Wicked Magic

by Margot de Klerk

  Nathan groaned.

  “And you know that,” Aunt Anna said. “You’ve never done it before, which is why I’m going easy on you. But I don’t want you to think that it’s acceptable to skip out on school every time you’re upset about something.”

  “I’m not upset,” Nathan replied reflexively.

  “Worried,” Aunt Anna said, and patted his shoulder. “I forget, you boys never get upset. Now off you go and shower. You can’t go to school dressed in yesterday’s clothes.”

  Nathan sighed and heaved himself up from the table, draining the rest of his tea. He put the cup in the dishwasher and headed for the door, pausing in the doorway.

  “Aunt Anna?”

  “Yes, Nathan?”

  “Thanks for listening.” He darted away before she could say anything embarrassing.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  OCTOBER SLIPPED AWAY SURPRISINGLY quickly. Aunt Anna had cleverly timed the grounding so that he was stuck at home for the half-term holidays, with nothing better to do than catch up schoolwork. She’d also made good on her promise to get his training reduced. He now went two evenings a week—he’d picked Tuesdays and Thursdays—and Saturday mornings. It meant a lot more free time, but it also meant Nathan was doing the majority of his fitness, self-defence, and weapons training on his own.

  Luckily, Aunt Anna had a plan for that, too. It turned out Jess needed practice fighting people who were bigger than her—which was pretty much everyone. Nathan went along to her daily self-defence classes and let her try and beat him up. This allowed Jess to purge her apparently endless frustrations, and he got to use the gym for free after.

  It was an annoyingly elegant interim solution.

  It was also just plain annoying, because Jess had sharp elbows and got frustrated when she couldn’t beat him, at which point she usually devolved into name-calling and crying.

  They had a long way to go before they made a hunter out of his little sister. To be honest, Nathan was a bit glad for that. He couldn’t imagine sending little Jessica, whose favourite colour was pink and who cried when Mufasa died in The Lion King, out to kill vampires.

  On the second weekend of his grounding, Nathan succeeded in making a successful knock-back ward. He tested it on Jess, to Aunt Anna’s disapproval. She stumbled back on the first punch, but on the second the ward failed, and she hit him in the solar plexus. It wasn’t going to be stopping Adrian in his tracks any time soon.

  “You’ll get there,” Aunt Anna said. “It’s all about self-belief.”

  “So’s everything else in life,” Nathan grumbled, rubbing his abdomen. “And I’ve only got a limited quota.”

  “If that’s the truth, then you might want to reconsider warding.”

  “No thanks,” Nathan replied.

  The day his grounding ended, Adrian texted him.

  Adrian: Monica asked me to keep an eye out for this Kseniya girl. She said you met her. What’s the deal?

  Nathan: She grabbed me at TWL and seemed really strung out

  Adrian: Like drugs?

  Nathan: M said it was magic

  Adrian: Can we scope out TWL?

  Nathan: Sure, but you have to do something for me in return. I need a sparring partner. Jess is driving me crazy

  Adrian: Sure

  That weekend was Halloween. Nathan’s school had their dance on Friday, and Cynthia’s was holding theirs on Saturday. Cynthia suggested they attend both, which Nathan hoped was because she had missed hanging out with him whilst he was grounded.

  Friday night, they met by the whiskey shop on Turl Street. Adrian was already waiting when Nathan and Cynthia walked up from her bus stop.

  “Really?” Adrian asked, looking at Cynthia.

  “Come on, it’s Halloween, no one’s going to care,” Nathan said.

  “You hope,” Adrian said. He hadn’t dressed up, but Nathan had done the stereotypical hunter outfit—no one at school would have to know it was real—and Cynthia was looking cute as a black cat.

  Adrian held out two leather wristbands. “Courtesy of Monica.”

  They had her witches’ mark on them, a lightning bolt hitting a stone, and Nathan could feel the residual magic.

  “What are they?” Cynthia asked.

  “Put it on, I’ll explain as we go up.” Nathan fastened his own around his wrist and felt it latch on. Cynthia made a noise under her breath. Nathan hoped they could get them off again. Monica would have thought of that, right?

