Blood Sorcery (Shadows of Magic Book 2)

by Natalie Grey

  “This is killing you.” I spoke before I thought.

  “What?” That jolted him out of his reverie.

  Shit. I hadn’t meant to say any of that out loud. I looked down at my hands.

  “Nicky. What did you mean by that?”

  I thought through the ways this conversation ended.

  None of them were good, and I lifted my hands helplessly. “It’s fucking killing you, that’s what I mean.” I shook my head at him. “Every goddamned day you find out something new that they’ve done, and it breaks your trust a little bit more. And I hate watching that, Daiman.”

  “Yeah. Must be real inconvenient for you.” His mouth twisted.

  I jerked back, stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means it’s not yours to deal with.” He was looking at me like I was a child. A very stupid child. “And I’m not some shiny little unicorn who can’t take care of myself. I’ve dealt with disappointment before.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t! I just meant—” I broke off, rubbing my face.

  “What did you mean?” His voice was dangerous.

  I gave him a look. Not a nice one. “I meant,” I said through gritted teeth, “that I just wish we didn’t keep running into this stuff. I wish I wasn’t always wondering what the next thing is that’s coming.”

  His face might have been carved from stone.

  I threw my hands up. “Fuck, Daiman, I don’t know! You actually believed in all of this shit! I didn’t think those people existed!”

  His anger settled into wary confusion. “Huh?”

  “I’m not just a Monarchist, remember. I’m the Monarchist.” I shook my head and brought one leg up to rest my head on my knee. Outside, the trees were rustling in the breeze; another, simpler world. Yesterday, I’d loved that noise.

  Right now, it was annoying the hell out of me.

  “I thought everyone who was a Separatist was lying to themselves, or just in it for the power.” I shrugged, not taking my chin off my knee. “And yes, all things considered, I know how that sounds. I was the one trying to rule the world. I remember.”

  Despite himself, Daiman gave a snort of laughter, and I felt my own chest shake slightly with an answering chuckle.

  “I didn’t remember much when we met,” I told him. “But I know I thought you were pretty dumb. I mean, to buy the whole story Terric fed you. Hook, line, and sinker, man.”

  “I can’t hear that enough.” His voice was dry.

  “I don’t think it’s dumb anymore.” I gave him a half smile.

  “So, let me get this straight.” He leaned back against the headboard and raised an eyebrow at me. “You thought, back when you knew absolutely nothing about me or the Acadamh, that I was stupid for believing in it, and now—”

  “Daiman—”

  “Wait, wait, let me finish.” He held up a hand, a smile still playing around his lips. “And now that you know you were right about everything … you don’t it’s dumb anymore.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, okay, I see how that sounds. It’s just … you remember what you said in Venice? That the Coimeail and everyone else at the Acadamh were good people, that they’d done good things? Well, I know the Monarchists who were like that, too, people like Sarah. So I guess now, I think you can’t judge a person by what side they’re on. I think … well, I think the way you see the world says a lot about the caliber of person you are. And you see the world as a good place, where people still have noble goals.”

  I cleared my throat awkwardly in the silence that followed. I was staring studiously at the wall, suddenly unable to look at him.

  I wasn’t very good at sappy pronouncements.

  “Um,” Daiman said.

  I cleared my throat again. When I snuck a glance, he was staring up at the ceiling.

  “So, ah….” He looked back at me. “My caliber is then … honorable but dumb?”

  And then I was laughing, and I couldn’t stop. I bent over in my chair, feeling my stomach shake. I could hear him laughing, too, and I balled up a piece of paper and threw it at him.

  “You knew what I meant!” But I was still giggling.

  “I did.” He got up and came to kiss me.

  The kiss was shocking in its sweetness, stealing my breath and my thoughts in one fell swoop. When he broke away, I blinked stupidly up at him.

  He crouched in front of my chair and I saw his face sober. “Nicky, you say you’re watching them break my heart, but this isn’t any easier on you. Something’s got its hooks in you, and not in a good way. What the hell are you doing taking their orders?”

