Small Magics

by Ilona Andrews

  "Grace," Nassar said. His magic brushed her. "This is Alasdair, my cousin."

  Alasdair unfolded himself from the bench. "Charmed."

  "Hello." Grace nodded at Alasdair, then turned to Nassar. "You drugged my drink."

  "Actually I drugged the cream," he said, "and technically it was my sister who did it."

  "Why?"

  "You were in shock. I wanted to spare you the break down and anxiety when you came out of it."

  Grace held herself straight. "I would appreciate it if you didn't do it again. We have a deal. I'll keep my part, but I can't do it if I have to watch what I eat and drink."

  Nassar considered it for a long moment. "Agreed."

  "A deal?" Alasdair's eyebrows crept up. His was lean and sharp, his movements quick. His stare had an edge. If Nassar was a sword, Alasdair was a dagger.

  "I've agreed to do my best to help you, and in return, you'll leave my family alone for five years," Grace said.

  Alasdair grimaced at Nassar. "That's incredibly generous, considering what they've done. We owe them nothing."

  Nassar shrugged his massive shoulders. "It's worth the reward to have her full cooperation."

  Grace took a seat on the bench. "What did we do exactly?"

  "You don't know?" Alasdair passed her a plate of scones.

  "No."

  The dark-haired man glanced at Nassar, who shrugged. "You tell it."

  "At the end of the nineteenth century your family and our clan were in dispute," Alasdair said.

  Grace was learning to decipher their code. "In other words, we were murdering each other."

  "Precisely. The dispute grew out of control and so our families agreed to end it. The peace was to be sealed through a wedding. Jonathan Mailliard of your family was to marry Thea Dreoch."

  "He was your great grandfather's brother," Nassar supplied.

  "The wedding went well," Alasdair continued. "There was a very nice reception in one of Mailliard gathering halls, a beautiful old hotel. Everyone ate, drank, and was merry. The couple went upstairs, to their rooms, where Jonathan pulled out a knife and slit Thea's throat."

  Grace froze with a scone halfway to her mouth. She had expected something of this sort. To force her family into indefinite servitude, the crime had to be horrible. But it still shocked her.

  "He waited for almost two hours by her cooling corpse," Alasdair continued. "Until the party died down. Then he and several Mailliard men and women went through the hotel door to door. They murdered Thea's sister, her husband, and their twin daughters who were flower girls at the wedding. They killed Thea's parents and her two brothers, both minors, and would've slaughtered the entire party, but they were seen by a Dreoch retainer, who started screaming. Our offensive magic was always stronger and we were inside your family's defenses. There was a bloodbath. Every member of the Mailliard family was killed, except Thomas Mailliard, who was fourteen at the time. He hid in a closet and wasn't discovered until later in the day, when the butchery had stopped. Because Thomas was a child and hadn't participated in the slaughter, he was given a choice: death or servitude for all of his descendants. And that's why you now serve us."

  Grace sat in a sickened silence.

  "Anything to say?" Alasdair asked.

  "That's very horrible," she said.

  "Yes, it is."

  "However, I never knew Jonathan Mailliard. I didn't even know his name. I feel awful about the murder and I understand that my family bears responsibility, but I never killed anyone. I've never hurt you and neither has my mother, my uncle or my great grandfather, who hid in the closet." She tried to make her voice sound calm and reasonable. "I've done you no harm, yet you limit my freedom and force me to risk my life because of a crime perpetrated a century ago by someone I've never met. Our family has served yours for over a hundred years. At some point this debt will have been repaid. When do you think will that be?"

  "Never," Alasdair said.

  It felt like a slap. She looked to Nassar. "So this is how you do things? You dumped all of the blame for a bloody feud onto a fourteen year old child who hid in a closet, and because he's failed to stop grown men from killing, you keep his descendants in perpetual servitude?"

  "Hardly perpetual," Nassar corrected. "Since I assumed the responsibility for the clan fifteen years ago, I've called on your family only four times."

