Born of Magic

by H. D. Gordon

  “Merin?” scoffed the Head Hunter. “Are you so familiar, Mr. Redmine?”

  Charlie said nothing to this.

  Surah suppressed a sigh. “He’s telling the truth, Hunter Gray,” she said, releasing Charlie’s hand.

  This clearly did not please Theo. His gray eyes seemed to go a shade darker, and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

  “Demons need to be summoned,” Theo said. “What other reason would it have to be here?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I told you, I don’t know.”

  Theo smiled, but it was too toothy to be anything but a threat. Charlie only stared back in defiance.

  “Well, you were right about one thing, Mr. Redmine,” the Head Hunter said, “it is my job to get to the bottom of this, and I can promise you that I will.”

  Chapter 5

  Surah

  Surah paced back and forth across the ancient Arkian rug that covered her bedroom floor.

  Samson watched her from his perch by the window, his enormous head resting between his paws, his ears perked and long tail tucked around him. He had been chuffing and sniffing around her since she entered, but now, he just watched her, his golden tiger-eyes following her back and forth.

  “Dear Gods, Samson,” she said, going over to him and running her hand through the soft fur on his neck. “What is going on here?”

  Samson was a Great Tiger, about four times the size of those in the human world, his stripes blue and black rather than orange and black. Surah had saved him from a Great Serpent when he had been just a cub, and the beast was loyal to her beyond all else.

  Her father’s eyes had bugged out of his head when Surah had walked home with Samson one evening when she was just a girl, some fifteen years ago, and she had cried and cried until he finally agreed to let the tiger stay. It was impossible not to see how the tiger loved her, and eventually Syrian decided the beast would be good protection for his daughter.

  “I need to think,” Surah whispered, wrapping her arms around Samson’s neck and nuzzling her face against his warm, thick fur. Samson let out a deep purr and licked his mistress’s face with his rough tongue. He spoke in her head, an ability Surah had given him using magic long ago. She was the only one who communicated with him this way, because he simply didn’t care to communicate with anyone else.

  His voice was deep and rumbling. “Is he the boy you saved all those years ago?”

  “Yes,” she silently responded.

  “And you believe he’s innocent?” Samson said.

  “He wasn’t lying about what happened with Merin… but he may have been withholding something.”

  Samson licked her hand to comfort her, and she rubbed his huge head as she thought. The tiger’s eyes closed and he leaned into her hand. She was going to have to solve this problem, and the faster the better. She was a pragmatic person by nature, and made more so by time. She needed two things; to find the Black Stone, and to find the truth about Merin Nightborn’s death. She was locked now into the position of Keeper for the time being, and she needed to do her job well.

  Surah brought her right hand up, holding her fingers together as if clutching a pencil, and began to write in the air. The piece of White Stone tucked into her shirt grew warm against her chest. The words hung before her eyes on an invisible sheet of paper, but Surah was the only one who could see them. It was a simple kind of magic, like a mental filing system, much less risky than writing things down in a journal or with a wand, as common folks did, but most people never took the time to learn it. Her brother Syris had taught her this, had told her it was an important skill to have, and now she could really see why. She had to put the puzzle pieces together.

  This was what she knew: The Black Stone was missing. Merin Nightborn was dead. The only witness to the deaths was a man who she’d met once as a girl. He was the boy she’d helped escape Theodine’s clutches after he’d been caught stealing, and Surah had received a moon cycle of punishment for helping him.

  Now, he was the main suspect in Merin’s death by sheer proximity. And if Demons were involved, as he had claimed, then someone was brewing something. Something big.

  Charlie Redmine. She wondered how she could have forgotten his name. .

  Surah sighed and stood, patting Samson on the head absentmindedly. The morning sun was just beginning to brighten the sky, filling the horizon with soft blues and pinks. She probably should have tried to get some sleep, but it was too late for that now. The next step was going to see her father, and she wondered what her report would be. Should she mention her brief history with Charlie? Did it even matter? She didn’t know the man from Adam. She certainly didn’t owe him anything.

  A moment later she was sweeping into her father’s study, where Syrian sat in his chair in front of the fire. A table had been set up in front of him, and a breakfast of exotic fruits and meats and fresh bread was sprawled out there. He looked over at his daughter as she entered and smiled around a mouthful of food.

  “Surah,” he said, “how were your travels?”

  Surah took a seat in the chair across from her father, staring into the fireplace as if the answers to her questions burned there. She folded her gloved hands in her lap, her heart seeming to sink down into the chair with her.

  “Travels were fine, father,” she said.

  Syrian was silent for a moment. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  Surah gave her father a smile and nodded. The two of them could fight like cats and dogs, but they had an overall good relationship. They took care of each other. They loved each other, and they were the only immediate family either of them had left.

  Silence hung between them, Syrian waiting patiently for Surah to speak, as he knew was best with her. A servant entered the room and delivered a tray of food for her that matched her father’s. The two of them sat eating for a time. Then, Surah finally decided to just jump in.

  “It doesn’t look good, father,” she said, fixing her purple gaze on him.

