Blood Storm Magic

by Jayne Faith

  She gave me a little sympathetic tilt of her head.

  “I might go on a date this weekend,” I blurted.

  Her eyes widened. “With who?”

  “Caleb Montgomery. We’ve run into each other a couple of times on jobs.”

  “He’s not another Johnny Beemer, is he?”

  I shook my head. “No, he seems very down to Earth. He’s new here, part of the Supernatural Forces special team.” I held up a hand. “I know what you’re thinking, but he’s nothing like Brady. That I can see so far, anyway. Hey, you should meet him. I need your take. I don’t completely trust myself.”

  “Of course I’d love to meet him!” She gave a rueful laugh. “I’m not sure I’m a great judge of men, though.”

  “Maybe not always with yourself, but I think that’s pretty normal. You’ve always given me great advice. In fact, it probably would have been better if you’d been a hell of a lot more heavy-handed with it.” I echoed her laugh.

  “Tell him to come here to pick you up, and we’ll invite him in for a beer,” she said. “And you know, there’s nothing wrong with taking things slowly. Taking some time to really try to see someone clearly . . .”

  She’d trailed off in a way that made me think she was talking partly to herself.

  “How’s Chris?” I said, loading Lagatuda’s name with importance.

  Deb tried to scowl at me, but she was too cute to put any real menace behind it. “We’re talking about you, not me.”

  I arched a brow. “Are we? Kind of sounded like you were talking about yourself, too.”

  “Well, Chris is fine.”

  She turned away, but not before I saw her cheeks pinking and a little smile playing over her lips.

  “Good,” I said. “Be sure to tell him hi next time he texts.”

  “If he does, I will.”

  I chuckled to myself. She disappeared into the bedroom to change out of her school teacher clothes, as was her ritual these days when she got home. She’d turned into a bit of a cat in recent weeks, curling up in sweats under a blanket with a cup of herbal tea nearby. I was just glad the pregnancy was going well, and she seemed relatively happy considering all the stress in her life. Not long ago, the very thought of having a roommate made me shudder. But I’d grown to love having Deb around and didn’t really want to think of things changing.

  “Want soup for dinner?” Deb asked, reemerging from the bedroom in her favorite purple sweatpants and a gray men’s pullover sweatshirt we’d found on a clearance rack at Walmart.

  “Nah, I’m good,” I said, closing my laptop. I stood and stretched. “I’m exhausted.”

  I slept hard and must have turned off my alarm because Deb was long gone by the time I woke up. She came home in the evening with a grocery bag in one hand.

  “I know I shouldn’t have spent the money, but I was just really craving steak,” she said. “Split it with me?”

  “Thanks for the offer, but you enjoy it,” I said. “I’ve gotta take off anyway. There’s a Society meeting tonight.”

  Apprehension flickered across her face. She wasn’t crazy about my involvement with the Underworld. It was a lot different than the coven, granted, but Society meetings didn’t involve any sacrifices or spooky dealings. Well, except for the zombie proxies that some of the remote members sent to attend in their place. So that was a little weird. But otherwise, it was mostly an excuse to get together and drink home-distilled vodka in the mancave of a local wealthy car dealership owner who also happened to be a necromancer.

  “Do you want me to drop you?” she asked. “I don’t like the idea of you driving back late after drinking.”

  Loki stood and stretched, too, and perked up as he watched me. He’d developed a sense for when I was going to leave the house, and these days he came with me most of the time.

  “I promise I’ll only have one drink,” I said. “You know I’d get a ride with someone or order a cab if I weren’t fit to drive.”

  We both knew we didn’t have money to spare for a cab.

  “Just please be careful,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine, Deb, promise. Enjoy the steak.” I gestured toward the kitchen. “I got some of that Greek yogurt you like today, too.”

  The tension eased from her face, replaced by an appreciative smile. “I’ll have some for dessert. Thanks.”

