A Touch of Magic

by Isabelle Adler

  “That’s how it’s done, child,” Leland said as he watched Tony and Rossi scrambling to divest Leticia of her burning jacket. The fire shied from Tony’s hands as if it were liquid flowing in the wrong direction, but otherwise defied all their efforts to extinguish it.

  “Bas, can you do something?” Ty shouted over the sorceress’s anguished screams and the men’s angry yelling. She had been about to kill the both of them, but even he couldn’t watch a woman burn to death and do nothing about it. Enemy or not, she’d had the courage to stand up to Leland while Ty had frozen at the mere sight of him.

  Bas pushed himself up on one elbow with a moan and peered around the corner of the stone block. But before he could say or do anything, Rossi sprang to his feet from where he’d been kneeling by Leticia and fired three shots, one after the other, in Leland’s direction.

  There was no doubt in Ty’s mind Rossi was a good shot. Giordano seemed like a man who surrounded himself with competent people, especially when his personal security was at stake. And yet, none of those bullets reached their target—instead changing their trajectory midair, ever so slightly, a split second before impact. Leland was still standing there, safe and sound, watching them all with a derisive smirk.

  Ty could have told Rossi it was pointless. Leland was by far the most powerful sorcerer among them—stronger than Sebastian, and infinitely superior to a self-taught practitioner like Leticia, talented as she might be. Their weapons and tricks were useless against someone like him. The gun in Rossi’s hand grew red-hot, and he let it drop with a cry. Even as the weapon clattered to the ground, an invisible hand seemed to pick Rossi up and fling him against the closest post. There was a sickening sound of breaking bone, and he crumpled to the floor in an ungainly heap, his neck twisted at an impossible angle.

  Tony barely spared him a glance. He was too busy trying (futilely) to beat out the flames on Leticia with his jacket.

  “Make it stop!” he yelled at Leland in desperate outrage. “Put the fire out!”

  “Or what?” Leland cocked his head, looking at them with much the same expression as an adult would look at misbehaving children that aren’t his own.

  “Leland, for fuck’s sake,” Ty said, taking a step forward. He could take no more of this. “What do you want?”

  Leland turned to him, shifting his attention away from Giordano and his sister for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Ty could see Sebastian inching toward them, but what the sorcerer was planning to do in his current condition was a mystery.

  “You still can’t guess?” Leland asked and then tsked. “I’m disappointed. I’d hoped you’d have figured it all out by now.”

  Ty gritted his teeth, but there was simply no time to let Leland get under his skin. He just needed to divert his attention from the others.

  “I want Westfield’s amulet,” Leland said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  Sudden realization dawned. It was as if a flash of lightening banished the shadows that lingered in Ty’s mind, blurring his insight.

  “It was you,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “You are the mystery client.”

  “Correct. And you managed to botch the easiest job in the world. Not to mention getting Monroe mixed up in this disaster. He’s the only one I’m sorry to see here today, but we all choose to make our own mistakes, don’t we?”

  There was nothing Ty could say to that, because it was all too true. He had failed quite spectacularly, and every attempt to rectify his failure only resulted in him getting into deeper and deeper shit, dragging his friends along with him. Bas was going to pay for Ty’s screwups, and Cary…Cary already could have, for all he knew, and it was no one’s fault but Ty’s.

  “Fuck!”

  They both turned sharply at the exclamation. Sebastian was half kneeling, half lying beside Leticia, but as he’d reached toward the flames to try to draw them out, the fire had seared his fingertips rather than respond to his spell. He held the injured hand to his chest and rolled onto his back, whimpering. Ty hurried to kneel by his side as Sebastian clutched his hand, panting heavily, his eyes scrunched shut. Something warm and round pressed into Ty’s palm, and he struggled to keep a straight face as he discreetly swiped the metal disk from Sebastian’s hand into his pocket.

  Next to them, Leticia lay thrashing, the skin on her face and hands already starting to blister. The smell of burnt flesh mixed with the lingering odor of sulfur.

