Stone Cold Magic (Ella Grey Series Book 1)

by Jayne Faith

  My foot slipped mid-step, and suddenly I was dangling by my hands several feet off the ground. My knees scraped the chain link as the other tried to find purchase with my feet. A burst of snarling barks behind me caused the other to freeze my movements, bringing my progress to a halt and literally leaving me hanging.

  It was Loki. I couldn’t see him, but I knew it was him. I felt growing heat at my back, and Loki’s bark seemed to deepen and distort, but I couldn’t turn to see what was happening.

  Then a rushing roar filled my ears as the heat intensified, and my entire body went rigid. I lost my grip, and for a moment it felt as if I hung in mid-air. The ground rushed up to slam me, knocking the wind from my lungs and snapping against the back of my head.

  Darkness consumed me.

  Chapter 10

  WHEN I CAME to, I felt like I’d spent the night inside a rock tumbler. My feet, hands, knees and chin stung with cuts and scrapes. And my head . . . I could only lie there and moan. My temples, my entire skull, throbbed like the worst hangover in history. I flopped over to my side, and it hit me: I was moving under my own power. My second thought was that whatever had happened after I cast the spell, it wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d intended a deep sleep that I hoped would prompt the other to give me more images of Evan. But it hadn’t delivered a single glimpse of my brother. Instead, the spell had made me vulnerable to the other’s control, and it had taken over.

  A furry face filled my vision, and Loki’s tongue lapped my cheek. My eyes misted as I reached up weakly to touch his head. He’d scared the other or done something to momentarily disrupt its control, I remembered now. He’d saved me. He pushed his head under my arm, nudging me to sit up. Exhausted, drained, and sick to my stomach, I looked around. I was at the base of the chain link fence, but the house behind it was dark and still. I closed my eyelids and pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes, groaning, and then dropped my hands to my lap. Maybe I’d actually been sleepwalking, maybe that stupid spell had caused me to hallucinate, and my weird dreams had mixed with reality and—

  Wait. What the hell?

  I raised my right arm, bringing it close to my face. Early morning light was beginning to leak into the sky, just enough to allow me to see the pale lines on my skin. The lines formed shapes in faint pearl-white. They didn’t glow, exactly, but seemed to have a subtle shimmer. I lifted my other arm and found the exact same design. The shapes looked like sigils—simple geometric designs that expressed an intent, symbols that held magical power—but I had no idea what these ones meant.

  I was pretty sure I would have remembered getting inked. Except these didn’t look like regular tattoos. They couldn’t be. A tattoo needle would have left some swelling, but my skin was completely smooth as if the lines had always been there. I licked the pad of my index finger and rubbed at one of the lines, but it didn’t come away.

  Loki yipped, drawing my attention. I wasn’t sure of the time, but it was going to be morning soon and regardless of what had happened in the night I needed to haul my ass back home. Roxanne was there alone, and I was pretty sure I’d left the front door wide open.

  I stumbled toward Hays, keeping to patches of grass where I could to give my damaged soles a break, and hiding in the shadows whenever the odd car approached. When I finally reached my porch I was lightheaded and reeling. Loki and I went inside and I crept past Roxanne who was remarkably still fast asleep. In the bathroom, I flipped on the light and winced at the sudden brightness. When I looked down, I let out a low groan. I was an absolute mess—bloody, dirty, and scraped up like I’d tried to use a chunk of asphalt as a loofah. I had to shower, even if it meant waking Roxanne. I turned on the hot water and then bent to dig around under the sink for a first aid kit.

  While I waited for the shower to heat up, I stripped down and examined my injuries. After a quick evaluation I let out a relieved breath. There was plenty of damage, but none of it required stitches. In the shower I scrubbed myself clean, biting my lips against the pain as the soap hit my cuts. I rubbed at the marks on my arms, too, but I wasn’t surprised to find they didn’t wash off. I turned the water off, tried to dry myself without causing additional bleeding, and then wrapped a clean towel around my body. Sitting on the toilet, I went to work with the first aid kit, disinfecting and bandaging my skin until I looked like a patchwork of Band-Aids and gauze. I dry-swallowed four Advil from the medicine cabinet, and then with a weary sigh I flipped the light off and quietly opened the bathroom door. The cooler air of the living room hit my skin, raising goosebumps up my limbs and bringing an involuntary shiver. I clamped my arms against my sides, trying to ward off the chill but too tired to really care that I was cold.

