Gemstones, Elves, and Other Insidious Magic (Dowser 9)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  Then I sliced through skin and magic.

  Ignoring the pain and the blood streaming down my face, I cut into bone. Digging into my skull, I freed the edges of the gemstone. I wedged the knife underneath it, prying at it. Carefully. I didn’t want to haphazardly slice through magic that had rooted itself in my brain.

  I would have to tease each thread loose, one at a time. Gently. Meticulously. I couldn’t miss a single strand …

  Pain took my eyesight away. I pressed my knees to the edge of the cot, holding myself upright. My legs were trembling, but they held me.

  The gemstone came loose in my shaking hand, but it was still attached to my brain by Reggie’s power.

  I was going to have to dig deeper.

  I was going to have to carve into my brain.

  So I did.

  No one controlled me.

  No one made me hurt my friends.

  I was the dowser.

  I was the wielder of the instruments of assassination.

  I was Jade Godfrey.

  2

  I wasn’t completely certain how long I’d been floating in and out of consciousness, lying with my legs curled on the floor and my upper body slumped across the cot. I could still feel the damage I’d inflicted on the wards — the frayed ends of elven magic fluttering through the broken window. The two elves I’d beaten with the purloined crystal bars were thankfully still unconscious, sprawled across the beige carpet. The door was still locked and magically sealed.

  But the bedsheets and the charcoal sketch were completely drenched in my blood. A lot of blood. Like, liters of blood. Or maybe cotton and paper were just particularly good at showing it.

  I was clutching the gemstone in the palm of my left hand. Tendrils of magic tasting of salt water were tangled within my fingers. Reggie’s magic. But for some reason, the gem hadn’t crumbled into a fine crystal yet. Perhaps because it had been embedded in my brain? Had it somehow been altered by my magic, claimed by my alchemy even without my knowing it?

  Keeping a firm grip on my jade knife — I wasn’t misplacing it a second time — I pushed up onto my feet, tucking the gemstone into the front pocket of my jeans. My head felt … wrong. As if it weren’t properly aligned with my shoulders and spine. I touched my forehead — and felt raw, tender tissue. My fingers came away bloody. I wasn’t healing. At least not as fast as I needed to.

  I looked down at the bed, at the blood-soaked sheets and paper.

  “That’s a lot of blood.” My words were slurred. My tongue felt thick.

  Remembering that I was going somewhere, that I had something urgent to do, I turned to the door, tripping over an elf at my feet. I threw my left hand forward, catching myself from doing a face plant. I straightened. I’d left a bloody handprint on the door.

  There was something I was supposed to know about the blood. Something about magic. About traces of magic that my blood would contain?

  I turned back to the bed. I folded the ruined sketch, blood squelching out along its edges. I needed to save that blood, tucking the paper into the back pocket of my jeans. But … I couldn’t realistically take the sheets with me … or the mattress.

  The problem wasn’t the blood.

  It was the magic. My magic.

  I placed my knife on the bed, exactly where it had been situated in the charcoal sketch from Rochelle. Then with my fingers arrayed along the blade and my thumbs pressed to the red-soaked sheets, I tugged at the magic still simmering in my spilled blood, siphoning it into the blade. I couldn’t taste my own power, but I could sense it, could feel it, once it was separated from me.

  Alchemy.

  Black magic.

  Blood magic.

  But since it was my own power I was gathering, I figured I was completely justified in the collection.

  The jade blade eagerly sucked up the magic laced through my spilled blood, consuming the energy, claiming it as its own. It thrummed contentedly underneath my fingers — then did so even more when I grasped the hilt in my right hand again.

  The weapon felt like an extension of me. Making me sharper and more deadly than I was on my own.

  My power reclaimed, I felt a bit steadier on my feet.

  I turned back toward the door, slicing by instinct through the magic that sealed it. Cutting through the steel locks that could no longer hold me.

