The Darkest Magic (A Book of Spirits and Thieves)

by Morgan Rhodes

  They entered from the back of the theater, walking first through the shamble of a lobby. As Becca descended the narrow aisle to the main stage, she looked at the rows upon rows of red seats, all of which had been immaculately maintained. Adorning the walls were geometric patterns in once bold, now fading colors, and on several panels there were twenty-foot murals depicting glamorous women wearing sullen expressions, holding instruments and lilies.

  Art Deco, she thought randomly, the name of the theater’s aesthetic popping into her mind. That’s the style.

  The abandoned exterior of the building was the perfect way to camouflage the headquarters of a secret society.

  The masked man guided Becca in farther. She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Markus walking in after her, two of Damen’s henchmen on either side of him, regarding his theater with a stony look in his eyes.

  Damen stood at center stage, alone, his hands clasped behind his back, watching them.

  Including Becca, seven people were present. She wondered where the rest of Damen’s gunmen had gone.

  “Why here?” Markus asked.

  “Because this is your domain,” Damen said simply. “Your kingdom, Markus King. I do like the surname you chose. A bit vain and pompous, perhaps, but that’s you.”

  “And you chose Winter for yours. Frigid and unpleasant to endure.”

  “I thought you liked winter, Markus?” Damen descended from the stage and moved toward them. “You chose to make Toronto your new home.”

  “I didn’t choose it.”

  “Yet you’ve stayed here all these years.”

  Damen knew a lot about Markus. And by the look on Markus’s face, he didn’t like it one bit.

  Were they alone in here? Perhaps there was someone else in the building, a janitor or maintenance worker? What about Hawkspear members? Did they have access to the theater in between official gatherings?

  Becca was bursting with questions, but she stayed silent. Besides, she knew they were probably futile. A psycho mastermind like Damen wouldn’t choose a venue that could be compromised by random visitors at any given moment.

  “Becca.” Damen came to stand right in front of her, stunning her out of her thoughts. “Look at me.”

  She really, really didn’t want to. Still looking down, she clasped her hands together, tightly, until she felt pain. She tried to focus on that pain and nothing else.

  She so wanted to be brave. She so wanted to be like Crys, to say something snarky to trick everyone into thinking she wasn’t terrified. She’d experienced so much fear in Mytica—even as a spirit, she’d still been faced with the horror of ravenous magic—but it had been nothing like this. That terror descended upon her quickly, and it was over before she knew it.

  And in Mytica, Maddox had been by her side every step of the way. They’d helped each other find enough bravery to survive. Here, in this eerily immaculate theater with these demons from another world, Becca had no one to help her find that strength.

  The shadow was still with her now, but sadly that didn’t count.

  “Becca,” Damen said again, slower and more deliberately. “Look at me.”

  But she still didn’t look.

  “She can resist your magic,” Markus said.

  “I’m not using magic. Should I, Becca?”

  She set her jaw and forced herself to look at him. She met his chilling black and reptilian eyes straight on and couldn’t hold back a flinch.

  Damen nodded, his pale face expressionless as he walked through the theater, forcing Becca to follow him with her gaze. “It’s disturbing to you, isn’t it? My appearance?”

  She bit her lip, afraid of how he’d retaliate if she agreed or disagreed with him.

  “You look very tired,” he continued. He reached the foot of stage and climbed its steps up to the hardwood surface. He paced the stage, glancing up at the rafters and lights. “It was a big night for us all. You need to rest.”

  “Rest?” Markus said. “This is hardly a time for rest. Tell us why you brought us here.”

  “Not yet.”

  “You think you can just keep me here until you feel ready?”

  “Yes, I do. And what will you do about it? Your magic is so faded, it’s almost as if it were never there at all. You’re not much stronger than a mortal now.” He nodded at two of the masked men, who came up on either side of Markus. “You’ve built a nice little dungeon downstairs,” Damen said. “I assume that’s where you keep the accused before they face their society trials.”

