Blood Storm Magic

by Jayne Faith

Gasps, squeals, and excited chatter filled the room. I swallowed sourly. I’d planned to find a way to get out of the coven before the charter went through, but leaving a coven wasn’t a simple thing to do. I hadn’t figured out how to break my ties, let alone persuade Deb to leave with me, and now I was truly stuck.

  Deb leaned over, throwing one arm around my shoulders. She was smiling with tears in her eyes. Her joy faltered a little when she caught sight of my face. I forced a weak grin.

  Maybe it was better that I hadn’t found a way out. It would have devastated her if I’d quit the coven. I stood and hugged the other women, trying to focus on the fact that I genuinely liked them rather than the feeling of being shackled to Lynnette.

  “Okay, we’ll have a little ceremony and celebration at the end, but for now let’s wrap up our business,” Lynnette called over the din. She started going through the coven financials.

  When she paused, obviously ready to move on to a different topic, I straightened.

  “Hey, what happened to that mysterious investor you talked about?” I asked. “You haven’t mentioned it lately. We should get the money now that the charter is sealed, right?”

  Over a month ago, I’d forced her to confess to the coven that her actions—tearing small rips in order to harvest the neon blue magic around them—had ended up getting Amanda killed. But Lynnette had managed to one-up me by immediately announcing that an anonymous investor had contacted her, offering to sponsor the coven with a wad of money. The only catch was that the person insisted the current membership be kept as it was, which meant that if I’d left I’d have screwed the group out of cash. Most covens ended up financially failing in their first couple of years. If that happened, they lost their charter. She’d basically trapped me in the coven and distracted the women from the confession of her transgression in one fell swoop.

  Lynnette’s face twitched. “I expect the first payment within the week,” she said evenly.

  I gave a little shake of my head and held back a scoff. “So, you’ve been in contact with the investor?”

  She gave me a serene smile. “Of course.”

  “But you still don’t know who it is.” It was more a statement than a question, and my tone conveyed my doubt.

  A couple of the women looked back and forth between me and Lynnette. The mood had shifted, becoming slightly less jubilant.

  The coven leader spread her hands. “The person insisted on anonymity.”

  “So how are you contacting him or her?” I asked.

  “Through an attorney.”

  “Ah. Okay. Well, it will certainly be exciting when we get that payment.”

  I didn’t believe her, and she knew it. If there was really an anonymous angel donor, I’d eat a bowl of Loki’s dog food.

  When we took a break, I stood and moved a little away from the group. As much as I wanted to prove Lynnette wrong, I had bigger concerns. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the email address Phillip Zarella had given me to use when I needed to contact him.

  Damien may have already handed Evan over to the Steins. We need to move while they can still be stopped.

  I was asking for Zarella’s help but didn’t want to say it outright. Besides, Zarella and his cronies had their own reasons for wanting to keep my brother free. Evan was the key to closing the rips—all of them—permanently. Jacob Gregori, the Steins, and the Order of Mages were all in agreement that this was so. My parents had thought Evan himself might grow up to seal the rips, but that wasn’t how it worked, apparently. Evan wouldn’t wield the magic. He would channel the magic of the mages, and in the process, he’d die.

  The only problem was, doing it would mean my brother sacrificing his life. Zarella and other like-minded people didn’t want the rips closed. They thrived on chaos and darkness, and they believed that demons, the new vampire and zombie viruses, and the various magics the rips had unleashed all had a rightful place in our world. I didn’t agree, but because I didn’t want my brother to die, Zarella and I were uneasy allies in trying to keep Evan from falling into the hands of either Jacob Gregori or the mages.

  I didn’t admit that I’d found Damien but spooked him into relocating again. I suspected Zarella already knew. He had eyes everywhere—literally, as he used demons, zombies, and who-knew-what-else as his personal spies even while he was confined to the Gregori Industries campus, hiding out from the authorities and the rest of the world. Zarella had tried to bully me, and since I’d screwed things up, I half expected him to take more severe measures. Maybe even try to have me killed. But Zarella was probably my last hope for saving Evan, so I’d have to convince the madman that we were still on the same side. I needed leverage.

