Nightsoul

by McKenzie Hunter

  “Why didn’t you tell Madison you lost time during the incident?”

  Looking at my shot glass, I opted for the water sitting next to it and took a long drink. “Because she would have made sure I stayed in the Stygian.”

  He blinked hard once but his face remained impassive.

  “Madison cares a great deal for me,” I said, “but her sense of duty would not have allowed her to let me out knowing that I was losing time.” I shrugged. “I wasn’t a hundred percent sure it happened. I wanted his magic and he was just a guy I’d met for coffee and drinks a few times. And when he offered, I didn’t think twice. There were spells I wanted to practice, defensive magical skills I wanted to hone, and…” I drifted into silence.

  “And you wanted to feel magic?”

  Nodding, I reached for my tote and took out my phone. “We’ve been at this an hour and a half. Time’s up.” Feeling raw and exposed, I was ready to leave. Because I was so close to admitting that when I found that guy dead, if I hadn’t been seen leaving with him, I would have taken off. I called Madison first to ask her to do what I knew she would: clean it up. Shame intermingled with my guilt and the large room became a closet.

  “Next week. Same day, same time,” I threw out, coming to my feet and heading for the door.

  When he called my name, I was reluctant to turn around. I could hear the sympathy in his voice. The gentleness with which he said my name, making everything I knew about the situation worse.

  “Next week, okay? I don’t have more to share.”

  “I think you do,” he said. “You’ll feel better if you let it all out. You can’t fight the demons if you pretend they aren’t there.”

  There he is, Dr. Cliché. I’ve missed you, buddy.

  “I’m not pretending they aren’t there. I’m just choosing not to confront them. Not today.”

  I didn’t give him another opportunity to offer his sage wisdom or hit me with any more of his tautologies.

  Outside the office, I looked to see if I had any messages or voicemails from the Lunar Marked coven’s representative. Debating the consequences of contacting them again, I considered that it would make Landon look desperate and hinder negotiation. But if they didn’t get back to me soon, he’d get restless, believing his initial plan of seeking and destroying was unavoidable. Or at least that would be the excuse he’d use.

  A few feet from my car, I was surprised that Dr. Sumner hadn’t followed me out. I was more astounded by the vacant streets. Not one person came out of the restaurant three buildings down, or the café across the street, or the dance studio on the opposite corner of Sumner’s practice, or any of the numerous office buildings on the street.

  Familiar arcane magic swept through the air, rosemary with hints of tannin. The signature hum of energy from compulsion magic was confirmed when a woman with a coffee in hand headed in my direction and then stopped abruptly. Brows furrowed, her lips curved down into a grimace and she quickly turned and scurried off in the opposite direction.

  Dropping my tote bag to the ground with a thud and grabbing a dagger in one hand, the karambit in the other, I scanned the magic-drenched street, looking for them. Heart racing, I hoped there was only one Immortalis, maybe two. I could handle them.

  Compulsion magic required a lot of energy and concentration, which should have worked to my advantage. They would have been weakened by doing it. That’s the way it should work, but they were a creation of an Arch-deity from the Veil, immune to magic and immortal. Fear of death at my hand wasn’t something they had to worry about. Just pain I had every intention of delivering.

  At the overpowering noxious change in the air pressure near me, I whipped around to see an Immortalis approach. The strain of the compulsion magic furrowed his brow and tensed his face. He was tall, nearly seven feet, and approached me with purpose. It wasn’t just his height that was intimidating, it was his resolute presence, his broad build. His muscles contracted and bulged with each step. He looked like he’d be part of an indomitable army.

  The sword sheathed at his back remained there, but I still didn’t know if this was an assassination attempt or an abduction. Did mom want to meet me before she killed me?

  His approach was met with me charging at him. His attention focused on my karambit moving in swift figure eights, putting him on the defense. He might heal fast, but blades against the skin hurt. He was tasked with healing and dodging and having to make the decision to risk further hurt and go for his sword.

