Read Magic in the Shadows Online
Authors: Devon Monk
Magic in the Shadows (42 page)
Shamus flicked his cigarette to the ground and rolled his boot over it. He also dropped whatever spell he had been using to hold up that wall.
He coughed a couple times and spat.
“Shouldn’t we follow them?”
“No.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, but not before I noticed the blood at the corner of his lips. “I’m going to clean up. You can watch if you want.”
It really bugged me to just stand around while other people were working, but I’d said I only wanted to come so I could learn. So I could keep my people safe from those creatures. So I would know what to do next time. So I never had to haul Davy’s broken and bleeding body into the hospital again.
All I’d learned so far was that it took at least three people to handle the Hungers. And a certain knowledge with weapons.
Which meant, if I really wanted to know how to fight these things, I had a lot of learning ahead of me.
Shamus must have taken my silence for agreement. He walked off toward the dead—at least I hoped they were dead—bodies of the Hungers.
I put the knife back in my belt and followed, noting the circle of dead grass where Shamus had stood had grown to six feet in diameter.
“Bet you suck at gardening,” I observed.
Shamus shrugged. “It’s all about energy exchange. It could always go the other way, me feeding a plant instead of drawing the life out of it.”
“Do that often?”
Shamus looked at me over his shoulder. “No.”
“Why not? Have something against plants?”
“No, but I haven’t met a vegetable good enough to sacrifice a year of my life for.”
“What?”
“Energy exchange. Death magic is all about transition, transfer, mutation, change from one state into another.” At my look, he rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. This is the ABC’s. I can draw the life energy out of a living thing, like a plant, or I can give my life energy to a living thing, like a plant. Once that connection is set, it is a carrier for magic. And that carrier—say it with me: Death magic—shifts how magic responds when it is cast into glyphs.”
We stopped above the inert creatures. They were reduced to a strange collection of torsos, limbs, and body parts. Zayvion’s machete stuck out of the skull of one of the things, hilt toward the sky, with just enough blade showing that it caught silver in the light. Fluid, thicker than blood, oozed black from every wound. I still didn’t smell any kind of scent from them.
What had Shamus said? Death magic was hard to Hound?
“So, yeah, I like my vegetables. Don’t love ’em enough to die for them.” He knelt and poked a finger at one of the Hungers. His finger disappeared to the last knuckle inside the flesh, like he’d jabbed a stick into sand. He pulled his finger back. It came out clean.
Not so much creepy as sort of barf-inspiring.
It didn’t seem to bother Shamus. “I’m going to stay here and retrieve the rest of the energy they fed on—since a lot of it was mine. Give me your word you’ll stay out of trouble.”
“Scout’s honor,” I drawled.
“Close enough.” He traced a spell, one I did not know, into the air above the creature nearest him. The Sight spell I had cast was gone now, and I’d promised not to use any more magic, so I had to settle for the very normal sight of Shamus kneeling over four butchered nightmares.
He tipped his head back a little and closed his eyes. He whispered something, a single liquid word. Then a look of rapture crossed his face. His heartbeat slowed, and when I turned my thoughts to how he was feeling, I was surprised at the slick, lazy euphoria that filled him. Apparently, this was the upside of using Death magic.
The Hunger nearest him began to fade. Within two minutes, it was gone, all the remaining energy that made it solid absorbed by Shamus, leaving nothing, not even black blood behind.
Shamus sighed. Maybe it was my imagination, but he didn’t look quite so pale. Without opening his eyes, he whispered that liquid word again. The next beast began to fade, and a second, stronger rush of euphoria took him.
If I stayed in touch any longer with his emotions, I was going to get a friggin’ contact high.
The wind picked up, pushing the misty air around and reminding me that it had been a long day. I was cold. Tired. Wet. I tucked my chin into my collar and exhaled, my breath doing little to warm me up. I wondered if Zayvion and Chase were done running the Hungers down. I glanced over the way they had gone, didn’t see any movements there. Of course, Chase was pretty good at Illusion.
“Daniel Beckstrom.”
I spun at the voice behind me.
The Necromorph crouched on all fours in the shadows behind the metal building. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, but he was thicker, stronger than when he’d jumped me. I think he’d been feeding well too.
Shit.
The wind shifted. I smelled death and blood and burnt blackberry—him—and then strawberries and bubble gum. Tomi’s scents. The murderer shifted up and back, jerking his hand as if he were pulling a rope tight. I heard a very human whimper behind him.
Tomi stumbled forward into the tepid light.
I sucked in a breath. Every inch of exposed skin was black and blue or covered in blood.
“Shame,” I said.
Shamus didn’t move. Not an inch.
I took a cautious step back and shook Shame’s shoulder. He was too caught in the rapture. I didn’t know how to break whatever spell he was using.
Inside my head, my dad had gone very, very quiet. He didn’t seem afraid of the murderer. No, he seemed terrified. And angry. Bad combination for a powerful dead guy who could run my body on remote control.
“You betrayed me,” the Necromorph growled quietly, but not too quietly for me, not for my Hound ears. I could hear him across any distance. “And now your death will free me.”
The murderer turned, lost again to the shadows.
I heard a high, muffled scream.
Shit, shit.
Quick mental calculation: Shamus zoned out. Zay and Chase running down the Hungers. I could feel their heartbeats, still fast, still alive. They might even be done killing them by now. They might be back any minute.
Shit, shit, shit.
Tomi didn’t have time for any minute. I strode around Shamus. Careful not to touch the Hungers, I pulled Zayvion’s machete out of one of the remaining creature’s skull.
