Magic on the Storm (18 page)

Something was wrong.
I broke out of my jog and into a run. The concrete beneath my feet gave way to
soft soil, well-tended grass wet from all the storms and the night’s dew.
Zayvion was near. I could feel him, like a heat beneath my skin.
And he was in trouble.
I broke out from between the buildings to the grounds in the back. Trees and
outbuildings cut my view into bits.
The acrid scent of a Confusion spell burned like black pepper at the back of my
sinuses. I couldn’t tell which way I should go. Didn’t even know which way I
had come from.
Okay. This wasn’t the first time I’d been hit with Confusion. I knew what to
do.
I stopped, closed my eyes, because you can’t do anything if you’re staring at
Confusion. I took a deep breath to calm myself. It didn’t matter how good I
was—there wasn’t anyone who could cast magic in high states of emotion. Even
Zay, whose fear I could feel in the tattering heartbeat at my wrist, still gave
off a calm focus and determination.
Sometimes casting magic meant you had to be of two minds, or two emotions, at
once.
I set a Disbursement—I was tired of muscle aches and went instead for a
headache. I muttered a few lines of a coffee-commercial jingle to clear my
mind. With my eyes still shut, I drew Cancel with my right hand and Sight with
my left.
Cancel should wipe out the Confusion. Sight should show me what other magic was
being used.
I opened my eyes. Cancel worked wonders. I didn’t even smell the pepper anymore.
Sight showed me magic burning like carved fire on the buildings around me. I
actually hadn’t made it all the way through the alley between the buildings,
even though it felt like I’d been running for blocks.
Confusion spread a sticky spiderweb between the structures, but now that Cancel
was in effect, hovering like a shield over my head, the tendrils of Confusion
were no longer touching me.
I took a second to focus on the heartbeats again. Zay and Terric were near.
Very near.
I walked past Confusion, and stopped short.
Just on the other side of the spell and buildings, the grounds opened up. It
was too dark to see how far back the grounds reached, but somewhere back there
were trees and shadows, and flickering lights in the distance.
What I could see, very clearly, was the battle.
Terric glowed like a slice of moonlight, his hair gone silver, his skin pure
white except for where dark glyphs shifted and moved across his features. His
eyes burned an eerie blue while he chanted, the words falling from his lips in
a lyric prayer. He had his feet spread, hands out to either side, holding a
Containment spell that covered a twenty-yard circle.
And in that Containment spell were two people: Zayvion and Chase.
I’d never seen them even spar before. Chase hadn’t been around during any of my
training sessions. And the only time I’d seen her fight was when the gate
opened during my test. She’d been fighting Hungers then, beasts from the other
side of death.
Now she was fighting Zayvion.
Even with Sight, watching them hurt my eyes. Still, I didn’t let go of the
spell. Zayvion was a seven-foot tower of black flame, silver glyphs whirling
over him in liquid ribbons, glowing the same metallic shift of wild colors as
the marks magic had left on me.
He wove a spell with his left hand, heaved it at Chase like it was made of
lead, and lunged, the machete in his hand pulsing with dark jeweled lights, a
different kind of magic, dark magic, coursing through the blade.
But Chase was good. Unlike Zayvion, even through Sight, even throwing magic
around—and she was throwing a shitload of the stuff around—Chase looked like
Chase. Pretty, a little gaunt, pale-skinned, dark hair pulled back in a braid,
black jeans, and a black turtleneck.
Except for one thing. Her eyes glowed red. It wasn’t just the light from magic.
It was something else, something more, something dark, like the Hungers, like
the Necromorph, burning out from within her. And it was not human.
It scared the hell out of me. Instinct told me to run, to leave this place, to
go somewhere where magic didn’t do what they were making it do.
Yeah, well, instinct would just have to suck it.
Chase, knife in one hand, caught the weight of Zay’s spell on the edge of her
blade and tore it apart. She re-drew and recast that magic into something else,
flicked it low at Zay’s feet.
