Institute of Magic

by Linsey Hall

  “Just our luck.” His appreciative gaze sent warmth through me. “A blood sorcerer should be able to track that blood. Give us a clue, at least.”

  “That’s not one of your skills?”

  “Sadly, no. But I know someone to call.”

  “Good.” I did, too, but I couldn’t afford their lofty prices. So I’d let him use his contact. My stomach grumbled loudly.

  “First, let’s get something to eat,” he said. “We’re running on empty right now.”

  “Good idea.” I staggered upright. “I’m not sure how long I can keep going like this.”

  We left the workshop and cut across the lawn. I followed him toward the main house, struggling along a few steps behind.

  He stopped and turned, then came to help me.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “You’re not.” He hesitated just briefly, then looped an arm around my waist, seeming almost reluctant. I might’ve caught him giving me the occasional hot glance, but he wasn’t keen on touching me, it seemed.

  I was too weak to complain, though. I definitely needed the help.

  By the time we walked through the wooden front door into the charming country manor, I could feel every inch of the blood coating me. It itched ferociously.

  “Any chance I could get a shower before that meal? I can’t stay like this.” It’d give me some privacy to call my sisters, too.

  He nodded, pointing left. “There’s a bedroom through the living room. You’ll find a bathroom there. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks.” I let go of him, staggering through the pretty foyer into the rustic French living room with a massive fireplace. The bedroom had the same decor—some kind of charming historic style that also conveniently looked like it could be in a catalogue.

  The bathroom was large and sparkling clean, and the shower was spacious for an older home, with beautiful bronze fittings. I cleaned up as quickly as I could, leaning against the tiled wall for support.

  I stepped out and dried off, relishing the feeling of being clean before I realized that I’d have to put the same dirty clothes back on.

  “Dang it.” I bit my lip, debating, then headed out into the bedroom, determined to search for some clothes. There had to be something in here.

  The old armoire revealed some dresses—short-sleeved casual ones dotted with flowers. The style looked like something out of the 1920s or maybe even older. Not my style, but I wasn’t picky.

  I reached for one.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The feminine voice made me jump. I nearly dropped the towel as I spun around.

  A ghost stared at me. She was pretty, with long hair and an old-fashioned face. The kind that stared out of black and white photos inside frames that sat on lace doilies in grandmas’ houses. She wore a similarly styled dress as the ones in the closet.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “They’re yours?”

  “Who else would they belong to?”

  “Um, someone alive?”

  She harrumphed. “The living always get so much more respect than the dead! I’ll tell you, I’m sick of it. It’s one of the reasons I’m marching for voting rights, you know.”

  “Voting rights?” I eyed her old-timey outfit. “Like the suffragettes?”

  “Exactly! I cut my teeth at the procession in 1913, but now I march for the rights of ghosts.”

  “Oh.” My mind scrambled on an appropriate response. “Well done.”

  “Thank you.” She inclined her head. “Now, who are you, and why are you rooting around in my closet?”

  “I’m Ana. My clothes were destroyed, and I needed something clean. Do you mind if I borrow something?”

  She extended a hand. “Go right ahead. But I’d choose a blue one. Better with your complexion. I’m Mildred, by the way.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mildred.” I pulled it off the hanger, but she didn’t leave.

  “You’re here with the handsome man?”

  “Lachlan? Yes.”

  Mildred sighed dreamily. “So good-looking. Very honorable, too, you know. He contributes to the local charity, and is very kind to the woman who takes care of the house. I think she’s a bit batty, but he’s kind to her anyway.”

  “You watch him?”

  “What else is a ghost to do?”

  “Move on?”

  “And miss all the fun?” She scoffed. “I’m not going to waste my ghosthood like that!”

  “So you like being a ghost?”

  “Of course! I’ve wanted to be one since I was a little girl, so you can only imagine my delight when I perished young in a tragic hot air balloon accident.”

  Right.

  “Of course. Only natural.” This girl was nuts.

