I shifted in my chair. I hadn't known the story went so far back. “Is there a reason for the history lesson?”
“Yes,” Deepti said. “It will also explain why we have you sat in the center of a mandala.”
I lifted an eyebrow. "Fine, I'll bite."
“After the fall of the Roman Empire-“
“Jesus."
"Alexander, actually. In Constantinople, the forebears of modern sorcery gathered, exchanging their glyphs and circuits the way merchants traded silk and language and religion. Sorcerers borrowed each other’s ideas and studied the effects of them together. The Silk Road changed magic as much as it changed the rest of the world. That confluence of culture started everything you see here.”
She waved her hand at the chalk mandala at my feet. I scanned the glyphs sketched in concentric rings, unsure of their meaning. It was a complicated mandala. Far more so than most of the ones I’d seen the Guild Hunters use.
“What does this have to do with my dad?” I asked.
“That depends. Did he ever tell you his real name?”
I refused to let the surprise show on my face. Still, my teeth clenched around the words. “I guess not.”
Deepti released a long sigh and straightened up. Her hands slid from my shoulders and she paced to one of the tool chests and selected a boxcutter from the top drawer. My scalp prickled, but I gritted my teeth and remained mostly empty as she sliced the zip ties from my ankles.
“I cannot release your hands, but for now, I will trust you to remain civil.” I watched where she dropped the boxcutter. Without thinking, I shifted to confirm my knife at the small of my back.
Only it wasn’t there. The sound of it clattering to the vanity countertop came back, tangled up with the visceral memory of Jaesung’s hands on me. Perfect. Now, even if I could get my arms free, I’d be battling three Sorcerers to get to that boxcutter first.
Deepti wet her lips. “This requires more history, I’m afraid.”
I slumped back in the chair, feeling petulant as I scanned the chalked glyphs around me for hints of the spell’s purpose. “You have a captive audience. Monologue away.”
Deepti made a motion at Isaac who, to my surprise, ducked into the office to retrieve a cheap-looking office chair, which he rolled into place behind the petite Sorcereress. “It took centuries of experimentation to come to the magic circles we use now, and even so there were rifts among the Sorcerers. Different philosophies, some of them theoretical, others which remain contested today.”
“Blood magic versus regular sorcery.”
“That term is troublesome,” Deepti said, settling into the chair with crossed legs. “All magic is fueled by blood, by the inherent magical energy in the iron. While Sanguimancy translates to blood magic, it is the accepted word for victimized blood sorcery. But you are otherwise correct: the deepest rift formed between those whose magical philosophies included the blood of an outsider, and those that did not.”
The blond healer had disappeared upstairs, and the ceiling rumble of someone rolling on a mechanic’s creeper made me think she’d gone back to work in the garage proper.
“It would be too broad a brush to paint all Sanguimancy as evil. In the British Isles, for example, there was a strong culture of apprenticeship, where one who wished to learn magic would volunteer his blood for use by a more skilled Sorcerer, until he achieved a certain level of proficiency. And there were the druids.”
Her golden gaze flicked to my spellhound tattoo. “They believed the power of bound spirits could bend human flesh, but the spell itself required-”
“The animal to die.” I didn’t need to hear this part. I had the memory: the Irish wolfhound lying next to me in the mandala, its blood sticky beneath me, brightening the grooves in the concrete.
“Yes,” she said. “At one time, it was thought the most difficult spell in existence. You might have been the right hand of a queen, if not a queen yourself, among the people of Medieval England.”
I narrowed my eyes, sensing the shift of the story. “So what changed?”
Deepti tipped her hand so her golden bangles chimed. “Everything. Nothing. Human nature reared its head as it always does.”
“Someone got greedy?” I guessed. Deepti nodded.
“It took decades of influential Sorcerers in French salons for the great minds of the magical community to condemn all forms of Sanguimancy.”
Isaac, lurking somewhere behind me, chuckled. “Bureaucracy’s a bitch no matter who’s barking.” He paced close to my back, and the hairs on my neck stood on end. I had a strong desire to tip the chair backwards and kick him.