He dodged. The spell burned after him. He tucked and rolled over the spell,
sliced it apart with the machete, and was on his feet again.
In Chase’s other hand was a sword. Not a machete, no. This thing was beautiful,
slick, graceful, powerful. Maybe a katana. It burned, not with flame, but with
darkness. The air around it seemed darker than the night, and wavered as if
heated.
Chase cut a spell into the air with the tip of the blade.
Zayvion closed the distance.
Blades and magic met, clashed. Fire exploded on a viscous wind. Terric,
standing inside his Containment spell, turned his face away from the blast,
adjusted his grip on the spell, and did something that extinguished the fire.
Silent. I heard nothing. Smelled nothing. Felt nothing but the hard-hitting
heartbeats at my wrist. The Containment Terric held was amazing. It made it
seem as if there were no one on the grounds, no fight, no magic. Nothing but a
quiet night in a quiet field.
Zayvion pressed Chase, chanting, even though I couldn’t hear him, the machete
in his hand flicking like a rapier, then slashing out like a broadsword. The
blade changed as he used it, and used magic to morph it, a wicked weapon of
speed, power, steel, and magic.
Chase gave ground, breathing hard. She was bleeding—at least I think it was her
blood that left a dark trail on the grass behind her.
I’d fought with Zay. I knew the punishment he could inflict on the practice
mats. And that had been sparring. I had no idea how Chase endured his assault.
Why didn’t she give up? What did she think? That she could beat him down? And
then what? Kill him with Terric standing by? Kill Terric too? Run? It didn’t
make sense. Zayvion was the best at what he did. And it didn’t look like he had
any trouble not pulling his punches.
Chase was not stupid. She was a Closer. She certainly wasn’t foolish enough to
take on Zayvion and Terric alone.
The soft moth-wing flutter of my dad in my head brushed behind my eyes. Then
snapped so hard, I gasped. Stars flickered at the edge of my vision, and my
dad’s awareness pressed down on me like an avalanche.
Something was wrong. Something was wrong with this whole thing.
Zay had said where we found Chase, we’d find Greyson. So where was he?
The flutter behind my eyes flicked hard again. Pain snapped at my temple.
Allison
,
Dad breathed.
Behind you.
I turned, and dropped Sight just as the man—no, not man; Shame—lifted his hands
and threw the world at my head.

Chapter Fourteen
I
dodged, and wove Block. As I crouched, Block surrounded me in a
defensive shield.
Shame’s spell burned past me, leaving a scorched stink of burnt cherries in its
wake. While one part of my mind was pulling out the swearwords, the other
couldn’t understand how he could have missed. Shame dealt Death magic. He was a
master at it. If he wanted to hit something, that thing got hit.
I pulled my machete, to block his next attack.
Instead of attacking, he stood there, breathing hard, his hands clenched into
fists in front of him, head tipped down so that I could not see his eyes.
But it was the smell of sweet cherries that told me exactly what was going on.
Blood magic.
Chase had marked him, cut his gut. Bound him to her with blood. Now she was
using him.
Holy shit. I’d thought he was going to call his mom.
Shame’s fists shook and the fingers of his right hand slowly opened, one at a
time.
“Don’t,” he said, one ragged word. “Don’t let the bitch.”
He groaned. His hand jerked into the beginnings of another glyph. The grass
beneath him was drying up, going brown as he drew on Death magic to fight her
control over him.
Or—and this would be on my list of bad things—maybe she drew on Death magic
through him to use it on me.
Shame tipped his head up, eyes burning with hatred. Sweating, teeth bared in a
growl. Furious.
“Fuck her hard,” he said through clenched teeth.
To do that, I’d have to knock Shame out. He knew that. And he was buying me
time.
I dropped Block, and stood back up while calmly reciting a mantra. I drew a
spell for Sleep.
Not an angry spell, something a parent would use on a fussy child.
It’s always the simple things that no one expects to work.
Of course, I put so much magic into it, Shame would be out hard and fast.