  “You can’t put it out like that,” Leland said. “It’s ancient Fae magic that can’t be countered by your feeble tricks. Only those who can call on the true name of fire can control its energy. But I will help her if you give me that pretty ring.” He extended his hand to Tony imperiously, fully expecting immediate compliance.

  Giordano’s face worked. It was clear he wasn’t used to being bossed around so casually, nor would he want to give up the only protection that prevented him ending up like Rossi or those poor souls whose screams they’d heard coming from the outside. But his sister’s life was on the line. It was him against the sorcerer—and while his magic couldn’t touch Tony, other things could. Being killed by a falling rafter was as effective as being incinerated by a blast of energy drawn out of thin air.

  Finally, he pulled the ring off his finger and threw it at Leland, who snatched it mid-flight and put it on his own hand. Then he whispered something, a word Ty couldn’t quite catch, and the flames winked and went out. For a split second, there was only deafening silence, and then Leticia began sobbing uncontrollably. Red blisters covered her skin, but they were quickly fading, her damaged skin healing itself. She was still shaking so badly her feet rattled on the floor.

  Ty had seen burn victims, and he could tell that, surprisingly, Leticia wasn’t hurt very badly. Apparently, Leland had controlled the fire, just as he’d said, to cause pain rather than serious injury. With her own magic (already apparently at work) and proper medical care, Leticia would probably only need a few days to recover. Given, of course, they ever got out of the damn barn alive.

  “You son of a bitch—” Tony began in a voice that was a touch shaky.

  “Don’t,” Ty said curtly. He still hunched over Sebastian, holding his hand and trying not to look at the burnt mess that was his right leg.

  “Yes, yes, off with you,” Leland said airily, waving Tony away like a chastised schoolboy.

  Tony shot him a baleful look. He scooped Leticia into his arms and made for the door, glancing at Rossi’s body but not stopping to check on him. It was clear there was nothing to be done there.

  “You’ll pay for this, old man,” Leticia spat as they made their way out. Her trembling voice was laced with pain, but the intensity of hate she directed at Leland was unmistakable. “All of you will pay for this.”

  “Now, for the matter at hand,” Leland said, ignoring Letitia’s outburst. “The amulet.”

  “Go to hell,” Ty said. By this point, Leland would have to pry the pendant out of his cold dead hands, which was probably what was going to happen anyway. His only regret—apart from providing his former mentor with so many reasons to gloat—was that he wouldn’t see Cary one last time. He’d failed to save him despite his best efforts. It figured that the moment he realized how important Cary had become to him, he’d lost him forever.

  “I hate to be cutting in line,” Leland said. He lifted his hand, and a low-pitched sound, like the tolling of a distant bell, reverberated through the barn. Bas moaned at the annoying vibration, and Ty tensed, steeling himself for whatever was coming.

  But nothing happened. That is, not until a shadow fell across the doorway, and someone else stepped in.

  Ty didn’t know the man. He was about his age or a little older, dressed in plain jeans and a parka, his pale dishwater hair slightly disheveled. But Ty couldn’t care less about his appearance, because he was dragging Cary by the arm while pointing a gun to his face.

  Ty’s breath caught, and he froze, his heart threatening to burst out of his ch
est. Cary’s hands were tied in front of him with a piece of rope, and he sported a spectacular black eye and an assortment of bruises. His shirt was hanging around his body in tatters, but he was most definitely alive, glaring defiantly at his captor.

  “You fucking shit,” Ty breathed. He wasn’t even sure whom he meant—Tony, for pulling a trick-and-draw on him with a prize he didn’t have; Leland, for jumping on the “let’s use Westfield as a hostage” bandwagon; or Cary, for making his knees weak with relief at the mere sight of him.

  Even though it was no more than a whisper, Cary turned in his direction, and their eyes met. Cary inhaled sharply, taking in the scene, but otherwise stayed silent.

  “Move it,” the man with the gun said and shoved Cary forward.

  “I don’t think there’s a need for any further games, is there?” Leland said to Ty. “You have spunk, my boy, I’ll give you that. But there’s nothing more you can do here.”

  “Let Westfield and Monroe go,” Ty said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. He rose from his kneeling position on the floor and took a step forward. “They’re no threat to you anymore. If you want to gloat over me, fine. I’ll give you the fucking amulet, just let them go.”

