Feral Magic

by Nicolette Jinks

  The ceiling sprung out into shooting stars, a silver moon hanging low in a dove-colored sky. The flowers burst into bloom, releasing dainty white moths to flutter about in the air or rest, flexing their wings, on ladies’ hairpieces. I received astounded applause, especially when we descended down the stairs and the illusion remained. I hoped Mordon would notice the white moths were the same ones that had been used in the puppet show; he eyed them, and I think he appreciated the gesture.

  Lilly watched a moth descend toward her hair. She smiled when it landed on her finger. “I didn’t know you can make the illusion stay!”

  “Mordon helped,” I said, “I don’t know how much longer it will continue. At least an hour?”

  The orchestra struck up, and I heard a passing whisper about how they had turned away anyone with an enchanted instrument, much to the disappointment of many street performers who had bought one with the intent of being paid well.

  Mordon held out his hand as couples began a whirling dance, “Shall we?”

  I blushed and took his hand.

  As promised, he lead me someplace where people weren’t so intent on watching us, though we still got many looks. I had a feeling we would have been looped into conversations if Mordon’s reputation had not been so fierce. Throughout the dance, I stumbled over his feet, half-fell several times, and even went forward when I should have gone back. He greeted each misstep with a raised brow and a nudge here or there. I caught on to the second dance, a simple square dance, and he introduced me to some twirls and spins. When I was good and dizzy, Mordon leaned me back into a dip. I gave a little shriek and clung to him, my vision filled with his twinkling eyes. He spun me away. I came back and fell into a fit of giggles, which Mordon tried to ignore, only to start chuckling himself. I loved that rich, smooth voice of his more than even his lion eyes.

  I cleared my throat. He smiled and wiped his eyes with a carefully folded handkerchief.

  Someone tapped my shoulder. I jumped and spun my back into Mordon, the air about me getting thick with my magic. The illusions flickered, but no one noticed. I gaped, open-mouthed at the griffon standing before me.

  He was golden with honey undertones in his fur, his eyes were chocolate and seemed dulled in a sickly way. His shoulders came up to my hips, and he cocked his head at a slight angle to look up at me.

  “Lord Meadows, if you would be so kind as to get drinks, I believe your ward is parched,” Griff said, an air of superiority about him despite his impeccable enunciation and false manners.

  I heard snippets and bits of conversation follow me, and by the time I understood they were discussing my involvement with Railey’s death, Mordon had agreed to go, but as he did so he whispered into Griff’s ear.

  “I will only be two minutes,” Mordon promised and left.

  “You were wise to select a drake for a guardian. They’re so protective,” Griff mused. “They chase off all but the most adamant of admirers, and I will say he is doing a fantastic job of teaching you to dance. Why, ten years ago you were three left feet.”

  “Griff,” I said, finding a seat against the wall that was decently sheltered from eyes, “What are you doing?”

  He kept his feathers slicked back the way an Ivy League school boy gels his hair, and he said, “I intend to court you, Miss Fera.”

  I gaped at him; I was going to ask him about the transformation spell he was doing for Cole. “What?”

  Griff grabbed a champagne glass from a waiter’s tray. “This is America, dear, the great melting pot! Why, there’s hardly a pure human in this room—possibly that Gregor Cole, but I’m pretty sure he has some demon blood in his heritage. You yourself are human, fey, and a few dashes of something else—I can’t tell what, but my point still stands: This isn’t Europe. We’re a more sophisticated society.”

  I wasn’t sure where to start. “Griff, I’ve already turned you down most insistently once.”

  “Ten years ago, yes, and you were quite right as it turns out, we were both too young, did things we both regretted. But we are adults now, and it is time to forgive and forget.”

  My jaw dropped. “You cursed me. I had to die to get my magic back.”

  “And you’ve got it again, no harm done.” He took a drink. “What say you to my proposal? It’ll be a most beneficial arrangement.”

  “I think you should stay away from me, and nothing beneficial will come of your dealings with Cole,” I hissed, standing and stomping out.

  Griff dropped his glass, causing several people in the crowd to turn, and grabbed my elbow. “Don’t walk out on me,” he said. At my challenging glare, he whispered, “Or this entire hall will know just how pitiful your attempts were to save your friend.”

  I stared into his eyes, and for an instant I thought I could see that night, thought I could see two girls escaping from a shadow with glowing eyes. Fire ran through my veins. “You were there. You were there, and you did nothing.”

  The arrogant shell that surrounded him shattered, replaced by guilt. He sagged and let go of me, casting his eyes to the ground. “Wait...there’s something you should know. It’s happening soon.”

  “What is?”

  “They haven’t told me, but I thought you should know.”

  “Then stop it.”

