Champagne, Misfits, and Other Shady Magic (Dowser 7)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  Burgundy screamed, wrapping herself around my leg. With all my attention focused on the skirmish, I hadn’t even been aware that the witch had woken while I stood sentry over her.

  Warner fell.

  It had all happened so quickly. His arms were still stretched out toward Kandy.

  I didn’t watch him hit the ground.

  I didn’t look to Kandy lying far too still on the ground only feet away.

  The elf stepped through the sprawled limbs of my loved ones, sneering at me and the terrified witch latched to my leg.

  I breathed, relaxing into the exhalation.

  Then I let my magic loose.

  All the power I held tightly within me, tucked in behind my necklace and knife. Power that recalled chaos, blood, and a sense of righteous, brutal justice.

  “Let me go, Burgundy.” I leaned down to pat her arm. “I have some garbage to deal with.”

  She gripped me tighter.

  “Amy!” I snapped. “If you can walk, go to the Talbots’. If not, tuck up against the tree. I won’t be a minute.”

  “Yes, Amy,” the elf said. “I’ll be saving you for dinner.”

  The witch moaned.

  The elf sneered, snapping his shark-like teeth at me as though he might have been flirting. As though he might have been thinking of having me for dessert.

  What else was new?

  I sighed, allowing my power to touch Burgundy. The refreshing taste of her watermelon magic rolled across my tongue.

  She screeched, letting go of me like I’d attempted to set her on fire, then scrambling back to press against the chestnut tree.

  I stepped away from the witch, keeping parallel with the elf but clearing the battlefield between us.

  “Your warriors are down, witchling.” His English was still labored.

  Directing my magic across the trimmed grass toward Kandy and Warner, I covered my uncertainty as to how badly they might have been hurt by allowing a wicked grin to spread across my face. I lifted my hands to the sides — not high enough to indicate surrender, but enough to show that I held no weapons. Well, no weapons the elf could see. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been sneering quite so much.

  “Hasn’t it occurred to you, elf?” My magic licked against Kandy, then Warner. The intense taste of their magic confirmed that they were down but not mortally injured. Not yet, at least. “That they might have been the reasonable ones? Willing to simply stop you from harming the witch, then hand you back over to Pulou? But I hold no such loyalty to the treasure keeper. And I’m not a fan of assholes hurting my loved ones.”

  He laughed without any mirth. “Prove you’re more than just talk, witch.”

  “Oh, but I have to set the scene for you.” My magic curled toward him, causing me to inwardly cringe as it crossed the dead space where he had stripped magic out of the earth to manifest his weapons. “Otherwise, it’ll go by so quickly that you’ll miss it and just be dead.”

  “Bring your worst.”

  “Nah. You don’t even get my best.”

  “What I am getting is bored.”

  “Allow me to alleviate your suffering.”

  Finally, I caught and captured the tenor of his magic, though not the taste of it yet. But it was enough that I could reach for the energy in the crystal blade pinning the shadow leech to the chestnut tree. With my right hand, I called that power to me. The blade shifted, ripping free of the shadow leech.

  The leech fell to the ground.

  The blade disintegrated into a fine white powder, coating Burgundy’s head and shoulders like a dusting of snow. A triumphant look replaced the witch’s terror. She clenched her focal stone in her hand, pinning her now-fierce gaze to the elf.

  Then I tore the three blades from Kandy, holding them suspended before me with my unleashed alchemy.

  The werewolf screamed, the green of her shapeshifter magic flooding her eyes as she reverted to her human form. Then she rolled to her side, further clearing the path between me and the elf.

  “Summoner,” the elf muttered. His eyes glittered like shards of emerald as he assessed me. Apparently, magic similar to mine existed in his dimension.

  “I have many titles,” I said. “But none of them are relevant to what I’m about to do to you. These are yours, so have them back.”

  I flicked the crystal blades at him.

  He reached forward, grabbing one and knocking the other two away. They shattered into minuscule pieces, fluttering down around him.

  He corrected his stance, protecting his weaker leg.

