by Lisa Plumley
“Just promise me,” his magus said in a tone of urgency. “If it comes to your bonded witch or me…you must save her.”
Instantly, T.J. refused. “I’ll protect you both.”
The wisewoman smiled sadly. “That might not be possible.”
“It will be.” Fiercely, T.J. gazed toward Covenhaven. He didn’t need his magus’s prism to sense the dark forces at work there. His Patayan instincts clamored with alarm, honed by centuries of conflict and infallibly accurate. “Just as you prophesied, the juweel will step forward and end the conflict.”
“I hope so.” His magus embraced him again, her garments swirling with an upswing in the breeze. When she released him, her expression was somber. “If she does, you’ll have to be ready, T.J.—ready to let her do her work. This is a mission you can’t fulfill alone. You’ll have to trust the juweel.”
A prickle of unease snaked up his spine. All the warnings he’d received clanged through his head. Deuce, asking him to trust him, to treat him as a true partner. Garmin, demanding that he rely on the turned human when they worked together on IAB tracing assignments. Even Dayna, provocatively on her knees before him, urging him to yield to her forbidden kiss.
T.J. had found those requests nearly impossible to fulfill.
Would that change—would he change—if the looming conflict demanded it of him? Would he be able to step aside and trust the juweel completely?
He needed to tell his magus that he could. But the moment T.J. opened his mouth to assure her, his throat closed up. Raw pain clogged his voice, leaving him unable to speak at all.
He’d never lied to his magus. Apparently he still couldn’t.
With a rough gesture—half nod, half shake of his head—T.J. left the dark mound the way he’d come—before his magus could press him any further…or see the truth in him any more clearly.
Seated on an armchair with her backpack at her feet, Dayna stared at her parents with utter confusion. On her lap, her kitten familiar gave an urgent meow, batting her with its paws.
“I’m a what?” Dayna asked.
“You’re a leapling,” her father repeated, looking nervous.
“I heard the word. I don’t understand what it means.”
“It’s how we refer to someone who was born in a leap year,” her mother explained in a hasty academic tone, “as opposed to a common year. Your birthday, February twenty-ninth, only occurs on the calendar every four years. That’s because it’s necessary to keep the calendar year synchronized with the astronomical or seasonal year. Otherwise, a certain amount of drift would occur in the—”
“Wait.” Feeling a sense of unreality waiting to envelop her, Dayna shook her head. “My birthday is February twenty-eighth. You both know that. You were kind of, um, there, right?”
“Yes.” Sam squeezed Margo’s hand. They shared an enigmatic look. “We were there. The funny thing is, three other families were also there on the day you were born. At the Covenhaven maternity ward. We saw them, and the hospital staff saw them—”
“And that means the InterAllied Bureau saw them, too.” With an anxious look, her mother leaned forward. “I saw Leo Garmin—”
“Garmin?” Startled, Dayna stared at them. “How could he have been there when I was born? Leo Garmin doesn’t look a day older than thirty-five right now—over thirty years later.”
“He’s a very powerful warlock. His age, measured in human terms, is irrelevant. The important thing is, Agent Garmin was new to the bureau then. He was assigned to monitor legacy witch births. Specifically, he was looking for…anomalies.”
“I knew it,” Dayna said. “I really am a freak.”
Her parents frowned at her, seeming perplexed. “What?”
Dayna gave a shaky laugh. “What kind of anomalies?”
“Overlapping births, mostly.” Margo breathed in deeply. Her next words tumbled out quickly. “Vixen births. The IAB tracks them. It’s a recruitment technique, partly, but a control measure, too. Vixen witches are filled with The Old Ways’ dark magic. If a fully formed pact were to come to power, it would be a serious threat to the IAB’s authority. That’s why they—”
“Wait. Hang on.” Even more baffled now, Dayna put out her hand in a stop gesture. “What do The Old Ways have to do with me? Are you trying to tell me my own parents are myrmidon?”
“No.” Intent and serious, her father shook his head. “We’re getting off track here. Dayna, what we’re trying to tell you, what we’ve been trying not to tell you, until tonight—”
“Is that you,” her mother finished, “are a vixen witch.”
