by Shannon Page
“Amanū!” he shouted suddenly, dropping my hands as he raised his arms. I gasped for breath, then echoed his cry, my voice hoarse and croaking.
The power solidified around us, enveloping us in a hard shell, far beyond any warm magical embrace I’d ever felt before. I almost could not see out of our Circle…except for the twisted, bound figure of Flavius.
Blank no more, he stared in at us, eyes wide with terror. Panting, he whispered, “No…please…no…” He was so tightly confined that he could not move more than his lips.
“Follow carefully,” Jeremy said to me, ignoring our victim. “It feels firm, but this is when it’s the most fragile.”
I nodded, only partially understanding.
Jeremy knelt at one of the points of our pentagram, close to Flavius’s head, and put his hand up to the edge of the Circle. A midnight-blue light began to shine there. Flavius screamed, the sound of his voice oddly blunted by our shell of magic. Even muffled, it felt as though it was rending my soul in two.
“Now!” Jeremy’s voice was harsh with effort.
I scrambled forward and went to my knees beside him, reaching my own hand to the Circle’s edge. The blue light spread, encompassing both our hands, as I felt the force behind it. It was the pointed edge of the giant mass of power we’d built, and together, we were honing it sharper, sharper, sharper.
It was a dagger, then a scalpel, then a needle…and then Jeremy thrust it forward, into Flavius’s head, at the point of his third eye.
His scream reverberated through our Circle. I gasped but held tight, my hand with Jeremy’s, as we thrust that unimaginable point of power into our victim.
At once, I felt Flavius’s magic flowing up through the point—whether in challenge or simply reaction, I could not say. It was as though we’d burst a sac of fluid that had been ready to overflow, and it was rushing back at us. “Hold fast!” Jeremy said, as I felt choked by the flood of it. The power was ugly—it was stolen, and crazily mixed—our assaultive power was ugly too—I could hardly tell what any piece of it was—it was going to kill me—
I drew in a deep, gulping breath and managed to find my grounding, just a bit. But it was enough. Jeremy and I were here; Flavius was there, still screaming; and the leading edge of our spell was inside him.
“There you go,” Jeremy breathed out in a trembling sigh. “Just like that.”
I just panted for a minute, holding it together. “Now what?” I asked, when I’d caught my breath.
“Now we begin our hunt.”
Somewhere in the last minute or so, Flavius had stopped screaming. I noticed this with a corner of my attention. Jeremy and I both pushed forward, tentatively at first, then more aggressively, searching within Flavius. Energetic pathways…veins and meridians… “Here,” Jeremy breathed.
It was a node, a tiny focal point near the top of Flavius’s cerebellum, just below the pineal gland. “Okay…?” I said.
“Burn it out.”
I started to ask how, but the answer became sickeningly clear a moment later as Jeremy sent heat through our needle, generated from his own power. I followed suit. Flavius moaned softly; he must be unconscious. I feverishly hoped so. As we burned it, the node shriveled, and there was a faint scent of sulfur in the air. Or in my veins or bones or energetic pathways, I didn’t know—I could no longer separate my physical and magical senses of my body. Everything was the needle, and what we were doing with it.
“Good,” Jeremy grunted. “Onward.”
We moved downward, into Flavius’s neck, pausing at the thoracic duct where we found a smaller node. We burned it out. We moved downward. We found and burned one next to a pulmonary lymph node, and then several in the tracheobronchial region. We moved downward. We burned more. Downward. More.
I lost myself in the work, the mundane, horrific repetition of it. Hunt. Burn. Hunt. Burn.
And then…there were no more. Stunned and exhausted, I sat back on my haunches and looked over at Jeremy. My hands—somehow both of them now—felt frozen to the energetic needle; I couldn’t put it down if I’d tried.
“We need to doublecheck,” he said. I just nodded, and we hunted through Flavius Winterheart’s system once more, this time from the bottom up.
But we’d gotten them all. Every node that contained any bit of magical capacity.
“Let it go,” Jeremy said. His voice sounded dead, empty. He dropped his hold.
