“Exactly one hour,” I said, hating the loss of the pen. It’d saved my life at least twice that very morning. “You can break up that hour as much as you like within a twenty-four-hour period, but if you use it up in the first go, then you’ll have to wait a day to use it again. But another mystic can use it immediately, so tell Elric that it’s best to keep an eye on it or it’ll end up in hands you won’t be able to easily track.”
I heard another click and Sequoya appeared again, her eyes gleaming with greed as she looked again at the pen. I felt certain she’d find a way to ask Elric to give it to her, and it made me mad all over again because she’d probably use it for something stupid like spying on her boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Or both.
After a moment Sequoya set my pen aside and picked up another, which she used to make a notation in the binder. “I can’t speak for Elric,” she said as she wrote, “but I believe he’ll be satisfied with your additional offering.”
“Awesome,” I sneered, still bitter.
Sequoya either didn’t notice or didn’t care about my irritation because she got on with the rest of the contents in the binder without even looking up.
While she spoke I took a moment to temper the irk I felt at being forced to give up another one of my hard-earned trinkets. Especially after I’d sweated giving up my initial offering, which was a tiny treasure box, no larger than a cigarette case, but into which one could hide almost any object of any size as long as one could fit even a small section of the object into the opening.
Over the years I’d stuffed it full of numerous trinkets on my way out the door after a night of thieving.
I reminded myself that I still had a nice cache of trinkets that I could use to get the job done, and even though Elric now had two of my most valuable toys, he didn’t have a clue about what else I had. And he certainly didn’t know that I had in my possession the mother lode of all magical objects—a level-fifteen. Something so magical that most mystics believed it to be pure myth. Excluding me, only two other people in the world knew that I possessed it. One, I was desperate to kill. The other, I was desperate to love.
“Do you agree to the terms and conditions as laid out in this contract?” Sequoya asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I shook my head, realizing I’d been only half paying attention. “Not before reading the fine print,” I told her. I had a feeling she’d been counting on the fact that I was a little out of it. It seemed to me that she’d skimmed over a lot of the details.
She pushed the contract toward me and took up the ballpoint pen again to play with it.
While she vanished and appeared again and again, I read the contract cover to cover, pausing to scrutinize the compensation package. Should I survive the week, Elric would pay me handsomely. There was a housing and clothing allowance, a car from one of his fleets, access to a wonderful array of magical weapons (not that I needed any of his castoffs, but his variety was likely to be much better than mine), immediate reservations to all the posh restaurants in town, access to the corporate gym (which I was hoping would pale in comparison to mine) membership to the best country club in Virginia, and a travel allowance for those times when business took me afield.
There was also a considerable stock option and signing bonus, and it was the signing bonus I was really after. It was more than enough to pay off the mortgage on the warehouse I’d moved into, and I personally needed that space to be free and clear of any financial obligation.
Plus there’d be enough left over to give Dex—my partner, best friend, and the man I wanted to spend my life with—a well-deserved and long-overdue bonus of his own. He might not take it, but I owed him at least the offer of something substantial.
Once I was finished reading the contract and making a dozen small changes in the wording so that it was less biased toward Elric, et al., I handed it back to Sequoya. “I agree,” I told her.
She lazily took the contract, noted all the changes, and initialed next to them. Then she reached down to her lap to retrieve a small stone crucible and to her belt to pull out a green dagger made of jade. It looked sharp as hell and definitely lethal.
“Your hand,” she said.
I tensed. There are two ways to bond a mystic to an agreement. A simple handshake could meld together both mystics’ energies and hold us to the bonds of our agreement while withstanding all but the most intense effort to break it. The other—more archaic method—was by blood.
A blood contract was impossible to break. Even if I tried to break from the employment agreement my subconscious would always lead me back to this building and force me to carry out the terms of the deal.
A blood contract was obviously also more painful, and I was already in enough pain to make remaining conscious a struggle.
Still, I didn’t hesitate beyond that half-second and extended my right hand, palm up.
She was quick about it at least, but the cut into the center of my palm was deep. I felt the tip of the knife strike bone, and I couldn’t hold back the small yelp of pain. It was a weakness that I regretted showing to Sequoya. No doubt she’d report it back to Elric.
With watery eyes, I turned my palm down and allowed several drops of blood to drip onto the stone dish. Sequoya then handed me a quill pen with a large white plume.
I dipped the tip into the blood, scribbled my name on the dotted line, and waited.
Heat erupted at my fingertips before spreading out through my hands, wrists, arms, shoulders, chest, neck, and so on, until even the tips of my toes felt hot.
The effect lasted only a few moments, but the indication was clear: Elric now owned me, body and soul.
Sequoya got up and gathered the binder and the ballpoint pen. She started to reach for the crucible of blood, but I quickly snatched it, and put it and the feathered quill into the inside of my leather jacket before also stuffing my still-bleeding hand into my pocket, wincing with each jerky movement. I didn’t trust Sequoya. Once my back was turned, she could’ve easily signed my name to another contract assigning all of my earnings and worldly possessions over to her, and it would’ve been perfectly legal.
At least, under mystic law.
