Wicked Magic

by Margot de Klerk

  “We were snogging,” Nathan snapped. “Is this important? Can you do something about the bodies?”

  Thankfully, Adrian seemed to realise that they were outside a school and anyone could catch them at any moment. Where was everyone, anyway? Probably drunk. He lugged the two bodies into the van. One guy was still alive, just about, which ended when Adrian snapped his neck. Efficient and brutal. Cynthia let out a sob. Great, they were about to having a panicking girl on their hands, too.

  “Where’s the third one?”

  “Beside the gym.”

  Adrian disappeared and reappeared carrying a guy twice his size over his shoulder. He dumped him in the back of the van, too.

  “This one gets to live,” Adrian said. “Damien needs practice on his interrogation techniques.”

  Nathan collected his knives and decided that the scene was adequately clear. Hopefully no one would notice the pool of blood on the tarmac before the rain washed it away.

  Adrian drove the van up to Park Town. Nathan sat leaning against the window, feeling like he’d swum the English Channel. He was just that exhausted. Cynthia sat beside him, still as a statue, breathing very deliberately through her mouth. The van smelt of blood.

  Damien was waiting for them in the doorway before Adrian even killed the engine of the van. Nathan opened the passenger door and practically fell out. To his immense surprise, Damien had the courtesy to catch him.

  “Can I use your shower?” he asked stupidly.

  “Can you stand up to use it?” Damien replied, amused.

  Nathan assessed himself. “Maybe,” he said.

  “We have one live dark mage in the back of the van,” Adrian said. “What should I do with him?”

  Damien shrugged. “I suggest putting him in a Council holding cell for the night. It is what Jeremiah would expect, and we may as well use the Council resources available to us. He can stew until morning.”

  Adrian nodded.

  “Cynthia, out,” he said, and Nathan realised she was still sitting in the van. She didn’t move. Adrian reached in and hauled her out, setting her on the ground. He held her shoulders.

  “Oi, Nathan wouldn’t date someone who fainted at the first sign of violence,” he said. “Get a grip.”

  “Adrian!” Nathan said.

  Cynthia shook herself.

  “I’m okay,” she said in a small voice.

  “Good,” Adrian said. “Go inside. I’ll be with you in about twenty minutes.”

  He drove off. Damien supported Nathan inside.

  “I believe Lily has got into the habit of keeping tea here for stray humans,” he said. “Shall I check? Miss Rymes, there’s a blanket in that cupboard. Please lay it on the sofa so Mr Delacroix can sit down.”

  Cynthia laid out a blanket, then retreated to the far side of the room, watching the proceedings warily. Nathan spent the next few moments wondering when the hell Damien had managed to learn Cynthia’s last name, and how, and deciding that sometimes it was best not to know these things. No doubt, Damien now knew everything about her, from the precise time she’d been born to the exact shade of her favourite colour. Damien was thorough like that.

  The man in question pressed a cup of tea into Nathan’s hands. He was dressed more casually than Nathan had ever seen before. Usually, Damien wore smart clothes. This evening, he was in soft tracksuit trousers and a plain white T-shirt. His feet were bare. He had probably been on his way to bed.

  “Sorry,” Nathan muttered.

  “What for?” Damien asked.

  “For disturbing your evening.”

  “No need to worry, Mr Delacroix. Lily is fond of you. She would be most disapproving if I were to turn you away in your time of need.”

  Damien’s logic: If you were Lily’s friend, you were special. Fuck everyone else.

  “Thank God for Lily,” Nathan replied.

  “Indeed, Mr Delacroix.”

  Okay, this was getting too weird.

  “Only my teachers call me that,” Nathan said. “You may as well use my first name. I use yours.”

  “Nathan, then,” Damien replied, unbothered. Like he’d just needed an invitation to use Nathan’s first name. Old vampires were so strange.

  Nathan sipped his tea and began to feel vaguely human again. Tired, but human. He wasn’t in shock, at least.

  Adrian got back halfway through his second cup, which was good because he didn’t want to find out if Damien would make him a third cup. Damien made his tea far too strong, and there was only so much earl grey Nathan could drink in one go.

