Magic Edge (12 page)

She stumbled and fell. The dream shattered.

Her shoulder hit the ground, sliding against smooth wood. She tried to stand up but tripped over the blanket twisted around her legs. She reached up to the light switch and clicked the table lamp on. Kicking off the blanket, she stood, then walked across the bedroom to the wall mirror.

“Idiot,” she said, looking into the mirror.

Her breath was heavy and strained. The aftershock of her magic still sizzled on her skin.

“Idiot,” she said again, touching her reflection in the mirror. “What’s the matter with you?”

She shouldn’t be having dreams about Logan—especially not
those
sort of dreams. She smacked her hands against her legs, trying to shake out the last lingering remains of magic. Fantasizing about him apparently made her magic go haywire.

Stupid, stupid, stupid,
she chastised herself, slapping her cheeks a few times.

She was supposed to be hiding her magic. Getting high on magic while making out with Logan—even if only in her dreams—was not hiding it.

“You’re pathetic,” she told her reflection as she put on a new top. One that didn’t smell like him.

She hadn’t even changed out of her battle-worn clothes when she’d gotten home after fleeing—no, making a strategic retreat from Logan’s place. Fleeing was for cowards. Which she was not.

You are so,
said a voice in her head.

“Shut up.”

If she’d stayed with him any longer, things would have gotten complicated. Her dream proved that. She didn’t trust that assassin—and she trusted herself when she was with him even less.

Marek was right. Killing monsters twenty-four seven was not a life. She needed to get out more. She needed to go out on a date once in a while—or, at the very least, have meaningless sex once in a while.

Like with the assassin?
the voice suggested.

Alex shook her head. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Like apocalypse bad. She couldn’t let herself get close to him. There was no way he could be trusted. He chased big ticket bounties, and the bounty on a Dragon Born mage was the highest the Magic Council offered.

Who said anything about trust? This is about meaningless sex, remember? And you want the assassin.

“No.”

The voice snickered in her head.
There’s no point in lying. The two of you are so hot for each other, it’s distracting even me. I don’t enjoy being flooded with your hormones. How many times are you going to fantasize about running your hands down his ripped abs before you do it? Just jump his bones and be done with it. Then you’ll be able to concentrate on keeping us alive.

“Us? Who are you?” she asked the voice.

Never mind that. Just know that I’m right.

“Sera?” The voice sounded a lot like her sister.

No.

“Does this have anything to do with me being Dragon Born?”

This has to do with you being crazy. Only crazy people talk to themselves.

Since she couldn’t frown at the mystery voice, she frowned at her own reflection instead. She figured the voice would see it.

Of course I see it. And it’s very rude to frown at people who are trying to help you.

“Suggesting that I have sex with a murderous assassin is not helping.”

If voices could shrug, this one would have.
That’s redundant.

“What is?”

Murderous assassin. Assassins are killers by definition. That’s like saying cold ice.

“I’m not going to argue semantics with the voice in my head.”

Agreed. Stop arguing and just do as I say. It’s seven o’clock in the evening.

“And?” Alex was so beat that she’d fallen asleep as soon as she’d gotten home. Fighting for your life was an exhausting hobby.

You were only asleep for a few minutes. Your dirty mind went right to that assassin.

“How is insulting me helping at all?”

Mages have turned lucid dreaming into an art. Go to sleep and force that dream to pick up right where it left off.

“No.” Alex shook her head—perhaps a bit too vigorously. Her neck cracked. “I’m not going to have dream sex with Logan.”

Why not? Dream Logan isn’t a threat to you. You can just pull him out when you need him, pump out your frustration, then put him away again when you’re done. No risk of death, betrayal, or rug burns.

“You’re demented.”

I’m a voice in your head, dear. I’m only as demented as you make me.

Damn.

What do you say? The night is young. You can probably bang him at least a dozen times before sunrise.

Alex rushed toward the bathroom. She didn’t need to fantasize about sleeping with Logan. What she needed was a shower. And maybe a snack. Like chocolate.

Good idea. Chocolate is a fantastic aphrodisiac.

Scrap the chocolate. She’d make herself a hamburger. With lots of ketchup.

Mmm, ketchup. The assassin can lick it off your lips like you did to his blood.

“I liked you better when I thought you were just a figment of my imagination.”

Who says I’m not? Maybe I’m your fun side.

Before Alex could argue further with the voice, a wailing siren cut through the night. The security alarm from Gaelyn’s house. She spun around and ran for the window.

Light flashed through the curtain. She threw it back and looked outside. All the floodlights were on in the garden that separated the guest house, where she was staying, from the main house. Light poured out of every window in Gaelyn’s house too.

Alex stumbled into her boots on her way to the door. Grabbing her sword, she sprinted down the path toward Gaelyn’s house—and toward the flames licking the frame of the broken living room window.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Turned

ALEX SLUNK THROUGH the living room, wading through a curtain of steam. There was smoke everywhere but not much fire. Gaelyn stood beside the burning window, spraying the last remaining flames with the fire extinguisher.

“What happened?” she asked him.

“Explosion.” A wheezy cough cracked his lips.

Alex opened a window, then moved on to the next. “An attack?” She hadn’t seen any evidence that Gaelyn’s defenses had been breached. In fact, besides the ominous smoke lingering in the air, the living room looked pretty much untouched.

“No. It came from the basement. I looked through the security footage.” The look on his face was foreboding.

“And?” she asked. “What was it?”

“The enchanted object you brought back. It exploded.”