She chuckled as she got up and brushed past me. “Use the back stairwell as you exit,” she told me, clicking the ballpoint and disappearing again. “Those stairs empty into the alley behind the building. You’ll attract attention if you’re not careful … and do be careful, Esmé,” she warned. “Elric doesn’t like attention. Especially from the unbound. Remember that if you want to live.”
With that the door to the conference room opened, then closed, and I suspected that Sequoya had left me.
For a long moment I eyed the chair she’d vacated. I wanted to collapse into it and rest more than I’d ever wanted anything. But if I let myself ease into that chair, I doubted I’d get back out of it for the next ten to twelve hours, and this wasn’t a place you’d ever want to spend the night, especially if you were unconscious.
So I took several deep breaths and whispered, “Come on, Esmé. Pull it together.” When I felt ready, I edged toward the door.
It took forever, but at last I reached the first floor of the back stairwell I’d been told to exit from. Trembling violently from the effort, I stood in front of another door, which took almost all that I had left in me to open, but at last the door gave way, and I stumbled into the alley that Sequoya had promised would be there.
It was already dark out, and the alley was unlit. Something skittered to my right, but I ignored it and kept my sights on the end of the alley. I had no cellphone or means to communicate with Dex, but I was hoping he’d be circling the block.
Ten meters from the end of the alley, a yellow Mustang with tinted windows cruised past before there was a screeching of brakes.
The Mustang came back into view and the window rolled down, revealing a guy with dark-blond hair, square jaw, prominent nose, and thick full lips. He smiled at me, and it instantly turned his somewhat heavy-faced features into boyis
h charm. That smile could melt ice.
Seeing it gave me an extra boost, and I wanted to smile back, but the most I could manage was a forced grimace.
Rolling the window back up, Dex pulled to the curb and parked while I kept awkwardly gimping down the alley. A second later, all six-feet-three-inches of him appeared in the entrance to the alley.
He took a moment there to gaze up and down the street before hastily making his way to me.
“Gaw blimey, Esmé,” he whispered as I collapsed against him. “You look half-dead.”
“You should see the other guy.”
Dex lifted me into his arms. “Was the other guy a tiger?”
“Dragon.”
“Huh … then I’m surprised you’re only half-dead.”
“Could’ve gone either way,” I admitted, settling my head onto his shoulder.
“When you didn’t come out and the clock kept ticking …” he said next, letting the rest of that sentence fade away.
“What about the other seconds-in-command?” I asked as we reached the car.
“They’ve all gone home, except for Raider’s girl. She just went through the front entrance.”
I winced when Dex shifted my weight to rest me against his chest while squatting down to open the passenger-side door.
“She’ll be as dead as he is in less than ten minutes,” I hissed through gritted teeth as Dex adjusted my weight to ease me into the car.
The rules clearly stated that no applicant’s second could enter SPL headquarters. It was one additional test that Elric had set up, and I’d heard about a guy, years earlier, who’d made it to the five o’clock hour, only to be slain by Elric in the front lobby when the applicant’s second had come rushing into the building to look for him.
“Poor dumb girl,” Dex said. “Still, I’ll admit to almost giving in to the urge to follow her and find out what happened to you.”
My eyes widened as he settled me carefully so that I could pivot into the seat. I took a moment to gingerly touch his arm. “Thank the gods you didn’t. If I’d died, Elric would’ve loved to pit you against Raider’s girl, then make sure no one left the Thunderdome.”
His expression was grim as he belted me into the seat, and I grunted in pain. “How bad is the pain?” he asked.
I closed my eyes. “I’m ready to pass out.”
I heard Dex close my door, then felt the breeze when he opened his and got in. “I’ll get you home as quick as I can.”
I sighed with relief and then did indeed black out.
Chapter Two
Day 1
I woke up just before dawn, curled around Ember.
Em is a Hungarian vizsla (pronounced VEEZ-luh in the US or VEESH-luh in Europe). Vizslas are one of the oldest dog breeds in the world, with roots dating back to the ninth century. Like most V’s, she’s a medium-size dog (just forty-eight pounds), with a square muzzle, floppy ears, long graceful legs, olive-green eyes, and a short smooth coat that’s the color of a hot ember.
Ember’s specific roots aren’t entirely known to me, but I suspect she’s roughly one millennium old. You’d never know it to look at her; I mean, she’s simply beautiful and youthful in every way—bouncy, happy, fast as lightning, and loyal to me like no other. Which is saying a lot, because I know that Dex would give his life for me.
Em and I are bonded by magic, entirely of her own making. Her bond to me is as strong as the curse I myself am bound by. Maybe it’s even stronger because it’s entirely encased in love. Believe it or not, that’s a hard thing for me to admit, because of what it means.
A major reason why I’m so desperate to rid myself of the curse that binds me is complicated exponentially by Ember’s love for me and mine for her.
As long as she’s near my side, I cannot die. Like, I literally can’t. For all intents and purposes, she’s rendered me immortal. If I’m grievously injured, or even if I’m stone-cold dead, once she lays down next to me, within a few hours, or sometimes just a few minutes, every wound, every injury—be it a lost limb, venomous sting, broken bone, snapped spine, lethal virus, water-filled lungs, or crushed skull—becomes completely healed and/or restored. I’m made whole again no matter how grievous the injury, and in healing me, Ember suffers no noticeable ill effects.