  Griff shook his head. “I’m no hero.” With that, he walked away.

  Mordon emerged from the crowd, and it occurred to me that he had been watching. “Hear anything?”

  He handed me water in a frosty cocktail glass; I took it eagerly. “No, but you did not look very happy. I take it he wanted to speak to you about matters of the heart. I do hope you were cordial.”

  “He’s in one piece and still has all his feathers and fur, doesn’t he?”

  Mordon chuckled, and the rich sound made even me relax. He sipped at a glass with a frothy top; seeing me examine it, he said, “I suppose you would want a taste? It’s the ceremonial cream brew; that Trish from the Black Kettle is doing the drinks, and she makes a delectable brew.”

  I nodded, moving to take a sip from his glass, but he held up a jeweled hand and reached behind his back where he had been hiding another drink on a table. He gave it to me. The drink was spicy, creamy, and a little bitter. “I knew you’d want some, and it isn’t proper for a young lady to drink from her guardian’s glass,” he said, tugging on his vest in a very proper manner and looking down his nose.

  I snickered. “Proper, indeed.”

  “We must keep up appearances unless you wish to drive suitors away,” Mordon said, “and what would you like me to tell those brave enough to approach me?”

  Barnes’ voice cut through a crowd before he swaggered to us. “You can tell them they need to beat her in the snail races. No right and proper man would set foot in an establishment that entertains such a vulgar source of debauchery. And any man willing to save her from it had better be darned close to his instincts to outwit our feral lady.”

  “My dearest Constable,” I said, speaking with a poor imitation of the soft way I heard women speak here, “do tell me that you have not been spreading rumors on my behalf.”

  “Only those which speak to your beauty and wit,” Barnes said with a half bow.

  I rolled my eyes and smoothed out the front of my dress. “Can’t wait to get out of this thing.”

  “Then do help yourself to the food. I have trouble to rouse, ladies to insult, and entire list of social niceties to exploit,” said Barnes, sweeping up my hand to kiss it. “Have a fair evening, my dears. Do try to have one good social scandal, it keeps our circle at the top of the rumor mill.”

  No sooner had Barnes left than Mordon started to direct us toward the area where waiters hoovered in particular concentration. We found Leif brooding by the banister at the foot of the staircase. I snared several items off passing platters, and stopped when I was sure I had crossed over the line of how many it was polite to take at any one time.

  I looked at where Leif was watching and saw Lilly spinning graceful
ly between three partners; more lined up to wait their turn. She smiled, flowing with the song as graceful as an angel, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground.

  “Do you think,” said Leif, “that she would leave our circle to join his, or that they would remain in separate circles?”

  “When she decides to marry?” mused Mordon. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t think either of you need to worry about that. She’s enjoying her prime far too much to be tied down right now,” I said.

  Leif sighed. “One of her secrets?”

  “It isn’t so secret. It’s her,” I said. According to Lilly, marriage in sorcering communities varied from Victorian marriages arranged for optimal power and social status to bride kidnapping to the standard love story. It was all about who your friends and family were. “She’s got Barnes as a guardian. No one would cross a Constable, much less one with his dark element.”

  “True,” said Leif, then his blue eyes sparkled. “What social faux pas are you two going to do? I spiked the punch.”

  “Is this something you all do?” I asked.

  “Every year, it’s tradition,” said Leif proudly.

  “My tradition is to dance with no one,” said Mordon, “But I’ve already broken that.”

  “It would be terribly rude of us to refuse other partners, would it not?” I said. Leif nodded.

  “It’ll get tongues wagging,” Leif said, “You should do it, and scarcely sit out a dance.”

  “Fine,” I said, “that’s what we’ll do.”

  Especially if it meant we couldn’t be approached by anyone else who thought they should be entitled to court me. I winked and held out my arm to Mordon. “Ready to be trampled by my three left feet?”

  Mordon raised an eyebrow, then got a mischievous grin. “Ready to dance like a butterfly?”

  I snorted. He winked, and we very impolitely danced the night away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The next morning I was awake before anyone else; I couldn’t sleep. I kept dreaming I was lost in a sea of memories with people I did not know climbing on me, trying to crawl over my head so they would be saved. It happened over and over again, until a sorcerer burst from the sea and saw me. He raised his arms and yelled, “Dragon!”

  I jolted awake, covered in sweat and wrapped tightly in my bedsheets. For several seconds, I lay there, still, listening to my heart pound in my ears. It was a few minutes before I stopped seeing shapes in the shadows, and a few minutes more before I gathered up the strength to bolt into clothes, grab a comb off the counter, and run down to King’s Ransom. I collapsed on the floor, curling into a tight ball, letting my connection with the shop soothe me until I felt comfortable enough to fuss around.

