Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) (42 page)

I hardly heard the locks slide, grind, and groan their way to security, but I knew from the contented purr through the floorboards that not only was the shop itself happy, Mordon was, as well. They'd been worried about me—everyone had been. The day that a letter had formed itself out of a curl of smoke and a tendril of flame, I may have seen my father's handwriting on it and fallen into an angry rant and refused to open it. On top of my frantic panic at having the man I'd killed reappear mysteriously from the dead, I hadn't exactly been faring too well in the steady nerves department.

He'd spoken out publicly addressing my statements. I'd read the speech in the next day's
Thaumaturgical Tribune
.

Cole Addresses Swift's Allegations, Expresses Sympathy

TRANSCRIBED BY SIMONA ECCLES / AMERICAN SORCERERING TODAY

Upon my safe return to my family, I was made aware of the trial and hardships Miss Swift has endured as a result of my carelessness.

First, I feel it is my civic duty to apologize for all she has had to endure. Although some would say I owe her no such apology, I feel one is required.

As to Miss Swift's allegations, I am as surprised as anyone else—however, I do understand the cause behind it and I know the reason for her conviction.

As with many sorcerers, I protect my family and home. Miss Swift's story goes to a time when my beloved wife, without my knowledge, contracted Miss Swift for housework. As I was not aware of the arrangement, I did not release the protective wards within my house. These wards are of a delusional, persuasive nature, intended to frighten by employing the target's own imagination. I use this rather than lethal force, but it is said to be the most frightening thing to ever endure.

Miss Swift did witness as she said she did, but it was an illusion. Not knowing this, she returned at a later date and confronted me. Being in a state of agitation myself, I reacted unwisely. Though misinformed, Miss Swift behaved bravely and in the belief she was doing good. It was an unfortunate turn of events and I am sorry for the disgrace and discomfort she has had to endure on my behalf. The courts must release her at once from any and all culpability.

It was an accident and an illusion. It was not real. I furthermore expect and anticipate apologies to be given to her from those who have maligned her good name and brave nature during my weeks of absence.

Thank you and good night.

“He's up to something,” I said to myself, glad for a little bit of time to think without being stared at. “A bigger fish than little ol' half-feral me. But what?”

Nothing came to mind. Cole was clever, I knew that much about him, even if I knew little else. Once I discovered what he was doing, then what? Find a way to foil it without entering the limelight, that's what. The last of the cloth-bound books nestled in place, making a satisfyingly pleasing arrangement on the shelf.

I stood, stretched my stiff back, and caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Was someone here, despite the way the doors were locked? Casually, I fell into a defensive position with my ring held in front of me to face the intruder.

It was a woman. She held herself upright against the glass display case which glittered with jewelery at a flash of lightning, blindingly bright light filling the shop. My ears stung immediately afterward with the clap of thunder directly overhead. The rain pounded harder. When I next could see, the woman hadn't moved, but she had doubled over, and her cry of pain echoed with the next burst of lightning and thunder.

She spoke. I couldn't hear what she said. Brown hair askew, she took shuddering gasps and tried over and over to tell me something. She looked pregnant and in distress, but her sudden appearance had me wary. I approached her and leaned my ear in closer and closer, until I could make out her words.

“Are you Feraline Swift?”

She looked up, now certain I'd heard her.

How she knew my name, I could only guess, but I saw no reason to deny it. “I am. Who are you?”

“Josephina.” Wild-eyed, she grasped me by my shirt and dug talon-like nails into it. “Gregor Cole...was dead.”

I wetted my lips. “The papers say he just went missing for a time.”

“He was with Death and we both know it! He was snatched out of purgatory and placed back on the earth. And they want to do worse. Didn't say what.”

I hadn't felt so exposed since I'd had a classmate confront me about cheating on a college algebra pop quiz. I wanted to deny all she said but could not. I ignored what she said about Death.

Josephina had the black, shining eyes of a bird of prey, one which fear had touched and driven to wit's end. She begged, “Don't let me fall into his hands. Promise it. Swear it! On a blood oath, swear to me you won't let me into his hands.”

Though I tried to step away from her, my feet were rooted in place. I explained, “Josephina, I can't. I don't know anything about what's happened to you. Let me fetch someone who can help you.”

“You can help me. If you want to help me, swear.”

“I don't know you.”

“Inimicus inimico amicus
, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Now, swear—” A scream of agony broke off the last word, curdling my blood. Her face went red and white with pain and her free hand clasped my arm and her fingers sank into my forearm.

Lingering half-way between staying beside her and running off, I felt my pulse quicken, knowing I was wasting time but not knowing what I should do.

“Sit down, I'll get Mordon.”

“No time.” She threw back her head and forced her body to relax a fraction. “It'll be here in minutes. You know Cole. You know what he intends. He wants me.”

“Josephina...”

“He's not my enemy, he's the lapdog. The real enemy, the real one—” She stifled a scream. “Immortal. Is the Immortal. Will you let him have me?”