  I gave her a little wave, scooped up my keys, and then Loki and I were out the door. He jumped in and sat on the passenger seat, panting with a doggy smile on his face. I’d taken him to Ed’s last Society meeting, and everyone had fawned over the hellhound-doodle and insisted I bring Loki again.

  I was actually looking forward to the get-together. I felt more at home among the hard-drinking necromancers than I did with the coven witches. Plus, I was hoping to find answers to my questions about the blood-red magic.

  Chapter 11

  ED JENSEN LIVED in a mansion at the end of a private road off the highway that led to the local ski hill. As I left Boise behind and made my way up in elevation, I began to relax a little. Ed’s place was only about ten miles from the heart of downtown, but it felt more remote than that, surrounded by conifers and silence. The darkness of nature took over, without city lights to interfere with the night.

  When I pulled up to the house, there were already a few cars parked along the edges of the driveway. Ed was the perennial host of the regional Society meetings, and his strange, giant house was somehow perfect for gatherings of Underworlders. The outside looked like a refurbished Egyptian ruin, with sloped sides and deep doorways flanked by lit torches.

  I let myself in through the front door, and Loki and I navigated the dim hallways, lit with occasional wall sconces that held actual live flames. Ed was a fantasy buff, and the murals on the walls depicted scenes from stories and games.

  As I neared the man cave that was part pool hall and part theater, muted conversation and the sound of a game on the TV drifted toward me. When I entered, I was greeted with waves from the group gathered at the bar. Mark, the unassuming guy who looked like a junior high math teacher, was pouring drinks. He was actually the leader of the Society, though you never would have guessed it by looking at him. When he caught sight of me, he grabbed a frosty beer mug from under the counter, pulled the tap of a local lager, filled the glass, and then slid the foaming glass down to meet my hand just as I joined the milling Underworlders.

  Florica bent to fawn over Loki, ruffling his ears and speaking to him affectionately in her native language.

  I’d thought I’d arrived quite early, and I was surprised so many others were already there. I peered around at everyone.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Ed, who was holding a cocktail. “Everyone seems kind of quiet.”

  His usually jocular face was drawn. He and Mark traded a look. Then Ed tipped his head toward a TV at the other end of the room that was showing sports scores on mute. Two men sat on a leather sofa under the TV, and they looked deep in conversation.

  One of the men looked up, and his eyes locked on mine at the same moment I recognized him. I sucked in a sharp breath, choking a little as my blood ran cold.

  “How . . . ? What the hell is Phillip Zarella doing here?” I asked Ed.

  I flipped my gaze back to the men on the sofa, trying to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

  “He’s out,” Mark said quietly.

  I stared incredulously back and forth between him and Ed. “Out? What does that mean?”

  Mark shrugged. “He’s no longer confined to the Gregori campus, apparently.”

  I blinked several times as my stomach began to knot. “I don’t understand.”

  Florica straightened. “Rumor is that he supplied information to the government,” she said in her thick accent. “And in return he will not be re-arrested as long as he stays out of the media and out of trouble.”

  “That’s insane,” I hissed, trying my best not to allow my voice to rise. “What could he possibly have handed over?”

&n
bsp; Mark shrugged and shook his head. “No one knows yet.”

  But my hand clenched convulsively around my cold mug as I remembered something. Damien had become a mage by doing a favor for Zarella. My former partner had retrieved a small box and presumably passed the contents to the madman. I’d found the empty box in Damien’s apartment later but never knew what had been inside. At first I’d suspected it might be a magical object of great power, but later I began to think it might have been information. Whatever it was, it must have been the bargaining chip Zarella had used to gain his freedom.

  I felt sick. Sure, I’d been collaborating with Zarella in the interest of freeing Evan, but allowing Zarella to go free? Hell no.

