The Darkest Magic

by Morgan Rhodes

  “Stop playing dumb. I honestly wouldn’t care if you introduced me to the Queen of England—I’d still scream my head off if it meant getting rid of you.”

  “Crys, Crys, Crys. I know that things were a bit unfriendly and angsty when we last parted ways, but that doesn’t mean we can’t patch our burgeoning friendship back together.”

  “Where’s Markus?” she asked bluntly, her stomach churning. “And where is my mother? Are you just trying to distract me so he can get to her?”

  “Markus isn’t here. Actually, I haven’t seen him since the night two little blond mice escaped a maze and scurried off into the darkness.” Finally, his smug expression eased off, his dark eyebrows drawing together. “Even I’ll admit that was a rough night. And I know you were just trying to protect your sister.”

  She laughed, but it came out humorless and sounded more like a cough. “Do you? Well, that changes everything between us, doesn’t it?”

  “How is Becca?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  “Fair enough. And what about the Codex? Is Aunt Jackie keeping it nice and safe in your hiding spot you all think is so safe and secure?”

  Crys didn’t reply; she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d rattled her. Her mother already told her that hiding wasn’t an option, that Markus could find them wherever they went, so why should she care or be surprised that Farrell might know the truth?

  “I’m going to tell you something, Crys. As a friend,” he continued. “When the time comes—and it will come—that Markus shows up for the book, do yourself a big favor and give it to him. He hasn’t just forgotten about it, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

  “Where’s my father?” Crys asked, making a conscious choice not to indulge anything Farrell said.

  And perhaps her method was working: This time, Farrell was the one not to respond immediately. He cocked his head. “Worried about him, are you?”

  “What happened to him that night?”

  “You mean the night he betrayed Markus, gave you the book, and let you escape?”

  “Actually,” Crys said, “it was mainly your brother Adam who helped us escape. Call me crazy, but I don’t think Markus would like very much to hear that one of his youngest followers disrespected him like that, would he? I’m going to go ahead and assume you didn’t tell on him. But, then again, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you are that much of a monster. How is your little brother doing these days anyway?”

  Farrell’s smile went cold at the edges. “Adam’s just fine, thanks.”

  Crys narrowed her eyes. “Where’s my father?”

  “All I know is that he’s not in Toronto anymore. And that if you’ve been expecting to hear from him anytime soon, don’t hold your breath. Markus wouldn’t be happy if he were to find out you two had been in touch—unless it was for you to hand over the Codex to him to give it back to its rightful owner, that is.”

  She felt a weight sink down on her chest. Part of her had hoped that Farrell might know something that would ease her mind about her father. What a laugh. “My father stuck a needle in your neck,” she said. “Why would he be talking to you about where he is and what his plans are? I’m sure you’re not exactly best buds.”

  “Never were. Actually, I didn’t even know he existed until very recently. Until I met you, as a matter of fact. We’re connected in so many ways, Crys. We’re tangled together like an intricate web.”

  “A web of lies, maybe.”

  “So clever.” His gaze grew serious again as his gaze moved over her. “You have new glasses, just like the ones that broke.”

  Crys pushed them up the bridge of her nose. “I had a second pair.”

  She expected him to make a comment about how ugly they were, but he didn’t.

  “I want you to know that I’m sorry I didn’t stop Lucas from hurting you,” he said instead. “There. I said it.”

  Crys stared at him, totally bemused. “Oh my God. An apology for letting your fellow minion kick the crap out of me. Well, in that case, all is forgiven.”

  “Wow. I’m standing here, trying to be earnest, and you hit me with the sarcasm stick. You’re cruel.” He managed the edge of a smile as he studied her even closer. “I can’t help but notice your strawberry scent is gone. What was it again? Some kind of soap? You should buy more. I miss it.”

  She could never tell when he was mocking her, but right now she was going to err on the side of caution. “And your grotesque birthmark is gone. I don’t miss that.”

