Real Magic

by Lissa Michaels

  Let her keep right on walking. He didn’t need this frak. He didn’t need her.

  The shimmering water drew his gaze and held it. Each ripple glimmered in a different color of the rainbow, making the whole pool sparkle like gems.

  He knelt at the water’s edge and stared into its depths. It’s surface smoothed and changed. The black-haired woman and child smiled at him.

  He focused on her beautiful, very alive-looking face and that damned fist closed tight around his heart, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. Damn it! Why did he keep seeing them?

  Jelena ported to his side. “What’s wrong?”

  “That’s them, the woman and child the gods want me to avenge.”

  Jelena knelt beside him and peered into the pool. She gasped. “That’s Miranda.”

  “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  Drake clenched his eyes closed, reeling from the blow her words dealt him, and fisted his hands in the grass. No gut-punch he’d ever been dealt ever came close to hurting this bad. His chest heaved as he fought to regain control.

  “Are you all right?” She curved her soft hand over his shoulder.

  “They win.” He raised his head and looked at their image once more, burning it into his mind.

  “What?”

  “I’m going back to the temple.” He stood and turned his back on the pond. “I need to know what happened to her.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  DRAKE TOOK Jelena’s hand and ported them to the steps of the Executioners’ temple. He glared at the massive doors, knowing the gods wouldn’t give him peace until he entered and let them have their say. They wouldn’t leave the past alone.

  He couldn’t leave the past alone.

  If someone had killed his birth-mother, he couldn’t let it go. He had to make it right. He owed her that much; she gave him life. Gods, he just wished he remembered her.

  Jelena tugged on his hand. “The oracle in the Guardian temple can give you the answers you want. You don’t have to go in there.”

  Worry etched on her beautiful face. It twisted the perpetual knife in his gut. “If they’d judged me, don’t you think they would have killed me the last time?”

  Her breath eased out. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Sighing, he strode up the steps. She’d never believe in him. Stupid bastard, why the hell did he care?

  Because you love her.

  Stupid bastard.

  Jelena squeezed his hand. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

  Drake released his breath slowly, not realizing he’d been holding it, and shook his head. He kissed the back of her hand then released her and strode to the doors.

  A young priest pulled the heavy door open for him. Why didn’t he use his magic to move the door? Ah, jade eyes—a level one. Maybe his ability to speak with the gods was his magic. Impressive enough. He bet there were plenty of fives who envied him that skill.

  “Drake wait!”

  He turned.

  “I want you to wear this.” She handed him a velvet pouch.

  He dumped its contents into his hand. His fingers curled around the intricately detailed piece of jewelry, warm from being so close to her skin, and jerked his gaze to her face. “A cuff?”

  She dropped her gaze. “It’ll protect you.”

  He was wrong. It was just a charm. “From the gods?” he whispered.

  “Well, no.” A blush crept into her cheeks. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re wearing it. Please, for me?”

  He nodded and twisted it onto his wrist. Her pleased smile only made his chest hurt worse.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?”

  He caught site of Kedar at the bottom of the steps. “I think you’ve pushed as far as you’re going to.” He nodded toward Kedar, who stood with his arms folded, the picture of patience—only not.

  Jelena paled. “Good luck,” she whispered and retreated.

  You didn’t really think she’d want to marry a worthless bastard like you, did you boy?

  Drake clenched his fists, forcing Hastin’s taunting voice from his mind, and strode into the temple. If his old man had anything to do with Miranda’s death, he’d hunt the bastard down on the prison world and kill him.

  He walked directly to the stone, ignoring the priests prostrated on the floor in front of it. “I want to know what happened. Why did Miranda die?”

  A priest jerked to his knees. “You cannot demand answers of the gods.”

  Drake watched the stone. “If you’re still willing to tell me, I’m willing to listen.”

