Demons and DNA (Amplifier 1)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  His sharp gaze remained but the smile slipped from his face. “Your magic …” He hesitated. “It seethes from you when you’re angry. I find myself both dreading and anticipating it exploding.”

  I shrugged belligerently. “I’m not angry,” I said. Though it was a relief that the sorcerer read anger into what was most likely a magical reaction to my lusting after him.

  He frowned, then nodded. “The cookies smell amazing.”

  I snorted. “Myers is a witch name, not a sorcerer.”

  “Yes. My mother’s family. And Johnson? That surname is common among the mundanes, but not the Adept.”

  I didn’t respond.

  He tilted his head. “So I’m to answer, but you won’t reciprocate?”

  “What question have you actually answered?”

  “Any that I’m able to.”

  “Is your witch going to come after you, Aiden?”

  Tension ran through his jaw, but his tone was steady, dispassionate. “She’s not my witch.”

  I curled my fingers into my palm, so that I didn’t reach out to try to access his emotions, to feel what he was feeling so that I could better understand the words building up between us. I wasn’t certain that I’d ever wanted to touch someone so badly before. How could someone so opaque be so compelling? Touching him would make me vulnerable on so many different levels, including opening myself up to being attacked, physically and emotionally. And then I’d have to retaliate.

  So why would I crave that connection?

  Aiden’s gaze dropped to my hands.

  I forced myself to relax them.

  He shifted his eyes to the baseball bat on the counter before him. “What value do I hold to her now?”

  “The magic will come back.”

  He ran his fingers along the length of the bat.

  Something fluttered in my stomach, reacting as if he were caressing me across my most vulnerable skin. It might have been purely desire, simply lust, but I was starting to worry that it was more. And that emotion — assuming I was even capable of it — had no place in my life.

  I knew nothing about Aiden. He didn’t know me either. And when he did, when he knew what I was capable of doing, of being, he wouldn’t want me anywhere near him. Unless he had a death wish. And given how drained he was, and the process by which that magic had been taken, maybe he did. Maybe coming home with me was just another step farther down whatever spiral of darkness he was riding.

  Maybe he did see death stalking him when he looked at me. He wouldn’t be wrong if he did.

  But I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I was fleeing that person as much as I was fleeing the Collective.

  “Where did you go?” he whispered.

  “What do you mean? When?”

  “Just now. You went somewhere. In your head. Somewhere dark, somewhere that shutters all your light.”

  All my … light. Light? He saw some sort of light when he looked at me?

  My heart cracked. Just a sliver, but it felt as though I were dying. I stopped myself from pressing my hand against my chest, but only barely. I managed to exhale, and the pain eased. “What do you mean?” I whispered. “My magic?”

  He frowned thoughtfully. “Do you … shut it down deliberately?”

  “All the time.”

  “So … no, not your magic. Or not the magic you intentionally wield.”

  The question he hadn’t actually asked — specifically what kind of magic I wielded — wedged itself uncomfortably between us, adding to the pile of words building a barrier of tension in the kitchen. Words had power when they were uttered with intention by a truly powerful person. And even though no magic had passed between us, I felt the wall nonetheless.

  He shook his head, glancing down at the bat again. “You don’t need me here. But I’ll try to be useful.”

  He glanced at me.

  I didn’t respond.

  He nodded curtly. “I should be healed enough to move on in three days, maybe sooner. I can make some calls. I remember the name of my lawyer, at least. From a cellphone, of course. Christopher indicated he had one I could use that wouldn’t be traced back to you. I’ll have a credit card and a passport sent to me.”

  “Through a third party. I’ll need the number and the name of your lawyer.”

  “Sherwood and Pine. Paris branch. They represent the Myers family.”

  So he was the Aiden Myers that Emma Pine had tracked down.

  He straightened, collecting the bat and copper pipe. Then he paused as if expecting me to speak.

  But there was nothing more to say. I would confirm with Ember that he was related to the Myers witches, then let him leave. It was best that he leave, and soon.

