by Jaime Rush
A bubble of air formed around Purcell’s head. Cyn poked it with a claw. Purcell tried again and again, and each time Cyn popped the bubble immediately. Purcell’s magick ebbed as he placed breathing over fighting on his priority list. Cyn circled back toward the house, not wanting to venture too far from Ruby.
Purcell’s essence waned, then disappeared completely as he stopped trying to pry Cyn’s talons away. Cyn dropped him and watched his body drift down, no sign of a last-ditch effort to swim to the surface. After another few seconds, Cyn came up just behind the house. Ruby and Fernandez stood facing each other in the yard, tension in their stances. Human again, he climbed up onto the dock, leaving puddles as he made his way to them.
He spotted the mist, now higher in the sky, a sky that was becoming muddy with dark clouds. He flicked his wet hair from his face as he approached his former boss, who was still clutching the reactor. Cyn held out his hands. “Give it to me. The reactor is what’s fracturing our Deus Vis. It’s what’s made Celia sick. We have to destroy it.”
“No!” He held it tighter. “This healed her! I can feel its power!”
Fernandez darted to the house. Cyn shook his head and ran after him, shoving him to the ground.
“You’ll have to kill me, Cyn. I won’t give it up, not if it means losing my Celia. It doesn’t have to go down this way. You and Ruby can stay here with us. We can ride this out together.”
Rage welled up inside Cyn. “You’re saving your wife at the expense of thousands of Crescents.”
“I don’t care.” He shook his head violently. “I won’t lose her again.”
Could he kill his former boss and mentor? He wanted to kill Fernandez for his selfishness, his betrayal. But Fernandez was acting out of a fear of losing the woman he loved. Cyn could not kill him. But he would get the reactor from him. He hit him hard. Then again. Fernandez’s head went slack, falling to the side. Thunder ripped through a sky that moments ago was clear. Forked lightning stabbed the ground only yards away.
Ruby crouched down and gently took the reactor from Fernandez’s now slack hold. “We have to do this now. I have to do it.”
Black clouds roiled above them—and only above them. Superimposed in the miasma was the face of a very angry god.
Ruby stripped out of her clothes and Catalyzed, then picked the reactor up again. It frightened him, her holding such an explosive device. He wanted to do it for her, but he stepped back.
A chair blew at them, and he yanked her out of its way. It tumbled to the dock and into the water. Palm fronds cartwheeled toward them.
“Peter?” Celia’s called from the back door. “Cyn?” Then she took in Ruby, the red Dragon in her yard.
“Go back inside, Celia!” he called.
But she saw her husband lying on the ground and ran out into the rain. “Peter! Cyn, what have you done?” She knelt next to him, shaking him awake.
Lightning hit the ground inches from them. Ruby lifted the reactor to the tip of her fang, grazing the metal surface. She closed her eyes and punctured it. Cyn’s whole body tightened, ready for an explosion. Nothing happened.
Fernandez barreled into Ruby, sending them both crashing to the ground. Cyn grabbed him and jerked him off of her. While he held Fernandez still, he and Ruby looked at the reactor. As the volatile mixture escaped the tiny hole, the canister started crumpling in on itself. Fernandez watched, too, gasping, his frenzied motions coming to a standstill.
Celia ran forward, trying to peel Cyn’s hands off her husband. “What is going on here?”
The storm abated, the clouds moving away in a preternaturally fast way. The thrumming energy dissipated. Ruby quickly dressed as Fernandez stormed toward Cyn, jabbing his finger at him. “He destroyed it!”
Cyn stood, pulling Ruby close. “Feel, Fernandez. Feel how the erratic energy has settled down.”
Fernandez stopped mid-yell and took in the atmosphere. He grabbed his wife and started sobbing.
Cyn turned and walked back to where he’d dumped his clothes, now a sopping mess. He managed to get into them and walk to the car, Ruby’s hand tight in his.
“Will you ever be able to forgive him?” she asked, when Cyn looked back at the house one last time.
“I have to.” He pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her. “Forgiveness has been good to me.”
She buried her face against his chest. “I just want to go home and sleep in your arms.” She moved back a few inches. “We have to find Brom. In case he needs help with that demon.”
