The Bronze Key (Magisterium #3)(67)

“Havoc,” she called back. “We were in the room and he suddenly started growling and throwing himself at the door, even though I’d already taken him out. I opened the door and he led me right here.” She glared at Alex. “And he’ll rip out the throat of anyone who comes near me, so don’t even think about it.” Tamara advanced toward them, and the minions actually took a step back. Fire blazed higher. Call wondered who they were — devotees of Master Joseph, regular non-magic people who’d been enchanted? He had to admit that between Alex’s crazy master plan, his minions, and his boasting, he was really racking up the Evil Overlord Points.

Call tried to get up, but he was held tightly in place. He could see Aaron struggling beside him.

“Oh, good,” Alex said. “An audience.”

Tamara looked furious. Call hoped to see the mages of the Magisterium behind her, but no one was there. This was his fault, he knew. For three years, Tamara and Aaron had been keeping his secrets, hiding important things from everyone, including Master Rufus. Now they didn’t look for help from anyone else, even when they could really use it.

Alex leveled the Alkahest toward them and reached out with it. “Maybe the Alkahest should choose. Maybe I’ll send it at both of you and see what happens. Maybe it will take both your magic. What do you think of that?”

Call reached out and grabbed Aaron’s hand. Aaron looked surprised for a second. Then his grip locked with Call’s.

Call wanted to tell his best friend how sorry he was, how this was all his fault because he was Constantine Madden. But Aaron spoke before he got a chance.

“At least we’re going to die together,” Aaron said. Then, unbelievably, he smiled at Call.

We’re not, Call wanted to say. We’re going to live. But as he began to speak, a flash of light blinded him. Tamara had thrown a bolt of fire. Alex ducked away from it, flinging out his own hand, sending air magic to reroute the fire. It shot back toward Call.

The man who was holding Call stumbled back, his grip on Call faltering. The masked man’s shirt was on fire and he was screaming. Call shot to his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg. Still holding Aaron’s hand, he hauled him upright, too. Everything seemed to be happening at once.

“Havoc, go!” Tamara screamed.

Havoc was a dark blur in the air, racing toward Alex. Aaron drew his hand away from Call’s, dark chaos blooming in his palm. Alex raised his arm, the Alkahest shimmering with energy. Aaron flung his hand forward, but the dark light that sprang from his hand flew wide, knocking one of the hooded figures aside but missing Alex. The clawed hand of the Alkahest opened, and a blaze of coppery light flew from its fingers.

Time hung suspended. That light was everything that chaos wasn’t. It was bright and burning and cold like the edge of a knife, and Call knew without the shadow of a doubt that when it struck him, it would kill him.

He closed his eyes.

Something pushed him from behind. He went sprawling, rolling over in the grass. The bolt of light missed him by inches — he felt something sear his cheek as he tumbled forward and over — and then, fetching up on his side, he raised his head and saw it strike Aaron in the chest.

The force of it lifted Aaron off his feet and sent him flying. He crashed down in the grass several feet away, his eyes wide-open and glassy, staring at the sky.

“No,” someone said. “Aaron, no, no, no!” Call thought it was his own voice for a second, but it was Tamara’s. She was sprawled in the grass next to him.

She’d been what hit him. She’d knocked him out of the way of the Alkahest. She’d saved his life.

But not Aaron’s.

Call touched his cheek. It burned. Maybe the Alkahest had only burned Aaron, too. He tried to get to his feet, to go over to Aaron, but his legs wouldn’t hold him. Instead, he reached out toward Aaron with all his senses.

He remembered what he had felt before when he’d touched Aaron’s soul. The sense of life, of something existing in the world, bright and solid.

But there was nothing there now. Aaron was a shell. His soul was gone, leaving only the shining shadows of Aaron-ness remaining.

Call whirled on Alex, who had torn the Alkahest from his arm. Of course — now it could hurt him, too. Now he had Aaron’s power. He almost seemed to be pulsing, like a star about to go supernova. His skin was shimmering and rippling with bands of light and dark.

“Power,” Alex gasped. He raised his hand, blackness coiling around it like smoke. “I can feel it. The power of chaos, running through me —”

“Not if I can help it,” Call said, flinging out his hand. A bolt of black light shot from his palm toward Alex. He was sure it would kill him, send him screaming into the void.

He was glad.

The spear of magic flew toward Alex. His hand went up, and he caught it. He stared at it wonderingly for a second and Call stared, too, a sick feeling in his stomach. Alex was a Makar now. He could control and manipulate chaos. And he was a better, older, and more experienced magician than Call.

Then he screamed. Out of nowhere, Havoc had slipped out of the dark and sunk his teeth into Alex’s leg.

Alex flung chaos, but Havoc was too quick for him, darting away, still growling. He lunged again, and this time Alex didn’t have a chance to react: Havoc knocked him to the ground, his teeth ripping at Alex’s shirt.

“Get it off me!” Alex screamed. “Get it off me!”