  Adrian wasn’t wearing one, and it hit Nathan that he’d just given his to Cynthia.

  They ducked through the false wall and ascended the stairs to the witching level.

  “Wow,” Cynthia said.

  “Magic,” Nathan told her. “Don’t take the wristband off—it’s a witches’ mark. Usually, they put them straight on your skin, but this is a temporary version. It means no witch except the one who owns the mark can touch you.”

  “Touch me?” Cynthia asked in alarm.

  “Channel you, take your magic, use you in a spell, sleep with you,” Adrian rattled off.

  “Thanks, Adrian,” Nathan said when Cynthia turned white.

  “Oh, any time,” Adrian replied flippantly.

  Nathan took Cynthia’s hand, and they entered the secret top floor of the Covered Market. Spooky electric music swelled out to greet them. It was only seven PM, but everyone was dressed up for Halloween and swaying drunkenly.

  “I didn’t even know this place existed!” Cynthia called.

  “This is the witching level!” Nathan explained. “I showed you the front entrance on our first date, remember?”

  “Ooh, yeah,” she said, turning away in embarrassment at the reminder. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

  “No problem,” Nathan said. “We’re looking for a girl, probably about your height, very pale skin, blond hair, tattooed arms, Russian. Name: Kseniya Krovopuskov.”

  “Why?”

  Nathan looked at Adrian.

  “Don’t ask me,” Adrian said. “Monica asked me to keep an eye out for her. I assumed you knew why.”

  “I think Monica’s worried,” Nathan said. “And Monica never asks for help with anything, so…”

  “So when she does you take it seriously,” Adrian said. “Especially when she asks me, because Monica hates me.”

  “You lot have strange logic,” Cynthia said, “But okay. I’ll help.”

  Nathan had to get the drinks because the young woman who was bartending wouldn’t speak to Adrian. As it was, she spent more time glaring in Adrian’s direction than she did watching the drinks she was pouring. She was too distracted to notice that Cynthia looked way too young to be eighteen.

  “Three Devil’s Brews,” she said, slapping the drinks on the counter. “Seven pounds twenty.”

  Nathan handed her the cash. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Will it get your vampire friend out of here quicker?”

  “Yes,” he lied.

  “Ask.”

  “I’m looking for a girl. She’s a friend of a friend.”

  “You think I know every idiot who passes through here?” the bartender demanded, looking irritated.

  “You’d know her,” Nathan said. “She’s very pale. Russian. Lots of tattoos.”

  “Don’t know her,” the bartender said, but there was something mechanical about her answer, and she wouldn’t look at Nathan’s face.

  “Okay, thanks anyway.” He took the drinks back to Adrian and Cynthia.

  “Bartender just lied to my face about not knowing Kseniya,” he reported.

  “I’ve asked three people—the ones who will speak to vampires,” Adrian said. “Same.”

  “Never thought I’d say this, but can’t you compel anyone?” Nathan asked.

  “Not witches,” Adrian said. “They’re immune. Find me a human, sure, but not if they have a witches’ mark. You don’t compel marked people, or you end up with vengeful witches coming after you.”

  “Great.”

&
nbsp; They gave up after an hour because everyone was starting to give Adrian a wide berth. Outside, Adrian vanished into the ether without saying goodbye. Nathan and Cynthia rode Nathan’s bike down to Magdalen College School.

  “I’ve always thought your school looked kind of fancy,” Cynthia said as Nathan locked his bike to the bike rack.

  “Well, I hope we don’t disappoint,” he said.

  “We will,” she said. “Headington’s dead boring, and our theme this Halloween is lame.”

  MCS didn’t have a theme, and when they got in the gymnasium most of the guys were in street clothes and zombie masks. Matt and Poppy found them immediately. Matt was in some kind of heavy metal get-up, and Poppy was dressed as Cleopatra.

  “Cool costume!” Matt called out, his words slurring just slightly. He reached for the knife strapped to Nathan’s left arm, and Nathan batted him away.

  “You’re so drunk, you could cut yourself on a plastic knife,” he said.

