by A. J. Menden
“What would do that?” Cyrus asked, stepping forward from behind us.
Wesley eyed him. “Nothing good, and I have a feeling we’re all going to find out very soon.” He turned his attention to me. “Fantazia, get me that spell book on the table over there. Let’s wake him up and ask.”
I called the book he wanted to hand with one quick word and a flick of my fingers. Wes shook his head at my casual use of magic. My father had never, in any of his forms, been so careless.
“We can’t give him back his willpower,” Wes said. “Maybe over time—”
“Or never,” I interrupted. I’d had some lesserpowered magic-users at the bar who’d used too much will and couldn’t perform magic anymore. They’d seemed to think I could magically cure them. “Willpower is extremely hard to recover. He might be able to regenerate some of his magical aptitude over time—”
“You don’t always get that back either,” Wesley said, giving me a knowing look. In his last life he’d used his impressive magic to perform the one spell that no one other than himself had ever been able to pull off: a Resurrect Other spell. He’d done it when one of the Dragon’s cronies murdered Lainey. The highly leveled spell took a lot out of him and depleted a lot of his magical reserve. Once the most powerful magic-user in existence, he was now second to me. Somewhere down deep that had to hurt him. I had to admit, a small part of me didn’t mind having stolen some of his thunder.
“He may never be the same again, but at least we can help undo the physical damage,” Wesley said. He looked at me expectantly. “Fantazia?”
I sighed. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’m running low after the fight with Edgar. Let me borrow some of your magic.”
“Funny, wasn’t that the problem we were just discussing?” I said, but I stepped over to him. I couldn’t help thinking of Cyrus’s accusation that I only look after myself. How wrong he was. If only he weren’t. “Did one of the other Brothers of Power do this to Joseph?”
“Very possibly,” Wesley said. I met his eyes, and I knew we’d both come to the same conclusion. “Not everyone knows how to do this kind of power boost without damaging the donor. It’s possible one of them tried to borrow some of his magic and botched it instead.”
“I didn’t even know it was possible, borrowing magic from someone, hurting them or not!” Cyrus said. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
“It requires a special kind of donor,” Wesley said. “You try to do this to just anyone and you end up . . .”
“Like this.” I motioned to Joseph. “You’d better leave it to the grown-ups, Cyrus. You think you’re a lazy man now . . . ? Of course, this would give you an excuse to lie around all the time.”
Actually, anyone with enough magic to cast the spell could steal someone else’s power to boost their own, but usually those sorcerers potent enough to do so found the ceremony unnecessary. What they also often knew was they could borrow magic from direct family members with less likelihood of dangerous consequences.
Not to say such a process was painless.
“Fine, whatever,” I said to my father. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was giving in, but I knew a small part of me wanted to show Cyrus that I did care about people, even though I spent most of my time trying to prove to myself and others the exact opposite. It was distressing. “But if I end up like him, I’m going to kill you and Lainey’s going to have herself a new and younger husband.”
Wesley glared at me. His hand clamped down on my arm and, with a few growled words, I felt power drain out of me and into him.
I started to sway and, contrite, he grabbed me so I wouldn’t fall. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern plain in his voice. His grip was firm but gentle.
I looked into his eyes, eyes that no matter their color or shape always looked the same. I had a completely random—and unwanted—flashback to my childhood, of a man with similar eyes holding me the same way after I was almost trampled by a runaway chariot. I was injured and crying, in terrible pain and waiting for the gods to escort me to the underworld, but my father scooped me up in his arms. I took comfort in his deep and confident voice speaking words of magical healing. At that time I knew I would always be safe as long as my father was nearby.
Then I found out my father would one day be gone and replaced by a stranger.
In pain and anger, I jerked away from him. “I’m fine,” I growled, letting my long, dark hair fall into my face so he couldn’t see the uncharacteristic tears in my eyes. “Just take care of Joseph.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Cyrus’s voice was different; it held a gentleness he’d never reserved for me. I hoped to God he hadn’t seen the tears or I would never live it down. Worse yet, he’d pity me.
“I’m fine,” I snapped, moving away before he could do something awful like hug or put an arm around me. I wasn’t sure how I would react. I wrapped my arms around myself in a protective gesture.
Cyrus turned back to Wesley. “What are you doing, boss?”
“The equivalent of magical smelling salts,” Wesley said. He showed the hint of a smile. “And here we go.”
A chant, a sprinkling of contents from a nearby vial, and Joseph’s eyes flew open. He sprang up, flailing around. Wesley soothed him. “Easy, easy,” he said. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
“W-where am I?” Joseph asked, glancing around. “Where’s Donald?”
Donald? What had happened to the guy since I kicked him out of my bedroom?
“You’re at the Elite Hands of Justice headquarters,” Wesley said. “We don’t know where your brother is. Do you remember getting here?”
“I used the last of my power to get me to wherever the hell Fantazia was,” Joseph said, forgetting in his pain to use his fake Irish accent. “What are you doing hanging out with the EHJ, darling?” He goggled at me.
“Slumming, I guess,” I said.
“You thinking of changing sides?” he asked. Giving Cyrus a look, he said, “Like the Virus?”