Cloaked in darkness, T.J. rode an air current from the edge of Covenhaven to the sheltered hill where Deuce’s apartment building stood. Below him, the apartments’ lighted windows glowed as he neared them. Mesquite trees quivered in the autumn wind. A lone voice called out, flat with human intonation.
Reminded by that voice of the risk he was taking, T.J. let his sweeping airstream die. He sank to his feet just outside the complex’s landscaped common area, then strode forward.
Moonlight illuminated his path—and the warning charms he’d set. After confirming that they’d been undisturbed, T.J. shrugged off his concealing shadows. He maneuvered the walkway leading to Deuce’s apartment, then released the apartment’s protective spell, still preoccupied with his magus’s counsel.
Could he allow the juweel to work alone?
Could he stand aside and do nothing?
He never had before. But if that’s what his magus needed…
The moment the apartment door cracked open, T.J.’s thoughts turned away from his mission. The air felt broken, laden with trouble. Something was wrong. It was only because he’d been inattentive that he hadn’t noticed the aberration sooner. Cursing himself for that, T.J. stepped into the apartment.
A wave of sulfurous magic struck him. He recoiled. “Deuce?”
The place felt strangely quiet. It lacked the jovial aura that Deuce, even turned, brought with him. With his senses ready and his body humming with magic, T.J. moved farther inside.
His partner’s bikini-girls print lay on the floor, its frame broken. The TV stood off-kilter on its metal stand, as though something had hit it. A knit cap lay on the floor beside a video game controller. Two beer bottles sat on the coffee table, primly perched on a pair of matching coasters.
Grimly, T.J. swept his gaze over the room. Nothing else seemed amiss. He moved to the kitchen. One of the cupboard doors stood partway open. Two half-filled cocktail glasses waited on the countertop beside a pink-tinged spill. He touched it. His fingers came away wet, coated with sweet-smelling liquid.
He tasted it. It was sweet…then intensely sour.
Making a face, T.J. glanced at the stemmed glasses, at the spill, at the glasses again…at the very feminine glasses.
“Dayna?” Heart pounding, T.J. turned. “Dayna?”
A groan came from the rear of the apartment. With an impatient airborne whoosh, T.J. moved in that direction.
His hulking partner lay in a heap in the hallway.
Not Dayna. Not his bonded witch. Deuce. Deuce.
Fear jolted through T.J. He dropped to his knees beside his partner, urgently checking his condition. At a glance, he could tell this was magic at work—dark magic. Deuce lay unconscious on the floor, his face squashed into the rug and his legs stretched out at awkward angles. His big hand curled on the bathroom door frame, as though he’d attempted to pull himself to his feet.
Alone and weakened by whatever…this was, he’d failed.
With a muttered swearword, T.J. lowered his head. Deuce’s breath rattled weakly through his chest. His pulse felt slow. His skin felt clammy. His face looked as pale as death.
Swiftly, T.J. tried a legacy curative spell. Deuce didn’t stir. Feeling increasingly desperate, T.J. attempted a Patayan healing incantation. His partner only moaned, his eyes moving behind his closed lids as though seeing a terrible dream.
With another vicious
curse, T.J. got to his feet. He paced, uncertain what to do. If he’d had full command of his magic…
But he didn’t. He didn’t know how to save Deuce, or even if the spells he’d already tried should have worked. He’d been weakened by his bond with Dayna, by his maneuverings at cusping-witch class, and by his betrayal at Leo Garmin’s hands. All those things conspired against his magic…just when he needed it most. Bleakly, T.J. stared down at his partner.
He had to get a healer for Deuce. But he didn’t want to leave him alone, especially like this. His friend groaned again, hexed or spelled into immobility—but clearly able to feel pain.
Fisting his hands, T.J. paced further. Then, with his decision made, he paused beside Deuce. He focused his thoughts.
An instant later, his familiar appeared. A hawk surged into view, with a wide wingspan and a piercing cry. Hungrily, the bird fixed its predator’s gaze on T.J.’s birthright mark tattoo—on his gilded Gila monster. It spread its wings in eagerness.
