“No,” Jack said, putting his hand over mine. “Doesn’t work that way.”
I called magic to me anyway—all of it I could handle. Air, Fire, Earth, and Water. They spun around us like a tempest. Touching them with Spirit, I tried to funnel them into Jack, willing them to heal his wounds. They passed through him with no effect.
“No, Samantha. Please,” he said.
“Jack,” I pleaded. “You can’t ask me to do that. You can’t.”
“He could turn, Sam,” Ronan said.
“I’m out of time,” Jack wheezed. Where his hand held mine, he clamped down tight.
“No, Jack,” Ronan said. “She isn’t ready.”
“I … Name … Thee … Steward!” Jack said in as strong a voice as I’d ever heard him use.
Jack’s eyes flashed and burned like the sun.
A five-hundred-pound gorilla punched me square in the face.
* * *
I staggered up and back in a drunken stupor.
“What the fuck?” I asked.
The world spun.
Simon, all wide-eyed and frightened. Ronan with his sword still dripping blood from whatever Werewolves he’d just killed. Jack Mayfair dead on the ground. The parking lot, the cars, the hospital. The sun rising in the east, mountains waking up in the west. Round and round, everything spun until I thought for sure I’d be ejected from the planet and tossed into space.
A new kind of Rocky Mountain high, one with a 3-D, all-in-your-head, digital surround-sound experience, assaulted me.
Jack Mayfair’s life flashed before my eyes. Everything. Whatever he’d done in that moment caused a thousand images to flood through my mind—tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands—all at once. As if I stood beside him every day of his life, all of it stretched out before me. Every sight, sound, and scent, every feeling, all hitting me at the same time.
Somewhere, I screamed.
I experienced the stings on my backside when his father spanked him with a belt for lying at the tender age of seven years old. Could smell the whiskey on his mother’s breath when she told him he just needed to try harder, be better. His first kiss from an overweight blonde girl burned my lips. The loss of his virginity was particularly disturbing to experience. I didn’t know he’d been married. Or had a kid. Or that they’d been found dead in the little house they’d bought in Centennial. Official cause of death? Asphyxiation due to carbon monoxide poisoning, but he never believed it. In his mind, someone had murdered them to get to him. He had to bury his four-year-old son. His grief mixed with mine, pounding into my gut.
Beneath my feet, the world moved up and down like a boat on choppy seas. My sense of balance gone, I stumbled about, trying to catch myself while memory after memory flashed and faded. I could hear the thrumming of the earth again, the Fire in her belly calling out to me, wanting to be set free.
My body vibrated with the heartbeat of this earth, with the heart of magic itself.
I understood everything. I knew all Jack had ever known. I had total control over my power because he had it too, knew where it came from, how to truly control it and command it because he had. This was what it felt to be a Wizard in full control of her power.
This was how a god must feel.
Why had he held back? Why hadn’t he used this power, called upon it to right the wrongs of the world?
As soon as this thought coalesced in my head, the earth stopped swaying and my body found balance again. The memories stopped. My pain dulled, the grief burying itself deep inside.
I pushed it all away.
Fire returned to my belly.
Ronan stepped between me and my brother.
What a silly thing to do.
Jack lay dead at my feet. He’d wanted something.
Ah, yes. I remember.
Jack’s badge glittered on his belt. With my thought, a weave of Air snatched it and floated it over to my outstretched hand.
“This is mine now,” I said. My ears couldn’t recognize the voice, yet I knew it to be my own all the same. I also took the lighter from his pocket.
“Samantha?” Ronan asked.
No time for chit-chat. I lifted Jack up off the ground with those same weaves of Air. A coffin of Air formed around him. I fed white Fire inside and let it burn, consuming the body just as I’d promised I would. I had promised, right? Couldn’t quite remember. Pushing hard, I let it burn brighter than ever before, let it do what it wanted, but only inside the coffin of Air. It didn’t take long for the Fire to consume the body, expelling ash. I gathered the ash and wove a simple spell of Air, Water, Earth, and Fire to form a clay jar. The ashes filled it to the edge. Then I sealed it and sent it spiraling through the air. It streaked north.
