Lydia laughed. “Of course,” she croaked. “A prince should be able to take care of himself.”
Curly quirked a smile. “Something like that. Mona’s protection turned out to be highly adequate. She was the only thing that kept the ghouls from turning on us. I might have to make her my bodyguard.”
Lydia and Mona shared a chuckle. Now it was Curly’s time to be surprised.
“This girl,” said Lydia jabbing her cane agitatedly in Mona’s direction, “is bound to a behelit. Yes, the same as your family.”
“Her?” said Curly, looking Mona up and down in disbelief. Then things started to click inside his head. “This is about the attacks,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. “What they’ve been saying about a Master running afoul of fae isn’t true.”
“No,” Lydia replied.
Curly suddenly looked scared. “I must get word to my family. A behelit…” He ran a hand over his mouth, looking much older than his sixteen years. “Are you sure?”
Mona shrugged. Lydia nodded.
“Will someone explain what the hell is going on?” Clint looked seriously pissed off. “Mona, what aren’t you telling us?”
Shit. Just act like it’s not a big deal. Low key.
“I met a fae during my examination. Weird magic happened, and now the Masters are taking care of it,” Mona said, setting down her tea.
“Weird magic?” Curly stared at Mona like she was insane. “Do you have any idea—”
“It wasn’t her fault,” Lydia quickly interjected.
Mona’s paranoia kicked in again. Is she trying to stop Curly from telling me about the behelit? She can’t be sure how much I already know. Mona decided that the sooner she left, the better.
“That doesn’t change the fact that the entire Academy is in danger,” said Curly. He turned and took in the room with all the shifters in it. “Lord Korka is on his way, and you can be sure an army marches behind him. All of you need to get ready to defend the hall.”
Clint growled. Laura, Fenix and several other shifters perked up, changing into an alert posture. Lydia accepted Curly’s claim without question. “It was only a matter of time,” she said. She coughed and took another sip of tea. Magi can live for hundreds of years, and mage-shifters for even longer. Judging by the look of her, Lydia had been alive to see the First Crusade. War must be a regular occurrence for her, like a change in seasons.
“Simon, Jessica, Greg and Jackson. You’re first watch,” Lydia snapped the order. Four shifters got to their feet, shifting into their animals forms and hurrying for the exit. Shifters had the reputation of outdoorsy, free-love hippies, but when it came to battle they were much more militaristic than your ordinary mage.
“Clint, while Zyzz is injured you’re the alpha. Put together a squad of five and escort Mona to the library. Kill any hell spawn you find along the way.”
Clint shared a glance with Fenix and Laura. The three of them, along with Zyzz, were like Mona: obsessed with battle magic and violent encounters. It was how they became friends in the first place. Over the years, the four of them had become the Academy’s elite combat shifters.
Lord Korka and his shadow demons are going to need an extra set of eyes on backs of their heads. That was what Mona foolishly thought at the time. She could never have predicted that not just the Academy, but the entire West coast was about to go up in flames.
“Rest here for as long as you need,” said Lydia, turning to Mona.
Mona tried to remember where she placed her tea; the small coffee table was covered with the cups of shifters sitting nearby. “Thanks,” she said distractedly.
This is not going as I planned.
“Come on,” said Laura, taking Mona by the hand. “Oh my god, you’re freezing! We’re getting you some clothes.”
They went up the stairs to Laura’s dorm room. There, Laura shut the door and threw Mona a bath towel. “Shower’s at the end of the hall,” she said. “I’ll lay out clothes for you to change into.”
“Thanks, Laur,” Mona said, giving her a hug. “You’re the best.”
She accepted the praise, then gave Mona a bottle of shampoo and shooed her out. Mona went down the hallway, feeling more tired with every step.
The hot shower rejuvenated her. She scrubbed herself all over, washing away the grit from the day’s activity. There was a spring in her step by the time she returned to Laura’s room. I guess it’s my second wind, or maybe I just had a lot of energy after being asleep for two days.
