Wicked Magic

by Margot de Klerk

  “More bad news?”

  “The witches don’t seem to be too pleased either; there were two dead witches, but I can’t find out more. They won’t tell us anything.”

  “Dead Sahir?” Nathan asked, alarmed.

  “Civilians.”

  “Do you think it has something to do with the Sahir?”

  “Hard to say. They blame the vampires. But if we have evil witches in town and people are dying, I’m not inclined to go looking for a different culprit.”

  “Occam’s razor.”

  “Precisely.”

  Nathan took the bottle back and cradled it in his hands. “Do you… think I’m doing the right thing?” he asked finally, swigging from the bottle.

  “Not sure anyone’s asked me that in a long time,” Adrian replied, accepting the bottle back and taking another pull. “I’m not exactly considered the local expert on moral behaviour.”

  “I looked in my dad’s eyes and told him I didn’t want to be a hunter if it meant killing people who didn’t deserve it,” Nathan said. “I mean, I didn’t say those words, but as good as.”

  “So? He deserves to finally hear that you feel differently to him.”

  “You never told me that being accepted by the spirit knife made me the head of the family,” Nathan mused.

  “I never told you anything about it,” Adrian said. “For example, that any wound inflicted on another family member, you will feel double. Or that the punishment for attempting to claim it and not being worthy would be a curse. Every Delacroix who isn’t worthy and tries to claim the knife is destined to die young in battle.”

  “Is that true?” Nathan asked, helping himself to more whiskey. “Or an old wives’ tale?”

  “Who the fuck knows?” Adrian asked. “Sebastian’s name was on it, and he died at twenty-five. It skipped my father, and he lived for-freaking-ever. And he was the arsehole who told me if he ever saw me again, he’d kill me.”

  Nathan passed the bottle back over. Adrian needed it more.

  “If I ever initiate,” Nathan said, “Which is seeming increasingly unlikely, when I have to thank the people who helped train me, I’m going to have to mention you.”

  “Dare you,” said Adrian. “I’d pay good money to see the look on your father’s face.”

  “I thought vampires never pay.”

  “I might make an exception,” Adrian replied. “It’d be… the ultimate revenge, for him to realise that he raised you to hate me, and I beat him.”

  “Is that what this is?” Nathan asked. “Is that why you approached me?”

  “Nah,” Adrian said thoughtfully. “You look like Sebastian.”

  “Really?” Nathan asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a photo of him.”

  “My dad hid them all,” Adrian replied. “Seb was… the prodigal son, you know? None of us ever came close, he was brilliant. No. I was brilliant. He was perfect. And he—excelled. I mean—I never came close to beating him… And then, suddenly, he was dead. Dad was never the same.” Adrian stared at the sky. “You look the same as him, you did back then, and I guess I just… wanted to know you.”

  “Am I like him now?” Nathan asked.

  “Nah, we were an arrogant generation, thought nothing could touch us. You’d have hated Seb, he was a snob,” Adrian replied.

  Adrian’s phone rang, then. He handed the whiskey back to Nathan. “I have to take this, it’s Lily. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  Nathan nodded. Adrian jogged off a little way down the Mound, and then he was out of sight. The streetlights didn’t reach up here to illuminate him, and Adrian’s aura didn’t glow.

  One moment Nathan was alone, and the next he wasn’t. He didn’t see or feel it happen. He blinked, and a figure was there. A robed figure. He used his phone as a torch and saw blond braids and iridescent tattoos.

  “Aodhán,” Nathan said. He put the bottle down and stood up.

  “Good evening, Nathan Delacroix,” said Aodhán. “My apologies for intruding upon your evening.”

  “Good thing you did it now,” Nathan said. “I don’t plan on being sober for too much longer.”

  Aodhán smiled with that same faintly patronising humour that most old vampires had.

