Dark Light of Day

by Jill Archer

  Behind me, I felt a discharge of electric power from Ari and Nergal that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. If this is what it felt like when two waning magic users fought without using fire, I couldn’t imagine what Armageddon must have been like. No wonder Heaven had fallen.

  I shielded Peter’s body with my own, wondering if that would even help. Night was now too far away for me to reach. Light flashed irregularly as the fallen electric torch was kicked and spun, stopped and kicked again. Nergal’s hands locked around Ari’s neck and squeezed. Ari instinctively tried to defend himself with fire, which didn’t work. Nergal threw another bolt of electricity at Ari, barely missing him. Ari tried to blast back but his earlier exhaustion slowed his reflexes. The two struggled, magically and physically, straining, sweating, joints popping, signatures grinding, until Nergal finally cracked his forehead against Ari’s face. I heard a wet, pulpy, crunching sound. Blood flowed from Ari’s nose and my vision swam.

  Ari was seconds from passing out.

  I grabbed the sharp stick I’d picked up from the ground outside. Blood pounding in my ears, I leapt onto Nergal’s back and plunged the stick into his neck. He howled and threw me off. I crashed into the coffin lid and its enormous weight fell on me. I felt a popping sound in my arm and, suddenly, my elbow felt as if someone had shot an arrow through the joint.

  I shrieked, but somehow kept my wits enough to remember not to throw fire. Instead, learning from Nergal, I blasted the coffin lid with an electric bolt. I expected it to go flying, so great was the blast I’d sent toward it, but it barely moved. The weight continued to press down on my chest. I panted. Nergal pulled the now grisly red and wet stick from his neck and turned toward Ari, who swayed on his feet. I howled beneath the coffin lid, twisting my body, thrashing my legs, desperately trying to get free. Tears coursed down my cheeks. The frustration and pain were driving me mad.

  Nergal advanced on Ari and I pleaded to Luck, thinking that I’d do anything, anything, if he would help us. I was this close to praying to the Savior too, so great was my fear and desperation, when another demon crawled out of the open mouth of the tomb.

  My mouth went dry. I stopped struggling and all thoughts fled.

  It was Lamia and she was covered in blood, not the fresh, red blood that covered us, but rather the putrid, decaying blood of things that had already died. The smell of it, and the feel of her, was so awful, my stomach seized. I ground my teeth and somehow managed to wrench my legs free from the coffin lid.

  Oh, great Luck below, she was the reason for this place’s poisoned feel.

  “You live here,” I said, shaky with comprehension. I struggled to my feet and leaned against the wall. Nergal and Ari broke off and circled each other like two bulls, or two demons, ready to lock horns again.

  “This is your home,” I said to Nergal. “This is the spot of land you couldn’t burn.”

  Until now, I realized, I’d been viewing everything through a pair of unfocused binoculars. I’d had two fields of vision, two areas of focus: my demon client and his aging, insane wife; and the demon who’d been attacking and abducting Mederies. The two views suddenly snapped together forming one singular, frightening perspective—they were one and the same.

  There was no Vigilia, I thought breathlessly. Or rather, there had been at one time, but she was just as gone as the Demon Register had said she was. Who knew where she was? Dead? Off with her demon lover, Christos? It didn’t matter. Because I suddenly knew which demon was responsible for the Mederi attacks: Lamia. The demon who’d been coughing up corn dolls on Bryde’s Day. The demon who’d said the one thing, the only thing, she wanted was a child.

  Nergal saw that I’d figured it out and he smiled at me, but just like a demon, his expression looked both sinister and sad at once. Like that optical illusion of the young maiden… or her old Mederi midwife.

  “You said you walked for miles,” I said, my voice almost dreamlike. My thoughts floated like unanchored buoys on a sea of disbelief, recollection, and awe. “You said that hours after sunset you finally found the spot of land that refused your touch—your fire. You saw a woman there, a beautiful woman.” Drawing water from a well, I thought. But it hadn’t been a well. It had been the tomb.

  I turned to Lamia. It was almost impossible to believe she’d once been beautiful. In her hand, she clutched a ragged corn doll. The doll’s dress was made of green wool scraps. It had real hair, hair that was a coppery gold color, and real blood smeared all over it. I swallowed. Had Laurel Scoria had red hair? If not Laurel, then Amaryllis Apatite, I thought. I clenched my fists, feeling absolute impotence.