  The egg-shaped crystal came to life, the entity within bursting against the crystal’s surface in a riot of color. Then, an inner glow filled the crystal with sapphire light. {You will see justice served?}

  “The Goddess Meda asks—”

  Drake silenced the priest with a glance. “Yes.”

  {Even if justice requires the taking of a life.}

  He swiped his hand down his face, swearing under his breath. “You show me proof, and I’ll do it. I will not blindly kill again.”

  {Very well. Touch, and you will receive all the proof you desire.} The feminine voice sounded pleased.

  The priests backed away as Drake reached out. His stomach clenched, but he didn’t hesitate. The faceted surface was liquid smooth and warm beneath his palms. The heat spread through his hands and into his body, easing the tension, lulling his eyes closed.

  In his mind, a vision formed of a dark haired boy, maybe four years old, sneaking out of bed. He peeked into the next room, found his mother still asleep, and smiled. Moments later, he stood on the bank of Faery Lake, dipping his small foot into the warm water.

  Magic rippled across Drake’s skin a moment before the tinkle announced Enola’s arrival. He sensed her approach, but kept his attention on the vision.

  Strong arms grabbed the boy from behind. “Ready for a swim?”

  The boy’s sudden fear seized him, making him live the vision. He plunged into the water. Terror rose in his throat. He struggled against the booted foot holding him on the bottom of the pool. He screamed; water filled his lungs. His thrashing churned the water, keeping the man’s face distorted, but he knew him. Hatred simmered beneath the terror. The fight to live seeped out of him. His struggles slowed. With one last mental cry, Mata! (Mother), the boy stilled—releasing Drake, trembling and weak, from his hold.

  The scene panned back and showed the cowardly bastard trudging from the lake and the boy floating face-down in the water. When the man turned toward the boy and laughed, the image froze on his face.

  Drake’s entire body went rigid. “Threaden.”

  “We knew him as Naduro,” Enola whispered.

  The man’s hair and skin were different shades, and his face shaped somewhat different, but there was no mistaking those cold eyes or that cruel smile. He’d transformed himself into a Jotnar.

  {The transformation was his final act of magic.}

  “What did he have against the boy?” Drake squeezed his eyes shut. “Against me?”

  “He’d coveted Miranda’s affections since she was just a girl, and wanted her for his wife.” Enola’s soft sorrowed voice touched Drake deep inside. “He never forgave her for giving herself to an outsider or for bearing his child.”

  “Why wasn’t something done about him?”

  “The taking of one life, even one as precious as yours, will not bring down Divine Judgement. The gods must reserve their interference for the extreme.”

  “As a Jotnar, he tortured and killed thousands of people. He tortured my best friend. You don’t call that extreme? Why wasn’t an Executioner sent after him?”

  {One was.}

  “Who?” Who the hell wasn’t doing his job?

  {You.}

  His heart clenched. “No. I bring criminals to justice. I don’t kill them unless I have no other choice.”

  {That is the way it should be, the way we intend it to be, but as you told
your Guardian, sometimes, there is no other choice.}

  He shouldn’t have asked. “Why did he leave here and become a Jotnar? There were no witnesses.”

  “Your mental cry brought your mother to your side. When she saw you, he panicked and fled.”

  Drake closed his eyes and the vision returned. Miranda screamed and splashed into the water. She gathered his limp body in her arms then laid him on the grassy bank. Her hands glowed with healing magic as she placed her palms over his head and heart. Nothing happened. Her magic couldn’t heal the dead.

  She buried her face in his neck, her body shaking, then threw back her head and cried, “No!”

  A moment later, she laid him on the floor in front of a large round crystal.

  Drake stiffened, recognizing it.

  “Please, help him. It was not his destiny to die young. You showed me that yourself. Please!”

  A green inner light radiated from the crystal. You would give your life for his?

  “No,” Drake whispered.

  “Yes!”

  Perform the Transference. Quickly, before his soul leaves his body.