  “I should warn you, you are not the first youth to think of drinking up here. In fact, it is such a prevalent habit that we have a number of young vampires who enjoy lying in wait to feed on easy prey,” he said. “Perhaps it is not wise for one such as you to linger in such proximity to our inner sanctum. It might be considered… temptation to breach the Council treaty.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” Nathan asked.

  “I only feed on particular victims,” said Aodhán. “You do not fulfil the criteria.”

  That was enough information to last Nathan a lifetime. “Cool,” he said. “Wish I hadn’t asked, really.”

  Aodhán chuckled. “Fear not, young hunter,” he said. “I merely wish to talk.”

  He reached for Nathan. Nathan froze, but Aodhán only touched the protective amulet around his neck. It was the one he’d been working on earlier. He’d strung the tablets from a twisted leather cord.

  “You pick oak,” Aodhán said. “Not a typical wood for amulets. It signifies wisdom, power, survival. Why were you drawn to this wood?”

  “I don’t know,” Nathan said honestly. His brain was shorting out with the vampire’s hand so close to his chest.

  “Did you know that the oak tree was the symbol of the druids?” Aodhán asked.

  “No.”

  “We were the people of the oak. Druids had a complex reputation, but at the heart of it we sought wisdom, inner strength, and communed with the elements to maintain balance,” Aodhán said. “For a time, your people and mine were one. Eventually, the hunters separated themselves. They believed there could be no balance with the supernatural and dedicated themselves to its extermination.”

  “That’s… quite a leap.”

  “Indeed, it was also quite a betrayal,” Aodhán said, “to take teachings of balance and turn them to murder.”

  “Yeah… I can see that,” Nathan said.

  “Should you ever have any interest,” Aodhán said, “there is much I could show you. The world is not so narrow a place as the hunters believe, and magic is in everything, if only you understand how to draw it out.”

  “I…” Nathan breathed.

  “Think on it.” Aodhán dropped the amulet and drew back.

  “Oi, Nate, Lily wants to know if we want to meet her at New College!” Adrian called.

  “Sure!” Nathan shouted back. He blinked.

  Aodhán was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  NATHAN WAS SURPRISED AND relieved to find himself alone in the house the next day. Mum, Dad, and Jeff were at the Council, even though it was Saturday, and Aunt Anna and Jess were out. Nathan took the opportunity to invite Cynthia over.

  “Sorry we haven’t seen much of each other lately,” he said as Cynthia kicked her shoes off in the hall. “Feels like Mum and Dad are everywhere.”

  “It’s alright.” Cynthia shrugged her coat off. “Things haven’t been much better back home.”

  “I get it,” Nathan said. “Come on, Aunt Anna made lunch for us to reheat.”

  After lunch, they found themselves in Nathan’s room doing homework. Well, Cynthia was doing homework. Nathan was fiddling with her hair and occasionally helping.

  “S’ennuyer?” she asked.

  “To be bored of something. Come on, that’s not hard.”

  “Shut up and conjugate it, then.”

  Nathan rolled onto his back. “Je m’ennuie. Tu t’ennuies. Il/elle s’ennuie. Nous nous ennuyons. Vous vous ennuyez. Ils/elles s’ennuient. And in a sentence, conjuguer les verbes françaises m’ennuie.”

  “That’s mean,” Cynthia said, knocking him on the arm with her book.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I better get that.” Nathan padded downstairs, pulling open the door. On the door
step was a figure in a hooded burgundy robe, with a purple aura. A Witch Council guide. They were almost never seen outside of the Council inner sanctums; at least, not in official uniform.

  “Woah!” Nathan backed up a step, drawing a knife.

  “Nathan Delacroix, I mean you no harm,” the guide said. It was a man.

  “Yeah, take your hood down and tell me that to my face.”

  “It is not the way of Council guides to reveal themselves frivolously,” the guide said. “Nathan Delacroix, you have been summoned before the Witch Council.”

  “What? Why? What would they need me for?”

  “You are permitted safe passage to the inner sanctum. They merely wish to speak.”

  “What about?” Nathan asked.

  “That is not for me to reveal. The elders will explain.”