Instead, I trained my gaze on Deepti. “Maybe it’s because magical history wasn’t on my gang-member home school curriculum, but I don’t see what any of this has to do with me or Dad being super special.”
Deepti sighed, stretching her delicate, hennaed fingers. “I’m afraid it will not be a piece of information you find palatable. A single family had managed, beyond all odds, to remain influential for nearly fifteen hundred years. They came into prominence just as my Hindu forbears began using Chinese and Arabic glyphs within our own mandalas—an Armenian merchant and his daughter, Heghineh.”
Her name sounded like mine, but with a sound not quite like an “l”. I narrowed my eyes.
“From your expression, you already know what I am about to say.”
“I’m guessing she’s a relative.”
“She is.”
“So? I’m the lost descendent of an Armenian merchant Sorcereress. Why does that-”
“Few women traveled the Silk Road. Do you not think it odd that a man would bring along his young daughter on such a dangerous trip?”
I shrugged. “Couldn’t get a babysitter?”
Deepti shook her head. “No, he left his business in Armenia because of Heghineh. She was young, and ripe with magic. And she had a unique gift, one I suspect you have as well.”
"A unique gift?" I sifted through my brain, but came up with nothing.
“You have a gift for memorizing pictures, do you not? Pictures and patterns?”
“My photographic memory? But that's not a magic thing.”
“Not directly, but it gives you an ability. Like your father, like Heghineh, you can cast a mandala from your mind.”
I looked at her, the pinch between my eyebrows now bordering on a headache. “I don’t think—I mean, that’s not how magic works, right? It has to be drawn, in order.”
Deepti shook her head. “Most Sorcerers must draw it. The human brain is complex, but we cannot hold a perfect image of a mandala in our minds. Most people, when pressed, can only conjure the vaguest ideas of their closest friend’s faces: the ability to hold such an elaborate collection of symbols and the order of flow through the mandala is unthinkable to anyone without your combination of gifts. The likelihood that a person who has an eidetic memory also has magic is approaching zero. You are exceptionally rare.”
With a sudden chill, I recalled the violent burst of turquoise magic that had killed the Enforcer on Gwydian' s yacht. Had that been instinct? Had I done it again that night at Rinkenburger’s, terrified as I was of the thought of being followed?
I wanted to press my hands over my ears, to drown out the sounds of Isaac and Deepti breathing, waiting for me to say something, but my wrists remained bound.
That was when the truth of it hit me.
“My dad didn’t want to be a part of the Guild,” I said. “He didn’t want his gift to be discovered. You said you didn’t know who he was?”
“We didn’t,” Deepti confirmed. “The Armenian surname disappeared with Heghineh’s marriage. The line cropped up again in France and stayed there, benefitting both monetarily and magically from the abundance of silver in the mines. They took the town’s name—d'Argent. The family gained respect, influence, and enemies.
Numbered among them was a sept of Neo-druids in the Scottish highlands. They resented the d’Argent’s enforcement of the a
nti-Sanguimancy pact. The Lochlys created the spell you wear on your shoulder. Its outlawing left them without the strongest and most sacred of their magics.”
My skin went cold. Deepti’s hand spasmed, as if she wanted to reach out.
“Through much of the late Nineteenth century, the Lochly family hunted and killed most of the d'Argent family. The last two cousins went into hiding. Both boys disappeared fifteen years later, on the Western Front.”
World War One. I shifted in my chair. One of those vanished boys had to be my great or twice great grandfather. Given that Deepti had their descendent zip-tied to a chair in the basement of an auto shop, she spoke of them with more respect than I’d have imagined.
”Dad changed his name. Why? To run from the Lochlys?”
Deepti shook her head. “It isn’t certain. Do you know what the name Martin means?” she asked.
I shivered. When had the garage become so cold? “Dad said it was a common French last name.”