  Mordon yawned and stretched, finding me arranging the pendants and rings in their case.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Not a good one, I take it,” he said, setting a mug in front me.

  “Nightmare.”

  “Mmm,” he said, as though he was sharing the sentiment. When I brought my eyes to him, I noticed that he had missed the first button and the rest of his shirt was off by one. “So much for my plan to do the spell before you wake up.”

  “I’d have only found trouble on my own,” I said, suppressing a yawn.

  A book landed in front of me, barely missing my brew. I didn’t catch the title before Mordon started flipping through it. I put my finger down a page with a painting on it.

  “I saw him! In my dream. He pointed to me and called me a dragon.”

  Mordon’s eyes were amused. “A dragon?”

  I shrugged. “Dreams are dreams.”

  “Except when they’re dreams induced by wild magic...so you saw Caerwyn. He was a Welshman known for traveling through time in order to keep Morgan Le Fey in her prison. He was last seen...” Mordon turned to the next page, “...in 1588 at Roanoak colony, and was gone with the rest of the colony by the time a supply ship reached them in 1590. It was then on known as the Lost Colony. Well! My uncle always raved about Roanoak being the last sighting of the Unwrittens.” Mordon leaned forward and smiled. “Guess he wasn’t that bonkers after all. You see, he was the last one to enter a journal recording about the finding spell.”

  “What happened to the ones before him?”

  Mordon frowned. “I need an earlier book. Hold the fort down, the shop gets real crazy this time in the morning.”

  I rolled my eyes but nodded, turning the page to see Caerwyn again. The book politely started to fold up, and I let it close. Beneath it, I saw, was Skills of the Thaumaturge. How it had managed to make it from my living room down to the shop was beyond me, but that was the way of these magical books. Mordon once joked that they walked, and I was starting to think it wasn’t so much of a joke.

  Scratching noises ground through the shop, echoing off the walls and vibrating in my ears; I stood up, book in hand, not sure what was making the sound yet strangely unafraid of whatever it was. I followed the noises to the main door and watched as it warped into the tall, wide mouth of a cave. I wanted to call out for Mordon, but the shop did not feel worried and my shoes did not seem to want to leave the floor. I waited instead, enraptured and intrigued.

  A cool breeze drifted from the opening, smelling of sulfur and mineral water as it wove past my hair.

  “Hello?” I called, stepping forward to peer into the darkness.

  Scraping noises like that of iron on stone came from the cave, and a new smell came to me: wood smoke and ashes. As I watched, a dragon heaved himself into the shop as the shelves and artifacts scrunched back into a heap against the walls to make room. Even so, his face came level with the wooden plane and it would have been no matter for the dragon to have put his neck through the ceiling.

  The dragon dropped his head down to the floor, and even so I had to crane my head to meet his cloudy eyes. Instinctively, I rested my hand on his cheek, noting the ridged scales, the flakes and dust under my palm.

  “A fair day to you, Childhe,” he said, almost whispering, “I am known as Thessen, the first dragon to educate my flock, guardian of the Verdant Realm. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

  “My name is Ferline Swift.”

  His throat scales scratched against wood as he picked up his head to sniff me.“I know you by your deeds. It is an honor to make your introduction.”

  Thessen. The name was familiar, and not just from bedtime tales.

  “The honor is mine.” I said, still trying to remember where I knew the name from. “Shall I find Mordon for you?”

  Thessen cocked his head, “I did come for the Drake Lord of Kragdomen, but I was not anticipating finding you, nor Aethel’s book.”

  “I thought this was a copy,” I said, holding it away and looking at it.

  “It matters not. Her essence is in the book, and she brought the dawn of an era of hope—and it appears, it shall be so again.”

  I looked at the book again and noticed it seemed to have fewer scratches in the leather.

  Mordon’s voice came to me, sounding a little distant. “Fera, did I hear someone enter?”

  The dragon turned kind, cloudy eyes to me, waiting.

  “Yes, Thessen came to pay you a visit,” I replied.

  There was a pause, then he repeated, “Thessen?”

  “Indeed,” said Thessen, rumbling the floor boards and clattering glassware together with his speaking voice. “I have come.”

  Something heavy fell to the floor near the back of the store, then Mordon appeared from around a tower of newspapers, his hair tousled and clothes dusty. He bowed quickly, and Thessen inclined his head.

  “Drake Lord of Kragdomen,” said Thessen, rumbling the shop again.

  “Guardian of Verdant Realm,” said Mordon, his voice tense, “Your visit honors my hovel, though you will not be offended if I ask why you have come?”

  “I take no offense,” Thessen said, the accompanying rumble starting to shake items off the shelves completely. “And
methinks it a cozy hoard.”