by Gail Dayton
Something whispered through the back of Jax’s mind. Amanusa? he thought at her. No answer came.
Warmth bloomed. Love. Amanusa. She had returned to him. He hugged her close inside his mind, his heart. Blood of my blood, he thought fiercely. Our blood, all of it, one.
He reached for her, pushing his love at her. Amanusa whimpered. Kazaryk smirked. Silently, Jax . pleaded for her to feel the magic, to take hold of his love and do what only she could do.
Without releasing her bleeding hand, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her roughly around to face him, giving her a sharp shake. Would she understand? “Thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?”
He caught her face in a harsh grip, forcing it up to his, but she wouldn’t look at him. He shook her again. “Look at me, woman. You belong to me now, do you understand?”
Her lashes flickered and she glanced up at him. Her eyes caught and held.
“You’re mine,” Jax growled at her, willing her to feel his love, accept it. “Until your life ends. Mine.”
She blinked at him. Her mouth dropped open in a gasp.
“We have all tasted your blood, taken in your power. It’s in us now.” Jax brought her injured hand to his mouth and ran his tongue across the still-oozing cut. She watched him do it, her tongue sliding over her lower lip in echo of his action, drawing his body tight despite the lingering pain.
“Your blood,” he repeated. “Your power, inside all of us.”
Amanusa’s gaze flicked from his mouth to his eyes as he prayed for her to understand his meaning and finish the spell. To bind him again, or at the very least, to deal with the men who’d kidnapped them, forced this brokenness upon them.
“You want my blood? To take my power?” Her voice held fear, but the touch across his mind held a fierce and powerful love.
“It’s already mine.” With one hand he gripped her shoulder and with the other, he licked up the blood that had pooled in the cup of her hand, holding her gaze as he did. “I’ll take it all. I want it, and I will have it.”
Yes, he thought, and Please, and Hurry.
The power slammed into him, a locomotive crashing through his veins. The blood bond of a familiar snapped back into place as if it had never left him, and he laughed aloud.
Kazaryk looked from Jax to Amanusa, a faint smile on his face. “Can you feel it? Is it the power you stole?”
“I stole nothing.” Jax’s grin felt feral. Vicious. Hungry. “She gave everything I asked.”
“Oh, my God, it is back,” Oleg cried. “The familiar bond is back.”
“Kill her!” Kazaryk shouted.
Magic flared. Jax could see it again. It slid off the shields Amanusa had built around him, but she staggered.
“No!” He hauled her in close, hoping to wrap her in the shielding she’d given him. “You were supposed to save some for yourself.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you.” He poured his love into her, pushed and shoved so she would know how much he loved. “And if you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you. Now, stop them, damn it! They’ve tasted your blood.”
She took the love he gave her and wrapped herself in it. The magic attacking them swirled around her, as if she’d vanished to its senses.
Amanusa turned to the four male magicians in the room, white with terror. Mikoyan stood firm, despite his fear, and Paolo stood quaking beside him. Oleg and Kazaryk scrambled to flee. With a flick of her wrist, they froze in place.
Jax stared. He cleared his throat. “Amanusa, love, what are you doing?”
“Stopping them. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”
The fleeing magicians were frozen in midstep, eyes rolling in terror and fury. Jax had never seen such a thing. When Yvaine wanted to stop someone, she rendered them unconscious and they fell to the floor. She’d never turned anyone into conscious statuary.
“I didn’t think you would do it like this.” He walked around Oleg, studying his unbalanced posture.
“I didn’t think so either, but Jax, there’s so much power. You gave me so much when the bond reformed, I was—I just—I said stop and this is what they did.”
Jax walked up to Mikoyan, who had refused to run. “This one—was he truly trying to rescue me from you?”
Amanusa’s face got that absorbed look it got when she worked magic to probe thoughts. “Yes. He has a very poor opinion of women—” She came out of the spell to look at Mikoyan. “Some women are featherbrained idiots,” she said to him. “But I think we can agree that a good many men are idiots as well, can’t we?”
