A new day, a new test.
This one, as promised, is out on the city streets.
Richard is pushing me hard. Because he has to.
I’m not complaining about this one little bit. I know the kind of monsters that are lurking out there in Fairchurch – and I know exactly what they’re going to do if no one goes after them to reinstate justice.
I’m walking closely by Richard’s side. While he’s on his mobile and feigning interest in a text just to make the two of us look less conspicuous, I’m striding next to him.
I still don’t exactly know what the parameters of this training session will be – just that I am to begin to learn how to follow air.
Richard usually gives me the most specific of instructions. He’s a bit of an anorak. Which, to be fair, you would fully expect for someone in his position. Magic – as I have learned on many dangerous occasions now – needs to be controlled. It’s very much not the kind of thing you can just practice and hope for the best. You need to treat it respectfully. And above all, you need to know its limitations. That being said, he’s barely given me any instructions – and though I can appreciate that’s because he’s not an air practitioner and he’s very much out of his depth, it still makes for an uneasy task.
The city feels different today. If I concentrate on it long enough, I realize that. It’s been two weeks since the incident with Stanley, and immediately after it, the city was different for a couple of days – it was coming down from the epic storm, for one. Richard later told me storms like that are very common when a dark practitioner is attempting to cast an extremely strong spell. Magic has to come from somewhere, you see, and the easiest place to get it is from the sky. From the sheer power of the heavens.
But this feeling I’m picking up as I walk through the city is different. It isn’t the leftover vibes from that fight. It’s something new. Something that’s growing. Something that seems to be trapped in the cracks in the pavement. Something that seems to be growing along the old brick walls like a particularly musty mold. I can sense it as I walk down the street – vibrating into my feet with every step. I swear I can hear it trickling in the pipes beneath the streets. And more than that? I get a sense of it carried on the wind.
Despite the fact Richard has already told me not to make any sudden movements and to control my actions, I stop, grinding into the pavement, breath coming as a sharp blast as my lips pulse open wide.
“What is it?” he questions immediately, not using his mouth but instead relying on whisper magic.
The next thing I know, I’m not answering him, I’m running.
My body pushes off into a quick sprint.
I know the requirement for not making a ruckus – but I can’t help myself. Something is pushing me on.
At least Richard doesn’t scream and pull me back. He follows behind me.
As I chase that errant feeling, a part of me knows I simply can’t afford to make myself known. Though maybe it wouldn’t seem so suspicious for ordinary little old me to run through the populated city streets of downtown, Richard Hargrave is another matter. If the wrong person sees him, this could reach the papers. And I know he really can’t afford that. But can I stop myself? No.
The more I run, the more I feel air. The power of it. Its magic is completely different to the other elements. It’s far flightier, for one. Which is what you’d expect. It doesn’t put me in mind of wind racing through a valley or anything. It puts me in mind of thousands upon millions of birds all flying in the opposite direction. And here’s me in the middle, trying to catch them all at once. It sounds impossible, and it is impossible.
The more I try to follow the air – the more I throw my mind into it – the more I lose hold of myself. I’m not even aware of where I’m heading.
I head down main streets into alleys and under bridges.
I’ve even lost all track of Richard. It would be completely irrelevant to me whether he was by my side or if he was being attacked by another witch at the moment.
I’m simply too distracted by the birds of air fluttering through my mind.
The next thing I know, I come to an abrupt stop in front of a set of stairs that lead down to a door.
The stop is so abrupt that Richard plows into me.
Though he’s big and solid, and he certainly knows how to use himself in our training sessions, I can usually shore up my own stance and rely on my power. But right now as he strikes me, I go down like I’m nothing more than a leaf being assailed by the most powerful of winds.
The next thing I know, I fall flat on my back, and he’s on top of me.
He knocks the breath right out of my lungs, and my head spins.
Then it promptly stops spinning as I stare up into his eyes. They flash with anger – the kind of fury you would fully expect at the fact I went against Richard’s wishes, ran halfway across town, and brought the both of us way too much attention. But then, just as always happens whenever we get too close, he pauses.
It’s always the weirdest of experiences. You see, Richard is a flame. That’s the base of his magic. It’s also the base of his personality.
Unlike Stanley, Richard usually has a hold of his magic. Whenever I was in Stanley’s presence, I could always feel his water magic banking up around me, ready to sweep me underneath it like a wave claiming a floundering vessel.
With Richard, it’s different. With Richard, he usually contains himself like a candle locked inside a box.