  Now that I’d ruined the wards, or perhaps because I’d reclaimed my knife, I could sense elves moving through the hall just beyond the door. If I pushed past the throbbing pain centered in my forehead, I could sense more elves on the lower levels of the stadium, collecting near the tear in the wards. I couldn’t get a read on how many, though — and I couldn’t pick up the taste or resonance of Reggie’s telepathy.

  Satisfied that I had severed enough of the magic sealing it, I stepped back from the door. There was still enough of the spell collected at its edges to hold it suspended in the frame. But not enough to hold me at bay any longer.

  I glanced at the elves still unconscious at my feet. I couldn’t afford to be blindsided while escaping.

  Yes, escaping. That was what I was doing.

  Oh! I was wearing the cutest rounded-toe teal boots, with wide, baby-blue ribbons laced through oversized metal eyelets. They were a bit scuffed, but thankfully the leather-wrapped, rubber-soled heel looked quite sturdy.

  I turned my attention back to the door, slamming a kick to its center.

  It exploded outward into the hall, crashing through the far wall into an empty office and taking at least one elf with it.

  I dispatched two other elves while they were still staring at me in surprise — and with a dawning sense of terror. My blood magic had made my blade sharp. Or maybe, even as wounded as I was, I moved too quickly for them to track.

  They should have screamed.

  They should have run.

  Elves beware.

  The dowser was on the loose.

  I giggled, amusing myself. Then I lost my footing among the splayed limbs of my downed enemies, stumbling against the wall.

  I really wasn’t feeling great.

  And now that I had a moment to think about it, I wasn’t exactly certain what I was doing.

  I had my knife.

  I’d broken out of my room.

  Was I fleeing?

  The elves at my feet started to crumble from the inside. I had killed them? I glanced back through the open doorway into my room … no, my prison cell. The two elves in there weren’t dead. They could wake and come after me. But I didn’t want to kill them for no reason or without provocation.

  There was a red exit sign at the far end of the hall, right at the top of the stairs. That seemed like a pretty clear indication of where I was supposed to go. I pushed away from the wall.

  A tall, slim elf in a long vest jogged up the stairs — then came to a startled stop when she saw me. Or maybe it was the crumbling bodies of the two warrior elves at my feet that confused her. Her green eyes narrowed, watching me. Waiting for something …

  I recognized her. She had come through the gateway, and her arrival had upset Reggie for some reason.

  “You tried to kill me earlier … to choke me.” I giggled again. That was inappropriate — especially since my forehead began gushing blood in response. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  “Ineffectually,” she said, sneering. Except maybe the scorn was directed at herself, not at me? Her words were accented … but why that struck me as odd or out of place, I wasn’t sure.

  I wiped away the blood trying to flow into my eyes and obscure my vision. That wouldn’t do. Being able to see was important during a knife fight. And while escaping an enemy lair.

  I snickered, but managed to get myself under control before I started giggling and gushing blood again.

  The elf held her empty hands out to her sides, taking a measured step toward me. She wasn’t wearing armor. I glanced down at the decomposing elves at my feet. Each of them had a cracked gemstone embedded in their forehead. T
he newcomer wore her hair pulled back from her temples in intricate braids, all beaded with jewels of some sort. But her forehead was smooth. Pale and finely scaled, but unblemished.

  She took another step toward me.

  Without looking away from her, I pushed the leg of the elf corpse nearest to me out of my path with the side of my foot. I raised my knife.

  The new elf paused. Again. Her gaze flicked to my blade, then to the two elves slowly decomposing on the carpet. Again. She cleared her throat, raising her hands slightly. It was a gesture of goodwill. It was also a perfect setup for lunging forward and grabbing someone’s weapon.

  I grinned. She’d have a difficult time disarming me. But unfortunately, I couldn’t stand around and play. I could feel more elves heading in our direction. I might not have known what I was meant to be doing, but hanging around in the hall waiting to be besieged seemed like a bad idea.

  I took another step back.

