Magic Without Mercy

by Devon Monk

  “I want a sample from the well.”

  “Not going to happen.” Shame cracked his knuckles and shook out his hands. “Looks like I’ll be closing this on my own. Thanks a lot, Beckstrom.”

  “Wait,” I said, running through possibilities. What did I have on me that might be able to hold a sample from the well? A gun, bullets, a knife, a pair of glasses, and a classic children’s book. Not a lot of help there.

  Stone, Dad said.

  What?

  He might be able to carry some of the magic. He is a construct, an Animate. The very nature of an Animate is to contain magic.

  Huh. I hadn’t really thought about that. I mean, I knew he ran on magic somehow, but I’d never thought about storing magic in him. I don’t want to poison him with tainted magic. And besides, he’s not here.

  He may have a filter built into him like the cisterns. We can check for that. And I think we will need a sample from this well—from all the wells—if we are to make an antidote for the poison, or a cure to cleanse the well. Summon him.

  He doesn’t even sit on command. What makes you think he’ll answer a Summon?

  You are running out of time, Allison. Is it worth the risk?

  “Shame, Dad thinks we should summon Stone,” I said.

  “Not listening to that man.”

  “Stone might be able to contain some of this magic and we can use it for proof, or for comparison to other samples in other wells, and maybe for a cure. I can’t use magic to summon Stone. You need to do it.”

  Shame tipped his head to the side and the muscle of his jaw tightened. “Bad idea. And we don’t have any time to wait for him to get here. For all we know, killing these men, or opening the well, set off alarms. The Authority could be on their way right now.”

  “No,” Zayvion said from across the room. Then, a little louder, “No. It’s a good idea.” He walked our way. His pace was off a little, too stiff, as if his spine hurt, or like he had the world’s worst migraine balancing on top of his skull. His eyes had faded to a hot bronze with flecks of brown instead of the pure, hard gold.

  “Call the gargoyle, Shamus,” Zay said, “or I will.”

  Chapter Six

  Shame studied Zayvion for long enough, I thought he might fight him for it. But then he nodded. “If for no other reason than to get the two of you off my bloody back.”

  He strode away from the well, standing as close to the doors as he could. Then he set the Disbursement again and the purple leech spell slipped through his fingers and attached to his left shoulder, biting in deep, ready to exact the pain for the magic.

  This time he drew a very soft, very small Summon spell. I always thought the glyph was shaped something like a butterfly, and when Shame poured magic into it, it was like watching a butterfly come to life and lift off his hand. As it did so, wicked tendrils of lightning snapped out from it to the Disbursement spell. The Disbursement absorbed the magical backlash, and doled it out as pain into Shame’s muscles.

  The Disbursement wasn’t a shield. It was a focus for how and where magic would hurt. I knew it worked that way, but it was still weird to watch it with my bare eyes.

  Shame flicked his wrist, and the butterfly took flight—a blur of sapphire and fuchsia that shot up to the ceiling, and then disappeared through it.

  “There. One gargoyle summoned. In the meantime, let’s get this damn well closed before someone notices it’s open.” He tapped a cigarette out, stuffed the pack back into his pocket, and dug for his lighter.

  “No. We wait,” Zayvion said.

  Shame lit the cig. “You gonna go with two-syllable man here, Beckstrom, or listen to reason?”

  “Two-syllable man,” I said.

  Shame just shook his head. “Fine.” He walked off to the corner of the room and put his shoulders against the wall, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

  The Disbursement was still stuck to his shoulder. It stretched out to bite at his neck and crawl up the side of his face. The boy had a hell of a headache for throwing that spell. Since he’d just pulled on a ton of magic to open the well, I wasn’t surprised.

  I didn’t know how long it would take for Stone to find us. I wasn’t even sure Stone would know how to find us. I’d never brought him to the wells.

  Zayvion was on the opposite side of the well from me. The hard white and silver of magic played across his dark features. He stood with both hands out to his sides, sword unsheathed in his right hand, head bent so he could stare into the depth of the well as if he were ready to dive into it at any sign of trouble.

