His brow furrowed. “You look like ghosts.”
“Let’s say we are,” I said. “Tell me, why did you attack that mage?”
“I…” He trailed off. “I don’t know why I did it.”
“Really?” Ilsa said sceptically. “You broke into a highly secure building and murdered a mage. You’re saying you have no memory of doing that?”
“No…” He paused. “I do, but I don’t know why.”
“Was someone telling you what to do?” I asked him, unease skittering down my spine. “Did someone else come with you?”
He shook his head violently. “No, I came here alone. I felt… felt I had to do it.”
“You… felt you had to?” I cast my mind around all my magical knowledge and drew a blank. Felt implied either a coercion spell or some other kind of influence, but that didn’t explain how he’d broken through the wards.
“How did you get into the building?” asked Ilsa, clearly thinking along the same lines.
“I used a spell.” He blinked, his gaze going out of focus. “I had to get to the council meeting.”
“Why?” I asked. “Was someone telling you what to do? In your mind?”
Ilsa gave a slight head-shake. “We’d know if he was a psychic.”
Psychics could only hypnotise other necromancers with psychic sensitivities. His ‘feeling’ sounded similar, but I’d know if he was a necromancer.
“Where did you get the spell that broke down the wards?” I asked him.
He looked at his feet. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”
Maybe the same spell had forced him to shift, too, though I’d never heard of such a thing before.
“Am I going to die?” he whispered.
“Sorry,” I said. “If it’s any consolation, it’s not so bad over here.”
I gestured at the endless grey beyond Ilsa and me, though I hadn’t a clue if he could actually see any of it. The murky shape of the endless gates stretched across the horizon, while more fading human figures floated in that direction. Ghosts departing the land of the living. The guy hadn’t a hope of getting out of this. Mages did not forgive, especially murder of one of their own.
The door rattled. In an instant, I blinked back into my body. Ilsa reappeared beside me a moment later, and we stepped out of the candle circle.
“Verdict?” Isabel asked.
“A witch spell,” I said. “I think.”
Ice cracked on my hands, residue from the spirit realm, but the bone-deep chill within me came from somewhere else. Speaking to the almost-dead was freakier than speaking to the recently deceased. The mages were ruthless, but surely they’d see that the shifter hadn’t been in control of his own mind.
Oh, who was I kidding? A fair proportion of them believed that they’d come by their gifts through superiority alone and that all other supernaturals were inferior by nature. Mages prided themselves on being fully in control of their own abilities, unlike shifters, though having grown up with them, I’d seen them cause easily as many magical accidents as any other supernaturals. More, if anything.
A witch spell had broken the wards. Not a Hemlock one, unless that’s what my magic had responded to. Of course, it was possible that my magic had reacted in response to a potential threat, not against the magic.
But the last time I’d felt a reaction like that was when I was face to face with one of the Ancients.
3
Isabel, Ilsa and I walked back to the necromancer guild accompanied by River. I was sure he’d guessed we’d been snooping around the mages’ place behind their backs, but questioning someone via the spirit realm wasn’t technically against the law. I hadn’t even used my Hemlock magic.
The mage apprentice guarding the guild’s iron gates scowled at Isabel as she went to inspect the wards. Shimmering, semi-transparent glyphs formed a barrier in front of the gates and the walls surrounding the mages’ headquarters. Their complex patterns looked more technically skilled than I was capable of, but my hands itched to touch them and see if they were as strong as they looked.
“What’re you looking at?” said the apprentice, a straw-haired kid who was younger than I was. “We fixed the wards. Nothing else will get in.”
“Do you know how they were broken to begin with?” I asked.
The apprentice scowled. “You’re not supposed to be here. Get out.”
“Technically, we all had an invite,” I said, but it wasn’t worth starting a fight with a spoiled apprentice who wouldn’t know a real witch spell if it set his hair on fire. If I offered to help, he’d laugh in my face, and I was supposed to be keeping my Hemlock magic quiet. I just wished I knew what the shifter had done to break through so easily.