  The crystal’s green glow spread to encompass his small body. When Miranda placed her hands on him, her entire body glowed golden with the full strength of her power. As it spread across his small body, it faded from hers until nothing remained then she collapsed beside him, her hand covering his. He drew in a deep, gasping breath, coughing up water as she exhaled her last.

  Drake’s hands slid down the crystal as he sank to his knees. Gods forgive him, it was his fault. If he hadn’t called her—

  “Why?” He swallowed past the tightness of his throat. “Why did she do it? Why did she give up her life?”

  “She loved you.” Enola curled her hand over his shoulder. “Without you, she had no desire to go on living.”

  Drake shook his head, pain tearing at his heart. No love ran that deep, that true.

  “You know that is false. Your love for Morgan, for his entire family, runs that deep. You’d give your life for them.”

  They wouldn’t have to ask. He owed them so much, yet it was more than that. He loved them. If they needed his life, he’d give it to them. Just as he would for Jelena.

  “How can you believe your mother’s love ran any less deep?”

  He looked away. She knew why. He didn’t have to say it. He was nothing, worthless.

  “My poor, poor boy.”

  He jerked away from her touch. “How in the hell did she get hooked up with my old man?” If she hadn’t, none of this would ever have happened.

  “His party camped on the other side of the mountain. When they were attacked during the night by razagidor, our healers went to aid them. Miranda was among them. She saw you in your father’s eyes and fell in love with him, knowing he would be the one to fulfil her destiny. She sensed in him a kindness that ran soul-deep.”

  Drake laughed. The humorless sound echoed through the large chamber. “My old man doesn’t have a kind bone in his body.”

  Enola paled and clenched her trembling hands together.

  “Don’t feel bad. He’s very good at hiding his real nature.” From everyone but Drake. He hid nothing from him, especially his temper.

  “I thought you grieved for your home here. I had no idea you were being harmed. If I had, I would never have—” Her voice cracked, then she broke into silent tears.

  Drake gathered her fragile body in his arms. “It’s all right. You did the only thing you could.”

  “You do not blame me for your pain?”

  “No, of course not.” I blame him.

  “I still can’t believe Trey did such a thing. How could I have been so wrong about him?”

  Drake stilled. “Trey?”

  Enola wiped her eyes on a lacy square of fabric and nodded. “That is what Miranda called him. Trey.”

  {Observe.}

  In the vision, Enola pointed to the floor in front of her. The sight of the stunned man who appeared in front of her nearly stopped Drake’s heart. “Tremaine,” he whispered, and fought against the pain tearing through his heart, his soul. “Show me the rest.”

  Enola’s hand folded over his rigid arm. “You’ve seen enough.”

  “Show me the rest.”

  Tremaine adjusted the sleeping boy in his arms. He brushed the tousled hair off the boy’s brow then stiffened, his warm look turning cold, determined. In the next scene, he stood at Hastin’s door where he handed over the boy and a heavy money sack and walked away, not once looking back.

  JELENA STARED at the closed doors and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “You planned this all along, didn’t you?” She turned toward Master Kedar. “You knew that if he went alone, he wouldn’t be able to avoid the questions.” Despite what Drake said, she believed he had to at least be curious about the woman who gave him life.

  “Hmmm. It took longer than I thought. Something must have distracted him.”

  Jelena’s face heated. “I was worried about him.” The light breeze strengthened, lifting her hair.

  “And when you found him, he was doing very well.”

  “Well isn’t the word for it.” She shook her head, still amazed by the skill Drake had demonstrated.

  “And yet you stayed.”

  “He knew I was there, and he’d gone to so much trouble to prepare things for me.” And they’d shared so much. So much was cleared up.

  “And so much remains unchanged.”

  She flinched. “I can’t help how I feel.”

  “The fact he has taken lives bothers you.”

  “Yes.” She understood why now, but it still bothered her.

  “How will you feel when he takes his place with us?”

