by Ivy Asher
Slowly I work through his instructions and figure out how to do what he’s explained. His unseeing white eyes deepen until they’re brown again. I pat the deep pink magic that’s once again in my grasp and then wrestle it back into my center with the rest. Marilyn Manson gives me a proud smile, and I can’t help it when my own mirrors it. Bring on the magic lessons!
7
Marilyn Manson and I spend three more hours identifying my different branches of magic and getting them to cooperate when called. My Defensive magic, which is orange and feels warmly protective, comes as easily as my Offensive magic came. My Healing magic, which is a soft teal, is harder to find and hold onto in the tangled ball of magical tendrils at my center. The fact that my Healing magic is such a pain in the ass surprises me. It seemed to cooperate easily when I called on it in the cellar with Nash and the others as we were planning our escape from the lamia. Right now, the magic feels thick, but it slips out of my fingers so nimbly and quickly that I know I have my work seriously cut out to master it.
However, the award for the most stubborn branch of magic currently goes to my Elemental magic. It is by far the hardest to coax into cooperation. It’s a lovely kelly green that reminds me of plants in the forest after a rainstorm. But it acts more like a sneaky leprechaun, teasing and dashing away just when I think I have a grasp on it.
“Hold it! Picture the magic wrapped around your fist and keep it right where you want it!” Marilyn excitedly explains. “It will get easier as you practice, but Elemental magic is wild and has always been trickier to master for its users. Now, try again to reach out for the moisture in the air, and use it to form a ball of water.”
I attempt a water ball for the fourth time, but I can’t seem to hold the wiggly strand and keep it from escaping while focusing enough on what I want it to do. I open my eyes exasperated.
“It’s not working. I can’t weave my intent and the magic together fast enough. It doesn’t seem to want to make a water ball,” I confess, trying not to be too distracted by my audience and their restless fidgeting. They’ve got to be bored out of their minds, and I’m sure their asses hurt from sitting on the stone seats. That thought actually makes me feel better, and I hope all of their butts stay numb and asleep for the rest of the day.
“What does it want to do?” Marilyn asks me.
I focus on the restless green magic inside of me and instead of trying to force it to do what I’m being told to do, I feel for where it seems to want to go. An image of Aydin making fireballs pops into my head and the next thing I know, floating above my palm and warming me, is a small ball of flames. I’m not sure what to think of what just happened. I try not to read into the possibility of a deeper meaning behind what I just did.
“What made you call fire instead of water?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen it done a couple of times before, but I’ve never been able to do it. It just seemed like what the magic wanted to do,” I explain, leaving out any history that might give this little ball of fire more significance than I want it to have.
Marilyn tilts his head to the side and appraises me. His lips purse, and he clicks his tongue absently. He appears to be lost in thought, and I leave him to it while I stare at the baby ball of flames floating above my hand. I sway my palm from side to side and watch the blazing ball follow the movement like an obedient pet. It’s fucking thrilling to have so much control over something so destructive.
Out of nowhere, a heavy and painful pressure seizes me, and my little ball of fire blinks out. The force attacking me is strong and ruthless, and I try to work through the panic to figure out what I did wrong. My magic is going haywire, but I’m too confused to figure out how I should direct it. What the fuck is happening? As that question takes over my brain, I realize that I’m not the one doing this. I can’t explain how, but I know this is the result of Offensive magic, and it’s not mine.
The attacking magic constricts viciously around me, keeping me from moving and it begins to tighten around my neck. I try not to panic as the pressure cuts off my airway and my feet leave the ground as I’m slowly lifted in the air and strangled.
It’s like an invisible giant is holding me by the throat and languidly lifting me up to eye level so it can watch me die. An image of Laiken flashes in my mind, but I refuse to focus too much on why she’s here in this moment. The pressure around my throat is pulverizing, and the shouts going on around me fade to nothing as a loud ringing starts in my ears. I can’t reach for any of my weapons, which is my first instinct, and I know if I don’t figure something out soon whatever this is, is going to end me.