  “I didn’t want to take my own life, obviously. It’s too precious for that. But I died early and by mistake, and now get to haunt the rest of eternity as a young, attractive ghost, so who am I to complain?”

  “So you hang around here, mostly?”

  “Sometimes. I make sure no one disturbs my bedroom. The attractive man has agreed to that, fortunately. And I do admit, I like to spend more time here now that he comes by occasionally.”

  “What can you tell me about him?” I was exhausted, had dripping wet hair, and was standing nearly naked with a ghost, but I wasn’t going to give up a golden opportunity for some dirt.

  “That he’s quiet. Keeps to himself. He makes dangerous magic and meets with dangerous people, but they respect him. Might even be a bit scared of him, actually.” She shivered. “He’s cold and tightly controlled. But he has to be. His power is immense and needs to be contained. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “What does he do in his free time?”

  “Reads. Writes. Doesn’t seem to have many friends. Just one guy. He comes by to help, but very rarely. He’s a bit like an apprentice.”

  He had to be Decker, the friend who’d been abducted, if I had to guess. No wonder Lachlan was so intent on saving him. He was one of the loner’s only friends.

  “No family?”

  “Not that I’ve seen.” She shook her head. “Not even a photograph around the house.”

  That was really sad. My most prized possession—shared with Bree and Rowan—was a photo of our mother, who’d died when we were thirteen.

  “I’ll let you get dressed,” Mildred said. “You look cold. And tired.”

  “I’m both.”

  “Good luck with the man. With whatever it is you are doing here.”

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled and drifted away, disappearing through the wall.

  I returned to the bathroom where I’d discarded my clothes. I cringed as I stepped into my old underwear, then pulled on the dress that Mildred had recommended.

  I turned to the mirror. “Wow.”

  I looked like Mildred. Like I’d stepped out of a time capsule. Not my usual style, but it was clean, so I’d take it.

  I hurried out to the kitchen, which I found by scent alone. It was beautiful, looking just as I’d imagine a French country kitchen would look. Fresh flowers sat on the counter, no doubt courtesy of the kooky woman who managed the house.

  Lachlan, his dark hair still wet from his shower, stood at the counter, cutting a block of cheese into slices. He looked up, then smiled when he caught sight of the dress.

  It was the first smile he’d directed my way, and it was as devastatingly sexy as I’d imagined it would be. Heat coiled inside me, and I wanted to pat my cheeks to make it go away.

  “I see that Mildred approves of you,” he said.

  “I think so. You have quite the roommate there.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t realize I was getting a ghost when I bought the place, but I didn’t have the heart to evict her.”

  “I think she spies on you.”

  “I think so, too. I try to ignore it.” He picked up the tray of cheese and sliced meats. “I hope you like a cheese tray. Valerie, the housekeeper, dropped it off.
Along with salad and bread.”

  “I’m always interested in cheese. Who isn’t?” I sat at the table.

  He set the tray down, then returned for the bread and salad. ”Wine all right?”

  I doubted he had any cheap champagne on hand, so I nodded. “Thanks. It’ll probably put me to sleep.”

  “I doubt you need any help with that.”

  I put on a mock-offended voice. “What, do I look tired?”

  “You look lovely, actually.” Surprise flashed across his face, as if he couldn’t believe he’d said that. Then all expression disappeared, and he sat across from me.

  I blinked at him, trying to understand him.

  I came up short, so I sipped the wine instead. He built himself a sandwich that looked pretty manly. Lots of meat, some cheese, and two huge hunks of bread. I picked at mine, but quickly devoured at least two people’s worth of cheese.

  Once my hunger was sated, I looked at him. “Have you always been so powerful?”

  He frowned. “No. But the potential was always there.”

  “How’d you develop it?”

  “Practice.” There was more story there, but he wasn’t going to reveal it. Not now, at least. “How did you really end up at the Protectorate? Did they find you?”

