“Unknown spell,” he said. “You can’t break a spell without knowing how it was originally cast. This is old magic. No modern wizard could have crafted this spell. No one alive should even know it.”
No wonder Pop needed the book so badly. “That’s silly. Just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s unknown. Pop’s vault is full of old things.”
“Not like we haven’t tried to research it. My dad’s in forensics.” He pointed to a door on the far side of the room and led her toward it. “Like, he can see what’s in front of him and trace backwards from there. And he gets nowhere. We’ve exhausted the Common Library for Scholar Wizards and we studied all the oral and written traditions of Natural wizards. His friends at the University have been researching this topic for more than ten years. He even used his resources at the Center for Elemental Rights.”
“You guys have friends at CER?” She huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Kind of risky behavior for decent Natches such as yourselves.”
“You know that not all wizards share those prejudices, Aerie.” He turned and looked her straight in the eye, the intensity of his gaze almost a palpable pressure. “You’re not the only one who chooses to embrace the entire magic community, and not just the human aspects.”
Aerie studied her fingernails, squirming a bit under his reprimand. Sounded like something she’d say, if she wasn’t so focused on being a smart ass.
“So, don’t think my dad will judge you or your friends.” He softened his tone, backing off. “This is a safe place.”
She averted her eyes. “It’s just that I’d get a lot of crap about Cara and it pisses me off. She’s a better person than most people.”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
She glanced at him, needing visual confirmation that he was serious. “Really. I saw how worried she was for you that day at the coffee shop.”
“Well…” She rolled her eyes a little with a regretful smile. “You haven’t seen her when she goes all super-typhoon on someone.”
“And I hope I never do, only because I hope she never has to. But I’ll never judge her for who she is. That’s her nature, just as magic and badassery are your natures.”
She rubbed her mouth, chuckling at his phrasing. She’d never thought of herself as badass. “Yeah, well, I wish someone would talk to Pop and clue him in on stuff like that. I can’t figure him out. I mean, his partner is Elemental. I don’t know what he has against Cara, or anyone else.”
Finn shook his head. “He’s not very tolerant, is he?”
“You might say that. He likes things done a certain way and that’s his way.”
He reached up and felt along the top of a bookcase. She heard the thin scrape of metal on wood as he pulled something down. A key, apparently, since he used it to unlock the door. “I’d heard of Charles Pathering and, I have to say, I never would have suspected you were his daughter.”
“I guess that’s because I take after my mom. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing, according to him. You think Pop has standards? Well, my mom had crazy ass demands and expectations that no person alive could ever meet. We’re better off without her.”
Finn turned to put the key back on the top shelf, his expression cloudy. “Do you remember your mother?”
“No, thankfully.”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “If you don’t remember her, then how do you know it’s the truth?”
“He’s my father.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s right.” He opened the door and held it, sweeping his hand in an after-you kind of motion.
The hall was as brightly lit as the family room, which was a good sign. Lots of window access, at least. This hallway had a door at both ends. Was this a house or a labyrinth? “Are you trying to say that all he does is lie to me?”
“There’s no room in my life or in my philosophy for lies. But sometimes, people just deny the truth.”
Aerie swallowed hard, feeling as if she got caught doing something wrong.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t think you would lie to me, either. Just like I won’t lie to you.”
“I don’t trust strangers.”
“Then don’t think of me as one.” He glanced down at the lump beneath her t-shirt. “She doesn’t.”
Aerie covered the shape of the amulet with her palm, feeling a sudden flash of protectiveness. “How long ago did you find this?”
“Seventeen years.” Finn started down the hallway.
She let out an involuntary whistle. “Long time. You must have done a lot of research with it, right?”
“Not enough. I mean, we’ve made progress. That chant I used at the coffee shop? It seems to reduce the level of aggression. We’re hoping we can hold off on the morph until we find the grimoire that will help us reverse the spell.”
She stuck a finger down the inside of her shirt and rubbed the skin around the amulet, trying to soothe the itchy pain. “Is there anything that would speed up the morphing?”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“I don’t,” she said. “I’d just—I want to know what not to do. I don’t want to be responsible for somebody being even worse off than they already are.”
“Knew it.” Finn smiled wide, looking more smug than complimentary. “You’re a good person.”
They came to a stop at a large oak door, its décor more befitting a dungeon than the suburbs.
She leaned against the wall opposite the door, crossing her arms. “I don’t know if I am or not. You know what they say in my business? Bad times are good for the repo man. When other people are at their lowest, at their most desperate, we’re at the top of the food chain. That’s pretty shitty for karma. I have to do a lot of terrible things.”
“Like what?”
She huffed out a mean laugh. “I don’t think anybody in the repossession industry has ever been nominated for a Nobel peace prize. Sometimes the job’s hard and I have to be even harder in order to do it.”
“So then, why do it?”
“It’s what Pop wants. I don’t really have a choice.”
“We always have a choice. You’re an adult. You’re very strong. Your casting circle—still blows me away.”
She said nothing. She was unaccustomed to praise and wasn’t sure how to respond.