  Syrian’s square jaw worked as he chewed, his face settling into that of a king doing business. Again, he waited for her to speak.

  Surah told the story, leaving out the history with Charlie. For now.

  When she was finished, Syrian sat back and released a slow breath, folding his large hands on his ample belly over the silver chain resting there that held his piece of White Stone, which was twice the size of hers. Surah knew what his first question would be.

  “Was he lying?”

  Yep. First question. Sometimes she hated that her father was so in-tuned to her. No one in the world could read her like him now that Syris was dead. She was careful not to avert her eyes. She hadn’t known before if she would tell him the truth, but like always, she found it difficult to lie to him.

  “I don’t think the witness is guilty of murdering Merin Nightborn, or of stealing the Black Stone,” she said. “It’s…complicated.”

  Syrian raised an eyebrow at this. “Oh, I would say so, Surah. I would indeed say so. But my question is, why do you think it’s complicated?”

  Surah sat back and sighed. “Well, the Black Stone is missing and Lady Nightborn was indeed murdered,” Surah began. “The only witness claimed it was a Demon who came in and broke her neck… The question is, how are these things connected? Or are they connected at all?”

  Syrian said nothing, only waited.

  Now for the bombshell. Surah breathed deep. “I just don’t believe Charlie Redmine has anything to do with the missing stone, or the murder because—”

  “What was that name?” Syrian snapped, cutting her off before she could finish. His face had gone hard, his mouth tight and fingers digging into the armrests of his chair. Surah’s heart dropped, and she hadn’t even known it’d been at risk of falling.

  “Charlie Redmine?” she said, her voice just above a whisper. She didn’t like the look on her father’s face.

  Syrian spoke through clenched teeth. “I thought I remembered it from somewhere. Is Redmine still in custo
dy?”

  Surah swallowed, nodded. The blazing fireplace suddenly seemed very hot at her side.

  Her father seemed to relax a little. “Good. Have him locked up immediately pending investigation,” he said. Now his violet gaze fixed on her.

  “Who is he, father? How do you know him?”

  Syrian stared at her, and Surah’s breath seemed to freeze in her chest. Whatever he was about to tell her, she probably didn’t want to hear it. Just by his look she could tell it was going to seriously complicate matters.

  “He’s Black Heart’s younger brother,” Syrian said.

  Surah wasn’t sure why, but for a moment, she couldn’t breathe at all.

  Chapter 6

  Surah

  As soon as she did it, she wished she hadn’t.

  In one hour Hunters would be here to haul Charlie Redmine to the cells, and she would be leading the arrest. Now, she stood in his living room, having just opened a portal from her chambers. She’d told her father she would report back to Theo and have him ready a team to arrest Charlie, but she’d come here instead.

  She saw him first. He sat asleep on the couch, an old wooden guitar perched on his lap, his handsome face peaceful, instead of scowling for once. Surah tore her eyes away and glanced around nervously, taking his slumber as a sign from the Gods that she better just leave now before it was too late.

  She was just about to snap her fingers and get the hell out of there when she stole one last look at the sleeping man to see that he was no longer sleeping.

  His emerald eyes were open, staring at her in that penetrating way they had. Her fingers relaxed and her hand fell to her side, thoughts of leaving momentarily forgotten. Charlie said nothing, just sat up a little, straitening his flannel shirt, and slowly placed the guitar on the floor, his gaze never leaving Surah’s.

  She froze. Couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His face was carefully expressionless.

  “Princess,” he said.

  This snapped Surah out of her trance. “You’re going to be arrested,” she said, deciding to cut to the chase. The longer she stayed here, the worse it could be. For both of them.

  Charlie’s shoulders tightened, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

  “Is your brother Black Heart?” she asked.

  Charlie’s face was carefully blank. “Yes.”

  Surah waited for elaboration.

  “I haven’t spoken to him in years,” Charlie said after a moment.

  Surah moved away from him, turning her back on his piercing gaze, and went over to the wall where more paintings like the ones in his bar hung.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Did you do these?” she asked, gesturing to the paintings.

  Charlie nodded.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said, wondering why in the hell she was making small talk with the clock ticking the way it was. She was not at all sure she could trust him, or even why she was here in the first place.

  “Thank you,,” Charlie said, his deep, country-accented voice low and wary.

  This place was so different from the way Surah lived, so simple and cozy, and it fascinated her. She wondered if all the common people in the country land lived so simply.

  “You should cooperate,” she said turning to face him again. “If you really had nothing to do with Lady Nightborn’s death, and you’re innocent in all this, you have nothing to worry about.”

  Charlie snorted. “Yeah, right,” he said. “We’re not all heir to the throne, princess. That’s not how things work.”

  Surah was taken aback by his flippant tone, but wasn’t sure what else she should expect from him. He’d told her when they were children that he hated Highborns, and from the way his lips twisted when he looked at Theo and the other Hunters, he hadn’t much changed his mind since then.

  As usual, Surah opted for being diplomatic. “I’m the Keeper for the time being, which makes me the head of the investigation. If you’re innocent, I should be able to prove it.”