But as he stares down into my eyes, reality itself seems to pause to see what he’ll do next. I get the distinct impression that Richard is more than just flame. He’s not some mere volcano getting ready to explode. He’s like the heart of a star – the core of combustion itself.
In other words – something I will never get a handle on.
He opens his lips. It’s not a jerking movement as if he’s about to tell me off – it’s long, slow, as if his lips haven’t yet decided what they’re about to do.
And me? Do I push him off? Do I start apologizing profusely for what I just did? Hell no. My body is primed – not for an argument, but for something else entirely.
That something else entirely never comes to fruition – because the door just down the stairway to our side creaks open. Like a flash – faster than a bolt of lightning from a clear sunny sky – Richard is off me.
The next thing I know, he’s pulled me to my feet – and it’s just in time before the door is opened fully and someone walks out.
It’s a man – and judging by his hooded eyes and his slow movements, he didn’t sleep a wink last night.
Though I’m still vibrating from what just happened between Richard and me, I’m nowhere near distracted enough not to be able to pick up the scent of alcohol laced on the guy’s breath.
I also catch a few thrumming beats coming from the open door before he closes it.
It sounds like there’s a party going on in there.
The guy stares at us, shoves his hands into his pockets, and goes to move away. Then he pauses, his eyebrows scrunching down as he looks back at Richard. It’s clear he’s just recognized who Richard is.
Richard? I turn to look at him. Though we’re in a faraway section of town, for some reason I get the impression that this place is expensive. The guy who’s staring at Richard is wearing some pretty posh clothes. As my gaze darts down to his wrist, I can see his watch is worth at least ten grand.
Before I can expend too much mental energy trying to figure out what’s going on, the guy’s eyes dart open wide, practically disappearing behind his hairline. “You found out about this place already? You really do have good resources.”
It’s a weird comment, and I immediately dart my gaze over to Richard.
He has a completely blank expression. Despite the fact I’ve been telling myself that I’m getting to know his expressions the more I hang out with him – I simply have no idea what he’s thinking.
It takes several seconds for Richard to move his lips into a smile. Sorry, did I say smile? His cheeks stiffen, and his lips move – sure. But it’s the furthest thing away from a smile.
Richard shoves a hand into his pocket – his go-to move when he’s trying to look casual and unaffected. But any fool would be able to tell that his casual stance is just an act.
Richard slowly arches his head toward the club. “It was only ever going to be a matter of time. No one – even your employer,” he says those words very carefully, his lips barely moving around them as if he can’t quite stomach saying them out loud, “can hide from me for too long.”
I don’t know if that’s an insult, a veiled threat, or just a statement.
The drunk guy just laughs, and from the shaking edge to it, it’s clear he’s more than a little tipsy. And hey – as I catch a glimpse of his eyes, I realize he might have something else on board, too. His gaze is… delayed.
It’s not just that his pupils are large – it’s that every single time he looks from me to Richard, there’s an obvious pause as if his eyes are seeing something else momentarily and have to refocus to pick up what’s in front of him.
Though I chance upon that description, it sends a thrill of nerves dancing through my stomach.
This whole interaction has distracted me from the fact that I ran to this specific point like a crazy woman. Now that fact strikes me.
I can’t… really describe to you how it felt to be compelled by my air magic.
Though I’ve been compelled by other forms of magic before, this was way worse. Because from water to earth, I still felt like I had a fragment of control. Air magic is just too confusing. It’s the kind of magic that could easily distract you into doing whatever it pleased.
That’s just as horrible as it sounds, and I find myself gulping hard.
Richard is still feigning an easy expression, and his stance is casual, one hand still shoved in his pocket.
The other guy chucks his head back and laughs. “Now you’re here, you should probably come in.” He shrugs toward the door. “Red would like to see you,” he adds, his lips shifting weirdly around the word.
It takes me a second, then I realize what’s going on. He looks as if he’s mouthing something that’s out of sync. You know when you’re watching a newscast that gets delayed, and peoples’ lips move out of time with the words? Yeah, that’s what’s happening now. But there’s a big problem there. Because this isn’t a broadcast. It’s very much happening live.
A dreadful feeling starts to slowly push through my stomach. It makes me feel as if I’ve swallowed the whole icy continent of Antarctica.
It promises me one thing. I have stumbled upon yet more magic. No. I didn’t stumble here – I was drawn here – pushed on by air magic. As if the element itself needs me to check this situation out. Just as the water trapped in the storm wanted me to stop Stanley, air now wants me to investigate what’s happening here.