  He moved faster than I’d expect of his imposing frame, but the karambit blade still sliced into his right arm. His face flared red and he hissed. His eyes promised painful retaliation.

  The pulse of magic behind me changed. The compulsion magic was gone. We’d soon have an audience, which I was sure he didn’t want. He backed away, trying to put distance between us that I refused to give. The karambit worked as a distraction as he watched the glinting blade, dodging from left to right, keeping him from being able to perform his rote magical movements or go for his sword.

  He sacrificed the pierce of my karambit blade to go for it. I thrust my dagger into his hand, and he howled in pain. If this had started out as an abduction mission, it had just changed.

  “I will be the one to kill you,” he promised.

  “It won’t be today.” The dagger thrust to his chest and he moved back, fast but not before I sent a front kick into his crotch. I don’t fight to look pretty; I fight to survive. Kicking someone in the crotch is an often-used tactic.

  He didn’t go down but drew in a breath. Then he lunged at me, his arms bloodstained and red without any signs of the slashes they had endured. Taking the pain of my blades, he slammed a punch into my side. The crack of my ribs pushed the breath out of me. I stumbled back, dropping my karambit so I could grip my side. Huffing out ragged breaths, I reconciled with the pain, keeping the dagger extended, ready to protect.

  He offered a malicious smile, and I got a peek at the terror an army of people like him would instill. Responding to the thrum of arcane magic behind me, plus the noxious smell, I whipped around. Compulsion magic restored to the surroundings, magic from the new arrival hit me in my chest, sending me flying onto my back. Nothing else broke, but the pain made me cough out a breath. My next inhalation brought tears to my eyes, blurring my vision. Through the distorted vision I could see two figures advancing.

  Get up, Erin.

  My mind raced. What should I do? I saw a blurry image of the karambit several feet away. The knife was still in my hand, and each time I took a breath my broken ribs screamed.

  Get up, Erin. Now!

  I tried pulling my legs under me, sucking in the pain and trying to use it as fodder to ignite my will. Dagger in hand, I forced myself to stand.

  A sweeping earthy aura consumed the area. It was refreshing, all-consuming, and overwhelming, like a meadow with hints of evergreen. The magic around me changed. Its suffocating force could not be ignored.

  Blinking my eyes to clear the tears of pain, I looked around for the source but saw nothing other than the Immortalis shuffling back, their tension apparent. Faint indistinguishable words carried on the light breeze of the wind, enveloping me like a soothing blanket. Dropping the dagger, I covered my ears, refusing to give in to the lure of its power.

  I reacted too late.

  I awoke to a crowd of people surrounding me asking if I was okay. Another person announced they were about to call an ambulance.

  “I’m fine,” I choked out, trying to come to my feet, only to have lethargy force me right back down. I had a feeling a significant amount of time had passed but I didn’t know how much. Losing time was becoming all too familiar. I sucked in a deep breath and held it, trying to keep from spiraling out of control. What was I waking up to? Another body? Another death? Stolen magic?

  Dammit.

  I looked around, ignoring the woman with a round face and a determined expression kneeling next to me, taking my pulse.

  “I’m okay.
” My voice sounded stronger than I expected. “I haven’t eaten. I’ll be fine.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but when I stood up, she backed away.

  Putting on a face braver than I felt, I gathered my tote and all the things that had spilled from it. Discreetly, I looked for my missing karambit and dagger, aware of the audience of six around me.

  After I promised the concerned bystanders that I’d get something to eat first and if I didn’t feel better, I’d go to the doctor, two people left. But the determined woman stayed. Rigid scowl in place, she seemed reluctant to let me out of her sight.

  “Let me help you.” Moving closer, she questioned me on whether this had happened before, if I was hypoglycemic, and extensive medical questions that I tried to answer without getting irritated.

  “Dr. Cambridge.” Sumner’s voice held an easy confidence. “I’m familiar with her, do you mind?” His presence eased the remaining onlookers enough that they dispersed, and after he gave her a nod of assurance, Dr. Cambridge left as well. Or maybe his wacky glasses just scared them all off.

