Night Magic

by Jenna Black

  It hurt. Oh God, how it hurt.

  I kept fighting, though my fingers and toes and ears were already going numb and the cold tried to lock my muscles in place.

  It wasn’t fair that this was happening to me. I was carrying a shitload of guilt on my shoulders, blaming myself—even hating myself sometimes—for letting this magic into our world. But as Luke had pointed out more than once, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I didn’t deserve to die!

  I tried to use this realization to motivate myself, to fuel my desperate struggle for life, but I was so, so cold, and it was getting harder and harder to fight my body’s reflexive effort to breathe.

  I discovered my hands weren’t completely numb yet when I felt the tips of my fingers break the surface to be met with an icy breeze. Only a few more inches, and I would be able to get some precious, life-giving air into my lungs. I’d been crazy to think I could swim to shore in this paralyzing cold, with the weight of my soaked clothes and coat dragging me down, but I couldn’t just give up and die.

  Hold on, I willed my aching lungs. Just a few more inches.

  But the need to breathe was too overwhelming, and no matter how hard I willed myself to hold my breath, I drew ice water into my lungs milliseconds before my head broke the surface.

  Little known fact: it’s hard to cough water out of your lungs when you don’t have any air in them. My body tried to cough and inhale simultaneously, accomplishing neither. I knew my head was above the surface, because I could see little bits of light here and there, but the lack of oxygen meant that there were black spots all over my vision. My sodden coat dragged at me, an anchor determined to reach the river bottom.

  I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, and the cold had mostly paralyzed my limbs. I could only pray I would soon lose consciousness so I could complete the process of dying without having to suffer anymore.

  I gave in to the pull, too tired to fight anymore, secure in the knowledge that it would be over soon.

  I felt my body start to sink and was almost grateful. But it turned out it wasn’t going to be that easy after all.

  Something hard and sharp scraped along the skin of my back, and if I hadn’t been wearing such a thick coat, I would surely have bleeding gouges from the contact. Instead of dragging me downward, the coat now dragged me up, the fabric digging in under my arms, the collar half-strangling me. My whole body seemed to convulse, spewing out a stream of water, and then the coughing took me.

  As I fought to breathe, I felt myself being lifted out of the water, buffeted by great gusts of air. I couldn’t see a thing, but as I continued to rise and my coat continued to dig into me, I realized one of the eagles had me, its talons buried deep in the fabric of my coat.

  A few minutes ago, I’d lamented my fate and determined that I didn’t deserve to die. However, I deserved the fate Aleric had in mind for me even less. Perhaps once I was Nightstruck again, I wouldn’t feel bad about my role in bringing darkness to the whole world one gate at a time, but I couldn’t just let that happen. It was remotely possible that I’d be able to resist the pull of the night and remain my normal self at dawn, but I couldn’t trust myself—and knew how awful Aleric’s wrath would be if I did manage to resist.

  I started clawing at the front of my coat, trying to yank down the zipper and free myself. The eagle might well set its talons into my flesh if I wriggled out of the coat, but in the state I was in I doubted I’d stay on the surface of the water long enough for it to get a grip.

  Do stone eagles swim?

  I’d deal with that possibility later. The problem was, my fingers were like icicles attached to numb hands, and the coat was pulling against my arms so hard I could barely move them. I couldn’t even find the zipper, much less grasp it.

  Soon, it was too late. The eagle released me from its talons, and I dropped in a sopping heap onto the pavement of the Market Street Bridge, right at Aleric’s feet.

  * * *

  At first, I could do nothing but crouch on the pavement, coughing, gagging, and shivering. My sodden clothes and coat clung to me, and water dripped and ran on the pavement. My throat was raw from coughing, and my lungs ached as if I hadn’t breathed for a week. Fingers of cold burrowed into my flesh, stealing the life and energy from my muscles and bones.

  Never in my plans for this confrontation had I considered the possibility that Aleric might send a stone eagle to pluck me from the water and plunk me right back down at his feet. I was supposed to escape or die, not still be stuck in the middle of the nightmare.