“It should return to the Dark Side now that Purcell’s dead, but demons…well, they’re demons.” As much as Cyn wanted to go home, he owed Brom. “Let’s find him.” He didn’t let go though. Instead he squeezed her tighter. “Give me a minute to feel you. To know this is over.”
Ruby had saved his life. She had given him her heart. She held on just as tight, her body shivering.
He lifted her chin to look on her beautiful face. And he spoke the word that thrummed through him. “Mine.” Then he claimed her mouth. She kissed him back, and he felt everything in that kiss, all of her fear at losing him, of what they’d just gone through. He pulled away and pressed his forehead against hers. “We’d better go before I get all blubbery.”
Ruby opened Brom’s book as they drove to his house. Her fingers passed over the words. “There’s nothing new. But we didn’t fight a three-headed monster. So what did that mean?”
“Hopefully we’ll get to ask him.”
This time they pulled up his driveway, rather than sneaking in the back way. Cyn knocked on the door. He leaned closer to it. “I hear something. Like a struggle.” He tried the knob, finding it unlocked, and they went inside.
Brom was, indeed, struggling to fight off the demon. He’d managed to pull out the “root” that had been buried in his throat. The demon turned and saw the two Crescents standing there. Its eyes widened.
“Your summoner is dead,” Cyn said. “So are the other demons he brought here. I strongly suggest you remove yourself from this man and go home.”
It pulled out its other roots, slinking down to the floor.
While its attention was on them, Brom sent a blue orb at it, shattering it into smoke. “Damn, but I’ve wanted to do that for days now.” He shook his hand, staring at it. “The thing disabled my abilities.” Then he looked at them, his expression brightening. “You’re alive.”
“It’s finished,” Ruby said. “Purcell is dead, so is Darren.”
“You did your part. But I saw a three-headed entity.”
“Yeah, we wondered about that.” Ruby leaned against Cyn, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Please don’t tell me we have to fight two more heads. I can’t take anymore.”
Brom took them in, a soft smile on his face. “Your destiny has been fulfilled. There are others who are fighting for victory.” Brom took Cyn’s hand and linked it to Ruby’s. “Now you must go on to fulfill the last part of my prophecy.”
Ruby furrowed her eyes. “But there wasn’t anything else in the book.”
Brom’s eyes twinkled. “No, I didn’t put this one on the pages. You and Cyn will have to figure that out yourselves.”
Acknowledgments
Nichol Huffman for giving the book an early read and your great feedback.
My fabulous street team, the Rushkies, for your support and book love.
To the folks at Grand Central Publishing for helping me to make this book the best and prettiest it can be, including:
editor Alex Logan
editorial direction Amy Pierpont
art director Christine Foltzer
publicists Jessica Bromberg and Marissa Sangiacomo
It’s a fine line between love and hate. Can two adversaries team up to find the truth—
and defeat a powerful force out to destroy the Dragon community?
Please turn this page for a preview of
Magic Possessed.
Chapter 1
The scream tore through the cypress trees
and gripped Violet Castanega’s heart like a strangler fig’s roots. She dropped the amethyst and silver necklace on her worktable and ran out the open doorway of her workshop. Chumley, her tan hound, ran up beside her, her brow wrinkled as she stared in the direction from which the sound came.
Not good when a man screamed like that. Not horseplay or a foot being run over by a swamp buggy, but the sound of life being torn from a body. Her brothers and cousins flashed through her mind as she ran across the muddy ground, barefoot. She’d spent thirty years roaming the acres of her family’s land, most of them without shoes. Rocks and roots dug in, but she knew instinctively how to shift her weight to soften the impact. Chumley ran beside her, his paws slapping the ground.
Another sound, lower and more guttural, squeezed her heart and damn it, she was already having a hard time breathing. She thought it came from the southern edge of the Castanega land. The stitch she usually felt when running pinched her side.
She emerged from the thicket of pine trees into the more open palm farm, running between the low rows of bushy sago palms and through the outer edge of thicker areca palms. Her pace slowed as she searched for whoever had screamed. She heard shouting. Others coming, too. She tried to pick out the identity of the voices that were filled with the same fear she felt, but they were too far away.
