Devon Monk - Magic in the Shadows

The thing was close. I could smell the foul rot of flesh and death and blood from it.

I held very still, wrapped in darkness, breathing butterscotch, and straining to hear anything, any hint of it walking away.

“Daniel.” The word was low, a growl. “I know you. I smell you. I see you,” it said. “You cannot hide. Your death calls me.”

“Go on your way,” I heard myself command. I could feel the honey twist of Influence my father brought to bear behind those words. “Or I will undo you.”

He was using my hands. He was using my eyes. He was using my magic. And now he was using my mouth.

That pissed me off. My dad was using my lips. My dad was using my tongue.

Nobody used my tongue but me. Nobody.

Fuck him. Even though I was shoved down here somewhere in my own head, I could still feel magic inside my body. All I had to do was find a way to get to it and a way to cast it.

“You are my way, Daniel Beckstrom,” the creature growled. “Living, undead, you hold the key to the dark and light. The key to open the gates. And then I will have my revenge on those who betrayed me.”

The back of my head hit the wall again, and I was aware, distantly, that my shoulders hurt. Also, I tasted blood. That was not a good sign.

Closer, in my ear, the beast shouted: “You are mine.”

Light slid like a blade of electricity between my eyes. Blackness flashed strobe white, blinding me again.

No!

My Dad, inside my head.

“No,” my own voice echoed.

I didn’t know which one of us had control of my body. We were mixed, too much of one person and not enough of two. The weight of the beast hit my chest-for the second time-and I crumpled to the ground beneath it.

I opened my eyes-

my eyes

Oh yeah. Go, me! I was in control again.

Fangs hovered inches from my face, and dark black eyes burned ebony into my own.

Shit.

“You are mine now, Daniel Beckstrom,” the Necromorph growled.

The Necromorph opened his mouth, unhinging his jaw, and breathed out. Dark magic poured over me like ice, magic that chilled the air. Magic I could not see, could not smell. I inhaled and deathly cold tendrils of magic slipped into me, into my lungs, into my mind.

“Come to me,” the thing growled. “Death nor life, I killed you once. You have done much worse to me. I will no longer wait here in the in-between, denied both life and death.”

What the hell? Killed him once?

And then the Necromorph inhaled. The darkness inside me cinched tight around something in my head.

My father moaned, twisted to try to break free of the hold that the Necromorph had on him. It was like my dad was a speck of dirt and the Necromorph was a vacuum. The Necromorph sucked in again.

I gasped in shared pain. Memories washed through me. My dad’s memories. Of a man holding his hands behind his back while a gun dug into his temple. Terror and fury washed me in cold sweat.

Because even more frightening than the memory of the gun to Dad’s head was the memory of the man in front of him. A man who cast magic. A man who had disks in one bloody hand, a knife in the other, and the same eyes as the beast that was tearing into my head.

Holy shit. This thing, this Necromorph, was one of the men who killed my father.

They thought James Hoskil was behind it all. And James’ mother had even named him. But it never made sense for one man to sneak into my father’s office, past his Wards, past his protections, and kill him. My father had been one of the most powerful magic users in the city.

But this man had killed my father.

And he wanted to do it again.

Through me.

The cold burned, and something in my head twisted and popped like a tooth being pulled out by the root. I yelled.

Ohcrapohcrapohcrap.

No

, my father said again. Then, a whisper to me,

Help me. Allison.

And sure, I hated my dad and hated him being in my head. And even though I didn’t want to just stand by while he was hurt, there was one ugly truth staring me in the eyes.

This thing had killed my father. Killed someone a lot more skilled in magic, someone who was still a lot stronger than me, even when he was dead. There was no way in hell I could fight this thing and win.

I don’t know how

, I thought to my dad.

Cast

, he whispered, his voice nearly gone now, as if caught by a winter wind.

Cast magic.

Right. The thing had me flat on my ass. My arms were pinned beneath its corpse-cold grip. How was I supposed to cast a spell?

“Come to me.” The Necromorph’s words were a chain around my dad that dragged him up and up.

I felt his terror. His pain.

And there was nothing I could do to save him.

Nothing magical.

I pulled my legs up. Shoved my boots beneath the Necromorph’s thighs. Pushed as hard as I could.

He stumbled back. Rose up on his legs, face contorted in fury. And roared.

A dull metallic glow radiated at its throat. A circle. A disk. Embedded deep into his neck.

The disk stank of burned copper. The Necromorph stank worse. I scrambled to get on my feet. My boots slipped on wet bricks. The Necromorph twisted his neck to look down at me, hiding the disk beneath his chin.

“I will kill her to have you.” He lunged, nails clawing, tearing at my coat. I threw my hands up to protect my face, and traced the fastest, easiest spell I could think of.

Light.

Light flashed, too bright in the night. The Necromorph growled, blinded.

Problem was, I was blinded too.

I finally got to my feet, but there was an entire frickin’ house at my back. I had nowhere to run.

Fine. I wasn’t planning to run anyway.

The murderer rushed me. I pivoted. Fangs sank into my shoulder, a dark, burning pain on top of the cold.

I yelled. From pain, yes. And because I was really angry. All I had wanted was a frickin’ cup of coffee. Couldn’t a girl go downtown without having to deal with undead mutated murderers on the way?

Forget mantras. Pain did plenty to clear my head. I didn’t even bother with a Disbursement. I didn’t care what magic was going to make me pay for this. I reached into my bones, into the raging magic there, and pulled it up through me so fast and hard, all my senses snapped into hyperfocus.

I could smell the beast’s hatred. Could smell his fear and pain. Could see dark spells burrowed into him, long, fat tendrils hanging off his twisted, emaciated body like leeches buried belly deep, down to his soul, sucking the life, sucking the soul out of him.

Around him a crowd of dead lingered, the Veiled, bits of dead magic users, looking like they always looked-pale watercolor images of people with holes where their eyes should be-sucking at the ends of the spell, leeches, drinking the beast down.

The horror in front of me couldn’t register through my anger. It sucked to be him, but hey, we all have issues.

I wove the glyph for Fire and poured magic into it.

Flames exploded in the air, blew outward, heat carrying to the sidewalk. It was a good thing it had been raining a lot lately. What plant life there was in the area was so wet I doubted a blowtorch could get it to smolder.

But the murderer wasn’t a plant. He took the full brunt of my fury face on.

Idiot.

He didn’t try to block. Didn’t wag one creepy finger to deflect.

Allison

, my dad warned, a little stronger than he had been.

Don’t.

Yeah, like I’d listen to him.

My right arm burned too hot, magic flowing and curling in multicolored strands down my arm and pouring out my fingertips. My left hand was cold, numb, and the numbness crept up to my elbow, hurting as it rose higher and higher toward my heart.