  Leland clapped his hands with a mocking grin.

  “How touching. But you overestimate your importance. I’m not here because of you, and your pleas mean nothing. You’re in no position to bargain. Now, the amulet, Ty, or we’ll see how long it takes for that pretty boy of yours to die.”

  “Fuck him,” Cary growled. “Don’t do it, Ty. He’s a complete psycho. He’ll—”

  The guy holding Cary momentarily loosened his grip to hit him across the face while still holding him at gunpoint, and Cary grunted as blood welled up from a split lip.

  Slowly, Ty took the amulet out of his pocket. It dangled on its long chain, the elaborate raised pattern on its surface catching light in odd angles. He balked at the idea of giving up, of simply yielding, but just like Giordano, he had no choice. He didn’t believe for one second that Leland would simply let them go their merry way once he had the amulet, but if parting with it meant buying a few more precious seconds for Cary, he’d do it.

  But he’d lingered a moment too long. Seeing his hesitation, Leland walked up to Cary—his limp almost incongruous in the aftermath of the little showdown—and grabbed Cary by the scruff of his neck, forcing him down on his knees. Cary huffed in pain as he hit the floor with a loud thud. He struggled against his bonds, but Leland held him in a vise-like grip. Ty knew only too well Leland was much stronger and more agile than he looked, both physically and magically.

  “The amulet,” Leland repeated, his voice now devoid of any trace of amusement.

  “Fine,” Ty said quickly. “You win. I’ll give it to you. But you must let Monroe go. He only got involved in all of this because he was doing me a favor. He has no stakes in this game.”

  Leland seemed to consider that, his gaze flicking to where Sebastian sat, grimacing with the pain and whispering healing spells through pressed teeth. The angry welts of burnt skin on his leg had lost their reddish vibrancy and had visibly shrunk, but the spent energy, coupled with shock, was taking its toll on Sebastian, and the healing was slow, excruciating, and incomplete. He posed no threat to Leland in his current condition, and Ty only hoped he’d be able to walk.

  “I’m feeling quite generous, it seems,” Leland remarked. “An auspicious day—night—like this should be marked by an act of munificence. Very well. He can go.”

  Sebastian raised his head to look at Ty. His pale blue eyes were dark with pain and emotion, and he shook his head ever so slightly in negation.

  Ty could hardly expect such loyalty. He didn’t deserve it, neither coming from Bas not from Cary. But he could at least try to protect them now. Whatever it took, he had to make sure Bas and Cary made it out alive, even if it cost him everything he had.

  “Bas, go,” he ordered gruffly. “There’s nothing more you can do here. Take my car and get the hell out.”

  Sebastian stared at him for one more second and then hauled himself up. He swayed dangerously but somehow managed to stay on his feet and hobble toward the exit, like Giordano had done minutes before.

  As he stepped out of the barn, Ty proffered the amulet, holding it by the chain.

  “It’s yours,” he said but made no move to hand it over.

  Instead of coming to him, Leland nodded to his partner. “Vincent.”

  The other man approached Ty cautiously, his gun at the ready. Ty briefly considered tackling him and wrestling away his weapon, but Cary’s position was too precarious. He could barely breathe, being caught as he was in Leland’s iron grip, and the sorcerer could snap his neck in a second if he wanted to. So Ty just stood there as Vincent snatched the amulet from his hand.

  “Excellent,” Leland said as Vincent brought it to him. He held it up in his free hand, admiring it like a collector would an exquisite objet d’art. “How beautiful. They just don’t make things as fine anymore.”

  In a swift motion, he hauled Cary to his feet and pushed him roughly, ignoring Ty’s cry of protest.

  “Now, let’s see what it can really do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  CARY STUMBLED, PAIN flaring in his bent arms and receding as the sorcerer released his hold. He didn’t have a chance to do anything about it, though—Vincent pressed the barrel of the gun against his back and prodded him forward.

  “The hell, man!”

