Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

“Mama?”

She couldn’t hear me. She was outside the Illusion. Wait. What was she doing there? From her perspective, she was standing in the middle of the field at night in a downpour. Why would she do that?

She owes me a favor , my dad said.

Okay, that was fucking creepy. I didn’t know how my dad had gotten her to show up. Didn’t know if he’d left something about it in his will, or if he was somehow talking to people when I didn’t know it. Like at night when I was sleeping or something. I tried to think if I had done any sleepwalking and came up with nothing.

You are not the only vessel I fill , he said. You are not the only one who can hear me.

Holy shit. Could he get any more creepy?

Who? I asked. Greyson? Oh, I hoped I was wrong.

It has not been easy , he said. The beast fights me, but I found a way. He sounded proud about that.

It made me want to barf.

Dad, or Greyson, or some combination, had somehow talked to Mama. Which meant she knew my undead dad was undead. And she’d agreed to do him a favor.

I didn’t know if I should break through the shield and tell her to go away somewhere safe fast, or if getting my body, and my possessed brain, closer to her would let Dad jump the ship. He was stronger here, with the wild magic and the disks. Stronger ever since Greyson had attacked Zayvion.

Was he a part of Chase and Greyson’s betrayal?

What do you want? I asked him. Cold sweat washed over me, and I shivered in the rain, even though it was tropical hot inside the shield. Fear, of him manipulating me all this time, of the frighteningly real possibility that he was the one behind the attack on Zayvion, made me want to run far and fast.

But how could I escape that which was inside me?

I want magic in the right hands. And I want immortality.

Two things he’d told me before. If they were lies, they were lies he was sticking to.

Why should I trust you?

Do you want your friends to live?

I looked at Shame again. He was still on one knee, the other foot braced, his hand sunk deep to clutch the grass, the soil, the other raised toward Jingo Jingo, so much magic pouring through him that Jingo was having to take hard steps backward, even though he leaned with all his strength, with all his bulk, into Shame’s spell.

Shame shook with fury. He wasn’t chanting. He was cursing. And every word drew blood from Jingo’s thick skin, sending Jingo’s blood to pour down with the rain, and into the soil, where Shame drew the energy and strength out of Jingo’s blood, draining Jingo’s life energy and throwing it back at him to cut him again.

Holy fuck, that boy was ruthless.

I didn’t need my dad. I didn’t need to do what he wanted. Shame was taking care of Jingo Jingo. Dane still held the cage from crushing Sedra, though he hadn’t broken it yet. Victor was hot in battle with both Liddy and Chase, and Terric had knocked Mike out-with fists, not magic. I couldn’t see Greyson or Hayden.

I needed to deal with Cody and close the gate so the Hungers couldn’t get through.

Jingo Jingo yelled.

Shame was on his feet now, magic still hammering Jingo’s Shield. But Jingo wasn’t yelling in defeat. He swung his huge arm to one side and directed the disk and magic at the gate.

Cody screamed. The incorporeal shrill felt like someone had shoved hot peppers in my eyes. His voice, his pain, filled the dome.

For a breath-just that long-everyone stopped.

Except me.

I stood. Ran. Straight at the gate. And caught Cody’s spirit as he fell free into this world again. Caught him, not in my arms, but rather, confusingly, horrifyingly, in my mind.

For a moment, I was three people, three lives, three memories. I remembered painting with magic, carving with magic, creating beautiful, beautiful things that broke barriers between life and death, ways for magic to be all disciplines at once.

I remembered inventing technology, formulating glyphs, standardizing spells with a mix of metal and glass that broke barriers between life and death, and made magic follow all disciplines at once.

I remembered my eighth birthday party and the purple sweater my dad bought me. I loved that sweater.

Too many memories, too much. Too crowded. I whined and stumbled backward, trying to get away from the people inside me, trying to escape my own skin, flee my crowded, crowded brain.

People can’t possess people. People can’t possess people. Zayvion had said it was rare. Said my dad was in my head only because we were the same blood. Cody and I were not related. And yet his spirit-or at least this part of it who could make magic do beautiful, beautiful things-was curled around my brain stem.

There wasn’t any room for me to breathe, to think.

Out, out, out!

My back brushed the spongy wall of the Illusion, and I finally heard my father’s voice.

Allison. Let him go!

I exhaled, blinked. Magic swirled around me, a curtain of ribbons and fire, a maelstrom all my own.

Good. You are doing fine. Calm your mind.

I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t listen to him. Shouldn’t trust him. But I had loved that purple sweater. He had canceled a business trip to Europe and stayed home for my birthday. He had brought me a birthday cake. And the purple sweater I had secretly loved and mentioned to him only once when we walked by the store.

I did as he said.

Dad used me to cast a spell. It felt like a gentle stroke over my hair, except it was inside my head. And then the awareness of Cody, his life, his memories, his soul, was gone. Instead, Cody’s spirit, pale as watercolor, stood beside me.

“Tired,” he said in a voice little more than a child’s. He was transparent, rain falling through him. He looked like the watercolor people who usually showed up when I cast magic. Or usually showed up if my dad didn’t block them when I cast magic.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought I could fix this.” He frowned, his voice drifting away on the wind. Destroyed by thunder.

“You’re okay now.” I was surprised at how calm I was. Apparently some part of my brain still functioned. Now that Cody was out of my head, I could think again, breathe again, and not panic again.

Mama stepped forward, just enough that she was through the Illusion. She squinted. It must be brighter in here. It was certainly a bloody mess.

“Come with me now, boy,” she said to Cody’s spirit.

Which meant she could see Cody’s spirit. Which meant she was using some kind of magic to see him. Which meant she could use magic. A fleeting memory of her hand on my chest, glowing, snapped bright in my mind, then was gone. But the sense that she had more to do with magic than I knew lingered.

“Wait,” I said. “Mama, what are you going to do with him?”

“He’s safe with me, Allie girl. I’ll keep him hidden. Have my own ways, and you won’t ask me nothing about it. Tell your father I don’t owe him no more.” She held out her hand for Cody.

Cody looked at me. “I like her.” He smiled.

I had no idea what to say to him. Had no idea what was the right thing to do. Maybe I should try to keep him somehow and return him to his living self.

Cody took Mama’s hand, and for a second, I thought I saw her hand glow white, just as lightning struck. I blinked away the flash and Cody was stuck to her by a stream of white light, like the ghost children had been stuck to Jingo Jingo, only Cody didn’t look sad about it. He looked relieved, walking to the end of the length of light, then back close to her again. I couldn’t help but think of a balloon being caught safely before it floated away.

Mama stepped toward the wall of Illusion, out to the outside world.