Richard arches his neck, shifting it to the side as he obviously tries to get a better look around the guy at the closed door.
I can feel that Richard is pushing out with his magical senses, trying to find out what’s inside.
That’s what I try to do, too. Like I’ve said multiple times before, ever since my fight with Stanley and Frank, sensing magic – especially the simple stuff like finding other people’s power – is becoming second nature to me.
“Come on – Red would love to see you. She has a… venture you might be interested in. Now Stanley is out of the equation, this city is ripe for development.”
I can tell Richard is considering the offer. The reason I can tell that is I can feel his gaze on the side of my face.
I know his preference would be not to take me anywhere dangerous. But when Richard clears his throat, shrugs, and nods toward the door, I realize something else.
I defeated Stanley. Something he couldn’t do.
He’s finally starting to appreciate my skills.
The guy – whoever he is – looks chuffed. He brings up his hands and claps them together, the sound echoing down the street. “Red’s gonna be thrilled to see you. It’s been a long time. And considering,” the guy’s lips pause, and again there’s a significant delay before he speaks again, and that delay makes my back itch with nerves as I realize there must be strong magic at play here, “recent events, there’s a lot to talk about.”
I wonder if this guy knows who I am – because he seems thoroughly disinterested in me and instead is keeping all of his attention locked on Richard.
Richard appears to make a decision, and he doesn’t glance back at me once as he nods at the door.
Finally, the guy flicks his gaze toward me.
It doesn’t linger. It’s not lecherous. And from the distracted quality to his stare, it’s clear he doesn’t think I’m anything special.
Richard walks down the steps and stops in front of the door, waiting for the guy.
Though I didn’t hear a lock engage or anything when the guy came out, I jerk back. Because as the guy walks over, there’s a bolt on the door. A massive one. One that simply wasn’t there several seconds ago.
I push my mind forward, desperately this time – knowing I have to be missing something. But it doesn’t matter how far I push my senses out into the door and into the club beyond, I can’t pick up a thing.
That thrill of nerves that chased up my back when I arrived here now starts pounding in my chest.
It tells me that whatever the hell is going on here, I need to figure it out sooner rather than later. Because there’s something I’ve known for a while. Something that sits at the base of my fear as Richard waits for the guy to unbolt the door.
Richard takes risks. Fair enough, he’s forced to take them. He’s always on the back foot, and dark practitioners simply have access to more magic than he does.
But that still doesn’t make me happy. And the part of me that’s a Gold witch and was promised to Richard twists and shakes, her hands curling into tight fists. Because I get the distinct impression that whatever the hell is going on here, it will lead to a risk.
A big one.
Though I could clear my throat, grab hold of Richard, and pull him away, I don’t.
I just redouble my efforts at trying to figure out what the hell kind of magic is being practiced.
After a complicated set of movements that involve unbolting the door with what looks like the strength of Hercules, finally it creaks open. Richard doesn’t pause. He strides forward.
The guy is behind him, and I move to catch up.
But that’s when the guy twists in the doorway, his hand still locked on the door, a frown forming on his face. “Do you mind?” he asks, his tone rude. It’s like I’m a stranger who’s trying to muscle in on the party.
I arch an eyebrow. “I’m with him,” I say pointedly.
“But you’re not invited.”
What the hell is going on here?
I look straight at Richard. He has his back half to me, his face angled further into the building, making it obvious he’s momentarily more interested in what’s happening inside than what’s happening to me outside.
He eventually ticks his gaze back to me. “If she’s not invited, she can stay outside,” he says, tone completely neutral, kind of like I’m a dog that someone doesn’t want to be brought into the house because I have muddy paws. Before I splutter and spit at Richard that he’s being ridiculous, he looks right at me. Then he whispers in my ear. “Go around back. See what you can find out. I don’t think you found this place by accident – I think you were led here. Before you grab me back and tell me it’s too dangerous to go on my own, I can’t get out of this. Red is a strong practitioner, and it’s better for me to play this her way. I doubt she’s got the power to directly go against me – not unless something has changed. Now do as I say and assess this building. Please,” he adds with one more whisper.
Though his sudden communication mollifies me, I still want to dart forward, grab him, and wrench him back outside to safety – with me. I don’t get that opportunity. The snide drunk guy – whoever the bastard is – simply shoots me a victorious, twisted smile as he grabs hold of the door and slams it right in my face. The move is powerful enough that a gust of wind shoves my hair over my head, sending it scattering around my cheeks.
