Witchlight Page 10

  He told her.

  * * *

  Vadim stumbled into his apartment shortly before dawn. The wine had given him a headache but not a hangover and the woman had left parts of him farther south aching and in need of attention. A cold shower would be the only remedy for that. Flirting was one thing but it would be beyond stupid to take it any further with Elizabeth Marsden. Being careful not to mix business with pleasure had kept him out of serious trouble for years. No way in hell would he blow that now. Not even to get past the walls she hid herself behind.

  He took his phone out of his jacket pocket and turned it on. Immediately he wished he hadn’t. Several increasingly frantic messages from Calla told him his night wasn’t over. Briefly he considered ignoring them, at least for a few hours. Ten minutes later he was pounding on her door.

  Nate answered, bleary-eyed. “He lives. Where’ve you been? Calla’s been going nuts.”

  Before Vadim could answer, Calla rushed to the door. “I’ve been calling all night. Where the hell have you been?”

  “I have a life and you’re not my mother.” He barreled past Nate and headed straight for the teenager half-asleep on the couch. “What the hell is this bullshit about you turning yourself in?”

  Tyler sat up, pushing his hair out of his face. “You know they won’t stop with just one round of rations. The food will be ruined again in two weeks if they don’t get what they want.”

  “You can’t turn yourself in.” Vadim sat on the coffee table, facing the boy.

  “Look, I can handle this. Nobody got hurt so they can’t charge me as an adult. I can take juvie.”

  “That’s not the point. Do you have any idea what will happen if they find out the things you can do? You won’t be in juvenile prison, you’ll be in a lab.”

  Calla said, “I tried to tell him but he won’t listen. He thinks he can hide it.”

  “They don’t know anything about that kind of magic,” Tyler said. “If they did, don’t you think they’d be looking for witches like us?”

  Vadim had his suspicions about that but didn’t want to discuss all of his theories with the kid. “I’m not so sure they’re not. There’s more and more of us every year. It’s going to get harder to keep hiding what we can do. From Normals. From our own people.”

  “You don’t think we’re hiding it well enough now, do you?” Calla held out a cup of coffee.

  Vadim took it, grateful for the warmth on his chilled fingers. “Sometimes I don’t know what to think.” He took a drink then stabbed the air in front of Tyler’s face. “But I do know you can’t turn yourself in. And not just because of what you can do. You know far too much about the railroad. I can’t risk you breaking under interrogation.”

  Tyler looked ready to spit. “It’s because you think of me as a kid. I’m telling you, I can handle it.”

  “And I’m telling you, under no circumstances will you play the martyr. This isn’t just about you. If this shit works even once, they’ll fuck with our rations all the time. Anytime they feel like. I’m not going to take that risk, so if I have to break your legs to keep you from prancing your ass into the Admin building, I’ll do it. Find another way to deal with your guilt.”

  The kid shot up off the couch, nearly sending Vadim’s coffee to the floor. A flurry of righteous anger and acid-green hair, Tyler headed for the front door. Nate stood in his way, staring with his arms crossed over his chest. Tyler veered for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  “Well, then.” Vadim sipped his coffee. “Bit of a drama queen there.”

  “He’s fourteen.” Calla took Tyler’s spot on the couch. “And that was not very subtle of you.”

  Nate snorted. “Like you’re such a delicate flower.” He stroked Calla’s hair as he walked behind the couch. “You told him the same thing.” He knocked on the bathroom door. “Tyler? Can I talk to you?”

  After a moment, the door opened and Nate disappeared inside.

  Vadim said, “Can they both fit in there without it getting awkward fast?”

  “Shut up,” Calla snapped. “What is going on with you?”

  “When have I ever been warm and cuddly? He needs to hear the truth. If anything, I think I spoke to him as if he’s an adult.”

  “I meant, why didn’t you answer your phone? It’s not like you to flake out when something’s going on.”

  Vadim carried the cup to the sink and dumped out the remainder of the coffee. “I had things to do.”

  “Like what?” Calla followed him into the tight space of the kitchen. “Did you come up with a plan to deal with the rations issue?”

  “Not yet. You get everyone settled for a few days at least?”

  “Yeah. End of the week, though, it’s going to start taking some serious cash. I had to pretty much clean out the discretionary fund for the railroad.”

  “No problem.” He grinned. “I always enjoy a little bank fraud and cyber robbery.”

  “What about Tyler and his friends?”

  “Can Nate play dear old dad enough with Tyler to keep him from doing something stupid?”

  Something flashed across her face that piqued his curiosity, but he was too tired to get into it. She said, “Yeah, I think so. The other kids...” She shook her head. “None of them are looking to turn themselves in as far as I know. They’re scared.”

  “Good. That’ll keep them off the streets, hopefully.” Stifling a yawn, he made his way to the door. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Hey, Vadim.”

  He paused. “What?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Of course he wasn’t okay. None of them were, and he was so fucking tired of it. “I just need some sleep.” He left before she could ask more questions.