  “Here,” Adrian said, handing the Sihr knife over to Damien. “For your perusal. We seem to be collecting them.”

  Damien took the knife and, with the lack of personal regard of someone who could not die, sliced his own arm with it.

  “Curious,” he said. “It is designed to draw strength from the person it cuts. I suppose there’s a ritual involved.”

  “Chanting,” Nathan said. “In Arabic.”

  “Talk me through the events of this evening,” Damien said, so Nathan did, including both the salacious and the gory details this time. When he explained how he’d used the spirit knife, Adrian made an impressed sound.

  “It’d be a waste if you didn’t become a hunter,” Adrian said once he was done with his story. “I mean you’re eighteen and you just fought off three guys twice your size.”

  “Humans are easy,” Nathan said. He looked at his hands. A cloying realisation had just hit him. “I killed the one guy. I didn’t even think about it. I just stabbed him in the heart.”

  “Uh oh,” Adrian said. He got up and went to the drinks cabinet, pouring a tumbler of whiskey.

  “Drink.” He shoved the tumbler into Nathan’s hands.

  “Is that a good idea?” Cynthia asked.

  “Yes,” Adrian said grimly. “Trust me, I’ve been here. Drink, Nate. Then I’m getting you in the shower and you’re going to bed.”

  “I concur,” Damien said. “In the morning, we will investigate these Sahir. For now, I will open the guest rooms for you.”

  “Just one,” Adrian said. “Put Nate in my room.”

  Damien nodded and left the room.

  “Drink, Nate,” Adrian repeated. Nathan drank. The whiskey burned his throat. It was smoky, like Monica’s magic. Adrian refilled the glass and had him drink again.

  “That’s enough,” he decided. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

  Adrian took Nathan into the guest bathroom and helped him strip his clothes off.

  “I can do it myself,” Nathan said, trying to bat his hands away.

  “You sure?” Adrian asked. “I don’t want to come in here and find you trying to drown yourself in the shower.”

  “I’m sure,” Nathan said, even though he wasn’t. He wanted space. Adrian seemed to sense that.

  “Don’t lock the door,” he said. “I’ll bring you a towel.”

  Nathan did manage to get himself undressed and under the shower. It took a while to heat up. Nathan stood under the cold spray, which got hotter and hotter until it burnt him. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he turned the temperature down. It wasn’t as though he could hurt himself. He had Adrian’s blood in his system; he’d just heal. But he was so tired, and he couldn’t get into bed until he’d got the blood off.

  Compartmentalising his emotions was second nature. He put his worries and fears to the back of his mind and focused on the now. Wash the blood away. Wash his hair. Scrub himself down a second time, just in case. He had a new thin scar on his abdomen, which went to show that vampire blood wasn’t a perfect remedy. Once Nathan deemed himself clean, he climbed out the shower and dried himself. Then he wrapped the towel around his hips and went in search of Adrian.

  Cynthia was sitting in the hall, wearing Lily’s silky pyjamas. She gave a squeak of surprise and scrambled to her feet.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay—I—oh God,” she blurted out. “Sorry!”

  “It’s alright,�
� Nathan said. “I’m just really tired. Will you… be okay?”

  “Yeah,” Cynthia said. “I called my mum and she’s freaking out, but Adrian convinced her I was safe until morning. It is safe here, right?”

  Nathan nodded. “It’s safe. There are all sorts of wards, and Damien would kill anyone who tried to break in, anyway.”

  “Okay,” Cynthia said. “I’ll see you in the morning. I hope, well,” she paused and seemed to rethink what she’d wanted to say. “Never mind. Nathan?”

  Nathan grunted to show he was still listening.

  “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Adrian’s room was one of the guest rooms, though he seemed to have pretty much made it his own. Nathan wondered how close he and Damien really were, that they lived in the same house when Adrian was in town. Adrian was sitting on the bed, and he chucked Nathan a T-shirt and boxers.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.” Nathan was too tired for modesty. He changed where he was and crawled into bed.

  “Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional?” Adrian asked.

  “That too.”

  “I’m worried at how tired you are,” Adrian said.

