Blood Storm Magic

by Jayne Faith

  The mages had been waiting for me.

  Chapter 15

  PAIN PULSED THROUGH my head as I looked up at the mages. Damien was there, staring at me with hard detachment as if we’d never been friends. But where was Evan?

  I tried to rise, and Damien’s mother made a flicking motion with her fingers. Pure white sparks of magic sprayed at me like drops of water. They hit my skin, and every muscle seized with agony. I fell over, my face still turned so I could look up at the mages.

  Through the pain, I sensed that one of them—a blond, chisel-featured guy who must have been Damien’s brother—had some sort of death magic. A necromancer, maybe. He must have been the one who’d torn me out of the in-between. I didn’t even know it was possible to do that.

  Damien’s mother—Sheila was her name, I remembered—twisted her wrist as if turning an invisible doorknob. The pain eased by half.

  I sat up, breathing hard, and leaned against the wall for support.

  “Where’s my brother?” I rasped. My head was swimming, and I was having a hard time keeping a train of thought.

  Sheila folded her arms, and a grim smile stretched her lips, which wore the perfect shade of red. A bit dark so as not to be tacky, but intense enough to make her appear effortlessly polished. I bet she never had smudges of it on her teeth. The lipstick wouldn’t dare offend her.

  Focus. I cursed myself silently.

  Sheila’s gaze jumped from my eyes to the center of my face. At the same time, I noticed the warm wetness on my upper lip. I swiped at it with one shaking hand, and my fingers came away bloody.

  “Where’s Evan?” I demanded, my voice cracking.

  God, how I wanted to stand up and punish all of them, hurt them, scar them. They intended to kill my brother, the smug bastard mages.

  The mages moved as one of them came forward from the back. My breath caught. It wasn’t a mage. It was Evan.

  But then the man’s face shifted. His height changed as he went from Evan’s lanky six-feet-plus to several inches shorter. Suddenly the person I was looking at was a complete stranger. I winced as if struck. It wasn’t my brother. They’d used extremely strong illusion magic to fool me. I was suddenly pretty sure Jacob wasn’t there, either. He’d wanted to be the one to offer up Evan, but the mages had taken my brother and cut my uncle out of their plans. He and the Steins might have been uneasy allies at some point, but I was almost sure things had changed.

  “He’s safe, don’t worry,” Sheila said, her voice throaty and cultured.

  Safe? Evan was anything but safe.

  Rage spilled through my veins, and I lunged at her. She twisted her hand, and the agony dialed back up. Just before I passed out, I felt a fresh gush of blood from my nose.

  When I came to, it was to the sound of nearby murmurs. My head felt like my brain had been extracted, blended, and then poured back into my skull. My body didn’t feel much better. It took me several seconds before I could parse the sounds into actual words.

  I was upright, but not under my own power. It felt like I’d been strapped to a gurney that had been tipped up against a wall. People were talking nearby. Beneath the sound of conversation, there was the softer prattle of a TV announcer.

  Instead of moving, I kept my eyes closed and my head slack. I still couldn’t make out the words. I concentrated harder on picking out the voices nearest me and ignoring the TV.

  “. . . same blood,” a young man’s voice said. “Perhaps she would help ensure the seal.”

  “She doesn’t have the right magic,” another male voice said. That one I knew. It was Damien’s.

  “But she can act as a conduit for magic. We have proof of that,” the first voice insisted.

  My insides writhed against a strange, restricted feeling. Something about it felt vaguely familiar, and it sent my pulse galloping in alarm. It took a second before I remembered. Someone had placed a charm on me, one that cut me off from my magic.

  “No, the soul of the reaper still resides within her,” Damien argued. He spoke so rapidly I barely caught all of his words. “I’ve studied the magical model. Her configuration wouldn’t work the same way as her brother’s. Plus, her reaper could interfere. It would fight to keep her alive. Evan is the only conduit who can rid us of the interdimensional tears and safely reset the world’s magic to what it was before. Anyone else would die before the job was done, dramatically raising the likelihood of unexpected effects.”

