Earth and Salt, Fire and Mercury

by Cassandra Rose Clarke

  “Something’s up,” Gabe said. “Something with the—” He stamped his foot against the tobacconist’s roof. “The ley lines.”

  “Yes.” Tanya pulled a flat disk from her pocket. “I feel them, too. It’s like the night of the house fire.”

  She looked up at Gabe and he considered the ramifications of this soft magical pounding in his head. “Someone’s using them,” he finally said. “That’s what you think.”

  “That’s what I know. Hopefully this will tell us more.” She lifted the disk. It was silver, or at least silver-colored, and wrapped with twists of dried herbs. “Are you sure this is the place you saw the target?”

  Gabe glanced across the street, at the ornate building where Terzian had slipped away. It had been dark when he saw the mystery woman before, too. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

  “Good.” Tanya lifted the disk overhead with one hand. With the other, she pulled out a pocketknife and flicked open the blade. The magic thrummed around them. If one wishes to cast a spell, Alestair had told him, one only has to reach out and pluck those ley lines.

  Tanya sliced the dried herbs and immediately the disk shot out of her hand, straight up into the air. For a moment it hovered in the yellow lights of the rooftop, glinting a little. The cut herbs flapped like wings, and Gabe could hear, barely, their soft papery fluttering.

  The charm turned, first left then right, and then it swooped down toward the street, throwing off a silver glow like moonlight.

  “Follow it,” Tanya said, and Gabe did.

  • • •

  The magic filled Zerena. The power of the ley line swelled inside of her, and she could feel each of her individual cells as they moved in the formation of her body and her soul. She lifted her voice, the words spilling out of her as if they were animals freed from a trap. The Aramaic sliced across her tongue.

  They stood in a circle, eight people total, their hands clenched together. In the center of the circle a fire burned, made of sage and hibiscus and stinging nettle. The ninth person stood waiting in the corner with the sacred clay jars. Four thousand miles away, in Xi’an, China, a group of eight sorcerers did the same, only their fire burned juniper, ash, and cardamom, charging the ley line with power to call down the elementals.

  And it was working. Zerena gasped, gripping her partners’ hands even tighter. She shouted the chant, conjuring the energy out of the ground. Flowers sprouted from the floorboards; vines crept across the walls.

  The earth elemental was here.

  Zerena grinned around her chanting. She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, and for half a second, in the firelight and shadows, she actually saw it. A woman’s face, transparent as gauze, with roses for eyes.

  She gasped, threw herself into the magic. They needed salt now. Both elementals would be theirs, contained in the sacred jars, ready to be inserted into new Hosts.

  And when this ritual worked, what better acolyte to serve as Host than Zerena Pulnoc, the brave soldier who drew earth and salt to them, dragging the lost elements through the city to be laid at Terzian’s feet?

  Through the firelight, she caught a glimpse of Sasha. He did not look pleased.

  Zerena threw back her head, crying the chant up into the air. Come home, salt. Come home to us.

  She tasted it before she felt it, a taste like the sea. The air blurred with a threadbare whiteness, and salt settled in a fine powder over her skin. The salt elemental whipped through the room, a streak of white that trailed salt like snow.

  “They’re here!” cried Terzian. “Prepare the vessels!”

  The ninth sorcerer, some low-ranking acolyte who had yet to earn the right to participate fully in rituals, scurried forward, the two jars tucked under his arms. He tripped over the vines curling across the floor and for a moment Zerena saw the whole thing fall apart—but he caught himself, and the jars remained whole and unsullied.

  The acolyte set the vessels down in the center of the circle and crouched with the two lids, ready to seal them tight once the elementals were secure.

  “Begin!” screamed Terzian, and in unison they shifted their chanting to a language too old to have a name. Zerena knew the eight Chinese sorcerers had done the same; she could feel the shift in the energy of the ley line. They needed one power to draw the elementals to them, another power entirely to trap them in the sacred jars.