  He nodded stiffly, then crossed toward the open patio doors.

  “Will you have tea with me … us?” I had voiced the question before I’d thought it through. But the closer he’d gotten to the door, the more worried I’d become that he would leave before I could see him again, lay eyes on him again. As ridiculous as that was.

  Maybe I was the one with the death wish. Or at least a desire for chaos.

  He glanced back at me, smiling thinly. “I’d be delighted. What time should I return?”

  “Four.”

  He nodded, then exited to the patio, down the stairs, and out of sight.

  Watching him leave, tracking his every move, cataloging his expressions — it was all ridiculous behavior. But when he’d talked of leaving and passports, I’d felt … faint, weak.

  I didn’t know what to do with that feeling, but tea and cookies always made me feel settled. So I would start with that. And another conversation. Eventually, the sorcerer would remember what had brought him to Lake Cowichan, and I’d know what action I needed to take as a result.

  The timer went off. I pulled the cookies out of the oven, making sure they were perfectly brown at the edges before placing the cookie sheet on the cooling rack.

  Early the next morning — sticking to routine as much as possible, which meant a training session — I climbed out of bed, dressed, retrieved my wooden batons, and made my way to the backyard. Once there, I stretched, then began moving, focusing on deliberately placing my bare feet in the dry grass as I shifted seamlessly from one kata to another. The forms were so ingrained, studied since childhood, that I didn’t need to consciously recall them. I held a wooden baton in each hand for balance, shifting from one form to another and allowing muscle memory to propel me while I tried to not obsess about all the unanswered questions and uncomfortable observations the sorcerer had brought with him.

  Afternoon tea the previous day, and then dinner, hadn’t provided any further insight into Aiden’s abrupt appearance at the diner, even though the sorcerer’s magic was slowly reasserting itself. Christopher had been polite but subdued, conversing about his garden and plans for the property. But thankfully, the oracle cards hadn’t made a reappearance.

  Ember Pine hadn’t followed up on her first email, which meant I had to assume for the moment that Aiden was exactly who he said he was. A sorcerer who’d gotten on the wrong side of a witch.

  That was an experience we shared.

  I graduated into spins and kicks, picking up speed. The long tail of my hair whipped around me as if it were a weapon itself.

  Christopher appeared before me, moving to strike even before I’d seen him. I flung myself sideways. His practice sword brushed against my left cheekbone.

  I followed through with a right-handed strike even while controlling my fall. But predictably, the clairvoyant danced out of my reach. I hit the ground, rolling back over my right shoulder, making it to my knees, and parrying three rapid overhead strikes from Christopher.

  The key to beating a clairvoyant in a sword fight was to not think at all. To simply react, to trust in your training and instincts. But even knowing that, I’d never beaten Christopher one-on-one — not once in over twenty years of sparring with him. Simply reacting, and trusting that I wouldn’t accidentally k
ill him, wasn’t an achievable state for me. Especially not now, not outside the structured confines of the Collective, where a healer had always been on hand.

  Christopher landed a hit on my left shoulder with the flat of his sword. My arm went numb, but I kept hold of the baton. I pushed forward with a flurry of strikes, slamming a kick toward his knee that actually glanced off his calf.

  He laughed, skipping back, light on his feet. “There you are, Socks. I was worried you’d get stuck in your head and be boring all day.”

  My gaze shifted over the clairvoyant’s shoulder. Aiden was seated on the patio steps with the bat across his knees and with what appeared to be a small chisel in his hand. His gaze was on me. With his magic so dim, and caught up within the tangle of my thoughts, I hadn’t known the sorcerer was in the yard at all.

  Christopher lunged, slipping under my belated attempt to block him and walloping me in the ribs. I took the bruising blow, absorbing it instead of spinning away. Then, still gripping the baton, I hammered a fist into the side of Christopher’s head.

  He dodged at the last second, but I still clipped him enough that he stumbled.

