“We were eleven. I was scared. It was a reflex.” And I’d gotten so dizzy from the rush of my own magic, plus the intensity of the sight and smell of it so close by, that I tripped and fell on my face a second later. Crowe was after us because he’d discovered us in his room and threatened to pull our lungs out through our nostrils—a threat I actually took seriously. But he bounced off my barrier right after I fell. He landed on his butt, already laughing about the instant karma while I wiped mud from my face on the other side.
“That was one seriously badass reflex, my friend,” Alex replied.
I turned toward the window, thinking of what had happened the very next day, how it had changed my life forever, how it had cemented my decision to avoid using magic whenever and however I could. “It was a fluke.”
“You have greatness under all those layers of denial, Jemmie. Someday we’re going to dig it out.”
Alex’s constant faith in me felt good, like a warm fire on a cold winter’s day. If only it were actually warranted. The magic that ran in my family, the Carmichaels, was protective locant magic. My dad had it in spades. The barrier I’d thrown up that day was so wide and so stubborn that Lori, Crowe and Alex’s mom, had to call Dad in to remove it, and it had convinced him that I would be as powerful as he was… but he was wrong. And so was Alex.
Sure, I might have magic. I just can’t use it.
And in the kindled world, that made me about as useful as a dreck.
The road curved inward and the Medici cottage came into view. It was a slouching, one-story house surrounded by flowers that looked as if they’d been planted deliberately in a neat rainbow of color. They hadn’t. Lori Medici was originally a Stoneking and had the terra magic many in her family were known for. She could walk into a forest and speak to the trees like they were old friends. She’d used her magic to coax the heart of the woods to beat stronger around the cottage.
On either side of the front door, giant hydrangea bushes bloomed all summer long, even in the heart of the hottest months. Wildflowers had sprung up between the hydrangea blooms in purple and yellow and cornflower blue. A twisting rose bush had been creeping for years up a peeling white lattice on the corner of the house, and although it was an antique rose, meant to only bloom once a year, it kept producing buds from spring to fall. On the far side of the house, facing the river, a magnolia tree hung heavy with flowers. Only a dusting of loosed petals lay in the grass.
Alex parked at the head of the driveway. We got out and walked around the house to the river’s edge. The Sable River here was narrower and shallower than it was in town, but it was no less beautiful to look at. Here the sandy bottom glittered in the sunlight. Water trickled over a cluster of rocks, producing that spa-like tranquil sound of gurgling water.
I lay on the ground beneath the magnolia tree, sunlight peeking through in crosshatches. I kicked my shoes off and dug my toes into the grass. Alex lay down beside me, closed her eyes, and breathed out. This was our happy place, the cottage and the woods. In this place, with my best friend at my side, I felt like I belonged.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do this fall?” Alex asked after a moment.
“No.” I closed my eyes, too, and let the sun warm me, my hands splayed across my stomach.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what I want to do.” I didn’t have to see her to know she was now looking at me, frowning.
“Are you considering moving to the city, maybe following in your dad’s footsteps?”
“Are you kidding me?” I fought to keep a sneer of disdain on my face, but I couldn’t hide the tremble of my lower lip that said this conversation was getting to me.
“Aw, Jemmie,” Alex said. Her fingers brushed my arm. “I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”
Dad had left Mom and me the day after Crowe chased us through the woods, and he’d barely been involved in our lives ever since. A founding member of the Devils’ League along with Crowe’s father, Owen Carmichael now worked for the Syndicate, of all things. That agency served as a check on kindled powers, and they’d been down on the Devils ever since a brutal gang war with the Deathstalkers that had ended seven years ago with the violent death of the Stalkers’ president, Henry Delacroix. Just after it happened, my dad left the Devils—and our family—to work for the other side.
And I was pretty sure it was at least partly my fault.
I pulled my arm out of Alex’s reach. “It’s all right,” I said, laughing to hide the catch in my voice. “I just don’t think a job with the Syndicate is in my future.”