I use all my magic to feel for the magic that’s strangling me. My Offensive magic seems to resonate with what’s wrapped around my body and throat, so I call it forward and follow its lead. My magic seems to latch onto a strange hum, but I can’t think much on it as black spots form in my line of sight. The hum grows more pronounced, and before I can register what happens, my magic flashes off somewhere and with it goes a huge surge of power from me.
My Offensive magic connects with something, and as soon as it does, the crushing force around me pops like a bubble and dissipates. I’m at least five feet in the air, and I drop like a sack of potatoes to the sand-covered ground of the arena. I cough and sputter and work to fill my lungs as I blink away the water in my eyes and grasp my neck to protect it from any further attack.
The whole time I keep a stranglehold on my magic, and I can feel it now doing the constricting around whoever attacked me. The ringing in my ear dulls, and I look around to see the blue sheen of a barrier surrounding the inside of the arena. Enoch and the others are pounding on it helplessly, their faces a mixture of worry and fury, as they hurl different colored balls unsuccessfully at the rippling magic surface. The elders seem to be locked in a heated argument, none of them making any effort to get to me.
I scan the inside of the erected barrier for whoever attacked me, and I still when I see the face of my attacker now floating in the air. Marilyn Manson is now five feet off the ground and turning purple. This fucker attacked me, but why?
Stunned at the realization that he’s the one who just tried to kill me, I feel my hold on my magic slip and Marilyn tumbles to the ground exactly like I just did. I call on the runes on my ribs, and two short swords appear in my hands. I get up of the ground and stalk toward the coughing and wheezing instructor from hell.
“Get up you piece of shit!” I demand, my voice scratchy and painful from the damage this fucker just did to my neck.
He looks up at me pleading, he holds his throat with one hand and lifts the other palm up to beg for mercy. He tries to say something, but I touch the tip of my short sword just under his chin, not interested in his defense or excuses.
“Who told you to kill me, and don’t think for one second I’ll believe this was all your idea.”
He shakes his head frantically, cutting himself on the tip of my blade and the tries to croak out a response. Someone comes at me from the side and tackles me to the ground. Their arms are wrapped around my waist as they try to force me down, and I immediately start pummeling their head with the pommel of one of my short swords as we fall. I release the magic in my weapons before I crash to the sand, and I roll and flip the large body off of me. I kip-up onto my feet and watch as Pebble scrambles up onto his. Bring it, you backstabbing bastard. We start circling each other predatorily, and Pebble runs at me again.
He clearly thinks that his size and brute force are going to win this fight. But it works in my favor that this prick doesn’t listen to Enoch and Kallan’s previous warnings. I run at him, mirroring his charge. We slam into each other, and I bend backwards to help absorb the force and to control the fall. He’s bigger and heavier than me, so I tap into my runes for extra strength and maneuver him up and over me, flipping him so he lands hard on his back. It knocks the wind out of him — judging by the way his head bounces off the ground — I’d bet he’s seeing stars too.
I roll fro
m my back to my chest and scramble to straddle his torso so I can rain blows down on his face. All the rage I feel over being attacked by my instructor, and now my supposed guard, boils inside of me, and there’s not an ounce of mercy as I beat on Pebble. His skin is purpling, and he’s bleeding from his nose, mouth, and a cut to his eyebrow, but my bloodlust demands more. I’m pulled off of him roughly by whoever it is shouting at me, but I don’t bother to decipher what they’re saying. I am in full beatdown mode, and right now I want everyone to hurt.
I call on a small throwing knife and brutally slam it into whoever is behind me trying to restrain me. Fuck anyone who wants to get in my way. A pained yelp sounds in my ear, and their grip on my torso loosens. I try to twist around so I can take them on when Enoch’s voice breaks through my rage drenched thoughts.
“Vinna, stop! You have to stop. It’s not what you think. He was just trying to keep you from killing Sawyer!”
