Hopeless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series)

by Rachel Higginson

  I still had so much to learn.

  I made my way to the bar and stood impatiently, tapping my fingers forcefully on the glossy wooden counter top. When the bartender gave a glance my direction and began to make his way towards me I realized I had no idea what I was going to order. I needed to know how to ask for something brown, disgusting and kind of like liquid smoke without sounding too much like a minor.

  "Liam, two Scotch whiskeys, one ice cube each," Sebastian called from behind me. I turned with embarrassment, but grateful for his assertiveness.

  The bartender, Liam, poured an ample amount of whiskey into two snifters and I took it pretending I knew what to do with it. Sebastian inhaled the rim of the crystal glass before taking a long swallow. I followed suit, smelling only for a moment the heady, woodsy liquor before taking an equally long drink.

  The Scotch made its way slowly, too slowly, down my throat leaving a trail of burning fire. I used my magic quickly to quell the flames and keep myself from choking the dangerous alcohol back into Sebastian's face. I imagined this was what a forest fire would taste like.

  "I don't understand this place," I said bravely, allowing the whiskey to dull not only my senses, but my fears too.

  "What do you mean?" Sebastian asked, narrowing his eyes with more suspicion.

  "I mean, is this a court? Is this a club? What do the Immortals do when there isn't a prince to solve their problems? Does he come here every night? Is every Immortal allowed in here or is there an age limit? That's what I mean," I set my empty tumbler on the bar, and folded my arms in defiance, daring Sebastian not to answer me.

  "Oh," he said simply, a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth.

  "Raised human, remember?" I used the excuse I so hated, but I was determined to get answers.

  "Well, let's see. It's both a court and a type of social club I suppose. When Kiran isn't present, this is where the elite are welcome, where they come to get away. And there are obviously ways of solving problems when the King or Prince aren't present. Each region of every country is appointed a regent and under him a team of judges to handle smaller and more menial concerns. If ever a large problem were to arise, then an audience with the King is requested and travel arrangements made. I think King Lucan sees this as an opportunity for Kiran to gain experience and, well, perspective. He is here several nights a week, although not all. He would never allow that. Kiran enjoys his freedom way too much to also enjoy the duties of royalty," Sebastian shook his head as if he was in some way disappointed by this. "And yes, there is an age limit, unless of course you're considered VIP." His smile widened before he drained his snifter as well and then signaled to the bartender for another round.

  "I see," I frowned, digesting all of the information that turned out to be far easier to obtain than I had expected. "So who was the regent of this region before Kiran graced us with his company?"

  "Who else? Amory Saint of course," Sebastian's eyes narrowed into a disapproving glare and a sour frown replaced the smile I found so disturbing.

  "Why do you say 'of course'?" I asked, honestly out of ignorance.

  "Well, he's the only one we can count on not to die," he shook his head as if clearly annoyed before continuing, "You know, because he's the last...."

  "Oracle," I finished, proud of myself for finally knowing something.

  "Speak of the devil," Sebastian's expression turned even more dark and I looked up to see Amory making his way towards us with the same angry expression on his face.

  I took my second tumbler of Scotch in one gulp, as if having it taken away from me by force would be the ultimate insult. I still hadn't forgiven the Resistance for their less than welcoming attitude towards me, and grandfather or not, Amory basically summed up the Resistance as a whole. So as he approached, clearly on the warpath, my irritation with the evening only worsened.

  "Ms. Matthews, I believe you were asked not to return here not long ago. May I ask what has possessed you to be so bold this evening?" the way that Amory phrased the question left me positive he was not only referring to my presence at the club, but my behavior over the course of the entire evening; starting with my quick getaway off of the farm.

  "She is my guest, Sir," Sebastian offered quickly. "I insisted that she accompanied me tonight." He turned to give me an arrogant smirk, as if to say he had this under control.

