Saved by the Spell. House of Magic 2.

by Susanna Shore

  “What, the bodies?”

  “Yes.”

  “But … they’re centuries old.”

  “The older the better for generating the kind of energy needed for it.”

  I shuddered in disgust.

  “So Blackhart is a warlock, then?”

  “No.”

  My brows shot up at her denial. “But only they can create a portal.”

  She huffed. “Did Kane tell you that? Perhaps Rupert isn’t as powerful as he pretends to be if he hasn’t taught his successor how to do it. Ellis was definitely able to tell Julius how it’s done.”

  Kane wasn’t Rupert’s apprentice, but I wouldn’t give her that piece of information. Not for free, anyway.

  “Am I supposed to believe that using corpses to juice up the portal is benign magic?”

  Instead of answering, she released the spell keeping me hovering and I dropped to the floor again. That it was hardwood instead of brick didn’t make my landing any softer. Tears of pain smarted my eyes, but I blinked them away.

  “So what happens now?” I asked once I could speak without showing my pain and fear.

  “Now I prepare you for Blackhart.”

  That sounded ominous.

  “To have a nice candlelight supper with him?” I suggested hopefully, but she wasn’t amused.

  “You will be the key to his ascension.”

  “Into what?” But I already knew. “Warlock.”

  I almost lost control of my bladder, which I was amazed to realise hadn’t happened yet.

  “Why does he need to become a warlock? I thought he had a superior archmage teaching him.”

  She walked to the other end of the room, her heels clicking. There was a scraping sound like something heavy was being dragged down the floor and I winced.

  “That’ll ruin the floor!”

  “Can’t be helped,” she panted. It took me a moment to figure out why she wasn’t using the levitation spell, and then I sneered.

  “You don’t have strength to use the levitation spell anymore. Why you presume you can beat Kane in a battle of magic, I have no idea.”

  She huffed—or grunted in effort more like. “First up, if you think I’d be able to move this thing without magic, you’re delusional. Secondly, I don’t have to challenge him. He’ll abdicate to save your life.”

  I hated how relieved I felt hearing it. “I’m not to die?”

  “Oh, you’ll die. But only after Kane has made me the leader of the London council.”

  Great.

  She pushed a large wall made of marble next to me. Next thing I knew, the ceiling seemed to come closer, and I experienced a brief disorientation. It took me a moment to realise she was lifting me up with the levitation spell again. She lowered me onto what felt like cold stone, slightly more gently this time. Was it marble too? Was I on an altar of some kind? One fit for a human sacrifice, no doubt.

  I shuddered in fear—and my foot twitched.

  I held my breath, fearing I’d imagined it. Slowly, carefully, so as not to draw Ida’s attention, I tried to curl my fingers. Left side moved, but the right side didn’t—yet. It was my dominant hand, and I needed it.

  I tried to lift my head too, but my braid was stuck under me, and it stopped the movement as effectively as the binding spell.

  I really should have worn my hair in a bun.

  Ida’s face appeared above me, much closer now that I’d been lifted onto the altar. I stilled, fearing she’d noticed my wiggling. Was she losing control of the spell? Was there any way I could speed up the process?

  “It’s a pity we have to use you for this,” she said, sounding genuinely regretful. “We would’ve had so much fun at our cousins’ wedding.”

  Was she for real? Then again, without all this nonsense, we probably would have had fun. I’d liked her.

  “The wedding’s called off, remember? Jack ruined it.”

  Her features tightened with anger. “And he’ll pay for that.”

  I considered suggesting she swap me for him as a sacrifice, but I wasn’t so far gone yet.

  “It’s only a wedding. They’ll find someone else.”

  She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to find Olivia for Henry?”

  My mouth dropped. “What do you mean?”

  “I was the one who introduced Olivia to him. I made sure they fell in love. Though even I didn’t anticipate they’d move so fast.” Her smile was smug.