Enoch and the others are ten feet away from me, and their eyes bounce from Pebble on the ground, to whoever is behind me, and then back to me.
“You’re safe, Vinna. It’s over. No one is going to hurt you anymore.”
Enoch steps forward from the group, but stops after he takes a couple of steps closer to me. It’s clear he wants me to focus on him, but also understand that he’s not a threat to me. I watch him carefully. No one else approaches, and Enoch never tries to push contact. Somehow, he knows he needs to give me space to evaluate, to settle. His gray-blue eyes are steady and calm, and they help tether me to reality.
Pebble is black and blue, bleeding, and unconscious on the ground. The elders have circled around Marilyn Manson, and Elder Nypan’s ebony hands are on him, healing him. I release a small growl of frustration because I want to get to Marilyn. I want to make him bleed and hurt as much as Pebble currently is.
I look around, trying to spot an opening or any more threats, and discover that it’s Paladin Ender sitting up on the ground behind me. He’s trying to remove my knife from his shoulder, but every time he grabs for it his hand passes through the magical weapon. I release my hold on the magic, and the knife disappears, leaving a bleeding wound behind. He gasps and looks up at me.
“I can’t remember the last time I was taken by surprise. That’s quite an ability you have there. Are small daggers and swords the only weapons you can summon?” The paladin leader asks me, interest and respect bleeding through his tone and questioning gaze. He reminds me a bit of Aydin, and I shove that memory away.
I’m a little taken aback by the paladin leader’s odd reaction to getting stabbed. He doesn’t even seem a little annoyed by it. Then again, maybe he’s used to it. I doubt you get to a position like the one he holds from playing it safe. Judging by the mapwork of scars scattered across his visible skin, used to it might be a massive understatement. He continues to stare at me waiting for me to respond to his question.
“No,” I croak, swallowing down the pain from the damage to my throat.
I don’t answer his question in a friendly exchange of information or an effort at camaraderie. It’s a clear warning, and he gives me a nod that tells me he understands. Movement in my periphery sets me on edge, but when I realize it’s just Nash moving toward Paladin Ender, I relax again. Nash’s eyes flit back and forth between his leader and me in some kind of silent debate, before he finally focuses in on the head of the paladin.
“May I, sir?” he offers, reaching his hands toward the oozing wound on the older man’s shoulder.
Paladin Ender nods, and Nash knits his tan skin back together in less than a minute. The fit, white-haired man rolls his shoulder a couple of times and finding no issues, gives an appreciative nod to Nash. Nash moves toward me, and I flinch and automatically step back.
“It’s okay Vinna. He’s just going to heal you,” Elder Cleary tells me.
He speaks to me like I’m too stupid to understand what’s going on. His condescending tone chases away any calm Enoch’s efforts created, and I round on the elder.
“Fuck you. If you think I’m going to let any of you come near after what just happened...”
My voice is gritty but strong. I know I need healing, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to let any of these assholes near me. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. In a mask of casual movement, I brush over the runes on my ring finger and hope the guys can get here soon. If the fucking elders think I pin this attack solely on Marilyn Manson then they’re bigger idiots than I thought.
“Vinna, please. There was no other way to know for sure. Putting you in a threatening situation was the best way to trigger what I suspected,” Marilyn Manson pleads, as he tries to bypass the circle of elders surrounding him and approach me. Part of me hopes they’ll let him through so I can have a clear shot at trying to rip his head off his body.
“And did you acquire the answers you sought?” Elder Kowka asks the caster.
“Yes. She’s without a doubt a mimic.”
“What the hell is that?” Enoch shouts, as he moves to stand near me.
I back away from him, and I don’t miss the flash of frustrated resignation in his eyes before he turns a narrowed gaze on his father.
“I’ve seen the use of weaker mimicry amongst rare casters, but nothing on this level; not outside of books and not for centuries,” Marilyn responds enthusiastically.
I could probably sink a throwing knife in his throat right now, but quick is not how I want this piece of shit to die.
