Fugitive of Magic (Dragon's Gift: The Protector Book 1) Read online

  The old man was on the ground, lying on the cobblestones in a way that made dread rise like dark tar inside my chest.

  Shit.

  I sprinted faster, lungs burning, and fell to my knees at his side. His black cloak spread over the cobblestones, and his white hair was stark in the dim light. His eyes were closed and mouth partially opened.

  A silvery-white blade protruded from his chest, red blood welling around it.

  “Shit, shit.” I set aside my package and patted the man’s cheek. “Come on, guy.”

  But his eyes didn’t open.

  Panic beat like bird’s wings inside my chest. “Come on, you gotta wake up. You’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t move. Stillness shrouded him.

  I pressed my fingertips to my comms charm, heart pounding. “Cass? Del? I need backup. A man is dying.”

  No sound crackled from the charm, and its magic lay dormant.

  Shit.

  Screw it.

  My gaze raced over the old man as I conjured a thick white towel. I had no idea what to do—I preferred action movies over medical dramas—but I was alone in this alley and this dude was dying.

  Carefully, I slipped the blade from his chest and pressed the towel to the wound.

  “Come on.”

  But he didn’t move. He was dying. He was some kind of Magica—a magic user—not a shifter or demon or fae or anything like that. His magic fluttered inside of him, as if desperate to be free of his dying body.

  The magic that I hid deep inside myself screamed at me to steal his power. I was a Conjurer, yes. But I had more magic than that.

  Much more.

  The only problem was that it was a dangerous, forbidden magic.

  FireSoul magic. The reason the Order of the Magica hunted us like dogs. There were a few Magica who were also FireSouls—and we were reviled.

  Like my friends Cass and Del, I could steal this man’s unique magical gift for my own. The process required that he die, but that was a given, now. His blood was soaking through the towel I pressed to the wound.

  My heart thundered and tears pricked my eyes as the FireSoul inside me screamed to tear out his magic. Possess it.

  But hot on its heels, bile rose in my throat. I couldn’t. Not only was it illegal—just being caught as a FireSoul would get me life in prison—the mere idea made cold sweat break out on my body.

  I didn’t know why I’d always had this strong aversion to stealing powers—neither Cass nor Del had this problem—but it overwhelmed me. Neither of them liked stealing magic, but even the idea of it made me physically ill. There was something in my mind—in my past—that was weird and dark as hell, but I had no idea what.

  I sucked in ragged breaths, trying to get ahold of myself as I staunched the blood from his wound. I hadn’t had an attack like this in a long time. One—I hadn’t wanted to steal a power in a long time. And two—I hadn’t had a full-on freak out of this magnitude.

  But I sure as heck wouldn’t be stealing from some old man. From what I knew, a FireSoul had to kill their victim. Apparently, not me.

  Think, think.

  But there was no thinking my way out of this. I had to fight my urge to steal his magic as I tried to save his life.

  “Come on, guy,” I whispered. “You have to wake up.”

  He lay still, the flesh of his face sagging.

  Tears burned at my eyes, which was stupid. I didn’t even know this guy. No reason to cry over him. There was even a chance that he was a jerk. Maybe he’d been attacking the other guy and had lost.

  Nah.

  That was dumb. This was just a damned tragedy, and I knew it.

  My shoulders sagged. The towel was soaked through with blood, and the man lay still and quiet.

  His magic drifted away as the life left him. My FireSoul hunger died along with him. An iron band tightened around my heart.

  This hurt a hell of a lot more than I’d expected. Maybe because I’d always had a soft spot for old folks. I had no memories before the age of fifteen, but I figured that maybe I’d been raised by grandparents or something.

  I shook away the sad thoughts.

  This dude was not my grandfather. If I even had one.

  And I was sitting over his body in a sketchy part of town, like a kid with their hand in a cookie jar of murder. I could not get caught for this. No way. That’d lead to questions, and questions would lead to trouble.

