Treasures, Demons, and Other Black Magic

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  The sidewalk was empty — no blood on it or anything. The pavement was cracked, but that could have been due to Kett’s fall.

  Kett.

  My chest constricted and I stepped back to look up at the roof. The railing was crumpled and hanging off the edge, but the building looked remarkably undamaged from the outside.

  ‘Clean up your own mess,’ Suanmi had said. But I had no idea what to do now. Everyone I knew in London was either dead or dying.

  Call Gran.

  I pulled my phone out of my hoodie pocket in pieces. A phone call to Gran was really going to have to wait. I was losing it, starting to shake. My mind was blank … I didn’t know what to do.

  “Jade?”

  Kandy. It was barely a whisper, but I heard it. I turned back to her and Mory, still scanning with my eyes and my dowser senses for Sienna … nothing. I couldn’t even taste any residual magic out on the street.

  Kandy’s phone might have survived the … what should I call it? Fight? Destruction? Triple demon summoning? Getting our asses handed to us?

  Her phone hadn’t survived. But that was okay, because just as I was thinking that I was going to need to steal a car, the werewolf cavalry descended on us. Jorgen was back and brought a pack with him. He’d also brought a witch.

  Thank God for werewolf hormones.

  ∞

  Jorgen hustled off with Kandy. It was difficult to protest this when I was surrounded by five werewolves who all looked like they could seriously kick my ass. Plus, the green-haired werewolf was in serious need of healing, and I had no idea how to help her.

  The witch — who pretty much refused to identify herself to me — dumped a bunch of healing magic into Mory, then started ordering Jorgen’s werewolf buddies around. A couple of them had police uniforms on that looked real to my completely uninformed eye.

  The witch was a dark-haired woman in her forties with a charming British lilt. She didn’t offer to heal me. That was okay, because she was pretty magically spent after working on Mory, and I also didn’t know how my magic might react to hers anyway.

  “An investigative team is on the way,” she said quietly. She glanced over at me sitting on the sidewalk at her feet, with Mory slumped against my shoulder. “They were nearby. On the trail of the … black witch.” She looked up at the car park for a long moment, then frowned darkly. “Don’t leave the hotel without permission.” Then she walked off without another word.

  One of the werewolves hauled us around the corner and flagged down a cab. It was obvious that they wanted us as far away from the scene as possible, and who was I to argue?

  My foot sorted itself out before I hit the hotel lobby. This was good because Mory, who still hadn’t spoken, collapsed in the elevator and I had to carry her to the suite.

  I tucked her into bed and made a beeline for the en-suite bathroom. One glance in the mirror and I was surprised the cab driver hadn’t refused to take us. I actually looked worse than I felt, and I felt like a pile of shit scraped off the bottom of my sister’s shoe and left to fester on the roadside.

  I left the door open so I could hear if Mory woke, then turned the water to hot in the walk-in shower.

  I stripped off my ruined leathers. Though they’d somehow held together on my body, they fell to shreds on the bathroom’s black-and-white hexagon-tiled floor.

  Every surface of my body — neck to toes — was scored by still healing demon claw marks. My left arm was mangled as if it had been chewed on. The skin was newly pink, but underneath was a knotted mess of muscle and tissue.

  Three and a half months of training and a shiny new sword, and this is what I looked like after confronting Sienna. I hadn’t even gotten to use the sword, really. That said a whole lot about how I really didn’t deserve to wield it.

  And speaking of blades …

  I stepped into the hot shower and tried to not weep over the sacrificial knife that I’d transformed with blood magic into something far more deadly — and then had pretty much handed it to Sienna. A knife that could kill a centuries-old vampire …

  “Please don’t be dead,” I whispered. Blood washed down my body and pooled around the drain at my feet. My toenails — unpainted for the first time in years — took on a pinkish hue. “Please don’t be dead.”

  But the life debt bond had broken …

  I started to cry, great ragged sobs that were violent and involuntary. I hunkered down underneath the hot stream of water and pressed my hands over my mouth, so as not to wake Mory.