  Markus said nothing, so Damen went on talking.

  “Fortunately it’s empty. Otherwise I would have had to empty it myself. Now, go with my people, Markus. And please don’t give me any problems tonight. You know very well that I will make you regret it.”

  Markus eyed Becca for a few tense moments as she braced herself for what would follow when Markus inevitably disobeyed Damen. But suddenly, to her great surprise, Markus turned away and, without a word, accompanied the two men out of the theater.

  Becca held her breath and waited for what might happen next.

  “I’m sorry tonight has been so difficult for you, Becca,” Damen said as he watched Markus be led out of the room. “You didn’t choose that man as your father.”

  “That man isn’t my father,” Becca spat. “My father is Daniel Hatcher.”

  Becca puffed out her chest in pride. She sounded strong. Brave. She took some comfort in that. From the corner of her eye, she watched the shadow slither beneath a red seat nearby.

  A slight, chilly smile cracked Damen’s expressionless face. “Very well,” he said dismissively. “As I said before, you need to sleep.”

  “No, I don’t—”

  He narrowed his bottomless black eyes. “Sleep.”

  • • •

  That slap of Damen’s magic was the last thing she remembered when she woke up on a cot in what looked like a backstage dressing room, covered in a soft gray blanket. She sat bolt upright and craned her neck all around. No one else was there.

  What time was it? She fumbled for her phone but couldn’t find it and didn’t remember the last time she’d seen it. The clutch she’d taken to the ball was gone. The only belongings she had were the clothes she was wearing: the fancy black dress with the itchy beaded neckline, tight black shoes, and the silver rose necklace she always wore, which she twisted nervously.

  And then there was that dense shadow, which lingered now in the corner.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said to the shadow. Her throat was raw. “I don’t know what you are, but . . . can you help me?”

  The shadow simply continued to swirl in the corner.

  She sighed and took another look around. All was quiet and still, and though she didn’t have a clock, she had the feeling that it might still be the middle of the night. Could it be possible that she was the only one awake in the theater? Quietly, she got up and went to the door. She tried the knob, gasping with surprise to find it unlocked. Could this actually be happening? Could she just walk away from all of this, right now? She had only a vague idea where she was in relation to Angus’s home, but if she could just get outside, she could find a way to get there. She’d borrow a phone, or she’d even be happy to take her chances on hitchhiking with a random stranger if it got her away from Damen and Markus.

  The door creaked as she slowly pushed it open. Trembling, she slipped into the hallway.

  But her heart plummeted to see that there was someone waiting for her just outside the door. It was one of Damen’s men in black, still wearing his mask.

  “Damen will be happy to learn you’re awake,” he said. “Follow me.”

  She knew she had no choice. Girding herself for the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours, she followed as the man led her through the backstage hallways and out to the stage. On top of the stage was a long wooden table. Damen stood at the end of it.

  “Good morning, Becca,” he said. He gestured toward the chair opposite
him, in front of which was a spread of food. “Please sit. I’ve arranged breakfast for you.”

  Though he looked the same as he had last evening—those coal-black eyes were still burning in his face—there was something about him this morning, some invisible sense of danger, that made him even more frightening.

  With nothing to do but obey, she walked stiffly toward the table and sat. On the table in front of her were platters of eggs—scrambled, fried, and poached—bacon, ham, sausages, pancakes, French toast, and several glass pitchers of fruit juice.

  As if on autopilot, Becca put her napkin in her lap, and Damen took his seat across from her. “I hope it’s all right; I didn’t know what you like to eat.” Becca just stared at him, motionless and silent, her silverware untouched next to her plate. “Becca, I would like to apologize for using my magic on you last night.”

  “Ha!” she said immediately, surprised and a bit horrified at herself, but seemingly unable to stop now that she’d started. “Why apologize? You can get people to do whatever you want them to do, whenever you want them to do it. Why wouldn’t you use that magic all the time?”

