Fugitive of Magic (Dragon's Gift: The Protector Book 1)

by Linsey Hall

  I pressed my back against the wall, panting.

  Ares joined me. “You’re no ordinary Seeker.”

  Shit. And he was right. Seekers could find things. Lost car keys, a red shirt in the mall, even treasure in some circumstances. But what I’d just done? I’d asked my dragon sense to find my desire. My desire for a safe way out. I was almost as sure as Ares that a Seeker couldn’t do what I’d just done.

  “My mom was a very powerful Seeker,” I bluffed. “She passed it on to me.”

  “Not true.” His gaze met mine, serious and thoughtful. “You’re not a very good liar.”

  Actually, I was a great liar. I’d been living lies my whole life, keeping my FireSoul a secret.

  But Ares was really good at sniffing out the untruths, it seemed.

  “We need to get a move on.” I turned to the door behind me, hoping that there wouldn’t be anyone on the other side.

  I got lucky. The large space felt empty—probably because the stairs themselves were supposed to act as the guards.

  They hadn’t counted on a FireSoul showing up.

  “What is this place?” Ares asked.

  “It looks like the card catalogue at the library.” We were inside the clock tower—which was pretty awesome, frankly, with the gears on one wall controlling the clocks hands. The ceiling was the underside of the peaked roof.

  And down here on the floor were tall, dark wooden cabinets with tiny drawers. Hundreds of them. Just like the library.

  I moved toward one and pulled open a drawer. Tiny gold index cards were filed neatly, but according to no system that I could determine. I pulled one out.

  “It says that the previous leader of the Order of the Magica had betrayed all his business partners to achieve his position.”

  “I’d heard rumors of that,” Ares said. “It’s why he was removed from office.”

  “Huh. Okay.” I put the card back and pulled open another drawer. “This card says that the last winner of the Little Miss Magic beauty pageant was actually an enchanted orangutan.”

  “I can’t speak to the truth of that one, unfortunately.”

  “Child beauty pageants not your thing?”

  “No. I prefer cat fashion shows on the animal channel.”

  The delivery was so genuine that I laughed. “Really?”

  “No. Do those actually exist?”

  “On the internet, definitely.” I put the card back and withdrew another. “Moira Deitreich, that famous fae actress from the forties, was apparently an Allied spy during the war. She used her enchantment ability to help them win.”

  Ares read from a card. “There was once a hidden race of dwarves that mined so much gold they went mad. They were so obsessed with keeping it secret from the world that they drove themselves insane.”

  I stepped back and glanced around this place. “So, this place is full of information?”

  “Information that people shouldn’t know.”

  “Secrets. Just like Laphraig said. The charm was shrouded in secrets.”

  “Literally and figuratively.”

  “How do we use this to find Marin’s killer?” I asked. “If he was killed for something that he knew—like a secret—how the hell do we find it amongst all these?”

  “If it’s even here,” Ares said. “It could be—”

  The door slammed open from behind us. I spun. Before I’d completed the motion, a blue potion bomb had exploded against my shoulder, drenching me in a glittery blue liquid.

  My head spun, and my eyes rolled back in my head. I slammed into the ground. The world went black.

  Chapter Ten

  Pain seared my skull as I woke. My eyelids were scratchy, and my mouth felt like I was trying to chew on a sheep’s fluffy butt.

  Blech.

  I tried to spit out the cottony feeling, but it did no good. My eyes burned as I opened them and took stock of my surroundings.

  I was in a dungeon made of stone.

  My heart jumped into my throat, and sweat broke out on my skin. I heaved upward, panic a living beast inside my chest. It clawed at me, ready to tear into my organs and feast.

  Panting, I searched for Cass and Del.

  But instead of my deirfiúr, there was a large masculine body sprawled out on the ground next to me. I blinked.

  Shit. That was Ares.

  And I was an adult. I wasn’t a kid trapped in the Monster’s dungeon any longer.