Her foot hit something. Grabbing on to the feathery palm frond didn’t stop her momentum. She pitched forward, her hands sinking into the soft ground. Before she’d even scrambled to her feet, she found him, bloody and motionless on the muddy ground. God, not mud—blood. It soaked the ground around the naked body with a gash in the chest.
Even through the blood, she recognized Arlo’s square face. “No, no, no.” She dropped down beside him, clamping her hands on his cheeks. “Arlo!”
He was warm. Not cold, not stiff. He didn’t respond. She searched for a pulse point at his throat, but her finger slid in his blood. His clothing lay shredded nearby. That meant he’d Catalyzed, turning Dragon so quickly, he didn’t have time to disrobe. Which meant he’d been attacked. Her Dragon tingled with awareness, rolling through her cells like a wave of energy.
Two people ran closer, smashing through palm fronds. She opened her mouth to call for help but stopped. Maybe those footsteps belonged to her family and maybe not.
“I thought I heard Vee,” a man said.
“But that scream…it wasn’t her.”
“I’m here!” she called, hearing her voice falter.
Her brothers burst into view, their wide-eyed gazes taking her in as they rushed toward her.
Illian and Jessup took in the blood, Arlo, and both went into defense mode, spinning around, their bodies rigid and ready to fight off an attacker.
“Are you all right, Vee?” Jessup asked, sliding his wary gaze toward her.
“I…yes. But Arlo…”
“Keep watch,” Jessup told Illian, dropping down beside her. He assessed her with light green eyes that usually sparkled with mischief or flared with ire. Crescent Dragons had flames in their eyes, visible only to other Crescents, and Jessup’s blazed with anger and shock. “What happened?”
“I…don’t know. I heard the scream and came running, probably like you did. He was already…dead.”
Jessup felt for his pulse, too, with a hand much steadier than hers. He spit out an expletive, his mouth tightening. His voice was a growl as he again surveyed their surroundings. “Someone came onto our land and killed him. Ambushed him, no doubt. How the hell did they sneak up on Arlo?”
He was the oldest of her siblings and had seen the most action during the centuries-old feuds between the Dragon clans.
“He was drinking,” she said. “I smell booze on him.”
He’d struggled with alcohol and drugs the last few decades, a dangerous combination when you were a Crescent. You couldn’t afford to be out of control when your DNA held the essence of an ancient god, especially when you were a Crescent Dragon. The Dragon part took advantage of weakness, eager to manifest and play. Or kill. Arlo’s very human addictions gave control to a magick beast that lived by its baser instincts.
Jessup lifted Arlo’s body slightly. “Someone killed him for his power.”
Violet sucked in a breath. The blue Dragon tattoo sprawled across his chest was gone. “He’s been Breathed.” Her Sapphire Dragon, wrapped all the way around her like a belt, vibrated in fear and anger.
Every adult Dragon wore their Dragon’s essence on their body, a magnificent image that manifested during their Awakening ceremony when they turned thirteen. The fact that it moved and kept watch over its person was hidden from Mundane humans, who only saw a regular tattoo. When one Dragon Breathed in the power of another, their Dragon disappeared. Without their god essence, so entwined in their bodies and souls, Crescents died.
Illian stepped closer, still watching but taking in his brother’s still form. “It’s got to be one of the Fringe clans.”
The Fringe consisted of the marshy land along the fringe of Florida City and Homestead, where several Dragon clans settled.
Violet came slowly to her feet. “It doesn’t make sense. We haven’t had any clashes or encroachments lately.”
“The Murphys started an alligator farm, damned copycats. That’s an encroachment. And the Augusts copied our tourist show.”
“Both were years ago. And they copied us, so why would they come onto our land and attack?”
The fire in her brothers’ eyes scared her. There had been relative peace—okay, more like the Cold War kind—for the last ten years. Nothing more than a few broken bones and torn flesh, disagreements settled at Ernie’s. She craved that peace, being able to wander their land without fear of being attacked.
Jessup laid Arlo back down. “We need to kill someone.” Heat radiated off him as his Dragon pushed to Catalyze.
