The Mage in Black (20 page)

I shot her a get-real look. “Now you’re quoting Freud?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like Freud? Then how do you feel about Jung? When mages tap into their magic, they’re connecting with the collective unconscious, the energy, that connects all things.”

“So you’re saying that in order to tap into that energy I have to be weak and stupid?”

Rhea slammed her magic staff on the ground. “Enough!”

My mouth fell open at her outburst.

“You think you’re fooling anyone with your tough act? You think I don’t see that you use sarcasm and anger like armor?” She leaned in. “You’re not fooling me at all. When I look at you, I see a wounded child. You want to be angry? Fine. I would be, too. But be angry at the ones who hurt you. Be angry at yourself for your self-deception. But for fuck’s sake, stop being a martyr about it and stop taking that shit out on me for trying to help you.”

My blood ran hot and cold through my veins. My jaw clenched so hard I felt like my teeth would shatter. “I don’t recall asking for your help.”

Rhea crossed her arms. “Not in so many words, no. But let me ask you this: Why did you come here?”

“That’s funny, I’ve been asking myself that same question.”

“Maybe, just maybe, on some level you understand that if you’re ever going to be whole you have to get in touch with the side of yourself you’ve suppressed for the last fifty-odd years.”

I threw up my hands. “Jesus, what is it with you? I came here because I wanted to meet my sister.” It was a lie, and we both knew it. I came here looking for vengeance.

She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. “Bullshit. We both know you came here because you want to stick it to Lavinia Kane. Well, listen up—you’ll never defeat her without magic. You’ll never be good at magic until you face your own demons. And I’m here to help you. I know it’s scary, but you can’t grow unless you face that fear head-on.”

My head jerked up. “I’m not afraid.”

Rhea snorted. “All anger is motivated by fear. And you’ve got it in spades. You can either continue to delude yourself, or you can grab it by the throat and use it.” She moved closer and put a kind hand on my shoulder. “You have so much promise inside you. Let me help you find it.”

This whole conversation made my stomach cramp. But Rhea was issuing a challenge. To back down now would be to admit the fear was winning. Because Rhea was right. I was terrified. Terrified of trying. Terrified of failing. But more than that, I was terrified my grandmother had been right—that I was just the unfortunate by-product of a terrible mistake made by my parents. Nothing special. A godsdamned waste of space.

The rage came from nowhere. Angry tears stabbed my corneas, clamoring for release. I took a deep breath, trying to corral them back into the dark box where I normally kept them hidden. Still, they pushed and prodded, hovering at the edges of my lower lids.

My grandmother’s words came back to me then. The words she’d spoken when she found out I was immune to the apple stake she’d slammed into my chest. The words that encapsulated everything she’d felt and thought of me all these years but had never spoken until that moment.

You’re an abomination!

The dam broke. A tidal wave of pent-up anger overcame me, and suddenly I was drowning in it. I needed to punch something. My veins filled with lava. My fists clenched into rocks. My chest filled to bursting with a scream I’d been holding back for five decades. I choked on it, refusing to let Rhea watch me implode.

Rhea saw the change, of course. But she didn’t back away or cower. Surprising, since I was so angry my eyes were practically glowing. “How you feeling?” she asked.

It was hard to speak. My jaw ached from clamping my teeth together. “Like I want to kill someone.” Not just anyone. Lavinia Kane. I wanted to wound her. I wanted to maim her. I wanted to watch her bleed. But most of all, I wanted her to know some of the pain she’d imposed on me my whole life.

Rhea nodded. “Okay, good. Now I want you to embrace that anger.”

The muscles shook. My fingers itched to strangle something—or someone. “I need to punch something. Hard.”

“Close your eyes.”

My head jerked side to side. Surrendering to these emotions would make me insane. I knew it.

“Sabina, listen to me. Close your eyes. Good. Now take a deep breath.”

Air rasped into my lungs, scraping my windpipe raw.

