Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) (9 page)

“Ambushing a wraith.”

“I do not believe I have ever met a wraith.”

“Probably not. They prefer to hang with the non-magical crowd, but even so they don't stand out unless they're mad. And by mad, I mean insane not angry. It isn't common to see them at all.”

“Was it this wraith who had your father?”

“Yes, but it wasn't what you think. She didn't have him tied up and gagged or anything. When I walked into the room, the fiasco with the 'intruder' had calmed. They were playing cards.”

“Cards? Why do I sense there was something important to keep him at the table?”

“Because there was. It was Mother's life. That's how you tango with a wraith: deals and swindles. If Father won, he'd walk away free. If he lost, the wraith would get a new—younger and prettier—body.”

Mordon raised himself onto his elbows. “Your mother's? Not yours?”

“A magic wielding fey who will look in the prime of her life for ages, or a scint girl with acne?” I shook my head. “It was a no-brainer.”

Mordon frowned, obviously in disagreement with my assessment. “Did your father win? I assume he did.”

“Win against a wraith? Doesn't happen.”

“So your mother...”

“Is fine. Father postponed ending the card game until I appeared. He had an alright hand, but not enough to win unless her hand was absolutely horrid.”

“What did you do?”

“Joined the game. Used one of my trinkets to make it look like I had a strong hand when I really had a so-so one. Then I shuffled the deck before she could examine it, said goodnight, and left with Father.”

“And that was that? What happened to the wraith?”

I paused, wondering how he'd take the last bit. “Mother was waiting outside the door for us. She threw gasoline on the wraith and lit it. Wraiths can take a lot of things but they can't take fire.”

Unlike demons.

Mordon tapped his finger against my arm, thinking. “And why didn't your father do this earlier?”

“Wraiths can see or sense two things in their territory but not three. She was watching Father and me, but she couldn't see Mother as she approached.”

“Why does this memory haunt you?”

I remembered. My insides went cold. “When they all wanted to know why I let Desmond try his ambush when I knew how to handle the situation. They wouldn't believe that Desmond wouldn't listen to me.”

“I see.” Mordon was quiet for a minute.

“I pretty well quit after that. Started doing my own thing. Just busting household bogies and practicing potions. Safe things, you know? Or that's what I thought.”

Mordon kissed my cheek. “You sound finished with talking.”

“I'm so tired.”

He cradled me close. “
Leothuwaceh
, my love.
Leothuwaceh
.”

The worries melted as the spell soothed over me. I relaxed. At the edge of sleep, I mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Anything, love.”

Some kind of bark-based tisane simmered over the fire in a pot blackened with smoke. Thick, goopey oatmeal rested on hot stones lining the fire pit. Inside the oatmeal were bits of dried fruit, now plump and tender, to sweeten the otherwise bland mush.

I was the last one up. Though I blamed the dreams, laziness was the real culprit. When the sun first peeked over the horizon, I couldn't be bothered to awaken with the men. Goopy oatmeal and oversteeped bark tisane was my reward, and I enjoyed it with relish.

Mordon and Lyall were both absent.

An inspection of the camp hinted they wouldn't be gone for long. A stick in the ground cast a shadow which was at a slight angle to another stick radiating from the base. I guessed that it marked the sun's shadows at the time of their departure. Lyall's bedroll was folded up, not snugly secured to his pack with its top open.

The open pack piqued my curiousity. It would be wrong to nose through Lyall's possessions, particularly given they seemed to be all he had. That little fact also made a quick browse irresistible. I gathered my feet under me.

“Morning.”

It was Lyall. I tried not to look guilty. “Morning. Where did the two of you go?”

“Your fire drake is sunbathing.”

The image of Mordon mostly naked at the side of a pool filled my mind. “What?”

“His wings are massive in a place like this. He's meant for high-altitude gliding. It's inconvenient, but I will say he has a fancy color pattern.”

I thought of his red scales, the black cross down his back, the stripes on his legs. “I didn't realize it was considered fancy.”

Lyall whistled. “Any female would love to have his pattern. Wouldn't surprise me if he got teased a lot as a youngster for being so flashy.”

“He hasn't mentioned anything.”

Lyall shrugged, obviously dismissing the topic in favor of another one. “About the Blackwings who interrupted us?”

“I was kind of expecting an act of retribution. The hitman was a bit direct, but not completely out of the blue.”

“Your father would not be happy to hear of it.”

“And so he shouldn't,” I said slowly, pointedly.

“Fine. It is in the past, isn't it?”

“Right.”

