Feral Magic: An Urban Fantasy Romance-Thriller

by Nicolette Jinks

  Chapter Nineteen

  The day of the ball, Lilly came over to my suite, her own dress shoved in a bag slung over her shoulder. She glowed as usual, humming songs her mother taught her, singing the snippets she could remember. She set to twisting and yanking my hair, muttering a spell here and there to make things stay or curl or flatten, or do whatever it is that hair can do.

  She brought a wash basin out of her bag and gave it to me. “I got a new one,” she said.

  “It matches the tile in my bathroom,” I said suspiciously, recalling a passing comment she had made just an hour ago about how barren my suite still was.

  “Does it? I suppose I already knew that. Maybe that's why I'm giving it to you.”

  I smiled, knowing full well that she'd bought it for me. “Thanks.”

  She didn't let me see what I looked like. I didn't have a mirror handy to check, the walls of the bathroom being devoid of mirrors and boasting only a single hook for a towel. When I asked about my appearance, she laughed it off.

  “Do you no longer trust me about beauty?”

  She found my evening dress without asking where it was, held it up to the fading light and gasped.

  Lilly pointed at me and said, “You are going to be luscious in this dress.” She clamped the frock to her chest and screamed, “I've always wanted to get you all dressed up! Daily wear clothes are such a crime!”

  I blushed at her enthusiasm. “What on earth did you drink to get so hyper?

  “It's a special blend of safari ants, chocolate, coffee beans, and sugar.” Lilly drew a chocolate bar in a silver wrapper out of thin air. “I should have given you some.”

  Now that I'd asked, she wouldn't let me refuse. While Lilly had taken two of the squares scored into the bar, I only took one. I got a little jittery from it, but less than when I had two cups of coffee.

  Once again Lilly wouldn't even let me get a decent look at the dress before putting it on me, barking at me to stand chin up while she fastened the back. It was dove gray with soft blue and burgundy flowers. Sleeves draped off the edge of my shoulder, light and almost transparent. I tugged at one, trying to coax it up on top of my shoulder instead of hanging on my arm.

  Lilly slapped my hand. “Respect the dress.”

  I stopped fidgeting with it.

  Lilly got dressed herself, slipping into a red V-neck dress also with a gathered hip, but her skirt had diagonal layers of many fabrics running down it. She snapped her fingers and muttered “curl” and her hair sprung into spiral curls, ready for the night.

  “I spent a long time training it for these events,” she said as an explanation.

  “Do you know how I'd train my hair for this?” I asked.

  “Yes, with a stick, a twist, and a bun,” she said with a look telling me that wouldn't cut it. I smiled. She shook her head.

  We went in to the commons area.

  I started pacing to the window, to the couch, back to the window, slipping my rings on and off my fingers, holding a ring in my hand, switching it between palms, putting it back on its finger, moving to the next finger.

  Lilly snatched up my hands and gripped them hard.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You're making me nervous just listening to you from the kitchen,” she hissed, lips pressed firmly together.

  “Not nervous,” I said, as though speaking the words would make it true. In reality it only made my stomach knot again. I felt overdressed, over primped, and downright ridiculous, and I couldn't believe Mordon was going to see me like this.

  She shook her curls at me, “You sure you had enough time to prepare?”

  “For an illusion?”

  She pressed her lips together again, then sighed, “I know you're prepared for that. I meant, to see all the people.”

  “I'm hardly crowd-shy,” I said, raising my brows.

  “I mean that the Fitzgeralds will be there.” She did not say that Griff would be there, too, though it hung in the air more prominently than any worry about the Fitzgeralds.

  “You know what,” I said, “it never made sense to me that they would blame another kid for Railey's death. It's not in their nature.”

  “Grief does odd things to people.”

  “I suppose.”

  “If you aren't nervous about them or the introduction, what on earth are you afraid of?”

  “Ladies,” came a velvety voice from the side of the room.

  I didn't look at him, and my cheeks caught fire. Here I was looking like some sort of wanna-be fairy princess, and Mordon was going to spend the night trying to not think about laughing.

  Lilly looked at him, then she looked back to me and said, “Oh. I see.”

  I wanted to tell her that she didn't see, that I just didn't want to be humiliated in front of him.

  “See what?” asked Mordon, walking closer to us, straightening out his dark burgundy cuffs as he came into my vision. My stomach twisted upon seeing him.

  “Nothing,” sang Lilly, walking past me and toward a door in the corner. “I'll go see how Leif and Barnes are coming.”

