Rogue Magic

by McKenzie Hunter

  A smile slowly curved his lips. “Simple is good.” He looked at the bar again. “Do you want to stay here, or have drinks?”

  “Since it’s ten o’clock in the morning, maybe we should stick with coffee.”

  I settled back into my seat after getting my drink, and Elijah occupied his time by looking around the café. The shifter ring gave away the two shifters in the corner. A waft of earthy magic that drifted over the room identified witches in the far-right corner, and a warm humming of it unmasked the mages just a few tables away. Elijah’s gaze roved over every customer, spending more time on the humans interspersed between the supernaturals.

  “We’re stronger than anyone in here,” he said thoughtfully. He did another sweep of the occupants of the room. My eyes trailed his, taking in the people.

  “Probably.”

  “No ‘probably.’” He was barely audible even to me, sitting next to him. “We ran and hid from them for years. Were hunted and demonized.”

  No, he cannot be as bad as Conner. Please don’t be like Conner. Pulling his gaze from the patrons, he settled it on me. His voice was level, but held an edge: “Do you think it was wrong for us to want to live apart from them?”

  “No. I think it was wrong to try to kill everyone who wasn’t one of us,” I offered, keeping my voice just as even as his so it wouldn’t reveal my feelings. I needed him to feel free to express himself. This would determine his position in my life: friend or foe.

  He smiled. “That was cruel and shortsighted,” he said, relaxing back in his chair.

  Maybe ten in the morning isn’t too early to drink. “Shortsighted?”

  Elijah’s head barely moved into his nod. “If history has taught us nothing, numbers matter. Although we had great magic, we didn’t have the numbers. Defeat was inevitable. Conner is shortsighted and foolish as well.”

  It was hard to remain casual and indifferent. “You’ve met Conner?”

  Chuckling, he attempted an unsuccessful eye roll. “He’s one of the most powerful wielders of magic I’ve seen. His motivation is awe-inspiring. And his drive and desire for a fantastical world where we can exist together, away from everyone else, free to be who we are without limitations or judgment, make him sound like a ranting crazy person. These people don’t bother me. I like being around them. I can’t imagine a world where we live apart. I don’t want to, which is why I came to meet you.”

  “Me?”

  “You. Tina spoke so highly of you, and your vision seemed more than just the ranting of a person with a superiority complex. It’s well-thought-out.”

  Sure, it’s so well thought out. I’d rolled out of bed and had this crapfest fall in my lap while fighting a supervillain who had a propensity to monologue. I didn’t say anything that would change Elijah’s impression of me and my plight. Maybe one day I’d look at this as being wrong, but at the moment, I had no problem with him thinking I was a woman with a vision.

  Coffee with Elijah had left me feeling emboldened. If I ignored that part about him making me consider day drinking or our brief discussion about breeding, something I was sure no one should ever discuss on their second meeting, he made me feel that coming out wasn’t going to be as bad. And if it was, I had someone who was like me. I knew I had Kalen and Savannah—old Savannah who would support and stand behind me—but it was good to have someone who would be affected as well, if things went poorly.

  Before heading to work, where I expected to face Kalen’s version of “Oh, so you still work here?” I stopped by the Supernatural Guild to talk to Gareth since the café where I’d met Elijah was just a few blocks away. I wasn’t sure if I’d chosen that café for my benefit or Gareth’s. I wanted to talk to him after my meeting with Elijah.

  When I arrived at Gareth’s office he reminded me of a confined animal as he paced, his large stride devouring most of the space with just a few steps. Shapeshifters could sense emotions, feel changes in others’ behavior, and use physiological signs to determine a person’s mindset. I didn’t need any of it to determine how he was feeling. He was wound so tightly he was just a bundle of frustration and anger, which forced me to be calmer than I actually felt to neutralize the situation.

  “This is getting ridiculous. First HF, now this new group. I’d rather have Humans First anytime over these new guys. HF was all talk and rhetoric. They just wanted the Cleanse,” he barked, glancing at the monitor on his desk. I assumed there’d been another attack.