  Phillip Zarella had been convicted of horrendous crimes against humanity. He’d been living on the East Coast, not far from the original Gregori Industries, back in a time when laws hadn’t caught up with advances in magical technology. Zarella had taken full advantage of the situation, doing experiments on volunteers, most of whom were from severely disadvantaged segments of society. His lab had been located in an area frequented by drug addicts, hookers, and others on the fringes, and there had been “accidental” releases of magitech into nearby areas. He’d also preyed on people desperate for cures to terminal diseases. By the time his work gained enough exposure for him to be investigated and then arrested, his experiments had already affected thousands. The evil genius was like something out of a comic book.

  Ed turned away to greet someone else, and Florica drifted over to where she’d set down her drink.

  “But . . .” I turned to Mark, baffled. “We just let him be here?”

  “I know, it’s unsavory to many of us,” Mark said quietly. He winced. “That was a gross understatement. But he’s a member, and a powerful one at that. Good or bad, he’s one of us.”

  I took a swig of beer to help push down the bile that was trying to rise up my throat. Mark’s comment reminded me of something Rogan had said. That Underworlders were like any other slice of society—a mix of good, bad, flawed, and real people. There was a segment of the Society that was like Zarella. They thrived on dark chaos.

  I eyed him, and he lifted a hand in a small wave. My mouth twisted with distaste. I couldn’t believe he was there. He belonged behind bars. Actually, he didn’t even deserve that.

  It made me feel even more nauseated that I’d been in frequent contact with him lately. And what had it gotten me? My brother was still in Damien’s hands.

  I intercepted Florica as she moved away from the bar.

  “I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something,” I said.

  “I will try, of course,” she said with a genuine smile.

  “Do you know anything about maroon magic the color of blood?” I asked. “It’s associated with death, I think.”

  I tried not to think of the fact that there was one person who probably had some knowledge about this magic or would know how to dig it up. Damien. He was obsessed with such knowledge, always entering neatly printed entries into his notebooks. He’d studied advanced magics in college and probably knew as much as any so-called expert in the world.

  Florica was a different sort of expert. She collected the lore of her people, recording tales that had been passed down through the Romani for many generations. I’d briefly spoken with her about it at the last meeting, and it sounded like she’d already amassed an incredibly rich store of information. She considered herself a cultural historian of sorts.

  Florica pursed her lips and drew a long breath before speaking. “Is this the magic that is sometimes left behind by those who walk in both realms? Trailings?” She fluttered her fingers low behind her, indicating the floor at her heels. Her heavy metal bracelets clinked softly on her wrist.

  I blinked, and it took me a second to understand what she meant. “Oh, trails! Yes, that’s the stuff. Do you have any experience with it?”

  “Not directly, of course, as I do not pass between realms.” Her gaze sharpened on me. “But you have this magic, yes?”

  I licked my dry lips. “I don’t want anyone to know. Can you keep it secret?”

  “My people, we are bred for secrecy,” she said, her eyes gleaming and her accent thickening. “For centuries, our secrets were the only things that kept us alive.”

  I inclined my head in an acknowledgment of her history.

  “Besides,” she said. “I like, you, Ella. You’re strange like me. But, thank God, not strange like . . .” She raised her chin toward the end of the room where Zarella still sat.

  More members had arrived, and everyone was taking note of Zarella’s presence. There was a foreign sort of tension in the air, an uneasiness hanging over the usually jocular group. It was one thing to have Zarella attending by proxy, commanding a zombie to use as his ears, eyes, and voice, but quite another to have the madman himself lounging on one of Ed’s couches.

  I gave Florica a mock-bashful look. “Why, thank you for the compliment.”

  She chuckled. “Now. This crimson magic. The color is no accident. My people call it blood magic. The trailings have no power. They are like footprints or the slime left by a, how you say, snail? But it can be commanded. From what I remember, it works only in the presence of blood. But not just blood, simply there. The blood must be fresh from a sacrifice.”

  I frowned. Sacrifice? That didn’t jibe with my experience. The crimson red magic had come forth, surrounding my hands, when I’d gotten angry. Oh. But there had been blood involved. Mine, leaking from my nose when I pushed my magic too hard.

