Trinkets, Treasures, and Other Bloody Magic (Dowser Series)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  The blond god was looming over me before I even managed to gain my feet, so I reached up to parry his overhand blow while still on one knee.

  Our weapons connected.

  My knife shattered.

  Somehow, the boy from before — who I thought was dead — was now hanging off the golden god’s shoulder and screaming in a language I didn’t understand.

  Shattered pieces of jade showered down and scattered before me.

  My momentum carried me off my one leg and knee. I fell forward to all fours. “Bastard,” I said. “You broke my knife.”

  I looked up through my bloody, dirty curls at the god with his golden-tanned skin that crinkled around his light brown eyes. The boy was standing, quiet now, beside the man. His eyes were on the demon behind me.

  “I’m surprised I didn’t shatter your arm, witch,” the golden god said. His accent was too heavy to be South African, or even New Zealand. “Impressive knife, but certainly you know better than to raise it against a dragon.”

  Dragon. My mind skipped a couple of million neurons … though that might have been from the pain in my arm. Dragon.

  “Myth,” I said.

  The blond god — no, dragon — tilted back his head and laughed like someone who loved to laugh, often and fully.

  Then the other doors started opening — eight more to be exact — and more magic flooded the room.

  Brain-scrambling magic. Blood-vessel-bursting magic that rolled over and under and around me. I clutched at my necklace and prayed for its protection. It flared underneath my fingers as if desperately trying to combat the tide of earth-shattering power.

  Voices swirled all around me. Many different languages, most of which I couldn’t even identify, let alone understand. I couldn’t see Kett or Desmond. I didn’t know if they were alive or not. I had no idea if we were all in the process of dying, being killed, or … maybe … being reborn.

  “What is happening to the witch?” I heard the boy cry.

  “Drake!” a woman said. Her French accent was melodic and commanding. “Avec moi!”

  “Steady, fire breather,” the golden-haired dragon said. “The boy says the witch took down the demon.”

  “Impossible,” the French woman answered, changing to English.

  “She’s dying.” A young man hunched down in front of me. His skin was a light caramel color, his English accented with Spanish or Latin tones. “Too sensitive.”

  “Not dead yet …” I said.

  The man — perhaps he was Brazilian — laughed quietly, his voice soft and musical. Then there was more music as he reached out to touch my cheek, but I wasn’t sure if he was singing or if it was a manifestation of his power. I was too overwhelmed to understand the difference.

  The room stopped swirling and twirling around me. My hand fell forward as I slumped to catch my fall, unaware that I’d been partially held upright by the power of all the magic before. A long shard of my jade knife cut into my palm, the skin of which was attempting to heal from the demon’s blood. I could still see the bone and inner tissues of my arm.

  I rotated my hand to look at the piece of jade in my palm.

  The conversation continued around me, but I caught only the bits in English.

  “Who opened the portal?” an older man with a British lilt asked.

  “None of us would invite a demon through,” another woman answered. Her English was unaccented, at least to me.

  “Actually, this looks exactly like your sort of prank, Haoxin. And you put Drake in danger,” the French woman accused.

  “Really, Suanmi, you think I would — ”

  “The witch saved me,” the boy — Drake — interrupted.

  “Shush!” Suanmi said. “A witch could do no such thing.”

  “Perhaps you should look closer,” another man said, his accent declaring his Asian heritage.

  The argument ceased instantly.

  I stared at the shard of jade in my palm, mourning the loss of my knife. It was coated in my blood. Under the circumstances — the fact I was obviously dying here — it was a silly thing to mourn. But I’d found the large stone in the river. I’d dragged it home and hand carved the knife from it. All in all, with the spells and the learning to wield it, it represented two years of my life. Out of twenty-three. That was almost 10 percent.

  Without really thinking about it, I pushed my senses beyond the barrier the necklace was trying to maintain, and beyond the dragon magic currently frying my mind. I sought out the magic of the knife and I called it to me.

  Every shard of jade responded by sliding back across the marble floor and connecting with the piece before it. The knife resolved itself in my hand, as whole as if it was newly hewn.