  They were talking about me. They were discussing possibly sacrificing me along with Evan.

  “But why not hedge our bets?” the other man countered. “What does it hurt?”

  “We’d run a serious risk trying to hold her until the time of the conflux,” Damien said. “People will miss her. It would be difficult to keep her incapacitated for several days.”

  My blood went cold. Conflux? That had to be the big event, the time they planned to sacrifice Evan. And according to Damien it was still days away.

  The other guy started to argue again, but Damien cut him off.

  “Don’t do this,” Damien snapped. “It’s pointless. The Order has already set the media campaigns in motion. It’s already begun. They’re not going to change their plans at this point. We’re going with the original plan, so you might as well just drop it.”

  By the impatient irritated tone of Damien’s voice, I guessed he was arguing with his brother. Only a sibling, or someone he had history with, would push his buttons that fast. They’d started off speaking very quietly, but as the argument had escalated, their voices had risen to the point I could hear them quite clearly. But they seemed to have realized it and had gone back to hushed whispers. I tried to keep listening and at the same time squash the panic rising up in me.

  My arms were strapped down at my sides. I subtly moved my fingers, thinking maybe Damien had used charmed rings to cut me off from my magic, as he’d done before. But there were no rings. I mentally scanned the rest of my body but couldn’t identify any charmed foreign object. I was trying to shift around without drawing attention, but suddenly understanding hit me like a slap in the face. I was strapped to some sort of device that not only incapacitated me physically, but also blocked my magic. The gurney or whatever they’d tied me to was one giant anti-magic charm.

  I knew it was pointless, but I pushed harder, straining against the charm and searching for a weakness in it. But it was mage-made. Mages didn’t make mistakes with charms like these, and even my Level III ability was no match for the block.

  The effort of trying to reach for magic made my head thump, and my nose began to leak blood again. I stopped, knowing I needed to conserve my strength for something that might actually help me. Tentatively, I turned my focus within, to the center of my chest where the reaper Xaphan resided. Tuning into the subtle tug from the realm of unreaped souls, I tried reaching for the in-between. If I could just fade away from the land of the living, I might escape before the necromancer mage could pull me back.

  I could feel limbo land out there, but I couldn’t pass into it. It was like sensing a sunny day outside, but not being able to open the door and step into it. That block wasn’t Damien’s work. It was probably a charm from the mage who had yanked me out of the in-between. It was also different in that it wasn’t a spell that had been tied off and left in my restraints. Whatever kept me from the in-between required a person there to maintain the block.

  Damn. Another option cut off.

  I let myself hang there limply for a long moment to gather my strength and try to figure out what to do next. Evan wasn’t there, which turned out to be a small blessing because I didn’t have to worry about trying to get him out with me. But who had sent the texts that had brought me to Boston? Maybe it had been Damien. It stung to think that he’d been part of the trap that landed me there, restrained and powerless. But he’d seemed to be arguing for letting me go, or at least for not killing me the way the mages were planning to kill Evan. He was only making a logical argument that killing me wouldn
’t benefit their efforts, but I’d take whatever I could get.

  The question was, why were they still holding me?

  My upper lip was starting to itch as the blood dried, interrupting my thoughts and drawing my attention back to my physical predicament. The itch intensified into a maddening tingle, and it was a small torture to not be able to wipe my nose. I couldn’t help it. It was like being on the edge of a sneeze, and it was driving me nuts. I scrunched my face and inhaled sharply, trying to make the sensation stop.

  But then white-hot pain stabbed through me, and my head convulsively jerked back, slamming my skull against the hard surface I was tied to. I recognized the magic searing my nerves—it belonged to Damien’s mother, Sheila.

  “Turn her around,” Sheila said.

  I cracked my eyelids open just in time to see her standing with her hand out, as if gripping an invisible tennis ball. She turned her wrist like she was twisting a dial, and the pain flared.

