“That’s Minnesota. They’re the Wild, not the bears,” Elton said, making an honest effort to hide the irritation in his voice.
Cora and Nathan exchanged a private, smiling glance. Her phone pinged on the bed beside her, and she released Nichole’s completed braid to check it. Her mouth opened in disbelief as she saw the wall of text filling her screen. Thomas’s instructions. She opened the message and scrolled through the lengthy details, unable to keep from whispering, “What the shit, Thomas?”
Elton looked over at her, and Cora leaned across the bed to offer him her phone. His usual frown deepened as he scanned the message. “What is this?”
“He called earlier and said he’d be sending information about how to get Nichole and Joel and Hannah to him. He said he was going to ‘summon’ them.”
“Jesus, Thomas,” Elton sighed. He set down his book and focused on the text on the phone screen with a grim look on his face. “He isn’t going to summon them. He’s going to summon a demon to do it for him.”
Cora stared at him. “Like...a demon demon? Fire and brimstone demon?”
“Exactly that kind, and exactly as dangerous as you think it is.”
“Really?” she asked, her voice lifting a bit in disbelief. “Thomas is a demon summoner? Thomas.”
“Big things sometimes come in small packages,” Nathan quipped, leaning back against the headboard.
Cora remembered the empty, flat way that Thomas had bent the bodies of the Chasers at the jail and at the airport, the way they’d shrieked and panicked and seemed tortured by something she couldn’t see. “That actually makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it.”
“It’s stupid magic,” Elton said. “Some things are illegal for good reason. Demons can turn on you in an instant—they’re scarcely under control even when you do everything right, and there are a thousand and one steps to get wrong. I saw the circle on the floor in his apartment in Vancouver, so I knew he was still practicing, but to be using demons for this sort of regular, specific magic...he’s lucky he hasn’t killed anyone.”
Cora shifted on the mattress. “So, should we not do this? I mean...demons are big time, right? That’s more than magic; that’s like...heaven and hell type stuff, isn’t it?”
“I don’t pretend to know,” Elton answered. “At the very least, they’re powerful, unruly, manipulative spirits.”
“Oh, come off it, darling,” Nathan spoke up, passing the remote control off to Nichole. “It’s been over a decade he’s been doing this, hasn’t it? The man clearly has his ducks in a row. Let him work. Come on,” he added, reaching out for the phone with a soft tut. “Give us the list. Let’s see what we’re in for.”
Elton reluctantly handed the phone back to Cora, who obediently passed it on, and Nathan pursed his lips in thought as he read the text message. A slow smile spread across his face.
“Oh, isn’t this just my sort of thing,” he murmured. “Excellent.” He dropped the phone onto the bed and stood, hands on his hips as he surveyed the room. “Right. You lot move the beds out of the way, and I’ll go do a bit of shopping and fetch our escapee lovebirds.”
He didn’t leave any room for argument—he was out the door in a few long strides, leaving Cora and Elton to prepare the space for the complicated spell they were about to perform.
Thomas had given them exceptionally particular instructions as to the orientation, size, and placement of the circle they were to draw, the incense they were to burn, the incantations they were to speak to charge the sigil, and in what order—no detail was left to chance. Given what Cora had seen in the last couple of years about vodou, Nathan had been right to say it was his sort of thing. It was the same kind of stupidly complex magic he did all the time.
Cora set out the candles and incense—green candles specifically, and sandalwood incense only, and at precisely the four cardinal points of the circle—while they waited for Nathan to return. When the hotel room door opened again, Nathan was leading Joel and Hannah, but his attention was on the phone in his hand and the voice shouting through the speaker.
“—my fucking floor!” a woman was shouting. Cora recognized Nock’s gruff voice over the speakerphone. “I said he could stay, I didn’t say he could destroy my apartment! There’s paint and shit everywhere, he burned the wood floor in my workshop, and now he’s trying to kick me out of my own place! He says I have to leave for the night, like it’s not my goddamn money keeping a roof over his stupid head.”
