Magic on the Hunt

  Another half mile, and I threw again. This time I caught the heavy-metal taste of Shackle on the back of my throat.

  “I got one. There’s a mark.” I dropped Sight and recast, narrowing the search to the street ahead of us, felt the echoing spells from Zay and Terric homing in on what I’d sensed, like hands gently brushing past mine, fingers extended. “Keep driving; we’re close.”

  Shame did so, but the spell I maintained pulled to the right, and he pulled to the left. “Stop. You’re off the trail. It’s that way.” I pointed, not really seeing the city other than a blur of buildings and a street. That was the street we wanted. I was sure of it.

  “This is as close as I can get,” Shame said. He parked, and we got out of the car. I still hadn’t dropped Sight, hadn’t lost my concentration. I held my breath a second and blinked so I could better see the world around me.

  “That way?” Zay asked, already moving.

  I strode off with him. “Yes. Down that street. I don’t know how far.”

  “When we get close enough, you will.” Zayvion pulled his sword, and Terric threw a very nice little Illusion so that it looked like he was carrying a grocery bag instead of three feet of steel.

  “Terric, Shame, and I will take point,” Zay said. “Allie, I want you to handle Shield and Block, but no attacks unless necessary, okay?”

  “No, that is not okay. I can throw magic just as hard as any of you.”

  “Listen.” He paused, touched my arm. “I need you—we need you to tip the scales. It will probably take everything the three of us can muster to take him down. But if he has a trick up his sleeve—if he has some advantage we don’t know about—I want you to hit him with everything you have. You’re our fail-safe. Understand?”

  “Stand back, let you get the bruises, then ride to the rescue. Check.”

  He searched my face, looking to see if I really understood.

  “I got it,” I said. “I’ll do my part.” And I would too. I understood that hunting in a group meant using each member to the best advantage. And I could even handle the idea that Zay wanted me on the back lines because he was trying to protect me too.

  We stalked down the street. The trail clung to the damp concrete, rolling out like a length of black chain ahead of us.

  Terric cast a quick Sight of some kind and held it low in his left hand before lobbing it off his fingertips, bowling-ball style, his right hand holding the two axes he liked to fight with.

  I was suddenly very glad Zay had remembered our weapons.

  Terric’s spell rolled out along the chain, holding tight but not touching it, not touching the spell I was maintaining before it unraveled and sank like soft ashes into the rough concrete.

  We’d made it a block, crossed an alley. The trail led down the next block and took a hard right turn.

  “There,” I said quietly.

  Zayvion nodded. He drew another spell and hooked it in his left hand.

  I dropped Sight and set a Disbursement for Impact instead. I didn’t know what kind of trouble we were walking into, but my game plan was to smash something first before I got smashed.

  I pulled my sword.

  “Do we wait?” I asked.

  “For what?” Zay asked.

  “More backup?”

  “Don’t know why we should start that now.”

  Man was true to his word. Shame strode up to the door, which was held shut by a rusted chain and a padlock, and blew the chain with a spell that sparked blue light but gave off no sound or smoke.

  Zay pushed the door open and strode in.

  I was on his heels, Terric and Shame right behind me.

  The musty brick and molded plaster smell of the building hit me in the face. It looked like it had been gutted for renovations. Cast-iron pillars ran the length of the room, brick walls—three of the four covered in graffiti—between them and floor-to-ceiling windows that were boarded up so that only the curved tops allowed daylight into the room.

  An elevator shaft took the center of the room—dark wood, maybe teak or mahogany creating the elevator, the railings around it half covered in yellow tape and plywood with the word CAUTION spray painted across it.

  A ladder leaned down one wall, and there were bags of mortar stacked in a heap. But there was nowhere a person could hide in this room.

  Good thing, since he wasn’t hiding. He was crouched down, pulling a book out from beneath a floorboard he had pried loose, the gray light of day carving spears of light over his head.