  Loki was curled in a tight circle on the floor next to where Roxanne was miraculously still asleep, and his tail thumped when he saw me. Hobbling over on sore, scraped up feet, I knelt next to him and held his furry face in both hands. As I peered into his eyes, I thought I caught a flicker of flaming orange deep in his pupils.

  “I don’t know where you came from, but I’m glad you’re here. Thank you,” I whispered. “I hope you know it wasn’t really me that zapped you with magic, but I’m sorry just the same.”

  A sudden swell of emotion warmed some of my chill away. What would have happened if Loki hadn’t followed me and done . . . whatever it was he did to save me? He poked his head forward to lick my cheek.

  In my room with the door closed, I collapsed face-down onto my bed with the towel still wrapped around me, and groaned into my pillow. Everything hurt. Fatigue battled pain for a few minutes until the Advil kicked in. Exhaustion delivered a knockout punch, and I slept.

  Too soon, my phone alarm was sounding. I hadn’t checked the time when I went to bed—the second time—but it felt like I’d only slept about twenty minutes. Blinking at my phone, my eyelids felt like sandpaper. I caught sight of the spell sheet on my nightstand and flipped it the finger. Some fricking spell. The thing had nearly killed me. “Results guaranteed,” the store’s window had said. Well, in the witch’s defense, she didn’t know about the other when she created the spell for me. It probably wasn’t entirely her fault.

  There was a knock on my door. “Ella?” Roxanne called.

  “Uh, just a sec, I’ll be right out.”

  I dropped the towel and put on the plaid flannel bathrobe that hung on the back of the door. I limped into the living room and followed the sounds of cupboards and drawers opening and closing. When I rolled my shoulders and flexed my back I had to choke back a cry. There would be no pushups, situps, or “ups” of any kind this morning. Roxanne was in the kitchen with Loki. I opened the back door to let him out into the yard.

  “How did you sleep?” My voice rasped like I’d smoked half a pack overnight.

  Roxanne paused with her hand in the silverware drawer and looked up at me. “Really good. That sofa bed is better than my futon at home.” Her wispy blond bangs stuck out at an odd angle that was kind of adorable, but her chipper smile faded as she looked me up and down. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just had kind of a rough night. Uh, sleepwalking. Sometimes I do that.” I cleared my throat, but it didn’t improve my scratchy voice. “I see you’re finding your way around. You’re welcome to whatever you can dig up. Sorry there’s not much to eat, but I’ll leave you some cash and you can walk to the store and pick up a few things, if you’d like. I gotta change for work.”

  I turned to hobble back toward my bedroom.

  “Okay, thanks. I’m going to fix you some breakfast to go!” she hollered. Then to herself, “And coffee, right? Yeah, I’ll make coffee.”

  There was more clanking and cupboard slamming. In spite of how crappy I felt, I cracked a tiny smile. Didn’t most teenagers spend summer vacation sleeping until noon and then waking up all hormone-addled and grumpy? That basically described me at fourteen. But go figure, apparently Roxanne was a morning person.

  I pulled out a fresh Patrol shirt and got dressed, clamping my teeth together
to keep from screeching in pain when I pushed my feet into my boots. In the bathroom, I stuck a few Advil in my mouth and lowered my head to the faucet to gulp some water and wash them down. Not the classiest move, but I wasn’t exactly in a classy state of mind. I raked my hair back into a ponytail and then twisted it around itself and pinned the bun in place, trying to ignore my throbbing feet. Walking the beat today was going to be hell. My chin was red and raw where I’d skinned it on the fence. I leaned close to the mirror, trying to decide whether concealer would do any good. Probably not, and I didn’t have time to fiddle with makeup anyway. I looked down at my forearms, exposed in short sleeves. The pearly white sigils had faded until they were only visible if you got really close and knew where to look. A little thread of relief twined through my various aches. I’d melt in the summer heat if I had to wear a long sleeved shirt, and probably would have drawn even more attention than just leaving the tattoos exposed. Maybe the marks would disappear altogether and I could forget they’d ever been there. Sure, that would happen, because all kinds of things were going my way lately.

