Cast in Balefire: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Mage Craft Series Book 4)

by SM Reine

  She looked to have dressed to match the Raven Knights. And she was armed with an elaborate white longbow, its matching quiver hanging from a slouchy belt.

  He’d never seen the mage looking less human.

  Days earlier, he’d have had a hard time focusing on anything except those legs, because…wow.

  But now he mostly felt really, really uncomfortable.

  The hints of his childhood crush had vanished as completely as Nathaniel.

  “Benjamin?” she prompted.

  Marion had asked him a question. Right. “Talking? Who was I talking to? I wasn’t talking,” Benjamin said.

  She surveyed him with unsettlingly cool eyes, unconvinced by his protest. “You’re late.”

  Marion turned on one of those heels and stalked up the streets of Dilmun.

  Marion hadn’t slept the night before her visit to Dilmun. She’d stayed awake in her private kitchen testing, labeling, and organizing the potions that Ariane had left behind.

  For all that her mother was an expert potion-maker—the only magical skill that she possessed—she wasn’t a very organized one. She’d left notes on what a couple of the potions were meant to do. Marion had to determine the rest by smell, color, consistency, and even taste.

  It had been easy to pick out the contraceptive potions. Those had been corked and warded with alarms so that Ariane would know if they were opened.

  “Gods, I hate my mother,” Marion had muttered, setting those aside.

  The rest she had put into the pantry: duplicates of the potion that Ariane had used to sway the wedding vote, the ones designed strictly for intoxication, even the ones that created sparkling diversions.

  Marion picked out three bottles from all of those and jammed them into the pocket of her quiver.

  They clinked together softly as she walked up the main street of Dilmun. Marion tried to sway her hips as little as possible, afraid that everyone would hear that she’d brought something that she shouldn’t have.

  Konig had inspected her personally before allowing her to leave with the Raven Knights. He’d forgotten to check her quiver for anything but arrows.

  “Why the skirt?” His tone had said that he knew exactly why Marion was wearing snug leather. He thought she was whoring herself around for the angels, or Lucifer, or whomever he was paranoid about Marion screwing that morning.

  “Clothing makes a statement, Konig.” Her tone had been as frigid as her eyes. “The statement I’m making today isn’t in solidarity with angels.”

  That answer had pleased him.

  In truth, she wore the leather as protection. The corset had boning over delicate organs. The boots had plates in the knees and supported her ankles if she needed to run.

  She was ready to go the kinds of places a half-angel never should have gone.

  But her clothes also did what she’d told Konig. They made her look like she was sidhe heading into battle, rather than an angel meant to blend in with a city of mirrored glass.

  A very empty city.

  Marion heard nothing but the stomping boots of the Raven Knights as they proceeded. The outer ring of buildings seemed to block all wind, and there were no rustling wings, no distant voices.

  Benjamin’s reflection dogged her—a gangly teenage boy whose muscles hadn’t caught up to the size of his hands and feet. He wore white cotton and khakis among a bunch of leather-clad, sword-wielding supermodels. It was most likely what passed as a normal day for the mundane son of the werewolf Alpha.

  “Are you expecting an attack?” Benjamin asked, hurrying around the Raven Knights to catch up with her. “You’re looking kind of, um…martial?”

  “Where’s Lucifer?” Marion interrupted. “He didn’t come with you?” She didn’t bother keeping her voice down. Konig had debriefed the Raven Knights.

  “Lucifer said he’d get here on his own.”

  “There’s a lot of sunlight across that desert,” Marion said. “I’m curious to know how a vampire would pull it off.”

  “Me too,” Benjamin said. “Do you think that—”

  Feet thudded to the street in front of them.

  Jibril and Suzume had arrived.

  Marion always forgot that the full-blooded angels were at their weakest in the Middle Worlds, just as she was. Being among that much sidhe magic muted their ethereal power.

  In Dilmun, they were at home.

  Both of them had their wings outstretched. Each wing was longer than the angel was tall, and they radiated with pure glory—the kind of brilliant emotion that turned off Marion’s frontal lobe.