  “Just?” I asked skeptically.

  He stopped pacing and gave me an icy look that would have been better directed at the assailants.

  “Yes, just. Performing a Cleanse isn’t an easy job. It requires strong magic, your magic. Not just any damn person off the street can do it, and it needs to be a well-orchestrated action. Best case they acquire objects necessary to do it, like the Necro-spear. Worst case they collude with someone like Conner, but even he needed more magic than his own to do it. These new asses are trying to pick us off one by one.” He pushed the last part out through clenched teeth. “How long before they go into our homes, restaurants, bars, and clubs?” So far, all the attacks had been outdoors, but it was just a matter of time before the attackers became bolder. He shook his head. “Whoever is behind this is good. The shooters never know anything about the person who supplied them. The person doesn’t even give a name and never uses the same point of contact.”

  “Who would follow someone so blindly, especially at the risk of getting caught?” I wondered aloud.

  “People who don’t like the fact that we live among them,” Victor said as he entered through the slightly ajar door. “They never change. I’m sure they are the same people who were part of HF. The manner in which the group was disbanded probably made recruitment easier.” He gave me an accusatory look as if I was responsible for it.

  Maybe Conner was behind this. Or someone who had dealt with him. It could very well be that Conner’s antics had incited this, but his obsession with me wasn’t my fault. The inner workings of the mind of a sociopath couldn’t be made my responsibility.

  Giving me a wry smile, Victor continued, “I don’t blame you, Ms. Michaels.”

  Great—another vitals-reading freak. I’d felt my pulse quicken quite a bit at the implication that I had something to do with the rising violence against supernaturals.

  Victor didn’t wear his frustration well. Squared shoulders made him look rigid and uncompromising in his dark blue suit. Golden brown eyes glinted under the fluorescent light. His lithe, sinuous gait made it apparent that he was a shifter, but I still hadn’t figured out which type. Nothing about his broad build gave any hints. He was just an inch or two shorter than Gareth but had a similar commanding presence. It looked like each of them was fighting for his share of space in the massive room.

  The fae behind him decided not to share in the struggle and stayed just outside of the room. Behind his striking azure eyes was a quiet strength, and his lean body made me think of Kalen. He didn’t look like he belonged in a job where conformity was necessary. While Gareth wore dark slacks and a white shirt, and Victor a dark suit, the fae had opted for a hunter green vest, brown slacks, and a white shirt. A brightly colored woven handkerchief peeked from the pocket of the vest. After he ushered a tight crooked smile onto his face, I realized I’d been staring. He seemed to take it as interest in him. His features found a comfortable place between handsome and striking. It was doubtful I was the first person who’d stared. His gaze shot in Gareth’s direction and back to me, and his brows rose slightly in inquiry. A silent questioning of my status with Gareth. Anyone who spent any time in the SG had an idea that something was going on with Gareth and me. Discretion wasn’t something they even pretended to have when it came to gossip. I was the talk of the building and heard the hushed voices anytime I walked past a group.

  Gareth’s head was tilted to the side. “Answer his question, Ms. Michaels,” he coaxed as staunch amusement skated over his words. Crossing his arms over his chest,
he waited, looking at the fae’s questioning expression.

  “Answer what question?” Yeah, I’m going to play naïve.

  “He wants to know if the rumors are true. Are you single?”

  I so do not want to do this in front of an audience. It didn’t help that even Victor, who often behaved like he couldn’t dislodge the stick crammed up his hindquarters, found a modicum of humor in the situation.

  Gareth should have been trying to keep our relationship under wraps. There had to be a rule about this kind of impropriety. Thou shalt not date the person who’s a Legacy but is out and now helping the SG, or something like that. The taunting smile that tugged at Gareth’s lips made every part of me crave to wipe it off.

  “I like your handkerchief, which is why I was staring, but I’m sure you’re used to women staring at you for other reasons. Sorry, I’m not that woman, I’m crushing on your hanky.”

