Magic at the Gate (6 page)

Mikhail was the man who opened a gate in the middle of Zay’s and my test and tried to kill all the magic users gathered, Sedra included. If Cody Miller, the broken-minded savant who pulled magic through me and gave me the marks on my body, hadn’t jumped into the gate between life and death and sealed it, Mikhail and the Hungers at his command would have succeeded in killing us all.

He was not a man to fuck around with.

I pulled on the sword, but my muscles refused to respond. The dads had told me I couldn’t use it. Well, that wasn’t the only weapon I carried. I let go of the katana and drew the blood blade on my belt instead.

Problem One: I could wield it only at close range.

Problem Two: I could not let go of Stone’s head and breathe at the same time.

Problem Three: I was in a very bad mood and felt the need to be killing something real quick if someone didn’t get the hell out of my way and kick open a gate to life that I could drag Zayvion through.

“The blood blade will do you no good here,” Mikhail said. His voice vibrated like a low bell through the walls and floor.

“Let’s try it and find out,” I said.

Mikhail looked at my dad—Old Dad. “Is this your daughter, Daniel?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. As you said, she is rare. She carries magic in her body, and such magic in her soul. You have done well to bring her to me.”

What? No. Hell, no.

“Then our agreement stands?” Old Dad asked.

“If she relinquishes her power to me.”

They were in cahoots. All this time, my dad was on the bad guy’s side. It shouldn’t surprise me, but damn it, I thought there was a sliver of decency somewhere in his dark, calculating soul. I thought there was some good in him that made my newest stepmom, Violet, love him, grieve for him, have a baby for him.

But Violet was wrong and I was right. My dad was a lying rat bastard.

Old Dad walked forward and grasped Mikhail’s hand in his own. It wasn’t quite a handshake. It was more of a passing of something between them. Mikhail nodded. Old Dad stepped back.

Even though I was in a room full of things that could eat me, kill me, betray me, Stone, who usually had his hackles up in every dangerous situation, had been silent. Maybe I wasn’t in as much danger as I thought I was.

Or maybe I shouldn’t rely on a rock for my warning system.

“What power?” I finally asked. Just holding the blade was making me tired.

“Magic always demands a price.” Mikhail’s words thrummed through the room again. “This you know.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That,” I said, “any idiot knows.”

My dad, Old Dad, shook his head and refused to make eye contact. Like I’d used the wrong spoon at a dinner with an important business client. He had something riding on this. Something important to him.

“For the right price,” Mikhail went on with a little less thrum and a little more boom, “I will allow you to leave this realm of death, with the guardian’s soul. I will open the doorway for you. Near enough the guardian’s body that you may return his soul.”

Why did I feel like I was making a deal with the devil?

Oh, right. Because I was.

“What’s the price?”

“You will give up to me, willingly, the magic you hold within you.”

I did not like that idea. Not at all. But carrying magic in my body was a new thing for me. I’d always had a small magic in me, just a candle-flame’s worth in my soul that I could use for maybe one spell. Cody Miller had pulled more magic into me when he was dying and created lines and paths and channels so that magic filled me—sometimes too much. It might be a good thing not to have to worry about burning down the city every time I cast a spell.

“The magic in my body?” I asked, just to make sure I knew what kind of deal we were making.

“No,” he said. “Not the magic in your body. I want the small magic in your soul.”

Chapter Four

M
ikhail folded his hands. He didn’t seem angry. He seemed resigned, as if he had seen too much pain and knew there would always be more pain to see.

He did not look like a world-crushing, magic-hungry maniac.

Then again, he was the first world-crushing, magic-hungry maniac I’d met.

“You can’t take my small magic from me. It’s mine. It’s always been mine.” It felt like my nightmare was having nightmares. Dad had stuck his hands in me and messed with my small magic already today. I never wanted to feel that again.

“That is true. I cannot take it from you. But you can give it to me. Willingly.”