  Why hadn’t I seen it? The corn dolls were mere effigies of Lamia’s true offerings.

  “I told Nergal not to contact the school clinic,” Lamia said, stroking the doll’s hair, “but he wouldn’t listen.” Her stroking became more manic and she raised the doll to her face and bared her pointed teeth at it. “I told him you couldn’t help,” she said, addressing the doll though, not me. “How could you?” She shook the doll viciously, causing its head to bobble up and down and scattering dried bits of blood everywhere.

  “You’re infested with death magic,” she shrieked. “Same as me.” And then she began crooning and stroking the doll again, patting its head and smoothing its hair.

  I bit my knuckles to keep from screaming.

  How long had Lamia been Luck’s grave keeper? Since the beginning? Since the Apocalypse? Or had she been spawned in his tomb in the centuries since? When had she made her first offerings to him? What were they? A silver bell? A lock of hair? What had she asked for in return? Beauty? Youth? When had simple offerings turned to live sacrifices?

  When had she lost her mind?

  I always thought I saw Luck’s presence in every part of Halja life, except here. Nothing about this place felt right; from the moment I had stepped foot here, everything had felt wrong. It seemed that so much old magic had seeped into the ground; new magic couldn’t even work anymore. This land seemed stuck in an unnatural eternal loop, like my mother’s evergreens. But how could I find the cure when I didn’t know the cause? Was it Lamia? Had a murderess come here to feed off of, and sustain, the remaining malignancy of war? Or was it the battleground itself? Had a young, devoted grave keeper been driven mad by the poisoned ground she was forced to guard? Was Lamia as much a victim of this place as everyone else who had died here?

  I barked out a short laugh, on the edge of hysteria. We’d never know. None of these questions would ever be answered. I must have been mad myself to ever have thought I’d help clients like this by studying law books or legal precedents.

  Despite all the unanswered questions though, I knew there was only one option, killing her. I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t want to be a coward about it either. But as I prepared to send her a lethal blast, I made the mistake of looking at her. Lamia crooned to her corn doll as if it was a child and I chickened out. In that instant, I felt only pity. Lamia looked up at me and must have guessed what I’d intended. She was stark raving mad but her survival instincts were still intact.

  I stalled when I should have thrown strong. If I hadn’t hesitated, Lamia wouldn’t have had time to defend herself and she would be dead. Instead, I was the one who was going to die.

  Seeing your own death approach is an interesting experience. Though I’d spent a considerable portion of my life shunning my true nature, I’d always assumed mine would be fiery. There was a sense of poetic justice about it: live by the flame; die by the flame. So it was surprising to see Lamia throw a spray of frost in my direction. But those little frozen magic crystals were the breath of death. I knew it as sure as I knew Lucifer’s Morning Star would be the last star in the sky snuffed out by dawn.

  Ari must have known it too because he threw himself in my direction. In the next instant, several things happened at once. Peter shook loose of the effects of Nergal’s attack. His voice cracked but was capable enough. I felt the weight of a quickly cast protecti
ve spell fall over me like full plate armor. A second later, Ari’s body crashed into mine. He landed on top of me, knocking the breath out of my lungs. For a moment I could do no more than stare numbly at the ceiling. When conscious thought returned, however, my immediate reaction was one of horrifying, utter, gut-wrenching denial. I refused to believe what had just happened. I wouldn’t accept it. I couldn’t.

  There was just no way I could watch Ari die. But Luck didn’t care. The frost settling over Ari had an immediate effect. The tiny grains of magic burned through his clothes, and from the look on his face, his skin as well. He grimaced as if he’d been doused with lye. His breath became hollow and raspy. He started bleeding from his nose and mouth. He grunted in pain as he shifted off of me and tried to turn away.

  “No!” I cried, grabbing him and turning him onto his back. I ran my hand across his chest, as if I could somehow put him back together. No not Ari please not Ari please not Ari anyone but him please Luck no not him no no—No!