“I…” She choked on the guilt. “I’m sorry, Gaelyn. I thought you could figure out more about it. I knew it was dangerous, but I didn’t think it would explode. I was stupid.”

He set his hand on her shoulder. “Alexandria, it’s not your fault. We play a dangerous game. There are risks. We all know that. Thankfully, no one was hurt. Everything else can be repaired.”

“I should have warned you.”

“No, this happened because of me. I’ve grown so weak. I can’t even sense objects properly anymore. The millennia have whittled away at my magic. It’s fading, slowly but surely. Soon, it will be completely gone.” He sounded resigned—and tired. Really tired.

Sirens wailed outside. Alex looked through the broken window as a fire truck rolled up to the gate. “The fire department is here.”

“Holt will let them in.” Gaelyn plopped onto one of the stools at the bar, his legs collapsing like he hadn’t slept in days. “You’re hungry.”

“How did you know?”

“Now that your adrenaline has crashed, your stomach is growling.” He waved toward the kitchen. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” She headed for the refrigerator. “Do you want anything?”

“A bottle of wine.”

She glanced back at him. “How close were you to the explosion?”

“Too close.” He reached up to the rack hanging over the bar and plucked a wine glass from it. “I’m getting too old for all this excitement.”

Alex grabbed a big yogurt container, a spoon, and a bottle of Gaelyn’s favorite wine. As she sat down beside him, Holt waved an entourage of firemen into the house to look over the damage. But he lingered in the doorway.

“Is he still squeamish about fire?” Alex asked Gaelyn.

“A pair of elemental mages set him on fire. I don’t believe he will get over that so easily.”

Probably not. Holt was a vampire. The only thing vampires hated more than fire, was being set on fire. They weren’t too fond of mages who set them on fire either.

“What’s going on with the Orbs of Essence?” She popped the lid off the yogurt container. “What are the Mage Triad and the Circle of the Otherworldly doing to protect the remaining two?”

“They assure me they have implemented additional security measures.”

“What kind of security measures?” She scooped up a spoonful of pink yogurt and ate it. Mmm, strawberry.

“Up until now, they’ve all been using magic security systems from Drachenburg Industries. However, given the recent break-ins at that company, the mages and the otherworldly have switched to a White Knight solution.”

“Never heard of them.”

“They’re a small private company.” He poured himself a glass of wine. “They specialize in security that implements a mix of tech and magic defenses.”

“Will it be enough?”

He shook his head. “Alexandria, I really can’t say. Maybe. It depends on what we’re up against.”

Alex pointed at the broken and burnt living room. “That’s what we’re up against. A hate group.” When she’d gotten home earlier, she’d been too tired to tell him everything she and Logan had learned. “They’re called the
Convictionites. The logo of their organization was engraved into the enchanted ball that blew up your basement.”

“The
Convictionites
.” He sucked in a deep breath, his pale face growing paper thin. “Their organization preaches that magic is evil.”

“And yet they are after magical objects. What do they want with them?” she asked. “To use them to kill the city’s supernaturals?”

“They hate magic, Alexandria. People who hate magic don’t use it. They destroy it.”

“What would happen if they destroyed the Orbs?”

He took a long drink from his glass. “No one can say for sure. The Orbs of Essence were created to maintain the balance of magic in the world. Without them, the balance might dissolve. If that happens, instinct would override reason; chaos would tear down order.”

“If they’re so dangerous, why didn’t the Magic Council better protect the Orbs?” she demanded. “Why do they keep them in bars and old factory buildings?”

“The Orbs are so old that they’ve almost been elevated to myth status. The Council sees them as a symbol, nothing else.” He sipped from his wine glass. “And maybe they’re right. Maybe the Orbs are as I am: so old that they no longer hold any true power.”

“And if the Council is wrong? If the Orbs still maintain the balance?”

“Then their destruction would be the end of our world as we know it today.”

“You said instinct would override reason. Supernaturals would go mad?”

“Perhaps. It depends on the supernatural—and their instincts. Some of them are more violent than others.”

“Like the vampires,” she said.

“Yes.”

“The
Convictionites already have the Blood Orb. If they destroy it, will the vampires go into collective bloodlust?”

“If the Orbs still hold power, that’s very likely,” he said calmly, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Damn it, Gaelyn.” She pounded her fist so hard against the bar that her spoon buzzed against the marble countertop. “We’re talking about a complete breakdown of the magical order. We could be looking at a worldwide bloodbath. How can you be so calm?”

“Three reasons,” he said. “Firstly, panicking doesn’t help. We’re doing everything we can to prevent this from happening. Secondly, we don’t know if the Orbs still hold that kind of power. And finally—most importantly—it’s basically impossible to destroy them. They’re impervious to mundane weapons and resistant to magic.”

“How resistant?”

“Extremely. A horde of first tier mages could shoot destructive magic at the Orbs all day, and they wouldn’t even make a dent in them. The same goes for the fairies, vampires, and otherworldly. No one has that much magic anymore.”

“Do you?”

“No. Not anymore. Long ago, yes, perhaps I could have done it. But no longer.” His eyes drifted upward, as if he were remembering better days. He shook his head, breaking free of the nostalgia. “There have been many powerful supernaturals over the ages. The dragons. They probably could have done it. But they’re gone too. No one has seen a real dragon in centuries.”

“What happened to them?”

He had to know. He’d been around longer than anyone. He’d witnessed the rise and fall of empires—magical and mundane.

“It is a sad tale, Alexandria.” He stared into his empty glass. “Let’s not speak of it.”