People with locant magic often worked for the Syndicate, using their power to protect others and even bind criminals’ magic so it couldn’t be used against innocents. If the Devils’ League wasn’t my chosen family, a job with the Syndicate might have been a natural choice for me… assuming I could actually cast.
So what was I supposed to do now that I’d graduated from high school? Go to a dreck college and pretend I was like them? Marry a dreck who had no clue about the world I’d been raised in? No thanks. But I wasn’t so sure I could stay in Hawthorne, either. It wasn’t exactly easy for me to be here, and living in a less magical place would be a relief in some ways. Except—I would have to leave my mom and Alex, the only two people in this world who really cared about me, with or without magic.
“You know,” Alex said, and the way her voice crept up an octave immediately caught my attention. She sounded uncertain, and Alex was rarely uncertain.
“What?”
“Now that you’re eighteen, you could apply to be a prospect.”
I laughed. “You know I don’t have a bike.”
“And you know there’s one in that shed behind your house.”
The one that had been my dad’s. “If you think going for a patch is so awesome, why don’t you do it?”
“Ha! As if I’d join a club where my brother was the president. No freaking way. Bad enough being part of his family.”
I knew she was mostly joking, but also that she’d never be able to take orders, especially from Crowe. She just wasn’t built for it. I wasn’t sure I was, either. “So you think I should join even though you never would? Hypocrite much? Gunnar told me all about the hazing, by the way. I can’t believe you’d wish that on me.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t be a prospect long. Crowe would make sure you moved up to full patch fast—it’s not like anyone would vote against having you. Your locant power is something the Devils haven’t had access to since your dad left.”
In dreck motorcycle clubs, women weren’t always allowed to be members. But with the kindled, parts didn’t matter—power did. “I’m sure they can find someone else if they really want to. Someone useful.”
“Stop that,” she snapped. “You always put yourself down.”
I sighed. “Just being realistic.”
“You know you have more magic than you’re willing to use. I wish you’d tell me why.”
I wished I could. “It’s just… I’m not good at it. Practicing doesn’t help.”
“I’d buy that if you ever actually practiced!”
“It doesn’t matter, okay? Crowe doesn’t need me. He doesn’t want me, either. He barely even notices when I’m in the same room with him.”
“That might be the biggest lie you’ve told all day.”
I squinted against the light as the wind shifted, pushing the branches of the magnolia tree out of line with the sun. My rebellious heart pounded eagerly in my chest. “Did he say something?”
Alex sat up and folded her arms around her legs. “No. Nothing out loud.”
“Isn’t that the way one says things?” I pushed myself up on my elbows. Part of me wanted to coax more from her. Part of me wanted her to say that what Crowe and I had had before was not completely broken.
One moment had changed everything between us, the thread that connected us burned away—and he’d been the one to set it on fire. He’d chosen that moment just to hur
t me, too. Or maybe he’d never cared at all. Which made me lucky, I supposed. I’d surely dodged a bullet.
At least that’s what I told myself whenever I crossed paths with him, because admitting the truth would be worse.
I missed Crowe Medici. But telling myself I hated him was much, much easier.
Alex pulled a tube of lip gloss from her bag and drew the wand across her lips. “Forget Crowe. I’m the one who needs you.”
I hung my head back. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“It’s true. I would wither and die without you.” She smiled, her lips bright red and glittering. “Or, more accurately, I’d be in jail with no one to bail me out.”
I laughed. The wind subsided and the sunlight faded as the tree branches settled again.
A single magnolia petal fell from above, drifting back and forth like a feather.
Alex had it all wrong. She didn’t need anyone. It was me who couldn’t survive without her.
“You’ll figure it out, Jemmie,” Alex said softly. “But if you want my opinion, you belong right here in Hawthorne.”