His eyes narrowed, but I thought I saw him nod.
I finished the spell, and hurled it, filled with all the magic burning in my
body, my bones. I threw it at Shame with everything I had.
He jerked, but didn’t lift a hand to block. He held his ground and let the
spell hit him full force.
Gutsy. Like staring down a heat-seeking missile.
I felt an echoed flash of pain at my wrist, his anger—and that man knew how to
hate—and then his eyes rolled back in his head. He crumpled to the ground.
Terric’s heartbeat sped up, his worry bleeding through.
Okay, maybe there was a downside to being connected to one another.
Greyson
, my father said in my mind, his voice growing louder.
Find
Greyson.
For once, I was already ahead of him. Let Zay deal with Chase; let Terric cover
our tracks. I was going to handle the real problem here—Greyson.
And since I had my dad, at least part of him, in my head, and Greyson very much
wanted to get his slathering jaws on him, I was pretty sure I could find him
easier than anyone on this side of death.
I glanced at Zay and Chase and Terric. They were gone. Nothing but an empty
field met my gaze. Right. I’d let go of the Sight spell.
Okay, let me add awesome Illusionist to Terric’s qualities. I drew Sight again,
and sucked in a hard breath.
Terric pulled in a huge amount of magic from deep beneath the ground to fuel
the Containment. He was breathing hard and steady, like a man enduring a brutal
run. I knew he wasn’t about to drop, but I also knew there was a limit to his
endurance.
Zayvion beat Chase back against the Containment. She stabbed her knife into the
wall of magic Terric had created and drew the magic out of it, channeling it
directly at Zay.
Not a spell. Not a glyph. She sent a raging stream of magic burning at Zay like
a flamethrower.
Zay held one hand out, palm forward, blocking the flame like some superhero in
a movie. Magic poured around him, flaring and sparking metallic colors, filling
the Containment space. But it could not get through the walls Terric held.
Zay should cast a spell to knock her out. He should smack her with the blade,
hell, punch her, tackle her.
Instead, Chase yelled. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I guessed it was a
spell.
And the Illusion that Chase had been casting, holding this entire time,
shattered.
Fast. Too fast.
One heartbeat: Chase fell to her knees.
She redirected the stream of magic. Past Zay, who ran now, toward her, trying
to stop her.
Magic poured past him. Just like she wanted it to.
Poured into the shadowy figure who ran on all fours, liquid, faster than any
man, even Zayvion, at Terric. It was Greyson. Greyson running toward Terric.
I whispered a mantra. Maybe it was a prayer. Pulled on as much magic as I could
contain.
Greyson leaped at Terric.
Terric raised one hand. Slow. Too slow.
Zay twisted. Threw a spell at Greyson.
Chase was talking, singing, chanting.
Giving her magic, feeding Greyson.
And waiting.
For the second Zay’s back was turned.
For this second.
She threw her knife.
I yelled. Cast Hold. End. This had to stop. Something had to stop this. I had
to stop this.
Greyson tore into Terric, knocked him down, sank teeth into his shoulder.
Magic slid under my feet, skipped, skittered, and was gone. The storm did it
again—pulled magic out of my reach.
It was like someone had hit an off switch for me personally. I was empty. The
magic I cast fizzled out before it even reached them.
I ran.
Chase’s knife found its target, buried hilt deep into Zay’s back. He yelled.
And I heard it. Because Terric’s Containment was down.
Chase chanted. Fast, guttural. She was crying. And she was casting a spell.
The bitch.
Apparently magic was still working for her.
Zay stumbled, touched the ground with one hand, and pushed back up. Running.
Pounding forward.
He was almost on Greyson. Spells and steel. He swung the machete.
Thunder rolled, a hard, crushing crack I felt in my bones. A gate between life
and death burned into the air, yawned open between Terric and Zay.
Chase was a Closer. She knew how to close gates. She knew how to open them too.
Greyson let go of Terric, and lunged at Zayvion.
