Obsidian Magic (Legacy Series Book 2) Read online

  “And since his scent is on you, perhaps you find him equally entertaining.” The mischievous grin on his face was hard to ignore, and it remained as he walked past me into the small laundry room. He returned with a wet shirt on a hanger. He inspected it. “Wine stain. I didn’t think it would come out. I don’t want to wake her, but make sure you let her know it came out.”

  The mystery of the missing shirt was solved.

  CHAPTER 11

  I didn’t believe in luck, but apparently Gareth and I were having a string of it because I was able to locate the Necro-spears. Gareth might have been right about Conner being too distracted about his magical misfits to be thinking about blocking the locator spell I’d used to find them.

  Now Gareth and I were at the location where Conner and his new recruits had stayed, ready to retrieve the Necro-spears. Having them in the possession of the SG wouldn’t make everyone totally safe, but at least it would make things better. I’d somehow find the rest of the Legacy before Conner did and see what could be done. I still didn’t like doing magic with an audience and not one as intrigued by it as Gareth. The magic from the veil was strong; I pushed into it with force and it rebounded, exerting that same amount of force. It wavered but didn’t break.

  That was Conner’s game. It was reinforced, or maybe this was how it had been before and he’d weakened it to give me a false sense of security. I called on stronger magic. The overwhelming flood of it coursed through me, pricked at my being and slowly unraveled. I bolted a full charge of it at the veil. It bent in, stretched to the limits, the thick illumination reduced to a sheer lining that just needed another jolt of magic to rip it open. My fingers opened, magic sparked, and then a blast hit me in shoulder, sending a piercing sensation into my arm. Pain—shrilling pain shot through me. Two more shots, but not into me. Gareth collapsed to the ground. His eyes were open but he wasn’t moving. I didn’t see blood. That was good, but why wasn’t he moving?

  Gareth, get up.

  I watched him for a few minutes and he remained still on the ground, unmoving, eyes open.

  I swallowed bile and clawed at the dart embedded in my arm. I tried to put a field up—nothing. Again I called magic that I hadn’t tapped before, and nothing. Voices spoke off in the background. I rolled to my side, still twisting my arm to get at the dart. I yanked it out, rolled to standing, and looked for the person I planned to return it to by shoving it into them. Everything felt dull, even the magic. It was there, a remnant of it moved through me, but dull, languid, weaker. I waited for the torpor to pass, and as I looked around, I heard the voices but didn’t see anyone. They were there, hidden behind the vast trees.

  Come on. Come on. Come on. I felt the gentle warmth of my magic start to come back to life at a slow burn. I waited for it to be a roaring fire. Warmth enveloped me, and even if I couldn’t see the vibrant colors of it, I could feel magic coiling together in kinship—my magic. I needed faces, not voices. I scanned the vast area; florets of green leaves obscured my vision. Cowards hid. Cowards shot from a distance. I didn’t know what was burning in me more, the magic or the anger. I walked toward the forest, and the voices became louder and more fervent: giving orders. To my right I heard the crunch of a branch being stepped on. I shot a ball of magic in that area, and someone grunted. Then the same pain shot through me again. Then again. Magic dulled and my senses felt off. Then another shot of pain lanced through my leg. I clung to the light even though darkness came faster, merging with the flickers and light until it had snuffed out every bit of it and all I had was darkness.

  The last thing I heard was “We have her.”

  “We have her.” The words kept repeating over and over in my head. I kept my eyes closed and my face pressed against the cold hard cement floor and concentrated on the sounds and smells around me. But there weren’t smells, there was just one smell—mildew. It seemed to dominate any others that might have existed. I opened my eyes into small slits and scanned the area. I was in a basement and my arms were cuffed behind me. Fuck.

  I rolled to my side and sat up. I was in a large room with unfinished plaster walls. Minimal furniture, just an old gray sofa and a few chairs. Hats and other outdoor wear hung on a coatrack. Everything else was covered with a sheet.