  I took one last look at the guy. He looked quiet. Peaceful. It was the best I was going to get in this situation.

  My limbs were heavy as I stood. Since I didn’t want to leave anything at the scene, I conjured a dark plastic bag and stuck the towel inside it, then used the edge of my vampire kitty shirt to wipe my fingerprints off the weird white blade.

  Hopefully that did the trick.

  Quickly, I stooped and grabbed my package, then took off down the street, headed for the entrance to the alley. As I walked, I conjured a damp towel, wiping the demon blood from my face and getting the worst of it off my clothes. I stashed the dirty towel in the bag and hoped I wouldn’t draw stares when I got to the street.

  Down this way, the ground was still split, but fortunately, no one lived at this end of the alley. Hopefully no one had seen me.

  I ran as far from the edge of the crevasse as I could. In the dark, I couldn’t even see down to the bottom.

  At the end of the alley, I sprinted out onto a main road, then pulled up short and pressed myself back against the building so I didn’t get hit by a car. The sky had brightened as soon as I got out of the alley. Though the sun had set, it was still gleaming, and there was more than enough light to brighten the sky.

  Weird.

  I turned back to the alley, where it had been dark as midnight.

  What the hell?

  It wasn’t dark any longer. Just a bit dim, like the rest of the street. And the deep crevasse in the ground was gone.

  That had definitely been real. So where the hell had it gone?

  “This is freaking weird,” I muttered.

  “Eh?” an old woman poked her head out of the window next to where I stood, her dark eyes meeting mine.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Holy crap.”

  “Don’t take crap’s name in vain.” She cackled, her two chins wobbling joyfully.

  “Uh…” I glanced around, realizing that I was near Darklane, the part of Magic’s Bend where dark magic practitioners lived. Dark magic wasn’t necessarily evil, but it certainly walked the line. It was the kind of magic that harmed as well as helped. But that didn’t make it bad, necessarily. Like blood magic—illegal if you did it without the consent of the donor, but otherwise acceptable.

  While a lot of these supernaturals were occasionally on the wrong side of the law, they weren’t outright lawbreakers. The Order of the Magica would crack down on that. They were just rather…eclectic.

  “Would you like some crow’s foot stew, dearie?” the woman asked.

  Eclectic like this lady.

  “Uh, no thanks. Pizza is really more my game.” I nodded my thanks and stepped away from the wall. “You have a good day, ma’am.”

  I backed away from her, but her eyes narrowed as they inspected me. “You look like you’re out to cause trouble, with your kitty shirt and your butt-kicking boots. And those jeans. You really ought to mend them.”

  I glanced down at my torn jeans and heavy black boots.

  “I’ll get right on that,” I muttered.

  Not. I liked my torn jeans and kick-ass boots, along with my cartoon T-shirts. Not only were the shirts funny, but demons and dudes were usually stupid. They never thought that a girl in a kitty shirt would conjure a bat and beat your brains in before you could blink.

  In fairness, I only did that if they caused trouble. Like the demons who’d stolen from me. One of whom was now dead in that alley, along with an unknown old man.

  I took one last glance at the alley, searching for a street sign.

  Fair Fort
une Alley.

  Sure. I almost chuckled, but the thought of the dead man stopped me. Too real.

  “See ya later.” I saluted the old woman and turned, then ran.

  But it didn’t matter how far down the street I got. Something was going to chase me. I just knew it.

  Chapter Two

  I had to ditch the bag of bloody towels a few streets down before I could hail a cab. I wasn’t usually a big fan of cabs, but I was too far from home to hoof it.

  The cab that pulled to a stop was painted a glittery purple, and the seats were pink leather.

  “Nice ride.” I climbed into the back seat, slipping my bow and quiver off my back. Though I could conjure things, I couldn’t make them disappear. I could sell them, but most mages could tell that the object was conjured and not original. For some reason, they didn’t like that.

  “Thanks.” A pixie with green hair turned and grinned at me. She was pretty and about my age. “Where to, beautiful?”