“No,” T.J. told it. “I have other work for you.”
The hawk gave a complaining cry, its gaze disgruntled. Despite the circumstances, T.J. almost laughed. This was what he got for being of compound birth. His witchfolk familiar and his Patayan identity were permanently at odds.
Neither trusted the other.
This time, T.J. would have to trust at least one.
He gave his familiar instructions to find a healer. The hawk gave an almost imperceptible nod, then flew through the window T.J. magically flung open. All that remained was to wait—and worry. If someone had hexed Deuce, T.J. wondered in that moment, had they also hexed Dayna…or taken her away from him?
Feeling numb with disbelief, Dayna gawked at her parents. She could not have heard them correctly. “Wait. I’m a what?”
“You’re a vixen witch,” her father confirmed. His face brightened with evident relief. “We didn’t want you to know. It was too dangerous. So we bribed the hospital officials, forged the official documents, and told everyone—”
“Including the IAB,” her mother put in.
“—that you were born on February twenty-eighth. It was an impulsive decision, but once it was made, we could see that it was the right one. Especially after we saw how the other vixens in your pact were growing up—rebellious, headstrong, too powerful—”
“I’m a vixen?” Dayna repeated. “Me?”
“Yes.” Her mother nodded. “That’s why we had to protect you. We had to make sure you didn’t start dabbling in The Old Ways’ dark magic. We had to make sure the IAB didn’t find out about you. They would have singled you out, watched you, taken you away for special training.” Margo gave her a pleading look. “You’re our only child, Dayna! We couldn’t risk any of that.”
“I don’t see how it was a risk. You must have seen, as I grew up, that I wasn’t a real vixen.” Obdurately, Dayna stared at them. “You could have showed Leo Garmin how pathetic my magic was, and he would have forgotten all about me.”
“That wasn’t an option,” her father said flatly.
“But lying to me was?” Dayna shook her head. “I don’t believe it. This is all some kind of joke, right?”
“It’s not a joke.” Calmly, her mother folded her hands. “We’re sorry. We’d hoped to never have to tell you this. But with your magic flourishing now, and with you about to be on display at graduation, we knew the IAB might notice you. So we decided to warn you about the dangers, and hope that—”
“But I’m terrible at magic!” Dayna shouted. “I’ve always been terrible at magic. How can I be a vixen witch if—”
She broke off as her parents exchanged guilty looks.
“You’re not terrible at magic,” Sam admitted.
Her mother cleared her throat. She shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, you’re incredibly gifted. Just like all vixen witches are. But even vixens make beginner mistakes. So we simply…”
“Allowed your beginner mistakes to flourish,” her father said. “Eventually, you came to believe you had no ability.”
“Believe me,” Margo said with an awkward laugh, “it was a great relief when you finally gave up on practicing magic and left for Phoenix. I was so worried until then! You’re very stubborn, Dayna. It took a long time to discourage you.”
“To discourage you enough,” her father elaborated, “to make you quit magic altogether. But once you did, you were happier.”
“Happier? I was unlinked. I was alone. I was terrible at the one gift I was supposed to have!” Feeling on the verge of…something, Dayna stared at them. “I was never happier.”
“You seemed happy enough,” her mother said blithely. “Everything was fine! The only trouble was, we forgot about your cusping. We didn’t take into account what it might do to you.”
“And we definitely didn’t take into account the IAB,” her father agreed. “That was a major whoops! on our part.”
They traded glances, both of them chuckling anxiously.
Dayna didn’t think any of this was funny. “So until T.J. dragged me back here, you were fine with doing this to me?” she asked. “With discouraging me from practicing magic…on purpose? With letting me believe I’d failed, over and over again?”
“It was the only way.” Her father shrugged. “If we’d left you alone to learn naturally, you would have been casting spells with the talent and ease all vixens are born to enjoy, just like the other members of your pact. You would have stood out.”
“You would have been discovered,” her mother said. “We love you! The last thing we wanted was for you to be—”
She went on, but Dayna was in no mood to hear about parental devotion. Not then. Maybe not for a long while. “So I spent all those years believing I wasn’t good enough—believing I couldn’t even practice the simplest magic—and it was all a lie?”