  And I sobbed.

  I sobbed until my legs gave out and I curled up on the tile. I sobbed until I hurt myself, until blood vessels broke in and around my eyes. I sobbed for my stupidity and failure.

  I sobbed for my sister.

  And I cried for Kett … my mentor, my friend, and my protector, who I’d scorned in the hallway of the hotel not three hours ago for killing in order to live. And then I killed him myself, with my naiveté, stupidity, and recklessness.

  By the time I stopped crying, I was unsure of how long I’d been taxing the hotel’s boiler … but I felt guilty about the wastefulness so I turned off the water.

  I still sat on the shower floor, soaking wet until the steam had cleared from the room and I began to shiver.

  Mory said something in the other room, talking in her sleep. I lifted my head so that my wet hair hit my face. It was far cooler than my skin, and I realized I was running a temperature. My body was probably burning off the residual magic of Sienna’s spells, and also probably whatever crap was in demon spit.

  “Rusty, no,” Mory murmured from the other room.

  I stood up and grabbed a towel. That was enough uselessness for one evening. I had Mory to look after and Kandy to check up on.

  And Sienna. There was no way Sienna was sitting in a shower bawling like a brat. No, Sienna had a new toy she was undoubtedly eager to try out.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Just before dawn, a knock at the suite door pulled me away from watching Mory sleep. I’d been worrying that she hadn’t woken yet, but was also fretting about waking her to feed her if she needed the sleep to heal.

  I’d ordered food the second the kitchen had opened, so I thought the knock was room service. Instead, I opened the door to find a dark-blond woman around twenty-five standing in the hall. She was a couple of inches shorter than my five feet nine inches. Her hair was pulled back and up in a French twist that wouldn’t last an hour on me, and every well-tailored piece of clothing on her dripped money — all without my recognizing a single label, because there weren’t any.

  “Jade Godfrey?” she asked politely, already knowing the answer. Her slight accent identified her as American.

  I met her gaze and flinched. Her blue witch magic curled and coiled behind her eyes so tightly that I couldn’t distinguish their actual color.

  She furrowed her brow at my flinch. I transferred my gaze to her hands where her magic also pooled, though not as intensely as behind her eyes.

  “I know you,” I said, and I met her gaze without flinching a second time. Her magic was heavily doused in nutmeg — which wasn’t a scent I associated with witch magic — along with the sweet floral tones I would have expected. Sweet nutmeg was an odd combination.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I’m Wisteria Fairchild. The reconstructionist.”

  Right. We hadn’t actually met during Sienna’s trial, but Wisteria had presented a YouTube cube thing that somehow played back the scenes of Hudson’s and Rusty’s murders. The reconstructionist somehow collected residual magic, and then transformed it into a visual presentation. This was the most damning evidence against Sienna. Until I saw it at the tribunal, I didn’t even know that such magic was possible.

  “Wisteria. That’s an … unusual name. I imagine you go by something else?”

  “No.”

  Chatty witch. Not.

  “The Convocation thought it best if someone who knew your magic … and yo
ur family was here.”

  “I’m confused. You’re here because?”

  “An investigative team has been called in to contain, examine, and clean the area of last night’s incident.”

  I stared at her. My brain was obviously low on processing power this morning. “That was less than six hours ago.”

  “Yes, well. It’s rather a mess, isn’t it? Best to move quickly. Will you be inviting me in? Or shall we continue to discuss such a sensitive topic as the morning newspapers are delivered door to door?”

  I nodded and stepped back — still too overwhelmed and naturally polite to take exception to being bullied by a woman not much older than me. The room service waiter turned the corner of the hallway just as Wisteria stepped into the suite.

  The reconstructionist settled into a plush love seat in the sitting area, placing a large designer bag on the floor at her feet.

  The waiter rolled a tray laden with enough food for five big eaters into the room.

  “I didn’t know … I haven’t ordered for you,” I said to Wisteria.