“To Banba,” I said to Ronan.
He turned to my brother. “Run to your mother, boy. Do it now.”
Simon took off, but I snared him in flows of Air and raised him above the ground so he could not run.
“Sam!” Ronan protested, but I silenced him with a cold stare.
“Simon.” Turning my brother around, I lowered him to hover nose to nose with me. “I don’t want you smoking. You will promise never to do it again. If you lie to me, I will know, and you will be punished. Do you understand?”
The belt came down again and again. I blinked.
Simon nodded quickly. His face had gone Ghost white.
I pulled the cigarettes from his pocket and let them float above my hand.
“These things are bad for you,” I said. Fire greedily accepted my offering, incinerating the pack in the blink of an eye.
I smiled.
Simon flinched.
“Mom and Pop hate what you’ve done to your body,” I said. “You need to be more respectful.”
I could feel water nearby, trapped in tubes and pipes my brain told me had to be a sprinkler system. Following the flow, I pulled it up from a nearby sprinkler, used Fire to warm it, then proceeded to scrub the black dye from my brother’s hair and fingernails.
“What Jack did to you was unconscionable, but what you are doing to this boy is cruel,” Ronan said.
“I am helping him,” I said. “He’s my brother.”
Jack freed me. He gave me what I needed to make me finally strong. Why was that unconscionable? I finished scrubbing Simon’s hair, then set him on his feet again. “Now run to Mom. She’ll be worried.”
Ronan got in my face while Simon ran away. Looming. I hate it when men loom.
“You frightened him!” he said.
“I’m going to destroy Vladymir. Do you want to come with me?”
“You will start a war,” he said.
“No, I’ll end one.”
My new understanding came with several insights. One being how slow and outdated teleportation could truly be. There were better ways. The old Wizard had done it right there in my bedroom, and I could remember the patterns of the weave now. Visualizing a door, I twisted all the colors of magic into a tight pattern, bending them back in on themselves, then snapping them back. A ripping sound announced a doorway. The edges of it were rough, flapping due to an unseen wind, but so much simpler than teleporting and without the nasty side effects.
“Are you coming?” I asked.
“What have you done?” Ronan breathed. He stared at the doorway as if it were the Devil himself come to Sunday dinner.
“Yes or no?” I asked.
“This will not bring him back,” Ronan said. “I loved Jack more than you can know. His death is a new hole in my heart, but this will not bring him back.”
“Not trying to bring him back. Just want to kill Vladymir, make sure he never hurts anyone ever again. You coming?” I tried stepping forward. Something held me back.
On my belt, my badge shone brightly, as if newly polished. Opening my hand, Jack’s badge lay there, a lifetime’s worth of scratches and nicks leaving it dull and lackluster.
The two badges could not have been more different. I knew that now. Neither felt right to
me. Jack’s badge was warm in my hand, my own badge heavy on my hip. I pulled it off, holding both before me.
One stood for justice and honor. The other …? Both tied to our fathers, Jack’s and mine. Tied to what they wanted for their children, what they expected of them. What I did this morning would not be about anything other than vengeance. I caught both badges on flows of Air, lowering my hands, and sent them where they would be safe.
A boom sounded somewhere in the distance as they vanished.
With a deep breath, I stepped through the doorway onto a familiar path near the garden where the Vampires had greeted me.
A moment later, Ronan appeared beside me.
I let the flows go, and the doorway snapped shut.
“Now what?” Ronan asked.
“Into the Fire,” I replied.
Chapter Forty
As soon as my foot hit the ground, something attacked me.
The patterns hung in the air, clung to patches of grass, and climbed their way up trees and bushes. I sensed them first, like a nagging feeling in the back of your head that won’t let go. All at once, they rose up. Some rushed at me, others away. The connections were there, spidery filaments connecting one to the next and so on, all the way to the house in the distance.