  Someone touched the back of my arm, and I tensed, thinking it was Lynnette. But when I turned, I found Deb peering up at me, her forehead lined with concern.

  “Everything okay?” she asked. “I know Evan is on your mind, and you have every right to be preoccupied by what’s going on, but is there something else?”

  Crap. She’d definitely picked up on my disapproval of Lynnette. I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I was too fatigued to muster up much self-control. I tried to let the tension ease out of my shoulders.

  “Just a lot to juggle,” I said. I gave her a crooked smile. “You know better than anyone else how that goes.”

  “I know you’re worried about what Damien is going to do,” she said. “But I don’t think he’s completely gone. I think there’s still a good person in there, and he’ll come to his senses about Evan.”

  My smile turned sad. I appreciated her sense of optimism, but I couldn’t imagine she was right.

  “We can hope,” I said.

  Lynnette and a couple of the other women emerged from the kitchen carrying trays of tiny desserts, champagne flutes, and two bottles of expensive bubbly. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. How much had all of that cost? It had most certainly come out of the coven’s collective income.

  She filled the glasses, which got passed around. Deb didn’t take one, foregoing alcohol during her pregnancy, though she loved champagne.

  “Before we toast, I just want to mention one more thing,” Lynnette said. “Now that we’re chartered, we need to officially fill the roles of Keeper of Records, Keeper of Means, and Keeper of Ritual. Before you leave tonight, we’ll take nominations.”

  My brows lifted. I was surprised she was pushing us to do nominations so soon. Lynnette, as coven leader, was automatically granted the leading role of Moon Priestess. Keeper of Means was basically a treasurer, and Keeper of Records was a secretarial position.

  I leaned over to whisper to Deb. “Nominate me for Keeper of Means.”

  If I were elected, I would have full access to every bit of coven financial information. I could look for misconduct or, as I suspected with the supposed angel donor, outright lies in the financial records.

  She gave me a surprised look, but then her expression turned pleased. “Of course I will. If you’ll nominate me for Keeper of Ritual?”

  It was my turn to be surprised. Keeper of Ritual was like the vice president of the coven, second in power to the Moon Priestess and authorized to take over her duties if she were absent or incapacitated. It was a little out of character for Deb to want such a position of authority, but I kind of liked that she had such an ambition.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “I might even vote for you.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She gave me a wry look.

  Holding our champagne, we gathered into a circle in the middle of the living room. Lynnette said a few words and then ended with a prayer to the elements for good fortune to shine upon the coven. It was shorter and less dramatic than usual, only adding to my feeling that she was trying to hurry things along.

  “Okay, now grab some desserts and let’s begin the nominations,” she directed. “Anyone want to nominate a sister for Keeper of Ritual?”

  My hand shot up. “I nominate Deb.”

  There were several murmurs of
approval, and someone seconded.

  Someone else nominated Marta, whose dyed-black hair and kohl eyeliner were an obvious imitation of Lynnette’s goth chic look. I’d never had much to say to Marta, and vice-versa.

  “Any more?” Lynnette asked, looking around the room. “Okay, what about nominations for Keeper of Means?”

  “I nominate Ella,” Deb called out.

  Jen nominated Elena.

  A few of the women looked surprised, but no one appeared disapproving, and a couple of people seconded. Someone nominated a petite blond named Becky, and I winced. If I remembered correctly, she had an accounting background.

  Jen was the sole nomination for Keeper of Records.

  “Wait, I need to change,” Elena piped up. Marta, who was sitting next to Elena, had been whispering urgently in her ear. “Remove my nom for Keeper of Means.”

  Jen shot her a confused look.

  “With that, we’ll close nominations,” Lynnette said, totally ignoring the subtext that seemed to be swirling between Marta, Elena, and Jen. “Next meeting, we’ll vote.”

