Champagne, Misfits, and Other Shady Magic

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  “I … I …” the dark-haired vampire stuttered. “I wasn’t … hunting.”

  “Calm, controlled,” Warner said. “Interesting.”

  Kandy huffed in disappointment. “Really, dowser? You got me going, what with the running. And this baby vamp was the threat?”

  The vampire’s gaze snapped to me, his fear easing into curiosity. Apparently he knew my title when he heard it, even if he didn’t recognize me by sight.

  Warner chuckled at the wolf’s dissatisfaction. Then he turned his head slightly. “Expecting a witch?”

  “Mory’s friend,” I said, having caught the taste of green watermelon over top of the grassy base of witch magic a moment before he spoke. “Amy, now known as Burgundy.”

  The vampire worried his bottom lip. “Is the necromancer okay, then? I, uh, noticed … the … you know …” He walked two fingers over the palm of his left hand, apparently concerned about naming the zombies out loud.

  Warner melted into the shadows, heading off to make sure that the witch we’d both felt approaching was of the helpful, friendly variety.

  The vampire muttered excitedly to himself, reaching for the leather satchel that had fallen out of the tree alongside him.

  I darted forward, catching his wrist carefully so as to not hurt him. He flinched nonetheless. When he moved, I had tasted a secondary tenor of magic hidden beneath his primary jelly-bean taste. I didn’t know if he was reaching for a weapon or not. Though vampires didn’t usually carry objects of power, what with their ability to beguile prey, then tear its throat out.

  Kandy had darted around behind me to snatch up the satchel, which she unclipped and upended beside the vampire.

  Two black notebooks, a fancy pen, a leather-bound book that looked ancient, and a bag of blood tumbled out onto the grass.

  Ben moaned quietly. But in embarrassment, not hunger.

  Huffing, Kandy tossed the satchel over the bag of blood, stalking around the tree until she stood beside me again.

  “You know who I am,” I said quietly. Ignoring — for the moment at least — that he carried blood with him.

  The dark-haired vampire nodded.

  “Do you know the proper way to introduce yourself?”

  He nodded again, but this time as though he felt stupid for not having done so earlier. Even though I had just yanked him out of a tree instead of greeting him formally. So some of that was on me.

  I blamed Mory. I was overly protective of her.

  “Go ahead.” I let go of the vampire’s wrist, stepping back.

  He gained his feet effortlessly, straightening his sweater and brushing off his jeans with hints of the fluid movement that came so naturally to Kett. Then he lifted his chin proudly. “Benjamin Garrick. Son of Teresa Garrick, necromancer. Child of Nigel Farris, vampire, deceased. Ward of Kettil, the executioner and elder of the Conclave.”

  Kett’s ward? Well. Surprise, surprise. Was Benjamin the reason the executioner had been more circumspect than usual lately?

  “Invoking the name of the executioner is not to be done lightly, baby vamp,” Kandy said with sudden viciousness.

  Benjamin wasn’t fazed. “I speak it with permission.”

  Kandy gave me a look, and I nodded. Though I wasn’t privy to the fledgling’s connection to Kett, it made sense. Gran had negotiated the Garricks’ entry into Vancouver, and she normally wouldn’t have been all that keen about having Benjamin in what was traditionally witch territory. Except I had some unusual friends.

  Vampires were known to be … well, complicated to coexist with. And as such, it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that the bag of blood Benjamin carried was one of the conditions of his admittance into Godfrey coven territory.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Benjamin,” I said.

  He smiled. “I go by Garrick.”

  “Nope,” Kandy said. “Too confusing. And contrived.”

  Benjamin’s expression went forlorn at this pronouncement. “A real vampire wouldn’t go by Ben. Or Benjamin.”

  “Not our problem, fledgling.” Kandy sniffed.

  “Really?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face. “He can’t decide what he wants to be called?”

  “He can put more thought into it, can’t he?”

  I cleared my throat, tamping down on my amusement at Kandy exerting her dominance over a fledgling vampire so we could follow through with the formalities. “Kandy, werewolf, enforcer of the West Coast North American Pack.”

  “The wielder’s wolf,” Kandy said darkly.