  “Worry tomorrow,” Nathan mumbled. Then he was asleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  WHEN NATHAN WOKE UP, the room was lit by daylight. It was raining outside. Adrian was sprawled out on the bed beside him, fully dressed and playing with Nathan’s phone.

  “Anna texted you,” he said, tossing the phone onto Nathan’s pillow. “I sent her a reply telling her you were staying at Matt’s place—he seemed like your closest friend, or maybe your only friend, based on your message history. And by the way, your passcode was pathetically easy to crack.”

  “Dick.”

  “Are you more alive today? I was kind of worried you were going to die in the night or something.”

  Nathan took a moment to assess. No aches of any sort, but he did have a blinding headache.

  “I’ll live,” he said. “Does Damien have food? I’m starving.”

  Adrian snorted. “Cathy Rymes is on her way over, and will be bringing human food,” he said. “I reckon you have about fifteen minutes to make yourself presentable before she descends upon us.”

  “Brilliant.” Nathan sighed.

  Damien was a perfect gentleman and did not appear concerned about surrendering his kitchen. Cynthia went with her mother. Emma ended up with Nathan, somehow, because seven-year-olds were curious and had no sense of self-preservation. Nathan would know. That was how he’d met Adrian.

  She perched herself on the sofa where Nathan had taken up residence. Damien had no paracetamol for his headache and trying to move around had revealed that he was still alarmingly weak. He felt like an invalid, and he hated it.

  “Hi,” Emma said.

  “Hey,” Nathan answered hoarsely.

  “Did you really save Cynthia from the bad guys?”

  “Apparently so,” Nathan said.

  “That’s cool.” Emma peered around and caught sight of Adrian, lounging on the other sofa.

  “Are you two related?”

  “Yes,” Adrian said without looking at her.

  “Are you brothers?”

  “No,” Nathan said. “Adrian is my dad’s brother.”

  “He looks funny,” Emma said. “The air around him is all dead.”

  Auras were what happened when a person had magic. Full human meant no aura, so Nathan had none. Monica’s was the smoky haziness of her magic, grey in colour—that, she had once confessed to him, was the irrevocable stain of having used dark magic. Her aura had apparently once been blue. Cynthia’s family all had a mix of colours, possibly because shifters were more in tune with the elements.

  Vampires didn’t have magic, but they were magical. Magic kept them alive after death. As a result, their auras seemed to have a sort of anti-magic effect: the air around them went dead. It was like the vampire was a black hole, sucking in the energy around it. Nathan hated looking at it, so he had got into the habit of blocking the sight when he was around Adrian. This applied to all vampires except Lily and Damien, whose auras were the colour of red wine.

  “I’m a vampire,” Adrian explained.

  “No, you’re not,” Emma replied.

  “Pretty sure I am, actually. I died forty years ago, kid.”

  “That’s not possible,” Emma said. “You don’t look forty.”

  “I just turned sixty-eight,” Adrian said. He tossed his phone on the coffee table and sat up. “Why’s it not possible?”

  “It’s day, and vampires burn in the daylight,” Emma said. “I saw it on TV.”

  What TV programmes was she watching?

  “Not if we drink blood,” Adrian said. “Sorry to disillusion you.”

  At that moment, Damien entered the room. “How are you feeling, Nathan?”

  “Rough.”

  “Freaking weird that my blood didn’t heal you,” Adrian said.

  “Don’t swear,” Emma told him. Nathan burst out laughing, which made her look very put out, but Adrian getting scolded by a kid was just too funny.

  “Are you hysterical?” Adrian asked. “Can I hit you?”

  “No!” Nathan snorted.

  “I expect it’s the nature of the magic in the knife,” Damien said. “Although you could heal the physical wound, the actual harm was in the draining of his spirit, which is something vampire blood cannot touch.”

  “That’s problematic,” Adrian said. “Will he get better?”

  “The fact that he is still alive means he will make a full recovery, I’d expect,” Damien said. “If he was going to die, he would have already done so.”

  “Wow.” Nathan flopped back on his sofa. “That’s so reassuring.”

  “You’re welcome,” Damien said.