I stared at her, suddenly my mind was blank yet filled with questions. How did she know about the Immortal? About purgatory and Death? How did she believe in actual manifestations of the things people thought of as myth?

The wind thrashed against the ceiling, finding crevices to enter the shop through, making the papers shift and shake. Any dismissal I'd had for her earlier was gone; I couldn't tear my eyes from her. A vital part of Cole's mysterious plan was right here before my very eyes.

I couldn't draw myself away from her.

I stood there, gazing into eyes wide and black with exhaustion from too many portals and too little sleep, understanding the depth of her concern the longer I looked at her. By the time she had settled into breathing shallow little puffs of air, it was as if a piece of her soul had left her and entwined with mine.

Damp clothes hugged her body, her wrists and ankles livid with angry red welts. Images of ropes burned into my head. No bruises, no beatings. They didn't want her information.

But they had wanted her.

Our eyes met again, my expression saying that I knew what I saw written on her body. The dip of her head and wet strands of hair falling before her face communicating that she'd been afraid I'd bar the door from her.

By the time the sweat dried on my own skin, the wind tickled goosebumps up and down my arms with the expanse and collapse of her chest. Not too long ago, I'd come to this shop seeking help, too. With the memory of my own desperate hope—and the realization that this may have been how Mordon felt upon first seeing me—my last inkling of wariness was disappearing.

“No. He won't have you.”

Crazy as it all might be, insane as I might be, terrified as I was of this woman and her condition and of whatever she might ask of me, I knew that for certain there was no way I was going to back down from her needs. No matter how frightened it made me feel.

Josephina breathed quick, panting breaths which I felt tug on my magic, seeking to draw in my power as well as the air itself. I hesitated, then let her take from my own strength. It seemed to help, she regained color and a measure of sanity returned to her eyes.

It was this sanity which alarmed me, made me wonder what it was I had just done.

But I was here now, and while I could backtrack and say I wasn't going to help her anymore, I knew that I couldn't do that. I wouldn't do it. Beneath the swaying biplane and storm on the glass, within the thrumming confines of this shop, I knew this was right. And I was going to go through things I'd never ever imagined before.

Her gaze met mine and she blew out a huff, trying to be businesslike despite the contractions doubling her over. “Give me your oath.”

Kneeling next to her, I took her hand and noticed that the very rims of her eyes were a rich rosewood hue. “I give you my oath, I will keep you safe from Gregor Cole. And the Immortal.”

“And deliver me to Julius Septimus.”

Who he was, I hadn't an idea. Never heard of him before, and I had a decent enough memory for placing names and facts.

What I could tell was that he didn't sound like he'd been born in the States. Unless he had a family dedicated to keeping the old-fashioned names alive. He also didn't sound very ''creature'', unlike Mordon or Enaid or Feraline or anything else. This meant he wasn't drake, wasn't fey, and I had a good feeling he wasn't sphinx or gryphon. Had to be a man, it was a man's name. Couldn't be that many Greeks around, could there?

Her nails stung as they ripped down my arm when I hesitated, dedicating his name to memory. “And I'll deliver you to Julius Septimus. As soon as I can.”

A part of me wondered how I would find him, and reasoned that she could tell me. It'd be the best solution. I started to ask her, but the color faded from her cheeks.

She half-closed her eyes and gave a final push, whispering, “Catch me.”

I grasped her shoulders, but she wasn't tipping over.

Her child.

“Oh, no, don't you dare push.”

Too late.

A streak of panic tore through me as I realized she'd crowned her child.

Then it happened.

The calm happened. It'd taken over my actions before on a few occasions, a blessed intervention, yet a thing which I could not properly explain no matter how often I felt it.

It was as if all the things I could think, I did think, all at once, before they were peacefully discarded or put into constructive use. It was as if I'd done this a hundred times before, so often that it was a routine procedure invoking little emotion within me.

Once I'd thought of it like a puppeteer was moving me. That I was his marionette.

This time was a little different. This time I was the puppeteer and I was manipulating my own body, without residing within it.

It had been frightening to feel in the past, but not now. Now it was a tool, a thing which I could use to do what needed to be done. It could have been fast, it could have been slow. Time ceased to matter, nothing mattered except for the next contraction.

With her leaning against the counter, I took the infant from her body as it slipped into the world, still and unbreathing and faintly blue. Air wasn't being tugged in and out of its mouth, I knew without having to look at it. No one had ever told me how slick these newborns were; I nearly dropped it, jarring the child and causing it to spit up goop. Almost instinctively, I swirled my probably too dirty finger around its mouth and cleared the passage. Could this final stage of labor happen within minutes, or had I been so involved that I hadn't noticed the minutes going by?

It started up a weak wail. What I knew of childbirth had come to me through first responder classes, and I felt woefully under-prepared as I scrounged around for something to tie off the umbilical chord with, then cut it.

Mordon had everything in that old fashioned medical kit, thankfully in its place behind the counter beneath the register. He even had a sterilized cloth in a sealed bag, which I rolled up around the child. It had been a dry birth, she must have done most of her laboring somewhere else, which meant she'd been desperate to seek me out.