Glints of her golden magic sparked in my vision, forming an aura around her face—she had so much that sometimes it just wafted from her unbidden. I closed my eyes to shut it out. If Alex knew what I felt every time I was around kindled power, she’d probably tell me I should leave town and live somewhere else, far away from the magic that made my vision blur and my head ache. Though I knew she’d say it out of concern for me, it would still kill me to hear. And no matter what I decided, it couldn’t erase the truth that ruled my life:
It was freaking painful to love something that didn’t want you in return.
TWO
ALEX AND I SPENT THE BETTER PART OF THE AFTERNOON at the Medici Cottage. It wasn’t until the sun started to set that we left the house and followed the river three miles south to the Schoolhouse.
It, too, sat on the edge of Sable River, and although it hadn’t been an actual school for a century, going there was always an education.
One I both looked forward to and dreaded.
The two-story structure, which served as the Devils’ League clubhouse and party headquarters, had been constructed of red brick, with white trim around the doors and windows. The old leaded glass windows were still intact, as was the bell tower and the giant bell inside. Just the thought of it made me cringe a little. Last summer after so many things had fallen apart, I’d managed to get drunk enough to climb up there and try to ring it. Crowe had had to rescue me after I got stuck, and I wished I could forget the sad, disgusted look on his face as he did. I’d stayed away from the Schoolhouse for nearly six months after that out of pure shame. Since then I’d been back a few times, but never for more than a drop-in.
Alex pulled into the lot and drove past a row of parked Harley-Davidsons. They were lined up equidistant from one another, the front tires all cocked to the right. Parked Harleys always reminded me of stacked dominos—kick one and they all go down. Not that I’d ever try something like that in a place like this.
Alex parked in front, in the spots reserved for her and her family. An old oak tree loomed over us, and in the murky evening light, it looked like a giant with a thousand gnarly hands. The old gas lamps were lit up, too, casting golden halos on the cobblestone path up to the front door. Music spilled out open windows—and so did magic. I blinked as my vision hazed with it, as my stomach rolled with its heavy, multifaceted scent. Alex skipped along next to me, oblivious and happy. Why was I the only one who seemed to be allergic to the stuff? It was so unfair.
I breathed through my mouth and focused on the song that was playing. Something old, something rock-and-roll. Familiar and grounding, even if it wasn’t my favorite.
“‘Lord knows I can’t change!’” Alex sang along with the music, her arms raised above her head. “I love this song,” she added when the lyrics gave way to a guitar solo.
“Me too,” I lied, and stepped aside as Boone, a giant of a man, ambled past, his body clad almost entirely in black leather.
“It’s the little banshee!” he called over his shoulder.
Everyone at the Schoolhouse called Alex “the little banshee,” because when she was a baby all she did was wail.
“Your brother was in a mood today. Fair warning, sugar,” Boone said as he made his way toward his motorcycle.
Alex and I shared a look.
I pulled the heavy wooden door open and Alex slipped in ahead of me. Better she go first. Crowe wouldn’t kill his flesh and blood. Besides, I welcomed the chance to adjust to the onslaught that greeted me. Like many of the kindled motorcycle clubs, the Devils’ League was a small, single-chapter club with only twenty full-patch members and a handful of prospects and hangarounds who might prospect in the future, but there were a few hundred friends of the club, members of the kindled community who gathered to support them, which was what seemingly all of them had done tonight. The Schoolhouse was packed, swirls and splashes of amber, green, pink, purple, and orange haloing the kindled, hanging in the air. Just the sight made me clutch at the wall. I willed my feet to be steady.
The music was even louder inside, thrumming through the floorboards. In the first classroom we passed, everyone had abandoned the billiards tables and danced to the guitar solo that was somehow still carrying on, punctuated by quick, frenetic drum riffs. They were a motley crew of men and women, gyrating and jumping, hair whipping, arms raised and flailing. When the lyrics picked back up, the entire room broke out in song.