  He brushed his fingers over his right cheek, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Had it removed. Been meaning to do that for, oh, nineteen years or so.”

  Too bad. She’d actually liked it. It made him look different and more interesting than the average insanely gorgeous rich kid, not that she’d admit that in a million years.

  “I’m not here to mess with your head, Crys,” he said, leaning in just a little. “But those pesky grains of sand are slipping through the hourglass, and soon Markus will be finished licking his wounds and come back for more. And when that happens, I won’t be able to protect you if you get in the way.”

  Every sentence he spoke was a surprise. “Protect me?” Crys said. “I’d be shocked if the thought of doing that even crossed your mind.”

  “You think I’m an evil bastard, that Markus has messed with my head and poisoned me with magic, but you’re wrong. I’ll be the first to admit I’m a jerk, that I’ve hurt people, but I swear I mean no harm to brave girls who just want to protect their families.”

  Was he being serious now? He sounded sincere enough. He’d even temporarily lost his trademark smirk.

  Crys found herself speechless again.

  Had Adam been right? Was the real Farrell Grayson still in there, somewhere that Markus’s magic couldn’t touch?

  “Farrell?” A female voice cut between them. “Who is this?”

  Crys watched Farrell tear his gaze away, and finally she remembered how to breathe.

  A blond girl approached them and stood next to Farrell. She was tall, thin, and impeccably dressed. The only feature that marred her model-like looks was her sharp nose, down which she stared at Crys.

  “Felicity Seaton,” Farrell finally said with an introductory flick of his hand, “this is Crys Hatcher.”

  “A friend of yours?” Felicity asked crisply.

  “Ex-girlfriend,” he replied. The smirk had returned, right on schedule.

  Crys met Felicity’s sour look full-on. “I’m not his ex. He’s lying. He does that a lot. We went on, what? One or two substandard dates?”

  “I’ll always have memories of eating sushi with you.”

  Felicity forced a smile. “I despise raw fish.”

  “Not all sushi is raw . . . ,” Crys began to explain, but then decided she didn’t care enough to expend the energy.

  “Actually, Crys and I are in a book club together now. She borrowed a book from a friend of mine, and he really, really wants it back.”

  Every muscle in Crys’s body grew tense.

  “How quaint,” Felicity replied, and Crys could practically feel the chill emanating off of her icy tone.

  “Don’t worry,” Crys told her. “I’m no competition to you or . . . whatever this is between you two. Actually, I hate Farrell. Besides, he much prefers girls from Hawkspear than ones from the real world.”

  “Hawkspear?” Felicity repeated, frowning. “What is that? Some kind of sorority?”

  Crys stared at her, surprise filling her eyes.

  Farrell took Felicity by her elbow and began directing her toward the refreshment table. “Marvelous to see you again, Crys,” he said as he hurried away. “I’m sure our paths will cross again very soon.”

  “Only in my nightmares,” she replied, smiling for having succeeded in making him nervous.

  As soon as they had disappeared into the crowd, Crys turned to search the room for her mother. She actively stifled all the anxiety and fear for her mother’s
safety that Farrell’s presence stirred, and she sighed in relief when she spotted her near the entryway. She was only now finishing her oh-so-important phone call as Crys scurried over and made her put down her full glass of white wine.

  They left the gallery as fast as they could.

  Chapter 7

  BECCA

  The spirit was watching her.

  Or at least what Becca thought was a spirit. The spirit she’d seen Maddox summon back in Mytica had had a more human shape than whatever it was she saw down in the study. Maddox’s spirit was also shrouded in darkness, but it did have legs, arms, a head, and a torso—all things her inky black blob lacked.

  It had been a whole day now since that dark being had escaped from the bronze hawk. Where Becca went, it followed, staying in the corners. Not coming any closer to her, but never leaving her line of sight.

  It was like a scary puppy.

  “What do you want?” she demanded of it now, but like always, she received no response.