  I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Though whether that was because there was enough magic to power the sun between us, or if Closing those men had done something, done too much to his mind for me to hear his thoughts, I didn’t know.

  I walked around the edge of the well until I was standing next to his right hand, so I could grab that sword if I needed to.

  “Hey,” I said quietly.

  He didn’t say anything.

  I slipped my hand down, and gently touched the back of his hand clenched around the sword’s hilt.

  “No hurry,” I said, staring into the shifting light of the well with him. “You’ve still got time.”

  It took some time for Zayvion to work his way through the pain he was in. Maybe half an hour. I didn’t say anything. Neither did Zayvion. Shame smoked three cigarettes down, while the Disbursement on his face and neck faded to lavender, then pink, then was gone, leaving nothing but the magical ashes of the spell dusting his skin.

  Finally the set in Zayvion’s shoulders eased, the clench of his hand eased, and then he shifted the sword into his left hand and put his arm around me.

  I slipped my arm around his waist, and leaned my head against his shoulder. He smelled of pine, and, beneath that, pain and sweat.

  He inhaled, holding his breath and centering himself, eyes closed. I wasn’t any good at Grounding—it made my claustrophobia kick into high gear. But I held still, trying to stay calm, relaxed, easy, so that Zayvion might pick up on my mood and find his footing again.

  More time passed. Maybe fifteen minutes.

  Then there was a scratch on the door, and a bump. I opened my eyes. The bump turned into a slam, and then a pause while something snuffled at the crack at the bottom of the doors. That something tried the handles.

  Sounded like my gargoyle to me.

  Shame hadn’t moved. He leaned against the wall, one boot flat against it, his head still back, eyes still closed. The cigarette in his hand had burned down to ashes between his fingers. Several cigarette butts scattered the floor at his feet.

  Looked like I was the most conscious in the room.

  Go, me.

  I pulled away from Zayvion carefully, and he stirred, opened his eyes.

  More brown than gold, thank goodness. I gave him a small smile and strode around the well to the double doors.

  “Stone?” I whispered.

  He gurgled and wiggled the door handle.

  That was my boy.

  I opened the doors and a whole lot of rock carved in the shape of a living, breathing gargoyle the size of a Saint Bernard tromped up to me. He bumped his head on my leg before doing a full circle around me, sniffing and clacking as if looking for something, his wings lifted to their full height.

  I dragged my hand down his back. “Good to see you too, Stoney.” He felt like warm, silky marble under my fingertips as he slid past me toward the well.

  “Don’t touch,” I said. “Don’t touch the magic.”

  “Wasn’t going to,” Shame said blearily.

  Stone burbled, his ears flicking back, then forward. He turned toward Shame and trotted over to him, sniffing at his fingers.

  “Hey,” Shame said, swatting at him without actually opening his eyes. “Give a man some privacy.”

  But Stone, apparently satisfied that he’d found what he was looking for, cozied up to Shame and rested his head on Shame’s boot.
/>   Gotta love a good Summon spell.

  Zayvion sheathed his sword and looked around the room, as if gathering his memories of why we were here, and what we were trying to do.

  “Why is Stone here?” he asked.

  “Bloody hell,” Shame muttered. “Last time I listen to a scramble-headed Closer.”

  “Shut up, Shame,” I said. “He’s here because I need to gather some of the magic out of the well to use it as proof that there seems to be some contamination happening to it, and maybe to help us find a way to cleanse it.”

  “How is Stone going to help with that?” Zayvion asked.

  “Dad said he contains magic. He thinks he can hold some of this magic, store a little of it.”

  “Interesting that your father thought of it,” Zayvion noted.

  There was my logical, suspicious man.

  “What?” he said.

  “What what?” I asked.

  “Why are you grinning at me?”

  I shrugged. “Just happy to have you back. I don’t care why my dad thought of it. Let’s just see if we can get Stone to take in a little of the magic and hold it. Ideas?”