It fell away from me as well, and the huge, hard shell of magic we’d built, and honed, and wielded, just…dissipated. Our Circle and pentagram were some lines scratched into the dirt. Mundane human Flavius Winterheart lay still before us, barely breathing.
“Oh, Blessed Mother,” I sighed, and let myself fall backward on the dry grass, staring up. The sky was now completely black; it was close to midnight.
Jeremy sat down beside me, looking away. I couldn’t make out his face; there was no moonlight. Flavius hadn’t moved.
After a few minutes of silence, I asked, “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
“He is,” Jeremy said, his voice dull, but with a little more life than before. “He will sleep through the night, then wake and begin his life as a human.”
“Will he remember…it all?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Enough.”
Silence reigned again as I tried to muster the energy to find my way home on a ley line. I should be starving, after such an expenditure of resources, but I just felt ill.
“I will see you home if you like,” Jeremy offered.
I shivered. “No, thank you. I’ll find my own way.”
I spent the following day sleeping, mostly. I forced myself to eat at least something, because I knew I needed it, though I didn’t want it.
Near midnight, Jeremy sent me a quiet inquiry. Are you awake?
Yes. I was in my sitting room on the second floor, with a book and a cat on my lap, just trying to find my way back to myself.
May I come over?
Yes.
Five minutes later I received him in the front parlor downstairs. He accepted my offer of frog brandy and took a seat on the side chair. “How are you doing?” I asked, taking a sip of my own elderflower wine. It tasted off, strange, even though this was my preferred brew. I put my glass on the coffee table and looked up at the green-eyed warlock.
“As well as can be expected.” He took a generous swig of his brandy. “You?”
“I’m all right. Recovering.”
He nodded. “It takes a few days.”
“Right.”
After a pause, he said, “Well, I won’t keep you long, but I wanted to let you know in person that I will be moving up my planned trip to the Old Country, following Dr. Winterheart’s co-conspirators before their trail can grow even colder.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tonight. Directly from here, in fact.”
“Oh.” I reached for my wine again, for something to do, but stayed my hand.
“I also still need to do some research for my father, and I would like to visit some friends. If there is time.”
“Okay.”
After another uncomfortable silence, he added, “And I would still like to look into the matter of Logandina’s parents. For my own peace of mind, if nothing else.”
“I would like to know what happened to them too.”
“Of course.”
We sat in the awkwardness for another minute. “Well, thank you for letting me know,” I finally said.
Now he raised his lovely eyes to mine. I could see the pain in them. Part of me yearned to comfort him, and to seek his comfort for myself, but to the rest of me…he seemed such a stranger. A warlock who could touch me so gently, and who gripped my hand as we snuffed the magic out of another living soul. I thought of his bringing me tea and croissants in bed, and of his blithe assumption that I would leap at the chance to sign a contract with him. His gentle evasions about how he spent his days; even the research that he was doing for Gregorio. I realized I did
not know him at all.
He must have seen the conflict in my eyes. He finished his brandy and stood up. “I shall be off, then.”
I got to my feet as well. “Jeremy, I am sorry about…” I lifted my arms and dropped them, helpless. “It all.”
“I am sorry as well.” Now he forced a brave smile. “I will be back, in a month or two.” His gaze fell to my belly. Still flat, but we both knew what he was looking at. “Please feel free to send a message at any time, but know that the connections are spotty at best. I shall respond as I can.”
“Right.” It wasn’t just the distance, though that was considerable; the Old Country was protected by so many shields and spells, most communication in or out was by handwritten letter.
“Right,” he echoed me. “Well, do take care of yourself.”
I opened my arms and pulled him into a hug. He embraced me back, stiffly, pulling away after a moment. Then he vanished.
“Goodbye,” I whispered.
I took the glasses to the kitchen, poured my wine down the drain, and went to bed.
— CHAPTER NINETEEN —
The community grieved even as the sick witches healed. Flavius Winterheart moved out of his house, not telling anyone where he’d gone. It didn’t matter; he was no longer any threat to us. It still made me shiver, thinking about how thoroughly he had deceived even our greatest, most powerful practitioners. Thinking about what Jeremy and I had done to him.