I stand there and stare in complete shock for a few seconds as I pull myself together.
I remind myself of what Richard just said.
I should walk around back – try to figure out what’s going on.
That doesn’t stop me from muttering under my breath that he’s a bastard.
I get that Richard is under a fair amount of stress and that he doesn’t have enough resources to play this horrid game safely – but he could pause and tell me more about what’s going on.
Sometimes I get that he has to keep me in the dark. And sometimes – like right now – it pisses me the hell off.
I’m angry enough that I actually kick the wall.
Don’t get me wrong – it’s not a strong move. I’m not trying to bring it down or anything like that. And yet, with that simple move, the wall shakes.
It’s sudden and powerful – like I’ve set off an earthquake or something. And it’s so unexpected that I yelp and jerk back. My gaze darts up the side of the building, my eyes wide.
When the building doesn’t crumble or anything, I take a breath, clamp a hand over my mouth, shift forward, delicately reach a hand out, and lock it on the wall.
I let my fingers trail down it for several seconds, the gritty feeling of the brick relaying that this is in fact a wall and not a fancy illusion.
Then?
I push.
The wall undulates. It’s not a particularly violent move, and this time I don’t fear that it will bring the entire building down. But there’s no denying what I see.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath.
I take a step back, clutching my hand over my mouth, and do it again – really push my magical senses out into this building as I try to figure out what on earth is happening.
Even though I close my eyes hard, squeezing the skin as if I’m attempting to exude my brain through my nose, I feel nothing. Not a damn thing.
It’s as if this building has no magic at all.
I swear again.
I don’t bother shoving the wall once more.
I turn hard on my foot and continue down the laneway.
There are plenty of little laneways and side alleys in Fairchurch. Like I told you before – this place grew up from an old city. And while the newer developments and blocks downtown are logical – the rest of the city is a veritable warren. You can find yourself walking along a main street only to take a wrong turn down an alleyway and virtually get lost in the back parts of town.
But the alleys usually have something to them. Little doorways into houses and the old drab brick buildings that popped up during the 70s, interspersed here and there with the charming sandstone buildings from centuries gone by.
But this alleyway?
It only has one door.
The rest of it is made up entirely of brick and stone buildings abutting each other. Just walls, in other words. Not even any windows.
“This doesn’t feel right,” I mutter under my breath as I push forward, shoving my hands into my pockets and clenching my teeth. I also curl my tongue until it touches the top of my pallet. I make my way all the way down the alley until I exit out onto a main street. Instantly I stop, arching my head back toward the alley then out toward the main street.
I frown.
Though my knowledge of the streets of Fairchurch isn’t perfectly accurate – as I’m not a taxi driver or anything – I’ve grown up here. And I know which street connects to what.
Which poses a seriously big question as I jerk my gaze back to the alleyway again.
I remember what road led into the alleyway from the opposite side.
And as I face the street in front of me, letting my gaze get lost in the cars that are shooting past, I realize these two streets shouldn’t connect at all. They’re several blocks apart.
I don’t bother to part my lips and ask what the hell is going on here. I take a quick, jerked step backward into the alleyway.
Don’t ask me how, but I get this feeling that… if I don’t occupy the space within the alleyway – if that phrasing makes any sense – it will… I don’t know, disappear.
I know magic can produce serious power. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. And I’ve heard and experienced just what dark magic can do. But the prospect that you could join two otherwise disconnected city streets with a completely made up alleyway is blowing my mind.
I’m cold all over. Sweat slicks down my back, collecting between my shoulder blades as I take another jerked step back into the alleyway.
With one last lingering look at the street, I turn and walk down the alleyway once more. This time, I pay perfect attention to what’s going on. I seriously push my magical senses out with everything I’ve got, gritting my teeth, telling myself that this time I will figure out what’s going on.
But I don’t. When I come to that nondescript door leading back into the club, nothing’s changed.
No. Something has changed – my fear has doubled.
Richard told me to head around back and figure out what’s going on. I can’t even find the back of the building. And that’s a serious issue.
With every passing second, I’m getting steadily more freaked out.
Because Richard is in that club, and the part of me that wants to protect him is going wild.
“Shit, why can’t I pick up any magic?” I admonish myself as I clamp a hand over my mouth and try to breathe through my stiff fingers.
For half a second, the quality of my breath distracts me. It reminds me how I got to this club in the first place. By trying to follow those damn birds – the little scraps of magic that had wafted through my mind like air currents.