  “Factory Row. Potions & Pastilles.” Out of habit, I didn’t give the name of my shop, Ancient Magic. Though it was legally above board, I was so used to lying low that it was natural to not mention my true destination.

  “Sure thing.” The pixie pulled away from the curb.

  I must have gotten most of the demon blood off me, or the cabbie never would have picked me up. I slouched in my seat, wearily eyeing the street outside. My ribs sang with pain, every breath sending a sharp knife stab through me.

  The car zipped through the historic district, which was full of beautiful old buildings from the early eighteenth century, when Magic’s Bend had first been settled by supernaturals.

  It was a weeknight, but foot traffic still clogged the sidewalks as people headed to the bars and restaurants that filled this part of town. Though almost everyone looked human, I spotted a few shifters in their animal form and one massive woman who glowed with a bright yellow light. Though many supernaturals went out amongst humans—and even lived amongst them—non-human looking supernaturals were required by law to stay in wholly magical cities like Magic’s Bend.

  Cass, Del, and I didn’t come down here often, preferring to stick to Factory Row. It was full of outcasts and weirdos, and that suited us.

  The business district flashed by next. The tall glass buildings gleamed with light. Magic’s Bend was the largest supernatural city in the world—fully operational with its own airport, hospital, museums. All that good stuff.

  By the time we turned onto factory row, full dark had fallen. The tall old buildings were as familiar as my own face in the mirror. We lived and worked in the recently revitalized factory district. The old brick buildings from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries had been refurbished and turned into shops and apartments.

  The cab pulled to a halt in front of Potions & Pastilles. The warm light glowed from the windows of the coffee shop/bar, illuminating the crowd that had gathered for the craft beer and whiskey that my friends Connor and Claire specialized in.

  “We’re here!” The pixie grinned back at me, her teeth so bright and white they almost blinded me.

  “Thanks.” I dug into my wallet and handed over a twenty, then hopped out of the car.

  She zipped away.

  I glanced into P & P, but didn’t spot Cass or Del. Connor, wearing one of his usual band T-shirts, finished filling a beer glass and waved. I waved back, then hoofed it down the street to Ancient Magic.

  Lights glowed from inside the shop as I neared. All traces of the demons had disappeared from the street, except for a few burn marks from Cass’s magic. Even the Magica member’s car was gone, thank fates. We didn’t like it when they came around the neighborhood.

  I pulled open the door and hurried inside. The shop was cluttered and messy, but it was home. Cass and Del were at the shelves, checking on the stock. Cass, with her red hair gleaming in the light, sported her usual brown leather jacket and tall brown boots. Del was dressed entirely in black leather that matched her hair, no doubt having just returned from one of her demon-hunting jobs.

  “What’s the damage?” I asked.

  Del turned, her blue eyes relieved. “Not bad. Just a few broken replicas. The spells that they housed are gone, but none were irreplaceable.”

  I sagged, grateful.

  “Did you get whatever they stole?” Cass asked.

  I held up the paper package. “Yep.”

  “What is it?” Del approached.

  I pulled the artifact out of the bag. It was a battered old clay pot. “That bastard. He got an original.”

  “Weird,” Cass said. “No one normally cares if they get the real artifact or a replica.”

  “What spell has it got?” Del asked.

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.” I inspected the old pot that Cass had brought back from a tomb in northern England just yesterday. It was thousands of years old. From the Beaker culture. “The magic in it is about to blow, which makes it harder to say. Obscures the signature.”

  All magic decayed with time, eventually becoming so unstable that bad shit happened. Explosions, hordes of locusts, that kinda stuff. Which meant that ancient archaeological sites were basically death traps after a while.

  That’s where our shop Ancient Magic came in. Cass and Del raided tombs and temples, looking for ancient artifacts that were about to blow and brought them back to the shop. I’d conjure a replica and transfer the magical spell, which we would then sell. The process stabilized the magic, but not indefinitely. The buyer had to use the spell before it went boom, but they usually were quick about it. Once it was all done, the original artifact went back to its archaeological site.