  Her fear had faded a little since it first appeared, and now she was left with nothing but questions. Questions a blob of darkness didn’t seem all that interested in answering.

  If it wasn’t a spirit, then what was it? A dark little raincloud that had come down from the sky to be her roommate?

  The thought reminded her of the powers Maddox had given to her: a tiny cloud of his death magic that had mixed with the book’s gateway magic. It had been enough to bring her spirit back home and reunite it with her body.

  The shadow crept a few inches toward her. She took a step backward, and it crept toward her again, even closer this time. She leaped away from it, but then, taking the form of a thick black ribbon of smoke, the shadow slithered along the floor, giving her a wide berth, and moved toward the door. It appeared to hesitate, swirling around in a circle for a moment before leaving the room entirely. Becca waited, holding her breath, until it appeared again, peeking around the edge of the door frame.

  Becca glanced at Charlie, who was curled up on her bed, fast asleep and snoring. The kitten was no help at all.

  “What?” she asked the shadow, as if it might actually answer her this time. “Do you want me to . . . follow you?”

  It waited in place until Becca drew closer. She walked across the room, slowly, until she followed her instinct and trailed after it at a faster clip.

  “Well, if I wasn’t certifiable before, I definitely am now,” she told herself, feeling strangely giddy rather than scared, as if she were close to laughing. “They’re going to put me in a straitjacket for talking to shadows.”

  The inky presence led her downstairs. The curtains were partially drawn over the glass doors leading to the balcony where Jackie and Dr. Vega were now standing. Jackie was smoking a cigarette, which Becca knew her aunt only did when stressed out.

  The shadow paused when she paused, and then slithered right into the study. She glanced in through the open door to see it swirling on the floor right in front of the desk.

  “I have a funny feeling I know exactly what you’re trying to show me,” she whispered. “But Dr. Vega locked you-know-what up so I wouldn’t touch it again.”

  It started swirling more quickly now.

  Becca hissed out a breath and glanced toward the balcony again, where Jackie and Dr. Vega still stood looking very engaged in conversation. She knew Crys and her mother were at the photo show, which meant she had eyes on all the penthouse guests and didn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting her. Finally, she moved toward the desk and tried the top drawer. “See? Just like I said. It’s locked, and I have no idea where the key is.”

  The shadowy ribbon curled around the desk leg, snaked up toward the drawer, and disappeared through a crack. It reappeared, pouring out of the keyhole, and returned to the ground.

  Becca watched, mouth slightly ajar, and then tried the drawer again. She was not exactly surprised to find that it now slid open easily.

  And there it was. The bronze hawk glinted under the desk lamp’s meager light. Regarding it now was like staring at the sun—she knew very well she shouldn’t do it, that it wasn’t good for her, but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away.

  Before she realized what she was doing, she had grasped the Codex and pulled it out of the drawer. Upon contact, that strange but pleasant shiver moved up her arms, but this time no other magical sensation followed.

  They all wanted to keep her away from it, but the book refused to let that happen.

  It needs me, Becca said to herself.

  She frowned. What a bizarre thought.

  “But for what?” she mused aloud. Tentatively, after taking a deep breath, she opened the cover. This was the first chance she’d had to really look at the Codex without interruption. She knew Jackie would be furious if she caught her, so she had to be quick about it.

  It wasn’t as if she had a choice, though. This wasn’t a decision. It was a compulsion.

  She turned the pages swiftly but delicately, and once again she was instantly enchanted by the fragile, almost weightless, feel of the paper. The pages were filled with beautiful, indecipherable black-and-gold writing and colorful illustrations rendered with a fine hand.

  “As if being a book of otherworldly spells isn’t enough, now it seems you and your shadowy little friend over there are trying to tell me you’re something more than that. So then what are you?”

  Just then, Becca saw the words on the page start to move. Her breath caught in her chest.