  "I was just leaving," I said dryly before any more fuss could be made. I placed my empty glass on the bar roughly and pushed past Amory and Sebastian. The rest of the Immortals were still deeply involved in Court, whatever that meant, and so there was no audience to witness my exit this time around.

  I took the stone stairs two at a time and found myself on the old, brick streets of the Old Market in a huff of displaced anger. In my head, I realized that Amory was not trying to punish me, and Kiran was not trying to abandon me, although Sebastian was probably actually trying to torture me, but I couldn't help it.

  I had no control over what I was allowed to do and what I was forbidden to do. I couldn't be with the one that I was in love with. On top of it all, frustrating, irritating and creepy boys had been sent to spy on me, well one boy that fit that description anyways.

  Outside, in the cold November night I realized that I no longer had a ride back to my car. I walked, or rather stomped begrudgingly, towards the direction of Kiran's downtown loft, and Avalon's truck. The night just kept getting better.

  10.

  Where are you and where the hell is my truck? Avalon's irritated voice rang in my head as soon as I was headed away from the club.

  I'm on my way home now. My response was more irritated than Avalon's if that was even possible and the only response I got back was some kind of mental "Pssshht" sound.

  "Excuse me," A man's voice called to me from the shadow of an ally and I was instantly gripped with fear. I reminded myself that I was Immortal and strong enough to take any mugger out.

  Despite that, I picked up my pace and kept my head down. I didn't want to take any chances. My magic flared in self-defense and I pulled my tweed coat around me tighter.

  "Excuse me, ma'am," The low voice called to me again. This time I heard a faint accent underneath his deep tones reminding me of something familiar. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I seem to be lost."

  I squinted into the shadows and vaguely made out the form of a large man leaning against the brick of an office building. He was standing on one leg, while the other was bent and propped against the wall. His hands were pushed deep into the pockets of a coat and he wore a baseball hat low on his forehead.

  After noticing my pause, the man pushed off from the wall using his bent leg and walked briskly towards me. Finally his face was illuminated by the soft glow of a streetlight and I was quickly aware of his magical current.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that this man was an Immortal and in all liklihood probably trying to find the very club I just vowed never to return to. He walked purposefully towards me, never slowing his pace and I wondered for a moment if he was in a hurry.

  "Are you looking for the club?" I asked, relieved and sure of his intentions.

  "Not anymore," He stopped short in front of me and I could feel his hot breath on my face. I had no time to react before he reached out his hands, grabbing me tightly around the neck.

  I fell weak instantly, overcome with panic. He was choking me, trying to kill me and I was too stunned to fight back. I was losing oxygen too quickly to think straight. My magic was lost in a torrent of fear and I fought against myself to move. To defend myself. Slowly, I began to scratch, claw and kick to get away. Then suddenly I was surged with overwhelming alarm. I would die if I didn't fight back.

  The harder I fought however, the quicker I lost what was left of my dwindling supply of oxygen. My strength was waning in the battle and the attacker, whoever he was, seemed undaunted by any of my self-defense attempts all together.

  The man gripped my neck tighter, seemingly crushing my throat between
his strong and magical fingers. I felt my magic begin to drain into his hands and panic over took me once again. I realized then, that this man wanted my magic, that he was willing to kill me to obtain the eternal life that ran through my veins.

  He lifted me effortlessly off the ground, shaking my limp body and pulling my magic out quicker with his own. My eyes began to close without my permission and my breathing had nearly stopped all together. It wouldn't be long until I had lost consciousness completely.

  I only wished I could have said goodbye to Kiran first, and Amory and my brother.

  Thinking their names was all the reason I needed to remember myself. Finally my survival instinct took over. Flight was not an option here, only fight or death. But I would much rather fight.

  Though my magic was fleeting, I still had human instincts I could rely on. My body was raised off of the ground, my Immortal attacker holding me victoriously high in the air. With one surprisingly swift and strong kick of my right foot, I found my target squarely between his legs. Even if he was Immortal, he was also still a man.

