A faint outline on the wall draws my eye. Dust, thick and uniform, coats the wall around the outline of a tall rectangle. A painting or a tapestry used to hang there. I scan the rest of the hallway and see several similar instances. Could Lady Catherine Carrington have fallen on hard times? I frown at the thought. Like humans, most aristocratic mage families have generational wealth. The kind that’s immune to the world’s problems. And given the lifespan of the average mage, it’s rare to see poverty in the supernatural world. Extremely rare.
Gatlin pauses at an arched threshold, and I hear his breath catch. I step to the right, intending to look, but a hand on my shoulder keeps me between the two of them. Fire appears on my left, held there in Hawthorne’s large hand, waiting to be thrown.
Maverick and Charlie slide up beside us. When Maverick’s red eyes peek around the corner, they narrow, and he slides to the side for Charlie to take a look.
Curious, I try to see what’s going on, but Hawthorne’s hand presses firmly down on my shoulder, holding me in place. I glare up at him, but of course, he’s too busy ignoring me to acknowledge my existence.
Charlie’s magic streams out of him, along with a few words
Magic ebbs, magic flows
Let the spell come to a close.
He keeps repeating it as he steps into the room, Maverick at his back. The two of them move slowly, eventually disappearing from my sight. Anxious, I lightly dance back and forth, wondering what they’re hiding from me.
Gatlin’s large hand stretches back, and I quickly sheath the knife and grab it. Warmth floods my body, filling me with calm purpose. His steadiness grounds me. I squeeze his hand, silently thanking him.
Hawthorne shifts restlessly, and I glance up to find him staring at my and Gatlin’s joined hands. A noise brings his attention back to the situation in front of us, and he drops his hand from my shoulder.
I slide to Gatlin’s side and finally get a glimpse of what’s going on. Lady Catherine is standing in front of a suspended Jamison with her hand raised, but the magic flowing from her to Jamison is contained by the clear bubble surrounding her. Charlie shifts, continuing his chant while motioning for us to move forward.
Maverick is staring at Jamison. “I can’t tell what kind of spell he’s under. It’s as if something is stopping him from using his magic.”
His words give me an idea. I step forward, but Gatlin stops me. I pull my hand from his and clasp his arm. “I have an idea, but I need to get closer.”
His jaw clenches, but I see the answer in his eyes, and I smile at him before rushing over to Jamison. Held about two feet from the ground, magic crackles around him. Her magic was feeding the spell, but with it blocked, he should have been able to break out of this stasis. I glance at his finger. Bare.
Damn.
Jamison’s blondish-brown hair, usually styled to perfection, has fallen forward, almost obscuring his face. Drenched in sweat, the magic continues to race up and down his body, but I can’t tell what’s causing it. I bite my lip and step closer. Furious steel-blue eyes are practically spitting fire; the second he sees me, they soften, but the tender look quickly disappears. Like Hawthorne, Jamison’s gaze goes blank, all emotion smothered.
Twice in one night. Pain darts through me at his expression, but I shake it off. Not the right time. With a sigh, I lift my hand and hold my palm out. Skimming across his body, I pick up ona thread of darker magic and follow it—all the way to his hand. Stumped for a second, I reach toward him.
A hand clamps down on my arm, and I look up, expecting it to be Gatlin, but surprisingly, it’s Hawthorne glaring at me. “You don’t know what will happen.”
There’s a spark of concern in his eyes and in the tightening at the corners. Tiny, but it’s there. I almost sigh in relief. “I absorb most magic, remember?”
Seconds tick by, and finally he reluctantly releases my hand. Hawthorne scatters a few grains of dirt on the floor, and a shield rises between the two of us and Jamison.
My hand clasps Jamison’s. There’s something curled in his fist. Carefully straightening his fingers, I catch the object. His signet ring. The curse binding his magic snarls at me, fighting tooth and nail, but I tighten my hand around my adversary. Anger at his father rises, and with little effort, I yank the curse from its golden surface and absorb the nasty spell. The second I do, the magic holding Jamison aloft dissipates, and he tumbles to the ground.
Gatlin rushes forward and helps Jamison stand. “I’ve got you. Take a minute. How are you feeling? Do we need to get a healer?”
Jamison wearily nods. “I’ll be fine once my magic replenishes. Let’s get out of here.”
With his arm curled around him, Gatlin nods at Lady Catherine. “Do we take her with us or leave her here?”
Jamison shakes his head. “She’s a puppet. Spelled to watch over my father and report back to the mage leading this rebellion.” His voice is rough and full of fury. “Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t know much. Not even his name.”
His eyes dart around, searching for something. I look too but don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Jamison leans over andwhispers something in Maverick’s ear. A second later, Maverick disappears.
“Is he coming back any time soon?” Charlie asks, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.
“I’m back,” Maverick says, entering the room through the doorway. He tosses a gold object to Jamison.
It’s a bracelet. Jamison brings the gold cuff to his lips and blows on it, then whispers a few words. He motions to Lady Catherine, and Gatlin helps him step closer.
“This will prevent you from siphoning another’s magic,” he informs her in a hard tone, sliding it onto to her wrist.
