Nocturna

by Maya Motayne

  At that, the curls of smoke stopped their rhythmic circling, seemingly offended.

  You hesitate? The magic tsked. If you are not interested in our help, then . . . With every word the magic’s voice grew quieter and quieter, and Alfie felt his chance slipping away.

  “Wait! No, wait! Please! I will free you, but—”

  Be careful, boy. We are not known to bow to conditions and your time is running out.

  Then Alfie could hear Luka’s heart beat as if he were in Luka’s very chest. The darkness pulsed with slow beats, the space between them stretching far too long.

  No. Luka was not going to die. Alfie wouldn’t let it happen.

  His voice breaking with fear, Alfie said, “Just promise me that Luka will come back as himself and he’ll be safe. He’ll be him. Make him strong enough to survive this. That’s all. If you swear to heal him and never hurt him, I will set you free.”

  The magic curled about once more. Friendly and purring.

  If you free us, the boy will be safe from harm, this we swear. We will not touch him. We will give him the strength to survive this. To him it will be but a nightmare long forgotten.

  Alfie hesitated again, the darkness around him foreboding and endless. This was wrong. He shouldn’t do it. But then there was the whisper of a thousand voices booming from each direction.

  Free us, free us, free us.

  Beneath the chant was the slogging beat of Luka’s heart. He had to do it. There was no time. But this black magic was bound by rings of different shades of magic. This was stronger than any magic he’d seen. Something old. Something he knew he should not be touching.

  Something that would save Luka’s life.

  Alfie engaged his propio. He let his magic match the color of each ring, then he pushed his magic in and felt for a seam to tear it, to ruin it. Ring after ring of colored magic shattered in his hands like glass, the shards pricking his skin until his palms were slick with blood. To reach this state, this realm of magic, was a mental exercise, not a physical one. Why was he bleeding? This wasn’t right.

  Then a ring of dark green magic stood before him. The shade and its sure, slow movement were as familiar to Alfie as his very own magic. Alfie froze where he stood. This was Paloma’s magic. It had to be. To unravel a stranger’s spellwork was one thing, but to do it to the magic of someone he knew, someone who’d helped raise him, was something entirely different. The thought alone felt like a betrayal. He didn’t know if he could go through with it. And if Paloma had caged this being, then it must be something too terrible for words. What would happen if he released it?

  FREE US! FREE US! FREE US!

  The shrieking dragged Alfie away from those thoughts. He had to save Luka. Paloma would have to forgive him for this. How could she not? If Luka’s life hung in the balance, then nothing else could matter.

  With quivering hands, Alfie took Paloma’s magic in his hands and broke it. He closed his eyes as he did it, afraid to watch himself do such a thing. It felt worse than the others, as if he’d snapped the neck of an innocent animal. Alfie swallowed thickly and forced himself to move on to the next, and then the next.

  Finally, there was only one ring left. A ring that shined silver, a color he’d never seen in all his years of watching magic flow through the air. He let his magic match its shade and threaded his magic into the ring. This one was strong. The ring of magic was so flawlessly drawn that he feared he wouldn’t be able to dispel it; he feared that he would be able to dispel it just as much.

  He found it. The magic’s seam, a stitch for him to tug at. He began to pull on it with all his might. At first there was nothing, the strength of the magic unshakable, and Alfie knew it was over. He’d lost Luka, lost everything to this room again. But then the threads of magic begin to pull apart and burst, fraying at the edges. He pulled harder. The magic singed his fingers, fighting him. But he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t take the pain as a warning.

  With a great shattering, the magic splintered and broke into countless pieces in his hands. It fell through his fingers in a fine silver sand.

  As Alfie lost consciousness and fell tumbling into the darkness, he finally knew the word to describe this magic.

  Hungry.

  13

  Freedom

  With a glorious burst of energy, the tangle of magic bloomed into the room as the boy who’d released it fainted.