  With a choked scream of rage that tore at my raw throat, I surged to my feet and tried to throw myself toward the edge of the bridge, hoping to topple over the railing before anyone realized I was able-bodied enough to manage it.

  Two problems with my plan. One, I wasn’t able-bodied enough to manage it. And two, the eagle was perched on the railing right behind me.

  I lurched forward with all the grace and athleticism of Frankenstein’s monster, tripping over my own feet. I grasped at the railing, even though the eagle was blocking my way. Behind me, I heard Aleric and some of his Nightstruck laughing at my efforts, but what did I care if they found me amusing?

  I stumbled to my knees, then propelled myself up and forward once more, heading straight toward the eagle. It made a hideous screeching sound and spread its stone wings, making a solid, spiky wall between me and the questionable safety of the water.

  There was no way I was getting by the damn thing, but I kept blundering toward the edge anyway. Better to go down swinging than to curl up in the fetal position at Aleric’s feet, which was the only other option I could imagine.

  The eagle screeched again, and it might have been my imagination, but it sounded surprised. I guess it hadn’t considered the possibility that I wouldn’t back down. Its heavy wings flapped once as it hopped awkwardly into the air and slightly backward, as if trying to get away from me.

  I had neither the time nor the inclination to ponder the eagle’s puzzling behavior. Besides, I had too much forward momentum to stop myself and think.

  There was maybe about a foot’s worth of space between the eagle’s talons and the spiny railing. If I were an acrobat, I might have been able to jump into a nimble dive right through that space, but I was not an acrobat, and instead I collided with the railing, and my flailing hand raked down the length of one of the eagle’s wings.

  I cried out in pain as blood immediately flooded my palm, dripping down my forearm. I jerked backward and fell on my butt, staring up at the eagle, which had come to rest on the railing once more and was now making a high-pitched keening sound that threatened to shatter my eardrums.

  The eagle stood there on the spine-shaped railing, its wings still outspread, and I could see the bright splashes of my blood on the spikes that had slashed my hand. Then the wings started folding closed, the spikes smoothing out and the wicked talons shrinking.

  My jaw dropped open with amazement as I watched the nightmare eagle slowly transform back into its daytime counterpart: smaller, with folded wings and a body made of inanimate stone, no spark of life in its beady eyes. I could still see spots of my blood on its left wing.

  My hand was still bleeding pretty heavily, a pool of blood gathering on my palm. The wound throbbed, and the sight of my own blood—especially in that quantity—made my stomach churn. But it also made me start thinking.

  Aleric had always told me that he couldn’t use my blood to open gateways unless I shed the blood voluntarily. That was clearly a good reason why he didn’t slice me open himself and take as much blood as he wanted. But what if there was more to it than that? What if my blood had a very different power when it was shed by the night magic’s creatures? Luke had theorized that my bloody nose might have had something to do with the magic in the square finally letting me go, but that had hardly been as dramatic as what just happened to the eagle.

  And then I recalled something I had entirely dismissed from my memory, something that had struck me at the
time as strange but that I’d ultimately ignored as unimportant. When Aleric had taken my virginity, he’d used a condom. Doing so had made absolutely no sense, and when I’d questioned him about it, his answers had been deliberately evasive. He’d also never used one again—because he only expected me to bleed the first time.

  I turned slowly toward Aleric and saw that his Nightstruck were all in full retreat and that he’d put a good bit of distance between us while keeping a wary eye on me. I looked back and forth between him and the blood that pooled in my palm and felt a slow, incongruous smile spread over my lips even as my teeth chattered in the bone-chilling cold.

  “You can’t draw my blood,” I said, feeling the rightness of my words. “It’s poisonous to you when you draw it yourself, whether it’s voluntary or not.”

  I hadn’t meant to cut myself on the eagle’s spikes—just like I hadn’t meant to prick myself with the pin that had been in the baby’s blanket—but it was still my own actions that had caused the wound. The big difference between the two incidents was that with the baby, it had been a totally normal, nonmagical pin that had drawn my blood, not the spikes of a construct animated by the night magic.