  "But we know we can be called at any point. We have to live with the knowledge that on a moment's notice we might be required to risk our life for a complete stranger for no reason and we might never see our loved ones again. We can't refuse. The terms are obedience or death. Would you want to live like this?"

  "No," Nassar admitted.

  "Can you tell me when the debt will be paid?" she asked.

  "This arrangement is to our advantage," Nassar said. "It makes no sense for us to release you."

  "I see. I'll have to release us then."

  "Really?" Alasdair gave a short barking laugh. "How exactly are you planning on doing that?"

  "My uncle has no offspring and I'm my mother's only child. To my knowledge, I'm the last of Mailliards. I'll have to make sure that I don't continue the line." She rose. "I think I've seen the washroom on the way here. I really need to splash some water on my face."

  "Second door on the right," Nassar told her.

  "Excuse me."

  Grace walked away. Her knees shook a little in her jeans. Her face burned.

  * * *

  Nassar watched Grace's figure retreat down the winding path.

  "Wow," Alasdair offered.

  "Yes."

  "Think she'll do it?"

  "She's a Mailliard."

  He'd seen the same steely resolve in her mother's eyes, Nassar reflected. He suspected it was the same will that drove the wedding night atrocities a century ago. It enabled her mother, Janet, to grimly bear her service, and fueled Grace's fight against it. He doubted she would ever go into outright rebellion, not while her mother and Gerald were alive, but he could tell by the way she held herself, by her face and her eyes and her voice, that she would rather give up her future children than bring them into Dreoch's "service."

  "You like her," Alasdair said.

  "What of it?"

  "Why don't you make a move?"

  The imbalance of power between them was too great and her antipathy and contempt for Dreoch was painfully obvious. Nassar took the towel off his shoulder and sat on the bench. "Because she can't say no."

  * * *

  When Grace returned, Alasdair was gone. Nassar sat alone. It was easier if she simply admitted it, Grace decided. Sometimes you see another person in passing, your eyes meet, and you know by some instinct that there is something there. She felt that something for Nassar.

  It was wrong on so many levels, her head reeled from simply contemplating it. He was a revenant, a creature more than a man. Her great grandfather's brother slaughtered his relatives. His family held hers in bondage. If he really wanted her, he could simply order her to submit. Maybe it was some sort of twisted version of Stockholm syndrome. Or an animal attraction. He was... not handsome exactly, but very male. Powerful. Masculine. Strong. But there was more to it: the sadness in his eyes, the courteous way he managed himself, the feel of his magic. It pulled her to him and she would have to be very careful to keep her distance.

  "You still haven't told me what you need me to do," she said.

  He rose. "Walk with me, please."

  Grace followed him down the path deeper into the atrium. Nassar led her out through an arched door and into a large round chamber. Bare, it was lit by sunlight spilling through a skylight very high above. A thick metal grate guarded the skylight. Plain concrete made up the floor, showing a complicated geometric pattern with a circle etched into its center. Nassar stood on its edge.

  "When a revenant takes a new body, he gains great power but he also inherits the weaknesses of that body. The body I took was cursed. After I transferred into it, I was able to heal the d
amage and break the curse. But all of my invulnerability to the curse is gone. I've used it all up."

  "And the man who was born in this body? What happened to him when you took it?"

  "He died," Nassar said.

  She'd hoped he wouldn't say that.

  A woman entered the chamber through the door in the opposite wall. A pale blond like Nassar. She smiled at them. Nassar didn't quite smile back, but the melancholy of his face eased slightly.

  "This is Elizavetta. My sister."

  "Call me Liza," she said. "Everyone does"

  "Grace," Grace said simply. "You're the one who drugged the cream."

  Liza nodded. "Yes. Alasdair warned me I may have earned your undying hate for it. I sincerely hope we can put it past us. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings in any way."

  "Given that I'm a servant, my feelings are hardly relevant, but I appreciate it," Grace said.

  Liza blinked. An uncomfortable silence ensued. Nassar cleared his throat. "Liz?"

  "Yes, right." Liza stepped inside the design.