  Chapter Nine

  Lizzie triple-checked the lock on the door of her office restroom. Feeling as secure as she could away from home, she closed her eyes and focused on finding the quiet hum of magic inside her. It responded with an upsurge of joyous energy. She latched on to it, visualizing a curling ribbon of reddish-gold light. Her palm tingled with warmth. She opened her eyes and held her hand up, witchlight unfurling above it.

  Her breath caught, and then she forced herself to exhale slowly. Heart hammering, she passed her other hand through the opaque spiral of color. Tendrils of energy whispered across her skin as the light fractured, spreading through the small space in curls and wisps.

  She had created this. With thought and energy and something indefinable, she had brought this simple spell of witchlight into existence. After hours of practice, both with Vadim and once she’d returned to her apartment alone, Lizzie felt confident about her ability to repeat the spell. So it wasn’t a need to continue practicing that kept her ducking into the restroom when she should have been reading reports or attending meetings. It was a compulsion that went beyond need, born of things long buried. It felt right, and as natural as her red hair and her long legs and everything else she’d been born with.

  Attention to detail was another trait she’d been born with and she used it to good effect now, gathering the splintered light together and adding more. A bird took shape. She had no idea what kind—it was just a generic bird remarkable only for its coloring. And the fact that it was made of magic, of course. It was small, no bigger than her hand. Lizzie was unsure of how to direct it so she concentrated on the idea of flight. It bobbed in the air awkwardly while she struggled with defining her intention. At the same moment the magic inside clicked, the bird took off. Wings spread wide, it swooped around and over Lizzie, filling up the small room with a burst of joy. She laughed out loud, her heart swelling with emotions she didn’t recognize.

  A knock on the door sent the bird plummeting, and her emotions went with it. “Lizzie? You’re late for your two o’clock. You okay?” It was Duane.
>
  A sigh of relief escaped. While she certainly couldn’t tell her aide the truth, he wouldn’t try to push her over being late to a meeting the way Carger might. “I’ll be right out.”

  The bird had broken into splotches of red-and-gold light that floated aimlessly. So far the hardest part of every spell she’d attempted was ending it. Something about a problem with grounding, according to Vadim, but there hadn’t been time the night before to get into an explanation of what that meant. Or rather, that morning. She’d let him stay far too long.

  She tried to concentrate on dissolving the witchlight but her focus kept slipping.

  “Did Mike tell you the meeting was changed?” Duane’s voice came from farther away, probably near her desk.

  “Uh, no.” At least, she didn’t think so. There had been a series of messages from the chief of staff waiting for her but she’d barely read them.

  For a brief moment she considered trying to leave the bathroom with the witchlight still meandering around inside, but she didn’t seriously think that would work. Again she tried to focus on making it go away, to no avail.

  Her phone buzzed, cutting into her shoddy attempt at concentration. Didn’t spells work with chants or something like that? Vadim had used words once or twice but never with witchlight and she had not thought to ask. The phone continued to buzz, vibrating off the counter to hit the floor with a hard thud.

  “Damn it,” she said, smacking her hand on the counter. The edge of her palm hit the corner just the wrong way, pain shooting into her wrist.

  A mass of red witchlight, vaguely butterfly-shaped and floating near her head, winked out, its reflection disappearing in the mirror as she watched.

  “No,” she whispered. “Come on. Not like this.”

  The phone buzzed again. She picked it up, quickly scanning the text message. It was from Carger, wanting to know why she was late to such an important meeting. What the hell was it about this meeting? She turned off the device and slipped it in her pocket then tried one last time to bring the witchlight under control. The red only pulsed brighter, absorbing the gold and defying her wishes.

  “Lizzie,” Duane said. “Mike just texted me. He’s on his way.”

  Goddamn it. Never again would she do this in the office. Desperation clawed at her throat as she gave it one last push of will. Her heart rate ticked up and spots danced in her vision. Everything got louder and brighter. All signs a major panic attack was on its way, freight-training toward her in a public place. With Duane already in her office and Carger arriving any moment, she had no choice but to get this under control quickly, by whatever means worked.

  Pressing her nails into her palms wasn’t enough. The room got smaller, the air heavier and harder to breathe. A pounding started behind her eyes.

  The urge to hit herself was strong. So, so strong. She didn’t know anything about grounding magic but she knew how to suppress it, how to make it stop. How to shut out the screaming in her nerves. Pain worked every time.

  But this time Lizzie wasn’t home alone. She didn’t have the luxury of time to ice her face and anywhere else she might hit herself that others would see. No time to huddle in the dark and let the pain work its way through her system, shutting everything down.

  The witchlights flashed, converging on her in a claustrophobic spiral. The phone buzzed, louder and louder, the sound pressing against her skin like a physical thing. It hurt, but not the kind of hurt she needed to make it all stop. She tried to remember everything Vadim had told her about ending spells and controlling magic, but the words slipped away in the rush of white noise filling her head.

  Desperate, she slammed her fist into her thigh. Pain spread through the muscle in a dull throb. She shut her eyes, white stars blooming against the black of her eyelids. Another punch brought a measure of calm along with pain, the ache drowning out everything else. Again and again she hit herself, so grateful for the magic’s retreat she wanted to collapse to the floor and cry.