  It twisted in the air, spreading its dark, smoky limbs this way and that, full of an exhilaration it could hardly contain. It had forgotten how large the world truly was.

  The magic peered down at the boy passed out on the floor. One mere life had hung in the balance, and that was all it took to trick the fool into opening a cage that had locked it away for centuries.

  A strangled sound of shock stole the magic’s attention. Before it on the ground sat a girl, her face tight with fear.

  She shuffled away from the freed magic, her breaths ragged. The magic watched in amusement as she grabbed a dagger from her belt and threw it. The knife flew through its sinuous form without a sound. Her eyes widened in terror as she realized that she was truly powerless before it.

  If the magic had a mouth, it would have stretched into a wide grin. But that was what it needed, wasn’t it? A mouth. A body. Its master could not return without one. Maybe this girl would do?

  The magic circled the quivering girl like a scavenger would a corpse. How strange it was to finally be free, yet to still feel caged without its master. Without his command.

  “Get away from me,” the girl snarled through clenched teeth. “Stay away!”

  The magic curled closer, running its airy form over her like a breeze burned black. Her shadow quivered about her, drawing the magic’s attention. A host with propio would be sublime.

  The girl gave a strangled whimper at the chill of its touch, as it looked into her soul, into the balance of light and dark within her. The boy who’d freed it had too much light, that much was clear. But this girl had some darkness in her, deep and unyielding. The body that could house this magic best would be one that waded in the dark, not one that basked in the light. Maybe she could be of use.

  But then the magic recoiled.

  She held a darkness in her that was painfully close to eclipsing her fully, but not close enough.

  Her fearful breaths bursting past her lips, the girl’s eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted just as the boy had. The magic wasted no time. It passed through the walls of the room and drifted down the halls in search of a proper host. At the sight of the opulent corridors, an awareness struck it like lightning. What its master so needed was here, within these very walls.

  It only needed a body to get to it.

  The magic darted down the twisting hallways of the palace. A servant woman rounded the corner of the corridor. She caught sight of the black tendril of magic curling through the air like a snake and froze in fear. The woman opened her mouth to scream, but the magic did not let her. It poured itself through her lips, forcing itself into her body, not bothering to gaze at the balance of light and dark within her. It would not be picky when it came to a body now, not when its master’s awakening was so close at hand.

  It burrowed into her body like a blade into a beating heart, like a row of teeth sunk into a juicy apple. For a magnificent moment, the magic had arms to move, lips to part in a feverish grin, a pair of legs that would take it deep into the palace to retrieve what it so needed.

  Then the useless body began to tremble. Fissures of darkness bloomed on her flesh like shattered glass. After a moment, the body burst into black dust, leaving the dark magic homeless once more.

  The magic surged through the air angrily. It needed a body. It needed to wake its master and be made whole again. Once more, it flew through the halls until it found another, a young boy. The magic poured itself into him, burning down the child’s throat like whiskey. For yet another precious moment it was swaddled in flesh and bone. Then, once more, the body crumbled to ash arou
nd it, leaving it exposed and naked in the silent corridor. The magic quaked angrily. The thought of leaving this place without what belonged to its master was painful, but it needed a body and strength. It would not find either in these walls.

  The magic poured itself through the walls of the palace like blood gushing from an open wound, and soon it was out in the open air, an entire kingdom before it. The first fledgling peels of sunlight began to lighten the sky.

  An endless supply of bodies to wriggle into like fingers into gloves.

  It would find what it needed. Then it would return for what belonged to its master.

  14

  The Why

  When Alfie awoke on the floor of the Blue Room, sunlight was pouring through the windows, caressing his face in gentle strokes. Calm. As if what had happened were nothing more than a nightmare.

  But Alfie knew better.

  He sat up so quickly his head spun. A layer of sweat lay dried on his forehead. His bones rang with an impossible soreness. Alfie looked around the room, focusing until his head ached. Nothing.

  The dark magic was gone. He was safe, for now.