  Him standing close and cradling my face felt weird. He held it firmly as I attempted to tug away. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know.” My voice broke and I despised how vulnerable I felt. “Magic. I don’t know what kind.” When I jerked away, he let me and gave me some space. I washed my hands over my face and evaluated the area. The easiness of my movement made me recall my ribs were broken. It should have hurt to breathe, to move. But it didn’t. I lifted my shirt to find unbruised skin.

  “They were broken,” I whispered.

  “What was broken, Erin?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.” How could I tell him I lost time again? How could this happen again? “Nothing,” I repeated.

  “Erin?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Just go back to your office. I just need to eat.”

  “Erin,” he pleaded.

  “Just go. I’m fine. I promise.”

  He accepted my assertion with the same lack of enthusiasm with which it was given. He didn’t believe me because I didn’t sound believable.

  “Erin, I’m here for you if you need me.”

  “I know.” I looked around the area again, feeling the pang of desperation that I couldn’t get rid of.

  “It happened again, didn’t it?” he asked in the same quiet voice as before.

  “Yeah,” I breathed out. “The magic was different.”

  Sighing, I relaxed against the car, washing my hands over my face again before telling him what happened. When I finished, the stoicism that he’d often displayed wasn’t there. Concern, frustration, and even fear moved along the planes of his face.

  “Was it your mother?” he asked.

  “If it was Malific, I don’t think I’d be alive.” Or maybe I would. I hated not knowing the play. She didn’t want me dead immediately. The wistful, naïve part of me thought maybe she didn’t want me dead at all. But the Immortalis threat doused that hope.

  Dr. Sumner stared at me in silence. “You’re not okay, are you?”

  “No, but I’ll have to be.” I moved away from him, dropped to the ground, and was flooded with relief when I found my weapons under my car, neatly hidden behind the tire. Moving as if I wasn’t under Sumner’s scrutinizing gaze, I removed them and placed them in a protective bag. The Immortalis had found me, and now I could use the blood on my dagger to find them—or at least one of them.

  Unable to hide his concern at the clinical detachment with which I was handling things, Sumner frowned.

  “I’ll see you next week.”

  Based on the look on his face, I figured he said it to release me. My life had morphed into something unrecognizable from what he thought it was. Magic and monsters. It had to be a lot for a human to handle.

  “You didn’t do it. The first time. It wasn’t you.” His lips pulled into a wan smile. He opened his mouth to speak again but decided against it. At my silence, he simply gave me a sympathetic nod and disappeared into his building.

  CHAPTER 8

  My plan was to talk to Mephisto about the attack and figure out a way to get an Obitus blade because my weapons were useless against Immortalis. The next time I encountered them, I didn’t want to be in a state where they could attack me again.

  I had been mulling over whether to tell Madison and Cory about the attack, debating whether it would just cause them to worry unnecessarily, when a representative from the Lunar Marked coven finally responded to my request to meet, giving me only half an hour to get home and change.

  Them texting me proved they weren’t criminal masterminds. Most people I dealt with preferred to make arrangements by phone, not text. Messages left evidence. But maybe they weren’t dense after all; their texts may have left evidence of the blackmail, but if anything happened to them, it would implicate the vampires.

  If the witches’ goal was to create a tableau that suggested shady dealing, they had succeeded. The small, dilapidated yellow ranch home with its unkempt lawn and ragged bushes flanking the house didn’t look like the location of a seven-figure deal but an underhanded deal that would probably erupt in gunfire or a standoff. I followed the privacy fence surrounding the house and slammed into a ward. Unable to get to the plants, I backtracked to the front door.

  It swung open before I could knock, revealing a bare room. The hardwood floor was scarred and had a black circle burned into it. It looked as if someone had attempted to scrub it out. A dated sofa stretched along one side of the room, and two oversized armchairs flanked it. The coffee table was discolored, and the scent of tannin, verbena, ginger, and oak stained the air along with other unrecognizable scents.