  The man looked well into his seventies, not much over five foot, white hair slicked back into a ponytail down his back. His eyes were the softest brown I’d ever seen.

  That was the last thing I remember having time to think about before all hell broke loose.

  “Down!” Zay yelled.

  I hit the floor, rolled, came up on my knees, and made a run for the cover of the bags of mortar.

  Zay did not duck. He ran across the space, throwing spell after spell. I cast Sight and watched as magic sparked up the blade he carried and flew across the room in a relentless barrage. Magic that was met by the man’s spells, one for one, exploded into fiery glyphs that burned to ashes and fell to the floor.

  The man Blocked, then threw something different at Zayvion. This spell bobbed slowly, like a balloon running out of helium across the room as the two men continued to exchange fire. Zay Blocked the slow spell, but not before it popped.

  It was some kind of Hold. Zay froze, midstride, as if the balloon spell had just exploded and covered him in glue.

  “You must be the new guardian of the gates,” the man said in a voice as sweet as a rusted hinge. “It is too late. The Authority has failed. And now I will take my due.”

  He threw one last thing at Zay’s head, and Zayvion screamed. Not that I could hear it. That glue spell around him sucked up all sound. I could see it in the tightening of his muscles and feel the echo of the agony breathe across my nerves.

  Where were Shame and Terric? And how had one old guy who’d been locked up in jail for years taken Zay out that quickly?

  There is a reason he was locked away.

  I jerked, not expecting my dad’s voice so loud in my head.

  Did you know him? I asked.

  Henry Aslund. Life magic. He was jailed for blackmailing magic users working inside the church to forward his political agenda. He killed six people before he was caught.

  Just a terrific history lesson, there, I said, but I’d rather know how to knock the bastard out.

  “And where are you, my silent friend?”

  I could only guess he meant me.

  Where were Shame and Terric? They were supposed to take point with Zay.

  He walked my way, his uneven footsteps sounding like one leg was harder to lift than the other.

  Let me see him, Dad said.

  Okay, this is where sharing a body sucked. It was usually either he or I who could run my body at any given time. But the last time I’d cast magic with him, I’d forced him to stand with me in my head, a front united and all that. And he’d used that opportunity to break the disk and effectively kill Greyson. I did not want to risk giving my body up to him just so he could take a gander at his old buddy.

  For all I knew, Dad and he used to be friends. Or enemies.

  You are too suspicious and you think too loudly. I never liked Aslund. He had too much influence over this town. But I don’t want to kill him.

  You can look at him through my eyes with me, I said.

  Dad sort of stepped forward, and I kind of pushed myself to one side of my head and let him crowd up there next to me. The whole conversation with Dad had taken about half a second.

  I peeked out from behind the bags of mortar.

  Hit him with this spell. Dad traced a glyph in my mind, something that looked like it sprang from an overly enthusiastic Boy Scout knot competition.

  There was no way I’d get that right on the first go.

  And then there was no time to
worry about it.

  The light shifted as two figures strode through the door behind me. Shame and Terric threw magic in perfect rhythm like they were one man and not two. God, they looked good together.

  They were nearly the same height, one dark, one light, both deadly, pounding through spells like they’d been brawling together all their lives.

  Aslund returned their volley, maybe not effortlessly, but he didn’t look like he was working up a sweat. Yet.

  This, Dad said again. Aim it here.

  I cleared my mind, set a Disbursement—a little more body ache for my future—and traced that spell.

  No, Dad said. Curve, not curve back.

  Oh, sweet hells. Fine, I said. You cast it. No, it wasn’t a Block or Shield. But I was pretty sure it was going to tip the scales just like Zay had hoped it would.

  I took a half step back so that Dad could press forward.

  And then my hands weren’t mine anymore. I could still feel them, though, which was maybe worse than not being able to feel what Dad was doing with me. I was a puppet on strings, and Dad played me like he’d been behind the curtain all my life.

