Magic Rising

by Camilla Chafer

  Steven banged his gavel while raising his voice loudly, and patting his forehead with a silk square handkerchief. “She’s right, Ms. Winterstorm. Do you have a seconder amongst… us?”

  The room was quiet, waiting and Georgia began to smirk. “Sit down, Etoile, you have no seconder,” she mocked.

  This was my cue. After a moment’s pause, I stood. “I second the nomination,” I told the assembly. All eyes turned onto me. This was exactly the proposal Etoile wanted everyone to remember. “Estrella Mayweather,” I clarified, needlessly. My name might have been the rumour on everyone’s lips before, but now my name carried weight and my face was etched in their memories.

  “Thank you, Ms. Mayweather. Ms. Winterstorm, please join us on the stage.” After appealing once again for anymore candidates, Steven’s gavel crashed against the podium. He held a hand out to the five people, four women and one man, who stood side-by-side, yet eons apart, on the stage. “Witches, warlocks, and esteemed guests, I present to you our candidates.”

  This much I knew: one of them was a survivor and one was a hair’s breadth away from being a killer.

  Marc made his excuses, telling me he wanted to see Kitty, as around me, everyone rose in unison, ready to leave and find their friends, or gossip about the candidates. Micah offered me his arm and I took it. “How come you’re sitting with me and not with the demons?” I asked him.

  “I’m not a part of their delegation, nor do I wish to be.” He steered us in the direction of the doors. “And I have not forgotten my duties. What crimes will we commit tonight?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

  “Borrowing a book is the height of my criminal activity.”

  “That’s a shame. Perhaps someone will try to kill you.”

  “I wish you didn’t sound so eager.”

  “Your dress is very attractive,” he said switching topics, apparently feeling cheerful enough not to compare my standard of dress to something unfavourable. “You have received some interested looks already,” he said. The demons turned as one to look at me when we passed them. Like Micah, they were all striking in their looks too, and built, their large size seemingly a common trait. Power rippled from them and they made no attempt to conceal it.

  “That’s because of you,” I told him. “You look good in a tux.”

  “I know.

  “Compliments are wasted on you.”

  “Are not. However, fishing for compliments is. I already commented on your attractiveness this evening.” We passed through the open doors that spilled guests into the large reception hall, where waiters moved between them, their trays laden with glasses. I tried not to focus on the thick red liquid one tray held. “Did you read your book?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes.”

  “Did you find out what you wanted?”

  “Yes.” And I wasn’t happy about it. The images were hand drawn, five in all, one to show each side of the object, and the fifth depicting it in 3-D. Interesting though they were, it was the text that worried me. The talisman wasn’t a simple, carved ornament as Annalise seemed to think. Instead, it was intended to be a powerful totem that protected the wolves from witch magic. Apparently, it was originally created by a witch who had a close allegiance to a pack of werewolves. She meant to ensure they didn’t come to harm during some war that was fought a couple of hundred of years ago and had bespelled for their use when they were under threat. The totem was supposed to have been stolen, and the pack was almost eradicated entirely in the subsequent battle. The final paragraphs, which were added in a different hand, said the talisman was now thought to be no more than a legend. If not, then it was surely destroyed in the battle. Yet, the wolves still sought it today. I wondered if it was a matter of righting a wrong, exacting revenge, or because they felt they needed its protection.

  Micah waited patiently, so I added, “It had some information about a talisman I heard about. The book didn’t say if it were myth or legend, or if it once existed only to be destroyed in battle.”

  “Interesting,” said Micah, in a very disinterested sort of way. “Why are you so interested in werewolves?”

  “You’ve been to Wilding. It’s full of them.”

  “I hope they don’t soil your lawn.”

