Devon Monk: Magic In the Blood

And still the ghost girls screamed.

So here’s the thing. My dad was in the most private parts of my mind. And he was as open to me as I was to him. I sifted through his knowledge, found what I needed. A spell, a different sort of spell.

I drew on magic, traced a glyph with my left hand-the one my dad wasn’t using.

Allie , my dad strained to say. Do not use magic. It will damage us both. Kill us.

And I knew he was right. But I already knew what my father was going to do to me. I’d seen his plan. Once Frank was taken care of, my father would either take over my body as his own, burning away the parts of me that made me who I was, or he would-and I’m a little shaky on the details of this one-use the magic in my blood and the core of my life energy to transfer himself into another body. Frank’s body.

Both options would leave me dead.

So, fine. In the time I had left, I was sure as hell going to save those girls.

The image of the white cross on the building came to me. The image of the words “my baby.” There were families out there waiting for these girls to come home. People who loved them. Maybe I couldn’t fulfill my promise to Pike by looking after his Hounds, but I could at least make sure these girls got home.

And if by doing so I screwed up my father’s plans-then sign me up, baby. If I was going to die, I was going to take my dad down with me.

I threw every ounce of my will into that spell, threw it at the Veiled-all of them in the room, and it sounded like there were hundreds-howled.

“No,” Frank yelled. “Do not destroy them. They are magic-true magic. Do not!”

He lifted his hand from what he’d been about to throw at Zayvion and leveled both hands, both spells, at me.

The room went black at the edges. I think I saw Zayvion bend, scoop up the dagger I’d dropped, and run toward Frank. I think I saw the Veiled let go of the girls. I think I saw the Veiled crack like old plaster, that strange dark light pouring out of them as they came apart like ice hit by a hammer. And I even think I saw my father’s corpse on the table exhale, his last breath a mist that stank of licorice.

I know I smelled blood, fear, sweat, my father’s wintergreen and leather, blood magic’s sweet cherry, Frank’s burnt almond, and Zayvion’s pine.

I think I saw the ropes of magic that floated in the air, connecting the girls to my father’s corpse and to me, turn to ash and scatter as if caught by a strong wind. And I realized, with sorrow, that there were only three ghost girls because the other girls, their spirits, had already been used up by dark magic.

But even though I saw all this, I didn’t know how to get the remaining girls’ spirits back in their bodies.

I trolled my father’s memories, trying to find something I could use. My father was still busy pouring magic into the spell that was wrapping around Frank like a giant octopus and squeezing tight, tighter.

A Containment spell would work. A Containment to hold a soul. All I had to do was leave the smallest amount of magic wrapped around the girls’ souls, and it would hold them in a stasis state.

I was having a really hard time breathing. I clumsily wove the glyph of Containment left-handed, filled it with a small amount of magic, creating an orb in my hand. I had no idea how to put the girls’ souls into it… No, wait, I knew.

I cast a quick glyph for each girl, a glyph of Healing, and Death, but more healing than death.

Balls of pastel light formed in my hands. I didn’t know if the spell was right. Didn’t know if it was done.

My heart was taking too long to beat. Much too long between beats. Everything was hazy and going black.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I heard my father intone the last piece of the Containment spell for me. He willed the balls of light from my palm. The orbs drifted off toward the side of the room where the girls’ bodies lay. I hoped it worked. I couldn’t see them anymore.

All I saw was Frank, eyes wide with fervor, chanting, his hand lifted in a spell I did not know, a spell filled with the unlight of dark magic.

And just before the spell left his hand, I used my father’s hand-my right hand-to cast a Freeze spell. Zayvion threw himself at Frank. And look at that, Zayvion did have the dagger. On that dagger was my blood, Pike’s blood. Grim satisfaction filled me as Frank held very, very still in my Freeze spell and Zayvion slit his throat with one vicious stroke.

A wave of darkness poured over the room, drowning me, sucking me down. I fell so deeply into it that I knew I’d never reach the bottom.

But the last thing I heard was my father’s disapproving voice. Always set a Disbursement. Always. Every time you use magic. How many times do I have to tell you that?

And I wanted to laugh. He hadn’t set a Disbursement spell either. We were both so completely screwed.

“ Allie,” Zayvion said. “Breathe, baby. Come on. Come back to me.” His words, heated with Influence, would have woken the dead.

I inhaled, not enough, but even that small amount made me want to scream. Breathing was a bad idea. Bad.

“Good,” Zayvion said. His voice was calm, but a little high, like he was trying to hold panic in check. “You can do it again, honey. Breathe.”

And because he was using Influence on me, I did as he said. And this time I couldn’t stop breathing no matter how badly it hurt.

I wheezed and moaned. I had never hurt this much in my entire life.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “Let me see your beautiful eyes.”

Beautiful. Yep, that was just exactly what I felt like. I worked on opening my eyes. Managed to pry them open, but they were so swollen I couldn’t see out of them very well.

Which was probably a good thing. I had no idea where I was. But it smelled a lot-too much-like blood and death.

Memories brushed through my mind. There had been someone, a man doing magic. Right? Frank. My neighbor? That was as far as I could get before the memory slipped away. Holy shit, I hurt.

A soft stroke of mint washed through me, cooling and warming at the same time. I blinked, squinted up at Zayvion.

I was lying down?

“You are injured, Allie. You’ve been hurt by blood magic and dark magic. And you have a few other wounds. But you are going to be fine.” The last he said with that careful emphasis of Influence, as if his words alone could will me to recover. And those nice eyes of his were more gold than brown. His hands were on me, though I couldn’t quite tell where, and mint, strength, and peace flowed from him through me.

“I am Grounding you, because right now magic is raging through you so hard, you’re burning up. Can you let go of the magic, Allie? Can you let it flow back into the earth?”

Oh, sure, why not? And right after that I’d get up and run that marathon I’d been meaning to get around to.

I licked my lips, tasted my own blood.

“Just try for me,” he said. No Influence. Just him asking.

So I tried. Tried to calm my mind, empty myself of magic. I am a river. Magic flows through me but is not me.

“That’s good. Keep doing that.”

So I did.

Even though I heard sirens. Even though I heard footsteps.

“I called 911,” Davy Silvers, the Hound who should not be following me, said.

“Good.” Zayvion’s voice was tight. Grim. “Can you check on the girls? Make sure they’re breathing?”

More footsteps as Davy crossed the room. Sounds of him moving around. Finally, “Only three of them,” he said angrily. “Who did this?”

“Him,” Zayvion said. My eyes were closed, so I couldn’t see which him he was talking about.