  I stepped away, putting a few feet of space between us, smirking. “I thought you wanted to play?”

  The white of his magic rimmed his eyes. He lunged forward.

  I brought both batons up, spiraling them in a series of easy circles, countering his sequences of strikes effortlessly. Though my left arm was lagging. And as I grew more tired, Christopher would gain the advantage.

  So I stepped forward instead of continuing to gradually cede ground to him, throwing him off balance. I knocked his sword away, dropping my right baton. I thrust my open palm toward his chest.

  He froze in place. Shocked.

  I didn’t touch him, but I could have. And that would have been the end. The end of the fight, and possibly the end of Christopher if I’d so desired.

  “Against the rules, Socks,” he murmured.

  “So is attacking when I was assessing potential threats.” He’d hit me when I’d paused to look at Aiden.

  He frowned, then glanced toward the sorcerer on the patio. Aiden was bent over his bat, carving and seemingly ignoring us.

  “That isn’t … I knew the area was secure.”

  “But I didn’t.” I picked up my baton and walked away.

  “Socks,” Christopher called after me quietly.

  I shook my head, jogging up the patio stairs past Aiden and into the house. I wasn’t interested in playing games with the clairvoyant, or the sorcerer for that matter. And the easiest way to avoid such games was to remove myself from the field.

  I took a shower, glancing out my bedroom window while towel-drying my hair to see Jenni Raymond, out of uniform, leaning against the fence that edged the garden and chatting with Christopher.

  The shapeshifter’s presence was annoying but not unexpected. I’d known she’d want to check up on the sorcerer. And I could only imagine how pleased she must have been to be talking to Christopher rather than me. So I combed out my hair, slipped on a cap-sleeved blue-and-white cotton dress, and headed out to kick the shifter off my property.

  She was doggedly persistent.

  At the base of the stairs, I glanced through the window of the front door, spotting a red Jeep parked by the barn, rather than the RCMP cruiser Officer Raymond usually drove. I cut back through the house, feeling Aiden’s simmering magic as I did so. I had missed it earlier because Christopher’s magic — tied to me through the blood tattoo on my spine — overrode the muted hum of the sorcerer’s slowly recharging power.

  I stepped into the kitchen, finding it sorcerer-free. Aiden was on the patio now, the doors closed behind him as he crossed the yard toward the gardens.

  A small stoneware bowl was sitting on the corner of the kitchen island. I slowed, staring at it. Then I crossed to the cupboards, counting two matching bowls through the glass door.

  Perhaps Christopher had left a bowl on the counter for some reason?

  I opened the dishwasher. The third bowl was tucked into the upper rack.

  I stepped back and hovered my fingers over the bowl on the counter, wishing I was sensitive enough to magic to feel if any was emanating from the pottery.

  The repaired pottery.

  Drained as he was, Aiden had fixed the bowl I’d broken yesterday.

  That was oddly overwhelming. Firstly, that sort of thing was witch magic, as far as I knew. Delicate, precise spell work that I wasn’t even certain I completely understood. Because it definitely wasn’t as simple as just magically gluing the two pieces back together.

  And secondly … why? Why would a sorcerer expend magic he needed to be fortifying on something like that? Was this just part of his effort to make himself useful? Or was it a … gift? A gift for me?

  I picked up the bowl, examining it more closely. I couldn’t spot even a hint of the break.

  I crossed toward the door, holding the bowl. Then I remembered that Jenni Raymond was in the garden. I didn’t want to be thanking the sorcerer or asking questions of him in front of the shifter.

  I stepped back and nested the repaired bowl within the other two on the shelf. I closed the cupboard and gazed at my stoneware set through the glass of the door. I could have bought a set of three, since there were only three of us and the pieces had been sold individually. But I hadn’t.

  That was just a coincidence, of course. I didn’t believe in fate or destiny. I didn’t believe that some part of me, some part of my energy or soul, had anticipated Aiden’s arrival.