He leaped through the gate. From one side to the other. Onto Zay.
Terric rolled up on his knees. Raised a hand, threw magic at Greyson, at the
gate.
Zay swung his sword, chanting a spell of pain and death.
But it was Greyson I heard. His growl. His howl. As he drank down all the
magic, everything Terric threw. Everything Chase offered. Everything Zay swung.
Sucked it all in. Then howled as Zay’s machete sliced into his ribs.
Except there was no blood.
What there was, was Greyson. Standing. More man than beast now. Muscled, naked,
angry. Insane.
He cast magic, in exact and perfect rhythm and beauty with Chase.
Soul Complements.
Beautiful, battered, she moved up behind Zayvion, holding him trapped, the magic
from her hands, the magic from Greyson’s hands, caging Zay and burning into his
skin.
Burning into me.
Soul Complements. Rarest of the rare. We shared each other’s pain.
Just because Chase and Greyson hadn’t tested didn’t mean they weren’t meant for
each other. Didn’t mean they couldn’t use magic together. Didn’t mean they
couldn’t make magic do things it was never meant to do.
Didn’t mean they couldn’t become one person, one caster, one soul.
With one desire.
Kill Zayvion Jones.
I was almost there, almost there. My heart ran faster than my feet. My mind
spun.
Greyson and Chase cast, chanted, bent magic to their will. Made it beautiful.
Horrifying. And tore Zayvion apart.
Hold on, hold on, hold on.
A chant, a fear I could not contain. Spilling
out of me. With my breath. With his blood.
I could feel Zayvion’s heartbeat slowing. Too slow. Thudding. Heavy. Gone.
Watched him fall to the ground. For a second, a moment, I saw him, on the
ground, but also standing next to himself—seven-foot-tall warrior clothed in
nothing but black flame and silver glyphs. Freed from his body, he still
carried a shadow of the machete.
He swung it at Greyson’s head.
Just as Chase cast another spell, and threw it at the gate.
Greyson roared, a yell, more beast than man. The gate exploded, tendrils of
magic whipping out tentacles, like fire, like a nightmare I could not stop,
could not reach, could not end.
“No!” I yelled.
But the tendrils hooked into the dark warrior spirit of Zayvion and dragged him
into the gate.
Something huge, fast, ran behind me, ran past me.
Shame?
No. Stone. Howling like a freight train from hell, he launched at Greyson.
Wings pumped the air, and he came down, crushing the Necromorph into the
ground.
Chase screamed. Fell to her knees. Lost hold of magic.
With her spell no longer feeding it, and Greyson’s spell no longer feeding it,
the gate closed.
Zayvion did not move. Did not breathe. I felt the absence of his heartbeat like
a ragged pain emptying me of everything—thought, heart, breath.
Emptying me of everything except anger.
I strode across the remaining distance, my sword drawn. Terric lay in a bloody
heap to my left. I could still feel his heartbeat against my wrist.
Greyson snarled and squirmed beneath the crushing weight of Stone. Chase knelt,
not far from both the gargoyle and the Necromorph, hands over her face, as if
she endured, or maybe even Proxied for, the beating Greyson was receiving.
There was no magic in me. The approaching edge of the storm had sucked it out.
I couldn’t access the magic deep in the earth. I didn’t know why.
But I had a backup. The magic I’d always had in me, the magic I was born with.
A tiny flame no bigger than the flicker of a birthday candle.
I had just enough magic to cast one spell. And I was not going to waste it.
“Stone,” I said. “Tear him apart.”
The big bruiser snarled. Greyson and Chase screamed in unison. Music to my
ears.
I knelt next to Zayvion. Bloody, bruised, he was mostly intact. A trail of
blood tracked down his forehead, slick over his closed eyes and his nose, and
filling the valley of his soft, thick lips.
I didn’t have to press my hand against his neck or wrist. I knew he had no
heartbeat.
And I knew I had only a little magic.
I closed my eyes, calmed my mind. Focused on the small magic within me. I
placed my hand on his chest, over his heart.
