Feral Magic: An Urban Fantasy Romance-Thriller

by Nicolette Jinks

  Chapter Eighteen

  When we reached King's Ransom, the market was already righting itself and resuming business as usual, the merchants thinking nothing of cleaning up debris from their own stalls. I gave them a wary glance before brushing past Mordon holding open the door for me. I muttered a “thank you” and stumbled when I tried to pick books up off the floor. Skills had suggested them for me.

  “Let me,” said Mordon, sweeping them up before I registered he was even next to me. He read the titles. “Light reading?”

  “I got light reading for you in my shoe,” I slurred. I sounded drunk. Forget that, I felt drunk and hung over rolled into a nice ball with a dose of sleeping drug stirred in.

  Mordon pitched his eyebrows in a surprised, if not confused, expression and held open the wainscoting door for me as well. “Careful up the stairs.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  I didn't remember climbing the stairs and staggering into the breakfast nook. I didn't even remember Mordon starting us steaks the size of my head and as thick as both of my hands put together. Mordon closed a dusty book I didn't remember blankly leafing through, and pushed it out of the way, replacing it with a plate and a fistful of wet wipes. He cleaned his fingers and seized the rare steak in his hands, chewing ravenously.

  “There are knives in the kitchen drawer if you want serving ware,” he said. I thought it was too much effort to get up and search through the drawers, so I joined him in eating like cavemen.

  Half way through the meal, Mordon said, “You almost pushed yourself too hard.”

  “I hate being weak.”

  “What's so important?”

  “Gregor doesn't like me.”

  Mordon snorted and shook his head. “That man doesn't like anyone.” But he dropped the subject.

  I was bleary-eyed, warm, ready to sleep, and Leif seemed no where near ready to come home, according to the letter Mordon received once dinner was put away. So I decided to entrust Mordon with the paper that had by now conformed to the shape of my foot.

  “While you guys were fighting up there, that simurgh was after this,” I said, digging the triangle out of my sock and slapping it on the table.

  Mordon accepted it, frowning. “No one has complained of missing a parchment.”

  “Not gonna hear a complaint, neither,” I said, slipping into Railey's speech. “Cuz 'e wasn't supposed t' have it.”

  “What is written inside?” Mordon's fingers refused to unfold it.

  “Nuthin' good, that's for sure, my bet is it's somethin' that's not supposed t' exist.” I giggled, my voice shrill. “You shoulda seen the way Gregor scattered once I told 'im I was your ward.”

  “I thought you said you were going to work on your lying,” said Mordon without any venom behind his voice. He smiled. “How fast did he scram?”

  “Real fast once I showed 'im this,” I said, stretching out my hand with the sapphire dragon ring on it before that tiny voice of reason could break through the haze, yelling at me to stop.

  Mordon's good humor iced over and he stiffened. “Where did you get that?”

  “Agnes. When I got the potion stuff the first time round.” I didn't need to explain further. He knew the rest of the story. I sobered up some at the furrow in his brow, but my brain was still filled with clouds.

  His voice was carefully neutral as he said, “I see…you're exhausted, go get rest. I'll take care of this thing when the others come home.”

  I stood up slowly and wandered off to my suite, wishing that it was as easy to piece together what this ring meant as it was to spy on the parchment without the risk of unleashing spells.

  I deposited the books on the cobblestone floor and dropped myself in the middle. Lilly might want to go furniture shopping, but I secretly hoped that we would not manage to; I liked the floorspace. The moon and starlight made my room bright and peaceful. As though Mordon's ill humor had been a douse of water over my head, I was suddenly awake.

  I might not be able to uncover what the ring meant, but I had another mystery I could solve. Setting my citrine ring on the floor in front of me, I drew three symbols in the air above it. The ring shone and glowed, then sent up an illusion of the paper. While the real paper had had several anti-spy spells on it, this method of copying was not covered; I had not been positive it would work.

  Gingerly, so as to not break the illusion, I unfolded it one crease at a time until an octagonal paper laid in front of me. I struck my lighter and held it close, transcribing the symbols onto one of the disenchanted sheets I had slipped into my clutch. Much to my disgust, I realized I had turned into a bit of a thief as well as a liar.

  I need not have bothered with the disenchanted sheets, I learned when I used one of Mordon's books to translate the symbols.

  It was not an Unwritten, one of the spells so bad they had been intentionally forgotten and made illegal to record. Griff's spell was not an outlawed spell. It was not a socially-forbidden spell. It was simply a socially-unacceptable spell, detailing the conversion of a human to another shape.

  The spell wasn't even completed yet, though I knew well enough the pattern of transformation spells to guess what would be needed to complete it—that is, if I knew what the human was supposed to be changing into. Griff had already done spells for himself to change between human shape and gryphon, so I assumed that he was trying to make something else.

  I thought about Gregor and his almost-but-not-quite-human appearance, and I wondered if Griff was working for him. Suppose that Griff wanted more money that Gregor didn't want to pay? But what could it be?

  Whatever it was, Griff had spent weeks to get this far on it. It was by far the most technically-accurate spell I could spy within all four of Mordon's books even with the variations. Unlike all other transformation spells, this one had an astonishingly high chance of being a complete and utter success—permanently. Despicable though I found him, Griff could be a downright genius.

  What Cole wanted with this, I didn't know.

  I'd been hoping to find Mordon's vase.

  This doubtless meant that Mordon was even more determined than ever to suss it out.

  I made my way to work. I was early. It seemed that Mordon was taking longer than I had. Not sure if I should open up without him, I instead wandered through the shop until I discovered a nook behind one of the antique room dividers.