  But he was already too late.

  Too slow.

  I moved.

  Slipping through the wash of my magic writhing in the air between us, I moved. I wanted to take my time. I wanted to tear him apart slowly, deliberately. I wanted him to experience every moment of his destruction, just for thinking he could hurt those who stood by my side, in my territory, under my protection. But I wasn’t certain how hurt Warner and Kandy — or even Freddie — really were.

  So I moved.

  His expression shifted. Angry transforming into disconcerted. Then tinting with the first hints of concern.

  Yeah, he’d underestimated me.

  What else was new?

  The elf brought his blade around, even as he formed a second weapon in his left hand. He raised both, crossing them in front of him in a scissoring motion, intent on decapitating me.

  I threw myself backward at the last moment, arcing underneath his knives as they closed over me. Pivoting on my left leg, I snapped a harsh kick to the side of his already-damaged knee.

  A curl of blond hair fluttered down to the ground beside me.

  He’d cut my freaking hair.

  Okay, now I was seriously peeved.

  The elf stumbled, going down on his good knee, but he didn’t drop his weapons.

  Touching down with both feet, I tucked my knees to my chest, pushing upward to flip over his blades. Then, on the downward arc, I slammed both feet into his chest, riding him down as he crumpled to the ground.

  He lost hold of his knives midfall. I crushed the magic of the weapons with my alchemy without a second thought. Fine particles of crystal coated my arms, my shoulders, my face and hair …

  He grabbed my calves, then my thighs as I pinned him, trying to throw me off. When he couldn’t shift me, he drew on the wealth of magic in the park around him, forming two shorter blades in each hand. The perfect length for a close-in tussle.

  Except — once again — he was too slow.

  I raised my fist overhead, calling forth my knife as I plunged my hand and the jade blade into his forehead. Dead center through the gemstone that teemed with his power.

  Very few types of creatures could survive being stabbed between the eyes. Apparently, elves weren’t one of them.

  Stunned shock spread across his face, just a moment before the magic deadened in his eyes. He didn’t make a sound, not even in pain or death. A warrior to the end.

  “Oops,” I said. “Forgot to introduce myself. Jade Godfrey.”

  I yanked my knife from his head, instantly absorbing his magic into the blade. His viscous blood, appearing practically the same color as his skin in the dark, dried almost instantly. I was quite certain that if I were to brush it off his forehead, it would disintegrate just like his blades. So he’d manifested his weapons from or through his physical being somehow.

  I clawed my fingers around the cracked gem in his forehead, then tore it from his flesh. And for the briefest of moments, I gazed down at an imperfect echo of the oracle’s charcoal sketch in the palm of my hand. But while that gemstone was whole, this one had been fractured by my knife. Then the veins of magic — echoes of the severed wisps in Rochelle’s drawing — that had tethered the gemstone to the elf died, crumbling into what looked like large snowflakes.

  I was fairly certain it was all some sort of crystal, though. Perhaps even the solidified blood of the elf, which then disintegrated when it was removed from its host and
exposed to our dimension. Demons crumbled to ash when vanquished in the same sort of way. Magic not of our world, and therefore unsustainable in this environment.

  “Got you now, asshole.” With the gemstone in hand, I finally tasted the elf’s magic. It came with the smell of rain after a terrible dry spell … a storm on the horizon … and, underneath the wildness, sharp woodsy notes. Cedar and sap, perhaps.

  A shadow crossed my knee suddenly — and a split second before I instinctively skewered it, I recognized the shadow leech, which appeared to have dragged itself across the grass toward me.

  “Freddie.” I scooped the leech up, tossing the cracked gemstone onto the elf’s chest, then placing the little demon on top of it. “Thank you for trying to protect the witch. Feed.”

  Chittering almost too quietly for me to hear, Freddie latched onto the gem, then immediately flowed across the dead elf’s chest, siphoning off the magic I could feel rapidly fading. Helped along by the leech, the elf would presumably also crumble into a fine crystal powder, then wash away with the coming rain.

