Wedding Bells, Magic Spells

by Lisa Shearin

  We’d met when a cash-strapped noble started working his way through his wife’s jewelry to support his gambling habit. The wife hired me to find her grandmother’s favorite ring. I tailed the ring—and her husband—right to Sirens’ high-stakes card table. I’d heard that the owner of Sirens was a scoundrel and an opportunist, but he was also a savvy businessman. Working together—and after entirely too much risk to life and limb—we got the ring back and returned it to its rightful owner.

  It looked good for him to return the lady’s ring. Tam told me later he did it to impress me.

  He needn’t have bothered. Being a Benares, I’d always been attracted to rogues. Kind of like a moth to flame. Most times I had the good sense to steer clear, but with Tam, I’d come close to getting my wings singed more than once.

  Tam had been Queen Glicara Mal’Salin’s magical enforcer for five years. Chief mages for the House of Mal’Salin tended to have short lifespans. The lifespan-shortening was usually done by others who wanted to be chief mage. For Tam to have survived for that long at his queen’s side meant that he’d left his conscience and any morals he possessed at the throne room door.

  After his wife’s murder, Tam left the court and sought out one of his early teachers, Primari A’Zahra Nuru. Like a drug, black magic was addictive—and it exacted a price you did not want to pay. With the help of A’Zahra Nuru and Mychael, Tam came back from magic’s dark path. Even though he’d been through what was essentially black magic rehab, Tam was still a dark mage. When I’d been bonded to the Saghred, Tam had nearly fallen off the recovery wagon. Hard.

  The Sirens nightclub in Mermeia was mainly a gambling parlor. The Sirens on the Isle of Mid offered spellsinging as the featured specialty. On the outside, Sirens looked more like an expensive manor house than a nightclub. The diamond-shaped, lead-paned windows belonged to the restaurant part of the establishment. We were in the interior theatre where the shows took place.

  Small tables were scattered across the main floor of the theatre, each covered in a crisp white cloth and set with a single pale lightglobe in its center. There were either two or four chairs at each table, with enough room between each for servers to discreetly fill drink orders—and to give Sirens’ guests privacy to enjoy the show. The second-floor dining suites were like private boxes in a fine theatre. Columns stretched from the floor to the high, vaulted ceiling, carved with mermaids and mermen—sirens that could sing men or women to their doom, or somewhere much more enjoyable.

  The stage wasn’t large; it didn’t need to be. Sirens was about spellsingers and what they could do to an audience. Spellsingers didn’t need space, just flawless acoustics, so that a whispered word sounded as though it was being whispered directly into a patron’s ear even at the table farthest from the stage.

  Shields at the base of the stage prevented spellsongs from having their full effect. They could be strengthened or lowered as needed. With spellsinging, the sex of the singer and the listener shouldn’t matter. A truly gifted spellsinger could make you forget that you even had a sexual preference.

  Entirely too much had happened here over the past three months—all of it bad. Justinius had nearly been assassinated with a spellsong, the queen of demons had sent her undead minions here to make me an offer that I could refuse and die, and I’d nearly been killed (twice) by a thousand-year-old goblin dark mage who’d basically been a reanimated corpse.

  Good times.

  At this time of day Sirens was closed, but Tam had told his manager that either Mychael or I were to be allowed in at any time.

  Apparently Sirens’ basement contained much more than stage equipment and old costumes. That was all I’d seen on my first and only trip down there.

  The air smelled as if nothing had stirred it since then. After a misunderstanding of epic proportions with the city watch, Tam had run down here with me tossed over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Needless to say, what I’d seen had been limited to the floor and Tam’s ass. And I’d been too pissed at Tam to notice anything else.

  Mychael pushed aside a rack of costumes to reveal…a wall.

  I’d been on Mid long enough to know that things you thought were common, weren’t. There was no such thing as just a mirror, and walls very often concealed something else. Just because I couldn’t feel magic coming from it didn’t mean there wasn’t any. Mychael confirmed it by placing his left palm flat against a particularly dusty section. There was no click of a hidden door unlocking. A door-sized opening simply appeared.