  “Hey!”

  “Let’s dance,” Poppy suggested. Nathan took Cynthia’s hand and tugged her onto the dancefloor. Dancing lessons had not, unfortunately, been part of his hunter training, so he suspected that embarrassment was imminent. But his stomach was warm from Devil’s Brews, so what the heck? May as well.

  Cynthia wrapped her arms around him, and Nathan found he was less worried about his lack of dancing prowess when she was all pressed against him.

  “Your knives aren’t fake,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Nope, but no one else needs to know that.”

  “Are you ever not armed?”

  “Nope,” Nathan repeated. And that was the sad truth. Once a hunter, always a hunter. “Hunters are paranoid by nature.”

  “Can you switch it off for five minutes?” Cynthia asked, her eyes flicking to his lips. Nathan suddenly felt rather warm.

  “I can try.”

  “Good.” Then she kissed him.

  After that, the dance was rather enjoyable, not that they did much dancing. Cynthia’s costume encompassed a surprisingly small amount of clothing, and she wasn’t shy about letting Nathan explore. At length, she took his hand and mumbled, “Let’s go outside.”

  Nathan led her out and they meandered down the side of the gymnasium. Cynthia leaned against the wall and pulled Nathan close. Nathan wondered what Adrian would do now. Probably take advantage. Nathan was scared of going too far, of not going far enough, of hurting her… Too many thoughts.

  “Kiss me,” Cynthia said.

  “You sure?” Nathan asked. It felt different, out here, alone.

  “I’m sure,” Cynthia said. She took his hand and slid it between the wall and her back, down to the curve of her butt.

  “Hmm,” Nathan murmured. “Nice.” He caught her lips with his and kissed her, slowly, sliding his hand over her bum. His other hand tangled in her hair, which was loose today. Her butt was rather nice. It was hard to concentrate on more than one thing at the time, but luckily Cynthia didn’t seem to find his slow kisses lacking. She explored his mouth and arched her body into his, pressing her breasts against his chest. Nathan was starting to get turned on, and he worried that she would feel that he was hard.

  Cynthia had her fingers in Nathan’s hair, and one hand was tracing over his chest, sliding under his black vest… Nathan couldn’t have said what it was, but there was a shift in the air, and he acted on instinct. Shoving Cynthia away, he whirled around and pulled the spirit knife from the holster on his hip, right in time to block a blow from a guy who was twice his size with tattooed arms as thick as tree trunks.

  Cynthia screamed, which was utterly unhelpful. Nathan glanced back at her, but she was fine.

  “Look out!” she cried, and he jerked around again, ducking a blow that would probably have smashed his face. These guys meant business.

  Adrian made fun of Nathan for not being the tallest guy around all the time, but it had a distinct advantage here: he was fast. He was much faster than the huge, burly thug he was fighting. He ducked and parried and managed to slash the knife hard across the guy’s thighs. It met flesh and he was rewarded with a cry of pain. After that, the man was even slower. He was too sturdy for Nathan to trip, but Nathan managed to position himself in front of the wall then dodge at the last moment. The man’s momentum carried him towards the wall, and Nathan helped him along, slamming his head against the bricks.

  He went down.

  There had been a second guy, but he was gone and so was Cynthia. Nathan dashed to the end of the alley and reached the road right behind them.

  “Let her go!”

  The man spun around, inches away from a van. He had a knife to Cynthia’s neck.

  “Drop your weapon,” he said. Nathan immediately lowered the knife.

  “No!” Cynthia cried. “Don’t listen to him.”

  “And all the rest,” he told Nathan. He had the sort of accent of someone who spoke many languages, whose true accent had become diluted. It was hard to say where he was from. He was tall and very strong, and his tattoos were familiar. Nathan was sure he’d seen them somewhere before, though he couldn’t remember where. He observed all of this whilst he stripped two knives off his upper arms, removed another from his hip, and pulled out the one strapped to his back. Moving slowly, he placed them all in a pile on the floor.

  “Kick ‘em over here,” said the man.

  “No, no, no,” Cynthia said. Nathan wished there was something he could say to reassure her, but it seemed more sensible to just keep his mouth shut.

