Feral Magic

by Nicolette Jinks

  “Do keep me in the loop,” Leif said, standing and going to visit with Barnes and Mordon.

  Was I wise to be doing this? All of this? Leif was right...I was just as feral as I had been while digging up bones, the only difference was that now I had a smile and people thought they could trust me. Without the magic, I had felt lost, but I had freedom to do purely as I pleased. This power had shown me fantastic sights, but I was just as chained as I was enabled.

  I supposed I needed to plan out my introduction illusion.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The day of the ball, Lilly came over to my suite, her own dress shoved in a bag slung over her shoulder. She glowed as usual, humming songs her mother had hummed, singing the snippets she could remember, twisting and yanking my hair, muttering a spell here and there to make things stay or curl or flatten, or do whatever it is that hair can do.

  She brought a wash basin out of her bag and gave it to me. “I got a new one,” she said with a wink.

  “It matches the tile in my bathroom,” I said suspiciously, recalling a passing comment she had made just an hour ago about how barren my suite still was.

  “Does it?” she winked, “I suppose I already knew that. Maybe that’s why I’m giving it to you.”

  I smiled, knowing full well that she’d bought it for me. “Thanks.”

  “Uh-huh. Now, we need to let your hair rest. We will get working on your skin.” She cackled, a genuine cackle much like I expected would from from a villainess’s mouth and not from this dainty redhead. Lilly reached into a bag and pulled out several balms and lotions and soaps. I didn’t know if I should be gleeful or running away. Lilly grabbed my arm and lead me into the bathroom, seated me on the edge of the iron-claw tub, and started scrubbing at my face with an evil vigor.

  She didn’t let me see what I looked like, and I didn’t have a mirror handy to check, the walls of the bathroom being devoid of mirrors and boasting only a single hook for a towel. When I asked about my appearance, she laughed it off and inquired if I no longer trusted her in the matters of astounding beauty. One look at her was all the testimony I needed to be reassured. She found my evening dress without asking where it was, held it up to the fading light and gasped.

  “You,” she pointed to me, “are going to be luscious in this dress.” Lilly clamped the dress to her chest and screamed, “I’ve always wanted to get you all dressed up! Daily wear clothes are such a crime!”

  I blushed at her enthusiasm. “What on earth did you drink to get so hyper?”

  “It’s a special blend of safari ants, chocolate, coffee beans, and sugar,” Lilly said and drew a chocolate bar in a silver wrapper out of thin air, “I should have given you some.”

  Now that I’d asked, she wouldn’t let me refuse. While Lilly had taken two of the squares scored into the bar, I only took one. I got a little jittery from it, but less than when I had two cups of coffee.

  Once again Lilly wouldn’t even let me get a decent look at the dress before putting it on me, barking at me to stand chin up while she fastened the back. It was dove gray with soft blue and burgundy flowers starting at a gather on my right hip and flowing down to ring around the bottom and up to lightly accent the sweetheart neckline. Sleeves draped off the edge of my shoulder, light and almost transparent. I tugged at one, trying to coax it up on top of my shoulder instead of hanging on my arm.

  “Respect,” Lilly slapped my hand, “the dress.”

  I stopped fidgeting with it.

  Lilly got dressed herself, slipping into a red V-neck dress also with a gathered hip, but her skirt had diagonal layers of many fabrics running down it. She snapped her fingers and muttered “curl” and her hair sprung into spiral curls, ready for the night.

  “I spent a long time training it for these events,” she said as an explanation.

  “Do you know how I’d train my hair for this?” I asked.

  “Yes, with a stick, a twist, and a bun.” she said with a look telling me that wouldn’t cut it. I smiled. She shook her head. But, I thought, I was starting to enjoy letting it down. The days of the bun were going to be limited to the days when I was stooping and didn’t want my hair to get dusty. I’d changed a good deal over the last couple of weeks, and I had the feeling I wasn’t done yet.

  We went in to the commons area. She started some tea. I stood up and started pacing to the window, to the couch, back to the window, slipping my rings on and off my fingers, holding a ring in my hand, switching it between palms, putting it back on its finger, moving to the next finger.

  Lilly snatched up my hands and gripped them hard.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You’re making me nervous just listening to you from the kitchen,” she hissed, lips pressed firmly together.

  “Not nervous,” I said, as though speaking the words would make it true. In reality it only made my stomach knot again. I felt overdressed, overprimped, and downright ridiculous, and I couldn’t believe Mordon was going to see me like this.

  She shook her curls at me, “You sure you had enough time to prepare?”

  “For an illusion?”

  She pressed her lips together again, then sighed, “I know you’re prepared for that. I meant, to see all the people.”

  “I’m hardly crowd-shy,” I said, raising my brows.

  “I mean that the Fitzgeralds will be there.” She did not say that Griff would be there, too, though it hung in the air more prominently than any worry about the Fitzgeralds.

  “You know what,” I said, “it never made sense to me that they would blame another kid for Railey’s death. It’s not in their nature.”

  “Grief does odd things to people.”

  “I suppose,” I said.

  “If you aren’t nervous about them, nor the introduction, what on earth are you afraid of?” Lilly whispered.