  Someone whistled.

  “Impressive,” the guy with the British lilt said.

  “For a witch,” Suanmi said.

  I looked up. The Brazilian was before me again, or maybe he’d never left. The music was still playing. He reached for me, brushing his fingers on my cheek and pulling them away bloody. I had been leaking blood, maybe even from my pores.

  “Alchemist,” the British-lilt guy was saying. He sounded excited.

  The Brazilian tasted my blood. I frowned and shook my head at him.

  He grinned at me. He was breathtakingly beautiful. Too pretty for a man actually but some women like that. Pinning my knife hand to the ground, he wove his fingers around the back of my head and pulled me into a kiss.

  Protest rose behind him, all the other languages in play again.

  Healing magic rushed across my jaw, down my spine, and through my limbs.

  The Brazilian released the back of my head and pulled away.

  “That’s some kiss,” I said.

  The Brazilian laughed, stood, and crossed out of my sight. I felt suddenly like I might be able to stand, but thought that it was probably better to stay where I was.

  “You never kiss me like that,” the man — no, the dragon — with the British lilt complained.

  The golden-haired dragon bellowed with laughter.

  “Qiuniu, there was no point in healing the witch —” the French woman began.

  “Alchemist, Suanmi —”

  “Seeing as all the interlopers must be dealt with —”

  “We don’t go around killing innocents,” another woman interrupted. She couldn’t have looked more like Cleopatra if she’d tried. It had to be deliberate.

  “No one enters the dragon nexus and survives,” Suanmi answered.

  I stood and got my first solid look at the nine beings arrayed before me.

  “It is an unprecedented event,” the dragon with the British lilt said. Oddly, big as a bear, he was swathed in a mink fur coat.

  “It is your job to oversee the portals, Pulou,” Suanmi answered. “I hold you responsible for a witch gaining access. This never would have happened with your predecessor.”

  “Alchemist,” Pulou corrected. “And, you’re barely old enough to remember my mentor. So don’t —”

  “Not solely,” Qiuniu, the Brazilian, said.

  “What?” Suanmi snapped.

  “She is not solely a witch,” Qiuniu answered, completely unruffled by Suanmi’s obvious loathing of me.

  Nine powerful beings were a lot to take in. Some were dressed in African or Asian attire, seeming to indicate a country or climate of origin. Still others were dressed in modern, nontraditional clothing. The golden-tanned dragon sported shorts and a surfing T-shirt that were completely incongruent with the sword in his hand. The American, who was almost as petite and curvy as my mother, wore a silk peasant dress and sandals.

  The dragons — all of which were currently staring at me — were arrayed on either side of an ancient-looking Asian dragon. He smiled at me when I met his eyes. Suanmi stood to his left and the golden-haired dragon to his right. Though a few of the dragons hadn’t spoken a word — at least in English that I could understand — they all t
eemed with the same intense power. I seemed inoculated somehow — perhaps by the healing — from their overwhelming magic.

  “Whether she is a witch or an alchemist makes no difference,” Suanmi said. “She brought that with her, and they all must be taken care of.”

  “Not this one,” the Cleopatra look-alike said. Desmond was prone at her feet. “He is one of mine.” She leaned down and brushed her fingers through the fur of Desmond chest.

  He reacted instantly, his body transforming into the huge mountain lion. He rose up on his massive paws and screamed.

  “There, there,” Cleopatra said. “It’s all right, kitty. I’ll see you home.” The mountain lion blinked up at the Egyptian woman and then sunk down at her feet. She patted his head.

  “Fine, Bixi,” Suanmi said. “He obviously answers to you.”

  Drake peered around Suanmi and grinned at me. I had no idea why I was just standing there while the dragons discussed our fates, but I really couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “And the vampire?” Suanmi asked. I wouldn’t have thought that anyone who looked as regal, refined, and expensive as she did would be capable of sneering so venomously. “Who will stand up for the vampire?”

  No one spoke.

  “So it shall be.”

  The golden-haired dragon shrugged his shoulders and turned toward Kett. Red-eyed and fanged, he was huddled against the pillar where he’d rolled. He was shaking, but he didn’t appear to be wounded. His body healed but depleted his magic as it did, hence his obvious need for blood.