  I hoped they didn’t either. There was, literally, only so much crap in my life I could deal with. “Not with me watching,” I told him, waving to Etoile as she came into sight. She walked over, cutting an exciting figure in her emerald green gown as the witches moved to the sides of her. Feeling cold mental feelers reach me, I scanned the area and saw the pale vampire who stood up for her. More than ever, I felt I should meet him. Whoever he was, I knew he was curious about me; his repeated attempts to snatch a peek into my head told me that at the very least.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Etoile. I didn’t need to point. Evidently, she knew exactly who he was.

  “An old friend,” she said. “Why?”

  “He’s tried to take a peek into my head twice now.”

  She turned to look at him again, and I saw her give him an almost perceptible shake of her head. Something seemed to pass between them, then the man bowed and moved away.

  “He asked me to apologise. He is used to being unobserved,” she told me. “He commends your abilities and promises not to intrude on you again.”

  “I feel like I know him.”

  “You have not met,” Etoile said with absolute certainty.

  “I know that. I just… feel it. It’s the strangest thing. He feels familiar and I got the impression that…” I paused, wondering how I could put it into words. “I got the impression I liked him. I have no idea why.” I looked at Micah and he shrugged then took a long sip from the glass.

  Etoile contemplated that, her face slipping into the mask of calm she always got when she didn’t want to answer something. “What did you make of Matthew Donovan?” she asked.

  “I wondered why he chose to run,” I said, searching for the man. He didn’t seem to be in the room and neither was his wife. I did see Georgia, preening amongst her hangers-on. “Marc said he was a family friend.”

  “Oh?. I have heard of Esme Sanchez’s family. They are an old one, like mine. Very respectable. Mary Richardson has been a member of the Council for many years.”

  “Are any of them good enough to win?”

  She laid a hand on my arm. “It’s not about who’s good enough. Micah, do you know the demons present?”

  “Some.”

  “Any ideas on which nominee their allegiances bend?”

  “Towards themselves,” Micah said, without any hint of recrimination.

  “Figures.” In a softer voice, Etoile continued, “We need to work the room tonight. It would be advantageous to know if our guests have been approached by any of my co-candidates and if they have a preference towards any one of us.”

  “Does it matter?” I asked.

  “It’s vital,” she assured me. “We must know ahead of time whether they have been promised anything from the other candidates in return for their support. I don’t want to be blindsided. Can you speak with Gage? Informally, of course.”

  “I don’t think he’s feeling too friendly towards me.”

  Micah whistled. “Did you look in the mirror?”

  “You’re very complimentary tonight,” I laughed and he smiled.

  “He has a point,” said Etoile. “And you do look lovely. Gage will talk to you, even if he’s trying not to.”

  “You think he’s trying not to?”

  “I think he’s trying to do what’s right, and that involves not looking at you like he’s a wolf and you’re a roast chicken. I know what that dress looks like, minus the jacket. You can keep them by the way. They suit you and I bought them on a whim. Don’t argue.”

  I kept my mouth shut despite the urge to say, “Oh, I couldn’t,” but in all honesty, I was pleased with the gift. “Thank you. I’ll talk with him. We have other things to discuss anyway; but I’m not making any promises. I won’t interrogate h
im.”

  “I didn’t say pump him for information,” Etoile said and Micah smirked. “Quiet, demon. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

  That was a good thing too because Evan had always let his thoughts be known regarding my friendship with Gage. Knowing there was once a mutual attraction, he placed certain conditions on Gage. I couldn’t blame either one for their actions: Evan for loving me and wanting to preserve the status of our relationship; and Gage for avoiding temptation. With Evan in absentia and Gage now having a girlfriend, I had to wonder what that meant for our state of affairs. We’d been friends and I wanted to maintain that.

  “Speaking of demons, anyone heard from mine?”

  “No,” said Micah tersely, though he looked uncomfortable. Now I thought of it, he was looking increasingly uncomfortable, the longer we stayed in the reception hall.

  “Nor I,” said Etoile. “I attempted to call him yesterday evening and left a message.”

  This was news to me. “How come?”

  “As you said, it’s unusual for him to be out of touch for so long. I wouldn’t worry too much. Perhaps his cargo is giving him trouble.”

