Feral Magic

by Nicolette Jinks

  The cold from the cellar seeped away and musty carpet and cat urine filled my nostrils. I glanced behind me and discovered white sheet rock instead of a cavernous holding cell. I was officially in a closet now. I seemed to have erased a portal spell, something my host should notice immediately—unless he had not been the caster. The two were agreeing on an amount. I hadn’t time to open the window, leap through it, run, and contend with whatever spells were in place—and I couldn’t stay in the closet.

  I dashed into the room, glad when no alarms went off, and found a hiding place between the wall and a row of stacked-high boxes. My first temptation had been to hide under a blanket, but I felt that spoke of a trap, same with a large, empty, upside down box.

  The door nob twisted and the door opened with only the brush on shag carpet to signal its passage.

  “Show me the portal door,” Eliza said.

  “Closet,” grunted the man.

  “Do be a gentleman and go fetch her for me.”

  “I will not leave my base with you in it,” the man huffed.

  “And I will not have the metaphorical wool pulled over my eyes.”

  They were silent. I imagined them glaring at one another. The man proposed they go together.

  “I do not think it necessary,” Eliza said, raising the hair on my arms.

  “Why?” the man spat.

  “She has escaped.”

  “Impossible,” he ranted, “she was supposed to be a lamb.”

  “As was Houdini, yet he escaped even the most sophisticated sorcerer’s entrapment spells.”

  I heard the closet doors fling open—had I shut them? I couldn’t recall—then closed, then open again.

  “My portal is gone,” his voice was slow and very unhappy. “You failed to mention she was Houdini’s reincarnate.”

  “You failed to ask,” she said bluntly, “Go get your hounds and do a perimeter sweep before she can get far.”

  I heard the toss of a blanket and a couple boxes get kicked around.

  “Go,” said the woman, “or you won’t get paid at all.”

  “No need to do a perimeter sweep!” He snapped, then grumbled, “I won’t leave you in my base alone.”

  I found a slender parting between the boxes and looked through it, able to see the woman raise her short staff in an abrupt motion.

  Red light flashed through the room, and my heart paused. For an instant, the man staggered and choked, and gasped for breath.

  The man made a strangled noise and tumbled to the ground, a hand falling in front of my boxes, uncurling, and twitching before my eyes.

  “Don’t worry, my dear Ms. Swift, he was hardly the sort of man anyone could rely on.” The woman’s voice was too kind for her words.

  My heart pounded in my ears. Without my rings and trinkets, I was naked. For years I had only removed my trinkets to go through airport security. I did not know if I could access magic at will; if I could, would I become lost to it again?

  “Feel like coming out, my pet?” Eliza paused, “I’m from a time when strangers greeted each other properly and did not cower behind a dead man’s moving boxes.”

  I hoped it was a ruse. I breathed in cat pee and cardboard and held still.

  The rustle of skirts made its way to the door. I hadn’t heard that before, it might have been due to talking, but I still felt she was trying to lure me out. I’d heard the door over the carpet before, I would have heard her skirts.

  The door clattered and latched, and I heard no more from Eliza. It was too quiet. I hadn’t heard the nap of the carpet shuffle before the door closed, nor had I heard her footsteps outside. She was still in the room with me.

  Her laugh filled the room and made my boxes vibrate against my cheek. “You’re clever. I would have loved to face off with you while you had magic.”

  The boxes ripped away from me and smashed against the far wall, some bouncing back and coming to rest over the man’s body. I was flung onto the far wall, pinned with fine threads that cut trails into my flesh if I moved.

  “There we are,” said Eliza. I couldn’t see anything of her past her black eyes and flashing fangs, but the wrinkles—no matter how well disguised beneath creams and powders—showed her to be old indeed. I breathed in her sickly sweet rose perfume and tried to not sneeze.

  “What do you think you know about me?” I hissed, wishing in retrospect that I’d asked a more pertinent question—like what she wanted with me. She’d swiped at a sensitive subject, and from the smile in her eyes, she had planned it.

  “I know you destroyed the ceremonial bones.” She grinned, “Don’t feel bad about the bones. They were stale, though they had a year or two left...your interference in our ritual has impressed us, and Gregor has a special place for you...Our Dark Lady will be very pleased with your spunk.” Eliza winked, “Don’t go away. I shall be back before you even miss me.”

  I heard her footsteps go down the hall and into another room. As soon as she moved from my vision, I saw that one of the boxes she toppled over had spilled my rings and compass. I closed my eyes and thought about them, how I would use them right now, how if I had my magic, I would gather it about me and pick up my trinkets.

  I could almost feel the rush of my magic nudge open the unlatched back door, feel it gain momentum, swirl past the room Eliza was in, and pick up my goods. I thought I could feel her turn and stare at her door, thought I could feel my magic slam that door in her face and activate the man’s trap spells.

  I heard her frustrated scream echo through the barren house, but it wasn’t until I felt rings slide on my fingers that I dared to believe it hadn’t been a fantasy. The air hung about my body thick and warm and muggy. I could pour it from one room to another, though I seemed to lose it fast.