  I took another look around the area, hoping to find something I could use as a weapon. Since my hands were cuffed behind me, it wouldn’t have helped if I had spied something. When footsteps descended the stairs, I flopped back onto the floor and closed my eyes. The footsteps were close. “I thought you said she was up.”

  “I thought I heard something.”

  I could feel the heat of a body coming closer. Human. Definitely human. That meant it probably wasn’t a Tracker. I shifted noticeably and opened my eyes so they could see them.

  “I told you she was awake. How ya doing? Do I look mean enough now?” He did—it was the jerk that had been with Clive when they’d first attempted to recruit me to Humans First, and he looked plenty mad. I’d joked about him not looking menacing enough. He looked it now, and so much more. I winced as he yanked me up by the cuffs and jerked me over to sit in one of the few chairs in the room.

  “Sit,” he growled.

  I continued to stand, refusing to speak.

  “Did you hear what we said?” Another voice from behind me.

  I didn’t answer. The one thing that secured my fate was that they needed me; they weren’t going to hurt me. But Mr. Wanna Be Mean Face kept the scowl on the whole time. He must have spent hours in the mirror perfecting it so that it could convey the right amount of malice. I wasn’t going to point out that no one found dimples menacing.

  “Do you hear us!” he shouted in my face.

  I still didn’t answer. He pulled on the cuffs with force, jerking my shoulder forward. The pain seared through me but I kept my face emotionless, refusing to allow him to see me in pain. I clenched my teeth and dealt with it.

  The next time he got in my face I lowered my head. Like all bullies, he saw it as a sign of weakness until I jerked it up, slamming it into his nose. He stumbled back. I stomped his foot, swiped his ankle, and, when he hit the ground, I jammed my foot into his groin.

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time.” And then I plopped into the seat.

  With a deep rumble of a laugh, the man who had spoken earlier revealed himself. It was the officer who had attempted to arrest me. His cheeks were sucked in, an attempt to keep from laughing. Then he glared at me.

  “The next time you do that—”

  “What you are going to do, abduct me, shackle me like an animal? Because you already did that.”

  “No, I’ll put you in a cage and keep you there until you decide to cooperate.”

  “Big deal, a slow death opposed to a quick one,” I responded.

  “We have no intentions of killing you, Levy, if you cooperate. But if you don’t … well, I can’t guarantee what will happen to you. I guess your fate is really up to you. I’m sure we don’t have to tell you what we want.”

  “How noble are you? You are one stand-up person.”

  “Look, you better be glad I don’t end you right now. You killed an innocent man. A good man.”

  “Okay, unless we are living in some sort of world of opposites, Clive and Daniel weren’t innocent, nor were they good people. They wanted the Cleanse to happen just like you jackasses. And when your objective is to kill a lot of people because people who possess magic are icky, you don’t get to play the ‘good’ card. You’re an asshole. Own it.”

  His face tightened. Pulled so tight it was unpleasant to look at.

  “I know it’s easy not to see it our way. I don’t expect you to ever understand, but you and HF have a lot in common.”

  “Is that the speech they make you learn on the first day? Are you dumb enough to buy this garbage? Tsk, of course you are. Well, let me tell you how it will end. You want to do this to get back at Conner. I’ll do the Cleanse, he’ll hide behind a ward as strong as mine or stronger. He�
�ll survive and be unaffected. Then he’ll mobilize whatever army of Legacy and Vertu he has left. And from my understanding, I’m not that special; there might be many more of us out there. He’ll use you for pets eventually. But honestly, you’re so fucking boring, tired, and easily manipulated, I doubt you’ll entertain him for very long. Then he will put you down like any animal. Because that is all he sees in you. I’ll be fine. Will you?”

  They looked at each other, and if my words were being considered, they didn’t let me know. Instead they left me there in the chair, but not before zip-tying my legs together. While they were gone, I tried to use magic several times. Nothing. I hated iridium cuffs with a passion. I needed to find a spell to get rid of them. I didn’t mind suppressing my own magic and limiting its use, but when it was done to me it felt like a violation. It didn’t hurt, but the nagging irritation of it being there, welling inside of me and urging to be released, was agitating.

