Dead Magic (34 page)

Why had he made her build the cursed thing in the first place? It was all for nothing. Everyone was going to die and she never stood a chance at stopping it.

Ward it.

Elsie stiffened and gaped at the ark.

Of course!
The Warding Pillars had failed because they'd been spread too thin. The ark, however, was small by comparison to all Magnellum. Warding it would protect the people inside.

She looked to Dorian. He had blood on his face and was panting, eyeing all sides for the next attack.

"I know what I have to do," she said.

"What?" Caresse asked.

"Get everyone to fall back to the Warders. Hold them off for as long as you can," Elsie said. "Dorian, I'm going to need your help."

Elsie dug into her Talent and forced her body to move faster than she'd ever done before. She sprinted past the Warders' line, narrowly avoiding Sir Callen on her mission to the ark. It was difficult, but she tried to ignore the sound of battle close on her heels. She stopped directly in front of the ark's outer wall and fell to her knees.

Pressing her palms to the cold, metal surface she began the Warding incantation. Dorian slid to a stop beside her and gripped her shoulder, allowing their Talents to fuse for the spell. He seemed to know instinctively what she would need. She blessed him for that.

The spell-or, rather, set of spells-was a familiar one. Every House Witch was required to Ward their lands with the Pillars and maintain those boundaries throughout their rule. The only difference here was that she was warding a full, visible structure and not a Pillar.

"
Evioxuote,
" Elsie said-the clear command to strengthen.

Her tattoos started to glow. She felt power pulse out from her, transferring to the ark. Her skin tingled and then burned. It felt like she'd plunged her whole arm into the heart of a fire and couldn't get it out. She ground her teeth together and concentrated.

"
Enioquen,
" she growled the spell for strength.

Dorian grunted and fell to one knee beside her. His sword tumbled to the ground. He was sharing her agony, maybe even trying to heal her, but she couldn't tell him to stop. It was all she could do to focus on the last portion of the spell.

"
Tateuote,
" she whispered.

The command to protect barely made it out of her mouth before a vine struck at the ark. She felt the tremor shock through its iron surface and pleaded for Magic to do something.
This has to work. It has to.

The glow in her arm spread, pouring out into the ark itself. The light became so intense that Elsie had to close her eyes. She sensed her Talent waning, but knew the work wasn't done. Elsie resigned herself to what she had to do and pushed every ounce of her Talent into the spell.

The burning sensation flared through her shoulder, ran down her chest and into her core. She screamed-more in determination than in pain-and let Magic, the man-god, her constant tormentor and companion of eight years, filter out of her.

This is why Magic hadn't told me everything,
she thought, and battled to keep the spell focused. Because he knew the level of sacrifice she would have to pay in order to succeed. She wasn't certain if she was hurt that he hadn't trusted her, or flattered that he'd believed in her at all.

***

Dorian held on with everything he had. It felt like fire had ignited in his very skin, but he just held tighter. Light leaked through his eyelids-the cursed ark was still sharp and white enough that he couldn't open them. Elsie's scream rent him to the core.

She was in pain.

Fates preserve me, so much pain!

And yet, she couldn't stop.

She slumped suddenly, falling back against him. Dorian nearly collapsed himself, but managed to hold her up. A moment later, the light died down and he opened his eyes. Elsie lay unconscious in his lap, still breathing, but somehow different. He spotted that the tattoos were gone. He looked to the ark, shocked to see swirling golden patterns set into the iron structure. They were larger on the ark and easier to see, but still that unmistakable golden hue of Magic.

He watched as a vine tried to strike the roof several yards away. It stopped a foot above the monolith's wall, bouncing off the newly established warded barrier.

"You've done it," he said hoarsely. "Elsie, you've done it."

"Dorian!" Bartholomew suddenly sped to his side, dragging Jemima by one arm.

His heart sank at the sight of the girl. He'd actually allowed himself to believe she'd made it inside the ark safely. Jemima looked terrified, but she was doing her best to stay brave. Bartholomew had been through the rough of it. Dorian could see several scratches running down his friend's left arm, and another set had torn into his pants just above the thigh.