  Holy crap, he was being summoned by the witch elders. This is bad.

  “I’m going to need some kind of guarantee,” Nathan said.

  “Time is of the essence. What guarantee would you like?” the guide asked.

  Nathan thought fast. “I want my friend to come, too, also with safe passage.”

  The guide went still for a moment. His aura dimmed and brightened again.

  “I am permitted to make this bargain. Fetch your friend.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Nathan shut the door in the guide’s face. Cynthia was waiting on the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “No freaking clue, but I hope you don’t mind visiting the Witch Council.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  Nathan wrote a note for his aunt, and they left. The guide was still waiting on the doorstep. Behind him on the street was a black Audi sedan. The driver was utterly silent as he opened the doors for them.

  On the trip over to Magdalen Bridge, Nathan called Adrian to explain the situation.

  “What would the Witch Council need you for?” Adrian asked.

  “No idea, I was hoping you might know.”

  “No effing clue,” Adrian said. “Please keep your eyes sharp. I can’t protect you in there.” Vampires were not permitted in the inner sanctum of the Witch Council.

  “I know,” Nathan said.

  The driver dropped them and their guide at the punt rental place, which looked rather gloomy now that winter had arrived. There was no need to prove themselves to the whiskery old man; he recognised the guide and waved them through. Before they could get on a punt, the guide stopped them.

  “The Elder has asked me to provide a mark to give you and your friend safe passage. Or you may wear the mark of another witch, should you have one in mind.”

  It wasn’t sensible to wear the mark of a witch you didn’t know. “I do, actually,” Nathan said. He looked at Cynthia. “Have you got Monica’s wristband?”

  “Yes.” Cynthia pulled it out of her bag.

  “Will that do?” Nathan asked.

  “Yes,” the guide said. Cynthia put the wristband on. Nathan stayed as he was.

  “Won’t you wear a mark?” the guide asked.

  “No,” Nathan said. He could always put it on later, but he wanted to see what happened.

  “On your head be it.” The guide handed them each the Council token. “This will grant you entry to the wards.”

  The guide steered the punt, and Nathan held Cynthia’s hand. In summer, this might have been romantic. Today, Nathan felt like he’d swallowed rocks. The wards seemed particularly hostile.

  Cynthia oohed softly as they entered the tunnel.

  “Where are we?”

  “This is witchspace,” the guide said. “We are nowhere that corresponds to the human world.”

  “Technically, though,” Nathan said, “We’re under Magdalen College.”

  “Don’t ruin the mystique,” Cynthia said.

  In the main hall, there was one elder and a small army of aides. Nathan counted seven. This must be big business.

  “Pay your respects to Elder Nettle,” the guide instructed. A different elder, then, although Nathan couldn’t really tell the difference. This one’s robe was grey.

  Nathan knelt, tugging Cynthia down beside him.

  “Nathan Delacroix, be welcome,” said the elder. He had a very gravelly voice, but he wasn’t as discernibly ancient as Elder Rowan had been.

  “Elder Nettle,” Nathan said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “A small matter,” said Elder Nettle. “Easily resolved, I hope.”

  “The hunters have no quarrel with the witches that I’m aware of,” Nathan said cautiously. “And I would not be able to answer for them.” This was easier when Monica was here to do the talking.

  “The druid vampire guide has brought to our attention that we owe you a boon,” said Elder Nettle.

  “You do?” Nathan asked. Aodhán had done what?

  “You were injured by one of our own. This is in violation of our treaty with hunterkind. Therefore, we will grant you a boon, as an apology.”

  Nathan considered that for a moment. The witches shifted impatiently.

  “May I confer with my colleagues?”

  “Our guide will accompany you to a room from which you may use your mobile phone,” Elder Nettle said. The guide headed for the door, and Nathan obligingly followed him. Cynthia fell into step beside him.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  Nathan had no idea, but there was no way he was admitting that. “I want to get advice from Monica,” he said instead. “Supernaturals are tricky and I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

  “Wise,” the guide remarked, proving that—as Nathan had expected—he was listening in.