She linked her arm through Jax’s. “He didn’t want me killed, but he thought you should have your chance at revenge. He disapproved of what he thought you were trying to do.” She smiled and patted Mikoyan’s cheek with her clean hand. “He’s the chivalrous sort who thinks women ought to be cosseted and protected and kept like pets, rather than allowing us to grow into our adult strength. He’s a bit afraid of strong women.”
“Any man with good sense is.” Jax kissed her hand and smiled to let her know he was teasing. Mostly.
He looked at Mikoyan. “You broke the blood bond between us—or forced Amanusa to do it—so that I could choose. I have. I choose my wife, the woman I love with all my heart. Now, the bond is back—”
“Not exactly.” Amanusa was apparently thinking again.
Jax’s heart started to pound. “What do you mean, not exactly?”
“It’s not the same bond. It doesn’t feel the same. Does it feel the same to you?”
Suddenly frantic, Jax groped for the magic he’d never truly been able to sense. Amanusa caught his hand—except, she was already holding his hand. Had been since he’d laid their cuts together. He squinted—but it wasn’t his eyes, exactly, that he used. He felt Amanusa’s flesh-and-blood hand, and he felt another extra-physical hand holding his.
A hand that glowed, and as it glowed, somehow transformed into a ribbon of light hovering between them. No—not light. Love. The light was love, and it tied them together and flowed between them.
“I can see it,” he whispered. “I can actually see it, head-blind as I am. It’s beautiful.”
“It is, isn’t it? I wish you could see it the way I do.” Amanusa’s eyes focused on Mikoyan as she leaned her head on Jax’s shoulder. “I think I am actually grateful to you for forcing us to break Yvaine’s bond. It was her magic that bound us, you know. And her spell was flawed. It was a one-way bond, tying Jax to Yvaine, but not Yvaine to Jax. He was Yvaine’s servant, but not her familiar. It made the bond weak, and it made the magic weak. By breaking her bond, we were able to forge our own. A true familiar’s bond. A heart bond.”
“Built on love—” Jax breathed, understanding.
Amanusa looked up at him. “Yes. It wasn’t magic you handed me when we reforged the bond. It was love.”
“You could do so much better than bind yourself to me,” he whispered, for her alone. “Than a head-blind cripple who’s lived too long past his time. You could have someone with more power, more magic. But I can’t give you up.”
“Someone else might have more magic,” Amanusa whispered back. “But no one else could love me half so much as you do, nor could I love anyone else. You’re the only one for me, the only one who could have taught me how to love. And love carries so much more power than magic.”
Kazaryk made a strangled noise in his throat, drawing Amanusa’s attention.
“Ah. Inquisitor Kazaryk is choking on our mawkish sentimentality again.” She stretched up to give Jax a too-brief kiss. “We had better tend to our prisoners.”
Chapter 31
“You’ll need to blank their minds,” Jax said. “Erase what they’ve learned about sorcery.”
“Why?” Amanusa frowned. “Wouldn’t it be safer if everyone knows sorcery can’t be worked with stolen blood? Only with that willingly given?”
“That much is safe. But not that it’s your blood that works the
greatest magic. We’d never get it inside anyone again.”
“You’re right.” She turned toward the two alchemists. “You two had better finish your drinks. You’ve taken too little blood to be safe. The less blood you’ve had, the harder it is for me to control the magic. So drink up, boys.” She made a bottoms-up gesture and Mikoyan’s arm jerked, sloshing some of his drink. “I’ve released you enough for that.”
Mikoyan and Paolo gulped down the rest of their whiskey.
“What will you do with us?” Paolo licked the whiskey off his upper lip. “Kill us?”
Amanusa dropped her forehead onto Jax’s shoulder and shook her head, sighing. “Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?”
She lifted her head and looked Paolo in the eye. “Listen. Actually pay attention to what I say and let it soak through your ears into your tiny little brain, all right? Are you listening?” She looked at Mikoyan, at Kazaryk and Oleg.
“I am not a murderer,” she said. “I have killed, yes. In self-defense. Because what those men in the outlaw camp wanted to do to me—I would rather they killed me. Should I have simply died? Do you deny me the right to fight with the weapons I have?”