  Well, that was new. And not at all intimidating. For me, at least, since I was the wielder in question and Kandy’s forthright claiming of the relationship sounded intentional and specific. Still, I had no idea what she meant by it.

  Benjamin’s fingers flexed as if he was desperate to be holding something. But again, the tenor of his jelly-bean-infused magic remained controlled. Even sedate.

  “Jade Godfrey,” I said. “Dowser, granddaughter of Pearl Godfrey, chair of the Convocation.”

  Benjamin bobbed his head, confirming that he already understood full well who I was.

  “Alchemist,” Kandy added pointedly. “Wielder of the instruments of assassination. Dragon slayer.”

  I sighed inwardly.

  Benjamin’s jaw dropped, then stayed down.

  Kandy snorted smugly. Werewolves loved to play games, especially with vampires. Apparently, being young didn’t gain Benjamin any leeway.

  Ignoring Kandy and all the posturing she apparently felt was necessary, I spoke to him. “May I see the magical artifact on your wrist?”

  Surprised, the dark-haired vampire wrapped his left hand across the wrist of his right, mortification flushing his face. The sleeves of his sweater hung to the knuckles of his long, almost-delicate fingers.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “It’s rude to ask after another Adept’s magic, but it’s pretty much my job now.”

  “How did you know I had … a magical artifact?”

  “I’m a dowser. That means, for me at least, that I taste magic.”

  His gaze fixed on me. A smile slowly spread across his face, becoming practically all encompassing. The expression of wonderment transformed the young vampire from completely average in the looks department into heartthrob territory. Like, instantly. “You … taste … magic.”

  Kandy leaned in, eyeing Benjamin with renewed interest.

  Oh, yes. It was a good thing I was seriously attached to my fiance. But I was going to have to keep an eye on Mory. I wasn’t at all certain that the necromancer could stand up to that smile or the irresistible magic that backed it.

  “And me? Do I … taste like anything?” His question ended in a hushed whisper, filled with a tense neediness paired with gleeful anticipation.

  For other young adults his age — if my loose understanding of Benjamin’s recent transformation was accurate — the world revolved around sex and food. But the fledgling vampire was obviously fueled by knowledge. Specifically, knowledge about the magical universe he’d just been reborn into, and the Adepts he shared that world with.

  I laughed quietly. “You taste like a vampire, of course. Some kind of intense spice that I haven’t quite figured out yet. But mostly like jelly beans. Sour grape, I think.”

  He frowned thoughtfully. “I taste like super sweet, sugary … sour … grapes?”

  “Yes. Except the artifact on your wrist is necromancer magic, which I can feel more than taste. It’s not Mory’s, though, or her mother, Danica’s. Your mother’s?”

  He nodded, then dropped his gaze. “To help keep me … in check.”

  Ah. That was why he’d been upset in response to my mentioning it. And that also made a likely explanation for the sedate tenor of his magic. I’d heard that young vampires were driven by bloodlust, but Kett’s own control was rather epic in contrast. I’d seen him surrounded by bleeding, mortally wounded shapeshifters and witches — including myself — and he hadn’t shown a hint of fang. Magic w
as the one thing that seemed to put the executioner over the edge, but even then, I’d never seen him bite anyone simply because he was out of control.

  Benjamin started to roll up the sleeve of his sweater.

  “Never mind,” I said. “I get it.”

  He shook his head. “No. I understand rules. You’ve got them, and I’ll follow. It took me almost a year to convince my mother I could leave the house. I like Vancouver. I’d like to stay.”

  He uncovered what appeared to be a cross between a two-inch-thick cuff and a torture device. Constructed out of the woven bones of a small animal or bird, the bracelet was embedded into his flesh, just above his wrist. And because of his vampire magic, his skin had healed, half-absorbing the bone cuff. It seethed with necromancy, and not the tasty toasted-marshmallow kind that Mory wielded.

  It looked, tasted, and felt as though the casting and the wearing of the device had to be painful. As in, continually. This wasn’t a magical artifact. It was a necromancy spell — a perpetual working, probably fueled by Benjamin’s own magic — designed specifically to keep his vampire nature from rising.

