The silence thinned as Cory flipped through the book and Madison joined me in discouraging him.
Darkness suddenly claimed the room, making it appear duskier than outside. A white pool of light flashed in the middle of the room followed swiftly by a loud boom that could only be my door being blasted open. Magic that I couldn’t identify inundated the air.
I switched the lights on and, as I suspected, the door was off its hinges.
“You didn’t open the Veil, but you did let something out,” I said, assessing the damage. But who, or what?
The noise brought my neighbor Ms. Harp out of her apartment. She gave a sweeping look at the splintered wood littering the hall and my destroyed door, glowered, and shook her head before returning to her apartment. I deserved that. If only I could get her to come into my apartment to give Cory the same castigating look.
Cory and Madison were staring at the middle of the room where the bright white light had been. I couldn’t bring myself to say “I told you so” because regret had put a worrisome crease on his face.
“What did I do?” he asked softly.
“Nothing we can’t fix.” My voice held more confidence than I felt. But I needed it. He didn’t, and neither did Madison who was still staring speculatively at the space where the light show and shimmer had taken place. I could see her need to fix things that were “Erin” or even “Erin adjacent.” But nothing could be done.
Magic leaves a fingerprint. This was definitely magic, although I couldn’t identify it. Fae, witch, mage; or even an “other”. They all lived in the Veil. For all I knew it could have been a god. Malific? No, she couldn’t be here. She was in the Veil, imprisoned by an Omni ward.
CHAPTER 3
It had been three days since Cory had released the unknown from the Veil, and even the shifter Madison called couldn’t track the scent. This was worrisome, especially when he said the trail had just disappeared. Trails didn’t just disappear unless the person Wynded. I suspected the visitor couldn’t Wynd, because that would have been the preferred mode of transportation rather than destroying my door.
Madison hadn’t reported any suspicious activity over the past few days, but it was difficult to not think about it. My uneasiness intensified under Asher’s overt suspicion when I returned the book yesterday. It lingered as I made my way to my car, and I could still feel the weight of it as I backed out of his driveway.
I simply told Asher I didn’t need the book anymore, making an effort to keep the conversation as evasive and succinct as possible without giving him an opportunity to determine if I lied.
The unknown couldn’t be dealt with, so I had to focus on what could—getting released from therapy.
Is there such a thing as spite therapy? I wondered. Because there wasn’t anything remotely therapeutic about what was happening with Dr. Sumner. We sat in stilted silence while I sipped on my second cup of coffee from his Keurig.
The office had changed. Thick, room-darkening curtains were drawn. The fire extinguisher that I used to ward off the attack was closer to him—actually there were two now. The attaché case he kept on his desk was also closer to him, open and tilted against the chair. I’m sure that would make it easier to retrieve whatever weapon he had stored in it. An obsidian-colored stone was on the side table. Magic wafted off it—witch’s magic, although I had no idea what it was for. I assumed it was like the electric pellets I used as a distraction. It didn’t feel like a Crelic, which gave magical ability to non-magic wielders.
Seeing my interest in the stone, he picked it up, taking in the heft of it. “When it comes in contact with a hard surface, it creates a fire.” Ah, just like my electric pellet, but a bigger distraction. His tone was stiff and guarded, completely unlike his usual relaxed tone with its hints of aversion and judgment.
“I’m sorry about what happened during the last session,” I said.
“It’s not your fault. Your life seems to lend to such things. Do you mind telling me why?” There was true curiosity in his face and his voice. He took off his Clark Kent glasses, giving me a full view of the ocean-blue eyes, softened by his intrigue. And perhaps even concern. Noticing my staring, he quickly slipped the glasses back on.
“Why what?”
“Wouldn’t life be simpler if you totally emerged yourself in your humanity, ignored magic and the problems that come with that world?”
I’d cured him of his inane curiosity with the supernatural world. That had to count for something. Now he was back to being a Nike commercial. Just Do It.
“I don’t think that’s a possibility. Even more so now.” Maybe this wasn’t spite therapy but a disturbing game of chicken. I unloaded on him, dousing him with the frigid water of my reality to see if I could get him to bail on me, dismiss me from therapy because he didn’t want to be bothered anymore.
I explained the Veil to him, the Immortalis being a creation of the god who might be my mother, how I got hold of the Mystic Souls and nearly killed Madison, and that going into the Veil to retrieve a mysterious box for Mephisto was now my only chance to get magic and, based on my last interaction with Mephisto, that might not even be an option anymore.
He listened intently to the deluge of information. As he mulled over it, scribbling on his notepad, I took another sip from my cup of coffee before lying back on the sofa. If he could wear a sports jacket with the accompanying elbow patches and his Clark Kent glasses, then I could lie on the sofa and complete the clichéd scene.
My arm was folded over my face to block the ceiling lights. He went to the wall and dimmed them, giving the room a warmer feel. His voice matched the melancholic atmosphere in the room.
“If the Mystic Souls didn’t work and your other source might not be an option, what are your plans?” He kept his voice neutral, but I knew he was just setting the groundwork for the next discussion. A world without magic. Learn to fight the urges. Maybe another push for medication or something he believes will subdue it. Take the office job that Madison offered me. Submit to an insipid and banal life.