“Live,” I whispered. “Breathe.”
The magic spooled out of me like a thin thread. No spell. I didn’t need one. I
knew what I wanted magic to do, knew what it had to do for me. I sent it to
wrap around his heart, to make it beat, to squeeze his lungs, to make him
breathe.
“Live.” No longer a request. Now a demand. Soul to soul.
If I could give my heart to replace his, I would. My breath for his, I would.
My life for his, I would.
“Please,” I whispered.
Nothing. Nothing. I inhaled. And so did he. Shallow. His heart beat one slow
thud.
I exhaled.
And so did he.
I don’t know how long I sat there, able to do nothing more than inhale and
exhale, his heart a hesitant beat that followed my own, but a beat nonetheless.
But I knew I would do this until the end of time if it meant he was alive.
A hand slid over the top of mine. I didn’t open my eyes. I knew who it was. The
rough brush of fingerless gloves belonged to Shame.
“Keep doing that,” he said gently, his voice low. “You’re doing fine. Just keep
breathing for him.”
Live
, I thought, I begged. Because a body needed more than breath to be
alive.
Another hand fell upon my right hand. Cold, trembling. The unfamiliarity almost
made me lose concentration.
“Positive and negative,” Terric said, and I knew it was he who held my other
hand.
I don’t know what they did, don’t know how they did it. I couldn’t access
magic, but they did. Magic, a pure, even stream of it, poured in through my
hands. And I sent that magic, willingly, carefully, gently into Zay, told it to
knit, to mend, to fill, to support.
“Heal,” I said.
And magic leaped to my desire, rushing through Zayvion’s body and mind with a
pure wave of healing.
He inhaled. Without me.
His heart beat. Steadied. Caught and lifted by magic, magic Shame and Terric
accessed, magic I sent to blend with the small magic I carried. Magic that
healed.
His heartbeat fell into a solid rhythm. Another breath. Another. The rhythm of
his heart beneath my hand, against my wrist, beat stronger, strong.
Alive.
I opened my eyes.
Zay didn’t stir. There was more blood covering his face. He was breathing,
though, on his own. With my hands still on his chest, with Shame’s hand still
on my left, and Terric’s still on my right, I bent, and kissed Zay, his blood
salty against my lips.
He didn’t move. I didn’t sense a flicker of his emotions, his thoughts. It was
like kissing a hollow doll.
A new fear washed over me, so like claustrophobia, I swallowed back a whimper.
“Is he alive? Shame? Is he alive? I can’t feel him. Can’t—can’t feel him.” My
voice was ragged, too high, too fast.
I wanted this nightmare to end. But I couldn’t make myself wake up.
Shame’s other hand turned my face so I was looking at him. “He’s alive.”
Fierce. No Influence, but the power of his conviction was a slap across my
mind.
“Hurt,” he said, “but breathing. Alive. Panicking will make it worse. Got
that?”
I blinked, nodded. Those words, his anger, was like pulling blinders off. I
could see the world around me again, could smell again, could feel my body, my
feet numb beneath me, the rain falling cold and hard against my head, face,
hands.
The rain, at least, had arrived. How much longer until the wild-magic storm
hit?
Shame, drenched, squatted on his heels next to me, one hand on mine, the other
releasing my chin. He smelled of sweat, blood, cigarettes, and fear.
On the other side of me, of Zay’s prone body, was Terric. I thought Shame
looked bad. Terric sat tailor-style, his hand still on mine. His head hung so
that his heavy hank of shock-white hair fell over his left shoulder. And his
hair was sticky, wet with more than just the rain. He did not look up, did not
move. If I hadn’t felt his heartbeat at my wrist, I wouldn’t have thought he
was alive.
“Stone?” I asked.
Shame shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I looked over where Greyson had been. Where Chase had been. Where Stone had
been.
Nothing. They were all gone.
“When I got here,” Shame said, “it was just you and Zay and Terric.”