  “Ladies,” came a velvety voice from the side of the room.

  I didn’t look at him, and my cheeks caught fire. Here I was in this poufy, low-cut dress looking like some sort of wanna be fairy princess, and Mordon was going to spend the night trying to not think about laughing.

  Lilly looked at him, then she looked back to me and said, “Oh. I see.” I wanted to tell her that she didn’t see, that I just didn’t want to be humiliated in front of him.

  “See what?” asked Mordon, walking closer to us, straightening out his dark burgundy cuffs as he came into my vision. My stomach twisted upon seeing him.

  “Nothing,” sang Lilly, walking past me and toward a door in the corner, “I’ll go see how Leif and Barnes are coming.”

  “Ready?” Mordon asked me, still standing away from me, now tugging on his vest, a matching dark burgundy with a black paisley relief on it. His cravat was cream.

  “I would be if I could dance,” I meant to say teasingly but it came out flustered and rushed. My cheeks flared. I resisted the urge to tug up on the bodice of my dress or play with my sleeves again. Lilly’s slap still lingered on my hand, and I was mindful of her words.

  “You can’t dance?”

  “I just remembered,” I said, timidly.

  Instead of being annoyed, his stance relaxed more and a small smile came to his stretched face, “We will slip into the crowd; just follow my lead, have some confidence, and you’ll be fine.”

  I nodded, and realized we’d both stopped fidgeting.

  Leif and Barnes came out. Leif wore dark green, Barnes wore cobalt blue. They had a similar style to Mordon’s clothing, but Barnes had a double-breasted jacket. It suited him. Lilly passed tea cups to everyone for a quick drink.

  “Miss Swift,” said Barnes in a particularly slow voice, “it might yet still be early, but I am honored to have you as part of my circle.”

  “Here’s to making it official,” said Leif, raising his cup. We each took a sip.

  Before anyone else could comment, a rap came at the door that appeared next to my french doors. I managed to constantly forget about that door. I put my hand out to the wall and
felt for the house the same way I did for the shop, and was a little sad when the house gave me no indication of having a presence. Perhaps it was still too young. .

  Leif opened the door, and a skinny footman stood and announced, “Two carriages, Sir.”

  “Perfect timing,” Leif said, setting his cup down on the coffee table. Everyone else did likewise while he said, “Barnes, Lilly, and I will go in the first carriage. Mordon and Ferline will follow.”

  Leif left first, then Lilly took Barnes’ arm and gave me a supporting wink, heading out into the colored evening sky. They got in an olive and royal purple carriage pulled by four white pegasi, the creatures talking softly to each other about the sunset and feasting on oats to come. As soon as the footman closed the door and got in place, they went silent, pricked their ears forward, and launched into the air, the carriage following after lightly.

  Our carriage landed soon after, a smaller, black and gold carriage, pulled by two black pegasi. The footman opened the door for us, and I was glad for the sturdy, wide step and the shoes Lilly gave me which had only a slight heel. Inside the carriage was remarkably like being inside a classy car, except it had a round top and round sides, and the handles were brass and the windows had curtains and the seats were like overstuffed velvet couches. So it was really nothing like a car at all, I was just mentally yammering to myself to fill the silence. With a crack of a whip in the air, we lifted off.

  Eventually, other noises entered the void: the creaking of leather; groaning of wood; wind rustling through the windows; my heart thumping loudly. This was ridiculous. It was one thing to be embarrassed, another thing to be nervous about performing a spell in full view of everyone I would be seeing for the next decade or more, but it was just stupid to be so flustered. I was in a costume to appease the public, and so was Mordon.

  But Mordon didn’t look like a clown. He actually looked very good.

  “I can’t believe it’s been weeks,” I stammered.

  Mordon cocked an eyebrow at me. “No? What does it seem like?”

  I paused. That was actually a very good question. “Like a second and an eternity.”

  A smile broke over his face. “I know.”

  I stared out the window for a second, then lifted my eyes to his chiseled chin. I couldn’t stop talking; it just kept blurting out. “It wasn’t what I thought it would be—getting my magic back, that is. I guess I didn’t put a whole lot of thought into it—didn’t want to get my hopes up. Don’t get me wrong, these last two weeks have been great, they’ve just been...different. Fun sometimes, irritating as could be other times, but when I look at what I’ve gained and what I’ve lost...I still feel sad.” I was thinking of Railey and how I was frustratingly slow in getting her free. “It’s just all so different than I thought it would be, you know?”

  I expected a confused arc of his eyebrow, but was surprised when I saw a distant glaze to his eyes and he gave a slow nod. “You’ve said it much more eloquently than I ever could have.”

  I wondered what he was talking about; thinking back on my words, they were vague enough to be applied to anything. I looked back over to see him absently fussing with his cravat. I saw at the lines on his face, and resisted an urge to brush a stray red strand of hair back from his face. My stomach churned. I looked away. The carriage changed direction, surging forward on strong wings.

  “Will you let me know when you’re planning on following the vase?” I asked. I had included an alarm spell in the knife to let me know when he used it, but I would rather be ready.