  “Ready?” Mordon asked me, still standing away from me, now tugging on his vest, a matching dark burgundy with a black paisley relief on it. His cravat was cream.

  “I would be if I could dance.” I meant to say teasingly but it came out flustered and rushed. My cheeks flared. I resisted the urge to tug up on the bodice of my dress or play with my sleeves again. Lilly's slap still lingered on my hand, and I was mindful of her words.

  “You can't dance?”

  “I just remembered,” I said, timidly.

  Instead of being annoyed, his stance relaxed more and a small smile came to his face. “We will slip into the crowd. Follow my lead, have some confidence, and you'll be fine.”

  I nodded, and realized we'd both stopped fidgeting.

  Leif and Barnes came out. Leif wore dark green, Barnes wore cobalt blue. They had a similar style to Mordon's clothing, but Barnes had a double-breasted jacket. It suited him. Lilly passed tea cups to everyone for a quick drink.

  “Miss Swift,” said Barnes in a particularly slow voice. “It might yet still be early, but I am honored to have you as part of my coven.

  “Here's to making it official,” said Leif, raising his cup. We each took a sip.

  Before anyone else could comment, a rap came at the door that appeared next to my french doors. I managed to constantly forget about that door. I put my hand out to the wall and felt for the house the same way I did for the shop, and was a little sad when the house gave me no indication of having a presence. Perhaps it was still too young.

  Leif opened the door, and a skinny footman stood and announced, “Two carriages, Sir.”

  “Perfect timing,” Leif said, setting his cup down on the coffee table. Everyone else did likewise while he said, “Barnes, Lilly, and I will go in the first carriage. Mordon and Feraline will follow.”

  Leif left first, then Lilly took Barnes's arm. She gave me a supporting grin, heading out into the colored evening sky. They got in an olive and royal purple carriage pulled by four white pegasi, the creatures talking softly to each other about the sunset and feasting on oats to come. As soon as the footman closed the door and got in place, they pricked their ears forward and launched into the air, the carriage following after lightly.

  Our carriage landed. It was a smaller black and gold carriage pulled by two black pegasi. The footman opened the door for us. I was glad for the wide step and the shoes Lilly gave me which had a low heel. Inside the carriage was remarkably like being inside a classy car, except it had a round top and round sides, and the handles were brass and the windows had curtains and the seats were like overstuffed velvet couches. So it was really nothing like a car at all, I was just mentally yammering to myself to fill the silence. With a crack of a whip in the air, we lifted off.

  Eventually, other noises entered the void: the creaking of leather; groaning of wood; wind rustling through the windows; my heart thumping l
oudly. This was ridiculous. It was one thing to be embarrassed; another thing to be nervous about performing a spell in full view of everyone I would be seeing for the next decade or more; but it was just stupid to be so flustered. I was in a costume to appease the public, and so was Mordon.

  But Mordon didn't look like a clown.

  “I can't believe it's been weeks,” I stammered.

  Mordon cocked an eyebrow at me. “No? What does it seem like?”

  I paused. That was actually a very good question. “Like a second and an eternity.”

  A smile broke over his face. “I know.”

  I stared out the window for a second, then lifted my eyes to his chiseled chin. I couldn't stop talking. It just kept blurting out. “It wasn't what I thought it would be—getting my magic back, that is. I guess I didn't put a whole lot of thought into it—didn't want to get my hopes up. Don't get me wrong, these last two weeks have been great, they've just been…different. Fun sometimes, irritating as could be other times, but when I look at what I've gained and what I've lost…I still feel sad.” I was thinking of Railey and how I was frustratingly slow in getting her free. “It's just all so different than I thought it would be, you know?”

  I expected a confused arc of his eyebrow, but was surprised when I saw a distant glaze to his eyes and he gave a slow nod. “You've said it much more eloquently than I ever could have.”

  I wondered what he was talking about. Thinking back on my words, they were vague enough to be applied to anything. He absently fussed with his cravat. I saw the lines on his face and resisted an urge to brush a stray red strand of hair back from his eyes. My stomach churned. I looked away. The carriage changed direction, surging forward on strong wings.

  “Will you let me know when you're planning on following the vase?” I asked. I had included an alarm spell in the knife to let me know when he used it, but I would rather be ready.

  “Of course,” he said, then added, “Even before I started on that spell, I had a feeling that it connected to your case.”

  “When are we going to…?”

  “After the ball, when everyone is sleeping it off. Sorcerers like their parties and they like their slumber.”