Marilyn Manson continues with his explanation completely unfazed by my rage. “A mimic has a very rare ability to see or feel any kind of magic and then replicate it. Reader Tearson mentioned that she had underdeveloped Spell magic. But I would venture if Vinna worked on it with an experienced caster, she would be able to mimic their abilities and absorb a stronger affinity for that branch too.”
“So, trying to kill me answered your question how?” I seethe.
“I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was trying to see if you could replicate the level of magic that was being used against you.”
“You could have just asked me, you fucking psycho. I would have told you that I can see things and then do them. It’s not a trade secret or something I’d take to the grave. But again, you would know that if you fucking asked me.” I point to Marilyn. “You better watch yourself. If you ever come near me again, you’re not going to like what happens, and you better pray I never catch you alone.”
He looks instantly regretful, but he’ll learn the meaning of regret if he doesn’t take my warning seriously.
“Caster Sawyer is who we selected to tutor you,” Elder Balfour announces, wiping sweat from his partially bald head like somehow his statement should erase everything they just allowed to happen.
“Yeah, try again because that isn’t happening.”
“You have no reason to fear. You weren’t in any real danger, and you can rest assured that you are safe,” Elder Balfour continues, oblivious and condescending.
Without warning, I send a surge of Offensive magic out at Elder Balfour. I lace the magic with the same cast that Marilyn Manson just used on me. Elder Balfour starts to sputter, and then all sound is cut off as he begins to turn red; his arms are pinned to his side, and his fingers claw uselessly at his thighs. Elder Albrecht is the only one who reacts right away, and he throws something maroon and flashing at me. My shields burst open when the magic makes contact, and it fizzles out harmlessly. I let go of the magic choking Elder Balfour, and he immediately bends over wheezing and trying to fill his lungs again.
“How dare you attack an elder, you insolent little shit. I could have you put to death for that!” Elder Balfour spits out, between wheezing coughs.
“What? You’re telling me that you didn’t feel safe in that moment?” I tut condescendingly, my tone mirroring the one Elder Balfour was previously speaking to me with. Arrogant prick. “I can assure you that you weren’t in any danger and are perfectly safe.”
He glares mu
rderously at me, but his wrath is quickly refocused when Elder Nypan starts to laugh.
“She has a point there, Phillip,” he tells Elder Balfour, before turning back to me. “You can trust us, Vinna. We are your elders after all.”
“And exactly what is it that you think you’ve done to earn my trust? You’ve moved me around like a game piece with no consideration for how I’d feel about it or what I’d want. You look at me like an experiment you’re not sure is going wrong or right, and you just sat by and watched someone you brought here attack me.”
“We didn’t know that’s what was going to happen,” Elder Cleary jumps in to defend.
“Oh, come the fuck on. You think I’m too stupid to notice when you’re talking to each other in your heads?” I glare at each of the elders in turn. “I caught every time he communicated with you mentally over the last three hours, and that’s exactly what he was doing before he tried to choke me to death. For a culture that claims to revere females, you sure do have a fucked up way of showing it!”
I catch the faint sound of gravel crunching under tires. My gaze sweeps my surroundings quickly to gauge how difficult it will be to get the fuck out of here. Pebble is still lying unconscious on the ground, and the thought that someone should really check on him runs through my head. The elders are clearly having another mental conversation, and Nash, Kallan, Becket, and Enoch are gathered about five feet away from me. Paladin Ender catches my calculated assessment and gives me a small smile, mouthing the word go to me.
I don’t question his instructions or hesitate for even a second. I take off and sprint toward the house, ignoring the commotion it causes behind me. I run my finger over the runes on my head, behind my ear.
“Make room for me, and be ready to speed the fuck away from here.”
I race through the house to the front door and fly out, not bothering to close it. Ryker’s white SUV sits idling, and the back door is open and waiting. I jump in and find myself instantly pulled onto Bastien’s lap. The door slams behind me, and the car peels out of the circular driveway back toward the gate.