  Instead, Lizzie opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. A few tears had slipped out during the worst of it, but the minimal damage to her makeup was an easy fix. Her right thigh ached, but in the unlikely event she’d left a bruise, it would be hidden by her slacks. Most important of all, the witchlight was gone. So was the magic, buried under a layer of ice and pain and the heavy weight of reality. Quickly, she repaired her mascara, adjusted her clothes and hair and took one last look at herself for any telltale signs of a problem. There were none. She was good at covering.

  When she stepped out of the restroom, Duane greeted her with a look of concern. “You okay?”

  “Migraine,” she said. “Can this meeting be canceled?”

  “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, Lizzie.” Carger stood in the doorway of her office, blocking her view of another man behind him. “If you can manage it, I have someone with me I’d really like you to meet.”

  Nothing good ever came from hearing those words from her chief of staff. It usually involved what Duane liked to call “smarming for campaign cash.” If Carger hadn’t already been blocking the only exit she would have happily told him no and gone home early. But she was trapped and it was part of the job and hopefully it wouldn’t take long. Lizzie gritted her teeth and tried to force a passive expression to her face, since a smile was out of the question. “Of course.”

  Carger entered the office, followed by an older man. No introduction was necessary. Everyone in New Corinth who ran in her social circle knew Brice Jennings. A handmade suit of the finest material covered his tall frame, showing off in a subtle, understated manner a body still in top shape from hours of swimming at the city’s most exclusive club. Steel-gray hair in a stylish short cut complemented dark blue eyes and a blandly handsome, suntanned face. Jennings radiated power and confidence, as would be expected of someone of his stature in the business community, but underneath that lurked something that made Lizzie want to take a step back.

  Her chief of staff didn’t give her the chance. “Lizzie, I believe you’ve met Brice Jennings once or twice.”

  Of course his pretense of wanting her to meet someone had been garbage. He knew damn well she’d met Jennings before and wanted nothing to do with him. He just didn’t know why. Lizzie swallowed her feelings and walked to her desk. “Yes, of course. We’ve crossed paths on several occasions. How are you, Mr. Jennings?”

  “Please, call me Brice.” He offered his hand.

  Physical contact so soon after a panic attack—she’d be lucky not to have another one. God, she wanted to go home. She took his hand and shook it as briefly as politeness allowed. “What brings you to city hall today?”

  His lips stretched into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Michael told me you’re direct and to the point.” Without invitation, he took one of the seats opposite her desk. “I’m here to talk to council members about the ordinance.”

  Lizzie took a deep breath and sat. “I’m sure there will be plenty of debate once it’s introduced in session.” She didn’t bother to ask how he knew about it or what he thought.

  “Maybe.” He studied her with a cold gaze. “Although honestly, I don’t know what’s to debate.”

  “Differing opinions,” she said. “The law’s potential impact on the community. I’d say there’s quite a bit to debate.”

  Duane spoke up from where he was hovering near the window. “Speaking of which, I’ve started looking at data to determine what Two-Five-Seven will do to the city’s tax revenue. I’ll have some hard numbers for you soon.”

  Jennings said, “Tax revenue? I hardly see how that’s relevant.”

  “Keeping the Magic Born confined to the zone would be a huge loss to the city’s small-business community,” Duane said. “I’d say that’s extremely relevant.”

  The aide tried to continue but Carger cut him off. “Duane, I think you’re t
hrough for the day. We can take it from here.”

  Duane came around the desk and made eye contact with Lizzie. With the barest nod she told him to go. He hesitated, face pinched, but then picked up his tablet and headed for the door. “I’ll email you that report as soon as it’s done.”

  “Thank you, Duane,” she said. The harsh white glare of the overhead lights sliced into her skull.

  “I hope you’re not going to let your vote on this important matter be swayed by something so petty,” Jennings said.

  “Two-Five-Seven would have a considerable impact on an untold number of small businesses,” Lizzie said. “I doubt they think of their livelihoods as petty.”

  “There are far more important things at stake. Those of us with the power to do so have a moral obligation to lead in times like this.”

  She flicked a glance at Carger, wanting to ask what the hell this man was talking about. Instead she waited for Jennings to continue. Let him make his own assumptions about how she felt.

  “It’s like I’ve been telling Michael.” Jennings obliged her by gifting the room with the sound of his voice. “This is a dangerous time for New Corinth. We need to take steps to ensure things don’t get out of hand. By supporting this ordinance, I’m just doing my part.”

  A single deep breath was all she would allow herself to try to push back the encroaching sense of dread. “It’s my understanding that zone authorities are taking steps to root out the perpetrators of the recent magic displays.” Pausing, she gave Carger another death glare. “By destroying food rations, including those meant for infants.”

  Something ugly approximating a smile stretched across the businessman’s face. “I give high marks to the young agent that came up with that. From what I’ve been told, he’s confident his plan will get results sooner rather than later. I’m happy to see that Administrator Lewis has been inspired to take a firmer stance with those people. He’s been far too lenient for too long.”

  Lizzie made a mental note to tell Vadim the zone administrator was being manipulated. “You were part of that? The people who decided to do it?”