  Ha, solved that. The fae didn’t look disappointed, although he made a show of pretending he was. Gareth’s smile quickly twisted into a scowl. Switching back to business. “Let me guess, you weren’t able to get anything.”

  “Same as before. They met with their contact. No names were exchanged, and even when I compelled them to truth, their descriptions are rather lackluster. No distinguishing marks and the general features are the same. Sometimes the color of the hair changes. I wonder if it is the same person? We have a name, but it’s a generic one that I doubt will be of any help.”

  “What’s the name?” Gareth asked.

  “Jonathan.”

  Ordinarily I would have said it was coincidental that the person had the same name as the mage who’d been on the Magic Council and had betrayed them to team up with Conner and Humans First to do another Cleanse. It very well could be chance that the name came up again in an effort to get rid of supernaturals. The strategy of using the virus was different than the Cleanse and wasn’t as efficient. The end results would be the same: the supernaturals would be dead, with the exception of the Legacy and Vertu who were immune to it.

  “Are you sure that Jonathan is dead? Did you see a body?” Victor asked. That might have seemed like a ridiculous question before the situation with Conner. Now, anything was possible.

  “He’s definitely dead,” Gareth replied.

  “Could it be someone seeking revenge on his behalf?” the handsome fae asked, his right leg crossed over his left as he leaned against the doorframe as if he’d lost interest in standing. He wasn’t a typical SG agent. Most of them stood at attention when dealing with Gareth.

  Gareth considered the question for a long time. “We should look into it. He left behind a sister and a girlfriend. Perhaps they had similar views.” Frowning at the assumption, I cast a look in his direction. People had assumed I was a certain way because of my lineage. The idea of someone else being treated in the same manner bothered me.

  “It’s an investigation, every avenue has to be explored,” Gareth offered in explanation.

  I knew the reason; it still didn’t make it any better.

  CHAPTER 10

  The dark Gothic exterior of the home of Calista, Jonathan’s sister, wasn’t doing anything to exonerate her. The gray bricks had small cracks that looked intentional. Gargoyle statues perched on the posts at the foot of the stairs leading up to the house. Black wrought iron fenced in the home. Heavy, ornate gates opened at our arrival and closed immediately after we entered. They could have been motion activated, but I couldn’t help but wonder what type of person didn’t have a problem with random people entering her estate.

  Scanning the area, I didn’t see any cameras. “There aren’t any,” Gareth said to me as we walked up the stairs.

  “What, you can read minds, too?” I muttered, slightly irritated.

  “No, just yours. You’re very skeptical.”

  “Skepticism has kept me alive this long,” I said pointedly. Frustration, fear, and dread of the unknown were starting to affect me and cause me to be short with Gareth. I had a feeling he was having the same problem because he was being curt with me, Victor, and Mason—the attractive fae, who’d offered his name once he’d realized I would be tagging along on the trip. Being a Legacy had some advantages, but being precluded on a trip to visit a mage, who might want revenge for her brother’s death, wasn’t one of them. If the SG thought they were going to need a great deal of magic, they didn’t mind ignoring the rules about bringing a civilian. For the most part it didn’t bother me, but I had no idea what we were dealing with. Mages were direct descendants of Legacy with just a bit less magical ability. They were a force to be reckoned with. Mages possessed the closest form of magic to ours.

  Victor knocked on the door, hard. Nothing. He knocked a second time and it opened on its own.

  “Do we go in?” Mason asked.

  “Mr. Reynolds, I suspected I would see you soon,” said a honey-sweet, light voice that floated in the air. The whimsical, welcoming sound didn’t match the stern features of the woman who eventually revealed herself. Walnut-colored hair was piled on top of her head with small ringlets falling from the pile. Her wide bowed lips strained at a smile, exposing deep dimples in a narrow face. Amber eyes shone with disdain and sparkled under the recessed lights.