  “Up you go,” Vincent said, unmoved by his outburst. There was a dangerous, almost maniacal look in his eyes now, and for the first time, Cary thought perhaps he’d been underestimating the depth of Vincent’s motivation.

  “Where?”

  Vincent nodded toward the thing that looked suspiciously similar to a sacrificial altar from a cult-inspired episode of Criminal Minds. It didn’t look like a TV set, however. The setup, despite the overall shabbiness, made Cary’s hackles rise. The mere thought of going anywhere near that massive chunk of granite filled him with almost primeval panic. And that was before he stopped to consider why they wanted him anywhere near it.

  “No fucking way,” he said, bracing himself for the incoming blow.

  “Leland, stop this.” Ty intervened before Vincent could punish him again for being too mouthy for his own good.

  Ty’s voice thrummed with tension, and Cary spared him a quick glance. Ty’s face was smeared with dirt, and dust covered his clothes, but Cary had never been so happy and freaked out to see someone. Ty was here, which meant he’d agreed to Giordano’s ransom demand, that he’d cared enough for Cary to risk his own life by coming to his rescue. The sight of him facing off Leland was almost too much; the feeling was so intense it threatened to overwhelm him and reduce him to a sniveling, bawling mess of inexpedient joy.

  But there was no time to come undone. Whatever had made Ty come to his aid had also made him vulnerable. It was clear they were at a dire disadvantage. Sebastian was gone, and the Giordanos hadn’t been any help. Spotting Rossi’s broken, unmoving body, half-covered in dust and debris, made Cary even more anxious. All the carnage only made him realize that Leland was not only batshit crazy, but downright dangerous.

  Stay out of it, he begged Ty soundlessly, willing him to shut up, but Ty’s eyes were focused on Leland. His fists were clenched, his mouth set in a hard line.

  “By the way, I must thank you for choosing this specific venue for your little shindig,” Leland said in a conversational tone, totally ignoring Ty’s plea. “Despite the inconvenience of getting here, the setting fits my needs perfectly.”

  Vincent shoved Cary forward again, and he had no choice but to shuffle along. Ty made a step forward as if to stop them, but halted at a warning sign Leland made in his direction. He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave the older sorcerer sent shivers down Cary’s spine. It was clear that despite the threat, Ty wasn’t going to take any of this lying down, and it scared him. He didn’t want to die and he
didn’t want Ty to die trying to help him. Their only chance was by somehow rallying together. Because if he made it to that altar like Leland and Vincent wanted, it was over.

  Without giving himself any more time to think about it, Cary dropped to the ground like dead weight and rolled under Vincent’s feet, aiming to knock him off balance.

  Vincent yelped, and a shot rang out as he’d lost his footing and involuntarily pulled the trigger. Cary didn’t pause to see if the stray bullet had done any damage. He scrambled, struggling to maintain balance with his hands still bound, and managed to come to his feet. At the same moment, Ty, fast and silent, lunged at Vincent and tackled him to the ground, using the moment of confusion. Both men went down as they grappled for the gun, hitting the floor hard as they missed Cary by mere inches. He ducked instinctively and looked around just in time to see Leland take a step toward them, his expression that of utter exasperation.

  Before Leland could raise his hand or say something that would make them all explode from the inside or something equally as pleasant, Cary threw himself at him. He was younger, fitter, and Leland was already unsteady on his feet. If he managed to knock him out even for a minute, it would give Ty and him a chance for escape.

  But he didn’t have the opportunity to throw a punch. As he slammed into the sorcerer, Leland sidestepped, so instead of tackling the man, Cary merely brushed against him. He grabbed Leland’s hand with both of his so as not to go down with the force of his momentum, but Leland twisted his arm out of Cary’s grip with a much greater ease than Cary expected. Cary skidded to a stop and then wheeled around, already knowing he’d lost despite the adrenaline pumping in his veins.

  Leland stopped, facing him with a sneer that twisted his features. He didn’t appear to have done anything, but all of a sudden Cary was jerked back. It was as if an unseen tidal wave of solid air picked him up and crashed him against the floor, knocking the wind and consciousness out of him. There was a fraction of a second of pure panic, too short for any coherent thought, and then there was only blackness.