Obsidian Magic (Legacy Series Book 2)

by McKenzie Hunter

  By the time I’d backed myself up to the opening, I’d centered my magic and readied myself to use it, including preparing for the pain in my body. Adrenaline had long worn off; my body ached and every breath caused a shrill pain from my broken ribs. But I didn’t need magic: the veil formed a thin opening, just enough for me to squeeze through, and I was nearly out when someone gave me a magical nudge—hard. I turned to get a quick glance at the woman who hadn’t been able to quickly extinguish her magic, standing just a few inches from Conner, glaring at me just as the veil started to close. He might have chosen me as his consort but I had a feeling she wanted the honor. I would have gladly resigned from the position.

  I hobbled away, the pains in my ribs and shoulder so intense they were making me nauseous. Nearly twenty feet from my car, I rested back against one of the trees. I had healed cuts and bruises before with my magic but I’d never used it to heal broken bones. But I needed to do something—the pain was getting harder to deal with. The air was clean, I didn’t feel a hint of magic in the air despite being just ten feet from a veil that held enough powerful beings to destroy one-fourth of the country.

  And then the reality dawned on me—they could. It was estimated that there had been only eighty-nine who had done the global Cleanse. What if Conner changed strategies and went that route? Or would he stick with his initial goal and do small ones all over the country? With the addition of twelve more Legacy, four Necro-spears, and mages who were willing to betray their kind for a chance at more power, how much damage could he do?

  Waiting just made things worse—the pain and the speculation—I needed to get to the pit cave, where the wards and location would hide my use of magic. I couldn’t afford to be careless.

  The moment I pushed myself from the tree, I saw the last thing I needed—Gareth—coming around the corner. Nearly five feet away from me, he stopped abruptly. His brow furrowed as he continued to stare at me. His head tilted slightly and then the bevel of his frown deepened.

  I looked down at my shirt and jeans. They were dirty but the evidence of me attacking Conner was gone. That was something else I needed to learn—how to retrieve my blood. It left a sour taste in my mouth that the one person who could teach me how to defeat someone like Conner—was Conner.

  “Your hair,” he finally said.

  For heaven’s sake, if you say something about my hair being a mess I’m going to give you a piece of my mind.

  “It’s red. Real red.”

  I ran my fingers over it and brought the end of my ponytail into view. It was red, our odd trademark persimmon color. I stared at it for a long time. I’d never actually seen my natural color. As long as I could remember, I’d had dark brown hair. As a child, I’d thought it was my natural color; as an adult, my four-week regimen of coloring it made sure that I would never see it.

  Gareth quickly noticed my pained movement and came closer. “You’re hurt.”

  “Not really, just my shoulder, and I might have a few broken ribs.”

  “And that’s not really hurt?” he asked incredulously.

  “Just a little nick.”

  He pressed his hand against my ribs, and I gasped. “I’m taking you to the Isles.”

  “No. I can fix it. I’m fine.”

  His voice dropped, cold and commanding. The same one he used when he started calling me by my last name and spouting his orders. “You have two options, Ms. Michaels: either I take you to the Isles, or to the hospital. Which do you choose?”

  “The write-in option—go home and fix it myself. I’m not under your command, I don’t have to pick your options.”

  Uh-oh, kitty’s mad again.

  And he was. Eyes that were usually blue and crystal bright had darkened like a storm before a torrential rain. “If you were under my command, I’d try my best to keep you from getting hurt. I’d like to think I’m a better person, who wouldn’t throw you over my shoulder and make you go to a hospital. You’re making it real hard to be a better person.”

  I’d like to see you try. And then you can tell me how the twins feel. But the way I felt, I didn’t think I was going to be a good adversary.

  “Ms. Michaels, choose.”

  Levy, play nice. You can do this. But I didn’t trust myself not to tell him where to stick his choices and when he was done, there were a few other places he could stick them again. But through all his shapeshifter machismo, he was just trying to help. Whether I liked it or not, I needed Gareth and the Supernatural Guild.

