Renegade Magic (Legacy Series Book 3)

by McKenzie Hunter

  Kalen came to his feet, crossing his arms as one hand drummed against his bicep. He finally let his emotions show, and his fear and frustration made things even worse. As he slowly paced the length of the room, I watched him as he did a mental inventory of everything he knew about the various supernaturals that populated this world. There were so many subspecies and those that we thought were extinct. I nearly laughed at the contradiction of it; I’d been considered extinct for a long time.

  “What did she say he looked like?”

  “She said he was tall, pale skin, and gray eyes—totally gray.”

  “But he was able to find each Legacy without sight, which means he’s tracking you by your magical aura or blood the way shapeshifters track by scent. Tracking an aura is very difficult to do. I don’t know of any supernatural who can do that.”

  Blood was the source of who we were and was our fingerprint. The very thing that bound us to others. If you had the blood of a supernatural, you could track that individual. Possession of my blood would allow someone to be able to track any Legacy. I recounted every battle I’d had, every fight, every time I’d spilled blood and never considered cleaning it up. Damn. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But when you were fighting for your life, it was hard to think about a cleanup job afterward. In the last big battle I’d had with Conner, I’d lost a significant amount of blood. It couldn’t be easily cleaned with a wipe or a napkin.

  “But that doesn’t explain why the others didn’t fight back,” I said, eying my sai, moving them closer. Kalen stopped pacing and regarded me for a long time and whatever he saw brought a frown to his face. He was the King of Useless Information, and I lovingly called him KUI because of it. It was hard to deny that most of his information was rather useless, because most people didn’t care about how the notebook came about or the history of the coffee press. But he was also the source of a lot of valuable information, and the fact that he didn’t have any information on this weighed heavily on me. It ripped away the very tenuous grasp I had on the situation.

  “I’ve never seen you nervous before,” he said in a level voice. His handsome and stately features were overtaken by a scowl. He moved with grace and elegance across the room and went to the closet and pulled out a sword. Slowly, he drew it from a brass scabbard that had swirls of intricate designs covering it. The same art covered the hilt of the sword. Light gleamed across the blade. It looked like something you’d see in a martial arts film. He turned it with a surprisingly skilled technique. He lunged with it, cutting through the air, causing a slicing sound with each movement. His stance reminded me more of someone who only practiced in a class, and, based on Kalen’s lifestyle, I assumed a fencing class. But his strikes, even through the air, without an opponent, were precise and proficient. At least in presentation. I never forgot how a fight against an imaginary assailant was always different than one in real life, when skills were the difference between life and death.

  “You look dangerous with that thing. Do you know how to use it?” I asked.

  He took a few more swings where he handled the weapon with the skill of a marksman. He struck, parried, and moved to block and attack his imaginary opponent.

  “If he comes for you, he comes for me.” Even impeccably dressed in slim-fitting dark blue slacks and a white French cuff shirt, with cuff links that would pay my bills for the month, he looked menacing, a formidable opponent.

  “I guess the next time I have to wade through a sewer and fight off a troll, you got it, right?”

  He scoffed, allowing a crooked smile to lift his lips. “I said I would save you from death, not sewage. Priorities woman—get your priorities straight.”