“I’m on the same side I’ve always been on, Joseph,” I said. “I’m always on my own side. I don’t get involved in politics. You know that.”
“Things change,” he replied.
“You’d better hope so,” Cyrus growled, glancing at me. “Because you’re in need of some help and she’s not known for doing so out of the goodness of her little black heart.”
I shot him a dark look. He was right, but did he have to be so nasty?
“What happened to you?” Wesley asked. “Can you remember?”
Joseph stared at him. “I forget it’s you sometimes, Old One. Your face changes and it’s hard to remember that you’re the same man who fought alongside my grandfather against Hitler’s dark mages.” He sobered. Gone was all the affected Irish character, the merry skirt-chasing Joseph, and in his place was a once powerful but now fearful man. “Donald and I were home, hosting a bit of a soiree. Invited some of the more disreputable element you let into your place, Fantazia.” He grinned at me. “We were looking to try some dirty magic.”
“Making drunk groupies’ underwear disappear, you mean?” I retorted.
“Go on,” Wesley said, clearly disapproving.
“In the middle of the party, the speakers started squealing, lights start popping and the stereo starts changing stations. It was like everything mechanical in the room was suddenly alive.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it. Donald starts convulsing, shuddering like he’s about to fall apart. I could see the magic pouring out of him and swirling around the room. I swear it, Old One, I could see it. The stuff was like a mist.”
“Could you see where it went?” Wesley asked.
Joseph nodded. “That’s just it. It was going into the machines. Like they were sucking it out of him or something. Everyone else in the room could see it, and they started screaming and running out of there. They’d all heard the whispers of something targeting us, taking from us. I tried to stay and help my brother, but then he fell to the
ground and was still, and I could feel whatever it was start to work on me.”
“Jesus Christ,” Cyrus breathed. We all turned to look at him. “It’s an Afieral spell.”
“What?” Wesley narrowed his eyes at him.
“It’s powerful. Extremely powerful. It amplifies magic. Christ, Old One . . . That’s even out of my league, which is saying something.”
I rolled my eyes. Cyrus was powerful, but not that powerful.
He seemed lost in his thoughts. “It’s a techno mage doing this. We’re so few and far between, and I can’t imagine anyone I know being able to do it . . . It’s got to be a new player on the scene.”
“Concentrate, Cyrus,” I said, taking him by the shoulders. “One thing at a time. What does this spell do, exactly?”
“You use every bit of technology around the target to act as an amplifier. You could use it to hit them during a fight, or to send a telepathic message, or any number of things—drain their willpower or steal their magic, which I didn’t even know you could do up until a few moments ago.”
I snorted. “You say that like you don’t want us to suspect you.”
“I don’t!” he snapped. “But the fact of the matter is, I am the most powerful known techno mage right now, and if something is going down, I’m going to be the one people are going to blame.”
“The television was eating his brain,” Wesley said, mulling things over. “That’s what Edgar said earlier.”
I turned. “You think whatever attacked Joseph and Donald attacked Edgar?”
Wesley shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out. I’m going to the jail where they’re holding him and do a diagnostic spell. See if he has any metaphysical wounds and if they look similar.”
“So it’s the EHJ to the rescue,” I said. Great. I could head home.
“Sort of,” Wesley said. He gave me a sinister smile. “Since Joseph came to you for help, why don’t you go see if you can help his brother?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You knew it was possible to steal magic from others? I mean, you know how? You know the spell yourself?” Joseph stared at me while Cyrus related how he had been magically revived. Wesley had left to check things out in the prison.
I glared at him. “For someone who needs help, you need to take your tone down a notch. Who do you think you are to me? And, are we going to help your brother or not?”
Joseph wasn’t ready to let it go. “We came to you with the information that someone was stealing magic and you downplayed it—acted like it wasn’t possible, that it was just a binding spell—but the whole time you knew it was something else entirely!” He was angry enough to drop his Irish accent entirely. Or scared enough.
I quirked an eyebrow. “Are you suddenly suspecting me of doing all of this?”
“When you’re one of the only people that seems to know these kinds of spells, then yeah, I am.” Joseph stared me down. “The Old One sure as hell isn’t doing it.”
I couldn’t believe this. “First of all, the spell the Reincarnist used on me wasn’t the same thing at all. He ‘borrowed’ some of my magic; he didn’t steal it. I’ve recovered by now. Also, you heard Cyrus—the spell that attacked you and your brother was an Afieral spell that uses technology. When have I ever used technology for anything?”
“As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point,” Cyrus said.
Joseph glared at me. “If you’re the cause of all of this, Fantazia, I’m going to kill you.”
“If I’m really the cause, Joseph, you aren’t powerful enough,” I retorted. “Now, do you want my help or not?”
Joseph stared at me for a few more moments, then sighed. “Yes. Donald may need every bit of the help I can get. If you know borrowing spells or whatever you want to call them, who knows what other talents you’re hiding in your dirty little bag of tricks.”
“I make a mean dark chocolate cheesecake,” I retorted. “But that’s probably not what you mean. If we’re doing this, let’s go.”
“I’m ready,” Cyrus said.