  “Kane said one can’t make people fall in love with magic.” It wasn’t exactly a useful comment, but I was too stunned to say anything sensible.

  “You don’t need magic to manipulate two people into thinking they’re madly in love.”

  “You don’t?” Now there was a skill she could build a business on and rule the world without magic. “But why would you do that?”

  She placed a hand on her chest, looking exalted. “Julius and I are determined to elevate mages to where we belong. And for that we need more mages. That means more mage marriages for mage babies.”

  “But Henry isn’t a mage. Not even from a mage family.” She’d said so herself.

  “But Olivia is.”

  She could have dropped me with a feather. “She’s what? A mage?”

  “Of mage lineage.” She looked self-important. “I went through centuries of family lines of magicians to find a suitable bride for Henry, and I found her.”

  Was that searing sensation inside me jealousy? Or envy, more like? I hadn’t realised I wanted to be a mage so badly, but knowing Olivia could be and I wasn’t really stung.

  “There are mages in her father’s family?”

  She shook her head. “No, her mother’s. Your great-aunt Beverly was a mage.”

  I stared at her for a few stunned heartbeats. Then I snorted such a throaty laugh that I almost choked. “That’s brilliant. Until now, I thought you were at least remotely sane, but you’re completely mental, aren’t you?”

  She slapped me. Hard. I tasted blood where the inside of my cheek rubbed my teeth.

  But as much as it hurt, I took solace in noticing that my head had moved from the force of it.

  Her magical binding on me was slipping again.

  “My grandmother’s sister was not a mage,” I stated with surety, though in truth I didn’t remember her well. She died when I was six, but she’d seemed perfectly normal to my child’s eye.

  “Do not doubt me,” she said, her tone threatening.

  “You seriously expect me to believe that you have a breeding programme planned based on the remote possibility that a random person would carry the gene to her offspring? And why Olivia and not me? Great-Aunt Beverly was my family too.”

  “I told you. It goes down in matrilinear lines. You’re related to Beverly through your father, so you’re not as strong a candidate. Beverly didn’t have children, but just because her sister didn’t show any signs of being a mage doesn’t mean she or her daughter didn’t inherit it from the same ancestor.”

  Huh. Was there something to Aunt Clara’s bones after all?

  “However, I did consider you as well. Briefly.”

  “Flattering,” I deadpanned.

  “Yes. But you have a greater purpose in our endgame.”

  “A sacrifice?” I asked as scathingly as I could.

  “Yes.”

  It wasn’t Ida who answered me. It was a male voice, sonorous and deep, carrying from the door. Fear crept to my bones as I realised who it had to be.

  Blackhart.

  He walked to the foot of the altar, standing so I could get a good look even though I couldn’t lift my head properly.

  I studied him, trying to hide my fear. He wasn’t at all what I’d imagined based on what I’d heard of him, and his voice. He could build a cult following on that voice.

  It would probably end in a mass suicide or some other tragedy, but the people would go willingly just to hear him speak.

  He was younger than I’d thought,
not much past forty if that. He wore a black turtleneck with a black blazer, which was highly unimaginative. The altar blocked the rest, but the torso was slim and somewhat gaunt. Average height, certainly not much taller than Ida who stood next to him; narrow features, strawberry blond hair cut short to trim the curls, and such pale eyebrows they almost disappeared. It was a pleasant face, not handsome or remarkable, but one I might favour on a dating app if I was in a good mood.

  And then his thin lips curled into a sneer. His pale blue eyes studied me with such coldness I was sure frost covered me. He wasn’t merely an average man anymore. He was a person to be reckoned with, a power to be feared.

  Evil power.

  “Good evening, Miss Thorpe. Glad you could join us.”

  “The pleasure is all yours.”

  He laughed, the sound cold despite his mellifluous voice, which was easily his best feature. I guess all evil mages weren’t charming.

  And I couldn’t believe I was comparing a warlock favourably to him.