  I stood, ignoring Burgundy, who was still pressed against the chestnut tree — and was now watching me like I was some sort of viper.

  Kandy had crawled over to Warner. She was sitting, silently weeping with her hand on his chest. With his neck cranked harshly to one side, the sentinel didn’t appear to be breathing. But I could still taste his magic.

  I crossed to them, kneeling with Warner between me and the mourning werewolf. I laid my hand on his chest, feeling his magic impotently churning inside him.

  “Help me.” I tried coaxing his magic up underneath my palm, then encouraging it in the direction of his neck. Though I wasn’t a healer, the sentinel had his own healing power. But it was apparently being stopped up by what I assumed was a broken neck.

  Kandy wrapped her arms around herself, weeping openly. “He’s dead, Jade. He’s dead.”

  “He’s not dead.”

  She started keening, a quiet and terrible sound that burned through my chest and threatened to quash my resolve. “It’s my fault. He was protecting me. And now he’s dead.”

  “He’s not dead. Damn you, Kandy. Help me.”

  She looked up at me, reaching across Warner to cup my face. Her hands were bloody, most likely from her own wounds. Her T-shirt was torn and badly stained. “He’s dead, Jade.”

  “Don’t make me slap you, wolf. Now straighten his freaking neck!”

  Kandy looked confused, then affronted. “You can’t move his head. You’ll damage his spine.”

  “You just said he was already dead! And if we don’t straighten his freaking neck, his freaking magic will heal it wrong. Do you want him to have to get it snapped again?”

  Kandy dropped her hands from my face, looking down at Warner. “He’s not dead?”

  “He’s dying. And you’re the physiotherapist.”

  She scrambled around until she was kneeling on either side of Warner’s head. She tentatively reached for him with shaking fingers.

  “Just be careful with the cuffs,” I muttered.

  She glared at me.

  Well, at least that was a step in the right direction.

  Kandy slipped her fingers underneath Warner’s neck, closing her eyes, then muttering to herself. She appeared to be counting.

  “What are you waiting for?” I hissed.

  “If I’m going to do this, I have to realign his vertebrae properly, dowser. So shut the hell up.”

  I clamped my mouth shut, concentrating on Warner’s magic still churning underneath my hand.

  Burgundy settled down beside me in the grass. She placed her hand on Warner’s arm, then whispered what I assumed were healing charms under her breath. As scared as she was, as drained of her magic as she was from holding the circle against the elf, she was still trying to help. I silently bequeathed her cupcakes for life.

  Warner’s head shifted almost imperceptibly. Kandy grunted. “He’s hard to move.”

  “He’s a dragon,” I said, as if that explained everything. “It’s like a secondary protection. Making them more difficult to kill even when immobilized.”

  Kandy squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Then slowly — painfully slowly — she righted Warner’s head, carefully shifting and aligning each vertebra as she did so.

  “Come on, sixteenth century,” I whispered. I brushed my palm across his chest in an upward motion, as though I could direct his magic.

  Warner opened his eyes. Then that magic rolled across him in a rush. Sweet stewed cherries. Deep, smoky chocolate. And the creamiest of whipped cream.

  I laughed, choking back the sobs I’d been holding at bay.

  Warner placed his hand over mine on his chest. Then, croaking the words, he said, “Are you planning on kissing me, werewolf?”

  Kandy’s eyes snapped open, her head still hovering over his. She laughed incredulously. “Well, that’s how the healer does it.”

  “I hate to break up the celebration,” I said. “But I need to figure out where the hell the elf came from.”

  Burgundy raised her hand, pointing past my shoulder toward the staircase that led to the beach at the side of the Maritime Museum. “There. At least that’s where I first saw him.”

  I nodded, meeting Warner’s gaze.

  “Right behind you,” he whispered.

  Heedless of our audience, I leaned over and brushed a kiss across his lips.

  Then I left my fiance to the care of a junior witch and a seriously injured werewolf, tracing the elf’s residual magic. Tracing it to a cave, hidden behind disabled wards that tasted of dragon magic, in the rocky shore underneath the seawall.