Yeah, give him my magic so he could break open the gates between life and death again and do what? Unleash those holy terrors upon my city and friends. He would use my magic to kill and destroy. I couldn’t let him do that.

“No. A million times no.” I wasn’t going to put the entire world in danger.

Dad closed his eyes. “There are moments when I regret I allowed you to slip my control.”

“If I have to pay a price, that’s fine,” I said. “Ask for something else. I’ll give you a two-for-one deal on my dad’s soul.”

“There is nothing else I want. If you wish to take the guardian’s soul back to life, if you want to live, you will give me the magic in your soul. It is the only way you will leave this realm.”

“No deal.” I reached out for Zayvion again, my hand and blood dagger against his chest.

Want to help me out with this?
I thought. My heart was racing. As soon as I touched him, his fear mixed with mine and only made things worse.

Don’t sacrifice yourself,
he said.
Don’t give him your magic. Negotiate to open a gate and go home. I’ll return to you.

You’re chained down. They have you trapped, Zay. You can’t get out of this. They’re drinking you dry.
I couldn’t say any more, couldn’t tell him he was dying in death. But I knew he felt my fear.

He was quiet for a moment, sorting our fear, weighing our chances. Then, calmly,
Leave me here, Allie. I am already dead. You can still live.

Great. Zay had turned martyr on me. Not helpful.

I didn’t know what to do. I truly, truly didn’t.

“I know you don’t trust me,” New Dad said. “And probably don’t like me since you just tried to sell my soul. But let me say this: I don’t want you to stay here. I’ve worked very hard. . . . ” He glanced over at Old Dad. “I’ve worked very hard for a long time to make sure you would be safe if this day ever came. I never wanted this to happen, but life and death rarely go according to plan. This is the only way you can take Zayvion with you. To return to life you’ll need to relinquish magic, Angel. This is the best I could do for you.”

“Don’t call me Angel. You haven’t done anything for me. It’s all been for you. You traded my magic without asking me. It’s not yours—it’s never been yours. And you expect me to honor your deal?”

“Yes. If you want to save Zayvion.”

“I can’t,” I said. “If I give my magic away, what do you think Mikhail will do with it? Destroy the world? I can’t pay that price. I can’t make everyone else suffer so I can have Zay.” I was angry and horrified that no one understood what was really going on here. They were making me choose between saving Zayvion and saving the world. I couldn’t make that choice. I shouldn’t put my love—my desperation—for Zay over the good of the whole world, and yet I wanted him alive with me so badly it hurt.

It was Mikhail who answered. “The magic you carry will not be used for destruction at my hands.”

“I don’t know that. I have no guarantee of that.”

“The risk is yours to take,” he said. “What do you want, Allison Angel Beckstrom?”

Zayvion. I wanted Zayvion. The whole world could go to hell for all I cared, as long as I could touch him again, hold him, be with him again. Alive.

It was selfish of me, greedy. But it was true.

“Don’t,” I said, torn between anger and need. If I’d had tears, I’d have been a sobbing mess. But there was no crying in death. Good thing. It forced me to keep thinking past the pain. And I knew what I had to do.

“I want the truth,” I said. “If you want my magic, you’ll let me cast a Truth spell and you’ll answer my questions.” Everything came with a price. That was how magic worked. It was time for the world-crushing, magic-hungry maniac to pay up.

He scowled, shoulders tensing. His hands, still clasped, went white at the knuckles. Not so much a sad guy now, he looked furious. I thought he was going to say no.

“Done.” He held out his hand, palm tipped upward.

Old Dad inhaled. Even he hadn’t thought Mikhail would agree.

I wasn’t sure Truth would work in death. It took blood to cast it, and I hadn’t seen a drop of blood since I’d been in death. I sure as hell didn’t know if Mikhail would bleed. But it was the best I could do. Breathing was getting harder. Shadows closed in on my peripheral vision as I walked over to Mikhail. Stone was moving a little slower too, his head cool under my hand as if he was running down.