Though I’m starting to become steadily more freaked out by the element of air – considering how hard it is to control – I take a sudden breath, push it into my stomach, and tell myself I have to do this.
I relax my hands, letting them drop to my sides, my fingers brushing against my thighs as I concentrate.
I try to feel every air current pushing through this alleyway.
And therein lies the problem.
It’s stagnant.
There’s no wind.
Which is crazy.
It doesn’t matter where you are in a city, there is airflow. Unless you’re in a completely hermetically sealed room, air will move.
Through cracks in the floor, through gaps around window seals – it doesn’t matter. Air will always shift.
And as for the city? It’s open.
This morning it was windy, for heaven’s sake.
I tick my head up and stare at the sky, and I can see clouds scooting across that blue expanse.
Which means it’s still windy.
I bring my head down, my cheeks paling. I lick two fingers and bring them up, waiting for the wind to catch them.
But there’s nothing.
I swipe my hand down. Even if there’s no wind coming into this alleyway, the movement of air can be produced by things moving through it.
Basic physics.
Yet, as I swipe my arm down, there’s nothing.
“This shouldn’t be possible,” I say as I pale more. I concentrate on my breath. My words. After all, what are words but controlled exhalations? The very specific, modulated movement of air?
Hell, when it comes to sound, that moves through the air, too.
But here’s the thing, even though I can speak and breathe, it doesn’t feel right.
Something is stifling this alleyway. It feels like an enormous blanket that’s been wrapped around it. One that’s perfectly sealed without a single gap.
I run back to the mouth of the alleyway. Leaving one foot in the alleyway, I push a toe out until I’m standing on the street beyond. It’s like I’m tentatively checking the temperature of the water before I jump in.
Half of my body leans over the threshold onto the main street, and I feel everything I should. From little gusts of breeze caused by the movement of my body, to the wind as it rushes through the streets.
I dart my gaze up and watch a woman on the opposite side of the street battle with her skirt as the gale tries to lift it high over her thighs.
This is not good, a little voice echoes through my mind.
This is bad indeed.
I hesitate on the threshold of the street, wondering whether I should just shove forward and get the hell out of here.
I don’t. I keep one foot firmly rooted in that magical alleyway until I take a breath of fresh air then plunge back into it.
I move through it far more warily now. I also reach out a hand to one of the walls and let my fingers trail across it. I close my eyes, despite the fact I’ll probably fall over and break my teeth. But breaking a tooth would be the least of my problems right now.
Though I want to believe that Richard recognized how screwed this alley was before he decided to go into that club on his own, I have to accept the high probability that he didn’t.
Like I said a thousand times – Richard is used to taking stupid risks.
My heart beats, not for me – for him. I feel like it’s tethered to him now. Like every step he gets away from me and every second I become more freaked out about how dangerous this situation is, something explodes from my heart, finds him, and wraps around him.
A rope, if you will.
And you know the thing about ropes?
You can follow them.
I come to an abrupt stop in front of the door, my eyes blasting open wide.
Maybe I can’t feel any magic in this alleyway. You know what I can feel?
“Richard,” I spit under my breath.
I push into a run. I don’t start hammering on the door and demanding to be let in. I keep my mind locked on the feel of Richard as I run down the alleyway.
I keep reeling in that rope that connects our two hearts until I stop abruptly in front of a drab section of wall.
I reach out a hand, rest my fingers on it, and close my eyes.
I breathe.
In and out. In and out.
So far I’ve been trying to sense the magic of this situation by pushing my mind out into it. But I realize now that was the wrong thing to do.
Because this? What’s happening to the alley and Richard and me?
“It’s air magic,” I say abruptly as I jerk my hand up and take a step away from it.
The secret is in my breath. In controlling the way air moves through me. It momentarily lets me connect to the element – it allows me to pull it in and settle it in my soul.
Finally, I feel it. A spark of magic. It spreads through me like bottled wind being let out into a stagnant room. I take an enormous, rattling breath of air that shakes through my ribcage and releases something. That something is the caged bird of my magic.
I feel sparks shoot through my skin and settle into my fingertips.
As they do, I start to… see things. Before me, though the wall is made out of brick and is technically solid, suddenly I see past it. My mind’s eye expands until I can somehow see right through the gaps in every atom that constitutes the brick.
Though it’s a truly wild ride for my imagination, with a snap, I see him.
“Richard!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
He’s unconscious, and he’s being taken away.
That vision is all I need. I snap my eyes open, jerk back from the door, round a hand into a fist, and call on my magic.