I did not hear from Jeremy, in the Old Country. I had not thought I had expected to, but then when weeks of silence went by, I found I had.
But I didn’t call to him either.
On the night of the first full moon after Ostara—the spring equinox—I stood in formal evening wear on the sidewalk before the house of Gregorio Andromedus. My gown was black velvet, floor-length, sleeveless, and dramatically low-cut. I’d had to let out the bodice and the sides a bit, to accommodate my middle, just beginning to bulge with the baby. This has to be one of the most cleverly disguised witchkind homes I’ve ever seen, I thought. I had only been here a few times; he’d moved here several years ago, from a more ostentatious place in Nob Hill.
All I could see from the sidewalk was an iron gate with five doorbells. If one didn’t know differently, one would think this was condos. Try as I might, peering through the trees, I couldn’t see the building. And all magical inquiries were blocked by a set of wards so powerful, I could almost see them shimmering in the air.
The doorbells were neatly labeled with four ordinary human-sounding names, plus ‘Ogdoad’—an ancient name referring to a pantheon of deities. I pushed that fifth button. Nothing happened for a few seconds as I felt myself being viewed by unseen eyes. Then the gate swung open, and the wards eased as Gregorio’s voice surrounded me: “Calendula Isadora, welcome.”
I passed through the gate and began climbing the stairs. They were long, and steep. I stopped about halfway up, breathless, leaning on the rail. Lazy pregnant witches should find more time to exercise, I thought. Through the trees, I could see the vague outlines of the house. Time to soldier on. I took a deep breath and climbed. By the time I finally got to the porch, I was thoroughly winded, wiping beads of sweat from my forehead. That stairway had to have been four or five times longer than it looked.
A massive front door stood open, revealing a huge hallway with rooms opening off to either side. Crammed bookshelves took up every bit of wall space I could see, in both hall and rooms, but it was still not enough. More books were stacked on the floors next to the shelves, and one of the side rooms appeared to contain just solid books, not even paths between them.
From the far end of the hall, I could hear the sounds of the party. I waited a moment, letting my breathing settle, wondering if I would find a roomful of folks sitting on piles of books, resting their cocktails on more books. Behind me, I could no longer see the street, or even the bottom of the staircase; the view receded into darkness as his wards closed back around the house. So peaceful, for the middle of a city. I drew one last steady breath and went on.
I followed the sounds of laughter and conversation to a large room filled with as many witches and warlocks as I had ever seen in one place—the entire witchkind population of San Francisco, it seemed, plus the East and South Bay contingents. I was relieved to see that there was normal furniture in here (with, of course, a few lovely antique bookcases scattered about). Bright, warm sunlight poured down through double rows of skylights. Which was really something, because it was after nine o’clock at night, and it hadn’t even been a particularly sunny day in the first place. Gregorio did love his impressive illusions.
I stood in the doorway, scanning the crowd. I saw Nora and Manka and Sebastian actually chatting with each other, which warmed my heart. Maybe the healers were beginning to accept him at last. Leonora and several of my coven sisters had snagged a round table underneath a huge, ugly chandelier. I started in their direction, but then noticed Niad talking to the whole table, gesturing dramatically, ignoring any possible interruptions. I quickly veered off before they saw me.
Finally I spied Gregorio, far across the room in front of a pair of ornate French doors set with tiny panes of glittering glass, through which streamed more impossible sunlight. One of the doors was ajar, leading into what looked like a solarium. Even across the crowded room I could smell the lush, fragrant greenery within: lobelia, roses, gardenias, and several large mimosa trees.
Gregorio was deep in conversation with Henrik and two other Elders, all dressed in tuxedos. He noticed my entrance, though his attention didn’t overtly leave the warlocks. I started making my way across the crowded room, keeping one eye on him so I wouldn’t lose him in the thicket of bodies.