Isabel and I parted ways at the necromancer guild’s entrance. It nestled between two equally ancient buildings in Edinburgh’s Old Town, with iron built deep into the brick and powerful wards designed to keep out threats from the living and dead alike. These wards were familiar, because I’d made them myself.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Isabel said to me. “You know where to find me.”
“Sure.” I waved goodbye and followed Ilsa and River back into the guild. The visiting members of the Council of Twelve had chosen to stay at a local hotel—specifically, the one I’d accidentally test-driven Evelyn’s ward-making skills on—rather than at the mages’ headquarters, mostly because they needed somewhere to store all Lady Harper’s old junk from her Highland estate until they found a way to dispose of it.
The cold winter air pursued us inside, making our breaths fog and our feet go numb if we stood still for too long. I shivered and buried my hands deep in the pockets of my long, hooded cloak, daydreaming of hot cocoa and a movie night in Lloyd’s room with the portable heater his mum had bought him the winter the guild’s pipes had frozen over.
“Somehow I don’t think the council will be leaving town on schedule,” Ilsa said in a low voice.
“They killed the murderer, didn’t they?” River said.
“Yes, but…” Ilsa trailed off, looking preoccupied. “I don’t know. A murder like that in plain sight in the middle of a meeting looks like someone specifically wanted the Council of Twelve and Edinburgh’s mage council to witness it. Someone other than the murderer.”
“Not to mention the killer got past the wards,” I added. “They don’t sell unlocking charms powerful enough to undo top-strength witch wards on the market, do they?”
“Are you sure your friend didn’t leave a gap in the wards?” River asked, his faerie-bright green eyes as preoccupied as Ilsa’s.
“Positive,” I said. “Whatever the issue was, it’s not ours.”
“I’ll see what my mother says.” River turned on his heel and disappeared upstairs, moving with the light, quick steps of a half-faerie. Like his mother, River could be forthright and domineering, but he seemed to sincerely care for Ilsa, and was one of the guild’s top-ranked necromancers.
“The council will sort it, I’m sure.” Ilsa took a step towards the stairs. “I should tell Morgan. He’ll be pissed that Hazel didn’t stop by here, but Mum took off like a bat out of hell after the meeting.”
Ilsa’s mother and sister were the Summer Gatekeepers who kept the peace between the mortal realm and the Seelie Court of Faerie. Ilsa herself, though she bore the title of Gatekeeper, belonged to a different realm entirely: Death. If she hadn’t felt anything wrong when the shifter had attacked, surely nothing from the wrong side of the veil was involved. But if I believed the shifter’s claim that he’d felt compelled to attack the mage for no discernible reason, a mind-control spell wasn’t the sort of the thing you found at the witches’ markets. I might have invented a few spells, but I’d never consider making one that could take a person’s free will away. I had far too much experience being on the receiving end, thanks to Evelyn Hemlock.
“I guess Lloyd will either be in the archives or the training room,” I said, walking upstairs with Ilsa. “Not on patrol.”
&nbs
p; “Nah, you two are always on the same ones,” Ilsa said, with a smile. “Not that I wouldn’t do the same, given the chance.”
“I’m in charge of the rota for a reason. Besides, the boss owes me for not sticking up for me back then.”
“Yeah…” Ilsa’s smile faded. “Sorry the mages interrogated you in front of the council again.”
I gave a casual shrug. “I’m the one who killed the Soul Collector. They don’t like that there were no other witnesses to Lady Harper’s death.”
“Well, now they have a distraction.” Her lips pursed. “Honestly, the council seemed edgy before the attack. Almost like they were expecting another… incident.”
“What, like from the Soul Collector?” I dropped my voice. “I’ve seen and heard nothing since.” Not from him or the other Ancients—and I knew there must be others, hiding from sight.
Unfortunately for all of us, the people who were most likely to know if there was another imminent attack were no longer speaking to me. The Hemlocks had maintained an icy silence the last few times I’d passed through the forest when I’d been to and from the mages’ home over the holidays. Maybe because I’d taken Lady Harper’s side over theirs, and now she was dead, so they couldn’t challenge her in person.