  I ordered magic to form a shell about my skin, then I heaved on my restraints. When they couldn’t cut my skin, they snapped. I sprawled over the floor. Snatching the remaining trinkets, I fled down the hall, a gust of wind leading me out the least warded exit.

  The door behind me ruptured, sending splinters whistling through my air and embedding into the wall. I whipped around the corner and was reaching for the back door when it slammed in front of me.

  I spun on my heel and saw a pale shell of a woman smiling down at me, wielding a knife and forceps, her staff suspended in front of her, tip glowing red.

  “So,” her cracked lips said, “I do get to face you with magic. It would be a greater challenge if it was not half feral, but it is a much better game than before.”

  Before I could think, I wrapped her staff up in a burst of wind brought it up between her eyes. She flung back, losing grip on the knife. My magic picked it up and sent it at her heart. She deflected it, and the blade stuck in her thigh. Eliza howled and called her staff back to her. I hid, hoping she would guess I ran.

  Initially, she did. Red lightening bolts zapped wherever she heard a creak. I brushed a few papers with my magic, and soon they were electrified and smoldering. I knocked over a dish in the kitchen and the microwave received a bolt, turned on, then died. I slammed the bathroom door and she charged the entire hallway with jagged electric jolts. She stopped.

  “Think you’re so clever?”

  The slotted pantry door I hid behind yanked open and a red bolt rammed into my chest, flinging me to the floor. My heart skipped beats, then did double-time, then was slow. My breath was gone, my muscles a twitchy mess on the coarse rug. It stank of cigarettes. I watched, unable to breathe, unable to focus, unable to call my magic.

  Eliza cackled. “Magic. Such grand intentions but with no guidance, you may as well be a lamb,” she shook her head, kneeling in front of me, knife in her hand again.

  “You,” Eliza said, spittle flicking from her lips, “will be a most generous host for our Dark Lady.”

  I built up all my strength and cast a shield over me, wind rustling in my ears, wrapping Eliza’s clothes about her thin frame, flapping the folds of her face, stinging her eyes. I poured every oun
ce of strength against her, the curtains flailing, the papers flying, the couch wriggling and threads unraveling. I forced Eliza back several inches, but all too soon my gale sputtered, gave a few final thrashes, and was gone.

  Eliza smiled, “You air elementals are so admirable, but when you’re here, locked in small house with no access to the outdoors, you’re little more than pathetic.” She bent forward again with the knife.

  “Too bad you need air to breathe,” I whispered and threw my reserve energy into forming a vacuum around her head.

  Her hands flew to her throat and I saw her try to gasp for breath. I fought against the air that wanted to fill the void, especially when she tried to suck it in.

  She lurched forward and we wrestled with the knife. My arms and shoulders received various small gashes. My vision darkened around the edges and purple spots appeared at random. I heaved my weight against her arm and she crashed into a lamp. My heart pounded, a distant ramming in my ribcage. I seemed to float above my body, sluggishly ordering it to get up, crawl and reach for the door knob. Eliza knocked me over again, I felt something tear and couldn’t be sure if it was my clothes or skin. I kicked her in the ribs. She crumbled against the wall and was still.

  I lay at the foot of the door, warm blood running down my back, and reached one last time for the knob before my magic finished consuming the last of the my energy reserves. The cigarette and cat urine-soaked carpet met my cheek and my eyes closed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I woke up flat in the middle of the floor, my wrists and ankles bound together with a thin rope slimy with green goo. I reached for my magic, and the goo jabbed me with stingers in response. I couldn’t feel my magic move.

  “You’re up early,” sang Eliza, coming from one of the storage bedrooms with a black and white portrait of a tree-lined creek. I didn’t respond, but she carried on without looking to see my glare. “No sense in trying to get free, unless you can fly or make portals,” she sounded as though she disdained the work.

  “Knife gone?” I spat, not thinking very well yet, the drain from all this activity left my stomach in turmoil, my forehead hot, my feet cold, and my temper cut to the quick.

  She raised her eyes at me, the pencil in her hand pausing as she wrote on the back.

  “No,” she said and kept working. I decided to keep my trap tightly shut before I got in worse trouble. I struggled against the ropes, but found them wrapped so tight they were embedded in my skin, and were becoming even more so as my joints swelled. Eliza finished up her spell and gave the picture a triumphant flick with her forefinger. The creek started flowing and the trees rustled in the wind.

  “What’s the deal?” I asked, more to get her talking than anything else, “First bones, now you’re stealing hosts?”

  Eliza laughed, her teeth flashing for an instant, “It started long before your time, and not with the bones. That is aside from the point—you’re the only host we need.” Her smile faded and she propped the portal portrait against the wall. “It’s time to go.”