  “I’d rather not go to either. I can fix the ribs and the shoulder.” I looked around. “I just don’t want to do magic here. Please, I need to go to the pit cave.”

  He considered it for a moment and then nodded. “I should drive.”

  In his car, I had a chance to look at my hair in the mirror. It was red—really red. It was very distinctive and so reviled that people who had hair similar to it often changed it for fear of being mistaken for a Legacy. Conner was trying to out me. What if it had been someone else other than Gareth who’d found me—what would have happened?

  Gareth looked at my hair once more and seemed to be struck into a concerned silence.

  I wasn’t sure if him driving was better or not. At least if I drove, I would have something to distract me from the pain. I rested back against the soft leather seat after finding a position that didn’t cause me too much pain. “Did you get to the Maxwells?”

  He shook his head. “We just need one because their power is divided among the three of them. Take one and you effectively restrict their power. They were gone by the time we got there, leaving just a trail of violence and injured bodies as evidence of their presence.” He sighed. “I don’t know how they got out of each ward. We separated them.”

  “They didn’t get out, Conner let them out.”

  “Why the hell would he do something like that?”

  “Because he is working with HF, whose only goal is to make the world fear supernaturals. What’s a better way than to have a supernatural do a spell to cause humans to hurt each other? Soon you’ll have people thinking the Cleanse wasn’t such a bad thing because it got rid of the bad and terrible supernaturals. In the end, the Legacy and Vertu come out looking like heroes.”

  “Conner’s very strong. The human justice system collects fingerprints; we collect blood. We had theirs and the best mages on our team couldn’t track them. We’ve been reduced to tracking their activity and there isn’t a pattern to it.” His lips twisted to the side as he became distracted by his thoughts.

  “You have their scent, can’t you track it?”

  “Not if they are blocking it with magic.”

  “About that, do you know what spell they’re using? If so, can you get a copy?”

  “The lady doth protest too much. As I said before, our mouth always says one thing, but the body betrays us each time. I can hear your breathing increase, and the uptick of your heartbeat is undeniable. You don’t dislike being around me as much as you claim.”

  “I’m in a lot of pain right now, so that explains the heart rate, and I think I have allergies.”

  He chuckled. “Of course, that’s what it is.”

  In an effort to ignore the furtive glances, I looked out the window and realized we had passed the pit cave and were inching down the street to his home. “Why are going to your house? I said I needed the cave. Do you ever listen to anyone or do you just do whatever the hell you want?” I really wanted to blame the coarse edge of my voice on pain but it was more than that. I was angry.

  He considered the question for a moment as we drove down the long street leading to his home, past stretches of land with dense groves of trees that obscured almost everything. There appeared to be only four homes on his street, and the distance between them couldn’t really justify using the word neighbor. Maybe street mate was more apropos. “Not when I have something better suited.”

  “Stalking me to a club, tracking my scent, and taking me to your house against my request sound l
ike the behavior of a sociopath. You’re the head of the Supernatural Guild.”

  He shrugged as he pulled into his garage. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He quickly got out of the car and came to my side to open the door. I didn’t move.

  With the door open, he stood and waited. Seconds quickly became a minute as we tried to outstubborn each other. But this was a fight I had to win. Gareth wasn’t going to bulldoze me into giving in.

  “I guess your injuries aren’t that painful—you don’t seem to be in a rush to fix them.”

  I turned to face him, my eyes fastened on him, shooting him the full force of my anger. My teeth were clenched together so tightly that my jaw started to ache. “I deal with pain just fine.” Now I’m going to deal with you. “Take me where I asked.”

  He sighed heavily and knelt down. “I have a room you can use—it’s safe. The nearest person to my home is nearly seventy yards away. Here you will not have to work in the cold or climb into a cave, which seems like it probably would hurt pretty damn bad with the shape you’re in. And I heard your stomach rumble twice—I have food. Satisfied?”