  I suddenly heard a soothing lilt, a tranquil melody that embraced my mind, ushering me into a somnolent state the words that rode it willed. I heard them, mesmeric and commanding. My gaze went to Kalen: his eyes were widened, blank. His face was expressionless, and he swayed gently for several moments before collapsing to the ground. Other than the gentle rise of his chest from breathing, he wasn’t moving. The words continued, just as entreating and soft, yet the command was stronger. I pulled magic, erecting a shield as I fought hard to ignore the enchanting sound of a spell that meant nothing to me but fought to control my mind and body. The scent of a stronger magic was there. That magic I’d felt at the other Legacy houses. It struck hard against the shield and eventually infiltrated it. Bile rose as pain gripped my body. I fought harder. I needed noise to drown it out. Drown the sound out. iPod! Like my phone, I always kept it close to me on my desk. I turned it on, jammed the buds in my ears, and increased the volume to high, shoved the iPod in the waistband of my pants, to keep it close to me. Music blasted from them but I could still hear sound. Each movement was a struggle. He appeared, the person who’d been described as being at the male Legacy’s home, and the witness hadn’t done him justice. His presence overpowered the room despite the delicate look of his long, slender limbs and coltish body. He seemed overwhelming. Nearly seven feet tall, he had over a foot and a half on me. I grabbed my sai, expelling a breath of relief when I didn’t see any weapons on him; he had just his words. Words that I couldn’t block out. His eyes fixed on me, or rather in my direction. The witness was right, they were gray—everything including what should have been white. He moved slowly, I assumed trying to determine where I was. Stepping back, I made sure not to make a sound. The magic came harder, not nearly as somber as before, rough and forceful as he attempted to take over my mind.

  “Anya.” The pattern of words changed as if they had been manipulated just for me. My joints ached as I moved, and my body slowly betrayed me. I held the twins closer to me, ready to defend myself. They felt like they weighed a ton; my muscles quivered as I tried to hold them. I made them rigid. Squaring my shoulders, I forced up stronger shields that he seemed to find small openings in, getting through. My head pounded. Faster and stronger his spells came, countering anything that I used to defend myself. He moved like a fluid wave of threat, stepping over Kalen’s still body as though it was inconsequential.

  Through the spells he cast he whispered my name—no, cooed it. That indecipherable draw I felt to listen came harder. Drawing more magic than I had, I blasted it into him with force. It hit then flowed over him, taking on a solid form before shattering into pieces. He lifted his hand and waved his fingers, taunting me, and the nails extended to points. Each was a dagger, the same size as the wounds found on the murdered Legacy. I forced myself to action, every movement painful as my body rejected the most minor motion. Moving just enough to go into a defensive stance, I waited until he was closer. He inched toward me, his weird eyes focused on me, the chanting in my head becoming louder trying to drown out the music. I focused on the words of the songs coming from the earbuds, the bass, the variations of the melodies. Anything to keep me from being lulled into submission.

  I struck when he was close, moving slower than I was used to, my muscles groaning under the resistance. A blade slid into him, and he moved farther on it, getting closer to me. The look on his face was the same impassive one that he’d had before, unfazed by the pain.

  Reaching out, the dagger-clawed hand sliced over my stomach; the searing pain was overshadowed by the shock of my legs folding under me, collapsing me to the ground. I couldn’t move them and I only knew they were still there because I could see them as I unsuccessfully willed them to move. He slid back off the sai, and his blood spilled for only a moment before it ceased. With a wave of his hand, the tear in his shirt closed, and I suspected the wound did as well. I kept a firm grip on each sai, aware that I was limited in movement and only had a few opportunities to strike. He was biding his time, pushing his spell through the shield that was wavering, trying to drown out the music.

  Just get closer. I needed him closer. I closed my eyes for a moment, mastering my panic so I could focus. If nothing else I’d fight his spell, keep him from subduing me with his magic. He wouldn’t get his claws near my heart to paralyze it. So much noise in the
room, in my head, I couldn’t hear him move, but his imposing body cast a shadow over me as he knelt down. One strike was probably all I had in me. Timing it as best as I could the moment he was close enough, I jammed one sai into his left eye, and then the other into the right. While dropping my shields I used magic to push him back, pin him to the wall. He struggled. I held. He struggled more. Bile crept up my throat, and my muscles screamed for relief that would not come until he was dead—or so I hoped. The spell would be lifted but I wasn’t sure about the paralysis. It was probably a poison. I would need an antivenin.

  “Levy.” Harrah’s voice rose over the music, the spell no longer raging in my head, just music. I never thought I’d be happy to see her, but I was.

  “This is a mess,” she said as she moved around me to turn off the iPod. I heard her draw a ragged breath before making her way to the creature that was struggling, trying to hold on to life that would soon no longer be his. I propped up on my elbows, watching her as she looked at it.