  Shame chuckled, a sort of dry cough. “Ask the madman.”

  “Love you too, buddy,” Zayvion said.

  Shame finally rolled his head forward, opened his eyes, and gave us one laconic blink. “I meant her father, you nit.”

  Do you know how he can hold it? I asked Dad.

  In theory.

  That’s more than I have.

  I’d suggest Shame use Death magic to cast a Transference spell. Something that will pick up the magic, keep it in its native state, and deposit it in Stone. There are glyphs, or I think there may be glyphs, on Stone’s chest that indicate which Transference spell would work best.

  And you know this how? I asked.

  I see what you see, Allison.

  “Dad says Shame might be able to use Death magic and a Transference spell to move magic in its native form, into the glyphs on Stone’s chest.”

  “Love being dragged into this,” Shame said. “Be sure to tell your da that. And you,” he said to Stone. “Good gargoyle. You came when I called. I’ll buy you a cookie. But get your head off my foot, mate. You’re killing me.”

  Stone did as he was told and, after pushing his nose into Shame’s hands, trotted back over to me.

  Shame stretched and strode over to us. The rest had done him some good. And from the white pulse of magic glowing from the crystal in his chest, the passive recharge of magic straight from the well had done him some good too. Maybe our delay came with added benefits.

  “Come here, you big rock,” Shame said. “Let’s see your scribbles.”

  Stone had been staring at the well, tipping his head from side to side, as if he’d never seen anything like it before. And he hadn’t. I’d been afraid he’d just jump in like a stupid lug, but he was staying a cautious distance away, one hand lifted, his finger and thumb held up as if trying to feel the warmth of the magic roiling within it.

  “Stone,” Shame tried. “Come here, Stoney.”

  Stone backed away from the well, watching it as if it would leap up and bite him. He was growling, a low, constant rumble that almost sounded like a purr. His ears were still up, though, and he wasn’t showing any teeth. He wasn’t in attack mode, but I didn’t think he was far from it.

  Shame got around in front of him and knelt so Stone could still see the well over his shoulder.

  “Need to look at your chest, big guy.”

  Stone held still, and Shame traced a glyph on Stone’s chest. “Passage,” he said. “That’s an odd one to carve on a gargoyle.”

  He glanced over at Zayvion. “Are you sure Cody carved all the gargoyle statues for the restaurant?” Shame asked.

  Zayvion nodded. “As far as I know. It was a large commission.”

  “Why would he carve Passage on something that should have remained a statue?”

  Stone growled.

  Shame rubbed his ears. “Don’t blame me, Stoney. If Allie over there hadn’t triggered whatever spell started your engine, you’d just be a big dumb yard decoration sitting in front of a restaurant.”

  “Maybe Cody didn’t carve him,” Zay said. “He looks like the other gargoyles out there, though.”

  “Who knows?” Shame said. “Cody was always in trouble with someone and always hedging his bets. He might have thought he could use Stone for something other than art. Or maybe he just liked the lines of that spell. It looks quite smart on you, boy.”

  Shame rocked back on his heels, then pressed his hands into his thighs and stood. “I can pull on magic, I can use Passage to place some of that magic in Stone, but I want you to think about it, Allie. You’re trusting your father here, and you’re putting Stone at risk.”

  “We need a sample of the magic. I don’t think we’ll be able to come back here once the Authority finds out we offed Bartholomew’s men. Get the sample while we have the chance. Stone can handle it. I can handle my dad.”

  “Didn’t think you’d change your mind. Still think it’s a bad idea to do this to him, but hell, it’s not the worst thing I’ve done. Not even the worst thing I’ve done today.” Shame turned to the well, set the Disbursement, and this time the purple spell wasn’t a leech—it was a flickering fire that settled in the hollow of his neck.

  Fever. And a strong one, by how deep the color was.

  “How hard of a spell is Passage?” I asked Zay.