  I nodded.

  “Look,” Mordon said, having pulled back a curtain. “The moon is starting to rise.”

  I leaned on his shoulder and peered through the window where the sky was lightening between the slopes of two large hills. A sliver of silver shone past the edge of the earth, lighting the tips of the trees below. I smiled. It rose rapidly, showing now a wider slice of the moon, the sky about it becoming a light gray color. We watched as the full roundness peeked over the hills, then the moon's curve started to slim again, leaving the same gray hue on the ridge it had crested.

  “It's the same color as your dress.”

  “It is.” I blushed, suddenly feeling like the thing was horrifically low-cut even though it hardly showed a hint of curve.

  The carriage dipped downwards and for an instant my stomach fluttered upwards. I burst out in laughter, regaining my composure as we levelled out and the wheels touched ground. I took in a breath, hearing the footman outside.

  Mordon smiled, warm and peaceful for the moment. I blushed again, not sure if it was at his smile or if it was the warmth that look spread through my body. The footman opened the door.

  Mordon got out first, then bowed his head down, holding his hand out for mine. I stepped down on the sturdy step rungs, then was gratefully on the ground.

  We slipped in through a side door. Leif, Lilly, and Barnes stood waiting. Others were in line before us. A beaming pair of new parents cradling a young baby, a couple to announce their engagement, and an uncle and niece. The uncle was taking guardianship to train her to be a potions maker. Even Barnes visited with the others in line, smiling a smile that enveloped his entire face and transformed him in a way words could not describe.

  We were shuffled forward as the others before us made their announcement at the top of a grand staircase. The engaged couple went first, simply stating who they were and that they were getting married. The crowd was split on encouragement of this decision, but the couple didn't care, too enraptured with each other.

  The baby went second, a simple announcement including the parents names and the name of their baby, to the applause and cheering of the crowd. The uncle and niece went next, an announcement including their names and how the niece was found to have potions magic. They cracked open a vial they'd made together, casting up an illusion of a series of vials, each which popped to show her interests: healing, weather, and illusion.

  We stepped to the top of the stairs, looking down over a brightly dressed crowd. We formed a semicircle with me in the center, Mordon to my right, Lilly to my left, Barnes next to Lilly, Leif next to Mordon. Had I been alone, I might have felt hundreds of eyes inspecting me, but I wasn't alone, and I wasn't intimidated. Mordon caught my eye and gave me a little nod. Leif's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd and filled the air up to the high rafters and back down, reaching even the farthest corner of the room with apparent ease.

  “I am Leif Frey, Judge of Merlyn's Market, head of the Coven at King's Ransom, here with me are: Lilly Frey, Judge of Merlyn's Market; Constable Barnes, of the Ninth Circuit; and Mordon Meadows, Drake Lord of Kragdomen. We are proud to announce our fifth and final member, a woman who has spread her wings in the short time she has been reunited with our number, a woman with incredible talent and keen mind, a woman with a knack for getting in trouble and an even larger knack for getting out of it again.” Leif's addition gained the expected chuckle from the crowd, and he humored it for a few seconds before cutting them off. “Miss Feraline Swift!”

  Leif let them clap. Heads nodded and murmurs ran through the crowd.

  I had planned on talking to Mordon in the carriage about my illusion, but it had slipped my mind. It would be a surprise, seemingly lacking of magic but at the same time relishing it. The thing was, I would need a bit more energy than I had at my disposal. I had to hope Mordon would understand me without having to use words. We stood close enough no one could see past my dress when I reached over and hooked two fingers in his palm. He gave me a light squeeze.

  I raised my free hand, cupped it in front of my face, then clenched it, looking up to the ceiling, envisioning how the illusion would unfurl now that I'd seen the venue. I opened my hand, revealing a single dandelion plant with a full, white seed head sitting in my palm, its leaves cascading over my fingers. It didn't glow, it didn't sing or dance. It simply was one of nature's childhood fascinations, and as I focused on it, I made it seem to each person below that they held it in their hand.

  I blew lightly, casting the seeds high, whisking them across the ballroom on a breeze. Where each one touched ground, a tree sprouted—corkscrew and weeping willows, apple and cherry trees, firs and junipers, and some river birch cropped up from the glossy white floor. Grass spread out from the base of each tree, flowing until it reached another patch of grass. Clumps of irises, columbines, lilies, lupines, heather, and baby's breath formed in beds, ready to burst into bloom but holding back.