  My own smile fell from my lips and I looked away as his hands reached out to take mine.

  “I know you,” he told me. “I know you aren’t afraid of killing people.”

  I looked back at him, wide-eyed.

  “You’re not.” He shrugged. “You killed a room full of Philip’s cult without batting an eye, and if you’ve felt guilty about it for a second, I haven’t seen it.”

  I blinked at him. “They were trying to kill most of the humans on the planet.”

  “Yeah, well, most people would still not feel great about that.” He shrugged again. “I’m just telling the truth. You don’t have a problem with killing people that deserve it. People that try to kill others, people that try to kill you. But you don’t kill for the hell of it, Nicky. You’re not a paid assassin. So why are you doing this?”

  I looked down, blinking rapidly.

  There was a lot I could say. I could tell him that Maggie seemed sincere. I could tell him that Terric had tried to kill me, back in the day. I could tell him….

  It didn’t matter. None of it was the truth.

  And then there were footsteps outside and both our heads jerked around.

  “What fresh hell—?” Daiman was on his feet and moving, and there was power collecting in my hand, ready to throw.

  Who we thought it was, I couldn’t have said. Probably Terric … or Philip. Philip and I certainly had unfinished business.

  But the man who burst through the door was unfamiliar to me, dark-haired and wearing the all-black uniform I’d first seen on Daiman some weeks ago.

  A Hunter, then.

  He’d been running: sweat was still shining on his skin and his chest sagged in profound relief to see Daiman.

  “Thank God,” he muttered.

  “Tom?” Daiman took two steps, peering out the door behind the other Hunter. He looked back. “…Are you all right?”

  “I—” The man looked at me, then Daiman, then back to me again. I put my hand down hurriedly, but he still looked worried.

  And from the look in his eyes, he knew exactly who I was.

  “Would you like me to leave?” My voice wasn’t exactly polite, but it was as close as I could make it.

  To my annoyance, rather than answer for himself, Tom looked back at Daiman.

  “You can trust her,” Daiman said simply.

  I sighed and looked heavenward.

  “It’s just….” Tom bit his lip. “I didn’t know who else to come to. The Hunters—we haven’t been back to the Acadamh, any of us, since … well, uh….”

  “Since you found out Terric was killing the children you brought back?” I asked, a shade too sweetly.

  He was so relieved he didn’t have to say it, he missed my tone completely. He nodded. “Yes. Since then.”

  I shrugged. “Seems fair.”

  Tom blinked at me. He had clearly not been expecting backup from this quarter.

  Daiman was also staring at me suspiciously, as if this might be a game of some sort. He met my eyes for a moment, curiously, then looked back to his friend. “And?”

  “Yes. Well.” Tom cleared his throat. “I was tracking a cell of Monarchists. There was a child, and I thought I could….” But his voice broke, and his face twisted. He sank his head into one hand and I saw his shoulders shake suddenly.

  Daiman’s eyes met mine and I shook my head at the silent ques
tion. I had no idea what to make of this. I had seen children in the Monarchist cells, but I had no memories of them being mistreated.

  “I think they’re all dead,” Tom whispered. He looked up, and his green eyes were horrified. “I wasn’t quick enough, they’re all—I saw the smoke, and someone saw me, and I just ran, and—”

  “Sit.” Daiman got him to the bed. “Start at the beginning. Do you know who did this?”

  Tom looked up. He looked directly at me.

  And I knew.

  “Oh, God.” My voice was broken.

  Daiman looked between the two of us, “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Philip.” I saw Tom’s nod out of the corner of my eye, but I held Daiman’s gaze. “He wanted to know who’d sheltered me, who’d mindwiped me. And he must have found some of them. He’s … starting his purge.”

  Chapter 4

  I paced the length of the courtyard and shot an annoyed glance at the house.