  “Of course,” he said, then added, “Even before I started on that spell, I had a feeling that it connected to your case.”

  “When are we going to...?”

  “After the ball, when everyone is sleeping it off. Sorcerers like their parties and they like their slumber.”

  I didn’t want to wait, but I nodded.

  “Look,” Mordon said, having pulled back a curtain, “the moon is starting to rise.”

  I leaned on his shoulder and peered through the window where the sky was lightening between the slopes of two large hills. A sliver of silver shone past the edge of the earth, lighting the tips of the trees below. I smiled. It rose rapidly, showing now a wider slice of the moon, the sky about it becoming a light gray color. We watched as the full roundness peeked over the hills, then the moon’s curve started to slim again, leaving the same gray hue on the ridge it had crested.

  “It’s the same color as your dress,” said Mordon.

  “It is.” I blushed, suddenly feeling like the thing was horrifically low-cut even though it hardly showed a hint of curve.

  The carriage dipped downwards and for an instant my stomach fluttered upwards. I burst out in laughter, regaining my composure as we leveled out and the wheels touched ground. I took in a breath, hearing the footman outside.

  Mordon smiled, warm and peaceful for the moment. I blushed again, not sure if it was at his smile or if it was the warmth that look spread through my body. The footman opened the door.

  Mordon got out first, then bowed his head down, holding his hand out for mine. I stepped down on the sturdy step rungs, then was gratefully on the ground.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  We slipped in through a side door. Leif, Lilly, and Barnes stood waiting, and they joined us. Others were in line before us. One was a beaming pair of new parents cradling a young baby, another was a couple to announce their engagement, and the last pair was an uncle and niece, the uncle taking guardianship to train her to be a potions maker. Even Barnes visited with the others in line, smiling a smile that enveloped his entire face and transformed him in a way words could not describe.

  We were shuffled forward as the others before us made their announcement at the top of a grand staircase. The engaged couple went first, simply stating who they were and that they were getting married. The crowd was split on encouragement of this decision, but the couple didn’t care, too enraptured with each other. The baby went second, a simple announcement including the parents names and the name of their baby, to the applause and cheering of the crowd. The uncle and niece went next, an announcement including their names and how the niece was found to have potions magic, and they cracked open a vial they’d made together, casting up an illusion of a series of vials, each which popped to show her interests: healing, weather, spell casting, and illusion.

  We stepped forward, at the top of the stairs, looking down over a brightly dressed crowd. We formed a semicircle with me in the center, Mordon to my right, Lilly to my left, Barnes next to Lilly, Leif next to Mordon. Had I been alone, I might have felt hundreds of eyes inspecting me, but I wasn’t alone, and I wasn’t intimidated. Mordon caught my eye and gave me a little nod. Leif’s voice cut through the murmur of the crowd and filled the air up to the high rafters and back down, reaching even the farthest corner of the room with apparent ease.

  “I am Leif Frey, Judge of Merlin’s Market, head of the Circle at King’s Ransom, here with me are: Lilly Frey, Judge of Merlyn’s Market; Constable Barnes, of the Ninth Circuit; and Mordon Meadows, Drake Lord of Kragdomen. We are proud to announce our fifth and final member, a woman who has spread her wings in the short time she has been reunited with our number, a woman with incredible talent and keen mind, a woman with a knack for getting in trouble and an even larger knack for getting out of it again,” Leif’s addition gained the expected chuckle from the crowd, and he humored it for a few seconds before cutting them off, “Miss Ferline Swift!”

  Leif let them clap. Heads nodded and murmurs ran through the crowd.

  I had planned on talking to Mordon in the carriage about my illusion, but it had slipped my mind. It would be a surprise, seemingly lacking of magic but at the same time relishing it. The thing was, I would need a bit more energy than I had at my disposal. I had to hope Mordon would understand me without having to use words. We stood close enough no one could see past my dress when I reached over and hooked two fingers in his palm. He gave me a light squeeze.


  I raised my free hand, cupped it in front of my face, then clenched it, looking up to the ceiling, envisioning how the illusion would unfurl now that I’d seen the venue. I opened my hand, revealing a single dandelion plant with a full, white seed head sitting in my palm, its leaves cascading over my fingers. It didn’t glow, it didn’t sing or dance. It simply was one of nature’s childhood fascinations, and as I focused on it, I made it seem to each person below that they held it in their hand. I blew lightly, casting the seeds high, whisking them across the ballroom on a breeze. Where each one touched ground, a tree sprouted—corkscrew and weeping willows, apple and cherry trees, firs and junipers, and some river birch cropped up from the glossy white floor. Grass spread out from the base of each tree, flowing until it reached another patch of grass, Clumps of irises, columbines, lilies, lupines, heather, and baby’s breath formed in beds, ready to burst into bloom but holding back. The grass carpeted the stairs, a honeysuckle vine raced up the banister to us, then stopped and reached up, arching high, buds filled to bursting. The energy I borrowed from Mordon felt warm and tingly as it passed from one hand, through my arms, and out my other hand. I took one last dose of Mordon’s energy, then raised my hands in one sharp clap.