  Micah and I both turned to her. “What cargo?”

  “The creature he was sent to transport. What?”

  “Neither of us knew what he was doing.”

  “Not even you?” Etoile asked Micah.

  He gave her a stony face. “Apparently not.”

  Etoile shrugged, like the fact Evan’s right hand demon didn’t know what he was doing was inconsequential. “I overheard him, and he told me. He had to collect a demon prisoner for transport somewhere in the Midwest and guard him until trial.”

  “Where was he transporting it to?”

  “Not sure. I didn’t ask. I know he’s done these trips often.”

  “Demons are rare,” said Micah. “We don’t get many of those. Usually, no one is left standing after a demon goes on the rampage.”

  “Why would it have gone on the rampage?”

  “Why else would it have been imprisoned?” he countered, dodging the question. “Excuse me. I will make enquiries. Perhaps they will provide answers.” He left before we could agree or disagree.

  “This is his job, Stella,” Etoile said, closing the gap Micah left, though I wasn’t sure to which being she was referring. “He’s the best at what he does. There is no need to worry about Evan.”

  “You just said he might have gotten into trouble!”

  “Only because you were thinking it. It’s written all over your face.”

  At the sound of the doors opening behind us, we wheeled around. From what I could see, the chairs were removed, replaced by tables that were set up around the perimeter, each set for dinner. A seven-piece orchestra was on the stage, and music drifted towards us, the melody upbeat. Etoile handed her jacket to her father as he passed and indicated that I do so too. It seemed we were readying for party time, but somehow, I didn’t think anyone would be dancing on the tables. Not like they had at the club Kitty had dragged me to, not too unwillingly, only a week ago.

  “Will the candidates and their parties enter?” boomed a man. He wore a similar uniform to the waiters’, but instead of their simple shirt and bow tie ensembles, his was finished off by a dress jacket, with a black braid sewn to the shoulders and lapels.

  “The master of ceremonies,” Etoile told me. “Put on a happy face. We must only show our strength tonight.”

  All eyes turned towards us as we stepped into the space that cleared in front of the doors. Georgia already waited with her party, and Matthew Donovan’s assembled, as did ours. I saw both Esme and Mary moving through the crowd.

  Seren and David joined us, then their parents and Astra. I wondered where Steven and Micah were and decided that politics prevented them from joining our party, which was a shame. I found that both had their moments of being quite charming. Marc joined us, which did surprise me. He offered me his arm, an enormous gesture of friendship in front of the gathering, and I took it. Folding my arm through his, he smiled down at me.

  “Who’d ever thought it would come to this?” he said softly. “You managing your magic and me handling mine.”

  “Happy days,” I said, my mouth dry as we stepped forward. I held my chin a little higher and refused to quake under the hungry gazes that raked us as we passed by.

  ELEVEN

  Marc, with his arm firmly looped around mine, swept me onto the dance floor before I could protest. I noticed several other couples joining us, which I welcomed. I won’t confess to being a great dancer. I’m good, but the ball was something else; and I’d never danced a waltz before, so I concentrated on following Marc’s lead.

  “I know you’ve heard it,” he murmured softly, his mouth close to my ear so I could hear him above the music and chatter that enveloped us. “But I really never blamed you.”

  I remained silent.

  “My mother… she’d always been a difficult person. I’ve gone over it again and again. What didn’t I notice? What could I have done? I’m sure my father did too. I miss him.” Marc rested his chin against my head and breathed deeply. “She campaigned for my father to lead the Council, but I remember how they used to argue about it and heard her say that she could do a better job. Then he won anyway. She loved the power and the status. Anyway, I miss her sometimes, but I’m not sorry. What she did to your parents was unforgivable. Not to mention what she did to Astra…” He trailed off, and for a while, we just danced. “I know you’re sorry and I’m sorry too,” he finished.