  What else could I do?

  Whether I wanted to be one or not, warriors only got to go home after everyone else was safe and sound.

  The elf I had just murdered without a second thought knew that well. He hadn’t even had the luxury of dying in his own dimension.

  12

  I had sand caked up to the knees of my wet jeans by the time I finally found an opening in the rocky shore. Slipping into it, I traversed a narrow tunnel carved out of ocean-smoothed rock that glistened with golden guardian-dragon magic. Defensive wards. Containment spells. Magic that I guessed was a cloaking spell. And as best as I could tell, all of it had been systematically torn apart. Though I didn’t put together the ‘systematically’ idea until the naturally smoothed rock underneath my feet became honed stone. Until I passed two open doorways cut into white tile surrounds. Until I came to the third room.

  The final cell.

  And the crack that ran through its far corner.

  With my knife in hand, I had briefly glanced into the first two rooms along the rock-walled passageway. Light spells, triggered by my own magic, had lit up overhead as I paused at each torn-open doorway, scanning the familiar white tile walls of the cells beyond.

  The first two cells were empty. As I’d already expected. I didn’t bother stepping inside.

  But at the threshold of the final white-tiled prison cell, I paused for a different reason.

  I knew what it felt like to be contained in one of these cells, and I’d been locked away for only a couple of days. How long had the elf languished here?

  It was an easy guess, based on how far I had walked and the magic I could feel simmering in the rock and dirt above me, that I was standing near the anchor point of the witches’ magical grid. The first two white-tiled rooms hadn’t contained a single drop of magic, but I could feel the tiniest of trickles emanating from the third.

  I contemplated setting aside my necklace and knife, not knowing what the nullifying power embedded into every eighteen-inch-square tile of the cell would do to their magic. But in the end, I was loath to leave them behind.

  So I crossed the threshold, stumbling as a terrible chill washed over me, taking every drop of magic, every bit of my power. It didn’t fade or ebb away. It was simply gone.

  Ignoring the weakness, the feeling of vulnerability that came with having my ma
gic stripped from me, I steadily crossed toward the crack I could see in the corner tile, crouching over it.

  More than a crack, actually. But I could imagine it starting as the tiniest of fissures, seeping with the tiniest hints of natural magic. Then I imagined what must have happened when I deliberately took those two large steps before casting the previous evening, pissily realigning the anchor point even though Kandy and Gran had already set the location. Because I could feel magic better than a witch and a werewolf, and I liked to show off.

  Someone — the elf I had just killed, perhaps — had systematically slammed a fist over and over again into the crack. Widening it, even as they’d left their now-dried blood behind. Blood that appeared to be lightly tinted green against the white of the tile. Any natural healing magic the elf possessed wouldn’t have worked in a guardian dragon prison. Just like whatever damage he’d sustained to his leg hadn’t had time to heal outside the prison cell either.

  In my mind’s eye, I could see the events that had been taking place underneath my feet as I haphazardly fed them with my ignorance — and possibly the magic of the bakery wards and the portal. I envisioned an extra surge of power when the witches recast the grid with Burgundy in my place. A final surge that must have been enough for the occupant of the cell to harness and use, to finally tear through the door and all the layers of magic beyond.

  But none of that was the real problem.

  The real problem was the three cells.

  Three.

  Three elves.

  In Vancouver.

  I pressed my hand to the shattered tile, wondering if I would have had the strength to pound away at the impenetrable as the elf had. Breaking my skin, bleeding, breaking the bones of my hand … and doing it over and over again until I’d collected enough magic to break out of my prison.

  I could still taste the muted witch magic filtering in through the fissure in the tile. But it was what I couldn’t taste that worried me. My own magic. And the power I’d inadvertently tied to the anchor point — the magic of the bakery and the portal in the basement.

  I might not have caused the crack in the first place, but I’d given it a boost. So much so that the magic of the prison — and of the elf as he attempted to break out — had been leaking straight into the Talbots’ basement. Where it had been picked up by the amplifier and dispersed out through the other so-called misfits.