  “Wait.” The elf lifted her hands higher, almost pleadingly. Ward builder. That was what Reggie had called her, wasn’t it? “What did you mean by black-sand beach?” she asked. “And the name Mira? An elf you knew? An elf you … named? An illusionist?”

  I frowned, digging for a memory buried beneath the pounding headache that had begun in the center of my forehead but was now stretching over my entire skull and down the back of my neck. “Yes.”

  “You killed my nephew.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I answered her anyway. “I did … I think.” Another memory surfaced. Of a park at night. “I’m not big on murdering people, but he’d just tried to gut my best friend and had snapped my fiance’s neck.”

  The ward builder frowned. “I don’t understand those words. Those … designations.”

  “Well, that explains a lot,” I muttered. “My family. Kin. That’s what you called your niece and nephew. The warrior elf in the park tried to murder my people. Before I killed him.”

  She nodded. “And the one you call Mira?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Because it is one thing to die at the end of an enemy’s blade in the course of one’s duty. And it is completely another to be … deliberately sacrificed at the altar of an upstart megalomaniac.”

  “Then you already know the answer.”

  The elf looked grim. “Yes. But I’d like you to confirm that the rumors are more than simply the disgruntled imaginings of underlings.”

  I stuck my hand in my front pocket, pulling out the intact gemstone I’d cut from my forehead. Mira’s gemstone, covered in my blood. It had tied her to Reggie. Then the telepath had killed the pretty elf in the yellow coat and taken the gemstone from her. To subvert me.

  I held the stone aloft between my forefinger and thumb. It glistened with magic — Mira’s and Reggie’s, and possibly mine. But I couldn’t taste my own power.

  “A tether stone. One you’ve apparently somehow cut from your forehead.”

  “You don’t wear one.”

  She curled her lip in a sneer. “It is beneath my birth and my standing to be commanded in such a … barbaric fashion. I’m surprised at the number here who have agreed to the subversion. One in particular. Was that stone attached to the elf you called Mira?”

  “It was.”

  “And was she alive when it was harvested? And transferred to you? Was she … willing?”

  “She’d just been murdered for it. By Reggie.”

  “Reggie?”

  “The telepath. Your liege.”

  The elf laughed harshly. “She is no liege of mine.” She spun on her heel, heading back toward the exit sign and the stairs. “They need me to fix the damage you inflicted on the wards. A rather impressive display of wanton destruction. I have deferred action as long as I can. You’ll have less than twenty minutes to get out of the building.”

  “I need to find my people …”

  Yes. There it was. That was what I needed to be doing. I needed to find Warner … and Kandy and Kett. And Haoxin. They were all imprisoned in the stadium. Assuming they were still alive.

  The elf paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back at me. Her expression was grim. But oddly satisfied. “My name is … Alivia.”

  “Jade Godfrey.”

  “You are heading the wrong way, Jade Godfrey.” Alivia smiled tightly. “And if you are to fulfill the promise you made to my niece, I suggest you stop bleeding everywhere.”

  She headed down the stairs before I could question her further. I had no idea what she meant by my ‘promise.’ But she was certainly right about the blood.

  In the wrong hands, it was dangerous.

  As I turned to head in the opposite direction, I allowed my alchemy magic to spread out around me, absorbing the residual magic in the blood I’d inadvertently splattered all over the hall. Then I fed that collected energy into my knife. My change in course also took me farther away from the gathering of elves I could feel a level below.

  I tugged my T-shirt off and clumsily wrapped it around my head, hoping to staunch my wound. Wandering around in only a bra and blood-splattered jeans wasn’t ideal. But at least the bra was a pretty dark green with black lace.

  Two more elves came barreling down the corridor toward me, swords drawn.

  I dispatched them. Though not before getting a blade to the gut and a wicked slash across my thigh. Both wounds healed quickly enough, but I was sloppy.

  Slow.

  Badly wounded.

  Losing more blood didn’t seem like a good idea, even if it was soaking into my jeans instead of decorating the walls.