  You couldn’t deal as much death as I had and believe in fate. Or love. Or fated love.

  I stepped away from the cabinet and went to deal with the shapeshifter in the garden.

  Jenni Raymond took one look at me striding over the dried lawn toward her, blanched, and stepped away from Christopher.

  “Whoa,” she muttered under her breath. “Here comes big sis.”

  I closed the space between us. “I’m the younger one, actually.”

  The shifter looked startled.

  Yes, my hearing was that good.

  Christopher laughed quietly. “By two months.”

  I shrugged, keeping my gaze on the out-of-uniform RCMP officer. “What can we do for you?”

  She glanced over at Aiden, who was leaning casually beside the closed garden gate. Interestingly, he had placed himself between the shifter and the clairvoyant. But whether that had been on purpose or contained a separate hidden meaning, I didn’t know. Even with our short acquaintance, I did, however, understand that the sorcerer never did anything without deliberation.

  Which made me feel easier about the repaired bowl. ‘Call it room and board,’ the sorcerer had said about mending the fence. The same likely went for the bowl. That completely rational assessment didn’t feel quite right, but I went with it anyway.

  “Checking to see if the sorcerer had slaughtered us all in our sleep?” I asked. “How disappointed you must be to find us all still alive.”

  Jenni Raymond frowned. “I wouldn’t …” She glanced over at Christopher, then back at me, not quite meeting my gaze. “I wouldn’t wish harm on any of you. On anyone.”

  I nodded, knowing I’d stepped out of line with the nasty comment — nasty even for me — but not quite certain what to do about it.

  “If you need anything, just let me know,” she said stiffly, glancing between the three of us.

  We remained silent.

  The shifter rolled her shoulders uncomfortably, then nodded. “I’ll check in again.”

  “This is our land,” I said as politely as I could. “We aren’t breaking any mundane laws.”

  “Your existence breaks mundane laws,” she snapped. Then she closed her eyes briefly, perhaps regretting the statement.

  But the barb was too on the mark for me, even if she had no idea of how we’d been bred by the Collective and why. I stepped forward, already reaching for her, intending to haul her off the property myself.
r />   “Socks,” Christopher whispered.

  I glanced over at the clairvoyant. His magic was shining in his eyes. The fingers of his left hand were stretched out, stiffly.

  Jenni Raymond’s jaw dropped. She took a step back, then another. She actually lifted her nose to the air, smelling the clairvoyant’s magic before she remembered herself. She grimaced and looked over at me.

  I took a breath, aware that Aiden was watching me too closely as well. Then I actively decided to leave the shifter alone.

  The magic seeped out of Christopher’s eyes.

  “Happy?” I asked him.

  “I’m trying to be,” he said. “You are making it rather difficult.”

  “Well,” I said archly. “You always know how to fix that.”

  He laughed quietly. “Always trying to get rid of me. Think of how boring your life would be if you succeeded.”

  “Yes,” I said, suddenly weary of the conversation, the continual conflict. Before the sorcerer had walked into our shared life, things had been easy, peaceful between us. For months. Seven months, to be specific. “And lonely.”

  Surprise flitted over the clairvoyant’s face, then he spoke gruffly. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.” He glanced over at Jenni Raymond. “Thank you for stopping by.” Then he bent down, picked up a blue harvest bin from beside his bare feet, and disappeared into the garden, completely dismissing her.

  I glanced at the shifter.

  She looked confused. Then, catching my gaze, she curled her lip in a snarl. “I don’t get you two at all.” She stomped off toward the barn and her vehicle, calling back over her shoulder, “If I were you, I’d run far and fast, sorcerer.”

  Aiden chuckled quietly, then he looked over at me.

  “Thank you for fixing the bowl,” I blurted before he could say whatever he was going to say.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I didn’t know sorcerer magic worked that way, similar to a witch’s.”

  His lips curled into a shallow smile. “I might have picked up a few spells and adapted them.”