  She could only imagine how full-blooded humans would react to the enormity of them.

  Benjamin had gone slack-jawed, blank-eyed. “Wow.”

  Marion had to agree.

  “You’re late.” Jibril’s voice boomed throughout the mirrored city.

  “You’re dressed for a BDSM club, too,” Suzume said, and then she busted up, as if that was the funniest idea in the world. “Fucking faeries! You guys might as well be running around with nipple clamps and shit! And you, Marion, you—with the leather skirt? Seriously? Nice fuck-me boots, ya slut.”

  Marion folded her arms. “I’m here. Let’s talk.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Suzume made an exaggerated barfing face at Benjamin, then winked. “Okay, the college is over here. C’mon.”

  There was only one building in Dilmun that wasn’t made of glass. It was a simple stone structure at the center of a grassy circle, like an oversized gazebo with Romanesque pillars. Not a school, but a gathering point.

  A white statue stood in front of the College of Dilmun. It was an angel thrice life size. His hand pointed toward the sky.

  The man’s face was familiar, with its strong nose, noble jaw, and merciless eyes. The carving was so intricate that Marion could tell he wore designer jeans tailored to his lean form, along with the kind of t-shirt that high-fashion boutiques charged hundreds to buy. He was modern, yet old, ageless and powerful. It was a memorial to a dead man who had led the angels for centuries.

  Marion’s breath caught in her throat. “Is that…?”

  “Metaraon,” Jibril said.

  It wasn’t the first time Marion had seen his face, even though there were no old pictures of him. He’d been close enough to Ariane to produce a child, but not so close as to end up in family photos.

  She’d battled mind-to-mind with Leliel, though. And Leliel remembered Metaraon with such vibrancy that he’d been capable of speaking to Marion through the ages.

  This was the first time she was seeing him in person, even as an effigy.

  Her knees felt weak.

  “I knew him,” Jibril said. “Do you have questions?” There was unexpected kindness in the offer.

  Marion swallowed hard, glancing around at the Raven Knights. Some of them were watching their surroundings for signs of attack, as well they should have been—Leliel could have descended upon them at any moment.

  But Wintersong was watching Marion, not Dilmun. He’d see how much Marion yearned to ask about Metaraon and he would report to Konig.

  “We’ve more important things to address than my family,” Marion said.

  They settled around the College. It felt more spacious on the inside, thanks to the ceiling cutout that let them see the sun-scorched sky the same color as an angel’s irises.

  “What are you doing?” Suzume asked, peering over Benjamin’s elbow as he fiddled with a small tablet.

  He shifted nervously away from her. “Taking notes. I’m writing a memoir about the sidhe.”

  “Is it going to be published?”

  “I mean, yeah, that’s kinda the point of writing books.”

  “You’re going to write about us too? The angels?” Suzume considered this, as though trying to decide if she approved. “You better write about what a nice ass I have.”

  Benjamin almost dropped his tablet. “I wouldn’t dream of failing to mention a figure as legendary as yours.”

  Suzu
me grinned. “Good boy. I knew Fritz let you live for a reason.” She ruffled his hair.

  “Fritz?” Marion asked.

  “Fritz Friederling, the Secretary of the Office of Preternatural Affairs,” she said. “He interned for Fritz one summer. Benjy got into hella trouble.”

  He pretended to look innocent. “Me? No way.”

  “So you know each other,” Marion said.

  “We’ve had dinner a couple times,” Suzume said. “Most folks who know the Alpha know her son, even when he’s trying to be covert with a fake last name.” She bumped her shoulder into his. “A fake last name. So cute.”

  “Yes. Adorable. Let’s focus.” Jibril sat beside Marion, leaving no room for the Raven Knights. “We’ve been combing the primary gaean plane for signs of Leliel and found nothing.”

  “Primary gaean plane?” Marion asked.

  “Earth,” Suzume said, flopping onto an empty bench adjacent to Benjamin. She kicked her feet up and folded her arms behind her head. “Earth and this whole universe is the primary gaean plane. The Middle Worlds also encompass four gaean planes, but they’re not the primary one.”