“Certain old magics allied the planets with precious metals. Silver for the moon, gold for the sun, copper for Venus. And for Mars-”
“Iron.”
“Yes. The sanguimancer’s metal. Your ancestors changed their name from Silver to Iron. Perhaps to throw off the Lochlys. Perhaps because they considered themselves now at war.”
So Gwydian wanted me as more than just a power source. He wanted to complete an ancient family grudge. I clenched my fists, tucking away the disturbing information for later, when I wasn’t in a cold basement with a trio of Guild Sorcerers.
“So it’s this mandala-less casting power that’s got you desperate to recruit me,” I said.
“You are the last of the d’Argent line.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “That a hint to go make some magic babies?”
Isaac sniggered. “Drop a litter. We’ll put ‘em in a box at HQ.”
“Children would not be the most terrible idea,” Deepti said. She patted my knee. “There will be time for everything once we neutralize the Lochly threat.”
Because there was any chance I'd let them near my children, if I ever had them. I concentrated on the question she still hadn’t answered.
“Dad agreed to join because it would get me and Mom away from Gwydian. I’m the opposite of a Guild fan now, so why should I join you?”
“Because we are doing the right thing.”
“If sanguimancy is so important to their clan identity, I bet the Lochly sept thinks it's fighting for religious freedom. Who are you to decide what's right?”
Isaac slouched into view. “You’ll notice those fucktards are into killing people, or turning them into uncontrollable hell beasts.”
I leaned forward in the chair. “Remember that time a Guild Sorcerer shot my Mom in the head?”
Deepti raised a hand.
“I know we are not an appealing option, but all that history should have at least convinced you of the need for magical regulation. The safety of people like your friends depends upon it. We cannot allow someone of your gifts to remain unchecked.”
I fought the desire to say something snarky. “How—what sort of checks are you thinking?”
“There is a small marking,” Deepti said, rolling back her own sleeve. “A safety measure to monitor location.”
"That seems easy to throw off," I said. “Especially for a Sorcerer.”
“There are precautions to eliminate the chance of removal.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “A magic microchip. I can’t imagine you’d leave me alone.”
“That is not something we can do. Regardless of intention, you cannot tell me the right leverage would not sway you to do ill. We have seen it too often.”
“And if I don’t want to be tagged like a shark?”
Deepti’s lips tightened. She looked down at her knees, and I noticed her twist a gold band around her finger.
“I hope that is not the choice you make,” she said, then looked at me again. “You are valuable to the Guild, but that same value also makes you a threat. If you cannot agree to live within the parameters of safety, I fear we cannot allow you to live at all.”
My heart shuddered. Despite the cold, sweat blossomed on my neck and bare shoulders.
“You-you’re going to kill me?” My voice betrayed me, shaking as disbelief and fear assaulted my throat.
Sympathy shone in Deepti’s golden eyes, but she set her jaw. “We do not yet know how your gifts will translate into sanguimancy, and if our intelligence is correct, the Lochly sept has wanted to claim it for themselves since before their feud with the d’Argents.”
Isaac picked at a scab on his wrist. “If he thought you were d'Argent, I’m surprised he didn’t make you his baby mama.”
The heat that flushed across my face made it impossible to articulate my anger without succumbing to frustrated tears. I refused to cry in front of them.
“Our protection has confirmed any suspicions,” Deepti said. “This is not the path I would want for you, but it is the only way I can guarantee your gift does not fall into the hands of a terrorist.”
My chest heaved, fury kicking my lungs into short gasps. “So I have to—let you c-control me, or you’ll kill me. But only because you think Gwydian will force me to have a mind-casting sanguimancer baby?” Deepti swallowed. “And that’s worth my life to you? You do fucking realize that none of this is my fault, and that, so far, every choice I’ve made has been to get the fuck away from all of you?”
"I’m sorry, Helena," Deepti said. "I despise-"
“Not sorry enough to let me live.”
The head of the Northern Sorcerers’ Guild pursed her lips. “No," she confirmed. "Were he to turn you against us, the loss of innocent life would be more than I could justify, even for a d’Argent. It is simple weights and measures.”