  Candle stubs sat in molten piles of wax. Fresh candles littered the floor, a book left open in the middle of them. I skimmed the page. A tracking spell. Was he that bothered about Griff's theft? Why was Mordon hiding this instead of asking Leif for help?

  I resisted touching the book, not knowing if he had done something to ensure that no one tampered with it. A breeze swept over the floor and fluttered the page, turning it for me.

  The spell called for the blood of the caster.

  Blood was not used in sorcering-approved spells. It was hardly the worst spell I had ever read, but spells like these were seen as gateway spells to darker ones; the power rush that came from them was additive and tainted the mind.

  The White Wizard Council had a longstanding tradition of grouping spells into one of three categories. Naturally, over time this or that enchantment might be switched from the white list to the gray list or whatever. Point was, the spells were supposed to be classed based on how dangerous they were. Hence, black magic, white magic, and the lesser-known gray magic. Lilly only did white magic. Leif probably only did it, too. Barnes, who knows? Now, Mordon, he'd struck me as sticking to the white list, too. Apparently, he dabbled a little bit.

  Frowning, I stepped back into the cluttered shop. Mordon could try all he wanted to do that spell, but he wouldn't succeed. It wasn't for lack of power or skill. It was out of his element. His was fire, and while he had limited abilities with other elements, he had no ability with wind. Clearly he had tried, and he was going to keep trying. My gut churned at my next thought.

  I could do it. I could hunt down the Lady of the Vase. Did I da
re to admit it to anyone? Mordon was headstrong and reckless. People expected this sort of a spell from him or Barnes. They wouldn't think I could control it.

  Could I?

  I wanted to find the vase. Too much time had passed since my last lead, and I wanted to free Railey. Sometimes, when I slept but wasn't tired, I dreamed I was part of a shadow dragon, fighting to keep my memories separate from the others, wondering if that most recent memory was one that I’d forgotten—or if it was never mine to begin with. Leif would dismiss me on the spot if he found out that I had done a gray spell like this. Barnes might turn his cheek. Lilly would be astonished.

  Mordon…he would be suspicious. But he needed to find the vase, and he would never succeed on his own. I didn't want to approach him about it—it would mean acknowledging that I wasn't telling anyone else. It might make Mordon even more uncertain about me and his ability to put trust in me.

  I needed to make it seem as though he was the one doing it. If I waited with him and worked the spell in secret, he would know. Now, what I needed was to enchant something—something that he would use during the spell at an appropriate moment.

  His knife. Whatever he was using to let loose a couple drops of blood would be perfect. I'd just need to find what it was and borrow it…

  “Ready?”

  I jumped at his voice.

  Mordon laughed. “Caught you daydreaming?”

  “I suppose so,” I said, not that he was paying me much mind. He seemed distracted, too. After all the attention I got last night in a wrinkled shirt and pants, I felt a little miffed that he should be oblivious of me in a dress.

  I soon forgot all about that when Mordon opened the doors and people poured in. I wore my best smile and tried to look helpful, and was rewarded with customers with full pocketbooks. They quizzed me on the history of items in the shop, and I surprised myself with how much I had learned by mutely nodding at Mordon and browsing though his books. When I didn't know something, we found Mordon.

  The sentient shop solidified its relationship with me, shifting the wind for me to follow a trail or moving books subtly to one side.

  During the lunch lull, when I still saw more customers than I had seen in all the days before, Lilly brought us food. I sat in a chair, resting my head against a column. In my head, the shop rumbled and purred like a kitten. It stopped when I pulled away, but I felt relaxed and calm for the remainder of the day.

  Mordon said farewell to the last customer, closing the door after him. We had worked well past dinner. My feet ached. I sat on the counter and teased, “What's our register at today?”

  A thoughtful expression passed over his face and he started rifling through coins and bills.

  “I wasn't being serious.”

  “Nevertheless, you were above and beyond today, and I think it should be payday.”

  “That ball thing is supposed to be here soon, isn't it?”

  What had happened to my time to bring the team together? I at least seemed to have contained my feral magic, but I didn't have the strict obedience that most sorcerers imposed on their magic.

  “It's coming soon,” Mordon said and sighed, then gave me a smile.

  We were quiet for a minute. I set my jaw and said, “I want your knife.”

  For three heartbeats, Mordon did not move or breathe. “Why?”

  “I need to open a box.” I realized too late that once again, I was lying to him.

  “What are you going to do with it?” he asked, very slowly.

  “Railey needs me to find her, and it's been weeks of waiting. You're very close to finding the next link in the chain, but without a modification to the knife, you won't get any closer than the next set of candles.”

  He let out a breath now. “Tell me what needs done and I will do it.”

  “You don't have the time and knowledge. I will give it back to you first thing in the morning.”

  Mordon stood in front of me and locked eyes for a second. He had the control to not let magic take over, but the piercing intensity of his gaze struck home. “Why haven't you told anyone else?”

  “I need to find Railey, and I know you can keep from going any deeper into the dark arts. That spell is a loaded gun, but I don't fear guns. I fear those who are behind them.” I watched the fire in his eyes, and my hand brushed the rough skin of his cheek. “I don't fear you. I don't fear my guardian.”

  Mordon looked away. “It is customary to ask.”

  I jumped off the counter, my bare feet touching wood floor. “It's never been a question since the beginning, has it?” I picked up my shoes and walked to the wainscoting door. Mordon opened it for me and held out his hand.

  In it rested a knife. Taking it and hiding it beneath my shoes should I bump into one of the others, I went upstairs.