  The room beyond was darker than dark.

  I stayed right where I was.

  I knew Tam, and Tam would never hurt me. I didn’t have the same level of trust for Tam’s stuff, especially stuff left in a secret room openable only by magic. He’d been a dark mage for most of his life.

  Mychael glanced at his upraised palm and a lightglobe flared to life, awaiting instructions.

  I looked past him into the room. Nope, that dark definitely wasn’t natural. “Any chance of you being able to unblock that Passage door from here?”

  “None.”

  “Any chance of you covering yourself in the best shields you’ve got?”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “Good. Because that dark looks a little too dark.”

  “Tam did that on purpose. There’s also a strong repelling spell woven in.”

  “It’s working great. I’m repelled, repulsed even.”

  Mychael launched the lightglobe, freeing up both hands should spell or steel become necessary, and explored the room.

  I followed his every move.

  Thresholds were powerful. Spirits, evil or otherwise, couldn’t cross a warded threshold unless invited by the mage who’d done the warding. The same applied to living magic users. If you crossed uninvited, your magic took a hit. Tam had known Mychael before he’d met me. Mychael had helped him to step away and stay away from black magic. I didn’t know exactly what Mychael had done for Tam, and neither one of them had ever shared details.

  Neither Mychael’s lightglobe nor his shields had flickered when he crossed the threshold, meaning he had Tam’s permission to be here. Tam had created whatever was in this room two years before he met me. Tam liked me now, but he didn’t know me then. So when Mychael gestured me in, I hesitated.

  “It’s safe,” he assured me. “It’s not nice, but it’s safe.”

  I started to step across.

  Mychael held up his hand, stopping me.

  I tensed. “What?”

  “This was Tam’s safe room and his escape route, if needed.” He paused. “After creating it, he never came here again. The Tam who wove these wards then is not the Tam you know now.”

  Tamnais Nathrach, chief mage to the House of Mal’Salin, a dark mage practitioner of black magic, Queen Glicara Mal’Salin’s right hand and magical enforcer.

  I knew this, had been told this, but I’d never experienced it for myself.

  Magic users could block entrance to a room with the same ward, and yet no two would be alike. Spells worked by a practitioner bore their imprint, their essence, a piece of who they were when a ward was created. Magic was a part of whoever was gifted with it. Part of the Tam of three years ago still existed in the wards he’d placed on this door.

  “Mid was his first stop after leaving Regor,” Mychael said. “A’Zahra Nuru was here.”

  A’Zahra Nuru was the mage Tam had approached when he realized he needed help.

  Mychael had just warned me what I’d be stepping into, literally.

  I swallowed nervously, took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold.

  I winced as I crossed. There was a featherlike brush of Tam’s magic against my shields, and I shivered. This was Tam, and yet not Tam. The wards on the door had been woven by a man who had just fled the goblin court. His wife had been murdered and he had been framed for the crime. Tam had been on the run from his enemies—those he’d known and those who still hid in the shadows awaiting their chance.


  The magic that had gone into creating those wards belonged to a Tam I’d never known, but had been told about. Rage, fear, pain, soul-crushing grief. This Tam had already been plotting revenge even as he fled. Revenge that was breathtaking in its violence. Everything Tam had, was, and had planned and hoped to be had been torn from him when Calida Nathrach had been poisoned. The Nukpana and Ghalfari families had been responsible for it all. But the Tam who had created this hadn’t restricted his anger only to them. Tamnais Nathrach wanted to lash out at anyone and everyone. All that magic from the dark depths of a well of power, aimed at all who dared to defy him, who were foolish enough to stand in his way. He would strike, swiftly and without mercy.

  The same residue of unbridled violence permeated what appeared to be a simple wooden door on the other side of the room. The wood itself was old, ancient even. Runes had been branded into it; not with a branding iron, but with the finger of the practitioner who had traced them there, the very touch burning the runes into the door.