Black ichor clung to the blade and then was absorbed, the faint ribbons of glyphs worked into the steel sucking away the blood.
Time to find out what this thing could do to a Necromorph.
I held the machete low against my side and jogged to the back of the building. I sang my Mary Mack song. I needed to keep a clear head. A cool head. And a Disbursement. Needed one of those too. I decided on body ache, afraid to add any more to the headache and push it up into deadly levels.
Dying was not in my plans for the day.
If you have a suggestion
, I thought to my father, who had been too silent for too long,
I’d love to hear it.
, I thought to my father, who had been too silent for too long,
I’d love to hear it.
He surprised me by answering.
Let him kill the girl. While he feeds on her, he will be vulnerable and you can kill him.
Let him kill the girl. While he feeds on her, he will be vulnerable and you can kill him.
No.
The price of one life is nothing to destroying that monstrosity.
I will not stand by and let one of my Hounds—hells, let anyone—die just so I can get a clear shot at that thing
, I said.
, I said.
Allison
, he warned.
, he warned.
No. Done. Final.
I slowed and walked down the narrow path behind the shed, brambles as high as my head forming a wall uphill to the left of me, the shed to my right. A pile of discarded wood—two-by-fours and broken pallets—made the footing tricky. There was no room here to swing the machete. I traced an Impact glyph—something strong enough to blow that thing off his feet—with my left hand and held it there, pinched between my fingers, ready for me to fill it with magic.
All it needed to do was buy me some time so I could get in better machete-swinging range.
One metal panel on the back of the shed was rusted and bent open. I glanced in. There was just enough light fingering through cracks at the roofline and seams of the wall panels that I could make out the figures in the otherwise empty building. The Necromorph stood on all fours, rocking side to side, his head low. Tomi sat beside him, her arms extended to chest height, fingers spread wide, shaking, but poised to cast magic. Even in the low light I could see her eyes were wide and blank.
My heartbeat kicked into fight-or-flight, but my mind went totally clear. I could do this. Take that bastard down and save Tomi. As a matter of fact, I was looking forward to this.
We could end this. End him. He could be the proof that dark magic is too dangerous, even in good hands. The end of those who seek to open the gates and bring Mikhail back. You and I have the power to change which magic is used and how. We could rule the Authority, if we so wished.
My father was a cold fire in the center of my head, raging, babbling.
My father was a cold fire in the center of my head, raging, babbling.
Tell me later
, I said.
When I’m not busy staying alive.
, I said.
When I’m not busy staying alive.
I stepped quietly into the shed, holding to the shadows alongside the wall, the machete’s blade raised so I could swing quickly.
The murderer growled, and Tomi whimpered again.
First, throw the Impact to knock him out. Next, go in swinging.
It wasn’t a big plan, but it was simple. I liked simple.
Allison,
my dad said.
Wait for him to feed on the girl. He will be vulnerable.
my dad said.
Wait for him to feed on the girl. He will be vulnerable.
Like hell
, I said.
, I said.
The thing sunk fangs into Tomi’s shoulder and she yelled, her blood pouring down her arms to her hands. Hands that wove a spell for him.
I poured magic into the Impact glyph and threw it at him with everything I had.
No!
But I wasn’t listening to my dad. I ran, covered the distance between me and the murderer with half a dozen pounding strides.
The Impact hit its mark and the beast toppled. Tomi crumpled, unconscious. The Necromorph only stayed down for a second before he turned, faced me.
And smiled.
Block. Block!
Dad yelled in my head.
Dad yelled in my head.
I tried. But it is impossible to trace a glyph at a full run, with a clear enough mind to do it correctly, and fill it with magic when your frickin’ dad is yelling at you.
The Necromorph lunged at me.
Oh, shit.
My dad, all cold fire and hate in my head, pushed past me. Shoved me out of the way. A wave of vertigo spun the room. I was chanting, only it wasn’t me chanting. It was my father. Using me. Using my body, my mouth. Again.
For the love of all that’s holy, he had to stop doing that shit.
He raised my hands, tracing something with my left that made black fire—fire a lot like what I saw Zayvion wield—drip down the blade of the machete.
The Necromorph jumped, slammed into me. I went down and knocked the back of my head against the ground. I knew it hurt, but it was a distant sort of pain.
My dad angled the blade, thrust it at the Necromorph.
The Necromorph dodged out of the way, standing back on two legs.
I, or rather my dad, scrambled up onto my feet. I wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Tell me who owns you,” my father said with my mouth. “Tell me who hired you to kill me. Tell me, or this will be your end, Greyson.”
Greyson? Chase’s ex-boyfriend? The man she thought might be her Soul Complement? The man Zayvion said was dead?
Holy crap.
“There is no end for me.” Greyson stretched his neck so the disk implanted in his flesh shone a sickly green. “Not anymore. You have seen to that. You and your technology. But there is still revenge for me. And I will have it through you, Daniel Beckstrom.”
Greyson opened his mouth, his jaw unhinging so that I could see all of his serrated teeth. He inhaled, and I could feel him drawing like a hard wind in my brain.
My dad yelled. I had never heard him yell like that before, had never heard myself yell like that before.
I knew he, we, were in excruciating pain. But I didn’t feel it.
I pushed to regain control of my body, willing him to move out of the way, to step aside so I could be in the front of my own mind.
With that thought, I was fully in control of my body, and could feel every aching inch of it. I think I broke a rib.
It was too damn easy to take control of myself. And I knew why. Greyson somehow had a hold on my dad’s soul and was sucking him out of my head.
My dad still screamed, but not from inside my head.
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