  For such an expensive metal, it seemed like people were giving the cuffs out like candy on Halloween. I expected the Supernatural Guild to have it, along with a lot of iron, which restricted witches, faes, and mages. Silver subdued shapeshifters, and as much as vampires hated it and wanted to dispel what they considered a rumor and misinformation, holy water and a stake through the heart worked fine for them. Probably the cheapest of the weapons needed to apprehend a supernatural.

  When they returned, they were agitated and tense but obviously not dissuaded from their goals. “We need you to do a Cleanse,” Mr. Wanna Be Mean Face’s friend informed me.

  “I can’t do it.” I had to disabuse them of the notion that I could achieve their dream.

  “That is going to be a problem, Ms. Michaels.”

  They glared at me as their faces twisted in disgust at my refusal.

  “It’s a spell, a strong one. What do you think, our family pulls us aside on our thirteenth birthdays to teach us how to perform a spell that will destroy half the population?”

  I understood the retelling of our existence painted us as ruthless, heartless monsters, but did anyone ever think that some of us were better than that?

  “Then we have no use for you.” I heard the threat that lingered over the words and the dismissive way they looked at me. My fate had been decided. They believed that I had killed one of theirs and the only way they were going to absolve me of it was if I could do this for them. I tugged at the cuffs again—nothing.

  I tried to do magic. Nothing. When they walked a couple of feet away, I was sure to discuss what to do with me, I looked around the room. Hands shackled and legs restricted, I didn’t have a lot of options.

  “Conner.” I blurted the name. “Daniel and Clive were working with him. If you let me get in touch with him, I will help. I just ask one favor.”

  “What is that?” the police officer asked.

  “Let me take Kalen with me. Let me protect him.” I wanted to ask for Savannah, too, but they didn’t know she was considered a supernatural of some sort, and I wasn’t about to put her at risk. If they found out, they’d try to exploit her. They knew who Kalen was, and if they’d done any research, they would have known he was a fae. It wasn’t like he hid it. If a shirt advertising the fact wasn’t so tacky, he would have worn one.

  They turned from talking low. I figured they wouldn’t do it—I wouldn’t have. But desperation often makes fools of people, so I continued to see how true the platitude was.

  “I can’t keep doing this. You know people will not accept me. And you’ll keep trying, so I might as well help you and get it over with, right?”

  Neither one answered; instead they assessed me for a long time. I hated lying, but I was good at it. I’d lived most of my life under an assumed name, claiming to be human. Being good at lying was the hallmark of a sociopath, but it was also the behavior of someone who needed to survive.

  “Conner is who Daniel and Clive dealt with. They didn’t trust him, and rightfully so, but you all want the same thing.” I sighed. “I don’t want this, but I don’t have a lot of options. The Magic Council doesn’t want me around any more than you do. At least you’ll give me a chance at surviving—they won’t.” I wasn’t sure how much of that was a lie. Perhaps Lucas and Gareth were on my team, but when it came down to how Legacy were portrayed to humans, I speculated that they would throw me under the bus, and not figuratively, if I became a liability that they needed to eliminate. Harrah cared only about how things played out in front of the cameras, and I knew how cold and calculating she could be.

  “If you uncuff me, I can use magic to call him,” I offered.

  The policeman’s eyes narrowed to slits studying me, and if he were a shifter I would have been nervous. It probably worked with suspects, and it was intimidating, but when you were fighting for your life, a sharp look just wasn’t enough.

  “You can do that?”

  No. Of course I can’t. How the hell did you get this gig as the leader? I nodded. “I think so.” I looked around the room again, taking in the exits. I had worked out my plan. I just needed the cuffs off. Then the footsteps came. Heavy, pounding steps that lacked grace and were all power. The man who came down the stairs matched the sound he made—hard, cold, ominous. Pale blond hair was a stark contrast to his face, darkened by a short beard. The rounded planes of his face should have softened his features, but they were stone hard, cold. If he was part of HF, he was missing the human part, or it was so far removed that he was more animal than man. But he was human, or as barely human as one could be and still be considered one. If he was considered the face of HF, then they could no longer be considered an innocuous group that was all rhetoric and no action. He was action.