  “They did.” I couldn’t tell him the whole truth, but perhaps a part of it? “My mother died when we were young. Thirteen.” Murdered by those who hunted us because we were Dragon Gods, but I wouldn’t tell him that. “She had a feeling she would die young, so she wrote to them, telling them about us. That we’d need help.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Concern flashed in his eyes, and his hand twitched. Almost as if he wanted to touch me in comfort.

  Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

  Truth was, I didn’t think I’d turn down any kind of touching from him.

  “It’s fine.” It wasn’t. The pain was still sharp, but I didn’t want to start crying. The Nile was my favorite river, and also my preferred way of coping. Denial could get one a long way.

  “And the Protectorate came and got you?” he asked.

  “No. They tried, because that’s what they do—help people in terrible situations like ours.” Though I wouldn’t reveal quite all the details. Becoming orphans at thirteen was terrible enough. I doubted he’d pry. “But by the time they got to the homestead in Alaska where my mother had been raising us, we were gone. We had no way to survive there, so we left.”

  We’d also been running from those who hunted us, though we hadn’t known who they were at the time. We’d spent our childhoods running and hiding from an unknown threat.

  “Then what?” he asked.

  “Eventually, we made it to Death Valley Junction, the supernatural town in California.”

  “It’s like the Old West, isn’t it? I’ve heard of it.”

  “It’s just like the Old West. Straight out of a John Wayne movie. We got odd jobs, and an older man helped us out some. Uncle Joe. Eventually, we got ourselves the buggy—an armored monster truck—and started doing runs across Death Valley, delivering outlaws to Hider’s Haven.”

  He whistled low under his breath. “An armored monster truck that you call the buggy?”

  “Yes. It’s my one true love. Besides my sisters. And my painting.”

  “That’s a lot of true loves.”

  “I have a lot of love to give.”

  He gave me an undecipherable look, as if he didn’t know what to make of that, then said, “Driving across Death Valley is insanely dangerous.”

  “It is. But I’m brave. Good with weapons, too. We were the only ones willing to do the job. So you can see why the Protectorate wanted to hire us when they finally found us after all those years.”

  “I can. You’re a woman of many talents.”

  The compliment warmed me, enough that I wanted to lean across the table and press my lips to his. But then, who was I kidding? I’d been wanting to do that for a while now.

  I shoved back from the table, unwilling to make any kind of move. “Well, that’s it for me. I need a few hours of rest, or I will fall over.”

  “I’ll call the blood sorceresses in the morning,” he said. “We’ll get a lead on the mage who took the spell, then we’ll go to the Protectorate and see if they have any answers about our missing magic.”

  I nodded. Damn, I hoped they had the answers we sought. Because we really needed them.

  I woke up at dawn to the sight of Mildred sitting on the edge of my bed, staring hard at me.

  I jumped, my heart thundering. “Holy fates, Mildred.”

  Happiness spread over her face. “Did I scare you?”

  “Yep.” I nodded. “Plenty. You’re a fabulous ghost.”

  She stood, preening. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” I climbed out of bed, keeping the sheet wrapped around me. I’d had no nightclothes, and I hadn’t wanted to borrow Mildred’s. Wearing a ghost’s clothes was really only something I wanted to do when absolutely necessary.

  “You’d better hurry,” Mildred said. “There are guests in the kitchen. Two women. A little scary.”

  “All right, thanks.” I shuffled off to the bathroom, dragging my sheet like a tail. It didn’t take long to get cleaned up and put on the dress again. My own clothes were so stiff from dried blood that they could have stood up on their own.

  Mildred was gone by the time I made it out of the bedroom. The scent of coffee drew me towards the kitchen, along with voices.

  When I reached the kitchen, I spotted two new faces. Familiar faces, actually.

  A blonde woman and a black-haired woman sat at the kitchen table, both looking like they were dressed up for a night out on the town. The black-haired one wore a plunging black dress dotted with black crystals. The same gems ornamented her tall bouffant, and her eyes were coated in so much black makeup it looked like a mask. Her lips were blood red.