"Dorian, we can't risk opening the doors," Bart said, panting for air.

"I know," Dorian said and turned to focus on Elsie.

He would need to heal her before she could help in the fight. He reached for his Talent and faltered.

His magic was gone.

Stunned, he looked up at Bart. He hadn't thought about how much magic they'd used to seal the ark. He remembered it straining, remembered sensing Elsie's magic waning as well, but they'd kept at it anyway. Normally their Talents burgeoned against one another, growing with intensity when they reached the threshold, but this, he realized, had gone far past that.

"What is it?" Bart asked.

"I-I can't heal her," he said.

"What?" Bart had to duck as a severed vine flew past them.

They both glanced out at the raging battle. The Warders were falling back, heading for the ark. He saw his father decapitate a wolf before seizing Jessamine's arm and running.

Dorian searched inside himself again.
I can't be Talentless! I just can't be! Not when my family and friends need me the most.
But he felt hollow-empty-and the loss of his magic crashed into him. Still clutching Elsie's limp body, he looked up into Bart's face.

"It's gone," he said quietly.

He knew the battle around them swallowed his words, but Bartholomew heard him anyway. For a heartbeat, they both remained perfectly still.

"My magic is gone," Dorian said again.

Jemima gasped and covered her mouth. She looked more heartbroken than afraid and, for reasons he could not fathom, her expression gave him strength. Gently setting Elsie aside, he stood up and faced the battle. He picked up his sword from the ground and pulled the pistol from his belt. He would fight as a man. There were still Warders standing, he could see them as they engaged the enemy.

I can do this,
he thought, taking aim at a wolf charging after his mother.

"No, I will do this," he said aloud and pulled the trigger.

The shot struck the wolf. He saw the creature stagger away and he tossed the pistol away. He didn't have time to reload, and even if he did, he wasn't certain he had any more powder. Three more wolves charged him from the right. He saw Elsie's limp, booted foot in his peripheral vision and clenched his jaw. Every ounce of him ached for his magic, for some chance against the creatures snarling at them.

Bartholomew and Jemima pushed past him to intercept the wolves. Dorian shouted for Jemima, but it was too late. The scrawny, stubborn girl bent time and went blurring through his vision. The aspects of the fight that he could see proved that little Jemima had a strong mastery over her Talent. She took the first beast down by diving at its feet. It jaws snapped at her, but Jemima had magic behind her movements and it missed by inches. Jemima grabbed the creature by one paw and forced it to do a somersault over its own body, crashing heavily onto its back.

Jemima was up an instant later, skewering the wolf's exposed belly with her toothpick of a sword.

Dorian stood in dazed shock and wonder, staring at Winslow's baby sister in action.

A thin vine lashed around his neck. Dorian grabbed at it and tried to turn, but the vine yanked him off his feet. He smacked hard into the ground and dropped his sword. The vine pulled tightly, cutting off his air and garroting him against the ground. He clawed at the vine and dug his heels into the ground, twisting in the effort to get free. His lungs strained for air. Darkness throbbed into his vision, echoing his panicked heartbeat.

A blade flashed above him, snapping the vine and burying into the ground just above his head. Dorian blinked up at Rorant, who stood there panting with Jessamine just beside. Dorian choked on air, coughing and wheezing as he rolled onto his hands and knees.

"Get to the ark!" Jessamine yelled.

Rorant helped him up. He spotted Caresse squashed up against the curving hull of the ark with wolves clawing at her. But the creatures could not tear past the new Wards.

Dorian grabbed his wife and shoved her against the hull, holding her up with one arm. His parents pressed up beside Elsie and an instant later he saw Jemima, followed closely by Bartholomew, as the two made it to safety. Still struggling to breathe, he flinched as a large vine crashed just above him. He saw magic spark as it absorbed the impact inches away from his face. The vine slid away and reared back for another strike.

"Great," Jemima said. "Now we're trapped."

She was right. He knew she was right. But for the moment he really didn't care.