  Damn. His idea is better. I packed up my indignation and shame at being unnecessarily obstinate into a little bag of humility and got out the car. I started to reach for my sai, but Gareth grabbed them.

  “I guess I should make sure you don’t try to stab me with them,” he said with a grin. “You seem to respond to acts of hospitality differently than most women—perhaps you’re broken.”

  You really don’t make it easy, do you?

  Gareth took me through the house, and I followed him down the hallway to stairs that spiraled into a basement. Some would have called it a man cave: a large-screen TV covered a great deal of wall, a dark comfortable-looking sofa placed in front of it, a leather recliner on the side. And like his office, it was set up like a small apartment, with a refrigerator and kitchen area. In the corner were a foosball table and several games. Like the main house, the walls were a neutral tan, a contrast to the mahogany tables and cocoa-colored furniture. I stopped and considered the area—it didn’t seem like him, and it was neat, unused. I doubted he came down here often, and I doubted that he used the room.

  “My nephew uses this area more than I do,” he offered and tugged on my arm to get me to follow.

  Exiting through another door, we descended farther; the walls narrowed and changed from drywall to cement. The walls were cooler, and the lights he turned on didn’t offer any more illumination than the flashlight I’d used in the cave. I stayed close; he led me into the “room,” and calling it that seemed too tame of a word. Bunker, maybe? Bomb shelter, possibly? We were underground, deep underground, and I experienced the odd comfort that I felt in my cave. We went through two thick doors into a smaller room. His little hideaway was nice living quarters. Much nicer than my apartment. And it was warm, a lot better than being outside, where it hadn’t quite warmed up, or gotten as warm as I expected with the fall temperatures in the Midwest.

  “Expecting an apocalypse?” I asked, slowly turning to take in the room.

  He barely committed to the light smile, but it remained as he shrugged. “You can never be too sure. Strange things happen, don’t they?”

  I didn’t answer, but I wondered if the strange things that he referred to were the Cleanse. Would this protect him? I didn’t know. I didn’t feel wards, and even sigils on the walls wouldn’t help him because he couldn’t perform magic.

  He moved farther back, giving me space. “Do you need anything?”

  I shook my head, and when he moved back toward the stairs, I expected him to leave. He didn’t. With a gentle smile on his lips, he crossed his arms and waited patiently. “I’d like to watch.”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen a healing spell done by a witch or a mage,” I offered.

  “Of course, but I haven’t seen one done by you. I’m curious.”

  I took several steps back as he leaned against the wall, his eyes fastened on me with acute interest. I tried to ignore his attention. This was the first time I’d ever done magic around anyone other than my parents and Savannah. It felt odd with an audience.

  After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, I turned my back to him, aware that his interest probably didn’t falter. And the magic started as it always did. Even though I’d used it just hours ago, it was so used to being ignored and unused that it came in from its latent state. I’d started using it more in the past two weeks than I had in years and it wasn’t as foreign to me as it once was. It unfurled in me, gently coursing through me, the warmth spreading slowly as it encircled my limbs. The various colors that represented the unique origins of my magic emerged separately and then slowly wrapped around one another until it became something uniquely its own. Our magic. Legacy magic.

  The painful throbbing in my shoulder was reduced to a dull ache. I inhaled a breath. Before, it had been ragged and painful; now it was just a slight annoyance. I slowly relaxed into the magic and let it course through me again, repairing the damage of the day. And when it was done, as it always did, it seemed to recoil and became a compact little bag stored away for the times I needed it. A travel bag just for emergencies. Emergencies that I was experiencing too often. Emergencies that were going to get worse if I didn’t stop Conner.