“It’s for the most noble of causes, beloved, I assure you,” Nathan tried to say, but his words were overpowered by Nock’s next shout, clearly directed at her unwelcome roommate.
“Don’t you dare move that!”
“It’s only temporary, Nock!” Thomas answered. “I’ll fix everything before you get back.”
“This stupid witch shit,” the goblin grumbled, her voice growing closer as she returned her attention to the phone call. “Like he’s just going to fix that giant fucking whatever-the-hell he drew all over my floor. You said this guy wouldn’t be any trouble, Nathan. If I thought you had a single red cent to your name, I’d make you pay for the damage. You need to come get your boy, here.”
“I didn’t hear any complaining when I got that solder supplier to cut you a deal on your next shipment,” Thomas called, sounding like he was across the room. “Didn’t hear a thank you, either,” he added, more quietly.
“Pay some rent and you’ll get a thank you,” the woman snapped back.
“Nock, beloved,” Nathan said in a soft, soothing voice, “Mr. Proctor needs room to help us with a very important spell, and if he’s asked you to leave, I’m positive it’s for your own safety and protection.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t do dangerous shit in other people’s houses to begin with.”
“Beautiful Nock, my sun and sky, my very heartbeat—please, for my sake.”
The goblin heaved a heavy, frustrated sigh, but her voice was a little gentler the next time she spoke. “Just this one time,” she agreed. “And there had better not be any permanent damage.”
“I’m certain Mr. Proctor will take every precaution.”
“Yeah, yeah. You so owe me.”
“I shall be repaying my many debts to you until the end of my days, surely.”
“Oh, shut up.” The woman was mid-shout again when she ended the call, warning Thomas away from her workbench.
Nathan chuckled as he dropped the phone onto the bed beside Elton. “Well. They seem to be getting along. Everything ready here?”
“I think so,” Cora said while he reset the wards on the door. She showed him the components they’d put out already and helped him with the rest he’d acquired, which mostly meant setting up a few coins or trinkets around the edges of the room. Together they charred a large, intricate circle into the hotel carpet, both of them frequently referring to the reference picture Thomas had sent to Cora to make sure they didn’t miss any of the details. They lit the candles and incense, filling the room with thin, wood-scented smoke. When they were finished, Cora called Thomas again to tell him they were ready. The apartment seemed quiet on his end—Nock must have agreed to leave after all.
“You shouldn’t have to do anything at all once we begin,” Thomas said. “And there’s no risk to you as long as you’re outside of the circle, so don’t worry about being in the room. I’m going to do Nichole first. Make sure she’s standing in the center of the circle. Once she’s done, I’ll text you when I’m ready to go again, and you can send Joel and Hannah.”
Cora wanted to ask him if he really was using demons for this, but she hesitated. She didn’t want to frighten the people about to trust them enough to step inside a magic circle. So she just said, “Okay.”
Nichole gave all three of them tight hugs, then stood where they told her to, clutching her small suitcase and her bottle of Four Thieves close to her. Cora texted Thomas to tell him that they were ready, and then the whole room waited in tense silence. A minute or so pass
ed by before Cora began to feel the close, oppressive heat of magic in the room. The pressure built, causing her ears to pop, and wisps of smoke rose from the outer edges of the burned circle and curled up toward the ceiling. Faint green light glowed through the black lines, and with a sudden, booming crack, the smoke seemed to curl around Nichole’s body like a mummy’s wrappings, and then she was gone.
Half a minute later, Cora’s phone pinged, and she read the text message from Thomas.
Safe and sound in Cold Lake. Prepping for Joel and Hannah.
“Holy crap, it actually worked,” she laughed, then caught herself and cleared her throat before smiling at the anxious couple. “Not...that we thought it wouldn’t.”
Elton frowned at her and led the pair into the center of the now calm circle, all of them pretending they couldn’t still feel the electricity in the air.
“Thank you so much,” Hannah said, both protective hands over her rounded belly. “You saved our lives. All of you.”