  “Is this where you all practice?” I asked whoever had magically answered the door. It was a dramatic, unnecessary, and flagrant display of power to which I’d grown accustomed.

  Big whoop, you can open a door with magic.

  “Yes, we practice here.”

  I groaned. I’d heard that voice just a week ago. Wendy. The so-called Maestro of Magic. The wizard robe-wearing peddler of magic. When she came into view, she wasn’t wearing her costume, which was good. Despite knowing what she was capable of, it was hard to take her seriously when she was wearing it.

  Now if she’d just get rid of the petite woman standing next to her, who was wearing a robe, we could get through this without me trying to hold back my laughter.

  The petite woman returned my derisive look with her dark-brown almond-shaped eyes. Her long, straight, coal-black hair was pulled back into a tight, high ponytail with bangs that were a little too long and overwhelmed her round face. Her lips were twisted into a scowl, and her khaki-colored skin flushed with indecipherable emotions. Whatever she was feeling, there was a lot of it and it was all directed at me.

  “We know what you are, and please let Landon know that sending you here is the highest of insults,” Wendy said. And with that they stepped back, far from the circle. Wendy’s mouth moved, and orange and gold sigils appeared along the perimeter of the circle, forcing me to stay locked where I was.

  “What was his plan, for you to take my magic and leave us for dead? Or force the others to turn it over in order to return my magic?” Wendy ground out through clenched teeth.

  “Neither. I’m here to make you an offer. I don’t want you dead, nor do I have any plans to use violent methods to make you comply.”

  Their magic was strong. When I first met Wendy, I had my own; the urges had been satiated. Now, I had no magic, and as theirs wafted around me, I inhaled, trying to find the fortitude to not give in to my desire for theirs. Being magically bound in the circle helped.

  After several cleansing breaths, I had wrangled in my control and focused on the fact that I wasn’t the one they needed to worry about.

  Eyes narrowed, Wendy studied me.

  “Fine,” she eventually conceded. Stepping back, with an invocation and a wave of her finger, a small paper manifested and floated in
front of me.

  Wendy was a magical badass and spell-wielding extraordinaire with ridiculous taste in clothing. “That’s where he can send the money,” she said.

  “He’s only agreeing to half.”

  “If we wanted half, we would have asked for it. This isn’t up for negotiation. Either he pays what we ask or we start selling it. I’m quite sure we would make that amount rather quickly.”

  People would buy Amber Crocus for the same reason people kept silver, and if they could afford it, iridium cuffs. The sense of security. They could kill a vampire. For people who lacked vampiric strength and speed, it had to be empowering to know they could disable one.

  “He’ll pay half and you’ll have to agree to a death oath on your silence and to refrain from ever growing it again or instructing others on how to do so.”

  “No.” Her tone was decisive with hints of offense.

  “If he paid the full amount, would you agree to the oath?”

  “No. There isn’t anything he could offer that would convince us to agree to that.”

  “Perhaps you need to bring the offer to your coven for discussion,” I suggested.

  “I have the voice of my coven.”

  Either she was in a coven full of superfans who followed her blindly, or she was the one who figured out how to grow Amber Crocus. Covens worked as units and had a communal relationship, usually making decision as a group by vote. Mages and witches had the most democratic leadership of all the other denizens. It was unusual for one person to have the voice of the group.

  “He’s not going to agree to it unless you do. If I were you—”

  “You’re not me. In fact, you would say anything to make sure this goes in his favor. After all, you are working for him.”

  I shrugged. “True, he’s paying me to handle this, but I have nothing to lose in this situation. No horse in this race. You can continue to be stubborn, refuse to compromise, and have Landon handle the issue in the manner he finds most fitting.” My voice held a warning measure. “I’ll still get my fee whether this is settled by you getting his money and giving him his oath or your coven no longer existing.”