  “No,” I cried. “I do. I stand up for the vampire, for Kett.”

  “Nonsense,” Suanmi said. “Even if your magic had any power here, you have no right to claim the vampire as your own. You’re a witch.”

  “Not solely,” Qiuniu said for the third time. Suanmi turned to glare at him.

  The golden-tanned dragon twirled his sword, waiting to lop off Kett’s head.

  “I do …” I said, stumbling over my words. “I saw … he could have run. He could have easily gotten away from the demon, but he saved a girl’s life.”

  Suanmi curled her lip. The golden-haired dragon stepped toward Kett and raised his sword.

  “Wait, wait,” I cried. “I’ve saved his life twice now —”

  “His life?” A pale blond man with a Norwegian accent snorted.

  Suanmi’s lip quirked, but she restrained herself — with obvious effort — from undignified snickering.

  “He owes me a life debt,” I declared. My voice rang through the round room. Desmond screamed his mountain lion call, but I didn’t look at him. I locked my gaze with Kett, who closed his eyes as if pained and then nodded his head once. I felt the magic shift between us — tying Kett to me, just lightly.

  “And so it shall be,” the ancient Asian dragon said. He looked nothing like Buddha, but I gathered from his smile that they shared a philosophy.

  “Imbecile,” Suanmi said. “Vampires are not pets.”

  “He is my friend, my mentor,” I said.

  Suanmi laughed. “Even worse.” She nodded her head toward me but her gaze was on the sword-wielding dragon. He spun toward me and my heart skipped a beat.

  They were going to kill me anyway —

  I felt a blast of hot breath on my back and spun away as the demon raised its head behind me.

  Double shit.

  The dragon brought his sword down. No fancy moves or jumps needed. He cut off the demon’s head. Severed from its body, the head twisted through the air as it disintegrated into ash and dust. Then the body collapsed similarly.

  The ash was sucked back through the portal, which then snapped closed as if it had never been opened or disturbed. On this side, the portal looked like a North American native-carved wooden door.

  I just stared in shock at the pristine marble floor.

  “Not of our world,” the golden-haired dragon said. Then he sauntered back to rejoin the other dragons.

  Not of our world … that explained the demon crumbling to ash, but not why Kett’s magic did the exact same thing when removed from his body. Vampires turned to ash as well. I’d seen it three months ago. I turned to stare at Kett. He still had his eyes shut. His face was a map of pain and suffering.

  “Sorry to see one of your brethren go?” the Norwegian taunted.

  Kett opened his eyes and looked at me.

  “Vampires are descended from demons?” I asked. My voice was barely a whisper.

  “Created from them. Thousands of years ago. By God, if you believe in such things,” Kett answered.

  “Now, who will stand up for the witch who can open portals?” Suanmi asked.

  I was going to have to deal with the Kett/demon/created-by-God thing later.

  “Witches cannot open portals,” Pulou said. How he wasn’t sweating buckets in that mink coat, I didn’t know.

  “Well, obviously, your wards have been compromised, treasure-keeper. Perhaps you should question the witch.”

  “She is not solely a witch.” Qiuniu, now grinning like a madman with an explosive secret, said it again.

  “Alchemist, then!” Suanmi snapped. “But only dragons should be able to open and travel through portals —”

  “Exactly,” Qiuniu said.

  Silence fell among the dragon group. One by one, they all turned to stare at me. I’d never been so scrutinized in my life. I shifted on my feet. My shoes were ruined. My hair had to be an utter blood-crusted mess. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d freshened my lip gloss.

  “Impossible,” Suanmi said.

  “Look again,” the ancient Asian dragon coaxed.

  Then one by one, they all turned and looked at the golden-haired, golden-tanned dragon with the sword. He continued to stare at me. His face was deadly serious, an expression that didn’t suit him at all.

  “An abomination,” Suanmi said.

  The golden-tanned dragon threw back his head and laughed. And laughed.

  “Intolerable!” the Norwegian shouted.