  My left hand lifted and traced the very complicated knotted spell. Then my right hand caught the glyph with the tip of my sword blade and twisted it. The spell practically hummed with magic. It ricocheted off the blade like a top launched from its string.

  Dark, leggy, the spell crackled through the air, through the other spells Shame and Terric and Aslund were throwing, and whipped around Aslund’s head, knocking him over like a cartoon coyote.

  And then it was his turn to scream as he stiffened, flat on his back on the floor.

  The spell holding Zayvion shredded into silver dust that rose like fog on the columns of light streaming through the window.

  Shame and Terric ran toward us, Terric checking on Zay, Shame stopping next to me.

  “Are you—?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, shoving my father out of the way. “Is Aslund down?”

  Shame gave me a strange look. “You threw Shackle at him. At his head. With more power than I’ve ever seen that spell thrown.”

  “And?”

  “And yes. He’s down. For good. Where the hell did you learn that spell?”

  “Dad.”

  I was already walking toward Zayvion, wanting to put my hands on him and see for sure that he was okay. He was talking quietly to Terric.

  No, he was cursing quietly to Terric as they both stared down at the frozen, opened-eyed, dead-looking Henry Aslund.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Zay and Terric looked at me with the same expression on their face.

  “You threw Shackle,” Terric said. “At his head. With a hell of a lot of magic.”

  “He was trying to kill you guys. He’d trapped Zay. What did you want me to do, challenge him to a game of dominos? I was supposed to ride to the rescue, right? I rode.”

  “Yes,” Terric said. “You certainly did.” He walked off and picked up the book Aslund had dropped.

  I glanced down at Aslund. “Is he dead?”

  Zay spoke. “No, but he’ll wish he was when he wakes up. When did you learn to throw Proxy along with the spell?”

  “What?”

  “You combined Shackle with the price for using the spell. He’s enduring the pain you would have had to endure to use the spell.”

  “Dad threw it. Threw the spell. Both of them,” I said. “I could probably do it again, now that I’ve seen it done. Is it bad?”

  Zay shook his head, and a small smile curved his lips. “No. It’s brilliant.” He caught my hand and pulled me in for a thorough kiss.

  Oh. I likey.

  Shame bent next to Aslund and pulled one of his arms over his shoulder, while Terric did the same.

  “You might think it’s brilliant now,” Shame grunted, “but I, for one, wouldn’t want to be dating a girl who knew how to throw dirty magic.” They heaved the old guy onto his feet. He still had his eyes open. Still hadn’t twitched. But I could see his chest rising and falling. He was alive. He was just paralyzed. Shackle kicked ass.

  “A little dirty magic keeps life interesting,” Zay said. He smiled. Man had a thing for danger.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked.

  “Embarrassed. I’ll get over it.”

  Shame and Terric were walking Aslund across the floor, his legs stretched out behind him, dragging tracks in the heavy layer of dust.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Zay shook his head and cast a very nice Neutral spell. That wasn’t a spell the common user knew. Which was good. If everyone knew how to throw magic to clean magic, I’d have no chance tracking back the ashes of old spells to their users.

  “I wasn’t expecting him to throw Stick at me. Stupid error. I thought he’d go for the throat, not try to glue me to death.”

  “The pain?”

  We were walking toward the door. “You felt it?”

  “Yes.”

  “The spell had teeth. But I’m fine. Can you Hound this?” He pointed at the trail that had led us here, the trail that now followed Aslund out the door, and as I glanced that way, down the street to Shame’s car, where they were stuffing Aslund into the trunk. I hoped he wasn’t going to bleed on my box, which was still wedged between Shame’s jumper cables. I’d need to remember to get that from him. Later.

  I cleared my mind, set my Disbursement, hummed a jingle, and pulled magic into my sense of sight, taste, smell. I crouched down and looked at the spell.

  It still looked like a chain. But not just solid black iron; it had flecks of glyphs worked into it, like glass caught between the bars of lead. Quite literally a spelled chain.