  From the corner, I heard Peter cast a spell. I felt Lamia and Nergal’s signatures dim. It would have been blessed relief if Ari weren’t dying before my eyes. I looked up. The two demons appeared frozen, but otherwise fine. Lamia gazed adoringly down at her corn doll infant, her face suffused with joy. Nergal had been caught mid-shift, horns and claws barely breaching the surface of his skin. The stasis spell, I thought. Jonathan Aster’s ancient spell would buy us time, but how long?

  “Peter,” I said, my voice roughened from crying, “help me lift him.” I couldn’t carry Ari by myself. And we had to get Night out too. “How much time do we have?”

  “Probably just enough to get them out. If one of them could be healed enough to walk.”

  I made some wretched sound and lowered my forehead to Ari’s, letting the tears flow. Then I raised my head. “Run outside,” I said frantically. “There’s a Mederi, Bryony. She was supposed to meet us here. Find her.”

  But Peter just stood there.

  “Go!” I screamed, rounding on him, snarling in my anguish. He left.

  Ari looked up at me, tears of blood weeping from his eyes. His gaze started to turn glassy. “Noon,” he choked, “get out of here.”

  “No.” I didn’t want him to know how scared I was, but he must have felt it in my signature. “We’re going to heal you.”

  He shook his head. “Take Night and go.” He arched his back in pain. Stuff coming out of my nose dripped onto his shirt. I swiped at it with the back of my hand, fighting more tears.

  “I’m not going to leave you.”

  “You shouldn’t make promises lightly,” Ari said, trying to laugh. It came out as a bloody half cough.

  “I don’t care,” I said, grabbing his hand. “I won’t leave you. I love you.” I heard Peter return and looked up. He stared down at us, a peculiar expression on his face.

  “Your Mederi wasn’t out there,” he said. “But I know how we can heal him.”

  Mederi magic was the only thing I knew that could heal after a demon attack, but Peter had been pulling rabbits out of hats all semester so maybe he had another idea. “If you have a spell that can help him, what are you waiting for?”

  Peter knelt down next to us. I should have known from the look on his face that his solution wouldn’t be a cheap magic trick. The cost would be dear.

  “I can’t save him,” Peter said, “but you can.” Beneath me, Ari was fading in and out of consciousness. I couldn’t tell how aware he was of what was going on around him, but after Peter’s words he began convulsing, violently shaking his head from side to side.

  “Shh,” I said, laying my hand against his cheek. “Stop.”

  Around me, I felt Lamia and Nergal’s signature heating up. It wouldn’t be long before the stasis spell wore off. I knew what would happen then, but I no longer cared. I didn’t want to live in a world without Ari. Suddenly, Joy’s words came back to me. There are worse fates than dying for someone you love. Indeed. But maybe Luck didn’t hate me that much after all. Maybe he’d spare me that fate and Ari and I would both perish in the next few moments. I became calm then, accepting, almost welcoming the inevitable. Until I heard Peter’s next words. “I finished translating the Reversal Spell, Noon. I can cast it. Right now. You can heal Ari.”

  It was so simple. It was what I’d been waiting for my whole life. I paused for only a moment. Ari had made me realize that waning magic could be used as a force for good. Maegesters had a place and a purpose in Halja’s life. Their role, in fact, was far greater than a Mederi’s. Maegesters kept Halja from returning to the days of war. Far from being destructive, the greatest Maegesters sought to prevent mass destruction by maintaining peace and keeping order. But I paused for only a moment, because none of that mattered. I would have given anything to save Ari.

  “No,” Ari said. I had to strain to hear him. “It’s too dangerous. Not worth it…” He panted furiously. “No idea… what might happen.”

  Peter scoffed. “Do you want to live?”

  “Noon,” Ari said, completely ignoring Peter. “Please don’t. Please. Get out… now. Go. Promise me…”

  “No,” I said, my voice soft but firm. Ari’s movements slowed and then stopped altogether. I could sense only the barest trickle of his signature now.

  “There’s just one thing,” Peter said. I resisted the impulse to slap him and yell, Now!

  “Promise that you’ll leave Ari. Promise that you’ll give me a chance.”

  I looked up at Peter, fighting to keep my magic in check. It was amazing how quickly your feelings for someone could change. But I wasn’t the only one who’d changed. The Peter I’d known would never have forced me to make such a promise. The Peter I’d known had taken over a decade to work up the courage to kiss me. He would never have had the nerve to threaten me. I didn’t want to give Peter a chance. I hated him suddenly for even asking me to. But when I’d said I’d do anything to save Ari, I’d meant it.

