The Shadows and Sorcery Collection

by Heather Marie Adkins

  “Get out.” Eli pointed at the door.

  Noelle straightened and turned a steely eye on him. “You’re needed in the war room.”

  “Is he dead?”

  Noelle cut her gaze to Dajia. “No. But he is incapacitated, and we need a leader.”

  “I’ll be there in a moment.”

  “You’ll be there now.”

  Eli’s jaw tightened. “Your presence is no longer required. You can leave.”

  If she’d looked wounded at the sight of Dajia’s face, she looked even more so now. Without another word, she whirled on a heel and stalked from the room.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” Dajia said in the stillness. “She’s your mother.”

  Eli sighed and let his face fall in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. “She’s losing her mind. It’s like the worse Father gets, the crazier she becomes…” A thought struck him. A terrifying thought. He lifted his head. “What if he’s done something to her?”

  Dajia shivered and pulled the blankets higher to cover her creamy bare shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  Eli shoved back the covers and left the bed to tend the fire. As he stirred the dying embers and added more wood, he said, “I always thought it was strange, her dedication to him. Your mother was her best friend. Did you know that?”

  Dajia jerked as if she’d been struck. “No. I didn’t.”

  “When he murdered her, I thought for sure Mom would leave him. Take me and go. But she forgave him, and we went on like everything was fine.” Eli found it hard to breathe. The idea of his father manipulating Noelle had never occurred to him. But now, in the light of everything else he’d learned and pieced together, it made the most sense.

  “You think he’s changed her? Enchanted her?”

  Eli nodded, staring across the room but his gaze on nothing. “Yes. Maybe. Connected them in some way, so that his deterioration is mirrored in her.”

  “That would be a horrendous thing he had done.”

  Eli finally looked at her. Her dark hair hung disheveled around her shoulders. She had the sleepy, satisfied glow of a woman in complete control. He returned to her and kissed her, his thumb tracing a gentle line over her jaw.

  “One more horrendous act of many,” he told her, feeling less than deserving of the beautiful creature in his bed.

  AFTER SEEING DAJIA OUT INTO a cool, gray morning, Eli found his way to the war room.

  It baffled him how little time had passed between his previous visit to this room, when he’d chosen his katana and raced into Beat 3, and now. He’d been an asshole then. Shit, he didn’t even remember what the kitchen girl looked like.

  Now that Dajia was his, he couldn’t remember anybody else.

  Coyle, Ryan, and several of his other top commanders waited for him in the vast, cavernous space in the west wing. Coyle appeared serene, his white hair coiffed and his face smooth. Beside him, Commander Ryan gripped the hilt of her sword and glared.

  If looks could kill, Eli would have fallen under that stare. He couldn’t be angry that she blamed him for her husband’s death. The blame was his burden to bear.

  An unfamiliar face sat at the head of the table—an older woman with gray hair in a messy bun and streaks of dirt on her cheeks. She wore the white overalls of the wallkeepers.

  Coyle nodded at Eli in greeting. “Sir, this is Ocksana Lindt. She’s the managing coordinator for the north wall.”

  “Ms. Lindt,” Eli said with a small bow.

  The woman turned a puzzled gaze on Coyle. “Where is the regent?”

  “The regent is unable to entertain us at the moment,” Eli answered smoothly. He stood beside Coyle, aware of Ryan’s bristly presence on his other side.

  “Ocksana, tell him what you saw,” Coyle prompted.

  The woman licked her thin, colorless lips. Fright spelled its dark humor across her face. “Your Grace, if I may—it would be better for you to see.”

  IT WAS A STRANGE BAND of fellows that followed the wallkeeper from the palace. Eli and Coyle walked beside the woman Ocksana, with Ryan and two other commanders behind them, dressed in their full black hoods and carrying their swords.

  An old access path carved its way up the mountain behind the palace, flanked by tall trees on either side. The morning held a chill, but there was something vibrant beneath that—something that hinted of warmth and life and the verdant promise of spring. At any other time, Eli might have enjoyed the stroll. He had enjoyed this path before, high on the mountain, away from the sector and his father. But now, he felt like he marched toward yet another crisis he wouldn’t be able to fix.