Hands up to ward off a blow, my mind raced along the pathways in a hundred different directions, slicing the lattice pattern of spells ahead of the waves rushing away from me. The part of my mind touched by Jack recognized some of these patterns, knew they would warn Valdymir and his minions of our approach. I couldn’t let it happen, couldn’t let him escape. The connections between the spells were overlaid afterthoughts, not part of the original spells, and intended to spark a chain reaction. I knew this when I cut them. Even so, it took precious seconds to stop the warning system from doing its job—seconds where the spells going off closest to me could do their job.
Around me, everything went a deep red. The air grew hot and difficult. Breathing became a chore. Needles dug into the top layer of my skin, wiggled around until they found nerve endings, and flared.
Pain isn’t even a word that can describe the sensation that followed.
A strong will weighed against my own, demanding I go to sleep even as the sensation of having my skin flayed from my bones crescendoed. The two spells warred with each other for my attention, giving me the time needed to break them.
The instinctual knowledge in my head reared up with a dozen options. Screaming, I pounded my fist into the ground. The grass and dirt peeled away to envelop my hand up to the elbow. The sudden touch of deep, rich earth anchored me. I could feel the heartbeat of this place, knew where all the people stood, how their own hearts pulsed with anticipation and nervous excitement. There, in the center of it all, a blackness lived. Ignoring it, I focused on the spells—those attacking me and those idly waiting for Ronan or me to trigger them.
With Earth and Air, I sliced through the weaves slowly at first. Each cut weakened the attacks and strengthened my defense. Hack and slash seemed like the quick answer, yet a nuanced rhythm settled in, and I jumped from spot to spot, a quick snip here, a stronger slash there, until the weaves began eating themselves in their death throes.
I could’ve stopped there, could’ve let it go, but I didn’t. Imposing my will, my Spirit, I lashed out at every last spell I could find—all those waiting for us, all those Vladymir had no doubt put in place following Jack’s last visit. They crowded this place like cobwebs hidden in the dark, and I shredded them one by one until the only things left were the well-tended trees, shrubs, and grass.
“That,” Ronan said with a wheeze, “was unpleasant.”
“Werewolves,” I replied, pulling my hand from the ground and standing up. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears. “Hunt them and kill them. You won’t run into any more magic traps.”
“Wards,” he said. “And if that is what you wish, I shall endeavor to accomplish my mission.”
“Great,” I said. “More action, less attitude. I need to get to the house fast. Vladymir doesn’t get to walk away.”
“Samantha,” Ronan said, grabbing my arm, “this is madness.”
“Madness?” I asked. “In what way?”
“We should not be here,” he replied. “We can still walk away. You’re starting a war.”
“Jack was your friend,” I said. “I’m not starting a war, I’m finishing one. He attacked us. He murdered Jack. My responsibility is to see that doesn’t go unpunished.”
“Your solution is to be a martyr? To throw your life away before it has truly begun?”
“If I win, I’m not throwing anything away,” I said.
Ronan pulled his good sword from its scabbard. “I knew Jack Mayfair his entire life. You have no idea what his death means to me. You have no idea who he truly was, and I can tell you, he would not want this.”
Without another word, Ronan stalked off.
As long as he did his job, I didn’t care.
The sky brightened above, trumpeting the coming dawn.
In my head, the bongo drums from the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil” began their beat.
I headed in a different direction from Ronan, the blackness I’d sensed before calling to me. Didn’t take long for my feet to find a well-used path winding its way through the yard. Waist-high bushes grew on either side, taller ones forming corners and secluded intersections.
Walking into the first such intersection, I found four Werewolves waiting. One smoked a cigarette. All spun when I entered from their left.
The shift happened quickly, in a blur that saw cheap suits shredded while human flesh and bone contorted and the men became oversized wolves ranging in color from golden brown to a speckled gray.