Ilsa and I checked the weapons room, finding no signs of Lloyd or the others in there.
“I reckon Morgan’s with Mackie in the training room,” she said. “I did wonder—when the shifter said he felt he had to go into the headquarters, it sounded similar to when that vampire controlled Mackie.”
“I think we’d know if a psychic shifter was running around the city. Mackie and Morgan would be able to hear the howling every full moon.” My light tone failed to conceal my lingering misgivings. Psychic or not, I was positive that someone with access to powerful witchcraft had given the shifter orders. Now the killer was dead, the mages might let the matter drop, but surely they wouldn’t overlook the fact that he’d broken through the wards with the help of a spell.
“You said you sensed… witchcraft?” Ilsa asked. “I guess it’s possible we didn’t catch all the witches working with the enemy.”
“Isabel doesn’t think we did, if they’re as good at hiding as the Soul Collector was.” It was hard to catch people who didn’t work for one particular coven, and the mages had got one thing right—supernaturals were good at hiding. They’d had to be to survive in the world before the faerie invasion. Hiding not just from humans, but other supernaturals.
Sure enough, we found the others in the training hall that covered a large section of the upper floor. Some areas were designated for sparring or weapons practise, while others were for practising necromancy.
“You’re not even trying,” Morgan Lynn’s voice came from the other side of the wooden doors. He and Mackie Chen, his sort-of-apprentice, stood nose to nose wielding knives. Luckily, they were the blunted, rubber practise knives with no sharp edges. Mackie was tenacious but lacked skill, while Morgan was as likely to accidentally stab himself as anyone else.
Lloyd stood on the side, watching them spar, and grinned at me when I came in. He lounged on a practise mat, reading a comic book rather than making any effort to hit the punching bag over his head. When we fought the dead, I was usually the one who did the actual punching, while he hid his tall lanky frame out of sight. His dreadlocks moved as he stood, dropping the comic book. “Hey, Jas.”
Mackie dropped the practise knife and swore. “Bloody thing has no grip. I’d do better with the real thing.” She and Morgan were the guild’s only psychics and she was the stronger of the two, with the ability to disable any enemy without even touching them, let alone using a knife.
“I’m not letting you near me with anything pointy until you apologise for knocking me out,” Morgan said to his apprentice.
“It was an accident,” she protested. “I didn’t know guild necromancers were so freaking delicate.”
Morgan threw the rubber knife at her. It bounced off her forehead, and she caught it, throwing it wildly back. Ilsa and I dodged and the knife hit the doors behind us instead.
“Try that in a real battle and you’d be dead,” he said to her. “Your footwork’s all wrong.”
“You can talk,” she shot at him. “You walk like a drunken zombie.”
“It’s a strategy,” he retaliated. “If I walk like a drunken zombie, the enemy has no clue what to anticipate.”
“Probably because you haven’t a clue what you’re doing,” said Ilsa. “Have you been in here the whole time we’ve been gone?”
Lloyd shrugged. “I expected you back sooner. How’d the meeting go?”
“The mages grilled me for half an hour, made some terrible suggestions, and then one of them got murdered by a shifter intruder,” I said. “So, not great.”
“What?” Lloyd picked up the practise knife and promptly dropped it again. “Who got killed by a shifter?”
“A mage. Lord Forrest.”
“Wait, someone died?” said Morgan, as quick on the uptake as usual. “Is that why Lady Montgomery hasn’t come to lecture us?”
“You’ve got it,” said Ilsa. “No patrolling today, but we’re on the rota for tomorrow, right, Jas? Assuming you don’t break anything.” She gave Morgan a pointed look.
He pulled a face at his sister. “Yes, mother. Let me guess, you sneaked behind Lady Montgomery’s back and interrogated the dead guy’s ghost?”
“Uh… he’s not wrong.” I glanced at Ilsa. “On that topic, did you sense anything in the spirit realm?”
Morgan shook his head. “Nope, nothing here.”