  “Are there any other ways it can be wielded?” I asked.

  “It is known in my people’s lore as blood sacrifice magic. In other cultures, it is known as plague magic, but I do not know precisely what that means,” she said. Her eyes narrowed as she took in my confusion. “But you have different knowledge, yes?”

  “I think so,” I said haltingly. “I’m not really sure. I’ve brought it forth a couple of times, but there was no sacrifice involved. It was rather accidental. I want to learn to use it, though.”

  I nearly kept talking but instead cut off, snapping my jaw closed with a click, cautious about saying too much. It wasn’t that I mistrusted Florica. I just had a sudden, deep certainty that this magic would be my secret weapon when it came time to get Evan back from Damien or the Order of Mages or whoever had him. The silver magic of the in-between was powerful, but it was also killing me to use it. The blood magic originated from this realm, from my world. It would still harm me if I pushed it too far—any magic could cause exhaustion and even irreversible brain damage or death if pushed to the extreme—but it wasn’t foreign.

  “It is very rare,” Florica said. “And I doubt there is much recorded information about it. I don’t know anything more.”

  “Thank you, all the same. And I do appreciate your discretion.”

  She gave me an odd, stiff smile and sidled away rather rapidly. When I turned, I found out why. Zarella was standing there, obviously waiting to talk to me.

  “Ella,” he said. “We’ve had so few opportunities to speak in person. This is rather a treat.”

  Everything in me was screaming to back away, that to even be in such proximity of the man was abhorrent, as if his crimes hung in the air like an oily residue and might settle on me. But I sipped my beer, trying not to flit my gaze around as others took notice of the two of us.

  “I thought you were finished with me,” I said coldly.

  His brows rose, and he gave me a hurt look. “Can’t I simply say hello?”

  “No,” I said. I set my empty bottle on the bar and walked away.

  He’d jerked me around enough. And the whole time, I’d felt sick at the idea of any involvement with him. I’d buried the feelings under my desperation to save Evan. But now, I desperately wished for a way to do it without Zarella.

  An itchy sort of impatience flooded through me. I looked around, thinking I might just slip out and leave, but Mark was calling the meeting t
o order, and I’d already put myself too far into the middle of the room. If I walked out, everyone would see me leave.

  I stuck close to Florica, taking comfort in the sense that she was somewhat of an ally, and tried to make myself inconspicuous at the edge of the group. The Society members had formed a loose crowd near one of the pool tables, some of them leaning against it and others taking seats in the nearby rows of home-theater chairs.

  Florica went forward to read minutes from the last meeting. There wasn’t a ton to say, as the last time we’d gathered it was near Christmas and the Society had paused most activities for the holidays. I mostly tuned out as Mark took over again, talking about possible activities and commitments for the coming year, and instead considered everything I had at my disposal.

  More than anything, I wished Rogan were still there. I bit down hard on my lower lip, the physical pain distracting me from a sudden wave of sorrow. Rogan was gone, but he’d left me with a great gift. The knowledge of how to use water in the in-between to move long distances instantly and undetected. He’d also introduced me to Switchboard, a reclusive mage living in the mountains of Idaho.

  It would be very useful to have a mage on my side. But I wasn’t sure if I could convince Switch to help me. He was a strange old guy who obviously didn’t care much for the rest of humanity, but perhaps I could persuade him. It was worth a try.

  My mind spun as I thought of everything I needed to do. Find Evan’s new location. Gather my resources. Talk to Switch. Get ready to face Damien and the mages.

  And the blood magic was still gnawing at me—I had to learn what I could do with it.

  My eyes flicked to Zarella. He also stood at the edge of the group, a bit apart, in a spot that seemed somehow cast in shadow. He didn’t need to know that I wanted to strike out on my own. In fact, I might be able to find a way to use him, to take the upper hand with Zarella.

  Could I fool the madman? I wouldn’t know until I tried.

  Chapter 12