“We don’t even know who did it,” she said. “Let me do some snooping, find out who’s behind this.”
Illian shook his head. “No, I think we need to kill someone.”
“Stop.” Her own impulsive nature, along with her Dragon, pushed hard to join in. “Give me some time to figure out who did this. If someone’s got a vendetta against us, I can find out who it is. No doubt, he’s been talking, bragging or bitching down at Ernie’s.”
Jessup’s eyes flared in his bossy, big brother way. “You’re not going to Ernie’s by yourself. I—”
She pressed her finger to his collarbone. “You are not coming with me.” She shifted her gaze to Illian. “You’ll both barge in, banging heads together. And then you’ll end up in the Conference Room, and it won’t even be with Arlo’s murderer. I can take care of myself. Haven’t I had the best teachers?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Let me approach this logically. Once I get a lead, I’ll let you know. Then—”
“We kill someone,” Jessup said.
“Yes, we kill them.” Violet met Illian’s gaze. “We’ll scrape out his or her eyeballs, cut them up, and feed them to the gators.” The old Violet reared her head and bared her fangs. The one who jumped into a fight without thinking, who’d attacked an officer of the Hidden to defend Arlo, even when he was in the wrong. The Violet who’d become as hotheaded as the rest of her family. She took a breath. “But if you go off half-cocked and kill the wrong person, it’ll start a war again. Dad died because of this damned feud business. So did Grandpa and Great Uncle Hank and…the list goes on. I don’t want to lose you two. I’ll find out who’s behind this. I promise.”
Illian looked at Jessup. “She is good at ferreting out information. She figured out which of the cousins was stealing our oranges. And the idjits who were digging up the royal palms at the nursery.”
Jessup was still taking in the desperation in her eyes. She let him see all the hurt, just for a second. Any longer and he’d chide her for it. Castanegas didn’t cry; they got revenge. That was their motto. But that motto would get them killed.
Jessup made a grunting sound. “All righ
t, cupcake. You’ve got a day.”
“Give me two.”
He shook his head but said, “Then we start digging around ourselves.”
Violet knew exactly what kind of digging he meant.
The sign on the roof of the ramshackle building read THE FRINGE. Couldn’t get clearer than that who belonged, at least to the Crescent community. Ernie couldn’t hang a MUNDANES NOT WELCOME sign, because regular humans didn’t know they were called Mundanes by Crescents. They didn’t even know there were Crescents, or a facet of their world called the Hidden that contained people who turned to Dragons, sorcerers called Deuces, and descendants of fallen angels called Caidos. Not to mention demons, Elementals, and other creatures from which nightmares were made.
The bar sat on the outer edge of Florida City, tucked back from the road in a grove of oaks dripping with Spanish moss. She parked beneath one of the old trees in the gravel lot and stepped out beneath its shadow. Only four other vehicles filled the lot, as she’d expect midday.
While Fringers weren’t welcomed by Crescents, or even Mundane humans, the tables were turned here at the place they knew as Ernie’s. Ernie had owned it for a hundred and eighty years. He belonged to none of the Fringe clans, which made him neutral—a status he held on to with calloused hands.
Her boots crunched on peanut shells as she walked into the gloomy interior. The main room was large, but divided up into separate areas to accommodate clutches of clan groups. Ernie demanded civility in the public space, banishing bar fights and those who participated.
“Violet, a surprise to see you in here.” Ernie, with a face that looked as though he’d been crunched in a vise from top to bottom, set a bowl of peanuts on the bar as she approached. “None of your people are here.”
She’d had to drag home a drunk brother and even her father a time or two. Sometimes they needed assistance, not because they’d had too much to drink but due to the activities in the Conference Room, where disagreements were settled in a way that required no civility. The door to it blended into the far wall, though every Fringer knew where it was. To any outsider, say, a health inspector, it was a pit where one could ride the mechanical bull surrounded by cheering crowds. Most of the time the bull was pulled aside and two Dragons, in full scale and fury, fought to the delight—and bets—of onlookers. All of her brothers had fought in there at one time or another, coming out broken and bloody. And that’s when they won.