  Tam’s touch, superheated by black magic.

  I recognized some of the runes, but not most. And judging from those I could read, I had no desire to have the rest translated for me.

  They were runes of protection, runes to keep what waited on the other side where they belonged—as far away from the population of this world as possible.

  “How is this thing safer than a mirror?” I asked.

  “Because no one in their right mind would use one.”

  “And Tam and Imala are coming through that?” I’d instinc-tively lowered my voice to keep from being heard by the things on the other side. “When Tam comes through, what’s to stop things from coming through with him?”

  “Tam…and me.”

  An exhausted paladin and a danger-addicted goblin.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  *

  Imala Kalis, director of the goblin secret service and protector of the goblin royal family, came through the Passage door first.

  Considering that her feet weren’t anywhere near the floor at the time, I didn’t think her mode of entry was her idea.

  She’d been thrown.

  Mychael was there to catch, which was good because he was all that stood between Imala and a wall. Hitting that would’ve made her even less happy than she already was.

  I got out of the way of who was coming next. The man who’d thrown her dove through the entry, hit the floor and rolled, kicking out with his booted feet to slam the door.

  Something hit the door from the other side. Hard. With a shriek that threatened to make my ears bleed, the whatever hit the door again. Harder.

  The goblin hadn’t budged. Flat on his back, his long legs bent, bottom of his boots pushing with all he had to keep what was in there from joining us out here.

  Goblins knew how to make an entrance—especially this goblin.

  Tamnais Nathrach grinned up at us. To him, we were upside down. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Then he gave all his attention to the door. No works, no spells, no incantations, just intense staring and even more intense concentration. The runes blazed so brightly, I had to look away and squeeze my eyes shut. Too bad I hadn’t done it fast enough to keep the runes’ afterimages from glowing against my closed eyelids.

  Black magic runes, there for the viewing for the next few hours whenever I closed my eyes.

  Oh good.

  The monstrous whatsit on the other side flung itself—or whatever it was throwing—against the door again. The sound wasn’t nearly as loud, the door didn’t budge, and the shriek that followed barely registered in my ears.

  That apparently told Tam it was safe to take his feet off the door and put them on the floor where they belonged.

  Tam and Imala were dressed almost identically in black from head to toe, including boots that came up to mid-thigh. Their armor was leather and both were wearing blades anywhere and everywhere they had the room. Both wore their hair pulled back in a long goblin battle braid.

  I’d seen them wear this armor before; heck, I’d worn this armor before. It was functional and made a seriously fierce fashion statement.

  Right now, that statement was less fashion and more ick.

  What looked like blue dust had mixed with yellow slime, resulting in green foam that emitted a stench the likes of which I hadn’t experienced since a pint-sized demon had crawled out of a latrine at city watch headquarters.

  Like I said, ick.

  Imala Kalis stood there, dripping, her glare saying loud and clear that all of it was Tam’s fault.

  I had absolutely no doubt that it was.

  Tam stood and flicked his hand in distaste, sending a splat of foam against the nearest wall.

  “Why don’t we go upstairs, Imala and I will get cleaned up, and I’ll tell you what you have in your mirror?”

  Chapter 6

  The last time Mychael and I had been with Tam in his apartment over Sirens’ stage, we’d been attacked by the undead minions of the Demon Queen.

  I, for one, could do without a repeat.

  Tam had insisted that the Passage door was securely closed and locked, but bad luck had been the only luck the three of us seemed to experience. If one of us hadn’t done something to bring evil bad guys down on our collective heads, one of the other two could be counted on to pick up the slack.

  It wasn’t a matter of if but when.

  I could do without a repeat of that, too.

  None of us were holding our breath that Doom hadn’t put us on his dance card and just hadn’t told us yet.

  The coded message Mychael had sent to Tam had given him the basics of what had happened to Markus. He’d just finished telling Tam and Imala the gruesome details while Tam fixed us all some much needed drinks.