Before I get the chance to call on it in full, I hear something. It sounds like a spine cracking. The next thing I know, I see the brick wall in front of me buckle like it’s just been punched by a god. Brick spews out everywhere, several fragments catching the side of my exposed hands and cheeks. They don’t cut the skin, though – I’m too quick. With nothing more than a simple mental command, I call magic up and let it blast over every scrap of me. From the tip of every hair to the bottom of my feet.
As the brick dust settles, I see a figure jump out of the hole toward me.
I lurch back, bringing up my hands defensively. “Who the hell are you?” I begin.
The bastard saunters out of the swirling clouds of dust, his head held to one side. Instantly, I recognize his god-awful floppy hair. It’s the guy who first started all of this when he invited Richard in. My eyes narrow, and I bring my hands up in an even wider defensive position. “What the hell have you done with Richard?” I snarl.
The guy looks at me. Once up, once down. His eyes linger on me, but not in the right places. No. He’s not checking out my bust or waist or anything like that. The asshole is checking out my magic.
You would think that would be impossible to discern – and maybe it should be. For an ordinary practitioner.
But there’s something about the piercing quality of his gaze. I also… feel something emanating off him. A special type of attention.
It puts me in mind of a sharp, directed wind.
“Red thinks you’re Richard’s inherited. I don’t agree. I don’t smell anything particularly strong coming off you,” the guy says as he takes a step toward me and sniffs. His nostrils flare wide, moving in and out dramatically as if they’re hands grasping at the air.
I don’t bother to clench my teeth and spit at him. I remain exactly where I am, fists curled, making it clear that I will be no pushover.
The guy continues to sniff me a little longer, obviously not getting the picture that I will not so easily be intimidated.
A few seconds later, he brings up his hands and claps. Then he smiles. The kind of smile that cracks across somebody’s face as if they’ve suddenly pushed you onto an icy lake and it’s about to shatter under your weight.
Specifically, it’s the smile of somebody who’s very much not all there.
I can still detect the strong scent of alcohol off this guy. When he’s not scanning me with his eyes and whatever magic he uses, I can guess from the quality of his gaze that he’s on something.
If he were an ordinary partygoer, I would just assume it was an ordinary drug.
But he’s magical. Which makes him all the more threatening as he takes another step toward me, thumbs his nose, suddenly chucks his head back, and laughs riotously as if he’s a paid audience member on a gag reel.
“Red wants me to bring you in. Test you. But you know what I want to do?”
I don’t answer. I wait, my arms still held up defensively.
That’s not all I’m doing, though. As every second passes, I’m communing with the elements around me. At least, the two I can easily control. The dirt beneath his feet, the brick, the asphalt. All of it. I’m holding it in my mind’s eye, really grasping it as I feel every particle.
Without another word of warning, the asshole throws himself at me.
I dodge gracefully. Twisting to the side, shoving all of my weight onto my right hip, I practically pirouette.
And yet, despite the fact I missed the guy’s vicious kick which was aimed straight for my stomach, I don’t miss his magic. It blasts into me from every angle, and the next thing I know, I’m forced to bring up my arms in a defensive position crossed in front of my face.
I don’t bother asking what the hell just happened. I think it’s clear.
I may have only just learned that air magic exists, but now I’m experiencing it in the wild for the first time.
Shit.
I have time to think that before he goes after me again. This time he doesn’t even bother attempting to get me with a physical blow. He just stays exactly where he is, makes a sharp movement with his hand, and the next thing I know, an invisible blast of some of the most powerful magic I’ve ever experienced slams into my back and my knees.
It knocks me over. There’s no way I can gather the force to stop it from doing that. So I go with the motion of the attack, not fighting it but using it to propel me several meters back across the street.
It’s time to get some distance. Specifically, it’s time to fight.
As I roll – as my body impacts with the ground – I call on the earth. I sing to it in the language that only it can understand. The roots of mountains. The bones of continents. Land in its every form.
All of it. I draw it toward me. And in doing so, the very street bucks right out from underneath the guy’s feet and sails toward me.
I can tell he’s not expecting it. Though he’s obviously a pretty strong air magician, he’s made the mistake of thinking I didn’t have any defenses. And that mistake costs him dearly. As I haul the very ground out from underneath him, there’s nothing he can do. He slams onto the asphalt, his jaw clicking loud and hard as a swearword splits from his lips. But he doesn’t stop there. Immediately, I feel more air blast toward me. It feels exactly like someone is taking me into a plane and shooting me off into the upper atmosphere. Those slices of air don’t just plow into me – they feel as if they’re going to slice my flesh from my bones.