Turning to the door, Finn made a circle of his own, not quite as small as Aerie’s one-handed cast, and spoke a language she didn’t understand. The flow of the words were similar to the calming chant he’d used on her—except now her ears were hearing it, and not the entity within. The cadence and the lilt made her suspect it was Irish.
Irish wasn’t widely spoken in rural PA, where Pennsylvania Dutch traditions were heavily represented. Not that she was a brilliant student of German, either. But, still. The local St. Patty’s Day parades were as about Irish as she’d ever gotten.
The door moved on its own, swinging open revealing a bright vast space.
She peered inside, wondering if the shackles and other dungeony things were out of sight just around the corner.
“Um.” She swallowed and eyed him. “Are you sure you want me in there? I mean, it’s your private space.”
Didn’t other wizards keep their spaces sterile from the magic of others? Pop didn’t even let her in his workroom, and they shared a toilet.
“Well, we have to trust each other if we want this to work, right?” Finn shrugged and shooed her in. “Have to do the hard thing if we want to do the right thing.”
She made a wide circuit around the room, unable to take everything in at once. This room was—just grand. There was no other word for it. The ceiling was a giant piece of stained glass, a celestial garden in the softest of hues, that cast everything in the colors of a spring afternoon. Ornate sconces on the wall held candles, each a different color. She noted each one: blue for strength, green for magical wisdom, white for integrity, red for protection, gold for trust.
A golden spiral staircase twist
ed like a shiny ribbon in the far corner of the room.
Her breath caught. She knew that staircase—she’d barreled down it the day she’d repo’d the amulet. Slowly, she reconciled the elements of the brightly-lit room with what she’d encountered that day, when the lights had been off. There, the wall mirror she’d looked into, only to see her eyes glowing red with demonic stain. Which means, behind her…
She slowly turned. The table, the wooden box on top. With the lights on, she could see it was more than a wooden box—it was a polished chest, beautifully inlaid, its hinges gleaming as if polished. That chest had held the amulet.
Warily, she slid a look at Finn, wondering if he had his bat in his hand. Her being here probably brought back the same tense feelings for him as it did for her. Keeping him in her direct line of sight, she walked behind a great worktable, wanting something between them until she could sort out his intention.
If he’d brought her here to maim her, he sure was being nonchalant about it. In fact, he hopped up on a stool, hands on his knees. “I think you’ll get a kick out of what’s on that shelf over there.”
He lifted his chin toward a utility rack along the side wall.
Aerie flicked her gaze over to it, hating to take her eye off him for a second. That was, until she saw what sat on the middle shelf. A violet softball-sized object, streaks of brass wrapping it like a ribbon.
Aerie was agape. No way. It couldn’t be.
Apprehension nearly forgotten, she went to the shelf, needing a closer look. Her mouth opened in a tiny O and she gasped in disbelief.
It was slightly battered, and looked a great deal smaller than what she remembered. Not surprising, though. Persian Shield Spinners dated back to before the Common Era and they became, by inherent nature, battered when properly used.
Seeing it brought back so many memories, mostly good. She tried to focus on those. There was just one thing she didn’t like remembering and if she could keep that one at bay…
She blinked, controlling her breathing, and tucked her hair behind her ears.
“Go on,” he said, his voice gentle. “You can pick it up. It still works.”
She looked at him, a moment of elation. “Really?”
“Sure.”
She lifted it, recognizing its weight immediately. The violet glass swirled with a pearlescent sheen, as if it had been painted with moonglow. Brass bands crisscrossed its surface like open lattice-work, engraved with symbol of a language that hadn’t been spoken aloud in centuries.
The pure simplicity and beauty of it crushed her, and it was all she could do to keep from raising it to her lips and pressing a reverent kiss upon it.
For a moment she was thirteen again. The first time she’d successfully activated a Shield Spinner, Trevor had stood behind her, helping her find the trigger. Holding it at arm’s length, she slid her thumb along one of the bands and flicked the tiny catch.
Glass and metal unfurled and expanded, creating a magical sphere that encompassed her completely within its protective shell. The room was cast in a hazy amethyst sheen. She laughed, listening to her voice echo, catching her reflection shining back at her from a thousand angles. She could almost feel Trevor there with her now, reliving the wonderful moment.
Nothing could reach her inside this fortress of spun magic. Trevor never travelled without his. No Acquisitioner would. It was a mage’s one reliable protection from danger, from physical and magical damage alike.
And it was the reason Trevor wasn’t here anymore.
Her mood dampened, she circled and swept her fingers closed into a fist, dispelling the shield. Trevor’s device had malfunctioned at a time he needed it most. Pop said that all they found of him was his ID magetags and that spinner, its trigger latch bent and jammed. A reminder that no plan was foolproof. That even the best mages failed at least once. That no one lived forever, not even the people that really needed to because there were people at home that depended on them.
She set the device back on the shelf, turning away from Finn to rub her eyes. Yeah. Well. Every bright memory had its shadow. That was just life.