  When I emerged, dressed and as ready for work as I was gonna get, Roxanne came out of the kitchen. She held a travel mug with a faint line of steam curling from the sippy hole in the lid, and what appeared to be a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel.

  With her thin arms outstretched, she offered both items to me. “I couldn’t really find any portable breakfast foods, so I made you a toast sandwich with jelly, peanut butter, and Cheerios in it. Oh, and the coffee has some of the creamer that’s in the fridge.”

  Genuinely touched by her efforts, I grinned and took the mug and sandwich. “You are an absolute life saver, thank you. And you’re impressively innovative in the kitchen.” I lifted the sandwich in a little salute to her talents.

  She held her hands behind her back and beamed up at me.

  “Oh, here’s some cash.” I balanced the sandwich on top of the coffee mug and dug in my hip pocket, finding a wad of folded bills and passing them to her. “Buy whatever you like. There’s an extra key in the antique tea kettle on top of the fridge. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home, but I’ll text you.”

  “Okay, thanks.” She wrapped her finger around the cash. “I’ll get stuff for dinner. I know how to make spaghetti.”

  I started toward the door. I needed to get going so I wouldn’t be late for morning briefing. “That sounds awesome,” I said over my shoulder.

  “Invite Damien to dinner,” she called after me as I let myself out. “And Johnny!”

  I laughed. “Will do. Have a good day with Loki.”

  Feeling oddly buoyant knowing Roxanne and Loki would be waiting when I arrived home, I took a bite of Cheerio-PB-and-J. The cereal added a surprisingly satisfying crunch to the sandwich. I wolfed it and downed the entire mug of coffee, scalding my mouth in the process, on the short drive to the station. Normally I preferred to walk to work, especially during the summer, but I was running late, plus I needed my truck because I planned to take off for Gregori Industries right after my shift ended. And I wanted to give my cut up soles as much a break as possible before subjecting them to a long day on my feet.

  I parked and went inside, hobbling to the break room to quickly refill my mug with gross but potent station coffee, and then found Damien in the briefing room and slid into the chair next to him. When my bruised spine touched the seat back, I winced and leaned forward.

  “Morning,” I mumbled. I gulped more coffee and glanced over at him. He was staring at me as if I’d grown a second nose overnight.

  “What the hell happened to you? You look like you got into a fight. And lost,” he said.

  I slumped, closed my eyes, and pinched my temples between my middle finger and my thumb. “I, uh, did some really clumsy sleepwalking last night.” I glanced away.

  He leaned closer to me, his clear eyes intent and his J Crew catalog model face tense. “Bullshit,” he said in a low voice.

  He peered at me as if he could see straight into my brain. My pulse gave a little bump and I fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. Was he reading or sensing something, or was I just that bad a liar? Maybe his magical aptitude made him a human lie detector, or slightly psychic, or perhaps he could sense the residue of my insane midnight escapade still clinging to me like invisible cobwebs.

  I squinted at him from the corners of my eyes. “What, you think I have some kind of secret night life?” I twisted fully to face him and deadpanned, “You know the first rule of Fight Club.”

  I forced a laugh and sipped some more coffee, hoping he’d drop it.

  “Ella, what’s going on? Is someone after you? Harassing you?”

  I almost laughed. No, someone wasn’t after me. It had already found me, and it seemed to want to boot me out of my own body and take over.

  “Nah, it’s nothing like that, I swear. I’m just an extremely klutzy sleepwalker.”

  I flicked a furtive look at him again. His jaw muscles pulsed, his eyes clouded with worry, and it was obvious he wasn’t buying my story. But Sergeant Devereux had arrived and everyone quieted as he took the podium. All through briefing, I could feel Damien’s attention, his awareness flicking my way.