  “According to whom, exactly?” Wintersong asked.

  “Everyone,” Suzume said. “You faeries might have the idea that you’re something special, but the rest of the world actually does shit, not just…whatever it is you think you’re doing with all the sex. Everything actually important happens here.”

  The Raven Knights shifted. Hands went to sword hilts. Leather creaked.

  Nobody drew weapons, but the tension climbed a notch.

  Suzume yawned into the crook of her elbow.

  “As soon as you said you sensed Leliel on Titania, we expanded our search,” Jibril said. “Indeed, once we sent Irohael into the Middle Worlds, he detected her. Leliel is in the Summer Court. Her marks are embedded deeply. She’s been there since she vanished.”

  “She’s playing Titania,” Marion said.

  “I believe so. The seelie sidhe are vulnerable to dogma.”

  “Fuck ‘em,” Suzume said. “How much bad can Leliel get up to with them?”

  Marion had been debriefed on the unseelie’s understanding of the Summer Court’s situation, so she knew exactly how much “bad” Leliel could get up to. “The Summer Court is believed to have the largest army of all factions. They’re strong in illusory magic that prevents counting, but the size of the glamour over their forest suggests a standing army in the thousands.”

  “So a lot of bad, then,” Benjamin muttered.

  She wanted to smile at him, but still felt too humiliated to actually look him in the face. “Leliel would be able to overtake the Autumn Court with the state our army’s in.”

  “And then Leliel could burn Myrkheimr to the ground and start an angel nest on its ashes,” Suzume said. She didn’t sound as though she thought that was a bad idea, exactly—closer to intriguing than outright offensive.

  “It would fix a lot of our problems if she accomplished that,” Jibril said. Killing all the sidhe would eventually neutralize the magic in the Autumn Court, meaning that the angels would be able to create a nest there.

  “The gods still don’t want any of you settled in the Middle Worlds,” Benjamin pointed out. “As far as we know.”

  “Should we fear the might of gods who have shown little inclination to be involved in current affairs?” Jibril folded his wings tight against his spine, and they vanished.

  “Except Death,” Benjamin said.

  “Death’s brief intervention suggests he’s at least minimally supportive of angels.” Jibril was the king of being able to keep his emotions in check, but Marion knew a jab when she heard one. The rumors about Marion’s involvement with Seth had expanded beyond the borders of the Middle Worlds.

  “I speak for the gods. They aren’t my supporters, allies, or anything else.” Marion didn’t have wings to fold to punctuate her statement, but she met Jibril glare for glare. “They’ve stated their will clearly.”

  “We don’t want Leliel to have anything anyway, even if the Summer Court is so fucking stupid that they deserve it,” Suzume said.

  “No, we don’t want that at all,” Jibril said. “Very well. What do you need to fight against Leliel and the Summer Court?”

  Marion tried to hide her surprise. They’d shifted tone so quickly that she struggled to follow the conversation. “Half of the Autumn Court’s army was killed in Arawn’s attack. The other half is uncooperative. We face assault from within our borders, due to naiad invasion, and likely attack from Arawn. We need soldiers.”

  “We don’t have soldiers. We barely have a civilization.” Jibril cast a hateful frown at Dilmun’s mirrored towers, and his frown was reflected back, distorted by ripples in the glass.

  There still hadn’t been a single footstep or breeze outside of the College. There was no sign of other angels.

  “One angel is equal five hundred sidhe in battle,” she said. “Most of them can just support the Raven Knights. Jibril can guard Myrkheimr. Suzume can come to Niflheimr.”

  “Better not.” The shifting sun had spilled over the toes of Suzume’s homely loafers, but she still hadn’t budged from her bench. “No fighting for me any time soon.”

  “Irohael would be better,” Jibril said.

  “The specific angel doesn’t matter,” Marion said. She’d have preferred Suzume, but she’d take anyone over forces loyal to Konig.

  “We’ll invade the Summer Court and arrest Leliel,” Suzume said. “Fun.”