  Unprepared for that strong of an attack from me, he dropped me roughly to the ground and doubled over in pain. Weakened by my depleted magic and lack of oxygen I struggled to my feet, stumbling around as if I were drunk. As quickly as I could and remembering every self-defense move I had ever seen in a movie I used my foot again, kicking upwards into his face and knocking him backwards.

  I summoned what magic I had left and inhaled a large amount of air, sending it straight to my brain. My attacker was also recovering quickly, using the magic he stole from me, I guessed. I could feel Avalon pounding at the door to our shared consciousness but I refused to let him in, until I had finished this.

  The man turned to face me, and as soon as he did, I shot a strong burst of magic his direction. I was faster than he had given me credit for and I caught him off guard, knocking him once again off his feet. Before he could recover, I pulled the bricks out of the office building he used as cover, down on top of him. My magic willed them easily from the building, leaving a gaping hole into a clean, but dated lobby.

  I heard him grunt with the effort of recovery and began to feel hope that I had won this battle. Well, until I was knocked off of my own feet by a large slab of concrete ripped from the sidewalk. The man, apparently was only feigning weakness. I heard the sickening crunch of bone from the back of my head as I flew twenty feet backwards, landing in a crumpled heap.

  The pain was indescribable and I let out a scream of agonizing horror, wheeling in nausea. My magic could not move fast enough to repair my broken cranium and stop my brain from hemorrhaging. When my vision finally returned and my skull became solid once again, it was too late, the attacker was already standing over me, stomping his thick boot down forcefully on my throat, cutting off the oxygen once again.

  Forcing my nerves under control and taking one final breath, I sent a rush of all the magic I had left through my veins and shivered under the force of it. And thankfully, finding that when my magic was full force, I didn't actually need to breathe. I grabbed his foot as strongly as I could, my delicate hands seemed miniscule next to his thick calf and steel toed boot. I pushed with everything I had, pushing him thirty feet the opposite direction and finally giving myself plenty of room to breathe.

  With a quick intake of breath, I was on my feet and next to him. I raised my left foot and brought it down heavily onto his face, both feeling and hearing his nose shatter underneath the sole of my navy blue clog. Seemingly immune to pain, however, he reached up and grabbed my arm, pulling me down on top of him. I struggled and flailed my appendages but still he wrestled me underneath of him. I let out a scream of frustration, exhausted from the effort and unwilling to lose my life to such a brutal assassin.

  "What do you want?" I shouted into his recovered face, fighting to keep his hands away from my exposed throat. Sweat poured down my beaten face, despite the icy rain that had begun to descend from the sky.

  "I know who you are," he growled menacingly.

  I didn't doubt that he did. There was pure hate behind his eyes. My magic was dissipating from my veins in a steady stream into his open palms. Wherever his skin touched mine, there was a portal to withdraw my life's blood.

  "And you think by killing me, what? You think by draining my magic you'll what? You'll have eternal life?" I mocked harshly, downplaying what was probably the truth.

  "I know that I will," he replied with frightening certainty.

  As I struggled for breath and consciousness under his iron grip, my short life as an Immortal began to flash before my eyes: my confusion, meeting Kiran, Amory's guidance, Avalon, Lilly, the Resistance, my first fight. My first fight. I drained those boys of their magic without touching them once. This man, whoever he was, seemed to need physical contact in order to take my magic. I didn't.

  I focused what little energy I had left on taking his magic. I concentrated on whatever I could find, pulling magic from remote places I didn't know existed, willing him to give up what was rightfully mine, but it was no use. I was too weak. Whatever advanced skill I used in that first battle had been drained from my blood and the attacker now possessed it.

  He was really starting to piss me off.

  And then it dawned on me. He could take my magic by touching me, but I was also touching him. I didn't have to take his energy remotely; I could take it back the same way he was.

