Devon Monk - Magic in the Shadows

The only shot of color on him was the shock of green from the large potted plant he carried.

“Ready, Mum?”

“I think so. Come on in.” She waved at the other chair next to her. “Sit.”

His boots muffled across the rug, as if there was very little weight behind each step. He folded down into the chair next to Maeve, graceful but elbow-y, a long-limbed marionette with too much string. He plunked the potted plant on the floor next to him. The plant was so tall, the leaves were level with his shoulders. I expected him to adopt that I-don’t-give-a-damn slouch, but he sat on the edge of the chair like a man ready to pony up to a bet. He leaned over the coffee table and extended his left hand toward me.

“Shamus Flynn,” he said. “Everyone calls me Shame. You’re Beckstrom’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Allie.” Shaking his gloved hand made me wish I had my own gloves on to cover my markings.

Shamus smelled of cigarettes, booze, and hot cloves.

“Nice,” he said, tipping my hand to catch the light before letting go. “Sorry your da was such a prick.” He settled back like a man used to casually dodging a fist to the face. “But damn, he was powerful. Guess it gave him rights to be a prick, eh?”

“Not from my point of view.”

“Grew a mind of your own?” he asked. “Bet that disappointed him.”

“You have no idea.”

He raised his eyebrows, once, quickly, and grinned. “Might be I like you, Beckstrom.”

“You should probably hold off on that.”

“Got yourself a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Jones? That bucket of ice water? Isn’t that a surprise?” he said, like it wasn’t a surprise at all. “Don’t you think that’s a surprise, Mum?”

“No,” she said. End of conversation. “Allie, place the void stone on the table, please.”

I so did not want to do that. I did it anyway. She was my teacher, and I apparently only had three days to learn a lifetime of magic.

Magic began filling me again, a warm, tingly rise from my feet upward.

“Are you comfortable with the level of magic in the room?”

I nodded.

“Good.” She stood and moved behind the chair, pacing to the center of the room. “Come stand here.” She pointed at a position about four feet in front of her.

I did, and to my relief, magic continued to fill me but did not try to break free of my control. I wondered if I could smuggle one of those stones out of here.

“Shamus, stand here, please.” She pointed at the space beside us, effectively creating a human triangle on the ornate red and brown carpet. “Close enough to touch her if you need to.”

“Don’t I know? Not like I haven’t done this.” He picked up the plant and lugged it with him, muttering, “Stand there, Shamus. Don’t bother the new girl, Shamus. Don’t back-talk me when I’m teaching, Shamus.”

Maeve raised her eyebrows. “Don’t back-talk me even when I’m not teaching, Shamus,” she said.

He set the plant down between himself and his mother. He was standing, I noted, close enough that he could touch me if he stretched his arm full length. He gave his mother a smile that I bet worked on the girls, but wasn’t having any effect on her.

“So, Beckstrom,” he said, not looking at me. “You ever done a face-to-face Proxy?”

I had, twice, in college. It was required that you understand just how much pain you could put someone through by making them pay your price for using magic. You had to cast a spell and watch your Proxy sweat, cry, and/or puke right in front of you.

Good times.

“Yes.”

“Often?”

“No.”

“Won’t this be fun, then?” He slapped his hands together, the knit fingerless gloves softening the sound. “All right, Mum. Name the poison.”

“Allie, I want you to cast Proxy to Shamus.” She stood across from me, both hands at ease at her sides. The rest of her body language was alert, taut, like a watchful cat.

Shamus angled toward me. “Give me all you got, girl, an’ don’t be shy. I can take it. Twice as hard as Jones.”

“I don’t Proxy to Zayvion,” I said as I mentally intoned a mantra-the jump rope jingle

Down by the river where the green grass grows. .

“No, he Grounds you. Says you’re more than a sweet handful. Says he likes doing you that way.”

Okay, now he was pissing me off. I had enough sense to suspect that was all a part of the test. Could I keep my mind on the job when someone was dicking around?

I traced the sharp, pointed glyph of the Proxy into the air in front of me. Even though I couldn’t see it, I caught at where the bottom corner should be, reached out, and touched Shamus with it with no more force than necessary-see how controlled I was? — and pressed it into his skin while I held the shape of it, the intent of it, clear in my mind’s eye.

Corporations hired a bevy of casters to do these sorts of spells, and were supposed to Offload their magic use to the legally accepted outlets like prisons and the regulated Proxy pits.

There were also people who made their living free lancing as full-time Proxies. Short, high-paying career if it didn’t kill you. Some people were into that kind of pain and abuse.

Shamus looked like he might be one of those people.

His lips were parted and he held the tip of his tongue between his teeth. I hesitated, wondering if the Proxy had connected. It had been a long time since I’d done this. He nodded slightly, letting me know we were okay so far.

“Good,” Maeve said. “Now access as much magic as you can from the well beneath the room. Cast the strongest Lightning spell that you can.”

Oh, she had to be kidding. “I’ll blow the walls out.”

“I’d like to see you do it.” She really did sound curious.

“No. It would kill him.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Maeve said firmly. “Now cast Lightning.”

She didn’t look worried. I noted she had both hands held at ready to cast-probably Cancel or Hold or some other negating spell. Hells, maybe she had a pocket full of rocks she could throw at the spell if she had to.

Okay, fine.

Back to the jump rope song, back to clearing my mind. I traced a glyph in the air in front of me. A very different glyph this time. Lightning wasn’t as pointed as Proxy. It flowed in a series of broken lines and arches.

Magic rolled in me, painful, sharp. But that was just the magic that I held inside of me. The other magic, the magic in the deep well beneath us, I had been very careful not to touch.

I took a short breath, braced for the torrent, and tapped into the well. Magic stormed through me like heat through a lightning rod, riding my bones, my blood, my flesh. I burned with it, shook with it, tasted the scorched earth of it thick and hot at the back of my throat. I held my focus, directed the magic pouring through the colored whorls down my arm to my fingertips, fingertips that glowed neon blue with an afterimage of soft rose, into the glyph I continued to trace. Magic spun from my fingers.

The corners of the room fell into shadow. Lights dimmed, went out. The spell raged against the room, burning and arching against the Blocks and Wards and glyphs worked into the walls, floor, ceiling. Wild electricity struck and was sucked into Shields and Wards that were deeper and more complex than I’d ever seen.

And still more lightning poured from my hands.

Shamus groaned, swayed, taking the full painful price of my using so much magic. He did not fall. That man was tougher than he looked. Magic exacted an equal pain for power. This strong of a spell should have knocked him unconscious.

Now I understood why there were no windows. Now I understood why Maeve had wanted to teach me here, have me access power here. This room was built like a vault. What came into it stayed in it.