  My brows lifted again. It all seemed so abrupt. But as Lynnette ended the meeting, I didn’t have time to ponder her motives any further. My phone was buzzing every couple of seconds, alerting me to an incoming message. As the group began to break up for the night, I peeked at the phone’s screen. There was an email from Zarella.

  Chapter 9

  THE EMAIL CONTAINED two words—let’s talk—followed by a phone number and the code name Alois. It was the number for another one of Zarella’s many burner phones.

  As I looked down at the screen, something dripped onto it.

  “Shit,” I mumbled when I realized it was a drop of blood.

  I dug in my jacket pocket for a tissue. I’d taken to carrying around at least a couple of them because my nose was a faucet leaking crimson these days. Trying to angle myself away from Deb, I swiped blood off the phone and then pinched my nose with the tissue.

  “Ella,” said a stern voice at my shoulder. “You need to call Gina. Now.”

  Deb was there, standing with her hands planted on her hips. I knew she was trying to look authoritative, but she was mostly just adorable, with her pregnant tummy, rosy cheeks, and waves of strawberry blond hair loose around her shoulders. Her face was pinched and worried, though, and I knew she was right. I was playing a dangerous game, pushing the magic as hard as I had against Damien. And it wouldn’t be the last time I forced it past healthy limits.

  I nodded. “I’ll call her right now and see if she can do a walk-in.”

  Deb’s expression eased a little bit.

  I dialed the magical healer. I knew it was Gina’s off hours, but she was aware of my situation and often agreed to see me at odd times. Her services weren’t cheap, but they were just about the only thing keeping my brain from dissolving to mush under the influence of the in-between’s silver magic.

  “I’m actually downtown setting up my new clinic space,” she said. “Come here, and I’ll do a session.”

  She gave me the address, and we hung up.

  Deb was still hovering.

  “She’s going to see me now,” I said. “She’s downtown, so I’ll drop you at home and then go.”

  My best friend’s face relaxed, and she let her arms fall to her sides. “That’s great. Please tell her thank you for doing it on such short notice.”

  In the past, Deb had forced me to go to healing sessions when I’d tried to brush off her concerns. But I no longer resisted. I would have contacted Gina even without Deb’s prompting, because I knew a battle loomed ahead and I was going to need every shred of strength I could muster up.

  I glanced at Zarella’s message again. I’d try calling him from the truck once Deb was safe at home and I had some privacy.

  Deb was subdued on the way home, her eyelids already drooping. She was getting tired earlier and earlier as her pregnancy progressed, and we were coming up on her bedtime. In front of the fourplex that housed our apartment, I waited for her to go in and shut the door before driving away. A block from home, I pulled over and tapped the number Zarella had given me.

  My breath stilled as I listened to it ring. After about a dozen rings, I gave up and headed downtown. I couldn’t keep Gina waiting.

  Her new clinic space turned out to be in the same historic building that housed the bar I used to frequent when I was still on Demon Patrol. It was one of the favorite watering holes of all divisions of Supernatural Crimes. The first floor was a restaurant and the bar, the next two floors up were businesses, and then the rest of the upper floors were apartments. I’d tried to get one of them years ago, but they were the only apartments located in the middle of downtown, so someone practically had to die before they became available.

  I passed the bar, went into the middle entrance of the building, and then took the stairs up to the second floor. The businesses were all closed, and the hallways were dark. At Gina’s suite, I rapped on the door. She answered, and I caught sight of boxes scattered around behind her.

  A solidly-built woman a couple of inches shorter than me, Gina was both a conventional nurse and a magical healer.

  She looked at the air around me, the way Deb sometimes did, checking out my aura.

  “You’ve recently exerted yourself rather severely,” she said, assessing rather than accusing.

  “Guilty.” I crooked a smile at her. There was no reason to try to deceive her about it. I looked around the space as she let me in. “Am I single-handedly funding this move, or what?”

  She gave a little laugh, reaching back to sweep her thick, coarse hair up into a bun.