I don’t bother uselessly bringing my arms up to protect myself anymore. It’s clear that won’t work. I access the water of one of the pipes I broke when I shattered the street.
I call to the water with all my mind. I’m starting to learn that water is the easiest element to control with your raw emotions.
From anger to love – plenty of ancient traditions always assumed they had a close connection to water. As such, it responds to my desperation now as I call it toward me with a hope, a prayer, and, most importantly, a heartfelt command.
The next thing I know, water wraps around me, circling this way and that in a protective barrier that instantly cuts out the terrifying force of his wind.
“Jesus,” I hear the guy spit, and the exact shake to his voice can’t be mistaken for anything other than total gut-wrenching surprise.
Though I’ve been on the back foot for most of this fight, it’s my turn to smile. I imagine only the faintest glimpse of it is visible beneath the water swirling around and protecting my body. “Yeah. Technically, I learned from the best,” I say conversationally as if I’ve just met this guy at a bar and he hasn’t been spending the last several minutes trying to kill me, “Stanley Phillips. Now, what the hell have you done with Richard?”
I pause. The guy takes a jerked step back, but before he can call on more air magic, I do it again – connecting with the floor below his very feet and yanking.
He falls forward, face impacting the jagged chunks of road with yet another sickening crack.
Then, in a second, I’m upon him. I move as fast as a raging river, going from several meters away to right on top of him in a snapped second. I pin him down with one knee and shove my hand against his shoulder, knowing I’m about as heavy as Mount Everest. Or at least, as I connect to the ground beneath me, I call on that kind of weight.
The guy gives out a crushed choke.
“No more games,” I spit. “Where’s Richard? What have you done with him?”
“You may be able to fight me,” the guy says through another choked wheeze as I don’t let up my weight against his back, “but there’s no way you’ll be able to fight Red.”
“Where the hell is Richard?” I hiss.
Though I don’t want to torture this guy, with every passing second, a new wave of desperation keeps hitting me until it feels like I’m a fishing boat the ocean is attempting to drown.
I… just can’t get over the sense that wherever Richard is, he’s running out of time.
The reason I can’t get over that sense is that slowly but steadily the fire magic I associate with him is dwindling. You see, ever since the incident with Stanley Phillips and my awakening into elemental magic, I’ve been able to feel Richard in a way I never did before.
The heat of his fire, to be precise.
It’s unique. Or at least, it’s unique to me. The things it does to my stomach and heart – they can’t be matched.
There’s a terrifying prospect I have to face. Whether his heat can be matched or not, it’s slowly ebbing. It’s like a once roaring fire that’s now starting to fade. And with every second it does, my fear doubles and triples. That fear is more than enough to see me push into this guy with all of my weight.
I hear him give out a strangled wheeze. “Nothing you can do,” he says in the desperate, babbling voice of somebody who’s only trying to buy themselves more time.
I’ve never been somebody who’s been comfortable killing. Hello, the first time I met Richard I can remember just how freaked out I got at the prospect that he would ask me to murder for him. But right now, I can’t let go of my anger. That means I won’t give up on my force – the lung-crushing weight I’m using to pin this guy to the spot. There’s only so much more he can take – I know that. And yet, I don’t hold back. I just push harder until I hear a crack that’s probably his rib. “The only way you’re going to get out of this is if you tell me. Now, where is Richard, who is this Red, and what the hell does he want?”
There must be something compelling about my passion – or the weight I’m using to crush this guy – because he sucks in a choked breath. “She. It’s a woman. Strongest practitioner in town. She wants… Richard for a spell.”
Alarm stabs through me, ringing through my head like I’ve just shoved a bell through my brain. “What?” I hiss. “What kind of spell?”
“Fire practitioners,” the guy gurgles and spits through his words, “can be used to initiate some of the strongest spells. Their magic is incomparable when it comes to feeding the other side.”
I open my mouth to ask what the heck he means by the other side, then I stop. Because it’s damn obvious.
I know exactly what he means. A thrill of absolute terror punches through my gut and shoves hard into my stomach. “Dark magic? You mean dark magic?”
At first, the guy kinks his lip up and looks as if he’s going to smile, then it’s as if he remembers that I’m weighing him down with rib-breaking force.
He stutters through a swallow and manages another choked, “Yes.”
