Misfits, Gemstones, and Other Shattered Magic

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  But what she’d been about to ask was an easy guess. Why wouldn’t Kett have introduced her to Benjamin? I’d have been wondering that as well if I were her. Except, of course, Kett liked to keep all aspects of his life more than simply boxed up. The executioner erected steel walls that only he could shift when necessary, as when he’d finally introduced Jasmine to Kandy and me.

  “Maybe he didn’t think it was a good idea …” Jasmine muttered to herself, trying to justify Kett’s actions. “With both of us being young and all …”

  “Don’t make excuses for him, baby girl,” Kandy said. “Kett does what Kett does. He has reasons, of course, but they’re only relevant to him. The only thing you control in any situation is what you do.”

  Jasmine’s face blanked, as if realizing that she’d said too much. She didn’t like to talk about Kett. At least, she didn’t like to talk about Kett with me. But that was fair enough, because I didn’t bring the executioner up in conversation either.

  “Benjamin Garrick is writing a chronicle about … you?” Jasmine asked.

  “Crazy, huh?” Kandy gave me a side-eyed look.

  “It’s actually about the modern world of the Adept,” I said. “Benjamin says all the books Kett has been lending him are antiquated.”

  “You can say that again,” Jasmine muttered. “But still … that’s potentially dangerous information.”

  “Ah, yeah?” Kandy mocked. “What did I just say?”

  Jasmine’s phone buzzed in her hand. She tapped the screen, opening the message.

  “What’s old toothy up to?” Kandy asked knowingly.

  Jasmine snorted, shoving the phone in her pocket without replying to the text.

  Kandy laughed under her breath.

  “Did you tattle on the fledgling, my wolf?” I asked teasingly.

  “Might have.”

  I glanced at Jasmine questioningly.

  She lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “He said, ‘Stop biting everyone.’ And that ‘Werewolves are apex prey, tasty but tough.’ ”

  Kandy choked on her own laughter. “Who else have you bitten?”

  “No one,” Jasmine said sourly. “He’s exaggerating.”

  “The executioner isn’t prone to exaggeration,” I said.

  Tired of waiting for the elf to trigger the magic in the dot of dried blood once again, I reached out with my dowser senses, scanning the well-lit area with more than just my eyes. I could feel the edge of Gran’s house wards, though we were still a couple of blocks away.

  “I think I’d know if I were going around biting people, Jade,” Jasmine said crossly. “Especially because you’d be first in line.” The golden-haired vampire widened her eyes, looking aghast.

  “Well, now … that would be a sight to behold.” Kandy wagged her eyebrows at me.

  “Um, oh …” Jasmine said. “I just mean … you …” She looked a little ill. “Smell … tasty.”

  Kandy nodded encouragingly. “Like Chinese food.”

  “What?” Jasmine all but cried out. “She does not! No … no, you just know she’d be sweet but … spicy …” Then she clamped her mouth closed, carefully not looking at me.

  Kandy started chortling, having deliberately baited the young vampire into confessing her bloodlust.

  “You are very controlled,” I said kindly.

  The green-haired werewolf started weeping with laughter, bent over her knees. Jasmine eyed her as if she were thinking of going in for a bite. And not just a love nip.

  “Very … controlled,” I repeated.

  Jasmine nodded, looking deliberately away. “Kett’s blood is potent. I’m his first child. And he was … concerned about my transition. So he …” She waved her hand.

  The gesture could have meant anything, but I took it as a reference to her feeding habits. Specifically, based on the information I’d wrangled out of the executioner when he’d tasked me with watching over Jasmine while he was off cavorting with my fiance, I understood that she fed only from Kett himself.

  This arrangement was so Kett could continually transfer more and more of his magic to her. According to him, human blood wasn’t anywhere near potent enough. Or at least it would have taken Jasmine longer to gain control of the bloodlust, as well as hone her own abilities, while on a nonmagical diet. And the executioner wasn’t a fan of weakness in any form — especially not in his own child.