  Magic and salt and earth swirled around the room. The chaos filled Zerena with a frenzied, ecstatic exhilaration. She could taste her victory like she could taste the salt on the air, and when the flowering vines curled around her ankles, she knew it was the earth giving her its congratulations.

  • • •

  Gabe could barely see the silver disk as it careened through Prague, herb-wings flapping, its silver finish flashing whenever it passed beneath a streetlamp. Fortunately, Tanya seemed to have no trouble at all with it, and she ran with a fierce determination, gaze fixed on the charm.

  The hitchhiker thumped in time with Gabe’s heartbeat. Magic was kissing the air.

  The charm darted down an alley, whipped around a corner, led them back up the way they had come.

  “It’s leading us in circles!” Gabe shouted.

  “This is just how it works,” Tanya replied, each word punctuated by a sharp huff of breath. “It’s a tracker. It’s showing us the path the target took.”

  They ran down now a narrow side street, the charm flitting up ahead. The hitchhiker surged. Gabe stumbled, righted himself. He smelled the faint metallic tang of the Vltava. God, where the hell where they? He could only hope the tracker didn’t take him by Edith’s building. The last thing he wanted was for her to glance out her window and see him bolting down the street like a madman in the company of a KGB officer.

  He’d thought this would be simple.

  They burst out of the tight clump of buildings. City lights gleamed up ahead, reflecting in the dark river water. The hitchhiker swelled again, a feeling like a fever dream, and Gabe cursed and pushed himself forward. Tanya was still going, running straight toward the nearest bridge. The charm glimmered in the air above the river.

  The river was above a ley line, Gabe remembered as he jogged after her, the hitchhiker dancing inside his skull. And whatever had gotten the ley lines stirred up earlier had them roiling now. Was it tied to the Flame? To whatever was dampening their magic somehow, like Alestair had said? But no, Gabe could feel their magic just fine; and the charm was flinging itself into the tangle of the city like a damn heat-seeking missile.

  He hoped whatever it found would give them some answers.

  • • •

  Zerena could feel the strength of their magic in the marrow of her bones. Her chanting echoed inside her skull. She focused her attention on the two sacred jars, her whole body shaking with the effort, as if she were physically dragging the elementals from the air, shoving them into the places they belonged.

  The acolyte held the jars upright. The muscles in his arms strained, and his face was pale and ashy and beaded with sweat.

  The earth elemental sank down toward the jars, moving like honey through the air. Get in get in get in. The magic in the room was so thick it was difficult to breathe, but it was working. The elemental moved closer—

  Closer—

  Closer—

  It slipped into the jar. The acolyte slammed the lid down and scratched the containment rune with an obsidian knife. The jar rattled and the sorcerer pressed his hand against it, holding it in place. Good boy. Now they needed to focus on the salt elemental.

  Salt whipped around the room in widening circles, frenzied with magic. Zerena trembled. She was losing energy. They all were. But it would only take one more burst of effort to drag the salt elemental into its jar. And that she could do. That, she was certain of.

  The magic wavered.

  It was like looking in an old mirror; everything became distorted. The voices of the circle stretched out. The room seemed to shift angles. Zerena blinked, and everything went back t
o normal. Just her imagination. Just getting tired—

  Except there was a crack in the sacred jar, the one that contained the earth elemental. And the ninth sorcerer, he was tipping backwards, his eyes closed, pale blue lines fragmenting along the sides of his face.

  “No!” Zerena screamed, just as the jar shattered. The earth elemental flew out in a fine green mist, and for a sweet second Zerena could feel the strength of it as it passed through her. For that sweet second, she almost thought it had chosen her, after all.

  But then the room descended into chaos. The circle was ripped apart by the force of the elemental, and the flowers and vines swelled in their growth, crawling over everything. Zerena screamed and yanked at the vines, breaking them off in her hand. “Get back!” she shouted at the others. “Back in the circle! We can’t lose them!”

  But they had lost them. Both elementals flew out through the chimney, taking their magic with them.