  That way, we stayed on the right side of the law and slept easy at night. I’d worked hard on my conjuring. It was my natural, non-FireSoul gift, and no one got weird about Conjurers. They didn’t hate them like they hated FireSouls.

  And my gift made this whole business possible. It was a good operation. Profitable and entertaining.

  Except for the breakins.

  Well, those were entertaining, just not profitable.

  Unbidden, the memory of the old man flashed in my mind’s eye.

  Del’s gaze sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

  “Yeah, you look weird,” Cass said.

  I sighed. It was impossible to hide anything from these two. Not that I wanted to.

  We’d been welded together since we’d woken in a field at fifteen with no memories. We’d struggled to survive—hiding our FireSoul natures while finding our way in a strange world. It’d been hard. Really hard, at times. But we’d made it. Nearly ten years later, we were still stuck at the hip. Though we weren’t related by blood, we called each other deirfiúr. Sisters in Cass’s native Irish. We’d been through everything together—living as runaways, slaves to an evil master, and now as somewhat prosperous businesswomen. We’d come a long way from our shitty beginnings.

  “Let’s lock this place up, and I’ll tell you about it,” I said.

  When we weren’t in the shop, the protective enchantments were so strong that only a nuclear bomb could get in. They were courtesy of Cass’s boyfriend, Aidan, who ran a billion-dollar security company. We didn’t have the protections running all the time—else how would our customers get in?—but off business hours, this place was on lockdown.

  “Let’s grab a drink,” Cass said. “You look like you could use one.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” I wanted a shower, but I needed to tell them what had happened. I stashed the clay pot behind the desk. I’d transfer the magic tomorrow, and then Cass could return it to the site.

  We turned off the lights, and I grabbed my ratty leather jacket before going out onto the street. I shivered as I shrugged into it, only now remembering that it was freaking December in Oregon. The fight and then the murder had kept me occupied, but now, I noticed the cold.

  Cass and Del waited as I turned back to the shop and ran my fingertips around the doorjamb. It took about two minutes, but the mag
ic slowly engaged. Unfortunately, it didn’t work any faster because it was so strong, but once the spell was ignited, the door was impenetrable.

  “Good to go?” Del asked.

  I turned to them. “Yep.”

  As we set off down the street, snow began to fall. Every breath inward made my ribs ache. By the time we reached P & P, I was desperate for a seat and a drink.

  Cass pushed the door open, and I followed her into the warmth of our favorite hangout spot. Golden lights housed in mason jars hung from the ceiling, and local art covered the walls. The bar that served coffee in the morning was now kitted out for whiskey and beer.

  Connor’s music filled the air—something I didn’t recognize, but then, I rarely did. It probably was the same band from his T-shirt. He looked up from behind the bar and waved, his lopsided grin familiar. We’d been friends with Connor and his sister, Claire, for the five years we’d lived in Magic’s Bend. Connor was a Hearth Witch with a knack for potion making, so he ran P & P most of the time. Since I couldn’t see Claire, she had to be off on a mercenary gig for the Order. Her Fire Mage skills made her a good merc, and she was only part-time here at P & P.

  Though the bar was cluttered with people, our favorite spot in the corner was still open. The plush chairs never seemed to be occupied, and I was pretty sure someone had enchanted them to repel others. But no one would ‘fess up.

  Cass glanced at me. “The usual?”

  “Yeah.” The pain was really getting to me now that the adrenaline had faded. I limped toward the chairs, Del at my side.

  “You look like hell, dude,” she said.

  “Thanks. You’re a peach.”

  “I meant it with love.” She smiled.

  I pulled her in for a one-arm hug, then immediately regretted it when my ribs sang with pain.

  “Sit down, dummy,” Del said.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I sank into the chair, breathing lightly through my lungs.

  “Aidan should be here soon,” Del said. “He can fix those ribs right up.”