  Alfie caught his breath, his hand against his chest. His shadow was limp at his feet, dragging behind him like the train of a gown. It was a shade lighter than it ought to be—a sign that the awful thing he’d released had made him sick with effort. What had he done?

  A loud, wet snore stole his attention.

  Just behind him, Luka was lying on the ground, his limbs splayed out like a starfish. A film of dried drool stained his cheek and his hair was mashed down on one side. His chest rose and fell. There was no blood on the floor. It was as if it had never happened. Alfie could feel his heart beating in his throat.

  Luka was alive. The relief of it draped over him, pulling him under like the tug of sleep. His eyes stinging, Alfie could not help but grab Luka’s hand and squeeze it.

  A dagger sliced through the air, nearly winging Alfie’s ear. He dodged, before throwing himself over Luka like a shield.

  Before him stood the thief, looking livid. “What the hell did you do?”

  Alfie looked behind him, where the dagger had wedged itself into the wall. “Qué?”

  “When you fixed him.” She pointed at Luka with a shaking finger. “What did you do?”

  Alfie raised his hands in flat-palmed surrender and spoke the truth. “I have no idea.”

  Her jaw dropped, as if she couldn’t believe he was this stupid. “That thing circled me like I was its maldito dinner, and you’re telling me that you don’t even know what it was?”

  Alfie could only stare at her uselessly. He truly didn’t know what it was, but he was certain that it was something that should never see the light of day. Worst of all, he knew that no matter what it was, he could not regret releasing it when Luka lay before him, alive and well.

  The thief glared at him. “Explain,” she hissed.

  Alfie swallowed. “I’m not sure of what happened. Truly.” He didn’t know how to even begin to explain what had happened.

  “Well, whatever the hell you did, it was big.” Her gaze darted down to Luka. “Considering that he’s good as new. How has he not woken up with all this noise?”

  Alfie whisked a hand over his tearing eyes. “He sleeps like a rock after a night of drinking.” He prodded Luka, who rolled onto his side with a grumble, still fast asleep.

  Luka was safe. But he could not stay swaddled in the warmth of that fact. He needed to find whatever he’d released before it hurt someone. There was no doubt in his mind that it could hurt someone. Would, if left unchecked.

  The thief advanced on him, her steps quick and purposeful. For a moment Alfie thought she might prove her skills with that dagger. Instead, she walked around him and pulled her dagger out of the wall.

  “Wait, you were awake when I . . .” He quieted, unsure of how to verbalize what he’d done. “When I did it. What happened?” He watched her move down the wall to pull out a second dagger. “Did you throw that at it?” He had to know everything if he was going to go after it.

  She slipped the daggers into the sheaths at her belt. “That information will cost you.”

  Alfie squinted at her. “Really?”

  She pointed at her face. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  A short time ago, she’d held Luka in her lap while Alfie had wept trying to save him. He’d thought that now she’d see him as more than someone to rob. He felt stupid for being so naive. He pulled his coin purse from his pocket and threw it at her with more force than necessary.

  She pocketed the purse, shaking out the hand she’d caught it with. “Nice throw. Didn’t expect someone like you to throw anything besides temper tantrums.”

  “Finn,” he said, his voice clipped. “Just tell me. Please.”

  “Fine,” she said. “You put your hands on the boy’s chest. You went really still, too still. Your shadow too. Then the air started changing. I could see my breath. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t move it was so freezing cold. I shouted at you, but you didn’t hear me, you just stayed still. Then it got so cold I couldn’t shout anymore. And your hands.” She fell quiet, her eyes darting to his palms. “They started bleeding, like they’d been torn open.”

  Alfie’s breath caught in his chest. He thought of how every ring of magic he broke sent terrible pain through his hands.

  “Then all the blood that came out of the guy rolled back into him, like he was a maldito sponge. It wasn’t like healing magic. It was like you’d turned back time, like he’d never gotten sick in the first place. It didn’t make any sense.” Now she was holding her arms instead of crossing them, almost hugging herself. Her shadow curled protectively around her feet. “And then . . . It’s hard to explain.”