  The rush of water met his ears before they came into sight of the spring. Three of these small mountain run-offs brought fresh water to the sector. The water was so clear and perfect, you could dip your hands in it and drink it straight from the rocks. But in the purpose of ensuring the water was safe for all to drink, a refinery serviced the sector, the tall, rock wall of it visible over the trees to the south.

  Eli’s steps faltered as he drew nearer to the spring. His mouth watered at memories of drinking from the basin, the water like diamonds in his mouth.

  But nobody would be drinking this water.

  From the chained aqueduct beneath the wall, the spring tumbled down stones the ripe color of blood.

  “This spring goes directly into the water refinery,” Ocksana said darkly. “I imagine when they open for the morning, they’re going to find a nasty surprise in the still.”

  “What is it?” Ryan breathed. The first she’d spoken since Eli came into her presence.

  Coyle kneeled on the rocky bank and reached for the water.

  “Don’t,” Eli barked.

  “Sir?”

  “It’s blood. It’s contaminated. No one touch it. No one drink it.” Eli could smell the sharp tang of pennies in the air. He turned to one of his commanders. “Dispatch messengers to the factory. All operations are to cease immediately. Inform them our water supply has been compromised. Have them do an announcement informing the sector not to drink the water until the crisis has been resolved.”

  Eli felt an eerie calm, despite the pounding in his chest and the ringing in his ears. He glanced at Ocksana. “The other two springs?”

  “Red, too, Your Grace.”

  “Shit.” Eli heaved a sigh. “We’ll have to recon. No power for heat, no water to drink—we won’t need the dome to fall to ensure certain death. We’ll die anyway.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Coyle asked.

  Eli braced himself and met the old man’s eyes. “We’re going outside the wall.”

  22

  Dajia

  Turner had followed through on his promise.

  When Dajia arrived at the warehouse in Beat 2—the chosen meeting point for the witches she’d contacted via letter—she found a neat stack of six textbooks waiting on a dusty wooden table.

  Dajia let her bag fall to the floor and reached for the one on top. The book was old and much loved. Brown masking tape held the binding together, and the wand on the cover had faded over the years. Bold, blocky letters announced Magickal Sciences for the Newly Wanded.

  Dajia laughed, glad to hear her own mirth instead of bitterness. Newly Wanded. As if any of the witches coming today had been blessed with that privilege.

  Dajia hadn’t come with any expectations. Asking secret witches to come out of hiding in a world where that could be a death sentence was a big request. She recognized that and wouldn’t have been surprised if no one showed up at all.

  On the contrary, a lot of people showed up. Thirteen, to be exact.

  Cora came, free of the kids and dressed in a striking blue top and jeans. Liam saluted Dajia with a crooked grin, three teenagers trailing behind him—two boys and a girl. Dajia had seen them all before at school but didn’t know their names.

  Then the unfamiliar faces: Seven more, all of them looking fearful, but there despite it all. Adults, around Dajia’s age, which gave her some relie
f. She’d pictured a room full of teenagers like Liam, and knew there wasn’t a single chance in hell she’d put them to work doing dangerous things for the sector.

  Erin and Hanna hadn’t come—but that didn’t come as a surprise. If the tables were turned, and Dajia had been in Erin’s position, she wouldn’t have wanted her daughter involved, either. Hanna was just a little girl.

  Dajia sat on the edge of the table and lifted her voice to be heard over the murmur. “Thank you for coming.”

  Slowly, their conversations petered out and their gazes moved to Dajia. She waited as they found seats, holding her seat on the table: not over them, but clearly in a commanding position.

  “We have a lot to cover,” Dajia went on. “So let’s get to it.”

  THEY BEGAN BY GETTING TO know one another: names, occupations, and a brief synopsis of how they came to survive the purge. It was an emotional hour; sharing brought up dark memories for them all.