  "Every revenant has a fatal weakness," Nassar said, his gaze fixed on his sister. "This is mine."

  Liza arched her back, spreading her arms. Her hands clawed the air. She spun in a place, twisting. Magic pulsed from her and filled the lines etched on the floor with pale yellow light. Liza brought her hands together, cried out, and forced them apart with a pained grimace. A clump of mottled darkness appeared between her fingers. She stepped back.

  The clump spun, growing, and ruptured, vomiting a creature into the circle. The beast was three feet long and slender, shaped like a slug or a leech except for the fringe of carmine feathery hairs along its sides. A patina of grey and sickly yellow swirled over its dark hide, like an oil rainbow on the surface of a dark puddle.

  The creature shivered. The red fringe trembled and it took to the air, sliding soundlessly a foot off the ground. A cold foul magic emanated from it. It touched Grace. She jerked back and bumped into Nassar.

  "What is that?"

  He put his hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "A marrow worm. They live in dark places, where there is stagnant water and decay. They feed on small animals, fish, and old magic."

  The worm hovered behind the glowing outline of the circle. Its head was blunt and as it rose up, testing the boundaries of its invisible cage, Grace saw a slit of a mouth lined with sharp serrated teeth on its underside.

  Liza approached the worm. The creature shied away, sliding as close to the glowing lines as it could.

  "Think of them as germs. Most people have a natural resistance to them, an immunity. I don't. To me, they're fatal. We did our best to keep this fact to ourselves, but I have no doubt Roars know it. They would be fools not to. Unfortunately, marrow worms are easy to summon."

  He'd stepped behind her and she was painfully sensitive to the presence of his large body only an inch from her back. His magic touched her. Her every nerve shivered, hyper-aware of his movements. She sensed him lean to her and almost jumped when his quiet voice spoke into her ear. "Do you remember when you sent that dog running? I want you to do that again."

  Grace swallowed. "I don't remember what I did. It just happened."

  His big hand pushed against her back gently, making her take a step toward the circle. "Try."

  Grace took a deep breath and stepped over the glowing lines inside the circle. The worm jerked away from her like a wet ribbon. Grace glanced at Nassar.

  "That's just normal resistance to humans. Keep trying."

  Grace stared at the worm twisting. Go away, she thought. Gone. I want you gone.

  The worm remained where it was.

  Grace glanced at Liza. "Any idea what I'm supposed to be doing?"

  Nassar's sister shook her blonde head. "None. Dreochs are aggressors. We have few defensive abilities and they're radically different from yours. Mostly our defenses consist of Nassar hacking at things with something large and sharp."

  "The magic you're trying to do is called the Barrier," Nassar said. "It's one of the natural Mailliard's magics. Very talented members of your family used it both as defense and as a weapon. Your mother stated that it can't be taught. You simply do it or you don't."

  Grace focused on the worm and tried to pretend it was a large, mean-looking German shepherd.

  An hour later she sat exhausted on the floor. The worm floated at the edge of the design.

  "It's useless." Liza unscrewed a cap from a fresh bottle of water. She had gotten a cooler with drinks, migrated to the wall, and now sat on the floor. "Why Janet didn't practice with Grace is beyond me, but she didn't. We'll have to change the plan. Instead of you and Grace, I'll go with Alasdair."

  "No." Steel laced Nassar's voice. He leaned against the wall.

  "You're being unreasonable."

  Nassar's face was dark like a storm. "Both of you will die. I have resistances and power to counter Roar's attacks. You don't."

  "You can't counter this one."

  He didn't answer.

  "Why don't you just turn into a bird and fly through the zone?" Grace asked.

  "Flight is forbidden in the game," Nassar answered.

  Liza sighed. "Grace, would you like some water?"

  "Yes."

  Liza tossed her a new bottle.

  "Thank you." Grace caught it. "Why are you fighting Roars anyway? What's this dispute about?"

  "It's about children," Nassar said. "And killing me."