  Cupping my hand around the blood, no longer feeling the pain, I struggled to my feet and was pleased to see Aleric take a couple more steps back. The eagle had turned back to its daytime self when I’d bled on it. I wondered what would happen if Aleric got some of my blood on him. He had no daytime self to return to. Would he die? Would he be sent back to his own world? And if so, would he be able to come back?

  I was eager to find out, especially given the way he was looking at me. Like I was something dangerous. Like he was afraid.

  I advanced on him, staggering because my feet were numb with cold and my whole body was racked with shivers. He licked his lips and took a nervous step back away from me. The edges of the water I’d dripped all over the pavement were starting to freeze, and it occurred to me that it might not be such a good thing that my hand wasn’t hurting anymore. I had never been so cold in all my life, and I wanted to huddle in upon myself to try to conserve what body heat I had left, but I would probably never have an opportunity like this again. I had to take advantage, whatever the cost.

  I kept my feet shuffling forward, picking up enough speed that Aleric felt compelled to turn and run.

  I ran after him, closing my fist around the little well of blood in my palm and pumping my arms and legs to try to get something that resembled speed. My headlong sprint was likely no faster than your average jog, and Aleric had had a head start. I could barely feel the impact of my feet against the pavement, and I feared I would lose some toes to frostbite if I somehow miraculously survived the night.

  My mind felt slow and lazy with a combination of cold and exhaustion, but I forced myself to keep moving, to keep running, even though Aleric was pulling ahead. Logic said there was no chance I could catch him. I wasn’t a fast runner even when in top condition, and I was in pretty bad shape right now. The bitter air bit at my cheeks and burned on its way down my lungs, and I longed to get inside somewhere, anywhere, where it was warm. To get out of my soaking wet clothes and wrap myself in layers of blankets while drinking a scalding hot cup of cocoa.

  Aleric reached the end of the bridge and ran down Market Street. His stride looked effortless, well short of a sprint, and yet he had no trouble keeping well ahead of me. I pressed myself for more speed, hoping the effort I was pouring into my run would warm me up at least a little.

  I felt like my legs might shatter like fallen icicles every time I took a step, and sucking air into my lungs was torture. So much of my body was numb, but my throat burned with every forced breath, and my chest ached. I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk and almost went down. If I fell, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get up again.

  I wanted to lie down and quit fighting, wanted everything to just be over, but that was not among my options. And so I kept running, kept chasing, even though I knew my efforts would be futile.

  Aleric was gaining distance on me, and when he got to Twenty-Eighth Street, about half a block ahead of me, he turned right and was out of sight. Not seeing my quarry made the urge to quit even stronger. My head was spinning strangely now, and the pavement felt unsteady under my feet. I staggered and stumbled every few steps, and yet my feet still propelled me forward.

  I was certain that by the time I reached the corner, Aleric would be out of my sight. I was getting slower and slower when I hadn’t been all that fast to start with. Aleric could probably have made it to the next block and turned another corner without even breaking a sweat. But my body was moving on autopilot now, and what was left of my mind knew that if I stopped, I’d die.

  I was shocked when I reached the corner and saw Aleric standing still only about halfway down the block. He looked startled when he saw me, and I realized he’d come to a stop because he’d been sure I couldn’t make it this far.

  With a snarl of determination, I staggered down Twenty-Eighth Street. I couldn’t manage a run anymore, my gait more of a limping, jerky jog, but I kept moving, my eyes locked on Aleric. He had not turned to run again, was instead standing there with his arms folded over his chest and a look of condescending amusement on his face. I guessed he was sure I was going to collapse before I reached him—and if I got close enough to make him rethink his assessment, he could just turn to run again and I’d never be able to catch him.

  I couldn’t feel the lower part of my legs, much less feel my feet, but I still heard it when I stepped on something that wasn’t pavement. I glanced down and saw that I had stepped on a large sheet of plywood, painted gray to make it blend with the sidewalk in the dark. I probably wouldn’t have noticed it until too late even if it had been painted neon orange.