Her hand closed around Jax’s upper arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Jax reached across with the hand that had finally stopped bleeding, and pried her gently loose. She glanced at him and some of the tension slipped away, though the anger remained. He hoped it was her own anger, rather than his overwhelming her.
“Am I wrong to defend myself now?” She flicked her eyes toward Oleg and Kazaryk, as if afraid what her anger might do if she looked at them full on. “Inquisitor Kazaryk wanted to kill me. He has wanted to kill me for some time now. He would have allowed Jax to kill me, but he wants me dead. He still does. Look at the hate in his eyes. I stopped him. I could have killed you already, but I didn’t. I won’t. I don’t want your not-so-innocent blood on my hands.”
“Blank memory,” Jax whispered. He didn’t want her forgetting to do what had to be done.
“Do you think I could erase Kazaryk’s madness as well?”
“I think that might take a bit more time than we have, even if it were possible.”
Amanusa sighed. “Likely you’re right. If you’d catch those two—I think they’ll be more comfortable if they’re unconscious.”
Jax obliged. Oleg was a large and heavy young man. He thumped a bit when he hit the floor. Kazaryk wasn’t nearly so large, so Jax thumped him on the way down.
“Jax.” Amanusa’s scold held amusement and affection. “That wasn’t very sporting.”
“It wasn’t very sporting of them to tie me down and try to rip my heart out,” he grumbled.
“How exactly do I do this ‘blanking’?” She walked closer to look down at the unconscious men.
“I don’t have Yvaine’s library in my head anymore, but I believe you ride their thoughts to the memory you want and… smooth it over.”
Amanusa blew out a breath of air. “All right. We’ll start with Inquisitor Kazaryk for practice.”
Jax nodded. “Might be a touch hard on Kazaryk, but given what he wanted to do to you…”
She took another deep breath, and as she let it out, she caught hold of her magic in the conjurer’s blood and slid inside his mind. It was not a pretty place, but she was able to shut out the ugliness and concentrate on actual memory. Of course, his memory was shaded with his mania. Kazaryk saw her as a femme fatale with blood dripping from her mouth and coating her hands. She didn’t bother correcting the memory. Who else would see it?
Quickly, she found the pieces she wanted, where Jax had to repeat himself so many times about her blood being inside the others. She was able to locate Kazaryk’s horrified realization of what that meant, and all the other moments of understanding, and one at a time, she washed them away. She scrubbed a bit too hard to begin with, and erased a bit more than necessary, but they were bits he wouldn’t miss. She thought.
After Inquisitor Kazaryk, she blanked out the pertinent parts of Oleg’s memory, then turned to the still conscious alchemists. “You understand why I am doing this,” she said, watching Mikoyan’s reaction.
“Guild secrets.” Mikoyan inclined his head. “I understand.”
“I will touch no other part of your memory save for my time in this house.”
Mikoyan gave his little bow again. He could move only his head and one arm, so could give only little bows. “Thank you,” he said. “You are that rarest of creatures, an honorable woman.”
“And isn’t it a pity that honorable men are just as rare?” Her smile felt a little bleak.
“If I might request—I would prefer to remain conscious while you perform this magic. If I am to lose the memory of my children, I should like to hold them in my mind as long as possible.”
“I won’t touch your children, Mr. Mikoyan, but I don’t object to your request.” She raised an eyebrow. “Ready?”
He gave a brusque nod. The muscles under his control tensed, but while her blood flowed in his veins, no shield could keep her out. She slid in easily and found the memories, and the conclusions he’d reached because of them. On this third time, it was easier to precisely scrub away the necessary bits.
Then she called to her blood inside Mikoyan, breaking a tiny vessel inside his nose for it to escape. Jax caught it on a tissue and tossed it in the grate to burn with the blood from the others. She finished her spell with Paolo, and Jax had just set match to the papers when the front door rattled.
Jax leaped across the room to put himself between Amanusa and the door, bringing the fireplace poker up as weapon. Esteban burst in, followed closely by Harry, Grey, Vaillon, and a number of policemen. Their charge faltered, and they stared.