  I sucked in another labored breath and focused this time, not on an idea or concept, but on his actual flesh. I focused on his knees that were digging into my thighs to keep me pinned to the ground. I focused on his hands holding my shoulders tightly to the concrete and I focused on the tips of his boots digging into my ankles. Slowly, almost unnoticeably at first, I began to reclaim my magic.

  At first our struggle resembled something like tug-of-war. I pulled a little magic back and he re-took the electricity again. I held my breath, not even allowing the effort of breathing to weaken my attempts. I pulled again, holding the small amount of magic in place for a second, and then a second longer and then two seconds longer.

  A drop of sweat from his forehead landed on my nose and I realized, finally, that he was weakening. With renewed vigor I pulled another miniscule amount of energy from his veins into mine, holding onto it until I was sure it belonged to me once again. The next pull was longer still and the amount of magic enough to give me strength to continue.

  I pulled and pulled and pulled, until I had drawn what was mine, and, more out of his pathetic veins. I pushed him off me with minimal effort and stood next to his body. He looked up at me with a primal fear, but even more than fear, with hate. I turned away, fully intending on leaving him just like that.

  I walked five feet, but it was not enough. Suddenly I was flying through the air, face first into the building I had half destroyed earlier. I burst through the destroyed brick, sending shrapnel and dirt all over the pristine lobby. I landed in a crumpled heap, thankful he hadn't taken any of my magic yet.

  In only a few seconds I stood and crossed the distance between us. Sending a burst of magic at his kneeling figure, I knocked him to the ground with an unadulterated hate I didn't know I was capable of. Before he could even react I had begun extracting what was left of his magic, and I did not stop until he was completely drained, laying in a crumpled heap at my feet.

  I stood above him, greedy with power, letting the new magic join my own, rushing, pumping, and intermixing with my blood. The electricity inside of me was hot with power, jumping and popping like bolts of lightning.

  "Kill me," the man whispered hoarsely from his prostrate position on the cold, iced over concrete. "For the love of God, kill me."

  I finally looked down at the crippled shell of a man and my heart unwillingly broke. What had I just done? Who was I? I wasn't a murderer. I couldn't take what wasn't mine just because he was willing to. Whoever this man was, I was not like him. I could not return the same hate.

  He grabbed my foot weakly wi
th both hands, begging me to end his misery. I closed my eyes, unable to look at him any longer and the tears streamed down my face. A choking sob escaped without permission and I failed to see any other option before me.

  But then, to my great relief, a green SUV suddenly came to a screeching halt on the battle-torn street, destruction caused by my own hand. Avalon and Jericho jumped out of the still-running vehicle and were at my side in moments. Avalon, now sharing not only my consciousness, but my emotions as well, opened his arms to me and I fell into them. I wept heavily, unable to calm my broken heart. I couldn't have really been about to kill him.

  Jericho shouted orders at Avalon, who shouted back, but refused to let go of me. I held on to him tighter, afraid he would obey Jericho's heartless commands. I was aware of Jericho tying the man up and carrying him to the trunk of his vehicle. I was also aware of Avalon depositing me into his back seat, never once leaving my side.

  In minutes Jericho had dropped us back at Avalon's truck and had sped away into the heart of Omaha. I didn't know what Jericho would do with him, and I was not sure I really cared. The only thing that mattered to me now was that whatever happened to that horrible man would no longer be my decision.

  In the safety of Avalon's truck, the tears had stopped. The horror had lessened and the stolen magic was now as much a part of my blood as my own. I realized then, that that particular assassin was not the only one out there with murderous intentions. I was naive to believe my identity was a secret and I was stupid to believe that only Lucan would be interested in the precious magic only Avalon and I carried.

  He would not be the last adversary I would have to fight and he would not be the last attacker I drained of all vital immortality. I was fighting a battle bigger than myself, bigger than a love affair, and much bigger than high school. Lines were being drawn and barriers being crossed. The war had begun and my indecision would no longer stand.