I sat up and looked him firmly in the eyes. “I’ll figure out something. There has to be another way. If Mephisto exists, I can’t believe that there aren’t others.” There were others, the very men in his inner circle. The similarities between them made me believe it. It wasn’t a coincidence that the exact same marking showed up on all of them when we went through the fire at Elizabeth’s, the Woman in Black.
Dr. Sumner was really leaning into his role as “therapist” with his introspective look while rubbing the bridge of his nose. He set the glasses on the table, and before I could give him a second appraising look, replaced them on his face. I really needed to work on not letting everything I think show on my face. I wasn’t ogling him, just noticing that my therapist was not bad to look at.
“Really, Clark Kent?” I said, getting a glimpse of the smirk that was threatening to emerge.
“Clark Kent?”
“You don’t need them. They bother your nose, so it’s silly to wear them.”
He gave me a light chuckle and deliberately pushed them farther up his nose. “Let’s talk about”—he peered at his notes—“Malific.”
With his face professionally neutral, I couldn’t read whether learning that gods lived among us—or just a slip into the Veil away—had shocked him. Or that I might be one.
“What do you want to know?”
“What do you plan to do with this information?”
“Nothing. I don’t even know if it’s true.”
“You do. That’s why you’re here. It’s the reason I didn’t have to urge the information out of you. Erin, let’s talk about it. You—”
“‘can’t fight your demons if you don’t admit they’re there.’” I finished his favorite tautology.
His lips puckered into a moue. “Exactly. You might not like what I say, but it doesn’t make it any less true.”
“I need to hear it from my parents. Right now, it’s all speculation and assumptio
ns.”
“You don’t trust the source?”
I did, and that was what was most difficult. I didn’t want to believe it. Part of me was clinging to me just being a death mage. Raven Cursed. Looking for a way to have magic without anyone dying. Weird as it might sound, I missed the simplicity of that.
“When do you plan on talking to your parents?”
I shrugged and became distracted by his bookshelf. Used to me getting distracted, he was silent when I stood and strolled to his shelf, scanning the titles. I was shocked to see two spell books. They weren’t anything worth looking at, easily found in one of the occultic bookstores owned by the witch covens. That was one of the ways witches made money. They had spell books and harmony candles, which weren’t anything more than vanilla and lavender, but humans considered them enchanted because they were made by witches. That belief was something the witches cultivated by whispering an invocation over each candle that was sold.
Many humans liked to believe they had untapped magical ability and were just one spell away from unlocking it. Mages made several attempts to capitalize on that, but it never worked as well as with witches. Humans considered witches more mythical, which I believed was another source of contention between witches and mages. Movies and TV shows supported the mysterious witch persona, the Charmed one, the one the vampires turned to for help when all had failed. That badass-magic-wielding savior who came up with the right spell in the nick of time to save everything and everyone. Witches were magic-chic and they used it to make money.
“You know these are just basic spells and only brush the surface of what witches can do with their magic, right?”
“I know. But I’m curious and these are what I could get my hands on. It’s harder than I thought to get a real magic book. But it’s interesting, nonetheless.”
I wondered how bad he wanted a real magic book. Enough to release me from therapy? He was human, he wouldn’t be able to do anything with it, and I was sure Mr. Responsibility wouldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands. And such a book wouldn’t contain dark spells or spells that most witches and mages didn’t have access to. Protection of such books from the mainstream was an implicit responsibility of supernaturals. Giving him one wouldn’t be breaking a law, just a social contract.
Pushing the idea aside, I shelved the magic book and continued to pull books off the shelves, perused them and re-shelved them.
“Erin, let’s discuss the incident.” His tone was firm.
“We discussed it. I give you my word, I told you everything. I borrowed his magic, left the room to practice, and didn’t feel the signal that it was time to return it. The feeling can’t be ignored . . .” I let my sentence drift into silence.
“If you ignore it, then it’s intentional?”
I nodded my head once in answer. “It’s not something you can miss. It’s a raging signal, and if I miss the physical signs, I start to feel like I’m draped in darkness. Ignoring it is my choice.”
“And he was dead, and you’re missing time from that day?”
Admitting it once was difficult; twice was something I refused to do. Standing with the book I had been perusing pressed to my chest, I took in several long breaths, hoping they would chase the memories away. They didn’t.
“Could someone have set you up?” His voice was so low, I strained to hear him. I re-shelved the book and returned to the sofa. Dr. Sumner leaned forward. Concern marred his face. Intense inquiring eyes bored into mine, rendering me speechless. I had never thought about that.
“There aren’t many death mages or Raven Cursed or whatever. You seem to be stronger than most, and that’s probably because you’re a god or half . . . demigod. If the man who tried to abduct you knew what you were, could he have been the only one?”
The words didn’t come immediately as I processed what he said. “There would have been an attempt before,” I eventually said. I had been in enough situations that if someone wanted me dead or set up there would have been enough opportunities to do it.
