Lives of Magic (Seven Wanderers Trilogy) (6 page)

I was standing on a clifftop, overlooking a dark and angry sea. Waves were hitting the shore unnaturally, as if
no longer an effect of the tide and wind, but rather a deep rage that was threatening to break onto the land. Every wave that smashed against the rocks far below was like a hammer to my chest. The wind rose around me, and soon I was struggling for breath as it blew past my face so quickly I could not catch time to inhale.

Terrified, gasping, I still looked over the edge onto the jagged rocks beneath. I did not want to see them
—
did not want to increase my fear, but could not turn away. The wind picked up and blew even harder against my skin, whipping my thin dress against my legs and back. My hair stung at my face and eyes. Any moment now, I would be carried away.

As if on cue, the wind reached out to me with solid hands, and I could feel the tendrils of air pinch and prod into my sides. I gasped as the human pain of my aching and abused body protested against the assault. I could not fight it
—
the power was too strong. Panicking, I realized I was failing. I was not strong enough to stand against this, and I would be destroyed. My heart tried to pound against my ribcage, but a tendril of wind had wrapped itself so tightly around my torso that it could not. I felt like my heart would burst as I was lifted off my feet and carried into the air above the deadly bluffs below. I hung, suspended and in pain.

Then, I felt the stirring inside me like electricity in my bones. My magic would fight this unnatural storm. My power was the power of the storm. I would survive.

A voice was calling my name. He fought with me. The sound of him brought me back to my senses and I searched inside me for the spark of magic. It flooded me like a fire, and the heat spread to the cold wind. Slowly, the tempest began to die down.

T
he dream released me like a switch being turned off. My eyes opened to the darkness of the hotel room, and I sucked in the air I had been deprived of in the dream. There was still a weight on top of me, making my sore muscles ache and my bones groan with the force holding me down.

I fought on instinct, kicking and managing little screams between my gasps for air. It was probably a few seconds, but felt like hours, when I realized I was on my back on the floor, and the weight on top of me was Kian. He was saying something — something that I hadn’t been able to hear because the rush of wind and the pounding of waves had remained in my ears long after the dream had gone.

“Gwen! Come back!” he was saying. “Come back!”

His voice was low and forceful. For the first time since we’d met, I was truly frightened of him. The growl in his tone suggested a character I had not yet seen.

I calmed down enough to stop struggling, though my heart still pounded and I was still short of breath. This was more to do with his weight on top of me.

In the darkness, Kian’s eyes found mine and softened with recognition.

“Gwen?” he asked softly.

I nodded.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice hoarse. I could remember the sensation of the wind suffocating me, drying my throat.

Instead of answering, Kian climbed off me. Before I could reach out for his hand, he scooped me up and placed me back on my bed. It was soaked with sweat and the sheets had been torn off. The same kind of headache I’d experienced in the airport was setting in. He didn’t have to tell me.

“Memories?” I said. It was more like a moan. I had accepted my fate. Somewhat. Why was I still being bombarded?

I placed both arms over my face and sighed with the relief the pressure brought.

“You didn’t want to leave me alone because you knew this would happen.” I couldn’t decide if I wanted to say it as a comment or as an accusation.

I managed to sit up, swaying slightly, on the edge of the bed.

Kian did not look much better than I felt. His appearance made me wonder how difficult it had been to restrain me. His t-shirt-and-shorts ensemble matched mine, but sweat dripped from his dark hair and he gasped slightly. His eyes shone, but his mouth was set in a grim line. I remembered that he had chased me, carried my suitcase, and performed magic without ever breaking a sweat. My own apparent strength scared me.

As I set down my hands to steady myself, I felt crumbs beneath my fingers. The substance was flaky and white. Wearily, I looked up towards the ceiling where it seemed like something had clawed and beaten at the hotel plaster. In turn, I saw my hands and forearms were covered in the stuff.

“Was I …”

He nodded, looking exhausted. Before I could ask anything else, there was a hard knock on the door. Putting on his best stoic look, Kian went to answer it while I sat, dumbfounded.

He opened the door to two security guards in the hall, both huge, both looking very stern. The wedge of light from the hallway made me cringe as a new wave of pain brushed across my eyes like a curtain. I could barely see their serious faces, but their tones made up for it.