“I didn’t sense anything.” Mackie kicked one of the knives off the ground and caught it in one hand. “But why would I? It’s not like a ghost killed him.”
No. Not a ghost… and not an Ancient. “I felt something odd. When he broke in.”
“You don’t need to be all secretive,” said Lloyd. “You know that, right, Jas? We’re trustworthy—all of us.”
Ilsa’s head dipped, Morgan grunted in agreement, and even Mackie gave me a rare smile. “Sure we are.”
I know. The problem was, the number of people in on my secrets climbed by the week. Lloyd, Ilsa, Morgan and Mackie were sworn to secrecy, but Keir, Ivy and Isabel knew, too, and a fair few of the mages at least knew the Hemlock witches weren’t as extinct as they’d pretended. One slip-up in front of the wrong person would cause the life I’d built here at the guild to crumble to ashes.
“Exactly,” Ilsa said. “Look, I’m the only official guardian of the gates between life and death. If most of the guild can keep that on the down-low, they can do the same with your secret.”
“You’ve never ripped open the line between realities, have you?” I said. “Or lied to the mage council?”
“I nearly started a riot in Faerie,” Ilsa said. “And Morgan’s broken every law in both realms.”
“Hey!” Morgan said indignantly, darting a look at Lloyd. “I have not.”
“We both used blood magic,” Ilsa said.
I frowned. “You used blood magic?”
“Out of necessity,” she said. “Trust me, when you’ve dealt with the Sidhe, the mages are nothing. When it comes down to it, they want to protect this realm. So do all of us. And we’ll do that, right?”
“Damned straight,” said Mackie, hitting the punching bag so hard that it swung and smacked Lloyd in the back of the head.
“Ow!” He jumped out the way. “Really, Jas, we’ve got your back. What’s on your mind?”
“Evelyn’s magic reacted when the shifter broke in,” I admitted. “Isabel set the wards up, and there’s no way he should have been able to just stride in. He said he killed the mage because he had a ‘feeling’ that told him to. He’s not psychic, either.”
Unease filled the room. We all remembered Mackie’s narrow escape when the last Ancient had manipulated her mind and forced her to do his bidding.
Morgan spoke first. “Any supernatural can lose control if they’re not
paying attention. Like necromancers. One second you’re hanging out in Death, the next, everyone in the graveyard next door has come out to party.”
“Speaking from experience, are you?” said Lloyd.
He had a point. Necromancers had the highest mortality rate of any supernaturals, because we spent so much time close to the realm of the dead. Shifters weren’t far behind either, due to their hair-trigger tempers, but most of those deaths occurred during the full moon. Not in broad daylight in the middle of an important council meeting.
“There’s definitely a witch involved, anyway,” I said. “But the shifter came alone, or it looked that way.”
I’d never forget the horror of watching the Soul Collector hop from one body to another, killing each host as he left them. Since he’d had no physical form, he’d been able to freely move all around England and Scotland and amass a small group of necromancers to persuade countless humans to do his bidding. And that was just one Ancient. Much worse lurked on the other side of the wall between realities.
Lloyd picked up the book he’d been reading. “I declare this training session over. Want to go to the cafe in a bit, Jas?”
“Can’t, I’m meeting Keir,” I said. “Unless you want to hang out with us at the Redcap’s Cave. I think they’re doing a karaoke night later.”
He shuddered. “Not after the last one. I’ll pass. Things are going well with our not-so-fanged friend, then?”
“Sure.” I didn’t particularly want to discuss my love life in front of a couple of nosy psychics, especially since everyone in this room was aware of the slight issue of Keir needing to feed on my soul to live. “Maybe he knows if the spirit line was involved.”
“Or maybe he was trying to sneak into the meeting himself.” Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Might a vampire have possessed that shifter?”
“Nope,” I said. “Vampires can’t possess the living. Not possible. All the evidence suggests it must have been a spell, but one Isabel doesn’t know.”
“Would the…” He dropped his voice. “Hemlocks?”
Witch's Spirit (The Hemlock Chronicles Book 3) Page 3