  I groaned as a fresh flow of blood ran from my nose, and I tasted it on my lips.

  “Behave yourself, and I won’t need to hurt you,” she said.

  I nodded, and the agony dialed back. Through the pain, I took note of the subtle apprehension that edged her voice. What did she think I was going to do to misbehave while I was immobilized and cut off from my magic?

  Damien and had come over to scoot me around as Sheila directed. I watched my former partner, hoping he’d look at me and I’d see some flicker of the Damien I used to know, but he kept his eyes cast down. I turned to his brother, the necromancer.

  “I’m Ella,” I said, my voice gravelly. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me but didn’t respond.

  I cast a glance around the room. It was a plush office, complete with an expensive-looking desk that was polished to a reflective gleam, a high-backed chair, oak filing cabinets, and a sofa with a coffee table. There was a TV mounted on the wall I faced. Sheila and her two sons were the only ones in the room, but an interior window revealed the other mages in an adjoining office.

  “So, this is the Stein family Boston headquarters?” I asked, still looking around for anything helpful. “Or maybe a branch office for the Order of Mages? Pretty mundane, needing actual office space. Can’t you just astrally project and meet up that way?”

  Sheila twisted her wrist, and I let out a screech as pain zipped through me.

  “Quiet,” she snapped. “You need to hear this.”

  The volume on the TV came up, and a mugshot-style photo of my brother, a recent picture, appeared on the screen.

  My breath died in my throat.

  I heard a door click open behind me and a few sets of shoes cross the plush carpet. The other mages, including Damien’s father, had joined us. All of them were staring intently at the TV.

  “There’s been a shocking new development in our understanding of the Manhattan Rip and a possible solution to the interdimensional tears that have led to the disasters that claimed thousands of lives and continue to endanger the world,” the clean-cut male anchor was saying. He was famous, one of the senior anchors on a major channel, but in that moment, I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name. I could only stare at the photo of my brother. “A young man has come forward claiming that he has the solution. He’s been working in secret for the past several years, trying to come up with some way to close the Manhattan Rip, the other permanent rips, and end the phenomenon of randomly appearing smaller rips. Now, get ready for the big twist in this almost unbelievable story. The young man who is claiming he can save the world is the nephew of Jacob Gregori, the tycoon who escaped prosecution for causing the interdimensional tears in the first place. The young man’s name is Evan Grey.”

  The picture cut from the anchor to Evan, sitting in a chair across from the anchor in what was obviously a previously-taped interview.

  My mouth fell open as Evan began to speak.

  “I’m the son of Jacob Gregori’s deceased brother,” Evan said. His eyes were sharp, his voice clear.

  “But you haven’t gone by the surname Gregori, is that correct?” the anchor asked. Paul Lancing was his name.

  My brother looked so . . . normal. Could the Steins really have gotten him cleaned up so thoroughly and so quickly?

  “For obvious reasons, my mother chose a different last name, so the family connection wouldn’t be obvious,” Evan said. “She wanted to protect us.”

  No. That wasn’t Evan. The cadence of the speech this look-alike used, the way he sat there with one leg crossed over the other. It wasn’t my brother, it couldn’t be.

  “Us being your mother, your sister, and yourself?” Paul asked.

  Evan nodded. “Yes, my sister Ella and I grew up with Grey as our last name.”

  My heart punched the inside of my chest.

  The picture cut away from the interview and back to the live anchor.

  “There’s much more to my interview with this intriguing young man,” Paul said. “But it turns out there’s another story here, that of the sister Evan Grey mentioned. While Evan Grey aims to save the world, his sister Ella Grey seems bent on helping it come undone.”

  My picture, the one that was on file with my old Demon Patrol precinct, appeared next to Paul’s head.