  Jelena’s heart skipped a beat. “With you? You mean as an Executioner?”

  “Will you turn your back on him for doing the gods’ work?”

  The wind blew her hair across her face. She pulled it back. “Of course not, but—”

  “Draken’s past and his future are tightly meshed. If you cannot live with his past, you will not be able to endure his future.”

  “Are you saying that he was doing the gods’ work all along?”

  “Visit your temple and ask. I think you’ll be surprised by what you see.”

  No, she knew in her heart he was right. Ali’ra, she’d been such a fool. She’d let her brother’s pain blind her to the truth and had caused Drake needless pain because of it. Destiny was right. They belonged together. She wouldn’t fight Her anymore.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, startling Jelena. Thick, dark clouds rolled in from the west and with it the promise of a nasty storm. But, this was no ordinary storm. This was magic—angry magic. “Drake!”

  The master caught her arm before she moved toward the temple. “He must do this alone.”

  One by one, the council members ported around them. They stared tensely at the temple. “This is his doing.”

  “He cannot control his temper.”

  “Nor his anger.”

  “He will destroy us all.”

  “No,” Master Kedar said. “This was long in coming. It will pass.”

  “You believe he can master his power?” her grandfather asked.

  “With your granddaughter at his side, I believe he can accomplish anything he sets his mind to.”

  “What has my granddaughter have to do with this?”

  “I saw him accept her offer.”

  When the council’s gazes turned to her, especially her grandfather’s, it was on the tip of her tongue to give them the same excuse she’d given Drake and Mika but there was no point. She’d offered for him, and they knew it. She didn’t care that they knew. She straightened her shoulders, met her grandfather’s gaze, and nodded.

  Warmth filled her cheeks as a sharp pang of guilt struck her. Drake didn’t know he’d accepted her when he took the cuff. She’d been afraid he’d reject it if he knew what it meant. Whether he wanted her or not, he needed its protection.


  “No!” Lightning cracked and thunder boomed in the black sky. The wind whipped her hair about, stinging her cheeks. And just like that, it was gone. All of it.

  “Drake!” Jelena rushed up the steps and into the temple. She found Enola on her knees weeping in front of the oracle but saw no sign of Drake. He was gone.

  DRAKE sat in the dark, staring at the frail man in the bed—a man who’d been so robust, so much larger than life—a man he’d wished was his father more times than he could count. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Hell, it cleared up a lot of things that hadn’t made sense. Like why Hastin used to get so pissed at him if he even mentioned Tremaine’s name. Like why Hastin nearly killed him when he’d told him he wished Tremaine was his father.

  He remembered that day clear as crystal, even after all these years. He’d come home from school and discovered that Tremaine had approached Hastin about fostering him. His pleased surprise must have shown because Hastin snapped.

  “You think you deserve better than this, you worthless piece of frak?” He backhanded Drake so hard he went crashing into the table, cutting himself when the glass broke.

  Unmindful of the blood dripping down his arm, he’d stood defiantly and told him his wish. The punch he’d received must have knocked him senseless, because the next thing he knew, Hastin waved his birth records in his face. “He doesn’t want you! You see these? You’re mine, boy. Don’t ever forget it.”

  That was the night Hastin had beaten him half to death, the night any feelings he’d had for the man died, the night Morgan had found him in the garden.

  Hastin had the last laugh, though. Tremaine was his father, and the man hadn’t been able to get rid of him fast enough. Within hours of discovering he was a father, he’d pawned his kid off on a man that hated his guts, a man that took great pleasure in taking that hate out on a helpless child. Why hadn’t Hastin rubbed the truth in his face?

  Drake stood and strode to the bed. The man didn’t look like Tremaine. Hair that had been thick and black as his own, except for graying temples, now lay thin and colorless around his head. His face looked sunken and old, just gray skin over withered muscle and bone. The outline of his body beneath the sheets showed the rest of him wasn’t much different. He almost pitied the man. Almost.