“Instead of preempting that fate by killing the victim, you could, you know, kill him first!”
“Do you not think we have been trying?” Deepti said, at last cracking into anger. “For the past three months, the North and Eastern American Guilds have focused on little else. We have lost good men and women to his network, not to mention the utter cock-up of that night in Miami.” Her lips curled, and I understood the unspoken animosity between Deepti and the Eastern Guild.
“You’re just tripping over all that red tape, aren’t you, Doc?” I said. “Sanguimancers don’t need iron pills and a glock to kill a Guild Sorcerer.”
Her jaw tightened. “We only need him to be stupid once,” she said. I nodded.
“And killing me is the failsafe. Takes my dangerous lady-parts from the equation. Even if I hadn’t had my share of unwanted dicks shoved in my direction—none of which made it close—I could promise you there would be no chance I’d let myself be some captive incubator.”
She winced.
“You know what you’re doing is wrong,” I said.
“I do not see why it is so difficult for you to agree to our laws.”
“Because I don’t want a fucking magical kill-switch on my body?” I snapped, jerking my chin toward the ruined shoulder. “I’ve had enough of being tagged. See? You didn’t even deny that’s what it is—a way to kill me if I go off the grid. No idea why I don’t trust you.”
Just as Deepti opened her mouth, a solid whump hit the floor above us. We all looked up, peering at the opening in the ceiling, where mechanics would work on a car’s undercarriage.
“Mia?” Isaac called, leaning to glimpse her in the garage above. “You alright?”
Deepti’s perfect brows furrowed. “Your wards are intact?”
“I’da said something if they weren’t,” he said, crossing to the narrow staircase. “Mia?”
Deepti’s hand was on her phone, the other reaching for the mostly empty bag of blood.
Tires screeched outside. A car crashed into the garage above, shoving a sparking, crumpled aluminum door across the opening above us. The front tires dropped through the opening. I gasped, tipping back. For a horribl
e second, I thought the car would plunge through, crush me and Deepti.
The grates held, but sparks and explosions of mandala-light crackled above. Oil spilled onto my hair, even as I rocked over backwards and rolled. One zip-tie broke on impact.
Cursing, Isaac ducked back down the stairs and primed a full set of rings. I scrambled into a crouch, still attached by one wrist to the chair, and snatched the boxcutter.
I freed myself in a second. Unsteady I slammed into the toolbox and overturned it. Grease and oil and my bare footprints scuffed out the neat mandala lines on the floor.
“How did they get past Marshal?” Deepti managed. She shouted an order into her phone, even as Isaac dashed up the stairs. I followed.
A shock-wave shuddered the stairs, hurling me against the wall. I clung to the railing, hauling myself back to my feet. Thank God that Mia girl healed me. Hopefully she wasn’t dead.
Ahead, Isaac hurled off spells. Smoke poured into the stairs, choked the room above so the only visible part of our enemies were the flashes of mandala.
We gained the upper garage. The concrete was hot on my feet, and pebbles of shattered windshield pressed into my soles. Isaac stepped around an outstretched arm, bloody and lolling from beneath the fallen hood of a car. I smelled the cooking flesh before Deepti, behind me, shouted again into her phone.
“Mia’s dead. Send Cam to the perimeter.” Her fingers seized my arm. “We’re sending her out!”
I jerked my arm away, but she didn’t seem to care. “Go!” she said, pointing through the smoke. She twisted about and slid one golden bangle from her wrist. It lit up white at her touch, and a collection of mandalas appeared before her. She worked fast, tossing up a shield to supplement Isaac’s, then launching an attack that caused all the smoke in the room to suck back out through the ruined doorway.
The bounty hunters’ spells came from too many directions. I counted at least eight before a crack in the concrete below me fissured out. Isaac drew his gun, prepared to fire.
“No!” Deepti said. “Isaac, there’s too much grease.”
Unleash (Spellhounds Book 1) Page 24
