Devon Monk - Magic in the Shadows

Maeve crossed the room toward the pitcher of water. “Did your father tell you anything at all about the Authority?”

“We didn’t talk much. He was gone a lot. And as soon as I was old enough, so was I.”

She poured two glasses of water, floated a lemon round in each. “I see. Then let me explain that magic naturally occurs deep within the earth.” She nodded toward the chairs, handed me a glass of water. I settled on the couch as she continued.

“I’ve always thought of it as hundreds of rivers and streams. In some places magic flows more swiftly; in others it is sluggish, or spread out and swampy. The network of conduits and lead and glass lines your father invented did wonders to mitigate and standardize the flow of magic. That made it safer for the common user to tap into it.”

I took a sip of water, and it felt good going down my throat, trailing cold all the way to my stomach. Magic eased in me a little.

She took a sip too, then set her glass on a table and folded down into one of the plush armchairs.

“Those rivers of magic split, join, knot, and pool together. A lot like those marks on your hand.”

I did a good job of not hiding my hand in my pocket, and instead nodded, like this was the most normal conversation I’d ever heard.

“The wells, and there are many of them, some weak, some incredibly strong, are where magic concentrates and regenerates. Most populated areas are within the range of at least one well. This house, this room, is over a well of magic.”

“I can tell.”

“Really? It is very carefully Blocked and Shielded.”

Should I tell her? That I felt magic all the time? That I held it within me, something no one else could do? Could I trust her?

Did I have any choice? It was either trust her or have the Authority Close me, take my memories, maybe even take my ability to use magic, though that would be a pretty trick since I had magic down to the bone.

“I-”

Killer. Betrayer.

The words rushed through my mind like a winter storm.

She is dangerous, devious. Do not trust her.

A headache stabbed at my eyes. A headache named Dad. I coughed to cover my gasp.

Shut up

, I thought.

“I do feel magic,” I said. “Not as strongly as I’d expect, since this is over a well.”

She held very still, that green gaze roving over me like she could see beneath my skin. I resisted the urge to just get up and walk out of there.

Which was probably good, since it was probably not my urge.

“Have you experienced any residual effects since your father used your mind?” she asked in the firm tones of a doctor or schoolteacher. “Dreams, memories, thoughts?”

No, no, no

, he raged.

“Yes,” I said, a little too loudly, since I was trying to drown out his voice, even though I was the only one who could hear him. Then, quieter, “I’ve experienced all those things.”

The flutter behind my eyes turned into blunt fingers trying to rub their way out of my head. It hurt, but I’d endure a lot more pain than that to get rid of my dad. Besides, I was pretty sure my father and I were at cross-purposes. We’d always been at cross-purposes. I’d long ago learned that doing the opposite of whatever he wanted me to do was generally in my best interest.

“Are you experiencing them right now?”

I have never felt my father’s raw fear before. It was just a flash, a moment. Then I could not sense him at all.

“I was,” I said. “Not right this second.”

“I need to look in your mind.” She sat forward, her hands clasped loosely at her knees.

She’d done this once before. I didn’t know why my palms were suddenly sweaty, didn’t know why my mouth was so dry.

“Like last time?” I asked, stalling.

“Exactly the same. You might feel it a little more, though. Since we are so close to the well, I will be able to look more deeply than I did before, to see if it is just residuals of your father’s thoughts and spirit, or if it is something more.”

“Okay.” I was pretty sure it was something more, like maybe his entire disembodied/reembodied spirit, but I’d leave that assessment to the expert.

Maeve placed her hand on my left wrist-the part of me closest to her.

No glyphs, no chanting. She just closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

This time, I could sense the magic rising from far below us. The magic flooded through her-something I’d never seen anyone try-then settled like a cloak or aura around her. And even though magic is fast, the way she called upon it, it was slow and I could see the white and blue shimmer of it with just my bare eyes without calling upon Sight.

She opened her eyes, shockingly silver, shadowed by shots of her normal forest green.

With magic around her, Maeve looked

into

me.

Magic in me flickered, burned too hot along my right arm, too cold along my left. I did not want to use it, did not want to cast magic. But like fire jumping a line, it ignited, filled me.

Maeve blinked, tipped her head to the side. “Allie?”

“It’s okay,” I said as I recited a mantra. Just the first two lines of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” over and over. “Give me a sec.”

How was I supposed to get rid of so much magic when there was so damn much magic filling the room?

Maeve stood, and I would have worried about that, but I was a little busy trying not to explode and burn the place down. I had a feeling they wouldn’t let me come back to school if I killed the teacher on the first day.

Magic burned, squeezing my bones. I bit my lip to keep from moaning and twinkle-twinkled with all my might.

Something cold and heavy dropped into my lap.

Like blowing out a candle, the magic in me went dead.

Okay, this time I moaned, not from pain, but from relief.

Maeve was standing next to me, bent a little. She studied my face. “I can’t believe it. I never thought. .”

I blinked, looked down at the heavy thing in my lap. A rock. A plain black and gray river rock, smooth and oblong, about the size of a loaf of bread.

“Here,” she said.

I glanced up and took the ice water she offered me.

“Thanks.” I drank, and when I was done, she set the glass back on the table. “Really nice rock,” I noted.

Maeve sat on the coffee table in front of me and put one hand on my knee. “How long have you held magic inside of you?”

“You could tell?” I asked, probably stupidly.

“Not before now. I knew magic had marked you. From the outside. .” She leaned back a little and her gaze wandered over me, her eyes still silver, but with a lot more green in them. “From the outside it does not show.” She shook her head. “Are you Shielding?”

“No. Mostly I just try not to let it burn me up.”

“But you have used it? Drawn upon the magic within you and successfully cast spells?” I couldn’t tell if she was excited or worried.

“A lot. I Hound for a living, remember? Why? Is that a problem?”

She laughed, but it came out a little shaky. “I wouldn’t call it a problem. It’s just so unheard-of. How long have you been able to carry magic?”

“All my life. Just a small bit, enough to work one minor spell. It always took a while to fill back up.”

“You were born with it?” She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. When she exhaled, she muttered something that involved my father’s name and a couple curse words. “No wonder he never brought you to us, never let you learn.” Maeve’s hand dropped to her lap. Her eyes were almost all green now, and she looked resigned. “You hold much more than a small amount now, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“And that changed when you received those marks on your hands? Positive”-she pointed at the wild whorl of colors up my right arm to my temple-“and negative.” She pointed to the solid black bands around each of the knuckles and the wrist of my left hand. “Classic natural representation of the give-and-take of magic. Pleasure and price.”