Rubbing her hands down the sides of her pants, she swept a finger to indicate the expanse of the room. “Do you need all this space for one person? My work room is the size of a bathroom. Because it used to be a bathroom, actually.”
“My dad and I share it. It gives us both room to work.”
She snorted. “Seriously? I can’t even imagine doing something like that with Pop.”
“Our magic resonates.” He shrugged, as if it was just a normal, everyday thing. “We work together all the time.”
She bit her lip, thinking how much the spirit resonated with her. Bad, bad, bad.
“So…who do you think she is?” Better to continue the charade. It might get her one step closer to figuring out what happened to Dez. “Did you ever figure that out?”
“A powerful witch who was trapped for her power. Most likely by a scholar. No Natch would ever do that to another person.”
Aerie shuddered. Pop had pushed her into martial arts training when she was just a kid. So no one could ever use you, he’d said. She liked the strength, the tricks and the feints, the physicality of the training. It drove her to train in all her spare time, actually earning her ranks even when her peers advanced simply because parents paid good money and wanted to see belt ceremonies.
Unlike the other kids, whose parents simply wanted another bragging point, Pop drove her to learn how to fight and how to survive. How not to be used. She didn’t know it then, but he was also training her to do what he wanted: to be his repo man.
Finn stood and took a heavy book off the shelf and set it on a table. “It’s happened before. What’s more powerful than an artifact powered by the strength of a Natural? The innate links to ley lines, the inexhaustible flow of power. Sometimes, the temptation is too great.”
“Sickos.” Aerie frowned.
“History was full of tyrants who had such machinations. Wars and crimes on humanity, countless murders: so many had magic behind them. Power is alluring. Even to those whom we would count as our own.”
Aerie was growing more uncomfortable with each passing moment. Not because of the whole torturing-people-to-steal-their-magic thing. It was putting up with shit from cavemen like Jels, just because she was a Natch. Couldn’t even blow it off as jealousy, not when she had to deal with his bullshit every single day—
Finn seemed to notice her tension and eased off. “Anyway. From what we can tell, the spirit’s interment wasn’t voluntary. What’s worse is that the amulet isn’t unique.”
“What do you mean? It’s unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and I’ve seen a lot.”
“I imagine you have. You have more device knowledge than some senior masters I’ve met. But I mean it’s not one of a kind. We think this one has a twin, a counterpart of some kind.”
“How?”
“Well, you can’t see it now, but the reverse side has slotted grooves. At first, we thought it was part of the ornamentation. But my dad made a silicone cast of it once. The edgings are cut into the back in such a way that we think there’s another amulet, similar to that one, created at the same time with the intention to link them together.”
“That’s…horrible.”
“Yes, it is. A second soul to steal? It’s hard to believe there are people like that out there with the desire, let alone the knowledge to do it.”
Her mind was racing a million miles a minute, a whirl of panic and doubt and suspicion. Did they know who the woman was? Did they know who she was? Was this a ploy to get her to tip her hand? They seemed to know an awful lot about this mysterious second amulet, something that Pop never mentioned, not once.
What if they were in on it?
She slipped into fight mode without missing a beat. Quickly she reassessed the room: the exits, the obstacles, the potential weapons. Her muscles tense, she shifted into a defensive stance, bracing her feet and readying her free h
and.
But then she looked at Finn, his face, his concerned eyes. He did not have attack written in the lines of his expression, or in the tension of his body. Suspicion dwindled, even as she fought to hold onto it. If she trusted him, she’d be vulnerable—
But her gut wanted to trust him.
“We still have the mold. It’s here.” Finn opened a wardrobe door and slid out a drawer, lifting out a grey cardboard box. “See for yourself.”
Lifting the lid, he revealed two nested forms, the shiny green silicone impression surrounding a duplicate of the amulet. He tugged it free and peeled the soft shell from the cast before holding it out to her.
She took the cast and examined it. Up close, she realized it was painted to look like it, the colors a good match, but duller in the way that paint could never look just like metal. Once she had it in her hand she knew it was fake. Plaster, maybe. Still. A pretty decent mimic, right down to the intricate beading that surrounded the stone.
She flipped it over. Indeed, there was a track that ran around the edge, as if it were meant to screw on to another object. But that wasn’t the only thing she noticed. The back of the cast was engraved, scrolling swirls that were too asymmetrical to be a simple design.
She squinted and tilted it, catching the light. Letters. “What does this say?”
“Eilis.”
Aerie shook her head. “Why would someone write ‘eyelash’ on an amulet?”
His throat bobbed. “Because it’s a name.”
She hmphed deep in her throat. “How do you know it’s a name, and not a hex?”
“I’m Irish-descent,” he said. “I’ve heard the name before.”
She nodded, thinking she’d been right about the language he’d used earlier. “Could it be the person who made the amulet? Maybe you can trace him.”
“No, I think it’s the name of the person inside.”
She breathed deeply in, the first she had in a while. That did make sense. Writing a name on an object had a binding power of its own. Wizards often added their name to their most important amulets and charms. Heck, even non-magic folk wrote their name on stuff all the time, like the tags of their underwear.
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