Valeda huddled behind Winslow, clutching the stone in her good hand. She could see Voruke's cat form around Winslow's shoulder. He was hunched in the clear indication that he was about to attack and her heart picked up speed. The stone felt suddenly rough and heavy, reminding her of the unnatural bruise it had left on Voruke's head. She glanced down at it, feeling that same sense of fascinated revulsion it had always given her.

Half Wild, Half Talented,
she thought. It called out to both parts of her in a compulsory way and for half a breath she couldn't stop staring at it.

Voruke launched forward, yanking her attention from the stone. Winslow moved to intercept, somehow changing in the process. She saw him push off with his feet, saw the way his head bent and his hair transformed from blond to white. By the time he reached Voruke, Winslow was no longer a man, but a massive, spotted cat.

The two cats crashed into each other, each of them making a terrible, ferocious sound that made her hair stand stiff. Valeda watched in dazed horror as Winslow swiped a mighty paw at Voruke, catching the other cat at the jaw and shoving him away. But Voruke twisted, his sinewy body curling around to attack Winslow on the left side. They locked together, rolling toward her in a writhing mass of claws and teeth.

She finally had the presence of mind to step back, but encountered the pit wall. She leapt to the right, narrowly avoiding the oncoming fight. Her foot caught on an uneven bit of ground and she pitched forward, stumbling to her knees and she dropped the stone.

She looked back just as Voruke bit down on Winslow's shoulder. Winslow twisted around, scratching Voruke's side, but the older cat wouldn't let go. She had a sudden, sick feeling that Winslow wouldn't be able to win this fight.

Valeda grabbed the stone again and struggled to her feet. She thought about trying to hit Voruke with it, but was afraid she might accidentally hit Winslow.

Then her mind flipped back to the tree.

When she'd hit Voruke, it had been leaning toward her, trying to reach her. The Host tree seemed somehow connected to all of the Wild. Even she had felt its power when Voruke had prayed to it.

She looked up at the mouth of the pit. Voruke had tossed the grate off and she had a clear view of the tree's topmost branches. Drums beat through her mind again, distant at first and then growing louder, more insistent.

The stone,
she realized. She had to get the stone to the tree.

Magic had infused the stone on purpose. He had taken the Talents of three Witches and shoved them inside because he knew she would be here, by the Host tree.

Winslow's voice pierced through her thoughts and she looked back to the fight. He'd returned to the form of a man and Voruke, still in cat form, had his jaws clamped tight on Winslow's collarbone. A heartbeat later and Winslow went limp.

The great cat released him and turned to her. Valeda ran for the closest wall, mustering all the Talent she could find to go faster than she'd ever run in her life. But Voruke anticipated her move. He tackled her, slamming full force into her right side and sending them both to the pit floor. She swung the stone at him, but he rolled on top of her, pinning her to the ground.

His mouth curled into a snarl, revealing thick, blunt fangs still stained with Winslow's blood. Her heart ached for Winslow, who was probably dead or dying just a few feet away. That above all else beat her fear into submission.

Her magic coiled in her center.

Voruke snapped at her face, but she caught him by the throat. She kept him suspended there for a long minute, her fingers constricting around his throat as she tried to think of what to do next. His paw was on her good arm, the one holding the stone, and she could feel his claws sink into her skin as he began to writhe, trying to get away.

An arm snaked around Voruke's neck and Winslow's face popped up on the other side of the cat. With a sudden, angry shout Winslow dragged Voruke off her and threw him across the pit. The cat struck the far wall and fell.

"Go, Vee," Winslow said, moving to stand directly between her and the dazed Voruke. "I've got this."

Valeda hurried to her feet, cringing as her bruised body protested. By the time she was standing, she had to catch her breath again. Winslow wouldn't look at her. All of his being was focused on Voruke, who had gotten to all fours again and was preparing for another charge.

She looked at Winslow's strong, capable stance and knew he was telling the truth. He really did have this fight.

She turned, snagged her magic into functioning, and leapt to the top of the pit. Voruke roared behind her, but the sound was cut off. She didn't pause to look back. Once at ground level, Valeda launched herself toward the Host tree. She thought Voruke might have left someone behind as a guard, but no one stopped her. She reached the giant, sick tree and thrust the stone at its trunk.