  She nodded and addressed the waiter. “Tea. Herbal. Mint if you have it, not chamomile.”

  The waiter nodded and crossed to a set of converted antique cupboards. Once opened, they revealed a coffee and tea station, as well as a mini fridge and sink.

  He set the water boiling and then stepped back to have me sign the bill. I barely glanced at it closely enough to calculate the tip. He then served Wisteria her tea in a china cup — I assumed the mugs were reserved for coffee — and left. I had a feeling he was still half asleep.

  The door clicked shut and I rounded on the reconstructionist. “You were in London?”

  “No, Seattle.”

  “Six hours ago.”

  “The Convocation arranged transportation.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Wisteria tilted her head and looked at me. Her magic boiled behind her eyes. It was unnerving. As far as I could taste, she was nowhere near as powerful as Gran or my mother, Scarlett. And yet magic usually flowed throughout a witch’s physical body, not concentrating in such specific areas. Wisteria Fairchild was very good at controlling her magic. Brilliant at it. But I really, really didn’t want to be around if she ever lost that coiled control.

  Wisteria sipped her tea. It was too hot. She sucked in her breath to ease the pain of the burn. It was the first purely human thing I’d seen her do. Then I suddenly realized I made her nervous. I’d never thought about that before — never thought about how it must feel to be the most powerful person in the room. The extra responsibility made me momentarily heady. I wasn’t sure I could carry more weight right now.

  I grabbed the top plate of food, not caring what it hid beneath its warming dome, and sat down on the couch opposite Wisteria to eat.

  “I have passports for you, the fledgling necromancer, and the werewolf … Kandy. The Convocation wasn’t sure you still had access to yours. I also have airline tickets. Your flight leaves in four hours. You need to be at the airport in two, but you cannot leave the hotel without an escort.”

  “I can’t leave —”

  “You will leave. There is a bounty on your head — directly from the vampire elder himself — that goes into effect in less than ten hours. You’re to leave the country and are not welcome back.”

  “What? Because of Kett? Is he … alive?” I stumbled over the last word from emotion — but also because I still wasn’t exactly clear on whether vampires were alive or not. To me, they looked like pure animated magic — especially Kett’s maker.

  Wisteria waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t know all the details. I don’t normally operate as a point of contact. I’m sure I’m stepping on many toes here, but the Convocation will smooth everything out eventually.”

  “Gran … you mean ‘Pearl Godfrey,’ when you say ‘the Convocation.’ ”

  Wisteria smiled that tight smile of hers that didn’t go anywhere near her eyes — a learned gesture of polite conversation. “There are thirteen board members. It takes seven to reach an agreement, but there wasn’t a single dissenting vote in this matter. The witches are firmly on your side, in this circumstance at least.”

  “But why you?” I asked, stuffing the pancake I’d just folded in quarters straight into my mouth. “Not that I’m not glad you’re here, but why didn’t Gran or Scarlett use this miraculous transportation?”

  Wisteria tilted her head to regard me a second time. I gathered my ignorance of witch magic confused or maybe intrigued her. I couldn’t quite tell which. She was difficult to read with her magic held so tightly in her eyes.

  “Gateway transportation can be tricky. My magic seems to accept it, though it is not … pleasant. It’s also disruptive to the natural flow of magic, so its use is limited. It took me three hours to get into Vancouver and five minutes to arrive at the designated point in the parking lot.”

  “And Gran didn’t come because her magic doesn’t like … moving like that?”

  “I gather. And she was casting, of course. And the investigative team is currently without their reconstructionist. So I had a valid reason to be here.”

  My grandmother was capable of moving a witch through space from Vancouver to London — the thought was awe-inspiring. The grid point portals were anchored in deep wells of natural magic. Other portals, such as the one in the Sea Lion Caves, were tied to the specific ability of one uber powerful being, Pulou the treasure keeper. Blackwell’s amulet was constructed by a formidable alchemist. But a witch who could gather enough magic from the earth and channel it in order to transport another witch? All without the support of a full coven? I had no idea Gran was capable of such a thing. That any witch was capable of such.