“Sir,” one security guard said gruffly, “we had a report of a disturbance in this room.”

“What kind of disturbance?” asked Kian. His voice held worry, and I couldn’t decide if it was fake for the security guards or real for me.

There was silence from the door, as the security guards looked him up and down. I could imagine their appraisal of him — doesn’t look dangerous, doesn’t look crazy. But you never know.

Finally, one of them spoke. “One of your neighbours said they heard screaming, sir. Is there anyone else in the room?”

Just then an unwelcome flashlight shone into my face, and I found myself stumbling into a complimentary bathrobe and coming to the door.

“Ma’am.” They both gave one curt nod. My head still pounded so I squinted into the hall, doing my best to look tired and not pained.

“I’m sorry,” I said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. I just wanted them to go away. “We’ll try to keep it down.”

Shutting the door on their suspicious faces, I slunk back into the room. My stomach had been against getting up so quickly. I could hear Kian saying something behind me, but I rushed into the bathroom and was sick all over the sparkling hotel toilet.

I hated throwing up. My knees and hands shook and it felt like ages before I was done emptying the contents of my stomach, which hadn’t been a lot since we had again neglected food. When I was done, I leaned back only to find a weight against my back. Kian had been holding my hair.

He helped me wash my face then scooped me back into bed for the second time that night. I lay there, listening as he moved around the room, cleaning up whatever I had destroyed or moved while in my dream state. Finally he sat down next to me.

“Sleep will help you. You should not have gotten up. My small bit of magic is still enough to work persuasion,” he said.

“Hm,” was all I managed in reply. He sighed.

“Your past life was…” he paused, searching for words, “more than on this human level. Your memories will be strong, intense. And they will interfere with the power you have.”

“How … stop?” I mumbled.

Kian shook his head. “If they stop, you die. There are bad people coming to get you. You need to be strong enough to defend yourself. As bad as this feels, having it taken from you is worse.”

I lay prone, listening without the capability to consider his words. Storing the information away in a part of my mind, to be dealt with later, I listened as Kian explained how I had flown from my bed and began to convulse as my dreaming state flowed over into the real world. He told me how he had to drag me from the air and pin me down — wake me up so that I would not hurt myself.

“You are somewhat different,” Kian said, changing the topic. His voice was tired, but there was a hint of strong emotion behind it. Was he upset? “You speak with humour in this life, and you smile faster.” Then, after another pause, “Gwen?”

I lay with my eyes closed. He thought I was asleep. I did not reply, wondering what he would say.

“In the days before the Romans came,” Kian began, “you had become more mysterious. I always wished to ask you about it, but never did. And then it was too late.” He paused. “Maybe if you remember, you will tell me.”

He sighed then and leaned in closer. I didn’t know why I held my breath, but I did, and in the darkness, Kian placed a single kiss on my forehead. He moved into his own bed, and soon I was fast asleep, the pain in my head having blissfully dissipated.

“You’re different,” I told Kian over our complimentary continental breakfast.

Around us, businessmen, families, and wealthy looking housewives conversed over their buffet meals. I was absolutely delighted the pain in my head was gone and revelled in the noise of the room.

Kian looked better as well. He wore a collared white shirt and black pants, giving him the look of some banker who has run out on his day job. He had smoothed down his hair, and his features were becoming more human to me. When he looked up at me over his bowl of cereal, his lips were pursed.

“You’ve been different since we left,” I repeated after not getting a reaction. He put down his spoon and shrugged. I was about to press further when he sighed and leaned in close.

“You are changing me,” he said. His voice was a mixture of revelation and resignation. I must have looked confused, because he went on. “Being with you feels … human again. I am becoming what I once was. It was different when I was on my own. I forgot what it was like to be with people.”

“Oh,” I said stupidly. I didn’t know if it was a compliment. The conversation over breakfast had just turned heavy.

“You said you were here for seven years. What were you doing before you found me?” I asked.

“Waiting,” he said.

Before I had time to think about it, he got up and cleared his dishes. We were out of the hotel and into the bright morning sunlit streets of Manhattan within minutes. Even in September, the weather was particularly hot. I was already warm. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it was a weekday, and I was missing yet more classes.