“Now I want you to visualize collecting your anger into a glowing ball in the center of yourself.”

I did as instructed, desperate for something to help alleviate the intensity. Imagining the anger as red neon filling my body, I concentrated on pulling it up through my legs and arms and spine. I collected it into a swirling mass in my diaphragm. I placed a hand over the spot and felt intense heat boiling under the skin.

“Now, when you feel something coming at you, I want you to imagine shooting it down with that mass of energy you’ve gathered. But whatever you do, do not open your eyes.”

A metal ball hit me in the arm before I could formulate a reply.

My eyes flew open. “Godsdammit!”

“I warned you,” she said. A band of cloth suddenly stretched across my eyes. I tried to rip it off, but it wouldn’t budge. Fucking mages.

Slam.
This one hit my chest.

“Fuck!”

“Focus!” Rhea shouted.

Bam!
My shoulder.

I took a step, intent on finding Rhea and throttling her, blindfold or no. But something weird happened. My ears picked out something whistling through the air. Without thinking, I stepped to the right, and the ball whizzed past me. A split second later, glass shattered somewhere behind me.

“You’ll be paying for that window and anything else that breaks from now on.”

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first”—
Whack!
Pain radiated through my ribs—“person to tell me that.”

I sucked in a deep breath and cringed. She must have cracked a rib with that last one. I needed to do something before she did any more damage. The orb of anger pulsated in my center. I stoked the flame now, remembering Rhea’s advice. Another ball whirled through the air. I focused on the sound, picturing the ball coming at me. Then I imagined sending a bolt of rage at it. The hair on my arms prickled, and electricity shot down my spine.

“Oh, shit!” Rhea shouted. A crash sounded, followed by a loud thump.

I cocked my head. “What happened?”

Rhea groaned. “You missed.”

“Are you okay?” Another groan. I clawed at the blindfold. A tingle passed across my face and the cloth disappeared. I blinked a couple of times before I could focus. I looked around and found Rhea lying on the floor next to a hunk of twisted metal and broken glass. I rushed over.

“You’re bleeding.” I touched the smear of red at her temple. She winced.

“No shit, Sherlock. You shot down the light fixture.”

“Rhea, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

She stopped dabbing at her temple to look me in the eyes. “I’ll tell you what happened. You used magic. Granted, we need to work on your aim, but this is a major breakthrough. You should be proud of yourself.”

I shook my head. Guilt outweighed any sense of triumph. “I think we need to get you some medical attention.”

She waved me away when I tried to help her up. I hovered nearby as she pulled herself to her feet. “Don’t be silly. We need to keep work—oh.” She wobbled and reached out. I grabbed her arm to steady her. “Okay, maybe I could use an aspirin or something.”

I wrapped an arm around her, ignoring the bruises she’d put there. “Let’s get you to your rooms and I’ll have Maisie come take a look just to be safe.”

Rhea swallowed. “Okay, but don’t think this gets you off the hook. We’re going to keep trying until your aim improves.”

“Um, Rhea?”

She leaned against me as we walked. When she looked at me, her eyes were slightly unfocused.

“My aim wasn’t off. I tried to focus on hitting the ball, but I was so frustrated with you I pictured your face instead.”

Her steps faltered. She looked at me for a moment, her gaze unreadable. Then, finally, she nodded as if a decision had been made. “In that case, next time I’ll wear a helmet.”

T
wo nights later, we were back at Vein. As Rhea predicted, Giguhl’s injury healed quickly, and he claimed his boys were good as new. I had my doubts about his readiness to fight but kept my mouth shut. Giguhl was a grown demon, and it wasn’t my place to hover like an overprotective stage mother.

The fight pit was even more crowded tonight. I guess word of Giguhl’s victory over the Defiler had spread. Dozens of dark-races spectators turned out to see Vein’s newest champion fight. When Slade saw us walk in, he shot me an I-told-you-so smile but otherwise refrained from gloating.