  Cynthia and her mother brought the breakfast into the dining room a short while later. The moment Nathan entered, wearing Adrian’s size-too-big clothes and feeling rather sorry for himself, he was engulfed in a huge mum-hug.

  “Oh Nathan,” Ms Rymes sighed. “Cynthia told me what happened. That’s twice you’ve saved my girls. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  Nathan didn’t get hugged particularly often. A bit bemused, he said into her hair, “Cynthia’d probably find less trouble.”

  “Oh dear,” she said, pulling back. “You don’t know my daughter very well, Nathan.” She patted him down, her eyes roving his face. “Are you alright? Have you told your parents? Won’t they be worried?”

  “I doubt it,” Nathan said. “I think Dad’s in Taiwan, anyway, and I don’t know what the time difference is.”

  Ms Rymes looked rather alarmed. “I thought you were injured.”

  “Adrian fixed me up.” Nathan steeled his shoulders. “It’s okay. Hunters don’t really worry about this stuff.”

  That made her look even more concerned. Nathan considered how to dig himself out of this hole, but luckily Adrian—smirking like the jerk he was—came to Nathan’s rescue.

  “It’s alright, Cathy,” he schmoozed. “I’ll look after Nathan.”

  Ms Rymes gave him a rather dubious look.

  “Adrian is Nathan’s uncle,” Cynthia said helpfully.

  “I see…”

  “It’s complicated,” Nathan said. “Can we eat now? It smells delicious.”

  “Yes, sorry Nathan,” Ms Rymes said, hurrying him into a chair. “You must be starving.”

  Monica called halfway through breakfast. Adrian answered his phone, listened for about a minute, then put the phone in the middle of the table.

  “You’re on speaker,” he said.

  “Oh good,” Monica said. “Nathan Sebastian Delacroix, what part of ‘don’t get stabbed by the Sihr knife or you’ll die’ did you not understand?”

  “Hi, Monica,” Nathan replied tiredly. “I was a bit too busy with other things at the time to remember your advice.”


  “You idiot!” Monica howled. “You can’t die, you stupid bloody idiot!” And then she burst into tears. Nathan gave Adrian a horrified look. Adrian looked dumbfounded. Monica never cried.

  “Um, I’m not dead,” Nathan said tentatively. “Still around for you to bully. Hoping it stays that way for a long time.”

  “Shut up.” Monica sniffed. “You’re an arse. Next time I see you, I’m going to slap you.”

  “You do that,” Nathan said. He’d promise pretty much anything if it made Monica stop crying. “In the meantime, reckon you could clarify my chances of dying?”

  “Let me ask Noura.” Monica must have put her phone down, because there was nothing except for white noise for a few minutes. “Okay, Noura says that if the ritual wasn’t completed you have a good chance of surviving. It depends on your soul’s ability to fight off the black magic.”

  “Oh joy,” Nathan said. “How do I do that?”

  “By being strong, I guess,” Monica said. “Noura says the pure of soul usually prevail.”

  Nathan felt like he’d swallowed a stone. “How do you suppose purity of soul is measured?” he asked. “Reckon the fact that I murdered the guy who tried to do me in is going to be, like, a black mark against me?”

  “Er,” Monica began tentatively. “I’m not sure… I think it’s okay, I mean… it was self-defence, so I don’t think that would affect it. I mean, when I—” Nathan coughed loudly, and she cut off. “Um, yeah, I’m on speaker, so we won’t go into my history with black magic, but I don’t think self-defence damages the soul,” she finished. “Anyway, magic doesn’t tend to be that precise. Purity of soul could mean anything really. Purity of spirit, purity of mind, purity of body…”

  Nathan managed to inhale a sip of coffee. He spluttered loudly. When he returned to the conversation, Monica asked, “Nate, what are you going to do about this?”

  “Not precisely sure, yet,” Nathan said. “But I seem to be better at improvising than planning. Why?”

  “I believe she wants to know whether we intend to tell the Council,” Damien said.

  “Yeah, that,” Monica said.

  “Shouldn’t you have done that?” Adrian asked.

  “I did tell the Witch Council they had a black mage in their territory, and they were very la-di-da about it,” Monica pointed out.