  “I believe my sister has explained to you what is going to happen?”

  His accent was cultured, which wasn’t a surprise if the manor belonged to him. He had likely received the best of British private education available for the male gender.

  I imagined him speaking in a heavy northern dialect—Geordie, because that was the only northern accent I knew—and a snicker escaped my mouth. I put it down to nerves.

  His pale brows shot up. “You find your death funny?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, the spot that was already bleeding, and the pain grounded me. “I find the idea of you as a warlock funny. I’ve met one and you badly pale in comparison.”

  “Not after I’ve ascended.”

  “Descended, you mean. Keep fooling yourself. You’ll never be the power you wish to be.”

  He leaned closer over my legs. “Unfortunately, you won’t be here to see how wrong you are.”

  I forced a smile on my face. “There is a silver lining in everything.”

  Abruptly, he pulled away from the altar. I thought my remark had won the day for me, but it was merely my repulsiveness that had achieved the trick.

  “What is this?” he asked Ida, making a sweeping gesture that encompassed my prone form. The disgusted flare of his nostrils was familiar to me, as I’d seen it on the faces of every man these past ten days.

  “It’s a medieval spell that makes her repulsive to men,” Ida explained hastily.

  “Why?”

  I found it interesting that she hadn’t told him about it.

  Before she could answer, I pitched in: “She wanted to make your life more difficult for favouring Danielle over her.”

  I felt smug all of five seconds. Then she slapped me again. “That is not true.” She shot a pleading look at him. “It’s not. It was meant to weaken Mage Kane.”

  “Well, now it’s weakening me,” he drawled. “Take it off.”

  There was regret on her face she hadn’t shown for me. “There’s no counter-spell.”

  “There must be,” I pleaded, although I should have kept my mouth shut. “How would fathers break the spell on their daughters when they married?”

  Ida spared me a glance, her attention returning to Blackhart even before she answered, as if he were the magnet to her existence. The devotion on her face would have been creepy if she’d been his biological sister. Now it was merely … sad.

  “Women with the spell on them never married. They were sent to convents.”

  That did not sound promising for me. I could never survive in a convent. Were there even any in Britain? I’d have to move to France, or Italy…

  I wasn’t even Catholic!

  I gave myself a mental slap and was able to focus again.

  Blackhart furrowed his brows, not at all happy with her answer. “I can’t perform the ritual if there’s even a slightest distraction. And this is more than slight.”

  My breathing caught as hope returned. Would I be saved by the spell that had made my life a living hell?

  And then I had to go and ruin it. “Rupert believed a true love’s kiss would break it.”

  They pivoted to me like I’d yanked them.

  Ida tilted her head, considering me. “Pity you’re only attracted to cheating bastards. Otherwise, we could’ve tried it.”

  Ouch.

  “You’re the one who pushed me to Jack.”

  She smirked. “Please, as if you needed pushing.”

  That was embarrassingly true, though in my defence I’d spent the week before repulsing every man I even glanced at.

  “Take her down,” Blackhart ordered. “We’ll use the other one.”

  What other one?

  But before I could ask it aloud, Ida levitated me to the floor, dropping me from higher than was strictly necessary. If I survived this, my entire backside would be one big bruise.

  My brain might never recover from the hits to my head.

  Again, the levitation spell had drained her and her hold of the spell that kept me immobile loosened. I was able to squeeze my hands into fists, and wiggle my feet. Maybe even more, but I was afraid to try, in case they noticed.

  Ida left the room with a clicking of her heels. Blackhart went with her, and I began to test the limits of my movements. I couldn’t sit up yet, let alone walk, but I was able to move my arms properly.

  If one of them came within punching distance, I’d be ready.

  The spell’s hold kept weakening, as if she was using her energy for other spells. In mere moments I was able to sit.

  Before I had a chance to try standing, I heard Ida’s clicking steps approach, and I lay hastily down again, making sure my braid wasn’t under me this time.