  Zerena stumbled backward, numb with disbelief. She slammed up against the vine-covered wall. Her dress was ruined from the salt. She stared at the circle as its members picked themselves up, shaking off the aftereffects of magic. Sasha turned toward her, his eyes glowing with delight.

  “You fools!” she shouted. “You idiots! How could you break the circle? My instructions made it perfectly clear—”

  “Your instructions were flawed, Zerenochka,” Sasha said.

  She wanted to kill him. She wanted to wrap her hands around that thick neck of his and squeeze until the breath dried up inside of him.

  “I agree,” said Terzian.

  Zerena froze. Terzian picked his way toward her, his cane thumping on the wooden floor. He wove past the broken jars—even the jar for the salt elemental had cracked, and was useless now. Zerena fixed her gaze on that ruined vessel.

  “This was not the outcome I was promised,” Terzian said. “I’m disappointed, Zerena.”

  Sasha beamed at her. He was like a child, pleased to see one of his schoolmates bent to the paddle for his own misbehavior.

  “There must have been a weak link in the ritual,” Zerena said. She could not look at Terzian. Could not face the shame of seeing his disappointment. “My spell was perfect. I checked it several—”

  “Clearly,” Terzian said. “It wasn’t.”

  He turned away from her, walked toward the exit. Zerena just stared at the shattered clay. It wasn’t the only thing that was broken.

  • • •

  The charm was finally slowing down.

  “Thank God,” Gabe gasped, falling out of his jog and into a walk. He was sweating despite the cool night air. At least the hitchhiker had calmed down—which meant they had moved away from the ley lines. Strange.

  “Where are we?” Tanya peered up at the buildings. “Do you know this place?”

  Gabe glanced around, catching his breath. “Warehouses,” he said. “Must be some kind of industrial district.”

  The charm floated along, twisting back and forth, a dog sniffing after a scent.

  “Is it just me or have the ley lines gone still?” Gabe asked.

  “It’s not just you.”

  “What does that mean, then?”

  “What?” She kept her eyes on the charm, which was leading them through the rows of warehouses. The air smelled of sawdust and old fish. Broken glass glittered on the road.

  “Well, we felt the ley lines going crazy, but now that the charm almost has us at its target—I mean, that’s what it’s doing right? That’s why it slowed down?”

  “Yes,” Tanya said slowly. She put a hand on Gabe’s arm, pulling him to a stop. The charm knocked up against the door of one of the warehouses up ahead. Over and over again, knocking against the door.

  Tanya hissed something in one of those unfamiliar languages Gabe had come to associate with magic, and the charm fell to the ground, disintegrating into dust.

  “She’s in there,” Tanya said, nodding at the warehouse. “Let’s go.”

  They slunk into the shadows, moving along the side of the building. There was a single window cut into the metal wall, and it was lit with thin golden light. The hitchhiker was completely still.

  “No magic,” Gabe whispered.

  “I know,” Tanya whispered back. “I don’t like it.”

  The ley lines had been going mad, as if being strummed by strong magic—but Gabe and Tanya were nowhere near a line now. Whoever was inside that warehouse hadn’t been doing any kind of major ritual. Such rituals required ley lines. Even Gabe could figure that much out.

  Which meant someone else had been using the lines.

  “How do you want to tackle this?” Gabe asked.

  “I’m thinking.”

  So was Gabe. The place only had the one window, and the front door—it wouldn’t do to just stroll in, announce their presence. At least the charm knocking up against the door hadn’t caught the attention of anyone inside.

  “This way,” Tanya said, and Gabe followed her, around to the back of the warehouse. A service door was tucked into the corner. Padlocked, but that wasn’t going to be an issue for either of them.

  “Nice thinking.” Gabe nodded at the padlock. “You want to get that or should I?”

  “I don’t need you to pick a lock for me.” She darted up to the door. Lifted the padlock. Gabe peered over her shoulder. The thing was ancient, laced with rust—no one had used this door for ages.

  Tanya pulled out a set of lock-picking tools and fiddled with the padlock. Gabe was certain it would be rusted shut, but she clicked it open without trouble.