  After, they discussed what magick they had done on their own, despite any lack of formal training. Dajia was pleased to find they’d all managed to learn at least a few spells, and they all had wands they’d salvaged from their parents. Dajia’s theory regarding her father hit the nail on the head: she was a piece of him, so his wand worked for her.

  After taking a break to consume the snacks and drinks Cora had provided, Dajia addressed the group once more. “We have textbooks. Only six of them, so we’ll have to rotate them among us. We can practice the methods inside on our own, and then together.

  “But today, I wanted to test a theory I have. Have you guys heard of circle work?”

  All twelve nodded, their rapt attention on Dajia. Nobody spoke, not even a murmur. She wondered if they felt this meeting was serious business, like she did.

  “I’d like to circle up. See if we can raise any power.”

  A titter of excitement echoed through the warehouse as they moved into place, wands in hand.

  Dajia clasped Liam’s hand on one side, her wand pressed between his palm and hers. She took Cora’s on the other side, Cora’s wand clasped between them. They had no teacher, and the book offered no guidance for group work, but the moment they connected in an unending circle, they aligned like the planets.

  Sparks danced across Dajia’s fingers. Shocked laughter filled the room as the magick raced around them, connected by their hands. It grew stronger as it made the circuit, putting Dajia in mind of an engine gaining in speed. She had vague memories of cars from her childhood, before the gasoline ran out and they became nothing but rusted out pieces of junk tossed beyond the wall. She’d thought cars were so powerful. So unstoppable.

  But they had nothing on this.

  “Should we try to direct it?” Cora asked. Heat had built between their hands, their palms slick with sweat.

  “Yes, let’s do that. For what purpose?”

  Cora glanced around as all thirteen sets of eyes watched her. “Let’s move the table. That should be easy.”

  “Okay, everyone. You heard her!” Dajia called. “Focus on the table. Use your minds to visualize moving it toward the wall.”

  DAJIA FOLLOWED HER OWN INSTRUCTIONS, trusting the rest of the group to do so, as well. Her wand responded, tugging power from the connected grid. She felt the magick in her core, stronger than she’d ever felt it. It was as if—in the past—she’d practiced magick on light; diet magick, not quite the same taste or feel.

  She glanced around at her comrades and saw the same awe reflected in their faces. This was real magick. This was the magick of their ancestors, before the Reckoning, before Regent Pierce rewrote their history and took the most important thing from them.

  Connection. Community.

  As if prodded, the power gave. It flew from them on a chorus of gasps. Instead of moving the table, it blasted through the warehouse like a percussion bomb, annihilating the glass in the windows.

  Dajia let go of Cora and Liam in shock, throwing a hand over her mouth. She exchanged glances with Cora and started laughing.

  The laughter turned contagious, until Liam and his friends rolled on the floor, holding their stomachs, and Cora held Dajia up, their arms around each other.

  For the first time since her parents died, Dajia felt like herself.

  She was so lost in her laughter, tears trickling down her face, that it took a moment for her to realize her fingers were tingling.

  Her laughter cut short, and she pulled away from Cora. She looked down at her hands as if she didn’t recognize them. All ten of her fingers vibrated with urgency. As she watched, her wand began to glow a deep, violent red.

  “Dajia?” Cora asked, putting a hand on her arm.

  “Something’s wrong.” Chills swept over Dajia. The stars are frightened.

  Outside, high above the warehouse, a siren began to wail.

  23

  Dajia

  She didn’t stop to consider her actions.

  In the chaos of an emergency, there are two kinds of people. Those who maintain calm and those who sink into hysteria.

  Maybe it was her past that helped Dajia keep her senses. She’d watched her parents be decapitated; such a thing at nine years old could brand itself the worst thing to ever happen to her, and as such, prepare her to handle more than the average witch.

  Even knowing the state of the regency, Dajia hadn’t fully believed she would hear those ancient sirens again. She burst through the heavy metal door, the warble louder, everywhere, like the voice of her mother’s God announcing their doom.