  No—they weren’t moving, exactly. They were changing. They were transforming into other words, rewriting themselves before her very eyes. Then, an illustration of a small rabbit-like animal turned on profile started shifting as well, until the creature was turned forward to face Becca, its beady little eyes staring right at her.

  She heard a hissing sound behind her and started. She turned to the doorway to see Charlie, his back arched, slinking his way inside the room. She followed the cat’s gaze downward until she saw the shadow there at her feet. It had curled itself around her ankle.

  Becca let out a harsh gasp of surprise, and then—

  A rabbit-like animal, just like the illustration in the book, appeared in the room. It was right in front of her, sitting in a green field and chewing on a plant that looked like a bright pink clover. Beyond the field, sparkling under a bright sun, was the same majestic crystal city she’d seen the last time she’d touched the book.

  The animal took off like a shot. Becca spun around to see what had startled it, and her eyes widened with horror.

  In the distance, the ground was crumbling. It was falling away into an endless abyss, leaving nothing in its wake. The devastation grew closer and closer to her until the ground just in front of where she was standing began to fall away into a vast, dark emptiness.

  Before Becca could scream, the view in front of her changed. It shifted and whirled all around her in a blur of colors and textures and motion until finally she was able to get a sense of her new surroundings. Instead of the dim study, she now stood in the middle of a crowd gathered in the shadow of a tall black palace.

  “That, I’m very sorry to say, was the goddess’s scribe,” said a strangely familiar voice. Becca turned toward it to find the source.

  She could barely believe what was right in front of her. It was Camilla, the Mytican witch who’d helped Maddox and Barnabas in their attempt to defeat Valoria.

  “Curse it,” said another voice. “So now what do we do?”

  Maddox.

  Becca shot her disbelieving gaze to the dark-haired boy with the warm, bottomless brown eyes, who saw her, heard her, helped her, when no one else could. She stared at him, stunned.

  “Maddox,” Becca managed to say through a choked voice. “Maddox, it’s me!”

  Maddox turned, and Becca’s heart leaped. But he’d turned to look at Barnabas, whose handsome, short-bearded face was the same as Becca remembered.

  The older man looked grim as he gazed back at Maddox. “Give me
a moment to think.”

  “Think about what?” Maddox said. “That source of yours, the only one who knew how to bring an end to Her Radiance, is now nothing more than a head mounted upon a spike! What’s there to think about?”

  Becca looked up, toward the palace, and what she saw there turned her stomach. Stuck on the top of a spike on a balcony was the severed head of a youngish man.

  “This is such a horrible place,” she whispered, closing her eyes and shuddering. “It’s like a horror movie here, everywhere you turn.”

  “We’ll begin our search for the princess anyway,” Barnabas said. “Proof of King Thaddeus’s heir’s existence will draw new interest to the rebel cause.”

  “And with no proof to back this discovery up, all we’ll get are more rebels killed,” Camilla added, nervously twisting a glass vial filled with liquid that she wore on a thin leather rope around her neck. “My, Barnabas, what an excellent plan. Come now. I know you’re smarter than that.”

  “And what would you suggest?” he countered. “Should we go ahead and demand information from a severed head?”

  “Yes,” Maddox said a moment later. “I think that’s exactly what we should do.”

  Suddenly, a voice cried out, so loud that it rang in Becca’s ears, forcing her to close her eyes and cower right there in the village square.

  “God damn it, Becca!” It was her aunt Jackie. “What are you doing in here?”

  Like the blinking of a television changing channels, Maddox, Barnabas, and Camilla flickered away. Becca was back in the study, where she realized with dismay that her aunt was now holding the Bronze Codex, staring at Becca with outrage blazing in her blue eyes.

  Becca could barely catch her breath. For a moment she thought that she’d actually returned to Mytica, but now she saw that she hadn’t even taken a single step away from the desk.

  The shadow had unwound itself from her ankle and retreated to the corner of the room, where it looked like nothing more than a spot of inky blackness.

  “Answer me, damn it!” Jackie slammed the book down on the desk.