  “Got any others?” the man asked. “In your boots, for example?”

  He did, but Nathan shook his head in what he hoped with a cooperative manner.

  “Hmm, well, it’s not gonna help you, anyway. Stand against the van, hands behind your back.”

  A terse word in another language had the driver climbing out the van. It was idling; Nathan could feel it shuddering every time the engine turned over. They were ready to make a quick getaway. He closed his eyes and prayed—not for a miracle. Just for luck. The driver came over to him and grabbed his wrists. A cuff closed around one.

  Spirit knife!

  The knife materialised in Nathan’s hand in the perfect position to be jabbed straight into the driver’s liver. Nathan did that with macabre relish. He whipped around and hauled the knife out. The driver staggered and collapsed.

  The other guy had managed to get Cynthia into the van, but the rear doors were still open. Hardly sparing a thought for what he was about to do, Nathan lunged at him. He caught the man by surprise and they both went down. They rolled, wrestling for the knife, but the other man must have cut himself on the blade and his blood made it hard for Nathan to keep his grip.

  The other man ended up on top, and then he had a knife in his hands as well. It was dark, but Nathan felt the aura and recognised the weapon.

  It was a Sihr knife.

  Then the knife was in his stomach. Pain seared him. He dropped his spirit knife. The other man began to chant in his strange language. Nathan picked out words. Arabic, but it sounded wrong somehow. He felt himself weakening and struggled to pull away.

  Knife.

  Spirit knife.

  He had to fight. He had to…

  Nathan’s vision was starting to tunnel. His fingers closed around something hard.

  His arm moved slowly, like he was trying to swim through jelly.

  The number one thing vampire hunters were taught was aim for the heart and don’t miss. When in trouble, revert to habit. Always aim for the heart.

  Nathan aimed for the heart. The man was kneeling over him, giving him enough room to manoeuvre. The spirit knife obeyed his will. It slid between the man’s ribs like butter and pierced his heart. The man collapsed sideways, dead.

  Nathan’s strength began to return. For several seconds, he just lay there, stunned. First his vision came back, then his strength, then the pain. The knife was still in him, and it hurt.

  He pulled it out, his fingers slippery w
ith blood, and threw it away.

  His legs were trapped. With some difficulty, Nathan managed to get out from under the dead man. He staggered to his feet, his vision fading in and out. There were two men on the floor. Cynthia’s white face stared at him from the back of the van. Nathan stumbled towards her.

  “Are you alright?” she choked. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding. Oh God.”

  Nathan pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it with shaky fingers. He’d cracked the screen, but it worked. Thank fuck. He held it out to her.

  “Call Adrian,” he croaked.

  Cynthia took the phone and fiddled with it. It rang, then Adrian’s voice came over speaker.

  “Nate, what’s up?”

  “MCS,” Nathan said. “Need your help. Now.”

  Perhaps it was a mark of their relationship, perhaps it was the desperation in Nathan’s voice, but Adrian didn’t ask any stupid questions. He didn’t make any snarky comments.

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Good.” Nathan collapsed on the back of the van, trying to put pressure on his wound, and prayed no one found them before Adrian arrived.

  He must have dozed—Cynthia obviously hadn’t watched enough films to know not to let victims of knife wounds pass out—because he woke up when Adrian smacked him in the face.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Need a hospital,” Nathan muttered.

  “You nutjob,” Adrian said. Then he shrugged his jacket off and bit his wrist.

  Nathan hated drinking blood. He’d have rather had the hospital, even if it did mean Aunt Anna finding out what had happened.

  He took Adrian’s wrist and forced himself to swallow a mouthful of blood. After the second mouthful, Nathan was already healing. He felt the pain slipping away. The tunnel vision stayed.

  “Yuck,” he said.

  “Oh good, you’re back,” Adrian said. “What the fuck happened?”

  “They snuck up on us. I got distracted with one guy, and the other tried to get Cynthia in the van.”

  “How’d they sneak up on you?”

  “Um,” Nathan said.

  “Were you otherwise occupied?”