“I’m going to tell everyone I know what you did,” Joel assured them, but his eyes were on Nathan. “People should know that you’re not who the Magistrate says you are.”
“Oh please don’t,” Nathan countered right away. “I hardly need good deeds tarnishing my reputation. I really am precisely what they say I am.”
“Shut up and embrace your anti-hero vigilantism,” Cora said with a laugh. Nathan sighed but waved away Joel’s concerned frown, and he even gave the other man a small nod just before the rising smoke enveloped the couple and sucked them away to wherever Thomas had planned for them next.
Cora smiled with relief as her phone vibrated in her hand again.
Arrived safe. Make sure you destroy the circle.
After a long and involved purifying process involving boiled herbs, salt scrubs, and even more burned carpet, Elton was glad for a calm dinner. His shoulder still ached, and he was exhausted despite spending the day resting. He just needed one more good night’s sleep to get over the end of his fever thanks to Cora’s potion, but he wasn’t likely to get it with the girl going out on her own. He wouldn’t be able to relax.
When they finished eating, Nathan outfitted her with the tonic he’d made and a little travel kit of groundings to supplement those on her bracelet, then patted her on the head and sent her on her way into the night.
The room seemed oppressively quiet to Elton with just the two of them there. Nathan smoked on the bed and tapped his ashes into an empty soda bottle while low voices from the television extolled the merits of a food dehydrator. Periodically Nathan checked his watch, and Elton tried to avoid looking at him. He knew he ought to be sleeping, but he scanned the words in his book instead, more than once having to read a paragraph over again because of his wandering mind. He worried about Cora, out on her own with Korshunov looking for them, and about Jocelyn back in Vancouver, under threat of being used as a hostage. Now had not been the time for him to go out on his own and get himself injured.
Before Elton could sink too deeply into his brooding, Nathan’s shifting on the opposite bed caught his attention. The other man swung his legs out over the side of the mattress and leaned into his hands to peer over at Elton with a sly grin on his lips.
“It’s midnight,” Nathan said. He pushed himself up and moved to the bed beside Elton, sitting uncomfortably close with his knees crossed underneath him. He bent closer, and Elton instinctively moved back until he pressed into the headboard. “Do you know what that means, darling?”
“That you should go to sleep?”
“It means,” Nathan purred, “that it’s your birthday.” A chill touched the back of Elton’s neck at Nathan’s smile. “How old are you this year?”
“Thirty-four,” he answered. “But didn’t I tell you to forget about it?”
“How could I? You’re going to want your gift.”
“I really don’t,” Elton assured him.
“Decide after you hear what it is, hm? My special gift to you, Mr. Willis—” Nathan lifted a finger between them. “Is one. One question of your choice, and one sincere and honest answer. About anything you wish that’s in my power to answer.”
Elton paused. “You mean about you.”
“Is there something else you’re more curious about?”
The blond shifted on the mattress, refusing to let the sudden taut excitement in his stomach show on his face. He had learned more than he ever thought he would about Nathaniel Moore over the last few months. Things that could never have made it into any file. But it was impossible to know how much had been exaggeration or simple lies. Even now, Nathan’s word wasn’t a guarantee that his promised answer would be true—but something about the way the man watched him, his smile faint and patient, hands folded in his lap, convinced Elton that the proposal was sincere. Nathan was offering to share the truth with him. Only one very specific truth, Elton was sure, but even so—did it mean Nathan trusted him? Nathaniel Moore trusted him. The thought was...a little frightening, if Elton was honest. He could never say it aloud in front of him, but Nathan was the greatest witch of their time, and even beyond the potential magical explanations Elton could ask for, the chance to fill in some of the gaps in the file that had gnawed at him for years sent a thrill up his spine. It was a chance to solve at least one of many mysteries.
The long pause drew a soft chuckle from Nathan. “Take your time, darling. There is a lot of me to consider.”