There wasn’t any time left for second chances.

I stopped in front of Mikhail and worked on clearing my mind. It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but after a few verses of my “Miss Mary Mack,” song, my thoughts finally slipped from fight or flight to something more meditative. I set a Disbursement out of habit—I decided on muscle aches.

Mikhail waited the entire time, his hand open.

When my mind was clear enough, when the panic was more than a breath away, I slashed my left palm and placed it back on Stone’s head. Then I quickly drew the blade across Mikhail’s palm.

No blood from either of us. Instead, a dim red light drifted from my hand, lifting like smoke, while a bright white-blue poured from his hand in an icy stream. I caught and mingled the ice and smoke along the blade of the dagger and used it to draw the Truth spell into the air between us.

The spell blazed to life; a geometric glyph burned in the air. The connection was made.

“Are you going to use my magic to harm those I love?”

“No.” The word rolled through me, soft as a cat pressing and stretching. I knew he was telling the truth.

“Are you going to use my magic to harm or kill innocents?”

“No.” Again, the truth.

“Are you going to use my magic to destroy the world?”

A slight hesitation this time, and a wash of possibilities rushed through my head like math equations I couldn’t solve. “I have no desire to destroy the world.”

True, if a not exactly what I had asked.

“Will you help me open a gate to life and let me take Zayvion’s soul through with me if I give you my magic?”

“Yes.” And that too was true.

Holding the concentration necessary to support the spell was exhausting. No wonder my dad had looked so sick after casting only three spells.

That was all the truth I could endure. Literally four questions worth. Any more and I’d pass out. I drew a circle around the glyph with the tip of the blood blade, then slashed through the spell, breaking it. I did not pass out. Go, me.

I tipped my chin, stared straight into Mikhail’s eyes, and forced myself to say it before I could change my mind. “I came here to bring Zayvion home. I know the price I have to pay. I’ll give you my magic, but I don’t know how.”

Relief washed across his face as he closed his hand, dampening the light from his palm. It was strange to think that the devil might have been worried that I would say no. What did he have riding on my agreement? I hadn’t thought to ask him what he planned to do with the magic. How stupid could I be?

Fear returned, thick, nightmarish. I had no idea if I was doing the right thing. I wanted to grab Zayvion and run. But there was nowhere to go.

“You will clear your mind and recite a mantra,” Mikhail said. “You will reach into your chest and withdraw the flame that burns there.”

I nodded calmly as I walked back over to Zay. A part of my mind was screaming.

“And the gate?” I asked without screaming at all.

“I will open the gate first. Once the gate is opened, I will break magic’s hold on the guardian.”

“No. That’s not good enough. I want something more than your word on this.”

He scowled at me. I scowled back. I was not going to back down. This was too important. I wasn’t going to screw it up on a technicality.

Dad swore under his breath.

The corner of Mikhail’s mouth quirked up. “You do not know what you ask.” He strode to me, every footfall echoing through the room. It was as if he were made of heavier stuff than anything else in death. As if he was a part of the pillars that held the earth to the sky.

“I give you my seal.” He caught my left hand in his own and pressed his thumb into the cut on my palm.

A sweet warmth filled me. Something bit deep beneath my skin and I tasted blood in the back of my throat. I gasped at the pain, and at the pleasure. I jerked my hand out of his hold.

My palm was just my palm. A slight shadow smudged the point where his thumb had been, but the wound was gone. I might not be able to see anything there, but I knew that magic, Death magic, curled there, planted like a seed beneath my skin.

It was more than a guarantee—it was a part of him. I knew he was telling the truth—that he would free Zayvion and open a gate, as if he had just worked a much stronger Truth spell on me.

And it was the only guarantee I was going to get.

I put my hand back on Stone, took a deep breath, and recited my “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack,” song again, trying to push aside the terror at what I was about to do.