  “Impressive,” Gabe murmured. He meant it.

  “Hush.” She pushed the door open. No light on the other side. She crept in, gestured for Gabe to follow.

  The warehouse wasn’t empty, as Gabe had expected, but filled with shipping crates. A light burned on the other side of the rows of crates, and Gabe could hear a soft thud thud thud, over and over. He and Tanya glanced at each other. Tanya frowned. So she didn’t recognize the sound, either. Maybe it was some kind of magic thing.

  Not that the hitchhiker was stirring at all.

  He nodded at Tanya, pointed to his left, then to his right. Split up, converge on the target. He wasn’t sure she’d understand what he meant, but she darted off into the packing crates to the left, vanishing into a narrow gap between them.

  Gabe worked his way along the far wall, stepping lightly. He should have brought one of Alestair’s charms to go with this gun.

  The thumping grew louder as he approached, punctuated by sharp inhalations. The light was right up ahead. He pressed himself against a packing crate, took a deep breath. Willed himself to be as silent as death.

  He peered around the edge of the crate.

  And almost broke into stupid, relieved laughter.

  It was the woman who’d tracked him the other night, but she wasn’t casting some spell. She was slamming her fists into a punching bag, over and over, with the easy determination of someone who had done this a million times before. The soft powdery thump of her fists was a sound Gabe had heard before and should have recognized, but it was the last thing he had expected.

  Her back was to the crates, but Gabe was certain it was the same woman: same height, same short black hair, same compact muscular build. He scanned the opposite side of the room, caught sight of Tanya lurking in the shadows. She was checking out the scene; she probably had a better view of it than he did.

  The hitchhiker was still, but that was no surprise. Gabe didn’t see any signs of magic here.

  Who the hell was this woman?

  He pulled back, creeping through the crates as quickly as he could. The sound of her punches followed him, let him know she hadn’t realized she was being watched. He spilled out into the cold night air. Tanya wasn’t far behind him.

  “Was that her?” she asked. “Your mystery woman?”

  Gabe nodded. They walked briskly away from the warehouse, focused on getting away without drawing too much attention. “Did you see anything
from your position?”

  “Got a name,” Tanya said. “It was printed across her bag: Nguyen. But no magic.” She stopped and turned to him, frowning in the moonlight. “Are you sure she called you Quicksilver? If she’s Flame, we wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on her like that. She should have at least had some kind of ward up.”

  Gabe frowned. “I don’t know what the hell is going on any more than you do, but I know what I heard.”

  They stared at each other. Gabe wished he had a better answer—not just for Tanya or the Ice, but for himself. His first encounter with this Nguyen woman had left him rattled.

  And finding her hadn’t done much to help with that fear.

  • • •

  Zerena drifted into her bedroom, the stench of salt and magic still clinging to her clothes. When she closed the door, she did so with too much force, and the pictures on the wall trembled. She sighed.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” she said, gliding over to her vanity. “I had a difficult night.”

  She sank down on the stool and looked at her reflection. The vanity’s unforgiving lights made her look older than she was. More tired. Or perhaps that was just the humiliation from tonight.

  She only allowed herself this one moment to admit her defeat, to look at herself and see the ruined woman Sasha had gloated over as they left the farmhouse. One moment of despair. Then she put her facade back on.

  “I hope you had a pleasant evening,” she purred, watching her reflection. She slipped off her bracelets, her necklace. Smeared a dollop of cold cream on one finger and began wiping the makeup away from her face. “I think I should have perhaps stayed home as well. The gathering was—”

  She hesitated. Her half-removed mascara was smeared on her right eye. I am destroyed, she thought.

  “Rather a bore. Terrible company. Sasha was there, if that gives you an idea of the caliber of the guests.” She wiped the rest of her mascara away and then turned from the vanity. She reached back with one hand, twisting her spine so she could pull down the zipper of her dress. It fell around her in a glimmering pool. She stepped out of it daintily and walked in her underwear over to her husband. He was sleeping.