  Golden lantern light spilled out of the kitchen windows. In this village, lanterns and candles were still more common than electricity, and the light of a live flame lent a warmth to the night that electricity couldn’t match.

  Meanwhile, I was chilly, and not best pleased.

  Daiman hadn’t asked me to leave … not exactly. Neither had Tom. But it was clear that they weren’t comfortable discussing Hunter secrets in front of an outsider, and eventually I’d left them alone to their low-voiced muttering.

  I should understand, I thought. The other Hunters were afraid of the same thing Daiman was, that they’d been sending innocent people to their deaths. I could see how much it hurt them, but I couldn’t empathize. Not really.

  So it made sense for them to talk alone.

  But there was also no mistaking the way Tom looked at me: like Daiman was in disgrace, and I was the reason for it.

  I wondered if he knew the Coimeail were still giving Daiman missions.

  Probably not. And it wasn’t something that was worth boasting about, anyway.

  What if he was right, though? I couldn’t stop thinking that. What if the smoke cleared and everything got put back together: the Acadamh run by honest people, the Hunters back to doing what they were meant to do, everything humming along in the Separatist world? Where would Daiman fit then?

  Where would he want to fit?

  Had I ruined that for him?

  I dropped onto the low bench in the courtyard and rubbed at my forehead with a groan. I had zero desire to go back to being the crazy, mass-murdering bitch I’d once been … but there was something to be said for her.

  She didn’t get hung up on shit like this.

  I looked over at the sheaf of memories I’d brought with me and, on a whim, flipped it open.

  I scanned through the memories that had appeared in the last weeks, and began to count. Of the things that had come back to me, about half were what I called Big Memories: things about the Black Death, about meeting Philip and organizing the Monarchists.

  Things that had led to me becoming infamous in the magical world. Things that explained how I’d gone so wrong.

  I was afraid to know those things, but I needed to. I knew I needed to.

  How else could I keep it from happening again?

  As obsessed as I was with the Big Memories, though, I liked the other ones better. They were small things, glimpses of faces, memories of laughter. Some were unsettling, clearly moments right before or right after my memory was wiped again.

  Wiped again because the crazy bitch and her magic kept surfacing, and even the Monarchists hadn’t wanted that.

  I didn’t understand how that fact could make so much sense, and hurt so much, at the same time.

  I flipped the sheaf of papers shut again and leaned with my elbows on my knees, staring out at the water. This was how Daiman sat when he was worried; it seemed I’d picked that up from him

  And thinking about Daiman hurt right now in a way I didn’t understand.

  Or … a way I understood far too well.

  Who the hell had I been kidding? A man who believed what he did, who was what he was, could never tie himself to me. I was barely keeping my head above the water, my past was an anchor that would almost certainly drag me down someday.

  And if I stayed with him, I knew beyond a doubt that I’d drag him down, too.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and told myself not to cry. Children cried. Weak people cried.

  I was Nicola Beaumont. I had a lot of faults, but weakness wasn’t one of them.

  I pushed myself up and shook my head to clear it. I’d go for a swim. I’d let Daiman and Tom talk. And I’d just let things be what they were. Daiman would leave at some point.

  I told myself I could accept that, and I slammed the door on any part of me that said differently.

  I was just heading down the path to the sea, pulling my tank top over my head, when the memory came to me—and it came to me whole and without fanfare, like memories were supposed to.

  Monarchist cells were used to running. They had alarms. They had hideouts. They knew to scatter when someone came for them.

  They weren’t dead.

  I was pounding back up the path the next moment, and I burst through the door without fanfare. Two bolts of magic shot over head and I ducked.

  “It’s me! It’s me!”

  I probably should have known Daiman and Tom would both be jumpy right about now.

  “Oh.” Daiman was staring at me strangely. “Uh—”

  “I know where they are,” I told him. “The Monarchist cell.” I looked at Tom, shaking my head. “They aren’t dead, they had a hideout. I’d bet you most of them are still alive, and we can find them.”