I turned, surprised. “Since when are you invited?”
He frowned. “Since a techno mage got involved. This is my area of expertise, Fantazia, not yours. Unless that’s another one of the secret talents you’re not telling us.”
“Wesley didn’t ask you onto this caper, and—”
“I can call him up and ask, but you’re only going to look ridiculous,” Cyrus said.
As if it weren’t already ridiculous that we were arguing.
“I want him to come along, too,” Joseph said. “I don’t want to be alone with you.”
I rolled my eyes. “After all of the times we’ve been alone together before, Joseph? You wound me.”
“I always knew you were a scary bitch, but that was part of the fun of flirting with you,” Joseph said. “Until now.”
“What, the fun of playing with fire went away? Makes sense to me.” Cyrus smirked.
I fought incredulity and fury. “I’d like to point out—again—that it was the Reincarnist who did the spell, not me. You two don’t seem the least bit scared of him.”
Both men shrugged. “It’s him,” Joseph said.
I tried to control my seething insides. Everyone automatically trusted my father and did whatever he said. He could suggest blowing up the entire world and no one would question him. I began to wish he would.
On that unpleasant note, we prepared to help Donald. I went through the motions of the spell to transport us to Joseph’s house.
“I’m surprised you’re letting me do this,” I growled under my breath. “You’re not afraid I’m going to transport you to outer space or to the center of the Earth or something?”
“Just shut up and do it,” Joseph growled. But I could see how upset he was, which was why I let it slide. “I shouldn’t have left him behind or wasted time arguing with you. I should have just come here and—”
“It’s okay, man,” Cyrus said. “We’re going to help him.” To me, he said, “Let’s go, Fantazia.”
I nodded and worked the spell. “Apri il portale.”
The portal opened and we transported directly to their house. Well, mansion. The Brothers of Power had multiple homes between them, all enormous, all on the outskirts of Megolopolis or beachside, mountainside and every other side you could imagine. The family had been rich for generations in two things: money and magic. Losing the latter was likely the last thing they expected.
The mansion looked like it had been evacuated in a hurry. We stood in the middle of the ballroom, where the party had been raging from what we could see in the dark. Glass crunched underfoot, as if people just dropped their expensive stemware and ran for their lives. Joseph went to the wall and flipped some switches but nothing happened. The power must have blown from the techno spell.
I called up a ball of energy. The room was cast in an otherworldly green light, making it look even creepier. There was the usual party debris, empty glasses and bottles and the like, but there were also a few other things that put me on edge: overturned chairs, and some that looked like they’d been thrown at the wall. The expensive art on the walls had been mutilated. A large mirror at the back of the room was shattered.
Donald was nowhere to be seen.
“I . . . I don’t understand. I left him right here,” Joseph said, pointing to a spot on the dance floor in between two large speakers and a DJ booth. He looked up at us. “Maybe that’s a good thing, right? Maybe he’s okay. Maybe he’s looking for me. Or maybe he’s with one of the other Brothers.”
“Maybe,” I said. But I wasn’t so sure.
“Donald? Where are you? Look, I’m sorry I left!” Joseph was yelling. Something about the whole situation was giving me the creeps. I could feel the hairs on my arms standing on end. Something wasn’t right here.
Cyrus must have sensed the same thing, since he put out a hand to stop Joseph. “Man, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” he said.
Joseph brushe
d past him, going out into the hallway. “Donald? I brought some help. Are you okay? Where are you?”
We followed him out into the other room. Cyrus and I both stopped short.
“What the hell?” Cyrus muttered.
“This is so not right,” I breathed, all of my senses on alert.
The massive chandelier that had hung in the hallway was shattered. Marble statues surrounding the staircase were overturned, like a massively strong toddler had thrown a temper tantrum. And that’s when I heard it: banging and clattering upstairs.
Joseph must have heard, too, because he abruptly started to run for the steps. “Donald!”
“Joseph, no!” I said, reaching out to grab him. “We don’t know who or what’s up there.”
“It’s Donald!”
“It might also be whatever went after you,” I said. “And we’re not charging up there into whatever trap it may have laid.”
“DONALD!” he bellowed.
I sighed. “Or bring its attention down here to us.”
The banging stopped. We all fell silent, listening to the silence. Then, another crash. We all jumped.
There came the sound of running footsteps upstairs, footsteps coming toward us.
“Great,” I said softly. “Just great.”
Joseph yanked out of my grasp and started up the stairs. “Donald!”
Sure enough, his brother appeared at the top of the stairs, lit by the weird glow of my ball of energy. The look on his face was enough to make me take a step backward. Gone was the artistically disheveled and handsome man I’d recently slept with, replaced by someone who quite frankly looked out of his mind.
He was missing a shoe and his clothes were in shreds. I couldn’t tell if he’d done it himself or if someone else had. Blood ran down his arms from massive scratches and dripped onto the floor. I thought at first the cuts were made while destroying the room, but a closer look showed they were letters or numbers, like he’d been hacking some sort of message into his skin. Or maybe a ward. But the worst part was seeing his eyes, which were completely and totally blank. There was no one home in that gaze.