I was nearly there when Sirianna and Maela converged on me. “Callie!” Siri shouted, with a huge grin on her face. She stumbled into me; I caught her by the arms, which she turned into a smothering, sloppy hug. As her always-wild hair embraced and twined around mine, I stealthily sniffed the air. Uh-oh, Gregorio must be serving some pretty high-grade Witches’ Mead. I should warn her, I thought, but as I extricated myself from her grasp, another look into her face told me it was probably too late.
So I just hugged her back. When she finally released me, I stood back to check out her floor-length shimmering silver gown. “Siri, you look great!”
“Thanks! I love parties! Why don’t we do this every night?”
Maela stood next to me, also swaying slightly. She too had been into the Mead, though not nearly so heavily as Siri. She looked at Sirianna and gave me a crooked smile.
“I can see,” I said to Maela.
“Miss?” said a small voice at my elbow. A pixie in a proper French maid’s uniform hovered beside me. She wasn’t real—Gregorio’s servants were yet more illusions, complicated confections of light and magic—but what she was holding was: a single smoking glass of the brew on an ornate silver platter.
“Oh, no thank you, just water for me,” I said sadly, nodding at my belly. Witches’ Mead was so delicious…but if even elderflower wine wasn’t going down well, I knew I ought to stay away from the hard stuff.
“On the contrary, Calendula, I have had it formulated to account for your pregnancy,” Gregorio said, appearing at my side. “It is perfectly safe.”
“Really?” I blinked at him. “How did you do that?”
Gregorio smiled and raised his own glass. “Now now, a good cook never shares his best recipes. Please, have a taste, see for yourself. And welcome to my home.”
“All right. Thank you.” I picked the glass up off the tray and took a tentative sip, swirling it on my tongue, taking its measure. It tasted great. I swallowed, feeling the powerful intoxicant/stimulant slip down my throat and into my bloodstream. Then I felt it move to avoid my womb, even as it strengthened my overall essence. “Wow. Seriously, how is this done?”
“Perhaps I will teach you some day,” Gregorio said. “For now, it just seemed tragic that such an important contributor to our celebrati
on tonight should have to abstain from the festivities.”
I felt a moment of confusion as my witch-sense tried to figure out the spell, or recipe, or whatever he had done here. I couldn’t find any edge to hold onto, though; it was very slippery. So I let go and smiled back at Gregorio. “Thank you for that; I do love Mead.”
“My pleasure. It was enjoyable to do something so small after the recent…challenges.”
“I imagine so.” I turned to include my coven sisters in the conversation. Sirianna was busy gaping out at the sunny garden room; Maela, suddenly shy again, was just watching us talk.
“That’s a neat trick too, by the way,” I said to Gregorio, nodding at the sunlight all around us, trying to cover up Siri’s drunken fascination.
He gave a small nod. “Complicated to set up, but once it is under way, it practically feeds itself.”
Another handful of guests entered the room. “If you will excuse me,” Gregorio added, putting his empty glass down on the tray of a passing server.
“Of course.”
He left to greet them. “Is that Marcus?” Sirianna gushed, now staring into the center of the room at the little hipster warlock.
Maela’s eyes lit up. “Marcus, really? Come on!” She grabbed Siri’s hand and they disappeared into the crowd.
Oh, my poor sisters. They really needed to get out more often.
I was sipping my drink and looking around for Sebastian when a magical hush fell over the crowd. Gregorio stood in front of the bar, spelling conversations silent with a gentle touch and a warm smile.
Once he had everyone’s attention, he began speaking in a normal tone of voice, carried on another spell to reach all our ears easily. “My dear friends, colleagues, and community. Thank you so very much for joining me this evening as we reaffirm our joy, our power, our very life, in the face of a pernicious challenge to our kind.
“Sadly, our celebration must be bittersweet: a traitor to our kind has been exiled permanently, his magic burnt to ashes; a threat we had believed distant has been revealed to have reached our lands; and, most tragically of all, a beloved member of our community has perished before we were even able to respond. Logandina Fleur was a true innocent, and she will be missed.” He caught my eye briefly from across the room; I gave him a small, sad smile. “But we have now stopped the threat on our shores and are hunting it at its source. We are in the final stages of reversing any lingering ill effects it caused here. Our community is once more safe.