  She and Blackhart returned, and they weren’t alone. They were dragging immobile figures by invisible leashes, Ida one and Blackhart two.

  I strained my eyes to recognise them—and my heart stopped.

  My friends.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Ida and Blackhart brought my friends to the side of the room and levitated them to a standing position before lowering them onto their feet. Their eyes focused on me, growing large in shock when they realised who I was—and where I was. I gave them a thumbs-up behind Ida’s and Blackhart’s backs.

  It didn’t lessen their worry.

  Only Kane, Giselle, and Amber were there, and my gut tightened. Where was Luca? And Rupert? I hoped they weren’t hurt—or worse. Maybe the portal had taken them to a different place.

  Maybe they were even now trying to find a way to us.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Kane demanded. He looked physically fine, except for the part where he couldn’t move his body. His voice filled me with confidence that we’d survive this. We might all be captive, but we’d find a way.

  “Council Leader Kane,” Blackhart said with a small bow. “I’m Julius Blackhart, and I will be the next archmage of London.”

  “What have you done to Rupert?” Amber demanded, and had her mouth sealed for her trouble, the flicker of Blackhart’s fingers barely noticeable.

  “Rupert needs to ponder on his choices a little longer,” he answered with a smirk.

  “He’ll never concede the powers of the archmage to you,” Kane stated.

  I found the remark interesting. One apparently couldn’t just kill the previous archmage and take their place. The power needed to be transferred, likely with some sort of spell. A good precaution, to be sure.

  “Once I’ve ascended, there’s no need for him to concede,” Blackhart countered. He sounded confident, but I had a sudden notion that he wasn’t correct. If any warlock could just take over an archmage’s powers, they’d all be warlocks by now.

  Giselle glowered at him. “What do you want with us?”

  “My good madam, I don’t want anything with you, but since you’re here, you’re going to help me.” He gestured at me. “It appears my associates in their haste used a spell on Miss Thorpe that renders her unsuitable for my p
urposes.”

  “She makes you want to throw up,” Giselle said, looking viciously pleased. She glanced at me. “I told you the spell would be more useful than you thought.”

  I smiled at her, though it was somewhat wobbly for sudden tears.

  Blackhart sneered. “Unfortunately for you, Mrs Lynn, you’re not protected by the spell. So you’ll have to serve as the sacrifice for my ascension in her stead.”

  Giselle blanched, and she probably would have staggered back if she could have moved.

  “No!”

  The magical power in Kane’s voice made the chandeliers rattle. Ida winced, but Blackhart was unaffected.

  “No?”

  “You will not touch any of these women.”

  “And how do you propose you stop me? Even if I allowed you to use that voice again, which I won’t, I have your vampire friend held as insurance.”

  Like Dufort earlier, Blackhart stretched his hand before him, open palm facing forward as if he were stopping incoming traffic, and made a circle in the air with it.

  A portal opened. Since his back was turned to me, I risked lifting my head to see what was on the other side.

  It opened to outside Catacomb Terraces, in front of the Sanford crypt. Lying on the lawn, spreadeagled and naked, was Luca. He looked unconscious and immobile.

  “Luca!” I screamed, but if my voice carried to the other side of the portal, he didn’t hear it, and he didn’t stir.

  The portal closed.

  “The catacombs are wonderfully situated,” Blackhart said, as if he were a tour guide. “The prospect is to east and the rising sun. At the top of the hill like it is, the sun will hit your friend long before the cemetery opens tomorrow morning. By then, there’ll be only ashes left of him.”

  Bile rose to my mouth for fear for him. Even if we somehow managed to defeat Blackhart before sunrise, there was no way we could reach London without the portals, which we didn’t know how to use.

  “Either you do exactly as I say or your friend dies an agonising death.” He regarded us with contempt. “Were it my choice, I’d let the vile creature die. But I understand you’re fond of him.”