On her bed, Laura had left out a new pair of jeans, a tee-shirt, scruffy sweater, underwear, socks and running shoes that looked one size too big. It was a far cry from Mona’s battle armor, and a bit loose on account of Laura’s more muscular form, but she wasn’t complaining. Mona bunched up her hospital gown and threw it into the garbage.
Sorry, guys. I’m not dragging you into this mess.
She walked out to Laura’s balcony and closed the door behind her. The sky was much darker than when she had last been outside. It was true twilight now, made all the darker by the storm clouds which still rumbled overhead, blocking out the light of the moon.
Mona took the clouds to mean that the fae were still talking with the magic council. With luck, they would stay locked in negotiations for days. But Kelendril, at least, wanted to know where Mona was. He had not messaged her again, signally that he believed Mona’s telepathy wasn’t working, or that she had gone rogue. Whatever the case, Mona knew she wouldn’t last long with a Master trying to find her.
She stepped over the railing and jumped the short distance to the ground, leaving the Shifters Hall and her friends behind her. She would stick with her plan and head straight for the library. The journey had already been massively delayed, and time was running out.
A figure stepped out of the shadows. It was Curly. “I still owe you that spell,” he said.
Mona glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby. “You don’t want to come with me,” she said. He must have been waiting for her to sneak out the back.
Curly took a confident step forward. “I know what you’re involved in, more than anyone else at the Academy. My family has been cursed with the behelit for generations. I can help you, before it’s too late.”
24
Maggie answered the door after what felt like five hundred knocks and thirty minutes of wet stand-still.
“Who is it?” Maggie asked. She opened the door only a crack. Her blonde hair was in a long braid, hanging over the front of her shoulder and down over her flannel blue nightgown. Her feet were snug inside a pair of pink bunny slippers.
As far as Suri was concerned, Maggie was one of the most badass mages in San Francisco. Ok, technically, Maggie wasn’t a mage. It’s a title for gifted who studied and graduated from a certified Academy. In other words, anyone with a lick of magical power was a mage. Or a renegade.
But where did that leave Maggie? She looked at Suri with big, blue eyes. Blinked them in confusion. Rubbed them, to clear the sleep away. She craned her head forward. Peering. Not disturbed at all by the dead body slung over Suri’s back. Not worried at all about a possible intruder. Some drunk weirdo or drug addict making random trouble, or worse, deliberately targeting Maggie and the Church.
Maggie had dealt with that sort before. Vampires, ghouls, ungifted with a dark streak. Many times; too many times. And so thoroughly and decisively did she blow them the fuck out that she wore not so much as a single mark or scar or her pale, porcelain, Virgin Mary face.
And she’s celibate.
Suri secretly loathed her for that fact. Someone as pure and perfect and thoroughly desirable as Maggie should really have a stud to ravish her. That kind of killed the whole purity thing, but whatever. It seemed obscene, kind of a ‘fuck you’ that Maggie decided to uphold her virtue above everything else. Turning aside the 100% certain guaranteed blockbuster love life that she could have at the drop of a hat—and that Suri yearned for. Maggie was above it all. Too good for Suri’s dreams.<
br />
But that was the grumpy side of Suri. At the root of it, Suri truly loved Maggie. The purity thing wasn’t an act. And it wasn’t because Suri was a Christian. Her foster parents had raised her in such a way that she was incapable of despising people with good intentions. Maggie was an honest-to-goodness living saint. On the surface, she had it all. Good looks, charm, the prestige of being the first Catholic priest in San Francisco at the age of twenty-four. A life dedicated to helping those down-and-out. Shining the brilliant light of her goodness on those trapped in the dark. Sharing their burden, putting up arms and standing side-by-side with the decrepit and wicked to defeat their demons.
If there was anyone in this city who could help Suri, it was the five-foot-three priest standing inside the doors. Suri knew better than to welcome herself inside. Maggie probably wouldn’t stop her. But, at best, it was uncouth. At worst, grossly disrespectful. So she waited, knees shaking, while Maggie parsed what was going on.
Suri wasn’t so tired to miss the small, 5th century C.E. mace hanging from the brown belt at Maggie’s side. No matter how well you knew them, startling a premier magic user was always ill-advised.