The more I’ve gone through this world, the more I’ve faced. This treacherous world of magic has made me endure more fear and pain than the rest of my life combined. But this is a new kind of pain.
I entered this world thinking that Richard had all the power. He had all the rights. He had everything I needed. After all, he’s the one who owns me.
As I stare down into this guy’s drugged eyes and I realize what they plan to do to Richard, I appreciate how wrong I was.
Richard never had any power. Which is why he’s always on the back foot. And if it weren’t for me, Richard would have no one.
I shift back. I don’t pull my knee off the guy. I just stare down into his eyes.
Maybe there’s something truly scary about my expression, because he starts to splutter. “I told you what you want. You don’t need to kill me. I’ll be no use to you dead. I can tell you where Red is. I can help you find Richard.”
For a few seconds, I can’t hear him. I can’t hear anything. There’s this dense pounding in my head. At first, I think it’s a drum. Then I realize it’s my heartbeat.
I lean down. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I open my lips. “Where is he?”
“Across town,” the guy manages.
“How did he get there so fast?”
“Rooftops.”
“Rooftops? How?”
“Air magic. Red’s the strongest practitioner in Fairchurch.”
I settle back. Part of me wants to reach forward and punch this guy in the head with all my might, despite the fact my might could very well kill him. But the rest of me holds on as I part my lips back. “How much time do I have?”
The guy appears to think. He swallows. “Until the end of the day,” he says.
“End of the day? And what the hell will happen at the end of the day?”
The man’s eyes couldn’t be wider. They’re shaking with real fear. He looks like he’s either about to cry or pass out. It’s a far cry from the haughty arrogance with which he faced me before. When he doesn’t answer, I lean forward, snarling. “What will happen at the end of the day?” I question once more, voice a spitting hiss.
“It will be burnt up. Red will use her magic to call on the dark.”
My head’s spinning. It’s stopped pounding – now it feels like my skull is well and truly broken and someone is scraping away every last brain cell until I’ve got nothing more than my anger. And yet, from deep within me, a last scrap of reason holds on. It gives me the strength I need to pause my anger just long enough to ask, “Where’s the address?”
The guy’s eyes are wide now. So wide. So much goddamn fear.
“I said where’s the address?”
He shakes his head. It’s a frantic move, and it sees the back of his skull pound against the jagged, broken asphalt beneath him. I even catch sight of a few flecks of red as he no doubt cuts his scalp. “I don’t know.”
“Not good enough,” I say as I bring my hand up and scoop my fingers into a fist, grounding them together tighter until it feels as if I’m going to pull them right off.
The guy stares up at my face in abject fear, and yet he doesn’t suddenly spill the beans. He just shakes his head again, his terror unmistakable. “I don’t know. She’ll be on the move. That’s the base of her magic. She’s air. It never stays in the same place twice.”
I want to spit at him that he’s lying and that will cost him his life, but just before I can slam my fist into his face, I pause. He has a point.
Air never stays in the same place twice. That’s its very nature. And even though I haven’t connected to my elemental air magic yet, the little I’ve figured out about it tells me he’s right.
So I swear.
He seems to relax. “I can help you,” he begins.
I look right at him. “Sure you can. You look real trustworthy to me,” I quip. Then I do it – slam my fist into his face.
I don’t do it with the kind of force to shatter every bone in his skull. I’m not trying to kill him – just knock him out for several hours.
Yeah, I could go through with this guy’s offer and see if he could help me – but I’m not that kind of idiot. He’d be loyal to Red, considering she’s a dark practitioner.
I may have a lot of raw power, but if Red is a proficient dark practitioner, that won’t necessarily matter. If she has the kind of strength to capture Richard, I could very well be screwed.
But I have a secret weapon.
It’s one I concentrate on as I stand, hovering over the now comatose body of the man.
My secret weapon is this – I don’t know my limitations yet.
Yeah, on the face of it, that doesn’t actually sound much like a secret weapon. Sounds like a weakness. But there you would be wrong. Because not knowing how much I can do means I can’t place any limitations on myself.
Fighting Stanley taught me one thing – when I have to scrounge, I can.
I have so much to learn. So maybe I can defeat this Red.
But the question is this – can I do it in time?
I stand there and tick my head up to the sky.
The clouds are racing across the horizon.
This morning, the weather was tame. Now? it looks as if it’s out to kill me. The wind catches the ends of my hair and sends it scooting and whipping around my face as I take a determined step forward.
I walk from the alleyway, the unconscious man behind me.
It’s time to save Richard. Again. That’s what he pays me for, after all.