This was the double-edged sword of the place. There was something intoxicating about seeing this crowd here, something so us. And yet it also made me ache because I couldn’t be fully part of it. Unlike everyone else, I couldn’t just let go and revel. A ringing had picked up in my ears, and the colorful aura signaled a major headache coming on. Perhaps sensing me falter even though she couldn’t possibly know why, Alex threaded her arm through mine and tugged me toward the bar—and that was right where I needed to be if I wanted to survive the evening.
To get there, we had to walk past the library, which was situated in the far left corner of the building. The room was fronted by thick double doors that were always closed and locked. That was the casting chamber and meeting place, accessible only by members of Alex’s family and trusted members of the Devils’ League, as well as a few select kindled who were allies of the club.
I could smell the magic inside even now, so potent that it collected like a film on the back of my throat. There were notes of something metallic and steely, but it was overwhelmed by something sticky and sweet. Venemon magic—specifically Crowe’s, which had a musky, masculine undertone that distinguished it from Alex’s. It made me want to breathe deep. It made me want to run.
No magic in the kindled world was inherently good or bad. But Crowe could turn a hex as easily as a child could cast a handful of rocks. Of course, the venemon magic that ran in the Medici family lent itself well to being twisted. They could heal, but could just as easily inflict pain, or crush bone, or make someone ill.
Crowe was devastatingly good at both healing and hurting—and didn’t hesitate to do either.
A lot of conservative kindled said that made him a criminal. Crowe once joked that it made him talented. After all, his ancestors had been renowned for their poisons and antidotes, which were really just well-cast spells. The better-known Italian Medicis were assassins and court enforcers and aristocratic warriors, but many were also skilled physicians and healers. Crowe parlayed his inherited abilities into a gold mine like so many of his ancestors before him.
The Devils’ League sold his magical healing cuts through trade lines all across the continental United States. They also sold mild hexes that might cause someone to vomit for a week or lie in bed in anguish for a day. But the top sellers, by far, were Crowe’s amplifying cuts. The charm gave the user a temporary boost, much like a shot of adrenaline, and that included making whatever magic the individual cast about ten times stronger.
>
I didn’t have to be a conservative to know that what Crowe created and sold toed a dangerous line. It gave more people the opportunity to use their own magic for crooked purposes. And one time, I admit, I sort of did exactly that—I had tried to use one of Crowe’s amplifying cuts myself. I had stolen it from his room the day he found and chased us, actually. My dad had just announced he would be moving away, and I thought, maybe, if I could convince him I had magic as powerful as his, he would stay. He would stop looking at me with that furrowed brow that signaled a mixture of concern and disappointment.
Thanks to that reflexive barrier spell, I had gotten away with the amplifying cut. The next day, as my dad packed his things, I tried it out, thinking I could throw a containment spell around the entire house and keep Dad with us, where he belonged.
This is the way eleven-year-olds think, unfortunately. It was also the way I ruined everything. I activated the cut the same way I’d seen some of the grown-ups do at summer gatherings—cradling the wood close to my face, whispering the incantation just so—but what I thought would boost my magic only boosted my sensitivity to it. Suddenly, I was retching, writhing, the containment spell I’d tried to cast wrapping around me like sky-blue ropes, the minty, stinging scent of it closing my throat. Choking me.
I remember the horror and confusion in Dad’s eyes when he found me. I remember my mother calling 911. I remember my father having to destroy the spell I’d cast in order to allow the dreck paramedics to make it through the door.
The doctors told them it was an allergic reaction, probably to something I’d eaten. My parents thought I had misused a cut I’d stolen from my dad’s bag, and he moved out that very night. Mom told me it really had nothing to do with me, but how could I believe that? He couldn’t even look at me as he said good-bye.
That was the last time I’d intentionally used magic. But when I was in a place like the Schoolhouse, it didn’t matter. By the time Alex and I slid into our booth in the back corner of the barroom, my body was practically buzzing with it. Magic of all types crept up my spine, across my skin, into my ears and nose.
Devils & Thieves Series, Book 1 Page 2