  Grass carpeted the stairs. A honeysuckle vine raced up the banister to us, arching high with its buds filled to bursting. The energy I borrowed from Mordon felt warm and tingly as it passed from one hand, through my arms, and out my other hand. I took one last dose of Mordon's energy, then raised my hands in one sharp clap.

  The ceiling sprung out into shooting stars, a silver moon hanging low in a dove-colored sky. The flowers burst into bloom, releasing dainty white moths to flutter about in the air. A few came to rest on ladies' hairpieces, flexing their wings. I received astounded applause, especially when we descended down the stairs and the illusion remained. I hoped Mordon would notice the white moths were the same ones that had been used in the puppet show. He eyed them. I thought he appreciated the gesture.

  Lilly watched a moth descend toward her hair. She smiled when it landed on her finger. “I d
idn't know you can make the illusion stay!”

  “Mordon helped,” I said. “I don't know how much longer it will continue. At least an hour?”

  The orchestra struck up, and I heard a passing whisper about how they had turned away anyone with an enchanted instrument, much to the disappointment of many street performers who had bought one with the intent of being paid well.

  Mordon held out his hand as couples began a whirling dance. “Shall we?”

  I blushed and took his hand.

  As promised, he took me someplace where people weren't so intent on watching us, though we still got many looks. I had a feeling we would have been looped into conversations if Mordon's reputation had not been so fierce. Throughout the dance, I stumbled over his feet, half-fell several times, and even went forward when I should have gone back.

  He greeted each misstep with a raised brow and a nudge here or there. I caught on to the second dance, a simple square dance, and he introduced me to some twirls and spins.

  When I was good and dizzy, Mordon leaned me back into a dip. I gave a little shriek and clung to him, my vision filled with his twinkling eyes. He spun me away. I came back and fell into a fit of giggles, which Mordon tried to ignore, only to start chuckling himself. I loved that rich, smooth voice of his more than even his lion eyes.

  I cleared my throat. He smiled and wiped his eyes with a carefully folded handkerchief.

  Someone tapped my shoulder. I gaped, open-mouthed at the gryphon standing before me. I jumped into Mordon, the air about me getting thick with my magic. The illusions flickered, but no one noticed.

  Griff's real form was golden with honey undertones in his fur, his eyes were chocolate and seemed dulled in a sickly way. His shoulders came up to my hips. He cocked his head at a slight angle to look up.

  “Lord Meadows, if you would be so kind as to get drinks, I believe your ward is parched,” Griff said, an air of superiority about him.

  “Decided on your true form for this occasion?” I asked.

  “It is a formal event, and I do think my appearance is much smarter this way, don't you agree?” Griff replied.

  Mordon's brow twitched but he didn't ask what we were speaking about.

  I heard snippets and bits of conversation follow me. By the time I understood they were discussing my involvement with Railey's death, Mordon said, “I will only be two minutes.”

  As he left, he whispered into Griff's ear.

  Griff waited until he was lost to the crowd.

  “You were wise to select a drake for a guardian. They're so protective,” Griff said. “They chase off all but the most adamant of admirers, and I will say he is doing a fantastic job of teaching you to dance. Why, ten years ago you were three left feet.”

  “Griff,” I said, finding a seat against the wall that was decently sheltered from eyes. “What are you doing?”

  He kept his feathers slicked back the way an Ivy League school boy gels his hair, and he said, “I intend to court you, Miss Fera.”

  My jaw dropped. I had been about to ask him about the transformation spell he was doing for Cole. “What? Court me?”

  Griff grabbed a champagne glass from a waiter's tray, polished talons gleaming in the light alongside wine bubbles. “This is America, dear, the great melting pot! Why, there's hardly a pure human in this room—possibly that Gregor Cole, but I'm pretty sure he has some demon blood in his heritage. You yourself are human, fey, and a few dashes of something else—I can't tell what, but my point still stands: This isn't Europe. We're a more sophisticated society.”

  I wasn't sure where to start. “Griff, I've already turned you down most insistently once.”

  “Ten years ago, yes, and you were quite right as it turns out, we were both too young, did things we both regretted. But we are adults now, and it is time to forgive and forget.”

  My jaw dropped. “You cursed me. I had to die to get my magic back.”

  “And you've got it again, no harm done.” He took a drink. “What say you to my proposal? It'll be a most beneficial arrangement.”

  “I think you should stay away from me, and nothing beneficial will come of your dealings with Cole,” I hissed.

  Griff dropped his glass, causing several people in the crowd to turn. He grabbed my elbow. “Don't walk out on me,” he said.