“You should take a nap,” I said, my voice gravelly like an old memory.
The weave settled in on them midleap, and they collapsed. Their snores bounced between the tall bushes here.
In the distance, a howl pierced the night, quickly followed by another, then another. Ronan had been discovered. So much for the element of surprise.
The hedges opened up to a driveway. The mansion loomed on my left. A Werewolf loped towards me, and the image of Jorge being eaten popped into my head. I snapped my fingers. A multicolored weave slipped into the Werewolf’s mouth, spread throughout its body, and ripped it apart from the inside out with a sucking pop. I swept the blood and gore from my path with a wave of my hand.
A massive set of ornately decorated oaken double doors met me at the entrance. Using both hands and Air, I wrenched the doors from their hinges and sent them inward with an echoing boom. I sent Fire in before me, turning it lose to catch anything flammable. Some flames leapt free, climbing the exterior of the mansion and spreading fast enough to send waves of heat in my direction. The Fire hissed and popped. I let Air search out windows, pushing to shatter them inward, feeding Fire’s desire to consume. It dashed in and out of the broken windows, licking the shrubs, wood, curtains, and anything else it could.
Soon, Fire danced through the house and surrounding landscaping.
In the knowledge I’d downloaded from Jack, an idea formed. I held my hands before me, forming a fireball between my fingers. Spreading my hands, the fireball grew, sputtering and spinning. When it rivaled a large, ripe watermelon, I shot it forward through the open doorway to bounce from wall to wall, surface to surface. Shouts and screams replied.
“Vladymir,” I shouted, as if all of this didn’t announce my presence well enough. “I’ve come for you.”
Drawing Fire and Air around me, I created spinning rings of hot blue flames and crossed over the threshold.
The bongo drums of “Sympathy for the Devil” still beat in my ears.
A Vampire appeared, one I’d never seen or noticed before. Already on fire, it screamed in rage and lunged forward. The ring of Fire lashed out, slicing it in half. The vamp gurgled and fell, melting into a grease stain on the Italian tiles.
“Pleased to meet you,�
�� I said. “Hope you guessed my name.”
More came, and I welcomed them.
Everywhere Fire danced, Vampires screamed and died. The younger they were, the easier to destroy them. I sent Fire out again and again, letting it gorge on anything it wanted. A Vampire appeared from the shadows to the left; Fire lanced it in the chest, pinning it to the wall, where it exploded. Another leapt from a banister high above me, but Air deflected it into Fire’s waiting embrace.
There were no bodies where these Vampires fell, only ash, embers, and the hint of a grease mark. I loosed Fire deeper into the house, letting it touch carpets, furniture, walls, and anything else it could find.
Soon, smoke and haze clung thick in the air. My lungs burned and my eyes stung, so I used Air to build a cone around me to push the smoke away.
A Werewolf appeared and died. Then another, followed by a Vampire. More and more.
Somewhere, I laughed, loosing Fire and letting it gorge.
The older Vampires moved like lightning, so I greeted them with lightning, twisting it, chaining it, letting it jump from one to the next. They screamed and squirmed, but not even they could stop me. They died as the rest did, as they all should.
As Vladymir must.
“Where are you?” I shouted. “I’ve come all this way to see you.”
A roar brought me around to see him standing on the balcony above me, his eyes reflecting the fires burning down his house. He wore his human skin, but the whole left side had turned grotesque, skin melted like wax.
I’d done that in the parking lot.
I couldn’t help but smirk.
“Time to end this,” I said.
The weaves formed in my mind, followed almost immediately by an intense pain in my face. A loud crack stunned me.
All the breath went out of my body.
It took me a second to realize that he’d hit me so hard I’d flown into the next room.
My vision blurred, clouded by a million tiny pinpricks of light.
* * *
“A Vampire can move faster than your eyes can track. Only a Wizard in full control of their power can take one on and hope to survive,” Jack Mayfair’s voice said in my ear.
Into the Fire Page 29