“Oh! My goodness,” said Maggie, a sunlight smile lifting her face.
I’ll have to keep her and Raja well away from each other, Suri privately thought.
“Can I come in?” It sounded as desperate as she felt.
“Of course! I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?” Maggie stepped aside, held the door open for Suri to lurch inside the front lobby of the Cathedral, tracking water and mud. Maggie didn’t mind, although she did avoid the puddles with her slippers. “Is that a dead body?” She asked, finally clueing in.
“Where can I put him down?” Suri asked. She was out of breath. The exhaustion must have came through her voice because Maggie’s eyes went wide.
“Sorry!” She snatched up her mace. It was engraved in Latin scripture. Quotes from the New Testament. One wave of it and the dead body was floating in the air, flat as a board. Her magic was so different from a mage’s that her spells were always a surprise. The dead and dying were part of Maggie’s domain, where her magic was strongest, and so her spells responded with the strength of the Lord’s blessing. It was nothing for her to float this body around. An afterthought, whereas for Suri, although much stronger in other areas of magic, would have had to spend 10x the same effort for the same effect. There was much mystery surrounding the Church, and the magic at their disposal. It was even more mysterious to mages and the gifted community at large than it was to superstitious ungifted.
Maggie couldn’t use ordinary spells. Her power came from a source unknown to everyone but those devoted to Christendom. Usually, the priests and the mages kept to themselves. Suri was one of the few people in San Francisco who had been able to bridge the gap. This was mostly due to her religion, which had started out as rebellion against the atheist-dominant Academy, and had over time turned into a stable belief.
Maggie led the way, her slippers swishing against the hard, stone floor. Suri followed her down the main aisle, past the rows of pews. Lightning illuminated one of the stained-glass windows, giving it an internal light of red and purple. Revealing the grave visage of Christ on the cross. Crown of thorns dripping blood down his brow, as he wore an expression of pity and sorrow.
“Please, sit,” said Maggie, gesturing at the front pew.
Suri sat, watched, slumped over, as Maggie held her mace and moved it through the air, directing the dead body to lay atop the altar. A look over her shoulder confirmed to Suri the drops of blood trailing from the front door to the altar. A trickle of blood already ran from his the corner of the man’s mouth, down his partially shaven jaw and neck to soak into the cloth atop the altar.
Maggie did not seem to mind. “Let me guess,” she said. She pointed her mace at the body. “This is a bad guy. You killed him. You want Maggie to squeeze him for answers.”
She did have a way with words. Suri grinned sheepishly. “Yea, pretty much. I didn’t kill him, though. He killed himself. Bit off his tongue.”
This set Maggie’s mouth into a deep frown. She shot a glare at the body, as if annoyed that he was no longer around to be chastised. “Why?” A simple question. Asked with a voice of iron.
Suri gulped. She wasn’t in the mood, nor prepared, for a sharp back-and-forth with a Catholic priest. Such conversations are rarely won. “I think his Master compelled him to,” she answered, truthfully. “Look at his neck.”
Maggie turned down the man’s collar with a pale finger. There were a few overhead lights, which Maggie must have turned on when she came to answer Suri’s knock. It was not much to see by. She muttered under the breathe, only loud enough for Suri to catch a trace of Latin. The heavy, metal head of Maggie’s mace glowed with yellow light. Bright enough for her to make out the twin holes where the dead man’s vampire master had taken his blood, and turned him into a slave.
“Al victus sensori.” Maggie hissed the words through her teeth. She was fully awake now. Serious, with the wrath of the Lord brewing inside her petite form as she addressed Suri. “What happened?”
Suri told Maggie the sequence of events. The basics, anyways. Enough to explain what happened, starting with the missing councillor and the shootout at Lee’s.
“He was by earlier this night. I didn’t expect another dead body to come through my door.”
“I’m sorry,” said Suri, rubbing her eyes.