  At my challenging glare, he whispered, “Or this entire hall will know just how pitiful your attempts were to save your friend.”

  I stared into his eyes, and for an instant I thought I could see that night, thought I could see two girls escaping from a shadow with glowing eyes. Fire ran through my veins. “You were there. You were there, and you did nothing.”

  The arrogant shell that surrounded him shattered, replaced by guilt. He sagged and let go, casting his eyes to the ground. “There's something you should know. It's happening soon.”

  “What is?”

  “They haven't told me, but I thought you should know.”

  “Then stop it.”

  Griff shook his head. “I'm no hero.”

  He walked away.

  Mordon emerged from the crowd, and it occurred to me that he had been watching.

  I asked, “Hear anything?”

  He handed me water in a frosted cocktail glass. “No, but you did not look very happy. I take it he wanted to speak to you about matters of the heart. I do hope you were cordial.”

  “He's in one piece and still has all his feathers and fur, doesn't he?”

  Mordon chuckled. The rich sound made me relax. He sipped at a glass with a foamy top. Seeing me examine it, he said, “I suppose you would want a taste? It's the ceremonial cream brew; that Trish from the Black Kettle is doing the drinks, and she makes a delectable drink.”

  I nodded, moving to take a sip from his glass, but he held up a jewelled hand. He reached behind his back where he had been hiding another drink on a table.

  “I knew you'd want some, and it isn't proper for a young lady to drink from her guardian's glass,” he said, tugging on his vest in a very proper manner and looking down his nose.

  The drink was spicy, creamy, and a little bitter. I snickered. “Proper, indeed.”

  “We must keep up appearances unless you wish to drive suitors away,” Mordon said. “What would you like me to tell those brave enough to approach me?”

  Barnes's voice cut through a crowd before he swaggered to us. “You can tell them they need to beat her in the snail races. No right and proper man would set foot in an establishment that entertains such a vulgar source of debauchery. And any man willing to save her from it had better be darned close to his instincts to outwit our feral lady.”

  “My dearest Constable,” I said, speaking with a poor imitation of the soft way I heard women speak here. “Do tell me that you have not been spreading rumors on my behalf.”

  “Only those which speak to your beauty and wit,” Barnes said with a half bow.

  I rolled my eyes and smoothed out the front of my dress. “Can't wait to get out of this thing.”

  “Then do help yourself to the food. I have trouble to rouse, ladies to insult, and entire list of social niceties to exploit,” said Barnes, sweeping up my hand to kiss it. “Have a fair evening, my dears. Do try to have one good social scandal, it keeps our coven at the top of the rumor mill.”

  No sooner had Barnes left than Mordon directed us towards the area where waiters hoovered in particular concentration. We found Leif brooding by the banister at the foot of the staircase. I snared several items off passing platters, stopping when I was sure I had crossed over the line of how many it was polite to take at any one time.

  Leif watched Lilly spinning gracefully between three partners. More lined up to wait their turn. She smiled, flowing with the song as gracefully as an angel, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground.

  “Do you think,” said Leif. “That she would leave our coven to join his, or that they would remain in separate coven?”

  “When she decides to marry?” mused Mord
on. “I don't know.”

  “I don't think either of you need to worry about that. She's enjoying her prime far too much to be tied down right now,” I said.

  Leif sighed. “One of her secrets?”

  “It isn't so secret. It's her,” I said. According to Lilly, marriage in sorcering communities varied from Victorian marriages arranged for optimal power and social status to bride kidnapping to the standard love story. It was all about who your friends and family were. “She's got Barnes as a guardian. No one would cross a Constable, much less one with his dark element.”

  “True,” said Leif, then his blue eyes sparkled. “What social faux pas are you two going to do? I spiked the punch.”

  “Is this something you all do?”

  “Every year, it's tradition,” said Leif proudly.

  “My tradition is to dance with no one,” said Mordon. “But I've already broken that.”

  “It would be terribly rude of us to refuse other partners, would it not?” I said.

  Leif nodded. “It'll get tongues wagging. You should do it, and scarcely sit out a dance.”

  “Fine,” I said. “That's what we'll do.”

  Especially if it meant we couldn't be approached by anyone else who thought they should be entitled to court me. I winked and held out my arm to Mordon. “Ready to be trampled by my three left feet?”

  Mordon raised an eyebrow, then got a mischievous grin. “Ready to dance like a butterfly?”

  I snorted. He winked, and we very impolitely danced the night away.