  By the time I turned around, Gareth was close to me and our eyes locked. He hesitated for a moment and then reached out and touched a strand of my hair, slowly twirling it around his fingers. The warmth of his body beat lightly against me. The light flicker of his shapeshifter ring, gentle but with hints of danger, held my gaze. We were close, too close, and I debated between the prevailing contradiction of interest that made me want to stay close and aversion that made me want to move as far away as possible.

  “Not what I expected at all,” he said softly.

  “What did you expect?”

  “Just something different. Anya Kismet.” He said my name in a low, strained whisper. It was different from the way he’d said it in his office, as if it had meaning to him.

  “How did you know my name?” I asked again.

  Gareth gave a deviant smile that made the shifter ring sparkle against the light. “I told you, you told me.”

  I had a hard time believing I’d ever told him such a thing. I had been Olivia Michaels the majority of my life. The moment I had taken on that identity, my parents had drilled it into me that Olivia was who I was. I couldn’t imagine I would be so careless to let something like that slip out. I was Anya Kismet because that was my origin; that was who I would have been if things were different. Anya Kismet was who I was supposed to be. Gareth shouldn’t have had the information. No one had that information except—

  “What did you do before you were with the Supernatural Guild?” I asked, taking a few steps back and watching him with a new caution, becoming more aware of my surroundings. It was in fact the place he had built to protect himself. And it was equipped to do just that. Swords were affixed to the wall: a katana, a saber, and a jian. The katana was at the bottom, not my sai, but easy to use if I needed. A fridge on the other side—nothing I could use there. A large safe to the right, which I was sure had firearms in it. On a shelf there were herbs, tannin, various salts and liquids, all things that you’d find in a magic shop and that I’d seen at the house where we’d met. At the bottom of the shelf he had several little amulets that the witches sold. People loved them, but they weren’t much for protection, providing just a small little burst of magic, like a firecracker that couldn’t injure unless it was close and near sensitive skin.

  “I was head of the Shifter Council,” he said.

  “For only four years.” It was information Kalen was very enthusiastic about giving. The moment I’d asked him to give me more details about Gareth, I’d quickly realized he had a dossier on the Magic Council and the Fae, Witch, Mage, and Shapeshifter Councils as well. It wouldn’t have been Kalen’s if it hadn’t been at least a quarter full of useless information. I didn’t think
anyone was going to consider tidbits like someone’s favorite restaurant or the drink they ordered at the restaurant he saw them at useful at any point in their life.

  The discord between us became palpable. It wasn’t like anything we’d had before.

  His tongue glided over his lips, moistening them, and I prepared for a lie. When he opened his mouth again, only a deep sigh came out. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

  “You mean again,” I offered.

  “I didn’t lie the first time. I asked if your name was Anya Kismet and you confirmed it.”

  “Okay, but how did you know to ask me that?” He was too close and easily closed any space I put between us. I wasn’t going to move; I had magic and a katana on the wall, just a quick step away.

  The peculiar dance of me keeping my distance from him and him closing it continued. Then he took several steps back from me until he was near the stairway, the only exit. I scanned the room again to make sure.

  He slid teeth over his lips. He wasn’t going to tell me the truth. People did that when they were going to lie, and they didn’t take this long to tell the truth. “For a year I was with the Guardians of Order.”

  It was a name I knew but never used. Adrenaline kicked my heart into overdrive, a sharp breath caught in my chest, and protective magic came alive in me. It pulsed and wrapped around my fingers, lively colors ready to be released and bring about an unspeakable amount of pain. “A Tracker?”

  He nodded, and just as I raised my hand to lob a ball of magic in his direction, he quickly made a half-turn and pointed an odd-looking gun at me. It was a cross between a 9mm and an automatic crossbow. “Don’t. I am not going to hurt you. I knew you were going to react like this, which is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “I’m sorry you thought I would react defensively after finding out that your job was to track down and kill my kind. How presumptuous of you to feel that way.” I rolled my eyes away from him, assessing the situation. Magic versus bullet or whatever was in the pseudo-gun.