  Sometime between Dajia’s arrival that morning and now, the sun had made an appearance. It hung low over the sector, sharp, cheerful yellow. The frost that amounted to spring in the north had arrived. This particular street in Beat 2 was silent for the moment—none of the warehouses were open on Sundays.

  Dajia could sense the stars behind that curtain of blue and shine. Always vigilant, always watchful, they saw best at night but weren’t blind during the day. She reached for the clouds and searched for guidance.

  “Dear gods, is it happening again?” Cora asked.

  Dajia lowered her hand. She followed the tingling past Beat 3 and into Beat 4—the market. The heartbeat of the sector.

  “Get back inside,” Dajia told her, shoving her toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Cora asked.

  “Into the fight,” Dajia said roughly. “I’m not sitting back while people die this time.”

  “We will come, as well,” Jove said in his heavy accent. He was a big guy with shoulders like a bulldozer and ebony skin that seemed to absorb the sunshine like shadow.

  “Normal people flee from danger,” Cora joked. “I never claimed to be normal.”

  Liam stepped forward. “I’m coming, too.”

  “Oh no you’re not,” Dajia retorted. “You’re just a kid. Get back in the warehouse.”

  Liam set his jaw, only deepening his child-like face with petulance. “You can’t stop us.”

  His friends nodded their agreement.

  Dajia considered threatening them with her wand. She vaguely recalled a paralysis spell from her brief glance over the textbook that morning, but even if she could remember the spell word, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t turn her wand on people she’d just connected to so deeply.

  “Stay away from the ravagers,” Dajia said roughly, pointing a finger in Liam’s face. She caught each teenage gaze with a hot one of her own. “Help people. But do not engage the ravagers.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” all four teens chorused. They clutched their wands, faces serious.

  Dajia recanted her original statement that they were just kids. Maybe, because of their pasts, they’d found their way to adulthood a little early, too. Like Dajia.

  “If you’re coming, follow me!” Dajia called, and broke into a sprint, heading straight for Beat 4 and the sector market.

  DAJIA RAN INTO A NIGHTMARE.

  If the ravagers had seemed monsters in the dark of night, they appeared even more horri
fying beneath the brilliant sunshine. Their bodies shone like polished eggshells as they sped through the streets of Beat 4 with their loping canters.

  Dajia brandished her wand, and blasted a heavy metal sign over a bakery. Her timing was off, so it fell late, buckling the creature’s abnormal legs instead of bashing its head. The masked regulator it had nearly captured whipped around and relieved the beast of its head.

  She couldn’t worry about Cora or Jove or any of the teens, because worry would slow her down. She brushed aside her fear and ran for the market.

  Sunday morning. Her mother would be behind the desk at the wool co-op, opening up for the day. It was a long day for her, a ten hour shift, but she always praised the fact she had three days off after her weekends there.

  Dajia magicked a bench, sending the heavy iron into two ravagers crouched over a motionless person. The bench hit with a sickening thud, snapping the beasts in two.

  Beyond a handful of masked men who were, Dajia assumed, on duty in Beat 4 for the morning, she saw no other regulators. She hoped the rest wouldn’t be too far behind with their weapons. Already, Dajia counted at least ten ravagers and more coming. They’d gotten in somewhere—maybe in 3, again, having breached it once before.

  The sidewalk in front of the market was empty. Dajia flew past the familiar chalkboard advertising the market’s hours, and launched herself into the dim, airy interior.

  The old sound system usually played music: the Beatles or Avery Brothers when the manager was in residence, or chick rock when his wife was. Dajia had always loved walking into the market on a blast of Sheryl Crow’s crooning, raspy voice.

  There was no music now. Deep stillness and the cacophony of screams washed over Dajia. She raced down the main corridor, throwing heavy objects with her wand as she came across ravagers. They’d infiltrated the market and mowed down the shoppers with cruel efficiency. Dajia leapt over bodies, trying not to be sick at the open wounds, the trailing organs, the massive puddles of blood, and she prayed for her mother. Prayed she wasn’t too late.