  I tried to stop, or at least change course to go around the plywood instead of over it, but my momentum carried me another couple of steps forward until I was square in the middle of the plywood. Only it seemed the plywood was about as thick as your average sheet of tissue paper. I tried to turn around, but the cold and the exhaustion had stolen the last of my coordination, and I fell instead. I landed on the plywood on my butt and heard an ominous cracking sound. I had just enough time to see Aleric’s victorious smirk before the wood gave way beneath me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I didn’t fall for long—it wasn’t a very deep pit—but the landing drew a tortured scream from my throat. It felt like someone had thrust a spear through my lower back and through my shoulder. My head banged against rock, and another spear pierced the palm of my uninjured hand.

  It was true the pit wasn’t deep, but then it didn’t have to be. My body weight was more than enough to drive me onto the sharp spikes that had been hidden beneath that sheet of plywood.

  I tried to move, but the spikes that pierced my flesh wouldn’t let me, and the pain of trying was too much. Already, my skin felt hot and sticky with blood.

  Aleric came to squat at the edge of the pit, his eyes alight with sadistic pleasure as I whimpered. He grinned at me, delighted with his handiwork.

  “This was supposed to happen because I was chasing you,” he said. “I had your escape attempt all planned out, with Billy and Leo waiting to help guide you in the right direction. But I think I like this way better.

  “Neither I, nor any of the constructs, nor any of the Nightstruck have spilled your blood,” he gloated. He actually rubbed his hands together like some cartoon villain, milking the moment for all it was worth. “You may not have chosen to bleed for me, but you were not forced, and that’s good enough for the night magic.”

  I had the vague notion that I should say something, offer some last words of defiance, but I couldn’t have spoken if I’d wanted to. I coughed weakly and tasted blood on my tongue.

  “I’d have liked to have you willing,” he said with a careless shrug. “We could have taken the whole world together, you and I. One gate at a time, until it was all ours. If only you hadn’t insisted on be
ing so difficult about it.”

  Black spots danced in my vision, and the pain from my wounds seemed somehow distant, almost irrelevant. That was kind of nice, even if it was a really, really bad sign.

  “If you were willing to throw yourself off a bridge to keep yourself from cooperating,” Aleric continued, “then I realized you were a lost cause. Better to salvage what I can from you and be done with it.” His smile broadened. “Look at all that lovely blood you’re spilling for me. I should be able to open at least ten or twelve gates with it, large ones at that.”

  His smile disappeared behind one of the black spots, which were growing steadily larger. I closed my eyes so I could stop seeing them, stop seeing him. His was not the last face I wanted imprinted on my mind when I died. I tried to conjure up Luke’s face, to imagine him here with me, holding my hand and telling me it was okay, that I’d done my best and it wasn’t my fault I’d failed. But the image kept slipping away, and I soon forgot what I’d been trying to do.

  I sensed something vast and dark opening up beneath me. And I sensed myself starting a long, slow slide downward.

  “Poor little Becket,” Aleric’s voice said from very far away. “You so wanted to be the hero of this story. But I have a secret to share with you: the darkness always wins. Always.”

  I forced my eyes open, willing myself to find one last gesture of defiance before all was lost. My vision was so hazy all I could see was his vague silhouette as he leaned over the pit, watching me die.

  I coughed weakly and once again tasted blood in my mouth. The coppery tang reminded me why I’d been chasing Aleric in the first place. The spike in my shoulder prevented my left arm from moving, but an exploratory wiggle told me my other arm was usable.

  It hurt so much I almost blacked out, but I managed to lift my right arm enough to cover my mouth with my hand, making as if I was trying to stifle a cough. Instead, I licked my bloody palm. I hoped my saliva and the blood already in my mouth wouldn’t rob it of its potency. There were little sparkles around the edges of my vision now, and nothing seemed to hurt anymore. I supposed that meant I was almost gone. I would have one shot, and one shot only.