  Thank fates.

  I sagged back against the wall, the sweat chilling on my skin. Panting, I tried to get ahold of myself.

  First, where the hell were we?

  We’d been hit by potion bombs containing a sleeping spell and were now in some creepy kind of dungeon. The room was a small rectangle with an arched stone ceiling. Three walls were made of stone, but the one across from me was made of wood.

  That was weird.

  This place must be old.

  I nudged Ares with my boot, still so exhausted from the potion that it was difficult to move. “Ares, wake up.”

  He groaned, then leapt to his feet so fast that I almost shrieked. He was in full vampire mode now. Gleaming white fangs extended, and black claws protruded from his fingertips. His stance was I’m ready to tear your head off.

  “Chill, dude, it’s just me.”

  His gaze cleared almost immediately. He straightened. “Sorry. Instinct.”

  “Not caught by surprise too often?”

  “No.” He turned, inspecting the room. “This is quaint.”

  I laughed, then dragged myself to my feet. “How long have we been out?”

  How much time had been taken off my 72 hours?

  Ares glanced at his watch. “Only thirty minutes.

  Whew. “Can you transport us out of here?”

  “I can try.” He walked toward me and took my hand. His magic swelled, bringing with it the scent of a cold winter morning and a warm caress against my skin.

  But we didn’t go anywhere.

  “Warded against transporting, as all proper dungeons are,” he said.

  “It’s fine.” I dropped his hand. “We’ll find a way out.”

  There was a big door set into the wooden wall, but no lock that we could pick. Just a flat expanse of wood.

  We both walked to the wall—the only possible weakness in the room—and reached out to touch it.

  Electricity surged through me, slamming me into the stone wall at my back. Ares followed, hit by the same bolt of magic that had singed my hair.

  My head spun and I blinked, trying to clear my vision. “Oh, shit.”

  Ares winced and straightened. “That way isn’t an option.”

  “You can’t get through that enchantment like you did the weird thick air back in the station?” It’d been so strange how he’d been able to cut through it.

  “About that.” His gaze met mine. “That strange, thick air wasn’t an enchantment. It was the entrance to another realm.”

  Another realm? “You didn’t think to mention this?”

  “Between the guards and the Escher staircase, we didn’t exactly have a lot of time.”

  “Fair enough. Then explain.”

  “The interior of this building is in another realm. A bit like the Shadowlands. It’s on Earth, but not quite. I have the ability to walk to other realms, which was why I could get through that weird air.”

  “Are all vampires able to do that?”

  “All of them can travel between our realm and Earth, but not necessarily other realms.”

  “Guess I’m lucky I’m with you, then.”

  A creaking noise sounded from the wooden wall. My attention snapped to it.

  A little window had opened, and an ugly face peered inside. Whether it was man or demon, I couldn’t tell.

  “Awake, are you?” His voice was rough as steel wool.

  “Yeah. Thanks for the hospitality,” I said.

  “Well, you’ll be enjoying it for a while. Until the Head Sector decides to see you.” He grinn
ed showing off his jagged yellow teeth. “It may be a while.”

  The little door slammed shut.

  I looked at Ares. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

  “No.” He inspected the room. “We need to find a way out.”

  “Agreed.” Since the wooden wall was entirely out of the question, I studied the rest of the room. The arched stone ceiling looked ancient, and there were centuries worth of graffiti carved into the walls. “This place is ancient.”

  “We’re one story underground, I think.”

  I studied the graffiti carved into the back wall. There was so much jumbled on there that it was hard to determine what any of it said.

  “Anything good written on there?” Ares asked.

  “Maybe.” I approached and peered hard at some scribbles. “Might as well look.”

  He joined me. I shifted toward the other side of the room. As much as I didn’t want to use my dragon sense again—he was going to definitely figure out something was up—we really needed it right now. If there was a way out of here, I wanted to find it.