This time it was a Gluttony demon. The thing was so massive it took up most of the ring. He looked kind of like Jabba the Hutt, only less attractive.

“What do you think?” Giguhl jogged in place with his gaze on the Glutton. I suppose he was trying to be intimidating, but his opponent was oblivious. He was too busy polishing off a bucket of fried chicken.

“I’d go for the tongue, personally,” Slade said. He’d already done his song and dance for the crowd before joining us on the sideline.

Giguhl tilted his head and considered it. “I don’t think I want to touch that thing.”

“How about the eyes?” I offered. “That’s always a good bet.”

The bell dinged and Giguhl shot off into the ring. He then proceeded to ignore our advice completely. Instead, he ran straight forward like a ram and head butted the Glutton in its gelatinous stomach. He bounced off like he’d gone headfirst into a trampoline. His ass hit the concrete with a thud.

“The eyes!” I yelled. “Go for the eyes!”

Next, Giguhl did some sort of leaping attack maneuver and landed on the Glutton’s head. The crowd went crazy. Giguhl hung on for dear life as the blubbery demon tried to shake him off.

“Hold on, Giguhl!” I tried to sound encouraging, but it wasn’t looking good. The Glutton roared and shook harder, like an enraged bull trying to unseat a determined cowboy.

Then Giguhl reached up and grabbed a low-hanging rafter. He swung his body through the air and kicked a hoof into the Glutton’s right eye.

An ear-piercing wail cut through the smoky air. The Glutton couldn’t reach its eye with one of its short arms, and green blood sprayed the crowd.

I jumped out of the way. “Ha! Told ya!” Without thinking, I turned and gave Slade a high five. Then, realizing what I’d done, I cleared my throat and tried to recover my dignity. Slade smiled at me over the cigar he had clamped between his fangs.

The Glutton let out an unholy noise, forcing my attention back to the ring. I turned just in time to see Giguhl rip the obese demon’s bulbous tongue from his mouth. Green blood spurted all over Giguhl. He hefted the tongue above his head like a trophy. The crowd screamed their approval.

Slade jumped in the ring then to do his song and dance. I turned to go, not having the stomach to listen to the tongueless demon beg for mercy. Plus, I needed another drink before I met with Slade in his office.

Slade slapped a stack of crisp bills in front of me. “That demon of yours is a gold mine.”

I picked up the stack and did a quick count. Two grand. Not bad. Although I had to wonder what kind of cut Slade had taken. Not to be petty, but I needed to be making more than this to afford an apartment in the city. “He’s something, all right,” I said, referring to Giguhl.

“Why so glum?” Slade said. “You’ve got a good deal going here. Your demon’s a monster in the ring, and you just get to sit back and rake in the cash.”

“Believe it or not, I actually prefer to earn my money the old-fashioned way.”

Slade’s eyebrow lifted.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I didn’t mean prostitution.”

“Right,” he said. “Killing people is a much more noble profession.”

“It pays the bills,” I said. “Or it used to, anyway.”

Slade sat his chair, watching me with a calculating stare. “I guess pissing off the Dominae’s been pretty bad for business.”

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “You could say that.”

Slade rose and went to the wet bar. He lifted a decanter, filled with something amber, in my direction. “Scotch?”

I nodded.

Slade made a production of pouring a couple of fingers of scotch into two glasses. He handed me one and clicked his glass in a toast. He sat behind the desk with his drink. Once his wingtips rested comfortably next to his leather blotter, he lit another cigar. He looked like a fat cat ready to pounce on a canary. “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about my offer.”

I took a sip of the scotch. The amber liquid warmed my throat on its way down. I smiled. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Never.” A slow smile spread across his full lips. My traitorous eyes enjoyed the sight.

“I still don’t see why you need someone like me. I know you’ve been out of the game for a while, but it wouldn’t take much to get you back into shape.” I looked pointedly at his taut midsection. “You could try cutting down on the carbs. Maybe some jogging.”