“Well.” Harry propped his hands on his hips. “Looks like you rescued yourselves. Again.”
“Sorry.” Amanusa shifted her shoulders in a sort-of shrug. “But not truly. They were going to kill us.”
“So this gentleman informed us.” Vaillon indicated Esteban. “How did you… prevail?”
Amanusa sighed. “When people insist on believing that sorcery’s power comes by stealing it, it’s easy.”
“Are they dead?” Esteban asked, eyes rolling toward Oleg and Kazaryk.
“Unconscious. They were the leaders of this plot.” She didn’t believe the alchemists deserved as much blame as the other two, but they shouldn’t get off scot-free, either.
“Let’s take ‘em all back to the conclave and let the governors decide wot to do with ‘em.” Harry paused. “If that’s all right with you, Captain. Your country, after all.”
“Your magicians,” Vaillon replied.
He gestured at his subordinates, who came to bear the unconscious men away. Amanusa released the magic on Mikoyan and Paolo, who staggered, but didn’t fall. Not with the policemen gripping their arms. Amanusa stumbled as she followed, when the floor boards jumped up in front of her feet.
Jax caught her. “No more magic for you today.”
Harry frowned. “What about the ‘earing? Before the conclave, about all this?”
Grey urged Harry out of the way so Jax and Amanusa could pass. “I am sure Mrs. Greyson’s wizardly admirers—Dr. Rosato, perhaps—would be happy to mix up a truth potion for the witnesses.” Grey winked at Amanusa.
She couldn’t make her eyes work well enough to wink back. “Truth serum would be good.” She couldn’t rest yet. But as Jax levered her masses of petticoats into the carriage, she couldn’t quite recall why.
Amanusa slept through most of the hearing, on a cot that had been set up in a back room for the governing board’s secretaries. All five kidnappers gave account of what they had done, according to French law, as did Jax. As darkness fell, they sent him to wake her and bring her in to tell what she had done, giving her time only to comb and tie back her hair and splash water on her face. She wore her same wrinkled, blood-spattered dress.
On the dais, Dr. Rosato handed her a cup of tea, which she dran
k. It had an odd aftertaste, but wasn’t bad, with plenty of honey to sweeten it. After a moment, she began to feel light-headed, and one of the Massileans eased her into the chair that magically appeared behind her.
Under Vaillon’s questioning, she told what had happened in the house in Montmartre, from the time she entered until the time she left, somehow managing to hold back sorcery guild secrets. When Vaillon was satisfied, Gathmann rose.
“Is there anything you would like to say to this conclave assembly?” he asked her.
Amanusa blinked. Was there? “Yes.” She struggled to her feet and took Dr. Rosato’s arm to walk to the podium. She stood there until the moment of dizziness retreated, looking out at the crowd.
“You lost sorcery,” she said, “because of lies told about it. Sorcery has returned, and still you are afraid to give up the lies. None of the blood spilled in that house came from the kidnappers. Every bit of the blood you see on my dress belongs to my husband and to me, spilled by those who took us captive. Blood drawn by force, stolen blood, is innocent blood. It turns its power against those who shed it. Consider then, gentlemen. How can sorcery work by stealing the blood of innocents if that blood will turn against the sorcerer? It cannot.”
A murmur rose in the crowd as they began to discuss her words.
“Blood magic comes from life, not death.” Amanusa tried to hold the gaze of the crowd, and couldn’t. But she tried. “Only blood willingly given, like that spilled in the miracle of birth, or like that donated by Mr. Carteret yesterday, can call up the magic to work spells. What you fear is nothing but a lie told for so long that the truth was suppressed.
“But it wasn’t the supposed evil of sorcery that our kidnappers disliked. They would have been perfectly happy for my husband to steal my power by bleeding me dry and become the sorcerer. Because he is a man and I am a woman.
“Are you all so weak, so uncertain of your manhood that a strong woman can frighten you? It takes both men and women to create new life. Neither can usurp the role of the other. Why then is it so impossible to believe that not only is it good and proper for women to work magic just as men do, but that it might be necessary?