To hide all of the bruises, cuts, and bumps sustained over the past few days, I had worn a long-sleeved flowing shirt and tights. Just enough to cover all of my injuries, but I was already baking on the sidewalk. It didn’t help my summer wear that many of the fresh bruises on my arms and legs were in the shape of handprints from Kian’s attempts to get me off our hotel room ceiling.

I sighed and was about to complain when I realized his wear wasn’t meant for summer either.

We had decided that to find someone on an island of over eight million people, we would need to cover as much ground as possible. My suggestion to split up was instantly rebuffed as Kian reminded me he did not want to leave me alone. And, after last night, I had been hoping he would say that and not leave me to fend for myself.

Convincing myself it was for the good of our mission, I talked him into taking me to the Statue of Liberty. Every time I remembered what I was doing, panic would flare in my chest and my heart would race.

My reckless, irresponsible behaviour over the past few days was still foreign to me. The part of me that kept being inexplicably magical, no matter how much it harmed me, was tempting me. Kian’s warm looks and attention didn’t help to deter me from following him either. I realized I hadn’t even thought about the looming threat Kian had said awaited me. I knew nothing of magicians and needed to stay focused on the moment.

Last night had been jarring and painful. If having my magic stolen by any of the ancient magicians was worse than that, I wanted to avoid it happening to me or anyone else like me. Kian insisted we keep an eye out for anyone my age. I wondered how soon he would realize that we needed a new plan.

The pain of the night before had made me remember how real my situation was. If I didn’t survive the memories, I wanted to see the Statue of Liberty before I died. That was my logic. So, a short and sweaty cab ride later, we were waiting in line for a boat that would circle the Statue of Liberty and then return to shore, as the statue itself was closed to visitors.

I had bought an ice cream to pass my time in line, while Kian text messaged on his little phone again. Finally, I had had enough.

“I don’t believe you don’t know who’s on the other end,” I said sternly, while a chubby six-year-old pushed past me to join his parents in line. All around us, people chatted and looked annoyed at standing out in the heat.

“Why not?” Kian asked, putting away his phone.

“You’re not curious to know whose orders you’re following or why?” I lowered my voice, realizing tourists surrounded us. “You’ve never seen or spoken to any of the magicians you said are on our side?”

He looked out onto the ocean for a long while before speaking. “Facing this direction,” Kian said, “I could almost imagine seeing home.” He sounded so wistful it nearly broke my heart. He turned around to face me, his back to the sea.

“I came here by a magic that has kept my body and soul intact, and I have been given a magic and strength that is not mine. My responsibility is to collect those that can challenge the magicians. I told you that.”

The statement sounded well-rehearsed, like he had assured himself of this many times. When I was about to open my mouth, pointing out I had still not gotten any answers, he continued.

“So I know why I am doing what I do, and I know why I am going to the places I go,” Kian said. “No magic goes unnoticed. That’s how the others, stronger magicians than I, know of you. I don’t have that strength. I could not help you without them. So I do not ask any more.” He smiled, but when I clearly didn’t understand, he went on.

“At home, I had no magic. Anything I have is to do this one task. Your life, Gwen, uses your magic. The person you are, how you live and feel, all of those things use your magic whether you notice it or not. And powerful magicians can locate this magic in the world. The existence of our power is rare enough that when it is used, magicians feel it and where it comes from.”

“And then you go and track the person down,” I supplied. Kian nodded. “But …” I stammered.
I’d been using magic my entire life?
“I’m so boring!”

“Perhaps you wanted to be,” Kian suggested. I opened my mouth to argue, but then a thought struck me. It was the old Gwen, still sitting in my mind, fighting and kicking for things to go back to normal. Grudgingly, I had to admit that Kian was right. It was old Gwen’s nature. I did just want to be left alone.

“Four months ago,” Kian said. His words brought me back to the present, waiting in a hot line to sit on a hot boat.

“What?”

“Four months ago, there was an earthquake in San Francisco after the magicians had disturbed the earth with their magic. The houses around yours crumbled. You watched from the window and willed it to stop.”

I remembered that day. I had been so scared, home on the weekend while Mom and Dad were at their clinic downtown. Everything shook while I watched TV, and the plasma crashed down onto the living room floor. I had run to the window to see the entire bay not shaking, but rolling. And then the houses to the left were collapsing into their foundations. My heart had pounded, I had held my breath, and the rolling had stopped. We were safe, and I had never thought anything more of it than luck or coincidence.