  I grimaced, clamping down on my sudden need to tear the magic-laced bones from his flesh.

  Beside me, Kandy folded her fingers into fists, clenching her teeth. Then she stalked away, pacing a few steps before coming back again.

  Yeah, I wasn’t the only softhearted one.

  “Um …” Benjamin said, watching the werewolf warily. “Do you mind if I make notes?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Notes. You know? I’m starting a chronicle.”

  “A chronicle?” Kandy asked mockingly. “ ‘Dear Diary, today I saw the necromancer again. I desperately want to bite her, but I just can’t bring myself to confess it to her.’ ”

  Frustration-fueled emotion flitted across Benjamin’s face. The magic of the torture device he wore on his wrist flared, and he covered it with his hand. Attempting to hide it, and the pain it caused, from our sight.

  “Take it off him, dowser,” Kandy snapped.

  “What?” Benjamin cried. “No!” He tugged the sleeve of his sweater down so it covered the woven bone bracelet, blinking at me. “You could, though? Remove it?”

  “She’s an alchemist, isn’t she?” Kandy snarled, starting to pace again.

  “I thought … that’s not about turning lead into gold?”

  “What?” Kandy cried. She indignantly threw her arms up in the air.

  “That would be a pretty cool power,” Benjamin said enthusiastically. “Useful, you know?”

  Kandy looked at me, shaking her head.

  “What?” I asked. “How’s he supposed to know?”

  “Kett’s supposedly mentoring him.”

  “Well, that explains everything,” I said sarcastically. “The executioner is just so verbose.”

  “He brings me books,” Benjamin said defensively, crouching down to grab the leather tome Kandy had tossed in the grass among his notebooks and the bag of blood. He waved the book as though it were supporting evidence. “Other chronicles. But they’re really old. So … I thought … you know.”

  “That you’d write your own.”

  Benjamin nodded, swiftly repacking his bag.

  “Industrious,” Kandy said.

  “Everyone needs a place,” I murmured.

  “It’s dangerous,” Kandy countered. “Writing about magic, maybe about Adepts who don’t want to be chronicled.” She waved her hand at me, as though suggesting I was liable to murder anyone who jotted down facts about me.

  Benjamin straightened, dropping his satchel over one shoulder but keeping a pen and a black Moleskine in hand.

  Kandy rounded on him. Again. “Have you mentioned your little project to Kett?”

  The dark-haired vampire became still, which made me realize he was breathing, slowly and surely. I wondered how long he’d keep that habit up, other than to speak.

  He was also scared of his so-called mentor.

  But then, who wasn’t, really? At least a little bit? The executioner carried a lot of magic — and carried it uneasily, according to him. Even Warner kept tabs on Kett. They were currently engaged in playing some remote chess game they had started months before.

  Benjamin swallowed. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Are you going to ask permission?” Kandy asked pointedly.

  The young vampire bobbed his head.

  “Fine,” the werewolf huffed. “We won’t say anything. Yet.” She nodded toward the notebook in his hand. “A tablet would be smarter. More useful.”

  “I’ve got one. And a laptop. But I prefer the feel of pen on paper. You know?”

  “Paper,” Kandy sneered, crossing her arms. “Well, go ahead. We’ve got things to do.”

  The dark-haired vampire flipped open the Moleskine, uncapping what appeared to be a snazzy fountain pen that carried a hint of residual magic. Vampire magic.

  I watched as Benjamin flipped to a blank page and carefully wrote Kandy’s name and titles across the top of it.

  “Did Kett give you the pen?” I asked.

  Benjamin nodded, not looking up from his notes.

  “And the notebook?”

  “A box of them,” he said, almost absentmindedly.

  I nodded at Kandy knowingly, and she tipped her head in acknowledgment. There was very little that the executioner missed, and very little that he did unintentionally. Apparently, Benjamin already had Kett’s permission to chronicle whatever he wanted. Which, of course, raised the question of why. Perhaps Kett simply wanted the young vampire to have some focus — something other than the bloodlust that I was guessing the bone bracelet on his wrist helped hold at bay.