  This was why Jasmine could tolerate the sun, though she didn’t exactly like it. This was why she wasn’t a slaughter-focused fiend chained in a basement for the first decade or more of her undead existence. And this was why — or at least I was reading between the lines with this particular supposition — Kett had kept Jasmine in Vancouver and away from London. To give them both time to adjust to their new roles, and to build up their power.

  “Kett’s careful,” I said. “Usually.” Then I corrected myself. “With others. Not necessarily himself.”

  Jasmine nodded, still keeping her gaze away from Kandy as the werewolf’s chortling faded.

  Then something exploded to my far right. Blocks away.

  Something powerful.

  Something that tasted of my grandmother’s lilac witch magic.

  I spun, turning toward the forceful pulse I could feel flooding our way. A wave of residual energy crashed over me, reverberating with decades of carefully layered magic. Gran’s wards. Reacting to an assault of some sort.

  “What the —” Jasmine cried out, actually stumbling with the flash flood of energy.

  Kandy took off down the paved pathway in the direction of Gran’s. I followed, tight on the werewolf’s heels but letting her lead. Leaving Jasmine’s question unasked and unanswered, we ran, completely heedless of moving too swiftly along the edge of a busy road filled with evening commuters.

  Another wash of energy came from the direction of Gran’s house. Perhaps the result of a secondary attempt to breach the wards. And with it came the taste of rain and the depths of an evergreen forest.

  “Elf,” I said, taking the lead from Kandy without effort. “Maybe more than one.” And if I couldn’t wipe the grin of anticipation from my face? Well, who could blame me?

  I rounded the laurel hedges at the top of Gran’s drive, skidding to a stop at the edge of the driveway. The wrought-iron gate was open, but the wards were undisturbed.

  My grandmother was standing before her front door with her arms extended to the cloudy night sky. Her long gray hair, loosed from its braids, churned with power in a wild halo around her. Blue lightning streamed from her fingers. This breathtaking display of power fed upward into the dome of her property wards, then etched itself across the entire protective boundary. It radiated out through the witches’ grid in what I knew was thirteen different directions, though I didn’t step back to count. But I could imagine the energy streaking over the city in a vivid display that any Adept who could see or feel magic would stop to marvel at … or to dread.

  “Wow,” Kandy murmured.

  Jasmine slammed into my back. Apparently, she hadn’t seen me stop.

  Gran locked her blazing blue eyes on me, then she cackled.

  Yes, cackled.

  “That stung them,” she cried gleefully, slowly reining in her magic.

  Them.

  “Two?” I yelled down the drive and across the front yard, not wanting to risk passing through the active wards.

  “At least.” Gran smiled at me, full of confidence and pride. “Happy hunting, my granddaughter. Don’t be late for your dinner.”

  “She won’t!” Kandy shouted. The werewolf was already pacing along the street-side edge of the wards, leaning down to sniff the sidewalk despite the fact that the neighborhood was bustling with nonmagicals, all of whom were completely ignorant of the skirmish that had just taken place between Gran and the elves. Thankfully, for the most part, they were literally blind to magic.

  “Jasmine,” I said, already dowsing for the elves’ magic myself. “Stay with Gran.”

  “Stay?
Here?” Jasmine echoed incredulously. She was holding her nose as if she’d hurt herself running into me.

  “She might need backup.”

  “Backup? Did you see her? Even I could feel the power pouring from her.”

  “Jasmine …” I cranked my head over my shoulder to eye the vampire. She scuttled slightly to my left as I turned, as if she were attempting to hide behind me. “Are you scared of Gran?”

  “Who isn’t? Even Kett keeps his distance.”

  I glanced across the yard at my grandmother. She was straightening the strings of Christmas lights twisted around two potted cedars on her front step. She all but radiated a calm composure, except for the cascade of gray hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back. Tinted with the blue of her witch magic, that hair was still writhing slightly, stirred by a nonexistent breeze.

  “Hey, Gran?” I called. “Jasmine is going to stay with you. Kandy and I will be right back.”