  “Do you know what it is?” I asked.

  She nodded, slowly. “A Mors. A very dangerous and old sorcerer, who can only be summoned. A great deal of magic is required to do it, beyond anything that any one individual possesses.” She turned, a slight smile working its way onto her lips. The same placid, gentle eyes reflected back at me, innocuous and kind, but behind them lurked something more.

  I focused on her as she walked slowly around the room and knelt next to Kalen. “He’s alive,” she said. “Once the Mors dies, the spell that has enchanted him will be released.” It was hard to ignore how undisturbed she was about the Mors pinned against the wall slowly dying, as if it was something she was used to or she didn’t have it in her to be bothered by it. Why wouldn’t she just kill him, release him from his pain?

  She took off her suit jacket, folded it, and placed it under my head. “People are paranoid when it comes to your kind. I thought it would be an easy transition, but it doesn’t seem like it will be.” Her tone was so soothing and melodious that I closed my eyes, allowing her reassurance to wash over me. “It’s not your fault. I wish they could see what I do. Do you know our history? The fae weren’t much better. Glamours and the manipulation of the mind are great powers, and it’s so easy to give in to the illusion of omnipotent power. But we are always just one iron dagger away from being subjugated. You all were much stronger. People fear the idea that a small army is necessary to subdue just one person, but that’s what it takes to do that with you all. Out there, you reinforced their fears: the monsters, the people with godlike power. I’m sure it is a burden for someone your age.”

  “I think people will come around,” I said softly.

  “You’ve seen so much and yet you hold on to a beautiful innocence. Those thoughts are comforting. Hold on to them.” I felt it. Her. Hard, forcing her way in, fighting to control me, seducing me into a quiescent state. Nothing good happened in that state. I pushed back, and she gasped. I wasn’t as weak as I looked. She tensed next to me.

  “Sleep, dear child,” she commanded. It seemed odd coming from a person who might be just fifteen years older than I was. I fought the good sleep, the somnolent state she was trying to seduce me into. While I fought it, I missed the blade she sliced across my throat.

  Then she sat there for a moment gingerly stroking my hair. How cruel she had to be to do this to someone and sit and wait until they died.

  I wrapped my hands around my neck, blood seeping from the cut and covering them. My breaths became labored. The pain overshadowed it all. I ignored the fatigue—it was the pain and the light-headedness that were threatening to take over. I needed to get through this. I remembered her light fingers stroking through my hair, her gentle words, her hollow explanation. Did she even care?

  I needed to survive. I willed myself to fight through the exhaustion. Pulling in magic, I attempted to use it. My hands warmed, colors bouncing and swirling around them. Not nearly as vibrant or strong as usual, but the magic served its purpose. I just needed to heal, but blackness came, subduing my perseverance and will. I directed my magic to my neck. The warmth nicked at it, wrapping around it.

  She came to her feet and spoke, her voice seeming to come from a distance.

  “The Mors are unique beings. Bloodhounds, you can call them. Wonderful assassins. All they need is a little drop of blood and they can track your magical aura. But you of all people know that, don’t you, Anya?” Her light, wispy voice floated through the air like a gentle melody, as kind as it always was. “For someone as dangerous as you are, you aren’t careful with where you bleed. You should be more careful, a handkerchief, a spot in the soil, a discarded shirt after a fight can all be used. Your blood could be used by him to find the others. Too bad he failed. I told him to leave you for last—I’m not wrong often.” She paused. “Just as I wasn’t wrong when I told the other members on the Magic Council that you would cause Gareth’s fall and potentially that of the Council.”

  I wondered if she had done something to Gareth.

  I felt it, her pushing into my mind, not nearly as much as the Mors had, just a gentle probe. Her smile widened. “You want to stop me, don’t you? But can you keep the Mors there, heal your wounds, and stop me? Can you?” She leaned over me. A dark cast drifted over her delicate features. Although she knelt before me with the cherubic face that had fooled so many before, I saw her as what she was, a monster.

  “You have quite the task, don’t you? Let him go and he’ll finish you,” she taunted.