  I made it to another set of carpeted stairs leading to the lower level. But then I felt, more than heard, something whisper to me from farther to the right, along a parallel hall.

  Magic.

  There was magic down that hall — and that magic belonged to me.

  I followed the beguiling whisper, passing more offices. All of them were empty, though none had been converted into holding cells. At the far end, adjacent to another set of stairs, was a boardroom. How large was this freaking building anyway?

  Right. Stadium. So … large.

  I crossed into the boardroom, moving past the huge table at its center but seeing no elves. A magically sealed door similar to the one that had warded my room stood at the far side.

  I easily disabled the magic barring my way with a few flicks of my knife. Opening the door, I stepped into a tiny windowless room beyond. A long, thin desk, a computer, and a bunch of empty cash drawers were stacked to one side, along with one of those machines that counted paper money.

  A large magically warded safe took up the remainder of the room. It was taller than me and slightly narrower than the span of my outstretched arms, so about six foot by five foot. Black metal, gold lettering.

  I was starting to get an itchy, anxious feeling about how much time I was wasting — what with the stumbling around and the bleeding. I could actually feel the exterior wards beginning to knit back together. The ward builder, Alivia, was working her magic, as she’d said she would. But I felt unable to turn away without investigating the contents of the safe. Compelled, even.

  And, yeah, something that could compel me, especially given the state of my damaged brain, was probably a bad thing.

  I ignored the wards and didn’t bother with the combination lock. Bracing my feet against the bottom corners of the safe, I grabbed the levered handle with two hands, then tried to simply rip through the weak magic that sealed it — by wrenching the door from the safe. The handle snapped off in my hands. I flew back, crushing the narrow desk that cushioned my fall.

  Well, that outcome would probably have been predictable to anyone but me.

  I scrambled to my feet, noting that I had managed to bend the steel door outward before the handle had given out. It was still sealed at all four corners, but I managed to wiggle my fingers into the gap as high up on the right side as I could, then peeled the top corner free about a quarter of the way down. Placing my palms flat on the top
of the safe, I hoisted myself up into a seated position. Then I kicked down, over and over until I’d widened the opening.

  I jumped off, peering inside the safe.

  A thick-linked gold necklace laden with magic, two sheathed katanas, and a satchel were all arrayed on three of the shelves within the safe. There were other things as well — money and papers shoved to the sides — but I only had eyes for the magic.

  “Mine,” I whispered.

  With my claim, the necklace settled around my neck. I brushed my fingers along the gold chain, the wedding rings, and all three instruments of assassination. Magic writhed underneath my touch as if pleased to see me — pleased to have been let out of the steel box.

  There was something dangerous in that sensation … in a magical object feeling as though it were something other than just magic, but I couldn’t remember what it was.

  I felt more together with the heavy chain around my neck. Calmer. More focused. I twined it around twice more, getting it a little bloody while tugging it over my T-shirt-swaddled head. But I definitely felt more whole than I had in … hours? Days?

  I slung the satchel across my chest, keeping my sheathed katana — aka the dragon slayer — in hand. I left the second sword. Though it teemed with potent magic, it wasn’t mine to collect. And I couldn’t carry more without compromising my ability to fight.

  I exited, feeling the need to hurry.

  Though actually … where was the sheath for my jade knife?

  I glanced back at the open safe, remembering now how Reggie had forced me to deposit my weapons within it. I dug my hand into my satchel, feeling Kandy’s cuffs and Warner’s knife within its spelled depths and exhaling in relief. My knife should have been in its sheath before I called it to me, after seeing it in Rochelle’s sketch.

  And at that thought, the sheath in question — spelled invisible by my grandmother years before — cinched around my hips and my right thigh. If I had to loosen my hold on my jade blade, most likely because I needed to wield the katana instead, the knife would return to the sheath automatically.

  I smiled — and felt a jolt of pain run through my forehead and back into my brain in response. But with the reclaiming of all my weapons and artifacts, I really was Jade Godfrey again.