  The gothic theme continued in the home, with gargoyles on stands in each corner of the room. Clay ceremonial masks lined the burgundy walls. Bronze and tan furniture darkened the room even more. Had it always been like this, or had she redecorated in response to her brother’s death? There was something about her that felt wrong. Perhaps it was the string of brightly colored beads that dangled midway down her long, black gossamer dress. If it weren’t for the dark coloring, the dress would have had an angelic appearance. The flowing fabric moved in a steady rhythm as she approached us.

  Grief drifted off her like a fragrance. If it was apparent to me, it had to be apparent to the others.

  “Calista,” Gareth breathed out her name in a low voice. “How are you?”

  “How do you think I am?” she asked, eyes narrowing on him.

  “You know why I’m here?” Gareth asked.

  “I suspect you think I share my brother’s obsession with power.” She continued to move along the room, eyeing each of her creepy gargoyles. “Our views might have been different, but that doesn’t change my love for him.” Sorrow trembled in her voice.

  My opinion quickly changed: She was grief-stricken but she was ominous and creepy as hell, too.

  Victor watched her carefully as she roamed through her room, looking even more like pictures I’d seen of the weeping woman walking along the river, withdrawn so far into her grief that she appeared to be a revenant.

  “There have been attacks on supernaturals. Bad attacks.” She pointed out matter-of-factly, “We’re going to die.” Stark decisiveness made her words seem as if they were a prophecy. No, it wasn’t prophetic, it was a desire. That made her even more dangerous: She didn’t care whether she lived or died, which meant she probably didn’t care whether others did.

  “Do you know anything about it?” Mason asked. Calista’s attention moved from his face to his hand where magic sparked from his fingers as if he were waiting for her to make a move. Giving him a look of inconsequence, she continued walking. It didn’t go unnoticed that she was closing the distance between her and us.

  “Yes, it’s a quite powerful drug. Humans are resourceful and resilient when they feel they are under attack. You know they wouldn’t have cared about the Cleanse except for that small percentage of those identified as humans who had enough supernatural in them to fall victim to it. They would have been content to let us die—except they didn’t know which of their forefathers had a liaison with which creature that may have linked them to the supernatural world. That’s why they cared. What they are doing now is better, cleverer. It’s more discriminating.” Wiping her hand along her dress in one sweeping move, she produced seven little arrows that hovered in the air by magic, directed at Victor, Gareth, and Mason.
r />   “You know I’m not going to let that happen,” I asserted, infusing steel into my voice to discourage her.

  “Of course not, Anya. You won’t let it happen, which is why you will need to be stopped.”

  The moment I felt Conner’s presence I turned, thrusting magic at him, but he disappeared before it made contact. A firm casing of magic wrapped around my waist and yanked me back against him. When I jammed the heel of my boot into the top of his shoe, he groaned and tightened his hold around me, digging his fingers into my stomach with such intensity if felt like he had talons. He didn’t. There was nothing but vengeance and hate behind his touch. Clawing at his hands, I pulled at his skin, but he was relentless.

  Aware that he was about to take me, I gave up trying to stop him and pushed a wave of magic from me. It smashed into Calista, unbalancing her. The arrows flew, but I was gone before I could see if they’d hit their intended targets. The moment my feet were on solid ground, Conner tossed me away from him.

  Reflexively, I went for the sai that were usually sheathed to my back. When I came up empty, I remembered I’d left them in Gareth’s car. Conner kept his distance from me; anger marred his face with a twisted, merciless smile.

  “You don’t give up, do you?” I asked, splitting my attention between him and my surroundings. It wasn’t anywhere he’d taken me before. When he was making an effort to woo me, he’d brought me to beautiful places with fragrant air, magically enhanced beautiful trees, lush grass, exotic plants, and the promise of a life of nothing but beauty and pleasure. The honeymoon was over. This place was dank. The overpowering smell of something rotting lingered in the air. The surrounding trees were dead; dark leaves wept from their branches, waiting for a big enough wind to blow them away. Brown grass covered the ground, and clouds overshadowed the sun. It was dreary, desolate, and discomforting. Was he planning to leave me here? What was his end game?