“Consider one little thing. Consider that you may be safer here with people who understand you than with those who are ignorant and afraid.”

I resisted rolling my eyes. “I will consider it.”

“I know you ran with a few of the Hunters from time to time. Maybe you can meet up with them again.”

“I hope not.”

Lyall was genuinely surprised. “Why?”

“It's nothing.”

He opened his arms wide, hooked them behind his head. “Throw me a stick here.”

“No.”

“Very well. If you're sure?”

I nodded.

He twirled his foot in a circle. When it was clear I was going to stand by my refusal, he grunted and reached into his open pack. There was a rustling sound, and a half-sized newspaper appeared in his hand. He flopped it open, fanning the fern leaves beside his pack. The paper must have arrived as I slept because I hadn't seen it anytime yesterday or last night. Mordon either hadn't seen it or had already caroused it in his customary morning habit.

“Anything interesting?” I asked, noting that the paper was titled
Wildwoods Weekly
. Must be a small community if they only printed a weekly paper.

“Interesting as in the gossip, the weekly serial stories, or actual news?”

“How about actual news?”

Lyall snapped the floppy top straight and flipped to a middle page. He read aloud.

“Please take note: portals to Sleeping Rabbit Burrows temporarily down.”

An uneasy sensation tickled my stomach. “Is that the place where we saw that one man carving into the trees?”

“It is. Why the portals have failed, though, is another matter. I can assume that the spell we saw has in some way interfered with them. A few people are going in that direction to investigate. It isn't our problem.”

I bit the inside corner of my mouth in silent disagreement. “If you say so.”

“You think otherwise?”

“I think it's a rare type of spell, and that they won't know how to deal with it.”

Lyall raised a skeptical eyebrow, asking without saying a word.

I had to admit, “Not that I know how to deal with it either, but I'm not completely clueless.”

“Clearly they have the same assessment of their own abilities,” Lyall said and showed me the article.

I noticed that someone had spelled a bit of the bark tea on the paper, which had since dried in a creased dimple. I skimmed the page to the bottom.

...These failed portals are part of the system put in place prior to the refreshment scheme of 1955, and they have therefore been listed as due for refreshment for some years.

Transportation crews are underway. Construction of new portals will take place once the remains of the old portals are removed. In the meantime, expect longer walking times and to see sights you may not have seen in some time.

“What does it mean by the last line?” I asked.

“You'll find out. Traveling here is always an adventure.”

“So I am discovering. Any chance we will be making contact with other people?”

“Tests take time.”

Frustrated, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Except I can't see where I am taking any tests.”

“You will. And you are.”

I stared at him, his perfect calm, and realized that I was the only one upset in any way this morning. Standing, I asked, “Where is Mordon? I like the idea of sun on my skin.”

Lyall's whistle drifted through the air, drawing hear as he came closer on the wide swath of a trail formed by a dried creekbed. I opened my eyes and squinted in the bright afternoon light. A few hours after napping on Mordon's back I still hadn't decided if his sales were firm-comfortable or firm-aches-and-pains. I had yet to attempt moving.

The meadow he had found was easily wide enough for five fire drakes to line up wingtip to wingtip, but Mordon occupied the lion's share even with one wing pinning me to his withers. Mordon's desire to cuddle pushed my own tolerance sometimes, even as I loved it.

Blue larkspur blossomed alongside orange irises, a riot of color attracting humming bees by the hundreds. To my knowledge several of the insects had tasted my salty skin with their proboscis before flying away. Had it not been for Mordon's wing restraining me, I would have fled at the first honeybee. A childhood of (stupidly) trapping bees between two dandelion flowers had given me a healthy respect for anything with a stinger.

There came the
squish-squish-squish
of Lyall's footsteps once he left the path and entered the occasionally marshy meadow. What was left of the camp was strapped neatly to his back.

Lyall peered at me out from under a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. “I see you found him.”

“Didn't take long. He was right where you said he would be.”

Lyall snorted. “You mean the Wildwoods took you right where you wanted to go. No losing the fire drake, I take it?”

“Didn't know you wanted him lost.”

Mordon's body shook with his breathy laugh, jostling me against the boney frame of his wing.

“You won't lose me unless you want me lost.” He lifted his long neck to gaze straight at Lyall. “Have you received instruction on where to take us yet?”

“Why do you think that?”

“You had time in solitude. You could have spoken with whoever is responsible for Fera's testing. You are not a person to waste the time on frivolous matters. If you were not speaking with a superior, I assume you were consulting the portal repair team.”