  The two goblins exchanged a glance when Mychael finished.

  “And all this coincidentally happened less than two hours before Tam and I were due to arrive,” Imala said, slouching down in her chair. “Wonderful. Just wonderful.”

  Tam took a fortifying swig of his drink. “What attacked Markus was a Rak’kari, a creature conjured from goblin elemental magic, like a Magh’Sceadu. But while Magh’Sceadu feed on magic and life essence, Rak’kari just kill. It’s all they were made to do, and as you witnessed for yourself, they do it very well. Their webs are coated with a poison that can paralyze in seconds and even stop a heart. They have small mouths, which make it difficult to feed. So like some spiders, their bite injects venom into their victim that dissolves flesh and organs into a drinkable liquid.”

  I think my mouth was hanging open. “Doesn’t goblin elemental magic make any fluffy creatures?”

  Tam flashed a grin and took another sip of his drink. “It does, but you should see the teeth.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  I looked at Mychael. I didn’t need Tam to tell me how close Mychael had come to sharing Markus’s fate. The high collar on his tunic—and my hands glowing red with suspicious new magic—had been all that’d kept Mychael from certain death. Justinius was right; I didn’t care what kind of magic had taken up residence inside of me. If it’d saved the life of the man I loved, it could stay. For now.

  Mychael didn’t tell Tam about his close call. I bit my tongue and followed his lead. It’d happened, it was over, and Mychael hadn’t died. That was how Mychael’s “man logic” saw it. As far as he was concerned he’d dodged that dagger and moved on. If I was going to be married to a man who ignored Death on a daily basis, I’d need to learn to do the same. I’d do it, but I wouldn’t like it—or probably ever get used to it.

  “I thought I knew about all goblin elementals,” Mychael was saying.

  “It’s no surprise that you haven’t heard of Rak’kari,” Tam told him. “They’re rarely conjured because they can’t be controlled. They’ll turn on and kill their creator as soon as they manifest unless they’re immediately contained.”

  I was incredulous. “So the black ‘rope’ Markus was wrapped in was a web
?”

  Tam nodded.

  “It was as thick as two of my fingers put together. How big is this thing? Or do we not want to know?”

  “You probably don’t want to know.”

  “Okay, I’m good with that.” I raised my glass. “Here’s hoping I’ll never have to look one in its ugly face.”

  “Technically, it doesn’t have a face.”

  “What part of I’m good with not knowing don’t you understand?”

  Imala sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. “Welcome to my world.”

  “And there’s no recorded way to kill them.” Tam continued. “They don’t require air, they can live underwater, and their outer armor is indestructible.”

  I just sat there. “It’s a spider monster with a shell?”

  Tam nodded. “The entire body is armored.”

  “Of course, it is. Magh’Sceadu are Khrynsani. Whose bright idea was it to create Rak’kari?”

  “Khrynsani.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “Shit,” I spat.

  “We couldn’t agree more,” Imala said. “The night you destroyed the Saghred, we arrested as many Khrynsani as we could find, but just as many escaped. They have nothing to lose now and everything to gain.”

  “First being revenge on us,” Tam noted.

  “Whether they would have wanted to kill you and Imala as well would depend on their idea of revenge,” Mychael noted. “Would they want you dead at their hands, or would they prefer to leave you to take the blame for their actions?”

  “Yes,” Imala replied.

  “Pardon?”

  “Yes, to both. They wouldn’t see why they couldn’t have both. Though they’d want blame to come first, death later, once they thought we’d suffered enough. When it comes to vengeance, we goblins prefer to drag it out as long as possible.”

  Yet another goblin quality that gave elves nightmares.

  I looked from Tam to Imala to Mychael in disbelief. None of them appeared to be shocked that there were still Khrynsani running around among the living, and still organized enough to come after us. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t be surprised. Roaches and Khrynsani, you couldn’t get rid of either one of them.