  “Warrior!” Suanmi snapped.

  The golden-haired dragon stopped laughing, though he was now wiping tears from his face. “What is your name, fledgling?” he asked me.

  “Jade. Jade Godfrey,” I said, feeling a little faint around the edges.

  “I’m Yazi,” he said. “The warrior of the Guardians.”

  “The guardians of what?” I asked, not quite believing that was my first question.

  “Of the world and all the magic within it, little one,” the ancient Asian dragon answered. “I’ve been waiting to meet you. Impossibilities are supremely interesting.”

  “A little warning would have been nice, Chi Wen,” Yazi said.

  The Asian dragon shrugged, though his grin stayed firmly in place. “I see far, warrior. How was I to know that today was that day?”

  “Well, the Kalkadoon’s have a wicked sense of humor,” Yazi murmured, his eyes on me.

  “A fertility ceremony!” Suanmi cried. “You’re a dragon. You didn’t need to answer their summons!”

  Yazi laughed. “You didn’t see her mother dressed in nothing but the firelight, the moon, and the magic.”

  Pulou snorted.

  “Wait,” Drake said. “Half-witch, half-dragon?”

  I was really glad I wasn’t the only slow one in the room.

  “So it seems,” Suanmi answered. She tugged the preteen through one of the archways and out of the room.

  The other dragons broke rank at the same time but didn’t leave.

  I gazed at the golden god of a man across from me. My mind was reeling and my thoughts unfocused. He looked maybe thirty-five if I attributed the crinkles around his eyes to age, rather than to sun and laughter.

  He let me look at him. His sword had returned to wherever he pulled it from. His arms were at his sides, palms open to face me … in surrender or acceptance?

  “I have my mother’s eyes,” I said, releasing
the breath that had been blocking my ability to speak.

  “Yes,” Yazi, the warrior of the dragons answered. “But every other inch of you is me.”

  He was right. I was his spitting image.

  Half-witch, half-dragon. Well, that was one mystery solved.

  I smiled, hitting him with one of my best efforts ever.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said.

  ∞

  “I have to go back,” I said for what I thought was the fourth or fifth time. It was easy for words and thoughts to get lost among the guardian dragons.

  “Not today, fledgling,” Chi Wen said. All the guardians, except the ancient Asian and my father, had left through the doors from which they’d arrived.

  “Dad?”

  Yazi, who hadn’t yet taken his eyes off me — as if I was some great wonder — turned to question the still-smiling Asian dragon. “You have gazed into the distance, far seer?”

  Gold rolled across the old dragon’s eyes, seemingly clouding his vision. “Not so far, warrior. Your daughter will choose to remain.”

  “But —”

  “You would bring great pain when you mean to help, warrior’s daughter.”

  “But my mother and —”

  “We heed the seer, child,” Yazi said. “It is rare that Chi Wen choses to share his visions.” Despite his words, my father was frowning at the Native American-carved door over my shoulder.

  “I cannot change what is meant to be,” the Asian dragon said. “Only redirect what does not need to happen.”

  “Visions,” I scoffed. Yeah, rude, but I really needed to get back to Scarlett and Kandy. And Mory, I was fairly sure I’d seen Sienna get away with Mory.

  Chi Wen’s smile broadened. He raised himself up on to his tiptoes to lay his hand on my head. The heavily-spiced bitter cocoa of his magic seared through my curls into my brain, and in the briefest of flashes — as if that was all of the vision he thought I could bear — I saw what he foresaw.

  I saw myself standing in the cavern before the altar. The stone table was surrounded by the mangled bodies of everyone I loved. Scarlett, Kandy, Mory … Desmond and Kett crumpled off to one side unmoving. I squeezed my eyes shut as if that would stop me from seeing the streams of blood collecting in a pool at my feet. And Sienna. My sister was sprawled, dead and decaying, across the altar. Her dark, blood magic was still writhing in her veins, spilling out of her mouth, and mixing into the lifeblood of those I loved. I could see the blood-coated knife in my hand. I had killed my sister, but not the darkness she’d created, that she’d allowed to inhabit her.