He nodded his head slowly as he leaned back in his chair, fingers clasped behind his head. Several minutes passed before he spoke. “What if it wasn’t you they cared about, but him? You were a means to an end. The mage who killed her host? You have a history of not having great control.”
“Our time is up,” I blurted, jumping to my feet. Before he could say anything else or offer any more theories, I left the room. The air outside wasn’t cool enough or fresh enough. Asphalt and pollution stained the air. Food, car fumes, and city staleness flooded my senses. I didn’t care. I sucked in a deep breath.
Despite being in the open air, I felt like I was suffocating. No, it wasn’t a possibility. I hadn’t been set up. I didn’t go through all of it, have my face plastered on TV, jail, arraignment, plea bargains, and a stay in the Stygian because of a setup. I had screwed up and was paying the consequences.
“Erin.” I turned to find Dr. Sumner just a few feet from me. His frown deepened. “We’re on the same team. I want what’s best for you. If you need to stay away from magic, then that’s what I will recommend and help you do. If you find a way to get it without anyone dying, then that is an alternative for you. But if you’re here because it was ordered for a crime you didn’t commit, then the truth needs to be discovered.”
“I . . . I . . .” I stammered over the words. “I don’t think that’s what happened.” I was firmly sailing full speed toward a place of denial. After the incident I was convinced nothing could break me. Now I felt like I was one small bump from shattering. I hated the feeling.
“If we can prove it, you won’t need to see me anymore because you didn’t do what brought you here in the first place,” Dr. Sumner said softly, approaching me like he was dealing with a timid animal. He shoved his fingers through his hair, disheveling it. He huffed out a long breath, and compassionate eyes met mine. His nearly inaudible curse was uncharacteristic. At any other time, it would have made me laugh.
“I should have kept that to myself. Sorry.” Then he muttered more curses. “We should have another appointment this week. Unless you can stay longer.”
I shook my head and backed away to my car. “I’ll call and make an appointment,” I lied.
Most of my drive home was spent recalling that night. The incident. Going through what I could remember with new eyes. The dissection was interrupted by my phone ringing. Victoria. My eyes rolled but I took the call, wondering if the bonus she gave me was worth dealing with her melodrama.
CHAPTER 4
Apparently, the hour-long discussion I had with Victoria as she ranted about her disappointment with my bodyguarding capability wasn’t enough. She needed to reiterate it in person once I arrived at Kelsey’s that evening.
“You aren’t taking your protection duties seriously, are you?” Hints of egotism and entitlement twined through her words and flitted over her beautifully distinctive features. Her scrutinizing gaze raked over me. My off-the-shoulder eggplant-colored shift dress garnered a miniscule smile of approval.
“At least you’re taking discretion seriously,” she said. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Running her fingers over the soft curls of her dark-brown hair, she demonstrated a poise and casual elegance even in her faux-distressed state that most couldn’t pull off. I was one of the few who knew she was a Caste, magical wielders who historically were talented at curse casting. Interbreeding with humans and the Immortalis’s assault on their race had diluted their power. Based on the way Victoria was behaving about my alleged dereliction of duty, you would have thought she was magicless. Her weak magic wouldn’t protect her against the likes of the Immortalis, but she was hardly as defenseless as she’d have people believe. She leaned into the role of elegant, helpless restaurateur.
With Madison’s new information, I was seeing Victoria and the magic she possessed through new eyes. There were so few Caste now, it wouldn’t change my situation—they couldn’t undo the curse. I remembered Simeon describing them as “too
self-absorbed to care about more than themselves.” If Caste had intervened on a witch’s behalf, I couldn’t help but wonder why. Had the mages gone too far feuding with the witches? Crossed the tacit boundaries one too many times, drawing their attention to the supernaturals? Did the Caste intervene for money? Or to repay a debt?
The more I considered Madison’s theory, the more plausible it seemed. Caste had been mistaken for witches in the past. Probably given credit for their work as well. Then it dawned on me that maybe it was a Caste that had been killed and not a witch.
“Can you do a transformation spell?” I asked Victoria.
“Is that your answer? I’m to protect myself by turning into . . . what? A mouse, and scuttle away? A crow, and fly away from my problems and leave my life behind? A flea, and live in an animal’s fur for the rest of my life? Is that what you propose I do, Erin?”
I propose that you take it down a notch. Someone please give her an Emmy, Tony, or whatever so she’ll stop the performance.
“No, I don’t want you to do any of that. I’m just curious about you and what your kind can do.”
She grimaced, then a look of nostalgia momentarily passed over her face. “Not what we used to. We were revered.” A cruel beauty breached her elegant façade. “And feared. People would seek us out, plead for our help. One curse and we could ruin lives. Now, my magic isn’t enough to really protect myself. I can’t even do a hex. There aren’t enough of us left to do our typical curses, and our bloodline has been weakened to the point that I doubt even if I gathered all who remain we could do anything that resembled our ancestors’ powers.”
If it hadn’t been for that glimpse into her adoration of being feared and what looked like an adoration for cruelty, I’d feel sorry for her.
Silverfall Page 3