  Devereux’s eyes paused on me a few times while he spoke, and I wasn’t sure if it was due to my scraped chin and bloodshot eyes or because I was on his radar after running over to Crystal Ball Lane in the middle of shift yesterday. Oh, and the stolen demon can. Cans, actually. Yeah, it was probably my multiple transgressions rather than my appearance. I was pretty sure he didn’t give a damn about the fact that I looked like I’d spent the night falling down stairs. He just wanted to avoid more paperwork. I shrank down in my seat, trying to look rule-abiding and blend in with my fellow officers.

  When Devereux dismissed us, I managed to push myself up without moaning in pain, and turned to Damien. “I wanna hear more about the research you’re doing. What kinds of things can affect magical power?” I asked. I was a little curious, but I was mostly aiming to steer him away from his earlier line of questioning.

  His eyes ticked around at the officers near us. “Let’s wait until we get outside.” He slung his backpack around and slipped his arms through the straps.

  As we exited the station and headed toward our central downtown beat, I realized my feet didn’t hurt nearly as badly as I’d expected, though they did feel uncomfortably warm in my boots. Maybe I’d hit on the perfect combo of caffeine and Advil. I experimentally touched the back of my head, where it had smacked the ground after I fell from the chain-link fence. The lump was completely gone, and there was only a hot bruised sensation where the goose egg had been. I should have been glad, but instead suspicion curled through me. I hadn’t even iced the bump, and I’d expected it to take at least a couple of days to go down.

  “When I was in school, I did some exploratory research,” Damien said. Still distracted by my internal inventory of my injuries, it took me a split second to remember that I’d asked him to tell me more about his secret notebook studies. “Some of it was for my degree, but some I did on my own. I was particularly interested in whether a person’s magical aptitude setpoint could, well, change. I had a theory that the setpoint wasn’t as fixed as we’d always been taught, and I thought that with the right knowledge and—”

  He cut off, and his boots scuffed to a halt so abruptly I carried on another step or two before my own feet registered that he’d stopped. I wheeled around and looked up at him, and conflicting emotions flashed across his face.

  “Ella, what I’m about to tell you is . . . secret. Kind of like what you told me and Johnny last night.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly.

  His eyes were locked unblinking on mine, and he remained silent for a beat or two, maybe waiting for some signal that I wouldn’t keep my word.

  “I know how to keep a secret, Damien.”

  He nodded, just barely. “I’ve discovered some ways to increase a person’s magical aptitude.”

  My ch
in dropped, and I gaped open-mouthed at him.

  Chapter 11

  I WANTED TO laugh at him outright or punch him in the arm. You couldn’t change someone’s magical aptitude.

  I snapped my mouth closed with a click of my teeth. “That’s quite a claim,” I said, doubt drawing out my words.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, I know.”

  “I assume none of this is public knowledge,” I said. “It would be huge news.”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t published any of my findings. I still have a lot of experiments to run.”

  “Does your family know?”

  “No.” He said the word with such emphasis my eyes widened just a little.

  “Don’t you think they’d be proud that you’d discovered such a thing? It’s monumental. It’s like discovering that you can change your height, or . . . or your IQ.”

  He looked away. “I doubt it. I’m still not a mage. They’d probably just see it as a feeble attempt to be like them.”

  Sadness for Damien flooded through me in an unexpected rush that stilled my breath for a moment. I’d never particularly cared that I was so weak magically, but for Damien . . . his aptitude—or lack of it—had been his torment. My mind constructed a story of his past, one that might not be exactly accurate but was probably close enough to the truth. It was painfully obvious that with his research he’d been chasing an impossible dream, one that had formed in his young adolescent mind as soon as he discovered he wasn’t like the rest of his family: he wanted to become a mage. If he was telling the truth, maybe his dream wasn’t so impossible.

  About a dozen questions crowded into my mind, but just then a voice came through our walkies. It informed us of a bunch of minor demons loose in the basement of one of the government buildings near the capitol—a metaphorical bubble that had traveled from the demonic dimension to ours, releasing a flock of Rip spawn. A bubble-up wasn’t an uncommon occurrence this close to a major Rip, but their timing and locations were pretty random.