  Mordaca, the blood sorceress from Magic’s Bend. She was famous. And so was her sister, Aerdeca.

  Aerdeca wore her signature white. But instead of the power suit I was used to seeing, she wore a white evening dress. Somehow, it was classy and scary, all at once. Her blonde hair slicked like water over her shoulders, and her blue eyes were cold.

  “Ana.” Mordaca’s voice was raspy—the pack-a-day for forty years kind of raspy. Given that she couldn’t be over thirty, it had to be natural. Her dark brows rose. “You’re helping Lachlan.”

  I smiled as I went to the counter. “That I am. Thanks for coming to help with this.”

  They were the ones I would have called if I’d had to, but their prices made me cringe.

  “He caught us just as we were heading out for the night.” Aerdeca’s voice was sweeter than Mordaca’s, sounding like the trilling of birds. But it’d be stupid to assume she was any nicer or less dangerous.

  “Late start, huh?” I said.

  They lived in Magic’s Bend, which was in Oregon. It had to be a good nine hours behind France. That would make it about 11 p.m. when they were headed out for the night.

  “All the good parties start late,” Mordaca said.

  “So true.” Aerdeca laughed, tapping her white nails on the surface of the table. “But it sounds like Lachlan needs our help more than Count Vladimir needs our attendance at his party.”

  “And he’ll pay well for the privilege.” Mordaca’s dark eyes glinted with greed.

  These ladies charged a fortune for their work, but they were worth it. Their shop, Apothecary’s Jungle, was one of the most sought-after magic shops in the world. Hiring their services was sure to put a person into a lower tax bracket.

  “So you think you can track the blood on the blade?” Lachlan asked.

  “Of course, silly.” Mordaca laughed. “And for you, we’ll only charge half.”

  My gaze darted between them. Interest gleamed in Mordaca’s eyes, which she couldn’t keep from dragging over Lachlan. Since he was in the business of making dangerous spells, they should have been in comp
etition.

  But apparently Mordaca wouldn’t let a little thing like work get in the way of her pursuit.

  Aerdeca looked just as interested, in fact. I leaned against the counter and sipped my coffee, eyeing the plate of croissants on the other side of the room, licking my lips.

  Mordaca stood. “Shall we get this show on the road? I’d like to make it to Vlad’s before the meal starts.”

  “Of course.” Lachlan stood, then led them from the room. I trailed behind, snagging a croissant off the kitchen counter as I went.

  I bit into it as we crossed the lawn, then stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the croissant as buttery goodness exploded over my tongue. Wow.

  So that was what a croissant was supposed to taste like. No wonder the world was obsessed. Too bad one had to come all the way to France to eat a decent one. I stuffed the rest of it in my mouth and vowed to go back for more.

  Lachlan led the sisters to his workshop in the back. In the daylight, I could see the rolling vineyards all around. They were dormant now, the vines barren of leaves, but in the summer, it would be beautiful here. A river burbled by on the left. That was probably the water he’d been trying to control last night while testing his magic.

  Lachlan, Mordaca, and Aerdeca stepped into the workshop. I lingered outside for half a moment, calling on my magic, hoping to see if it still worked.

  It sputtered inside of me, like a candle flame in the wind. I sucked in a deep breath and focused, trying to draw it to the surface as I held out my hand and envisioned a shield forming.

  Come on. Come on.

  I needed my magic. Without it, we didn’t stand a chance.

  A tiny flare of magic burst to life and exploded outward from my hand, creating a puny shield that wavered weakly.

  I managed to hold it for a minute before it died.

  That was weird.

  So it wasn’t fully gone.

  I stocked the info away, hoping it would come in handy later, and joined the group in the workshop. Aerdeca and Mordaca were bustling around, going from table to table to gather supplies. Hundreds of varieties of herbs hung from the ceiling. I hadn’t noticed them last night, but they smelled divine.