again, and sucked in a hard breath.

  Terric pulled in a huge amount of magic from deep beneath the ground to fuel the Containment. He was breathing hard and steady, like a man enduring a brutal run. I knew he wasn’t about to drop, but I also knew there was a limit to his endurance.

  Zayvion beat Chase back against the Containment. She stabbed her knife into the wall of magic Terric had created and drew the magic out of it, channeling it directly at Zay.

  Not a spell. Not a glyph. She sent a raging stream of magic burning at Zay like a flamethrower.

  Zay held one hand out, palm forward, blocking the flame like some superhero in a movie. Magic poured around him, flaring and sparking metallic colors, filling the Containment space. But it could not get through the walls Terric held.

  Zay should cast a spell to knock her out. He should smack her with the blade, hell, punch her, tackle her.

  Instead, Chase yelled. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I guessed it was a spell.

  And the Illusion that Chase had been casting, holding this entire time, shattered.

  Fast. Too fast.

  One heartbeat: Chase fell to her knees.

  She redirected the stream of magic. Past Zay, who ran now, toward her, trying to stop her.

  Magic poured past him. Just like she wanted it to.

  Poured into the shadowy figure who ran on all fours, liquid, faster than any man, even Zayvion, at Terric. It was Greyson. Greyson running toward Terric.

  I whispered a mantra. Maybe it was a prayer. Pulled on as much magic as I could contain.

  Greyson leaped at Terric.

  Terric raised one hand. Slow. Too slow.

  Zay twisted. Threw a spell at Greyson.

  Chase was talking, singing, chanting.

  Giving her magic, feeding Greyson.

  And waiting.

  For the second Zay’s back was turned.

  For this second.

  She threw her knife.

  I yelled. Cast Hold. End. This had to stop. Something had to stop this. I had to stop this.

  Greyson tore into Terric, knocked him down, sank teeth into his shoulder.

  Magic slid under my feet, skipped, skittered, and was gone. The storm did it again—pulled magic out of my reach.

  It was like someone had hit an off switch for me personally. I was empty. The magic I cast fizzled out before it even reached them.

  I ran.

  Chase’s knife found its target, buried hilt deep into Zay’s back. He yelled. And I heard it. Because Terric’s Containment was down.

  Chase chanted. Fast, guttural. She was crying. And she was casting a spell.

  The bitch.

  Apparently magic was still working for her.

  Zay stumbled, touched the ground with one hand, and pushed back up. Running. Pounding forward.

  He was almost on Greyson. Spells and steel. He swung the machete.

  Thunder rolled, a hard, crushing crack I felt in my bones. A gate between life and death burned into the air, yawned open between Terric and Zay.

  Chase was a Closer. She knew how to close gates. She knew how to open them too.

  Greyson let go of Terric, and lunged at Zayvion.

  He leaped through the gate. From one side to the other. Onto Zay.

  Terric rolled up on his knees. Raised a hand, threw magic at Greyson, at the gate.

  Zay swung his sword, chanting a spell of pain and death.

  But it was Greyson I heard. His growl. His howl. As he drank down all the magic, everything Terric threw. Everything Chase offered. Everything Zay swung. Sucked it all in. Then howled as Zay’s machete sliced into his ribs.

  Except there was no blood.

  What there was, was Greyson. Standing. More man than beast now. Muscled, naked, angry. Insane.

  He cast magic, in exact and perfect rhythm and beauty with Chase.

  Soul Complements.

  Beautiful, battered, she moved up behind Zayvion, holding him trapped, the magic from her hands, the magic from Greyson’s hands, caging Zay and burning into his skin.

  Burning into me.

  Soul Complements. Rarest of the rare. We shared each other’s pain.

  Just because Chase and Greyson hadn’t tested didn’t mean they weren’t meant for each other. Didn’t mean they couldn’t use magic together. Didn’t mean they couldn’t make magic do things it was never meant to do.

  Didn’t mean they couldn’t become one person, one caster, one soul.

  With one desire.

  Kill Zayvion Jones.

  I was almost there, almost there. My heart ran faster than my feet. My mind spun.

  Greyson and Chase cast, chanted, bent magic to their will. Made it beautiful. Horrifying. And tore Zayvion apart.

  Hold on, hold on, hold on. A chant, a fear I could not contain. Spilling out of me. With my breath. With his blood.

  I could feel Zayvion’s heartbeat slowing. Too slow. Thudding. Heavy. Gone. Watched him fall to the ground. For a second, a moment, I saw him, on the ground, but a
lso standing next to himself—seven-foot-tall warrior clothed in nothing but black flame and silver glyphs. Freed from his body, he still carried a shadow of the machete.

  He swung it at Greyson’s head.

  Just as Chase cast another spell, and threw it at the gate.

  Greyson roared, a yell, more beast than man. The gate exploded, tendrils of magic whipping out tentacles, like fire, like a nightmare I could not stop, could not reach, could not end.

  “No!” I yelled.

  But the tendrils hooked into the dark warrior spirit of Zayvion and dragged him into the gate.

  Something huge, fast, ran behind me, ran past me.

  Shame?

  No. Stone. Howling like a freight train from hell, he launched at Greyson. Wings pumped the air, and he came down, crushing the Necromorph into the ground.

  Chase screamed. Fell to her knees. Lost hold of magic.

  With her spell no longer feeding it, and Greyson’s spell no longer feeding it, the gate closed.

  Zayvion did not move. Did not breathe. I felt the absence of his heartbeat like a ragged pain emptying me of everything—thought, heart, breath.

  Emptying me of everything except anger.

  I strode across the remaining distance, my sword drawn. Terric lay in a bloody heap to my left. I could still feel his heartbeat against my wrist.

  Greyson snarled and squirmed beneath the crushing weight of Stone. Chase knelt, not far from both the gargoyle and the Necromorph, hands over her face, as if she endured, or maybe even Proxied for, the beating Greyson was receiving.

  There was no magic in me. The approaching edge of the storm had sucked it out. I couldn’t access the magic deep in the earth. I didn’t know why.

  But I had a backup. The magic I’d always had in me, the magic I was born with. A tiny flame no bigger than the flicker of a birthday candle.

  I had just enough magic to cast one spell. And I was not going to waste it.

  “Stone,” I said. “Tear him apart.”

  The big bruiser snarled. Greyson and Chase screamed in unison. Music to my ears.