It’s a profound power that she extends only to me, or on occasion, someone close to me. (She’s brought Dex back from the brink four or five times now.)
The benefits of her magic extend beyond simply healing me. I age much more slowly than even the most powerful among us. By mystic standards, I’m fairly young, but Ember’s company ensures that I’ll outlast even the likes of Elric and Petra.
And while immortality sounds cool, the fact is that living a life that promises only soul-crushing heartbreak isn’t much of a life. I should know. I’ve lived it for ninety-three years and counting.
In that time, I’ve been devastated by heartbreak sixteen times. Sixteen. I tried committing suicide three times, and in each instance, Ember managed to find me and bring me back.
Ironically, the only wound that Ember cannot heal is a broken heart.
Now, certainly, if I really, really, really wanted to end it all, I could throw myself into the pit of the nearest volcano, or simply allow Elric to feed me to one of Jacquelyn’s dragons, and I’d be beyond Ember’s reach. But that would also leave her vulnerable. Sure she could and likely would bond with Dex, and he’d do everything in his power to protect her, but the trouble is that while Dex is physically formidable, as mystics go, he’s not nearly as powerful or skilled as he’d need to be to protect her, and at some point in the future, that would no doubt expose Ember to forces that would make her life unbearable.
Every mystic in the world and probably most mortals would give anything to get their hands on my pup. She would assure them immortality. She would also assure them unquestionable power. And once they captured her, I had no doubt they’d put her someplace where no one could ever get to her. Someplace far away from open skies, sunshine, green grass, and trees. She’d be imprisoned in a dungeon and left there to suffer for the rest of her days, which would no doubt be eons long.
If the unthinkable happened and Elric discovered her (and I had no doubt that if I weren’t around to keep watch over her that he would), he’d not only make himself immortal, but he’d also use her to heal an army of mystics in a war I was certain he’d start against the six other rivals he faced in various territories around the globe, who, collectively with Elric, made up the group known as the Seven.
While it’s true that Elric is probably the most powerful mystic in the world, the word “probably” is key, because no one is really certain he is. To my knowledge, he hasn’t been challenged in several centuries, so there’s no surefire way to tell how he’d fare against one of his rivals on any given day. This uncertainty keeps his power in check, and it brings balance to the world, keeping lower-level mystics and mortals generally out of harm’s way.
Of course, Petra also helps to keep her husband in check. She’s the less powerful of the pair by only the smallest fraction, which allows both sides to coexist in relative peace, with each of them leading a large following of loyal mystics who routinely square off but are also careful never to start a war.
Ember, however, would present Elric with a game-changer. There’d be no stopping him. I knew the man to be calculating and cold-blooded, so instilling that kind of additional power in someone with a psychotic tendency would leave the world in chaos. Hundreds of millions, if not billions, of mortals and thousands of mystics would perish—of that I was certain.
And if, God forbid, Petra or one of the other remaining five got hold of Ember, I had no doubt the world would end, because Elric would stop at nothing to acquire her magic. The war would be far worse than if he found Ember first, and the world would absolutely end in a raging, terrible, bloody, horrific ball of fire. It would literally be hell on Earth until there was nothing left but a burnt-out husk.
So the risk I t
ook by seeking employment from Elric was a calculated one. I knew myself well enough to understand that the next time I fell in love and got my heart good and broken, I’d find a way to kill myself beyond Ember’s ability to bring me back. Sixteen times I’ve crawled out of that dark hole, and each time it’s been exponentially harder to make that climb. I didn’t try to kill myself the first three times I got my heart broken; I tried to take my life with the most recent breakups, and I came closer to getting the job done each time.
It’s been an unsettling trend.
So, while I put myself and Ember at considerable risk by seeking to join the ranks of SPL Inc., the alternative was equally as bad, because the next time I fell in love and suffered through that inevitable loss, it would be lights out for me. No doubt about it.
Had I perished during my interview, Dex’s instructions were to take Ember back to his homeland and hide her as best he could for as long as he could, until he either gained enough power and skill to protect her or aligned himself with someone like me. Someone adept at wielding their magical essence and someone he could trust. As I’d left for the interview, I’d tried not to think about how unlikely the second scenario would be because, as a whole, mystics are the most untrustworthy group of misfits ever created.
It was less of a worry now, though, because I’d made it through with only some internal bleeding and several broken bones, which were now almost completely healed thanks to Ember.
As I moved to sit up, my sweet pup yawned, stretched, and laid her head on my shoulder in an effort to keep me close. “I know, lovey, but I have to get up,” I whispered, still feeling fatigued from all the battles waged the day before.
She sighed, and I knew she thought it was too soon, but I had only four days to get Elric his damned egg, and I certainly couldn’t take the morning off.
Still, when I looked down into her big olive-green puppy-dog eyes, I said, “Okay, maybe just five more minutes.”
SPELL TO UNBIND, A Page 3