I stared at Mikhail. He waited, didn’t move, didn’t send the Hungers that shifted at the edges of the room like shadows stirred by the wind to jump, to attack.

Okay, here was the part where it got tricky. I was supposed to reach into my own chest.

I sheathed the dagger so I didn’t accidentally stab myself, and then pressed the fingertips of my right hand against my sternum. I pressed deeper. My fingers sank into my chest like they were sliding through soft sand.

Ew, ew, ew.

But I didn’t let it break my concentration. Didn’t look away from Mikhail’s eyes. Blue, like Cody’s. Filled with a curious intelligence, sorrow, and hope. Very human. Almost likable.

Yeah, well, if the devil went around looking like a monster, he’d never be able to pay his rent.

I continued pressing inward. I didn’t know if I was doing this right, but Mikhail seemed calm, the weight of his seal on my palm somehow giving me the awareness of his approval.

I was up to the “elephant jump over a fence,” part of the “Miss Mary Mack” jingle for a second time when my fingers brushed something soft and smooth and warm inside me.

Later, I was going to throw up. Right now, I gently got my fingers around that warmth.

My magic. My small magic. The one secret, sacred thing that made me me. The little bit of magic I knew was always there for me. The one thing no one could take away from me. The one thing magic had never harmed.

I felt like I was giving away the most precious part of me.

I drew it out of my chest—still no blood, no feeling of flesh and bones. Just the brush of warm sand falling away from my hand as I drew the magic out of me.

I couldn’t help it. I looked down at the small magic.

It looked like a rose. A translucent pink rose that pulsed with a blush of magic. It glowed in my hand and sent a wave of light up the ribbons of magic that wrapped from my fingertips to the corner of my eye. Ebony thorns rode the stalk of the rose, each like a blade, curved and tipped with red. Beautiful. Strong. Fragile.

Me.

I didn’t want to let it go. I didn’t know what would be left of me once this was gone. I didn’t know what I would become.

A single tear hit my palm. I had been wrong. You can grieve in death.

“It must be soon, Allison,” Mikhail said. “There is no time left for you.”

I nodded, or at least I thought I did. I was feeling strangely numb and drifty. It was hard to remember what I was supposed to be doing. I wasn’t even sure how long I stood there, staring at the magic of my soul.

“Give the magic to Mikhail,” Dad—one of him—said. “I’ll help you get Zayvion safely home.”

I looked up at Zay. Silent. And me with no strength to touch him and find out what he thought about all this. His eyes were closed as if he were sleeping, or dead. There was nothing he could do to help me make this decision. Or to change what I had done.

Pay the price. Was Zayvion worth giving up my small magic? Hells, I’d have given up more if Mikhail had asked. I loved him. And love could make a person do crazy things.

I held my hand, my magic, the single pink rose, out for Mikhail.

“I give it to you willingly in exchange for Zayvion Jones’ soul returning with me to life, and into his living body there.”

Something sparked in Mikhail’s eyes. “You have taught her well, Daniel.” Then, to me, “I accept this magic. In return I will open the gate into life, and do all within my power to help you return Zayvion Jones’ soul to his living body and make all right again between our worlds.”

I swallowed. Honey. I tasted honey. There had been a spell in those words. Something I could not focus on, because I was having a hard time deciding how many more breaths I got before I blacked out.

Mikhail’s fingers brushed my palm over the seal beneath my skin. His hands were warm, which surprised me, and gentle. He lifted the rose from my hand.

I whimpered at the sudden loss, the absence, the raw hole that prickled and hurt deep inside me.

“Open the gate,” I said.

Mikhail could not seem to take his gaze off the rose. He nodded, absently, which worried me, and he held the rose with reverence, which I tried to ignore.

“You will need a vessel to carry his soul,” he said. “Time rides against you. Choose a vessel for him. Now.”

I didn’t even know what would work. The dagger? My pocket? No one had told me I’d need to bring a bottle to this genie party.

“He can enter your mind and soul,” Old Dad told me.