Maggie was by her side in an instant. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Lay down.” Maggie gently helped Suri down on the wooden pew. Suri’s body was so numb that she couldn’t tell how uncomfortable it was. “It will take some time for me to summon his ghost. I’ll wake you when it’s time.” Suri nodded, eyes already closing.
She slept like the dead for two and a half hours. She only woke once, for a moment, disturbed by a noise coming from the front of the Cathedral. Through half-lidded eyes she glimpsed a pale ghost, shrouded from head to toe. A twelve-foot apparition hovering over the altar, speaking Latin in a tombstone voice with Maggie, who was knelt in prayer. There was a sacred privateness about it that gave Suri a feeling of certainty that it was not meant for her eyes. Not meant to be spied upon. And so she went back to sleep, unsure when she awoke if it had been real, or a dream.
“Suri.” Maggie shook her by the shoulder of her leather jacket. “It’s time.”
The man’s body hovered a foot above the altar. The storm had stopped. At least it seemed that way inside of the cathedral. It was as if time had slowed, if only for a short period of time. A bead of sweat ran down the side of Maggie’s face. Her face was scrunched in a constant grimace, as if she was holding on to something in her mind.
Suri wasted no time and walked to the altar. The eyes of the dead man opened at her approach. Fixed its gaze on Suri’s own, while the rest of the body remained frozen.
“Ask,” Maggie prompted. “Three questions. That is my limit.”
Suri nodded. “Who is your Master?” She asked it clear and strong, eyes not wavering once from the dead man’s bloodshot eyes.
A disgusting gurgle sounded from the corpse. It turned into a wet rasp, then a laugh. His lips twitched, blood coughing up all over his body and the holy altar.
“Answer!” Maggie commanded.
The corpse writhed and gnashed its teeth. And once again was still. Its eyes were filled with hate. “Yonafrew Hyde,” it hissed, the words dragged out of it by Maggie’s holy magic.
“Such a foul creature,” Maggie gasped. “It’s Master still holds sway over it, even in death.”
“Yonafrew Hyde,” Suri repeated, making a mental note of her name. She didn’t have Logan’s detective pad to make notes in.
“Where is your Master’s lair?”
“Aaahahah!” The dead man screeched. He coughed up even more blood, spattering it onto the stone floor, and dirtying the lily-white cloth it hovered above. “I know you, Mage. Your scent. My Master will have your flesh. The rare
st blood. Ahahaha!”
“Silence, cur!” Maggie waved her mace in a pattern through the air. A marble statue of Mother Mary, standing tall above the lectern at the front of the Cathedral, loomed over the dead man’s floating body. For a moment, the statue’s stone face transformed from its tranquil grace into a haunting, open-mouthed scream. Suri blinked, and the stone was back to its original state. Perhaps it had been the work of shadows.
The dead man growled and thrashed against its invisible bondage. “Faerie!” it spat. “On the Hill. Two steps from fountain blue. By moon he took me and made he his own. Promised…He promised! A hidden room. Shielded from the sun.”
“Tell us more,” Maggie ordered, mercilessly. She was hunched over, as if carrying a great weight.
“In a tower. Built to…see the stars. Giant guards, carved long ago. Home to lepers and cripples.”
“Last question,” Maggie gasped.
Suri hadn’t planned her questions out in advance. She was making up them up on the spot. The first two had been easy, obvious. But the third? She didn’t have time to ponder, or the chance to waste.
She clasped her hands, fingers locking as she bowed her head in prayer. “Where is Councillor Weathers?”
“Thrall to my Master!” The dead man blurted. His rasping laugh echoed through the cathedral, before turning into a wet cough. “In dungeon kept. Ours.”
“Where.” Maggie.
“The tower. With the others.” And with that, the body relaxed. Floated down to the altar, and faded into darkness, making Suri realize that the whole time, since she awoke, that the corpse had been illuminated in a beam of light. As Suri looked up to find its source, it disappeared, leaving only cold stone.
Maggie fell to one knee. Suri came close, put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t know how holy magic worked, but the cost of it was obvious. Maggie’s face was haggard. Wrinkled. Strands of her blonde hair were now pale white.
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