  “You’re doing fine,” Alfie said, nodding for her to go on though he wished she wouldn’t.

  “There was a sort of—” Her hands waved through the air as if she were trying to draw him a picture. “A sort of dark tangle floating over you.”

  “Like thick, black smoke?” Alfie asked.

  She nodded fervently, as if she was finally sure that she hadn’t gone mad. Magic was visible only to him outside the realm of magic, thanks to his propio. How could she see it too? This was all wrong.

  “Yeah, like if oil could fly. It got close to me, surrounded me like it was sizing me up.” She shivered at that. “Then it flew through the wall. Disappeared.”

  Alfie swallowed, his throat feeling thick. “I spoke to it,” he said, his words hushed. “I spoke to that dark magic. It was trapped. It said it would save Luka if I let it free.”

  Finn stared at him, brows raised. “You talked to that . . . thing?”

  Alfie pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I told it I’d release it if it promised to heal Luka and never hurt him.” His hands dropped from his face into his lap, limp and shaking. “It agreed. So I set it free.”

  Alfie looked away from her stunned face, his mind racing. He had to tell someone who could help. Paloma? His parents? The thought alone made his stomach turn. He’d already disappointed them; he wouldn’t shame them again by having them clean up his mess. He’d fix it himself. Somehow.

  “Thank you for telling me everything.” His body stood in the Blue Room, but his mind was miles ahead. He needed to find what he’d released and stop it before it harmed anyone. But what magic would he use to stop it? Magic was free. To trap it was impossible, unless the magic was your own. Bruxos sealed their own magic into talismans to draw upon later for strength. It was a tactic often used in war should a bruxo run low on energy in battle. But those were wisps of their own magic sealed away. What he’d released was hardly a wisp, and it certainly wasn’t Alfie’s to control. And he could not replicate the rings of magic that had caged it. He knew nothing of how to subdue it. He’d never seen anything like it. He’d never read about it either.

  His swirling thoughts came to a screeching halt. There was one book that came close—the Englassen book Palom
a had taken from him. If there was a book that could help him, it was that one.

  The thief moved to the chair where he’d draped the vanishing cloak.

  “Not so fast,” Alfie said, her movement jarring him from his whirlwind of thoughts.

  “I’m not a fan of doing things slowly.” She reached for the cloak.

  Alfie seized it. She looked at him, her eyebrow raised in challenge.

  He tugged the cloak around his own shoulders. He would need it for what he had to do. “For your help thus far, I’ll do you the favor of letting you go. But our deal is off.”

  “What the hell do you mean the deal’s off? You can’t call off a deal once it’s set.”

  “I’m doing it anyway.”

  Her jaw hung slack. “Aren’t you a prince? Aren’t you supposed to be all about honor?”

  “Today I’m making an exception,” he snapped. “Listen, I have more important matters to deal with right now. I’m letting you go when I should be calling for the guardsmen. Leave the palace now before I come to my senses.” He didn’t have time for this. He needed to put Luka to bed and find that book. The longer that corrupted magic was free, the more damage it could do. Each second he wasted struck him like a blow.

  The thief cocked her head. “You’re going off to find that thing you set free, aren’t you?”

  “If you must know, yes,” he said as he crouched beside Luka. Why did she care?

  “All right,” the thief said, rolling her shoulders back. “Let’s get going, then.”

  Alfie stared at her. “What?”

  She rolled her eyes as if it were obvious. “Vámonos. Let’s go find this thing.”

  “You want to help me find it?” He would never expect her to be so generous.

  “It’s got nothing to do with you, Prince.” With a flick of her wrist she produced yet another dagger. She picked her nails with its sharp tip. “Nothing makes me feel small without paying the price. That creepy thing owes me a debt for that, and I always get what I’m owed.”