Her parents blinked. “Well. We wouldn’t quite put it that way,” Sam said. “We had your best interests at heart, Dayna. If you’d seen what spoiled brats those other vixens turned out to be…” He gave an uneasy laugh. “It was for the best, really.”
“I have seen how those other vixens turned out, Dad. I grew up with them, remember?” Feeling sick at heart, Dayna shook her head. “Francesca, Lily, and Sumner are the most powerful, most envied witches in town. They’re accomplished, and beautiful—”
“Appearance charms.” Her mother tsk-tsked. “Easy but fake.”
“They’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be! And now you’re telling me I could have been exactly like them?” Distraught, Dayna reached for her backpack. As she did, her kitten familiar retreated to the safety of her hood. “I could have been linked all along. Instead, I was alone. I was apart from everyone.” Sadly, she inhaled. “Even, it turns out, from the two of you. This is the meanest thing you ever could have done to me.”
Her father looked away, his face lined with worry. Her mother pressed her lips together, giving her a defiant stare.
Dayna only stood there, feeling her whole life slide sideways. Her parents had lied to her. No one in the witch world had truly known her. And she’d been capable of superior magic all along…even as she’d struggled with the most basic spells.
A sigh flowed through the room, stirring the air.
“You can’t tell anyone you know about this,” Sam said. “Please, Dayna. For once, think before you act. It’s important.”
At his words, fresh magic sparked from Dayna’s fingertips. Feeling its power flow through her, she stared at her hands with grim surprise. Maybe her stifled magic knew it was finally free.
Idly, she wondered exactly what it was capable of.
“Yes, Dayna,” her mother urged. “Your father is right. I realize this news must come as a shock to you—”
“A shock?” Dayna gave a bitter laugh. “I’ll say.”
She raised her head and looked at her parents. Their gazes were still fixed, apprehensively, on the place where her magic had sparked a few seconds ago. In that moment, everything seemed plain
to her. With new clarity, Dayna could see the lies, the mistakes…the deliberate deception that had led her here.
“Just don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Margo begged.
“The only things I regret,” Dayna told her parents as she straightened a little further, “are the things I haven’t done. I think it’s about time to get started on those.”
In a flurry of shimmering magic, she left to do just that.
Chapter Twenty-Three
With his head bowed, T.J. stood in Deuce’s dimly lit bedroom. On the rickety bed, his partner lay without moving. His big tracer’s body appeared incongruously muscular and vigorous, even as he labored for breath. It was as though Deuce might sit up at any second, wipe the fever sweat from his brow, and go for a run. Or crack a joke. Or rescue another damn IAB bug.
T.J. wondered if Deuce would ever do any of those things again. He watched the healer, fighting an urge to shove aside the elderly Patayan and magik Deuce back to health himself.
“You were right—this is magic at work.” Wearing an expression of concern, the healer gazed up from Deuce’s body. His hands still moved, completing his spell. “But this is ancient magic, twisted and dark. It will take time to unravel.”
“We don’t have time. He’s vulnerable.” T.J. took in a deep breath, then admitted the worst. “He’s human.”
“Human?” The healer blinked, startled. “But his mind shows signs of growing magic.” He pointed a trembling hand. “Even now, his mind is reshaping itself to form new magical connections.”
T.J. compressed his mouth. “He’s turned.”
“That doesn’t explain this. Although if he’s turned, as you say…” Lost in thought, the healer gave his patient a frown. “Maybe he sought out legacy magic, hoping to complete—”
“No. Deuce wanted nothing to do with magic.”
“He may have said as much,” the healer agreed. “But sometimes turned humans yearn for more. They yearn to be able—”
“Deuce never yearned for anything except revenge.”
“Ah.” With a nod of understanding, the healer shook out a healing charm. He applied it to Deuce’s chest. “I see. He must be very strong to have withstood this, then. A weaker man would have sensed the presence of magic and grasped at it—all the better to gain his revenge on the witch who turned him.”