  “Fine,” I said, my voice cracking. “Do it. Cast the Reversal Spell and I’ll walk out of here with you.”

  “Kiss me,” Peter said, “to seal your promise.”

  I swallowed, my body suddenly hot and cold. At one time I’d been confused about whether I’d wanted this. No longer. Every part of me revolted. But I leaned over Ari’s body and pressed my lips firmly to Peter’s, wondering when exactly he’d become such a stranger. I felt Peter shiver as our lips touched and I broke off the kiss, refusing to look at him.

  Peter wasted no time after that. He started casting the Reversal Spell just as the stasis spell was wearing off. Nergal twitched and Lamia’s gaze shifted in our direction. I hoped I would instinctively know how to heal once Peter completed casting the Reversal Spell. If I could heal Ari enough, he and Peter could keep Lamia and Nergal at bay while I healed Night. Maybe, just maybe, we’d all make it out of here alive.

  I laid my hands on Ari’s chest, waiting for the spell to take effect. I felt the ancient magic stir. It was the most powerful spell I’d ever felt. The air vibrated with its presence; it seemed an entity in and of itself. After thousands of years of silence, it seemed to wake up and fly around the room, as if it were searching for something. Me, I thought. I’m over here. But it settled instead on the unlikeliest of people—Nergal. And instead of a healer, it turned him into a howling infant.

  For a few seconds, I thought my eyes and ears were deceiving me. As if the whole thing was a demon illusion, or Luck’s cruel joke. I shook my head, staring down at the wriggling infant on the floor. It was a little demon child, complete with horns and claws.

  Lamia broke free from the final remains of the stasis spell, but instead of blasting us with further death magic, she stood transfixed, staring at the crying child. Peter let out a sound of disgust, momentarily shifting her attention to us. Lamia narrowed her eyes, preparing to throw something horrid, but I blasted first. I poured all of the anger and impotence I felt at this macabre, twisted, bizarre situation into that one blast. It was the most powerfully con
trolled blast I’d ever thrown. But nothing happened. Instinctively, I’d thrown fire, which had no effect here.

  Lamia threw a spray of poison at us then, but her heart wasn’t in it, and I easily shielded it with my magic. Ari’s signature dimmed and I started sobbing uncontrollably. Why had Luck forsaken me? Lamia scooped up the infant Nergal and slipped into the mouth of the tomb. I tried to feel something positive, something life affirming, so that I would be able to control the power that was gathering within me. But it was impossible to feel hope or joy when Ari was dying before my eyes. So instead, I allowed every negative emotion I’d ever felt this past semester—pain, horror, hatred, fear, fury, grief, guilt, even recklessness—to gather within me and I melded them all into a great big ball of pure waning magic, undiluted by fire or electricity or any destructive force other than my sheer will. I poured darkness into that ball and I threw it toward the tomb, not caring if it was more than I had to give. Not caring now if I lived or died.

  The world went black.

  Chapter 26

  A few weeks later, I received news that I’d passed all of my classes, even Manipulation. Rochester and Seknecus decided (perhaps with some input from my father, whom I’d glimpsed once during finals hurrying toward their offices) that, although I hadn’t completed my assignment, I’d demonstrated enough resilience in the field to overcome my former lack of experience. In fact, after the “altercation” at the tomb (the faculty’s provocatively understated term for what had happened) I was ranked Primoris. I could have cared less.

  When the semester ended, I returned to Etincelle and spent three whole days staring out of my bedroom window at my mother’s blackened garden. It seemed as good a place as any for mourning. On the fourth day, I shoved my gilded mirror out the window. I watched as it fell, flipping end over end, until it finally crashed to the ground, splintering wood and shattering glass everywhere. The explosive sound of it was as gratifying as was the fact that the damage was irreparable. You didn’t need magic to destroy, I smirked, thinking of my mother’s gasoline can. A thousand jagged pieces of glass winked up at me, their silvery edges glinting in the afternoon sun. Aurelia came in then and put her arm around me. She stared down at the wreckage looking almost as pleased as I did. For once, I didn’t flinch from her touch.