Elton didn’t answer. He frowned down at the patch of blanket between them and loosely crossed his arms. The obvious, logical question was the loa. Nathan’s relationship with it, the power it gave him, the nature of the thing itself. Adelina had barely wanted to speak its name, and it had brought Nathan back from the dead before Elton’s eyes. Nathan was obviously letting it possess him on a regular, weekly basis with the ritual at the altars he made. If they were going to be working together—long-term, it seemed—Elton needed to know the details.
But something else stopped him from asking. A question had been stuck in his craw since they first agreed to partner up back in Toronto, since Nathan had become so passionate at the very mention of the Magistrate punishing mixed couples.
“You seemed like you wanted to hit me when you found out about Adelina,” Elton said softly. “You broke Thomas out of jail—and wanted to kill him—to protect the couples he had helped. You don’t care about anything, but you care about these families. With all the time you’ve had, all the spells you know, all the power you have...why haven’t you done anything? Why haven’t you tried to change things? To fight back against the Magistrate and change the rules?”
Nathan hesitated, his dark eyes locked on Elton’s face, and then he dropped his head and let out a quiet, genuine laugh. “You would ask a question that cuts right to the quick, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s what I want to know. You seem to hate the Magistrate so much, but you’ve never tried to put a stop to any of it. It’s always just been random, selfish mayhem. Why?”
Nathan pondered for a while with his elbows on his knees before he answered. “Back when I was young—the first time,” he clarified with a faint smile up at the blond, “I got to know what it was like to be free from the Magistrate. The West Indies was European-run, but it wasn’t Europe. There were no Chasers there; no registry; no rules. Magic was everywhere, and it was written off by the mundanes as island superstition or the slaves’ devil worship. It was the best time of my life. And it made every stop I made back in Philadelphia even more unbearable. America was still prone to hanging people for imagined witchcraft, let alone the real stuff, so you can imagine how tight the Magistrate kept its chains.”
He laced his fingers in his lap and looked down at his hands. This wasn’t the same careless, cavalier man that stole cars and laughed about dead Chasers. He was more somber and soft-spoken than Elton had ever seen him.
“People were taken every day,” Nathan went on. “Mundanes were given the ingnas for even assumed exposure to magic, and families were
torn apart. But I saw firsthand what happened to people who spoke up in New England when we made port in Philadelphia. Even if they had friends—even if they had allies willing to fight back, and even if they had the dearest reason in the world to want to tear the Magistrate down to its foundations—the same thing happened to all of them.”
Elton let a beat of Nathan’s dramatic pause go by before he pressed, “What?”
“They died,” Nathan said simply, lifting his black eyes and watching the other man with a furrowed brow. “Every single one.”
Elton stared back at him, taking in the lines that had formed at the edges of his frown and the emptiness in his gaze. An uneasy tightness settled in Elton’s stomach, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “You never caught yellow fever at all, did you? That’s not why you made your deal with that spirit.”
Nathan offered him a small, subdued smile. “That’s a second question, darling.”
“But you mean you, don’t you? You died. Fighting the Magistrate.”
“You’ll have to wait until next year for that answer,” Nathan said, clapping his hands on his thighs to signal the end of their conversation. It was as if the sound dropped the veil of sincerity around him, revealing the easy, roguish smile Elton knew well. “Don’t I give the best birthday presents?”
“But you didn’t answer me at all,” Elton protested as the other man pushed to his feet to light a cigarette.
“I have,” Nathan countered firmly. “I don’t try to change the world because people die doing it, and because things never really change. You think I haven’t seen rebellions, riots, revolutions? And where do we stand today? In the same place we’ve always been.”
“So we should just give up trying to make things better.”
“There’s no cure for corruption, Elton. It doesn’t matter if we’re talking about witches or regs—the sorts of people who want to be in power are precisely the ones who shouldn’t have the job. And people are all too eager to lie down and do as they’re told if it saves their own skin, so until you find a way to make every witch in North America stand up and say ‘no more,’ the way things are now is precisely the way they will remain.”
The Left-Hand Path: Prodigy Page 17