  The best way to find anything was obvious for a FireSoul.

  As carefully as I could, I called on my magic, trying to keep my signature repressed. If I was careful, he wouldn’t even be able to sense that I was doing anything at all.

  Please help me find a way out.

  I envisioned an escape tunnel in the wall or learning a way to blast the door down, hoping that it would help jumpstart my dragon sense.

  I’d gotten the briefest clue and was walking toward it when Ares turned to me. “You’re using your magic. Why?”

  I killed the connection with my magic. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  I studied the graffiti etched high above my head, even though I desperately wanted to look at what was scratched on the lower part of the wall. But I couldn’t go right to it or it would look obvious.

  “You’re doing a terrible job of pretending to be normal, Nix.”

  I grinned back at him. “I never said I was normal.”

  “You know what I mean. With your magic.”

  I sighed and turned back to the wall. “No comment. Let’s look for a way out.”

  “Fine.”

  I studied the graffiti. There were the usual names and dates, along with poems and drawings. Some folks had spent a long time here.

  But had it always been a dungeon?

  Nah. The construction was too weird for a dungeon. Who would build a dungeon with only three stone walls? It had probably been modified later to house unwilling occupants.

  I crouched low to inspect the writing that had called to me.

  What the heck?

  It was in Latin. That was freaking weird.

  Because of our line of work, Del, Cass, and I were all interested in history. But I’d never been terribly fond of the Romans. I didn’t like conquerors and colonialists. As a result, I only knew a bit of Latin. Not enough to translate all of this.

  “Can you read Latin?” I asked.

  “Some.” He approached. “A lot of our older documents are in Latin.”

  I pointed to the four lines of engraved text. “Give this a whirl.”

  He crouched next to me and studied the text, then began to read, “Place any of the wine amphora on the five points of the star. Use the elder wood stylus to trace the etchings on the floor. Light the wine on fire. Escape.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked.

  “No idea.”

  “Say it again. Exactly how it is written.”

  He repeated it. I leaned against the wall, studying the room and mulling it over. “If it says place any of the wine amphora on the floor, that means there were a lot here.”

  “What were amphora?”

  “Weirdly shaped clay jugs used by the Romans.” I stared at the ceiling, and it hit me. “This used to be a storage facility for a Roman wine merchant.”

  “How the hell did you get that?”

  I smirked at him. “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

  “You’re still going to have to explain.”

  “The Romans often used underground storage vaults like this one. There’s the Horreum in Narbonne, France and the tunnels in Exeter in the UK. One of their most desired trade goods when they conquered this part of the UK was wine. From the sound of that graffiti, this was where a wine merchant stored his stash.”

  “That seems like a stretch.”

  I shrugged. “It’s archaeology. Lotta educated guesswork.” I frowned, rethinking the inscription. “I think those are quick getaway instructions. This would have been the back of the merchant’s property. Most of his stuff is underground, so there are no doors or windows. Say he had to run for it… He’d want an out. Like an escape tunnel.”

  “So he wrote the instructions on the wall?”

  “Why not? If he passed the place down to his kids, they’d want to know how to operate the escape hatch.”

  “And in all the times this has been a dungeon, no one has used it?”

  “Wasn’t easy to find, was it?” I asked. “You’d have to inspect all the graffiti, know Latin, and have enough of an understanding of Roman architecture and history to put it together. I couldn’t have done it without your knowledge of Latin, and you couldn’t have done it without my history smarts.”

  “All right. I’ll buy it.” He gave me an appraising look. “Are you planning to conjure some amphora and an elder wood stylus?”

  “If we can find that star on the floor, then heck yeah.” My heart sped. This was getting exciting. Normally I worked behind the desk and left the archaeological puzzle solving to Cass and Del.

  Now it was my turn.

  Though the stakes were higher than I was expecting.

  I stood. “Let’s find that star.”