  I pressed my hands to my neck, trying to stop the bleeding. I struggled to hold the Mors, stop the bleeding, and keep her from doing whatever she was trying to do in my head. Everything was hazy.

  I vaguely saw her figure as she strode over to him, slowly and languidly. Her voice dropped. “You failed. If you fail again, then I will send you back without the payment we promised.” With a quick tug she pulled out my sai and tossed them aside. There was a thud as my magic wavered, and he fell to the ground. I wondered what it took to kill him; a sai through the eyes should have done it. He shouldn’t have lingered so long. I focused my magic on trying to slow the bleeding. I kept fading in and out, but I saw the Mors rise to his feet. I dug my elbows into the floor and scooted back, pulling the dead weight of my legs with me. I couldn’t let him get near me. It was his final mark—the kill strike of his poisonous claw piercing the heart. Deadly information that I stored for the future—if in fact I had a future.

  Harrah left to allow him to finish the job. If Kalen were to wake, he’d only see my body and never know that Harrah had been there.

  Once again the soft timbre of the spell filled the air as it tried to shepherd me into complacency. Weak, tired, and barely clinging on, I had to decide whether to use magic to try to heal my injury or to fight him. Neither one was a good option because both led to death. Without the music from the iPod, denying that sound became harder and harder. My eyes were heavy—so heavy. Keeping them open became more of a chore than anything. I leaned my head back, allowing the sound to take over so I could rest. Peace—that liminal place between life and death where I felt as though I was lingering.

  My eyes popped open at a shrill noise that burst through the room. If I hadn’t known better I would’ve thought it was a banshee, but the sound was different: not as high, but enough to distort that lulling, beautiful sound that was threatening to overtake me. That had overtaken me. Fighting the weight of my heavy lids, I opened my eyes just enough to form little slits; Conner was standing there, but his mouth wasn’t open. A diaphanous ball waved around his fingers, as if reacting to the chant. That shrill sound cut through the air, dominated it, and prevented me from hearing the spell any longer. The Mors stood up and directed his attention to Conner. The sound became louder. The shrieking noise that in any other case I would’ve hated was the most beautiful and welcome thing I’d ever heard because it stopped the spell.

  The Mors was just inches from Conner when the paralyzing chanting stopped. I struggled to ke
ep my eyes open and my hands over my wound, magic coursing through them trying to heal, but it wasn’t enough. It eased the pain but didn’t heal it. Then a sword manifested in Conner’s hand, and with one strike the Mors’s head fell from his body. He collapsed to his knees, blood painting the walls and the front of Conner’s shirt. Droplets of it landed on my pants. I tried to move my legs—still nothing. The sorcerer was dead, so I should’ve been able to move them. I collapsed back just as Conner knelt down next to me, his fingers gentle on my chin as he turned my head to look at my injury.

  “Do you want me to help you?”

  I had a snarky response ready for him, but I didn’t have it in me to deliver. I wanted him to help me. I didn’t want to die.

  “Please,” I said in a faint voice.

  “As you wish.” I heard Kalen call my name off in the distance, then there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn’t know if I had passed out or if Conner was moving me to a different location.

  CHAPTER 13

  I knew I was only experiencing darkness because I didn’t have the strength to open my eyes, look at my surroundings, and see who else was around me. I didn’t care as long as it wasn’t the Mors. I felt the warmth of someone’s body next to mine. Then a face was close to me, and gentle hands cradled my face. I moved my head; a sharp pain in my neck caused me to raise my hands to it. I pulled them back and saw red. How much blood had I lost? How much more could I afford to lose?

  I wanted to speak but even swallowing hurt. Conner’s voice was gentle, a soothing whisper, a murmuring oceanic sound. It might not have been that beautiful; perhaps I was just happy not to be so close to death or at least be given the illusion that death wasn’t imminent.

  “My magic can heal you. Make you whole. Anya, would you like me to help you?” His words were more than an offer of assistance; if I accepted I’d be making a tacit agreement of allegiance to him and his agenda.