  "Our aunt married a member of clan Roar," Liza said. "Arthur Roar. He turned out to be a wart on the ass of the human kind. Abusive, violent, cruel. She left after eight years and took their three kids with her."

  "Should've left sooner," Nassar said. His green eyes promised violence, the light irises so cold that Grace took a small step back.

  "She had her reasons for staying," Liza said. "There was a large dowry involved and she didn't want us to have to pay restitution and interest. But in the end it was just too much. After Arthur broke his son's legs, she grabbed the kids and came home. Now, nine years later, Arthur suddenly wants his children back."

  Liza took a drink from her bottle. "He's never shown any interest in them. No calls, no letters, not even a card. He's done nothing to support them. But Aunt Bella signed the wedding agreement that specified equal amount of time with the children for each parent in the event of separation. Arthur claims that since the kids were with her exclusively for nine years, now he has exclusive rights to them."

  "He doesn't give a damn about the kids. It's an excuse for the Roars to test the waters," Nassar said. "They have a couple of strong people and they're thinking of moving in on our interests. Before they do it, they want to weaken us. They knew that if they challenged the clan, I would enter the game, and they believe they have a reasonable chance of killing me. They'll knock out Dreoch's biggest power user and earn respect from other clans for killing a revenant and they will do it all before the war ever starts."

  He pushed from the wall. "It's almost time for lunch. Let's take a break."

  * * *

  The lunch was laid out on a long table in a vast dining hall. Nassar held out a chair for Grace and she sat down. He took a place to her right, while Liza sat down at her left, next to Alasdair. Other people came into the room – two men and three women. They took their seats, nodded and smiled, started conversations in calm voices. Alastair said something and a woman laughed. They were so at ease and the warmth of their interaction began to thaw Grace's resolve.

  The four chairs directly opposite her remained empty. She wondered who would sit there and a couple of minutes later she had her answer. Three children entered the room, followed by a pale woman. Of course. Nassar arranged it so she would spend the meal looking at the faces of the children whose fate would be decided in the game.

  They took the seats: the woman with careworn eyes, a young boy with wild mass of dark hair, and two girls, one slender and blonde and the other only about ten or so, a kid with short dark hair and big blue eyes.
The youngest girl saw Nassar and came grinning around the table. "Hug?" she asked him seriously.

  "Hug," he agreed and put his massive arms around her.

  "And no dying," she reminded him.

  He let go and nodded.

  The girl noticed her. "Hi. I'm Polina."

  It was impossible not to smile back. "Hi. I'm Grace."

  "You're supposed to protect Nassar," Polina said.

  "That's what he tells me."

  The child looked at her with her blue eyes. "Please don't let him die," she said softly. "I like him a lot."

  "I'll try my best."

  Polina went around the table to her seat. Grace leaned to Nassar and whispered, "Laying it on a little thick, don't you think?"

  "I didn't put her up to it," he told her. She glanced into his green eyes and believed him.

  The lunch went on. Dishes were brought and passed around the table: roast beef and mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, iced tea and lemonade. The food was delicious, but Grace ate little. Mostly she watched the children. The boy leaned to his mother, making sure her cup was filled. The older girl seemed on the verge of tears. She became more and more agitated, until finally, just as peach cobbler made its way past Grace, the girl dropped her fork. Her voice rang out. "What if they win?"

  The table fell quiet.

  "They won't," Nassar said calmly.

  "If Arthur touches us, I'll kill him." Steel vibrated in the boy's voice.

  Their mother leaned her elbows on the table and rested her forehead on her hands. "No. You're not strong enough," she told him in a dull voice. "Not yet. You must do whatever it takes to survive."

  "That's enough." Nassar's magic surged out, spreading behind him like invisible wings. It brushed against Grace. Breath caught in her throat. So much power...

  Nassar fixed the children with his stare. "You're our kin. You belong to Clan Dreoch. Nobody will take you from us. Anyone who tries will have to go through me."

  With his power rising above the table, the prospect of going through him seemed impossible. His magic was staggering. It would take an army.

  The anxiety slowly melted from the children's faces.

  * * *