  “Um….” Daiman pressed his lips together. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

  I looked down at my bra.

  Oops.

  “Right, sorry. I was going for a swim, and then I remembered—uh—”

  He stripped off his shirt and handed it to me without comment, though the corners of his mouth were twitching.

  I took it with a smile, and a personal reminder not to look at his bare chest. I knew from experience that this would be too big a distraction for me to keep talking. I wrapped the shirt around myself and folded my arms to keep it in place.

  “So, anyway, that was it. That’s all. They’re safe.” I nodded awkwardly at Tom. “You seemed pretty cut up about it, so I thought I’d tell you. I’ll … let you get back to your conversation.”

  “Wait!”

  I paused in the act of turning to leave. “What?”

  “Where are they?” Tom asked.

  “At their hideout,” I explained again. “They’re safe. They’ll be more careful now that they know Philip’s hunting them. Everything’s fine.”

  “Wait,” Tom said again, exasperated, as I went to open the door. “But where are they?”

  “Why?” I frowned at him.

  “I need to bring the kid back,” he said, uncomprehending.

  My body went rigid. “The fuck you do.”

  “Nicky—” Daiman began.

  “No.” I cut him off. I jabbed a finger at Tom, eyes blazing. “He said he hasn’t been back to the Acadamh since he found out they were killing kids. Well, then why is he going to take this one back, huh?”

  “She’s got a talent for water,” Tom said quietly. “They won’t hurt her.”

  “No.” I shook my head at him. “I’m not helping you with this.”

  “Nicky—”

  “You said you did this because kids were getting found by governments,” I told Daiman. “Because their parents didn’t know how to train them. Because they weren’t safe. Well, this kid is as safe as they can be, they’re getting training, they aren’t going to be found by humans. They don’t need to be brought to the Acadamh.”

  “Yes, they do,” Daiman said. His voice was rising. “The cell is being hunted by Philip, what can they do to protect her?”

  “I’d think they could do abou
t as much as the Acadamh could do—you know, the place where she’ll find out she would have been killed by her teachers if she had the wrong kind of magic?” My voice was rising, too. “The place that was also infiltrated by Philip? The place Terric used to run—who, lest we forget, has gone so off the rails that the Coimeail are worried they’ll need to execute him? Ring any bells?”

  Daiman gave a worried look at Tom. “We weren’t supposed to tell anyone about that.”

  Normally, his flustered caution was adorable to me. Right now, I hated it.

  I stripped off his shirt and threw it back at him. “Secrets get out, Daiman. They were going to have to tell people at some point. And I stand by what I said—the Acadamh isn’t better for this kid. We don’t get to just rip her away from the people who’ve sheltered her, just because we think someone else might teach her magic better than the Monarchists would.”

  “But the Acadamh will teach her more than that,” Tom said heatedly.

  “Uh-huh. You wouldn’t want to wind up with another me, after all.” I stared him down. “And tell me, how many more of me have you had to deal with since the Acadamh started? Philip tried. He had a whole little cell of people who came from God only knows where—some from the Acadamh, maybe. But how much danger has actually come from having those Monarchist cells out there? Be honest.”

  Tom looked away from me.

  “Nicky,” Daiman said finally.

  I forced myself to look at him. “What?”

  He came to me, reaching into my folded arms to squeeze my fingers.

  “Philip’s not going to stop,” he said quietly. “You know that. There’s no sense left in him, all he wants is the figurehead he built up for all those centuries … and revenge if he can’t get her. He knows they have a hideout, doesn’t he? He’s going to find out more, he’s going to come back, he’s going to kill them. Lord only knows what he’ll find out from them before he finally does kill them. Let us….”

  The roaring in my ears drowned out his voice.

  Lord only knows what he’ll find out from them before he finally does kill them.

  I’d been wrong, I could see that now. Philip hadn’t gone there to kill everyone in the cell.