  They were led into an antechamber, and Nathan dialled Monica. Aunt Anna was going to kill him when she saw his phone bill this month.

  Monica was incredulous. “Are you joking?” she demanded once Nathan had explained the situation.

  “I wish I was,” Nathan said. “What do I do?”

  “Will they let you postpone the boon?”

  “I don’t think so.” Nathan shot a cautious look at the guide. His face was still hidden, but he somehow managed to convey impatience. “Yeah, probably not.”

  “Shit.” Monica was silent for a moment. “What do you need?”

  “Dunno. Immunity from the dark mages? For them to leave Cynthia alone?”

  “I wouldn’t aim too high,” Monica warned. “This is like… a ritual. The witches are saying, oops, we fucked up and let someone stab you, and we really don’t want you to report us, so please take a little present in exchange for your silence. You need to ask for something that says, I’m really not happy, and you’re going to have to try harder in future, but for now I’ll play your game. ”

  “I’m never going to be a politician.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Monica asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  “We need information, and the prisoner isn’t talking. That means we need access to someone who will talk, and a way to force them to talk.”

  “Uh… this is starting to sound like one of those ethical grey areas.”

  “It is,” Monica said. “You have to name someone by name, and we only know one black mage in town by name.”

  “Kseniya.”

  “Yeah,” Monica said.

  “So I ask for her, and then what?”

  “She becomes yours. You can mark her.”

  “WHAT?” Nathan asked, aghast.

  “Nate, it’s okay, just roll with it,” Monica said.

  “It’s okay?” Nathan hissed. “Monica, people aren’t birthday presents! You can’t just give them away!”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking, not like binding a slave,” Monica said. “It’s more of a kind of guardianship. Look, this might be a good thing, Nathan. You could help her.”

  “You’re so sure she needs help.”

  Monica was silent for a long moment. “If it were me,” she said finally, “and I was the one involved in some shit magic…”
<
br />   Nathan swallowed. “I wouldn’t leave you to fuck things up, I swear.”

  “I don’t know if Kseniya has anyone to help her,” Monica said. “She grabbed you, at TWL that time. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, Nate. I think she knew you could help.”

  Nathan wanted to say, I’m just eighteen and I have no idea what I’m doing.

  But he couldn’t say that. If it were Monica, he would do whatever he could to help her.

  “Fine. Tell me what to say.”

  Monica coached him. Witches loved loopholes and messing this up could go badly. “You have to say it exactly right,” Monica instructed. “Don’t get anything wrong, or they’ll try to wriggle out of it.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s time,” the guide said. “The elders grow impatient.”

  “Alright, got to go,” Nathan said.

  “Good luck!” Monica replied. Nathan had a feeling he was going to need it.

  The guide led them back to the main chamber.

  “Have you made your decision?” Elder Nettle inquired.

  Nathan took a deep breath. This was it.

  “As my boon, I would like you to transfer guardianship of the witch and marked black mage, Kseniya Krovopuskov, to me in my capacity as a hunter and guardian of the balance between the supernatural and human worlds.” His heart was pounding as he finished speaking. He stared at the elder and tried to show no fear. This is what I want, this is what I want…

  The aides were all shuffling in dissatisfaction. Nathan’s request had unsettled them. Good.

  “We will confer,” said Elder Nettle. He stood and exited the room, surprisingly fast for someone so old. Everyone in the room seemed to relax a bit. The air cleared of some of the tension. After about five minutes, two aides looked startled and hurried out the room. A few minutes later, Elder Nettle returned.

  “Your boon has been granted.” He looked to a doorway. The two aides appeared, leading Kseniya between them. She looked even worse than she had before; basically skin and bones, her clothes hanging off her body. Her hair had been cut at some point. It hung misshapenly around her head, chopped sharply at the top of her neck. When the aides stopped, she stumbled. Nathan darted forwards and caught her. She was light as a feather, and she clung to him.