  “Being able to call a supernatural is news to me. A new skill? Please tell,” his low, rough voice inquired.

  “I can do it.” I kept the same calm voice. “But not like this.”

  It took so long for him to answer, I was convinced he didn’t believe me. The cool grin faltered too many times, but his eyes stayed on me.

  “Of course. If you can, call Conner. The more the merrier.”

  Oh. Nice, a true psycho.

  Then he went to the corner, pulled out a tranquilizer gun, and took his time loading it in front of me, never letting his eyes leave mine. Can’t help but love a showman.

  “Just in case you’re lying. We are really going to make sure you’re not lying, Olivia Michaels. Shall I ask you again? Can you get Conner here?”

  There was nothing like playing chicken with a sociopath. I was just playing on the dark side; this man dwelled there for kicks and giggles.

  I nodded.

  “Good. I’ve heard so much about him.”

  And for the first time since I’d met a person from HF, the group with the silly name that made me think of a bank, I was scared of them. They were supposed to be the “humans are special” cheerleaders, with silly visions of a magicless Utopia where all the little critters that had something to do with magic went away. They clung to that without a way in hell of making it happen. Not this guy.

  Following his example, the other policeman took out his weapon—not a tranquilizer gun. They wanted me alive—I was sort of sure of that. He was all show. But Wanna Be Mean Face was still bitter about me kicking him in the groin. He stood just a few feet away. The twisted sneer had become as much of a uniform as his black shirt and dark jeans.

  When he moved closer to me, I kept my attention on the new arrival. The imperturbable new arrival. He was calm, which meant he wasn’t new to this. He was kept hidden, because he was anathema to everything that Humans First presented to the world.

  I rubbed my wrist as the cuffs came off. The idea that supernaturals were “allergic” to the various metals was wrong. We weren’t allergic, we just had an aversion to our magic being inhibited.

  “Do it,” he commanded.

  “Can I stand up first and get my bearings?” I asked, stalling. The cop was directly in front of me, pointing his gun, and Wanna Be Mean was to my right.
The policeman wasn’t going to shoot me—I hoped I wasn’t underestimating him. I kept an eye on the new arrival, Mr. Personality, who was positioned to my right.

  “Be prepared, he may not be very hospitable being summoned,” I warned.

  “I don’t care if he has an attitude as long as he does what he said he would.”

  “And you do the Cleanse here and then what? You think the Magic Council—”

  I stopped because if the Cleanse was successful there wouldn’t be a Magic Council. There wouldn’t be a Supernatural Guild, there wouldn’t be a Fae, Witch, Mage, or Shifter Council. There wouldn’t be a Master of the city. Fuck.

  He nudged me with the end of the gun. “Hurry up.” Not only did I want to get out of there, I needed a way of doing it successfully after kicking Mr. Personality in his man parts. That was going to be a lot harder, but I wanted to make sure it happened.

  “I need a knife,” I told him.

  “For what?”

  So I can shank you with it. “My blood has to be shed to call my own kind.”

  Wanna Be Mean was the first to move, pulling out a knife. I reached out for it and he gave the contemptuous look that I expected.

  “Give me your hand!” he ordered and took great pleasure in slicing it. Blood welled and I said the invocations. As the final word fell, embers of light glowed in the small space as a diaphanous map displayed in front of me. Mr. Personality stared at it with interest, sucking in a rough breath. For people who hated all things about magic, they couldn’t deny that there was something wondrous and intriguing about it. An elusive beauty that easily belied any aversion to or hatred of it. First pastels swept over the odd map, covering it, and then each color pulled from the mélange, something different than what I had seen before. And then it changed to slate gray, which it usually did before divulging its answers. A ripple of darker colors inched over it. This wasn’t me—this magic was different. It had been taken over. Damn you, Conner.

  “What’s happening?” Mr. Personality asked.