  “And you’ll turn Leliel over to our law?” Jibril asked.

  Marion hesitated. She’d have much preferred to get her hands directly on Leliel for questioning.

  “If unseelie invades seelie, it will be full-blown war,” Suzume pointed out. “You’re not just asking us to help you track down Leliel. We’ll have to guard Myrkheimr and Niflheimr indefinitely. We can’t do that.”

  “It’s not necessary,” Marion said. “After the affirmation, we’ll have a functional army to support ourselves.” If Marion wanted to wage a war that she could win, angels assisting Raven Knights wouldn’t be enough anyway. She’d need the rest of the army in fighting form as soon as possible.

  The army who loathed Marion.

  “Then you’ll only need us for a week?” Jibril asked.

  A jolt shocked through her. Had it been so long since her wedding? What had happened to the passage of time? She hadn’t begun to think about ways to pull off the affirmation. “A critical week in time,” Marion said. “This week will change everything. We can’t be vulnerable.”

  “I don’t think you get exactly what I’m saying here. I’m not talking about time period, but risk levels. You can have a few hundred sidhe casualties without fucking over the whole population. But angels? There’s barely two handfuls of us left,” Suzy said. “If we get into a fight and lose, we’re extinct.”

  “We’ll do what we can to mitigate long-term involvement from angels, but…there will be risk,” Marion admitted.

  “We’d clean up a war pretty fast if we could throw a bunch of mages onto the battlefield,” Suzume said.

  Marion instinctively balled her hands into fists. The mere mention of mage craft made her hands tingle. Much of the magic she’d remembered was trivial, even frivolous, but it was a seed capable of growing into a towering oak. “It would be faster to have mages, but we can’t deploy that tactic until it’s proliferated through the angels.”

  Suzume hopped onto the bench with Jibril and Marion, eyes alight with excitement. “Then why are we wasting time chatting about how we’re gonna get Leliel? Let’s start proliferating.”

  18

  Benjamin had been in formal schooling his entire life. He couldn’t remember an age where he hadn’t spent hours a day sitting with a teacher, usually one-on-one, developing skills under attentive care.

  He knew how teaching worked. He knew how learning worked.

  Education among angels was nothing like education at the shifter aca
demy.

  “This will be the fastest way to get everything you know about magic over to us,” Suzume said. And she poked Benjamin in the temple.

  “Hey!”

  “You’ll give it to him, and we’ll get it out,” she said, ignoring his protest.

  Marion looked charmingly baffled. “You want me to…lecture him? Teach him?”

  “Put it in there.” Suzume poked him again, even more forcefully.

  “Stop that,” Benjamin said, trying to swat her away. She’d already moved her hand out of his range. “I don’t get what you’re saying.”

  Understanding dawned in Marion’s pale eyes. “You want me to insert the knowledge of the spells into Benjamin’s mind, and then you’ll extract his memories?”

  “Just like The Matrix. Download, upload. Whammo. Easy.” Suzume clapped her hands.

  The sound made Benjamin jump. “Why do I have to be involved in this?”

  The answer came from Marion, surprisingly. “You’re the only full mundane in Dilmun, which means you’d be the purest vessel for a transfer. Taking anything from my mind directly would be muddied by my natural angel resistance to manipulation.” She turned to Jibril as if for verification.

  Jibril nodded. “That’s correct, yes.”

  No wonder the angels hadn’t protested at having Benjamin in their midst. They knew a useful tool when they saw one.

  That was how Benjamin ended up straddling a bench, facing the unseelie queen who’d kissed him. He hadn’t even been able to look in her cardinal direction earlier and now he had no choice but to look her full in the face.

  Marion’s cheeks were tinted attractively pink. Her lips were pursed. She was embarrassed, and that made it worse. It was terrible that Marion had kissed him and he didn’t like it. But she didn’t like it either, which meant he was a bad kisser, and probably disgusting, and kind of smelly like garlic.

  “So then all I need to do is feed the spells into his mind.” Marion gestured as though to grip his forehead. Her fingers were inches from his eyes.