  “We’ve learned that Ella Grey aided the escape of Phillip Zarella, the scientist who was convicted of unspeakable crimes against humanity and awaiting execution. You’ll remember the story that came out a few years ago, when Zarella escaped maximum security and was supposedly gunned down in his escape. Well, he wasn’t killed. There was a cover-up. He went into hiding. And recently, he’s been spotted. We have the entire story of the unlikely relationship between the sister of would-be hero Evan Grey and the escaped psychopath, which we’ll be airing later tonight.”

  My photo expanded to take up almost the entire frame.

  “But right now, we want to spread the word that everyone should be on the lookout for this woman, Gabriella Grey, who goes by Ella Grey. She’s wanted for a several crimes, the worst of which is aiding the most notorious criminal of our time. We’ll be right back with more.”

  The station cut to a commercial for cat food.

  My head whipped over to Sheila, the sudden motion making my vision swim and nausea rise up my throat.

  I stared at her in horror. “That’s not my brother! This is a trick. The same illusion magic you used to lure me in here. That’s not Evan! What have you done with him?”

  I jerked against my restraints, nearly hyperventilating as fury and fear exploded through me.

  Sheila gave me one of her cool smiles. It just about made my sanity snap in half like a piece of uncooked spaghetti.

  “We’ll hang onto you for a day or so, just to give the media machine a chance to build up the story to a frenzy, and then we’ll turn you in,” she said, her voice smooth and calm.

  I twisted to look at Damien.

  “How can you go along with this?” I demanded, my voice straining with anger. “It’s all lies! That’s not even my brother. How can you live with yourself, Damien? You used to be a decent person. How can you do this?”

  I was shaking against my restraints, and my lower lids were filling with tears of outrage.

  His demeanor seemed almost as chilly and detached as his mother’s, but as he pivoted to fully face me, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his expression. It was probably too much to hope that it was a tiny signal of some inner conflict he might be feeling.

  “Answer me!” I yelled, spraying spit and blood.

  Everyone in the room was staring at the two of us, but the other mages seemed to be waiting for Damien’s response.

  Again, there was a flash of doubt in his eyes.

  “Because this is the right thing to do for humanity,” he said. “And we’re making it so that no one else needs to feel guilty about the sacrifice. Your brother will go down in history a hero—a willing hero who knew the risk and knew it was worth it. His worth
less life will mean something, Ella. He’ll be a modern savior.”

  He nearly had me convinced. But I’d spent a lot of time with Damien. I could tell when he was reciting something rather than speaking with deep conviction. But I also knew I couldn’t very well try to coax him back from the dark side while we were surrounded by his family.

  My voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “And just as frosting on the cake, you’re going to ruin me, too?”

  Sheila stepped forward, clearly preferring to take charge of the conversation.

  “We can’t have you jeopardizing the plan. But with this—” she gestured gracefully to the TV with one slim arm. “You’ve been completely discredited. No one will believe anything you say. In fact, next to Zarella you’ll soon be the most hated person in the country. Maybe the world.”

  She shook her head, and for a moment she almost looked genuinely sad.

  “We know it’s difficult for someone like you to understand,” she said, her tone more condescending than pitying. “But people like us know what must be done, and more important, we’re willing to do it.”

  Pure black hatred, anger like I’d never felt in my life, was swelling inside me like a tidal wave heading toward its inevitable crash upon the shore. But there was something else. The world looked as if it were seeping blood as crimson magic spread into the air around me. They didn’t know about the blood magic. They hadn’t blocked it. The inside of my nose, my upper lip, and my tongue were tingling as the magic mingled with my blood.

  Some part of my mind registered that anger seemed to be a trigger for bringing forth this magic.

  “You are monsters,” I said, my voice a low growl. “All of you.”

  Sheila’s eyes widened, and her icy façade began to crack as she sensed that something was happening. She couldn’t see the blood magic, and neither could the others. But they knew I was drawing power. It was gathering around my hands, but they were still bound. It was also filling my mouth.

  Not knowing what would happen or exactly how to wield the blood magic, I drew a deep breath, filling my lungs, and then exhaled forcefully into the room, sending the crimson magic outward, and my anger and desire to hurt the mages along with it.