  Gran nodded absentmindedly, then waved her hand toward us. The magic of the wards shifted, allowing Jasmine entry.

  The golden-haired vampire looked at me as if I were condemning her to a brutal death.

  “You wanted a look at the grid command center, didn’t you?” I asked coaxingly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kandy pick up a trail at the edge of the street, then dart across Point Grey Road between two slow-moving vehicles.

  Jasmine crossed her arms. But the gesture wasn’t defiant, more as if she was trying to downplay her reaction to the chance of laying eyes on the epicenter of the witches’ grid. “Kett said I was to stick with you.”

  “And I’m asking you to guard my grandmother,” I said sternly, emotionally blackmailing the fledgling vampire thoroughly and completely. Though I honestly did think she could back Gran up if needed.

  Jasmine nodded begrudgingly, turning to pass through the wards and jog down the driveway.

  “Don’t bite any elves,” I called after the golden-haired vampire. “Their blood turns weird when separated from their bodies. Might not be very tasty.”

  Jasmine grumbled something under her breath that sounded like, “One bloody time …”

  I laughed. Kandy darted across the street again, walking swiftly back the way we’d come. I jogged to catch up to her.

  “At least one of them is hurt.” The werewolf paused to peer at the grass along the sidewalk.

  I couldn’t see what had drawn her attention, nor could I taste any unusual magic in the immediate vicinity. But the green-haired werewolf was a different sort of tracker than I was. Less dependent on her magic, and she could pick up other physical cues as well. It was a skill set I knew I should definitely think about honing at some point — even more so given the recent evidence of how my reliance on my dowser senses was hindering me from hunting down the elves.

  Truth be told, I was starting to feel somewhat vulnerable. Even with the firepower I had slung around my neck, I was slightly out of my depth. I had no idea why the elves would escalate from playing games with Jasmine, the werewolves, and me to outright attacking Gran. Or at least trying to take down her wards. Were they trying to distract me with Jasmine so they could attempt to gain access to the witches’ grid? Or even disable it? And if so, why? What threat did the grid pose? It couldn’t even be used to track them. Not yet, at least.

  Though how the elves would have known any of that, I had no idea.

  Kandy straightened, continuing along the sidewalk back toward Kits Pool.

  “Blood trail?”

  “Burned, I think. Judging by the smell, and not really a surprise. I certainly wouldn’t want to face your grandmother alone when she goes dark.”

  When she goes dark. Not if. Ignoring the implication of that, I asked, “Did they double back around us?”

  Kandy grunted in the affirmative.

  Ahead of us, close to Kits Pool, a large chow chow out for a walk began to bark. It was straining against its leash, nearly toppling its owner.

  Kandy laughed quietly — a pleased, proactively victorious sound. “It’s difficult to hide quite so effectively when you’re wounded.”

  Without needing to discuss our next moves, we each picked up our pace, parting ways where the path split off in three directions. Kandy doubled back along the roadside path at the back of the recreational facility while I cut down to the seawall, passing the gated entrance to the outdoor pool and turning left.

  Ahead of me, the seawall ran in a fairly straight stretch. The paved path was roughly four feet wide and only sporadically lit by overhead lamps. It cut between the high chain-link fence that marked the edge of the pool’s concrete deck and the two-foot-high rounded cement barrier that dropped down to the rocky beach on my right. The tide was high enough that the churning surf had splashed onto and darkened the top of the concrete.

  About a half-dozen feet ahead of me, another dog out for a walk abruptly lost its mind. It was a pretty little mop of a thing — maybe a shih tzu — and was lunging toward the cement base of the chain-link fence as if sighting prey. Though what had attracted its attention, I couldn’t see.

  The dog’s owner, unable to soothe it verbally, swept her agitated pet up in her arms and continued on. As they passed me, the dog was panting, nostrils flaring as it looked back over its owner’s shoulder with dark, beady eyes.

  I paused near the section of fence that the shih tzu had fixated on, stepping to the side so I wouldn’t block the path while I peered through the chain-link wire.