  “Many reasons,” he replied coldly.

  They were interrupted by a shuffling sound somewhere backstage, and Becca followed Damen’s demon eyes to the source. Entering through the curtains was Markus, flanked by two more of Damen’s men.

  Upon seeing Becca, Damen, and the man in black who’d been chaperoning Becca, Markus groaned. “Why are they still wearing masks?” His escorts led him to his chair, right between Becca and Damen, facing the sea of vacant red seats.

  “Why do you think?” Damen asked as Markus sat down.

  “Oh, please, Damen,” Markus said and sneered. “You think I don’t know what you’ve done? They’re wearing masks because you don’t want me to see their faces. Faces that I’d recognize, because they belong to Hawkspear members you’ve enslaved to do your bidding.”

  Damen smiled sickly in response. “Did you rest well in your dungeon?”

  Markus flicked a brief glance at Becca. Her food was still untouched, and she had no plans to change that. “I assume we’re here because you mean to put me on trial for my crimes,” Markus said, ignoring Damen’s taunts.

  “Interesting thought. Do you believe you’ve committed crimes against me?”

  “I did nothing to you that you didn’t fully deserve.”

  “You’re right, Markus. I did deserve my punishment. All those awful deeds? I was practically begging for it.” Damen paused and shifted his chilling gaze to Becca. “I wonder what you’d think of me, Becca, if you knew the truth.”

  “I don’t think anything of you,” Becca said as steadily as possible. “I don’t even know you.”

  “You saw what I can do.”

  No matter how cool Becca hoped she was remaining on the surface, it didn’t change the fact that the memory of those bodies slumping to the ballroom floor was still vivid in her mind. It hadn’t left her; it was haunting her for more reasons than anyone here in her world could know.

  That memory . . . the way Damen had wielded the magic of death . . . reminded her of what Maddox was capable of.

  But she tried to shake these bad thoughts away. Maddox would never use his magic like Damen did, so casually, so selfishly. As if a life had no more meaning than an old tissue made to be thrown away.

  Damen went on, not waiting for Becca to reply. “You want to be a writer one day, Becca?”

  She blinked, the change of subject taking her completely off guard. “How did you know that?”

  “That doesn’t matter. But I know, and I think it’s a wonderful occupation. Perhaps you can tell my story someday.”

  “Leave the girl alone,” Markus growled. “You’re scaring her.”

  Damen turned to Markus. “Scaring her? How? By suggesting she use her talent to tell the true story of someone who has been wrongfully perceived as a villain his whole life, hated by everyone he’s ever known? Someone who might have a point of view that should finally be heard?”

  “Memories of one’s past are tainted,” Markus said. “There are no truths to be found in them.”

  From the corner of her eye, Becca saw her inky shadow slither from its nook on the other side of the stage toward her chair.

  Markus glanced down at it, his brow furrowing deeply.

  Her breath caught as she realized that he could see the shadow.

  The shadow inched closer to Becca’s ankle. She tried not to move, tried not to scream, as it wrapped itself around her foot and leg and . . .

  The crystal city sparkled beneath a bright blue sky. Dozens of golden hawks circled above the city, all of them squawking, as if panicked. As if calling out a warning.

  Becca turned, bracing herself for the abysmal sight she knew she would find behind her. Beyond green fields and rolling valleys, the earth was crumbling away, falling into nothingness.

  “Stop this,” said a beautiful young woman with long dark hair and wearing golden robes, her voice quavering. “Please, you must stop!”

  “Why should I?”

  Becca gasped. It was Damen who answered her, only he looked . . . different. His complexion was no longer chalky white but instead glowed with a healthy tan. It shimmered as if dusted with gold. His black hair gleamed, and his eyes—no longer two forbidding black holes—were dark brown and clear, but filled with anguish.

  “I’m begging you, Damen,” said the woman. “Stop.” Standing behind her were others, all in robes, all beautiful and young. A violent chill rushed through Becca when she saw that one of them was Markus. Another was Valoria.