  “I ain’t standing around all day,” Kandy snapped. “You get two questions.”

  “Each?” Ben asked hopefully.

  I laughed quietly.

  Kandy glowered at me. I wasn’t particularly helpful at keeping fledgling Adepts in line — or at least not keeping them toeing the line the exacting werewolf wanted them on. For their own protection, of course and always. But no matter how gruff and blunt Kandy preferred to appear, she had taken on the duty of enforcing the magical grid seriously. Embracing the opportunity almost gleefully, in fact.

  “I really should check in on Mory,” I said. “And the witch.”

  “Burgundy … UBC … healing spells …” Benjamin muttered under his breath, reminding himself — and at the same time, inadvertently letting me know how sharp his hearing was. “Formerly Amy.”

  “Also off limits,” I said. “For biting.”

  Benjamin looked affronted. “It would be difficult to make friends, and, you know, write a chronicle about the modern age of the Adept if I went around trying to bite everyone.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Kandy muttered.

  I shot her a look. She didn’t need to be giving the fledgling vampire any ideas about his potential ability to beguile anyone and everyone with a mere bite. I was already worried about the enthralling magic that backed his smile.

  Kandy flashed me one of her patented nonsmiles in return, tugging her phone out of her pocket and scanning her messages. “Pearl texted earlier to say the bloom had faded from the grid. Nothing since.”

  “The grid?” Benjamin asked hopefully.

  “Is that your first question?” Kandy snapped back.

  The dark-haired vampire tilted his head. Apparently, he needed to think it over.

  I quashed another smile, leaving Benjamin to Kandy and swiftly crossing back into the graveyard.

  4

  I veered toward the side entrance of the cemetery, hidden in the cedar hedge where I felt Warner loitering in the shadows and Mory and Burgundy on the street beyond. As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I saw Mory climbing into the passenger side of an older Honda Civic. The car was already running.

  “Everything all right, then?” I asked, speaking to my dragon where he had appeared at my shoulder.

  “The witch, if you can call he
r that, used a masking spell,” Warner said with a sneer. “Premade.”

  “Careful, sixteenth century,” I teased. “You’re letting your prejudice show.”

  Warner grunted, crossing his arms and continuing to glower as the Honda backed up until it was even with me. The twenty-year-old witch at the wheel had streaks of blue threaded through her wavy brown hair. It was an easy guess that it had come from the same dye application as Mory’s. Rolling down the automatic window, she leaned across Mory in the passenger seat, waving at me. “Hi, Jade!”

  Now that I laid eyes on the curvy and cute hazel-eyed witch, I recognized her, of course. But the taste of her green-watermelon magic was so muted that it was unlikely I ever would have tasted it over Gran, or any of the other Adepts who might have been in the bakery at the same time as Burgundy. Also, I wasn’t entirely certain I’d been reintroduced to her by her chosen witch name.

  “Thanks for coming by, Burgundy.”

  “Oh, yeah, no problem. I’ll ask Pearl for a reversal spell in the morning.” She was still grinning widely. “I think she can key it on an exact window of time, so I had Mory make a note. I don’t have classes on Saturdays, so I can do it right away.”

  “Yes, I would think it would be a priority,” Warner grumbled.

  The junior witch’s smile faltered around the edges. “Um, right.”

  I stepped up to the car, placing my hand on the open window edge next to Mory’s shoulder. “You’ll call me.”

  “I’ll text,” Mory snapped, not looking at me. “If it happens again.”

  “No,” I said, attempting to be patient. “You’ll call me if it feels like it might happen again.”

  Mory turned her dark eyes up to meet mine, trying and failing to pin me with the look. “And what would you do, Jade? You aren’t a necromancer.”

  I held her gaze steadily, tamping down on the need to threaten or frighten her with a full list of everything I was capable of doing if her necromancy got out of control. Zombies would not, could not, be yanked from their graves to go free range in Vancouver. Above and beyond the panic and the extensive cover-up, Mory would be tried and convicted of exposing the Adept world to those without magic — a massive population that easily and extensively outnumbered magic users. I wasn’t sure what the punishment would be, but it wouldn’t be light.