A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(59)
“It means, cherub, that what you think and feel directs your ability.”
I took a chair and placed it in the center of the room. Facing the chair, I used both arms to lift my stave, employing the earth’s magnetic force. I didn’t clear my mind. I imagined lifting it. Above all, I wanted to lift it. I felt something build inside me, a kind of pressure. After a few wobbly tries, the chair rose three feet and hovered without the slightest waver. I lowered it to the floor, giddy with relief.
“Can I work with sorcerers?” I asked, tension draining out of my body.
“Yes, as long as you focus on yourself. They can feed on your power, but never tell them what you really are.” He returned to cutting open the intestines, inspecting them carefully. “You’re a cuckoo in the nest. If they learn the truth, they’ll push you out and break your neck.”
“Master Agrippa wouldn’t do that.”
“Everyone has a limit. Aha!” He held up a coin, covered in blood. He wiped it and flipped it into the air. “Two-faced, just as the man said. How nice to know there are still trustworthy people on the black market.”
“What else can you teach me?”
Hargrove shook his head. “I don’t think I should show you any actual tricks. The less you know, the less you can slip up and reveal to the sorcerers.”
“Mr. Hargrove,” Billy said, standing on his tiptoes and gazing out the window, “come look at the birds!”
“Yes, nice birdies,” Hargrove said absently.
“How much do magicians know about magic?” I asked.
He puffed himself up. “We’ve forgotten more than Master Agrippa could learn in a lifetime.”
“Mr. Hargrove, the birds!” Billy called again. I peered through the window to where the little boy pointed. A ring of ten ravens sat on the street below. The passersby skirted around them.
“Why are sorcerers so afraid of magicians?” I said.
“Because of our potential for power. We could wipe out the sorcerer Order with little effort.” He gathered up the rest of the intestines and dumped them out the open window. Below us, someone gave a disgusted cry.
“If we’re so powerful, why haven’t we done that already?”
“Because magicians don’t like order. We enjoy our freedom.” He shuffled to a bowl of water and washed his hands. “We make our own mistakes.”
I was about to ask what he meant when screams started outside.
The ten ravens began to swell and change shape, like a child’s balloon in the hands of a carnival worker. They hopped into the center of the circle and melded together into a fat, feathery mound. The blob grew, and a moment later one large black shape remained. It rose in the center of the street, a tall human-esque figure with dark robes and a cowl covering its face. Ebony feathers coated its long, vaguely winglike arms.
It was one of the ravens, the Familiars of On-Tez the Vulture Lady. With one swift, terrible motion, the monster swung out a claw-tipped hand and sliced off a man’s head.
Chaos erupted below as people trampled one another to get out of the way. The bird creature flapped its arms and struck a woman, knocking her to the ground.
“Why would On-Tez send one of her ravens? She stays in Canterbury,” I said, horrified.
“Attacks don’t only happen at night, my ducky. Old R’hlem’s fighting a war, and he means to win it.”
“Why don’t the sorcerers do something?”
He glared at me. “Because the Familiars don’t attack the ward, dear heart, and that’s all the Order cares about.” He grunted as he looked out the window. “This is the fourth time in two months. I should move. It’s not fair to the area.”
“Why should you move?”
“The magic,” he said, as though it were obvious. “The Ancients and their Familiars are drawn to the scent of it like ants to a sticky bun.”
London was filled with sorcerers. Was the city under constant attack because of us?
“Come,” Hargrove said. “I’ll show you a way out.”
“If our power called these creatures, we should be the ones to put a stop to it.” I grabbed his coat sleeve as he brushed past me.
“I don’t have to do anything. If it’s between them or me, I choose me.” He yanked himself from my grip. I looked back out the window.
The Familiar sliced its way through a man’s chest, leaving him to bleed out on the ground. The street turned a roiling crimson as the thing threw back its head and screamed in triumph, arm-wings bristling. My hands felt hot. When I pulled open the front door, Hargrove slammed it shut. “You’ll get yourself killed!” he snapped.
“Help me. I know I can’t fight it on my own.” I grabbed Porridge from its sheath.
“You want to throw a little wind and rain at it? It’ll take more than weather play, you stupid thing.”
“Help me!” I pointed at the door. “Or I’ll go down there and die in the attempt, and you’ll have to live with the guilt of failing my father.”
“I think you’re overestimating how much I liked him,” Hargrove muttered, “but all right. Wait.” He ran to the back of the room and thrust the curtain aside, dispersing the children while he dragged out a wooden chest. He banged on the lid twice, and it swung open. One by one, the children stepped into the chest and disappeared, making little noises of excitement or terror as they did so. Once the last child had vanished, Hargrove closed the lid, tapped upon it three times, and reopened it. The trunk now contained a collection of odds and ends, bits of string and candles and toys, tarnished copper bells and golden rings in the shape of dragons, lace handkerchiefs, and glass vials of thick, odd-colored liquid. An aroma of moths and rose petals wafted out.