  We circled the ground, studying it for any evidence of a star etched into the stones. The rock was so pockmarked and scratched that it was hard to make out any kind of pattern.

  It took at least ten minutes, but finally, after I’d pretended it was one of those Magic Eye patterns from the ‘80s, I was able to make out a pattern.

  “There.” I pointed. “It’s about ten feet across and in the back corner.”

  Ares crouched low, tilting his head. “Yeah, I see it. There’s five points.”

  “Yep.” I called upon my magic, envisioning five amphora containing wine. One by one, the slender clay jugs appeared on the ground. Their bottoms were pointed, so they leaned on their sides. Using a bit more of my power, I conjured a willow wood stylus. It was basically just a smoothed-out stick. A bit like a wand, really.

  “Put them at the points of the star,” I said.

  Ares and I gently laid the amphora at the points of the star.

  He stepped back. “Do you know how to light the wine on fire if it’s inside the amphora? And is wine even flammable?”

  “Nope and nope.” I stepped into the middle of the star. “But it’s all we’ve got, so I’m going to try. I just hope that something will happen to point me in the right direction.”

  “Works for me.”

  I knelt and reached out with the stylus, tracing the lines between the jugs. Magic shivered in the air as I worked, igniting a long-dead spell. My breath caught as I waited for the enchantment to take hold.

  Come on, come on.

  As soon as I’d traced the last line, the amphora exploded, sending shards of terra-cotta flying into the air.

  “Whoa!” I stumbled back onto my butt. Pain pinched at my neck. I rubbed it, my fingers coming away bloody. I’d been sliced by a terra-cotta shard. I prodded the wound. It was shallow. Whew.

  Ares had a similar slice on his cheek.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Just a flesh wound.”

  His mouth kicked up at the corner. “Monty Python?”

  “Of course.” I studied the star. The broken terra-cotta was scattered on the ground, its inscribed lines filled with dark red wine. “I guess that’s
how I light it on fire.”

  “If it lights.”

  “Hopefully the magic in the star will help.” I conjured a packet of matches, then struck one and tossed it into the wine.

  Flames burst into the air, racing along the lines of the star until I was surrounded by them. A second later, the floor dropped out from under me.

  My scream echoed as I fell into the darkness.

  I slammed into the ground below. The air whooshed out of me.

  I shouldn’t have stood in the middle of the star.

  “Nix!” Ares called down.

  “Yeah, I’m here!” I looked up, my eyes tearing from the pain of landing on a stone. The dungeon was about ten feet above me.

  Ares appeared at the edge of the hole. “Do you need me to get you out or should I join you?”

  I turned in a circle, inspecting my circumstances. There was a passage leading away from the dungeon. It smelled of stale air and was dark and mysterious in a freaky way, but it was better than a locked cell.

  “Come on in!” I called. “The water’s great.”

  He jumped in, landing gracefully next to me. “Nicely done.”

  “Thanks. Let’s see where this leads.”

  We entered the passage side by side. I limped a bit, but shook it off with every step. It was just large enough to fit us both. I was about to conjure a torch when Ares held out a hand. White light glowed from his palm, illuminating the passage.

  “That’s a very handy skill,” I said.

  He chuckled. “That was a bad pun.”

  “At least you laughed.”

  “My mistake.” But I could hear the grin in his voice.

  I smiled, too, then kicked myself. I didn’t want to humanize him. Or like him. Both were dumb moves I couldn’t afford.

  We hurried though the corridor, which was paved with stone and so dusty and stale it clearly hadn’t been used in millennia. Not since the Roman wine merchant had built the place, I’d bet.

  “Wonder where this leads?” I murmured.

  “Hopefully within the building. We need to find the Master of Secrets.”

  “I agree. We’ll go to him of our own will. It’ll look better than if we’re dragged there as prisoners. Then we question him.”

  Ares nodded. The path began to slope upward slightly. Twenty yards later, it ended at a wooden wall.