  “Not quite,” she said. “But my practice has been expanding, and I’ve outgrown the home-based setup.”

  I followed her into a smaller room, and she gestured at what was clearly intended to be a treatment area. In the center of the space there was a massage table I knew well.

  I lay down face-up, and Gina dimmed the lights part way and went to work. Feather-light touches of magic brushed me from head to toe as she assessed the areas and extent of the damage. My eyelids drifted shut under the soothing sensation.

  After about five minutes, her magic receded.

  “Did Deb do some work on you already?” she asked.

  I opened my eyes. “No, I won’t let her do it anymore. I want her to conserve her energy for the rest of the pregnancy.”

  Gina was peering at me with a curious expression. “I could tell that you’d dangerously overextended yourself, but the damage is only about half what I would have expected.”

  I gave her a wry look. “Does that mean I get a discount?”

  She didn’t laugh. Instead, she tilted her head. “Something is different.”

  A little zing of apprehension spiraled up my spine. “Different bad, or different good?”

  “If the damage is less than it should be, it’s a good thing,” she said, but she didn’t sound all that convinced. “Can you think of anything that’s changed since I saw you last?”

  The feel of the crimson magic pulsing against my palms, as if I held a live beating heart in each one, flooded back to me.

  “Do you know anything about magic the color of blood?” I asked. “I know it’s associated with death or being death-touched, but I don’t know what it is or how to use it.”

  Her eyes tensed, becoming uneasy. “Sounds like maybe a lesser-known Old World magics. What’s your experience with it?”

  “It’s just sort of appeared a few times,” I said. “Most recently and most strongly earlier tonight.”

  She frowned. “It doesn’t make sense that death-associated magic would have any restorative or protective effect. It must have been something else.”

  I closed my eyes again as she started the healing part of the session. She was extremely skilled at her trade, but I disagreed with her assessment. Several months back, I’d been dead for nearly twenty minutes. Ever since, I’d been walking around with a reaper clinging to my soul. I coul
d pull magic from a place where the living weren’t allowed. I had the talent of necromancy. There was a good chance I was the only person in the world with that exact configuration of oddities. If there was anyone who might be helped by blood-colored death magic, I was probably a good candidate.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t believe the crimson magic was dangerous—hell, all magics could be dangerous, depending on how they were used—but I’d felt a delicious sort of . . . affinity for it when it had been wrapped around my hands. Even more than before, I wanted to explore it. Test it. Feel it more strongly.

  Normally, I dozed while Gina did her work. But this time I was buzzing on the memory of the blood-red magic and the prospect of it having some sort of protective effect.

  Gina finished the session, and I tried not to wince as I paid her. Since getting fired from Demon Patrol, I no longer had medical coverage and the full fees for healing came out of my pocket.

  “You should sit here for a few minutes and let it settle,” she said.

  “Nah, I’m good,” I said, hopping off the table. “Besides, it’s late, and I don’t want to keep you.”

  “Are you sure? There’s still a lot of swirling energy.”

  I waved her off with a smile. “Thanks so much for seeing me this late.”

  I didn’t exactly feel fantastic as dizziness tried to pull me off balance. But my head was no longer pounding, and I was antsy to try to reach Zarella again.

  I touched the table with my fingertips, just to make sure I was steady. Gina saw it.

  “Ella, I really think you should take just a minute.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I called over my shoulder as I exited her clinic.

  I had to keep a firm hold on the handrail as I navigated down the few flights of stairs to the ground floor. Once outside, I took a deep breath of winter air, hoping it would ground me and wash away the churning sensation in my head. It didn’t help much. The door to the bar opened as a couple of people exited, letting out the sounds of chatter and laughter and the aromas of pub food and beer.

  I dug out my phone and forced my feet forward. Apparently, that was too much for my body to coordinate, because I misjudged the curb. Stumbling off the edge, I tried to catch myself before I went down, but I’d stepped onto a patch of ice in the gutter, which only made things worse. My phone flew from my hand as my arms wind-milled.