  Only then, did I lift my eyes to meet his and saw his unconcealed and absolute forgiveness — just what I was hoping for. Even though he’d already offered it, now I truly felt it. Marc smiled down at me. “Do you want to know what my special talent is?” he suddenly asked, surprising me.

  “Yes! What is it?”

  “I’m telekinetic. I’m like a freakin’ superhero. I can move anything.”

  “Wow, that is cool,” I said, remembering the first few times I’d moved something through will.

  “Right?” He beamed. The last few notes of the music played out and the dancers stopped, offering their polite applause to the orchestra. “Listen, I’ve seen a friend of my dad’s that I want to catch up with. I hope I see you again before the Summit is over. I’m glad we got to dance and talk.”

  He leaned down, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried away. Before I could move, someone else was at my side; a warlock I deduced, and not much older than I. He gave me an appreciative smile that took in the cut of my dress.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asked, offering his hand, but not his name.

  I looked around for my friends. Etoile was ensconced in conversation. I was sure Micah was close by, but couldn’t see him. “Sure,” I answered, placing my hand in his.

  We hadn’t danced more than a few seconds when the warlock slid to a stop, freezing.

  “May I cut in?” The deep timbre of the voice made my head turn and my feet stop. My partner released my hands and stepped backwards immediately. He nodded to me and wheeled away. Charming, I thought, puzzling at his swift departure. Then I turned to see what sent him fleeing. The male who interrupted us was a large, imposing man, topping out at six-foot, four. Black-haired and broadly built, he aptly complemented the tuxedo he wore, with the shirt collar tightly strained around his muscular neck. I shifted my vision and studied his appearance. Demon. Pure-blooded demon. And he wanted to dance with me. Interesting. “It seems your partner has abandoned you,” said the man, holding his hands out, ready for mine. A quick look around confirmed that the warlock had definitely ditched me. It seemed he wasn’t too keen on demons, and certainly not against forfeiting his dance partner to one. I immediately thought much less of him. I was beginning to understand most witches’ reactions to the species, but not their prejudices. Demons definitely had an effect on them and it wasn’t one filled with joy.

  Remembering Etoile‘s desire to charm the other races and woo t
heir support, I decided, why not? I rested my hands inside the tall demon’s and we began to sway with the music. Despite his build, or maybe because of it, he moved gracefully, keeping perfect time with the music. All I did was relax and allow myself to be swept along by him. I stole a glance up at him, because having my face pressed into his tuxedoed chest wasn’t as interesting as it might sound, and I studied him. After a moment or two, I realised he was permitting me to do so, which made me feel a little less rude. His eyes were as black as his hair. The irises and pupils were blended into one and seemingly of endless depth. His skin was olive, but not because of a tan or of a mixture of skins; indeed, it was its own shade entirely. Though he was striking, I didn’t find him attractive. Like the vampire, there was something familiar about this demon, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what. I knew I’d never met him before. The only pure-blooded demon I knew was Micah, who, at this moment, was passing Etoile a glass of champagne while trying not to look too obviously interested in her. It might have fooled everyone else, but not me. Micah definitely was crushing on her. A movement behind her caught my eye, and I saw the pale vampire watching her intently. It seemed Micah wasn’t the only one.

  “I have been looking forward to our introduction,” said the demon. His lips parted to reveal very sharp teeth. I thought they might have been capped because they seemed too perfect. “Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Mayweather.”

  “Oh?” was all I could say. It seemed like an open enough comment, one that invited him to say more, while requiring me to say little. I wondered what he’d heard and why I was so interesting to him. I hoped he wasn’t going to ask me for inside tips on slaying witches.

  “My name is Hunter,” he said, with an expectant pause, waiting for me to absorb its significance.

  Of course it was! Of course! His name was Hunter, no first name. The shape of his jaw, the hair, something about the eyes. I knew this man because I was in love with his son. His very absent son. I might not have connected the two together since he looked no older than mid-forties, and at least twenty years younger than he should have looked if he were human. Apparently, demons aged quite well.