  It led to Aslund. I glanced back to where he had been. The spell was gone, cleaned from the room by Zayvion’s spell; there was nothing to see there. I looked back at the chain spell and pressed my fingertips into it.

  Cool and slick, the flavor of winter rain on concrete filled my mouth. But there was something else. A smaller chain, with thinner links that snaked off, nearly invisible even with Sight, even with my sharp Hound eyes. Still, I could see the other line.

  “There is a chain attached to his chain,” I said.

  “Just one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marks echo if you look at them right. I didn’t know if you’d be able to see it. Can you track where that line leads?”

  I dropped Sight but kept hold on Taste and Smell. Then I cast Trace, a version of Sight that should allow me to see the spell broken into different layers of the light spectrum.

  That did it. It was brighter, and pulsed, ever so slightly, with the heartbeat of the person it was connected to. But looking at the trail this way also revealed one very clearly cut strand that looked like someone had burned the connection.

  “I see it.” I inhaled, sorting the scents of the spells until I could categorize them. “I have the scent. I can follow it.”

  “Good.” Zay pulled magic and began casting the Neutral glyph.

  “There’s a broken line too.” I stood and resheathed my sword.

  “What do you mean?” Zay stopped casting. Just stood there, with half a spell and half-drawn magic at the ready. Took a lot of concentration not to lose a spell when you stopped midcast.

  “There was another line, but it’s been cut.”

  “Cut? What does it look like?”

  “Like it was burned off.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Zay finished the spell, and the lovely cherry-blossom smell of Neutral floated through the air. He caught my arm and marched me out of the warehouse.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Ow,” I said to Zay. “Arm.”

  “Sorry.” He let go of my arm, then strode past me to where Terric and Shame were shoving Henry’s feet into the trunk, and started talking to them.

  What, was I suddenly not good enough to be part of this Scooby-Doo gang?

  I stomped over to them.

  “We w
on’t know who,” Zay was saying, “so keep your eyes out. Let’s get this done.”

  “What did I miss?” I asked.

  Shame ducked into the driver’s seat. “Z bossing us around. I’m sure he’ll give us an encore.”

  He started the car, and I got in the front seat again, Zayvion behind me. Terric had his eyes closed and was breathing deeply, a calm expression on his face. Meditating. Getting ready to hunt again, or maybe dealing with the Proxy cost of doing this kind of business.

  Shame merged into traffic, headed north.

  “What did you tell them?” I asked Zay.

  “Prisoner X is a Closer. The broken line. That’s something a Closer would do.”

  “Okay. So?”

  Shame snorted.

  “He might be able to Close the Mark so we can’t trace him. We don’t even know who he is. He has the advantage here.”

  “Not to mention, gates,” Shame murmured.

  Even Terric opened his eyes. “You think?”

  Shame shrugged. “Someone opened a gate at that prison, with that many Cancel, Block, and Wards? Maybe Leander had time to do it while you were chasing him and he was drinking the life out of the Veiled. Maybe he was only a distraction and someone else opened that gate. Closers are the only ones who know how to open gates. Don’t think Leander was a Closer, but he might have been looking for one.”

  “Shit,” Terric exhaled. “You think that’s the reason he broke into the prison? To find a Closer?”

  Shame shook his head. “I don’t think it was his original intention, but I think it quickly became his backup plan for how to get out of there.”

  “We’ll know if he opens another gate, right?” I asked. “And if not us, then Victor, or whoever is keeping an eye on that stuff now, will know?”

  “We’ll know if he opens another gate,” Zay said. “And so will the Authority, which means Bartholomew, which means one more strike against Maeve and Victor. We have to find him before he jumps. Allie, can you Hound that trail?”

  “The Closed one?”

  “No. Not yet. I want Single in the trunk with Aslund before we track the Closer.”

  Terric had his head bent, his left hand open in front of him. He used one finger to trace glyphs in the air above his hand, then peered at the spell as if he were looking into a crystal ball. He closed his hand, muttered something, and traced a new glyph.