  Charlie’s head tilted, and he stood, unfolding his muscular body from the couch. He didn’t approach her, but there was only a couple of feet of space between them, and Surah felt her heartbeat kick up a touch.

  After studying her a moment, he walked over to the fireplace with lithe movements.

  Without looking back at her, he said, “And if you can’t prove it, princess? Then, what? What happens to a common Sorcerer who’s convicted of killing a Highborn?”

  Surah knew that the question was rhetorical; they both knew the answer good and well.

  “You’ll just have to trust me, I guess,” she said, and the words sounded lame even to her own ears.

  When Charlie looked at her now, her breath caught in her throat. Those deep green eyes held hers with the same defiant fire that had burned there when he’d been younger.

  He gave her a smirk as handsome as a devil’s, but there was no humor behind it.

  “You’re not the one I don’t trust, princess,” he said.

  When Surah returned less than an hour later with Theo and two other Hunters, Charlie gave no indication that he had seen her just before.

  Her stomach was in knots, because she was almost sure that rather than taking her advice and cooperating, Charlie would run, and then as Keeper, she would be forced to chase him, which would in turn damage his case for innocence.

  But Charlie Redmine had not run. Instead, he only sneered at the Hunters and allowed them to put magical cuffs around his wrists.

  As Theo opened a portal into the dungeons beneath the castle in Zadira and shoved Charlie into the cold, dank cell, Surah second-guessed her advice to him.

  Perhaps he should have run.

  The look in Charlie’s deep green eyes said he was thinking the exact same thing.

  Chapter 7

  Surah

  Samson walked alongside her as Surah crossed the courtyard separating her father’s quarters and her own. She could have just opened a portal into the foyer outside of his office, but she needed the time to think.

  Her tiger walked closely at her flank, his enormous head lowered, amber eyes seeing everything they passed, ears perked and tail swishing slowly. A large stone wall with hundreds of tiny waterfalls was to the left, and the other three walls crawled with green vines that sprouted thousands of violet flowers with blood-red centers.

  The sky above was open for all to see, blue with puffs of white cloud drifting across, the air carrying a sweet floral scent. Hunters and lords, ladies, and visiting dignitaries met here, sipping caffeinated drinks and discussing political matters on the pathways and lawns, the benches and fountains. It was a lovely place, but Surah avoided places like these. Too populated.

  They all bowed as she passed by, and she nodded and princess-smiled as was her duty, wondering if any of them were aware of Merin Nightborn’s death, thinking the answer was probably no. Not yet, at least. She was beyond grateful for this, but the peace wouldn’t keep for long. Soon, everyone would know, and being Keeper, they would look to her for justice.

  Samson watched them all, and she knew that he could smell the small tang of fear that radiated from them as he moved by. He was not a tame beast, but he had been at Surah’s side for centuries, and had learned how to control himself. For her.

  The tiger’s head turned sharply as Theodine Gray fell into step on the other side of Surah. Surah offered a friendly nod, but wished like hell he would just go away. Theo seemed to be buzzing around like a fly lately, and the urge to swat at him was getting stronger and stronger.

  “My lady,” Theo said.

  So much for time to think. She may as well have just travelled by portal. “Sir Gray,” she said.

  “On your way to see King Syrian?” he asked.

  Surah nodded, reaching over to stroke Samson’s side for comfort. She could feel the powerful muscles moving in his shoulders as he walked.

  They reached the wall that held the entrance to her father’s quarters, and two Hunters stepped aside to let t
hem enter. Theo flicked his wrist, magic swirling around his fingers, and the doors swung open for them. They stepped into the foyer with the storm mural hanging above, and two more Hunters bowed to them in greeting.

  Theo came to a stop at the center of the room, halting Surah’s progress as well. They were alone here, save for the four Hunters that always occupied the space, as silent as the candelabras hanging on the walls. Surah looked up at the Head Hunter, her eyebrow cocked, her heart sinking a little for a reason she couldn’t explain after seeing the look on his face.

  “May I have a word with you, princess?” Theo asked.

  Surah swallowed. No, she thought, please don’t.

  She nodded.

  Theo rubbed his hands together, his handsome face apprehensive. It took Surah a moment to recognize that he was nervous, as she couldn’t recall a time ever seeing him so. She found herself holding her breath.

  “I would hope,” Theo began, just barely above a whisper, “that you know how I feel about you.” His gloved hands came up and took hers, and Surah had to use great effort not to take a step back. His gray eyes were all but burning. “I have loved you since we were children, Surah,” he admitted.

  Theo paused, his handsome face dead serious, his jaw tight, watching for how she absorbed this information. Surah just looked at him, not sure what to say to this. The urge to hop on Samson’s back and let him carry her out of there like she used to do when she was a little girl struck her, and she bit her tongue to keep back the laugh that mental image brought up.

  “And I hope,” Theo continued, “that you will consider accepting my hand in marriage.”

  At these words Surah’s thoughts seemed to jam up, and she could not think of what to say. Of course, she did not want to marry Theodine Gray, but that didn’t mean she wanted to break his heart in front of four of his Hunters. She had to concentrate not to shift on her feet, as the situation was inherently uncomfortable.