  “Depends on what you want to give it to,” Zayvion said. “Inanimate objects are easier. Living beings are incredibly difficult. Ghosts, fairly easy. I don’t know about magic. From that look in Shame’s eyes, it’s going to hurt.”

  Shame exhaled a thin stream of words that sounded more like a soft prayer. He drew on magic to cast the spell, and the wooden floor darkened around his feet, the scorch moving outward and going ash gray as he drew magic from the glyphs and walls around the well, but not the well itself.

  Very tricky move.

  Then he poured that magic into the spell—a spell that had an oddly hollow center, the outside woven and intricate, like a frame of Celtic knot work.

  Shame pointed his left hand at the well, and a ball of magic, no bigger than his fist, bright as liquid diamonds, pushed up out of the well and drifted as if pulled on a string straight into the spell that Shame held very steady with his right hand.

  The ball settled in the center of the spell, hovering there, and spinning, but not touching the framework of the glyph.

  Shame inhaled, held his breath, then exhaled that soft prayer again. He cupped his hands on either side of the glyph and pressed inward. Hard. The muscles down his neck strained as he forced the spell to compress. He crushed it until it was the size of an amulet. Then, with the spell still in both hands, he turned to Stone.

  Stone didn’t need any coaxing. He lifted up on his hind legs, resting his hands on Shame’s shoulders.

  Shame fastened the spell into the glyph on Stone’s chest, where it flashed a soft blue, then sank and faded into the charcoal gray of Stone’s skin.

  Stone dropped down on all fours and sneezed. He shook his head and sneezed again. Then he looked up at Shame, grumbled and clacked, then trotted over to me and sneezed. He didn’t look any different, didn’t smell or act any different. And when I rubbed behind his pointy ears, he didn’t feel any different.

  “Can we get that magic out of him again?” I asked.

  Zayvion nodded. “The spell will hold it separate of any other magic. It can’t be opened by anyone except the caster, so Shame can get to it when we need to.”

  “Not that it’s going to prove a damn thing.” Shame wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He flipped up his coat collar to cover his neck and stuffed his hands in his pockets, hunching as if the room had suddenly frozen over.

  “We might be wrong, you know,” he said. “That smoke and tar in the well might just be a temporary muddying up because of the cisterns being f
ouled.”

  “Which is why we need a sample from each well,” I said. “Shame, can you send a message to your mom? Tell her we need a sample from the Blood well if she can get it. And Victor too. Ask if he can get a sample from the Faith well.”

  “How many of the damn things do you intend to dip into, Beckstrom?” he asked.

  “All of them should do it.”

  “Do what, exactly?” Shame asked. “Besides get us caught or killed?”

  “Dad said the combination of magic from each well might be enough to help us find an antidote to the poison, or a way to cleanse magic.”

  “And who are we going to take this antidote to once we prove our theory?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “You don’t know yet.”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t like planning too far ahead. Just tell your mom and Victor. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

  I turned to Zay. “Can you close the well?”

  I hated asking him, but I couldn’t use magic, so I was out. Shame had just handled three large spells in a really short space of time right on the heels of a fight. He was currently rocking a hell of a fever from that last spell.

  Maybe it would be better to ask Shame to do it since he hadn’t just dragged himself back from the edge of insanity.

  Shame tapped the bracelet at his wrist, though I noticed he was shivering. “Sure, ask the crazy guy,” he said. “This ought to be interesting.”

  Zayvion didn’t say anything. He simply drew a Disbursement, a short hard pain that snapped a thick black line down his spine. Zay stepped forward to the edge of the well and drew a Lock spell.

  The glyph for Lock hovered in front of him, stretched to touch the ceiling and all four walls. Then it speared straight down into the well.

  Zayvion threw his arms wide, then pulled his hands together, palm to palm. He said one word and the Lock spell set lines of bronze fire through the floor under our feet. The wood rolled and spiraled like gears flowing in oil. Magic, stone, and wood closed over the well.