  Mory wandered out of the bedroom and toward the food without acknowledging either Wisteria or me. Her magic was barely discernible. She leaned over to look through the four plates remaining on the cart, lifting and lowering the domes until she found waffles.

  My gaze dropped to the necklace that sat heavily on the necromancer’s collarbone. Something about it was off — discordant with the rest of its magic, but not necessarily dangerous — as if it was dented and the flow of its magic restricted.

  I half rose out of my chair to look at it closer. I was reaching toward it when Mory snapped, “Don’t touch it.”

  I flinched at the utter hatred in her tone. “I was just —”

  “Never mind,” the teenager said. She all but dropped her plate of waffles onto the glass coffee table, then proceeded to douse them in syrup.

  “This is Wisteria —”

  “I know. Where’s Kandy?”

  “She’s …” I glanced up at the reconstructionist.

  “Healed enough to be going over the events of the evening with the lead investigator,” Wisteria said. “I gathered the reconstructions before I came here, so the crew could start cleaning.”

  “Covering up the mess Sienna made,” Mory said mockingly, her mouth full.

  “That was much more than a mess,” Wisteria said. Her tone was even but stern.

  Mory nodded, somewhat appeased by this assessment.

  “Your mother would like to talk to you,” Wisteria continued as she pulled a cell phone out of her huge bag.

  The fledgling necromancer snatched the phone and her plate, then booked it back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  “Your sister has cut a swath of destruction across the United Kingdom. The investigators tasked with finding and stopping her have identified a number of missing witches, and now three sorcerers. The fledgling necromancer will need to testify.”

  I nodded, still staring at the closed bedroom door. “She’ll hate me forever.”

  “She’s lucky to be alive,” Wisteria said, not a hint of compassion or understanding in her voice. “One day she’ll realize it.”

  I changed the subject. “Was one of the missing witches skilled in delayed or triggered spells?”

&nbs
p; “Azure Dunkirk. Her coven reported her missing from Manchester two days ago. The investigators were following up there when they heard from Maize.”

  “Maize?”

  “The witch that the werewolves contacted. She’s a well-known healer, and actually the only witch who makes her home in London. Luckily, one of the werewolves had prior contact with her.”

  I nodded, not even remotely absorbing the information. I leaned forward and set my empty plate on the coffee table. “I did something last night … I made something …”

  Wisteria held up her hand, palm toward me. “I’m not your confidant or your judge. As far as I saw, you did what you thought necessary at the time. Those demons … your foster sister …” Wisteria frowned and shivered slightly.

  “I’m sure you’ve seen worse,” I said.

  The reconstructionist met my gaze. “I’ve never seen worse than what your sister has done, and I was certified at sixteen. The youngest ever. I’ve been practicing in North America for almost ten years now.”

  I shut up. My stomach rebelled against the pancakes and eggs I’d just eaten. But I wasn’t going to throw up perfectly good food over freaking Sienna.

  Wisteria leaned forward and spoke softly. “I’ve never seen magic like yours, Jade Godfrey, or the boy who was with you. You both gleamed gold within the darkness your sister conjured. Pure gold. You lighter, blue-tinged. The boy darker, an almost rose tone.”

  I felt tears threaten to overwhelm me again. I hadn’t known that … I couldn’t see my own magic. I wiped my cheeks and nodded.

  Wisteria returned my nod and rose to her feet. “Now, I gather you and the fledgling will need clothes. If you give me your sizes, I’ll see what I can do. The concierge in a hotel like this should be able to get us anything, no matter the hour of the morning.”

  I glanced down at my attire. I’d stolen a tank top and a pair of Lycra workout pants from Kandy’s clothes, but the pants were too short on my legs. The werewolf’s jeans hadn’t even remotely fit — like, not even over my thighs, even with all the dragon training. I’d thrown a hotel terry cloth robe over it all.