  The young woman held the book—the Book of the Immortals, the Bronze Codex—tightly in her arms. “You destroy everything because you’re filled with such endless hate. And now you would destroy me too, along with it all?”

  “You are the only thing in this universe I love, sister,” Damen said. “And yet you are also the one I hate the most. You stand there, with them, rather than by my side. You choose to reject me, to leave me behind? Fine. But this is the price you must pay. Everything you care about—everything all of you care about—I will end it.”

  A powerful wave of Damen’s bitterness, self-hatred, and aching loneliness coursed through Becca as she witnessed this.

  Damen was the most powerful being in the world. In the universe.

  For this, everyone feared him.

  For this, everyone hated him.

  His magic was in direct opposition to the magic belonging to these beautiful immortals, who wielded the power of life and creation. His magic was made up of death, destruction, pain, and emptiness.

  He didn’t belong here with them. He never had.

  “You mean to cast me away from this world,” Damen said. “To put an end to the pain I cause you all. Well, I will go. But I will leave you with but a shard of this world, only a pitiful fraction of our population. You hurt me, so I annihilate you.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said desperately, but Becca saw the alarming lack of hope in her eyes.

  “It has always been this way, Eva,” he said. “Ever since you and I were first created. You were given all that is good, while I was given all that is bad. This”—he paused and gestured to the solemn, petrified group of immortals around him—“this has always been my destiny . . .”

  Suddenly, the scene shifted to reveal a world on fire beneath a blackened sky. A few dozen immortals, including Valoria and Markus, stood in a circle. Damen was in the middle of the circle, kneeling, bracing himself against the scorched ground. Standing before him was Eva and an immortal Becca didn’t recognize, who held a golden dagger in his hand. Eva had a handful of Damen’s sleek black hair tight in her grip as she yanked it and forced him to look up at her.

  “You’ve given me no choice, brother,” she said, her voice breaking with choked-down sobs.

  She placed her hands on either side of his head. Instantly, his eyes began to glow with bright white light. The immortal at her sid
e took the golden dagger and thrust it into Damen’s chest.

  Damen screamed. The sound was so wretched it turned Becca’s blood to ice, made her want to dive down right into the center of the earth just so that she didn’t have to hear it anymore . . .

  And then the ruined world faded away. Becca opened her eyes and found herself back on the stage, at the table with the two immortals. Gasping, she stood up so quickly that her chair fell down and skittered backward. The shadow fled and retreated to its corner.

  “Is there a problem, Becca?” Damen asked, frowning.

  She shook her head. Her heart rate had tripled in the span of seconds.

  What was she supposed to say? That a shadow spirit that escaped from the bronze hawk had just shown her the greatest-hits reel of his horrific past? That it had just confirmed her suspicion that Damen Winter was, by far, the most frightening and dangerous being in the entire universe?

  That he could destroy not only lives but entire worlds without a moment of hesitation?

  And that a small piece of her, the part that wasn’t terrified, felt horribly sorry for him, for all that he’d done and all that he’d lost?

  “Is there a problem?” Markus repeated, mockingly, to Damen. “Let’s see, Damen. What could the problem be? You’ve kidnapped this girl! You’re subjecting her to great stress without telling either one of us what you want. Perhaps there’s a problem to be found somewhere in there.”

  “My, what a hypocrite,” Damen spat out. “I see that you have not changed one bit. It makes me wonder just whom you betrayed to earn your exile. You were always Eva’s favorite.”

  “What you think you know about my past makes not an iota of difference in this world or any other.”

  “Perhaps,” Damen replied coolly.

  “Enough of this, Damen,” Markus said, clearly exasperated. “Becca has nothing to do with the vengeance you seek against me.”

  “I agree.”

  “So free her.”

  Becca eyed Markus with curious, skeptical surprise. She had certainly not expected him to suggest such a thing.

  “That’s not going to happen,” Damen said. “I have a use for her.”