  Kits Pool was closed for the season. Its saltwater pool was chemically treated to withstand the winter weather, though it occasionally froze if it got cold enough. At that time of year, it often boasted a large population of seagulls and ducks, but there were no wild fowl in sight.

  I glanced both ways. The path to either side was momentarily clear. I leaped forward, springing halfway up the high chain-link fence, then flipping over it. Landing softly, I immediately darted left, hiding in the deep shadows of a massive winter-bare chestnut tree. In the summer, sunbathers often arrived early in the day to secure spots for their towels on the grassy section underneath the boughs of the tree, rather than the wide concrete surround of the pool itself. Behind me and slightly to my left was a small water park for kids.

  I waited in the shadows, peering across the serenely still pool and listening. To my far left, the traffic on Cornwall remained a steady drone. To my right, a murmur of conversation ebbed and flowed as pedestrians traversed the path in both directions. Over it all, the surf slapped steadily against the rocky shore and the concrete edge of the seawall.

  Another dog — unseen from my vantage point — exploded in a frenzy of barks at the far end of the long pool. Disconcerted shouts from an obviously confused owner followed.

  Kandy suddenly appeared, scaling a far section of the fence, then dropping silently onto the smooth concrete that edged the pool. Her eyes were glowing green with her shifter magic. She had turned her neon-green jacket inside out, presumably having decided that the darker fabric of its interior lining would disappear more easily in the dark.

  I stepped out of the deep shadow of the tree, revealing myself to her. After catching her gaze, I stepped back, holding my magic in a tight coil around me.

  Kandy crouched. Then, picking up whatever trail she was following, she slunk along the opposite edge of the pool, slowly crossing toward the low brick building that housed the change rooms, showers, and administrative offices.

  At the far corner of the pool, she disappeared.

  Just vanished.

  From my sight. And from my dowser senses.

  Fear washed down my spine, threatening to freeze me in place. But I stifled it, calling my knife into my hand. Dowsing, no matter how much I relied on it, wasn’t my only ability.

  Leaving my hiding spot, I cautiously followed the same course Kandy had been walking, but on the opposite side of the pool. The entire area appeared to be empty. But two steps from the corner of the pool closest to the building, I felt elf magic.

&
nbsp; The illusionist.

  I continued to step sideways, keeping my knife mostly hidden within the folds of my skirt. I was exceedingly aware that I was in full view of any pedestrian who might care to glance over from the seawall. I might have been able to talk myself out of a trespassing charge easily enough. But getting caught waving a jade blade around would be a different matter.

  Suddenly and abruptly, I wasn’t standing at the edge of Kits Pool in the middle of December anymore.

  I was on the rocky shore of a wide purple ocean. Waves sedately rolled across what appeared to be a black-sand beach. Two moons shone brightly overhead, one smaller than the other. A breeze that somehow felt thick, perhaps with salt, rustled my curls.

  Damn it. I was so going to ruin my boots.

  Assuming that I was now hidden from the sight of anyone nearby — as Kandy had disappeared from my view — I raised my knife before me, setting one foot behind the other, ready to lunge and stab. “More games, elf?” I asked the deserted beach before me. “I believe I’ve already proven that I can tear through your illusions. And you didn’t appear to take that well last time.”

  The elf I’d seen in Whistler appeared some twenty feet before me. A vicious, blackened burn across her face and neck continued across one shoulder, destroying her pretty blue, puffy jacket.

  “Dowser,” she said. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” Her British lilt was most definitely less pronounced, smoother, than the accent of the elf I’d murdered three months previously.

  “That’s your failing, not mine,” I said.

  She lifted her undamaged shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. Another learned human gesture, perhaps. “These things aren’t my decisions. I’m not the power here.”

  She wasn’t referring to me. Or to Kandy. I was pretty certain she was talking about whoever sat on the throne she’d shown me.

  “The telepath?” I asked.

  The elf laughed. A low, hearty chuckle. “Is that what you would call her?”