  Eliza grabbed my ropes. I bit her calf. She kicked my head, then strained to heave me across the carpet, with me wriggling, kicking, and biting at every opportunity. One kick landed behind her knee and she fell. Rolling, I snared the knife from her belt and shoved the blade across my ropes. The knot tying my arms together came undone, though the rope was still tied to each wrists. Same with my ankles, but now I could run; I made a wild dash for the door. An electric bolt slammed between my shoulder blades, jerking my body rigid. I fell to the floor again, and Eliza stalked to me, her nose dripping blood, her vampire fangs growing. Muscles twitching, I reached for a baseball bat with brownish red speckles on the handle, knowing I wouldn’t have much of a chance of using it.

  A ball of fire rammed across her shoulders, toppling her over me. Mordon was in the front door, scarlet robes billowing behind, his staff raised in front with a smoking ember of an orb resting on top.

  Eliza snarled behind me. “Mordon! I should have realized your circle would be behind this. Very clever ruse, I like your new member. She’s very...sweet.”

  “Elizabeth,” Mordon said, his velvety voice a threat, “this is over.”

  “Not yet,” she said, spitting a word my way.

  Their magic clashed over me in a bright flash and I felt the ropes move around me. At first I thought they were coming undone, but instead they propelled me upwards to the ceiling, my arms and legs splayed out. The ropes tightened and pulled painfully on my joints, drawing each limb in an opposing direction. My body was soon stretched thin and I was reminded of medieval history lessons about hanging and quartering.

  The magic war died in front of me. Mordon clearly had the upper hand—until he laid eyes on my predicament. My shoulder then hip joints popped and I winced, feeling as though my skin would start to tear within seconds.

  “Get her,” I mouthed, my eyes squeezed shut.

  I felt a cold brush of flame lick the ropes away. I fell, and was received by soft hands. I gave him a weak push.

  “Eliza—” I objected.

  “—is gone. The portal is as well.”

  I opened my eyes and found the serene portrait had been overtaken by large, wet spots and speckles of black ink. It dripped onto the carpet and the fibers melted with a hiss.

  The spells that held the house together were unraveling. Walls wilted, chairs dissolved into thread and saw dust, and the floors became spongy. Mordon cradle-held me and strode out of the house, just clearing the door as the entry way caved in like a parachute hitting the ground.

  I looked over Mordon’s shoulder and in no time, the entire house sprawled over the ground the way a tent does after yanking the poles out from under it. I shivered as a breeze caressed my neck.

  He set me down on my feet gently. My joints—thankfully—had only made noise and weren’t actually dislocated, though they did hurt and my feet and hands tingled with life. I wandered a little closer to the edge and saw what Eliza had meant about not getting away without flying or using a portal. The man who’d captured me had set his base up on a hunk of yard suspended by clouds. The yard sunk in about my ankles and I stepped nervously to a new place. I started sinking again, but faster this time.

  Mordon didn’t seem too concerned about it, but he raised his eyes when he saw me fumbling with the compass. Still numbed and dazed from Eliza’s attack, I gave him no resistance when he took the compass from about my neck.

  “Stay near the edge,” he ordered, striding to the lip of the yard himself. He looked down past the clouds. “I will be too heavy if I transform here. Be back soon.”

  And with that, he leapt off the lawn.

  I raced over to the edge, finding both panic and relief. Panic that I had indeed just seen a man swan dive off a patch of grass growing in the middle of clouds, and relief that on the edge my feet didn’t sink. The center with the house was rapidly becoming a sink hole, and I chewed on the corner of my mouth, pondering what Mordon had meant by transforming. I’d known those lion-like eyes couldn’t be human—or at least not entirely. I sat down to wait, pretending to be on a deck letting my feet swing and not peering into oblivion with the threat of being sucked down into the house. Though something about the presence of clouds helped to shoo away my usual acrophobia. No sooner had the lawn began to engulf my butt then I heard the beating of wings and a shadow passed over me from behind.

  A scarlet dragon bolted up in front of me, then swept back down and hoovering close, bringing his bearded head to study me. He stretched his arm out to grab me, but I would have gone into his claw without urging.

  The dragon lifted me up, holding me firmly but not painfully, and checked on me again before his leathery wings, more golden than red with purple veins running through them, beat upwards then banked us left. We dashed through fluffy white clouds and I giggled, holding out my arms as though they were wings, feeling the air brush by, letting the damp air chill my skin before bringing my arms back to my chest.

  “I a
lways wondered what it would be like to feel clouds,” I said.

  He could apparently hear me. “Let me know if you get cold.”

  I already was, but for the moment the cold took away my headache and the sheer joy of flying—really flying, not just in a plane—made me forget about most of the aches I had felt earlier. We glided on a current, clouds rolling past his wings, engulfing my vision in white droplets, then clearing. A shining white valley sprawled out before us, drenched in glistening sunlight, backed by milky blue sky. I shrieked in joy as he dropped down into the empty center and whisked into a long circle, the tip of his wing casting up swirling splays of cloud. I giggled and looked up through the yellow-rimmed white peaks, glancing back down before the sun shone in my eyes. I leaned forward and Mordon dropped down, cutting through wet, white fluff.