Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(37)

He watched her shadow zigzag excitedly, almost deviously, on the ground. When hers edged too close to his own, his shadow curled around his feet reservedly.

Alfie wondered if she ever worried about what her shadow revealed about her like he did, or if she lived her life so freely that whatever her shadow reflected was already obvious. He looked at the impish smirk that curved her lips and the swagger in her stance.

Probably the latter.

“What is your name?” he asked. This was the strangest conversation he’d ever had, so why not end it the way conversations were supposed to begin?

“Finn Voy,” she said, the name short and sharp as the dagger she’d held under his chin.

Alfie’s brow furrowed. Her surname was Voy, the word he used to move through the channels of magic that connected the world. Strange coincidence.

She raised a brow at him. “Yours?”

Alfie tilted his head. She didn’t know his name. There was something comforting about that.

“Alfehr Reyes,” he said.

The doors behind him burst open. Luka stumbled through, his movements shaky and unsure.

“Alfie,” he said, his voice quiet. Of course Luka would find him now, at the worst moment.

“Bathtub Boy,” Finn muttered.

Alfie stepped in front of her, hoping to block her from Luka’s view. By the way Luka swayed on his feet, he looked drunk enough that come tomorrow morning he’d likely think he’d hallucinated. “Luka, you should be in bed. I looked for you everywhere.”

“I was in your room. I drank wine and sangria and your tonic. Then I was looking for you and I . . . I don’t feel well,” Luka said, his voice a sliver of its usual cheery ring. Alfie felt the thief behind him stiffen.

Luka rubbed his ashen face with his hands. “Something’s wrong.”

He sounded like a sick child looking for his mamá. Alfie couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward and pressing a hand to Luka’s forehead.

“You’re burning up.” Luka was a flame caster, so he tended to run hotter than the average person, but this was too much. Alfie looked over his shoulder to check on the girl, but she was out of sight. Using his propio, he could see the red silhouette of her body. When Alfie turned back to Luka, blood was pouring out of his nose and seeping from the corners of his eyes. His eyes rolled back as he fell forward.

“Luka!” Alfie cried out as he caught him. Alfie lowered his cousin to the ground. He knelt beside him. “Qué fue? Tell me what happened!”

Luka’s jaw tightened. He shook with such force that it took nearly all Alfie’s strength to hold him. Then he fell still, only his chest moving, rising and falling rapidly.

Luka’s eyes slowly opened again and Alfie felt his world right itself for a moment.

“Alfie,” Luka said, his voice lilting with a drunken ring, his eyes glazed over. When he smiled, Alfie saw blood splashed on his teeth. “I’m sorry . . . I yelled at you. I wanted to help.”

Alfie didn’t like his tone, how carefully he was putting the words together, as if they were his last.

“Be quiet, Luka! You’re not going anywhere. I’m not finished with you yet. Just be quiet.” He put his hands on Luka’s chest and spoke words of healing magic, over and over again. But Luka’s body wouldn’t accept it. The channels that carried magic through him were quieting, emptying. Alfie’s magic fizzled out on contact.

“When have I ever been quiet?” Luka’s voice came out soft, and for a moment Alfie thought the magic was working, that if he could joke then he must be healing. But then Luka fell silent, his heart petering out into a death march under Alfie’s hands in the very same room where he’d lost Dez, lost everything.

“Luka,” Alfie said, his voice threadbare. “What can I do? Tell me what to do.”

Luka’s breath came slower and slower. Desperate, Alfie looked over his shoulder, knowing the girl was in the room. “Did you do this?” he shouted when he found her red-lined silhouette again. “Did you hurt him to get the cloak?”

She pulled the hood of the cloak down and lifted her foot to take a step forward, but then she thought better of it. “I didn’t—I didn’t do anything to anyone. Not like that.”

Alfie watched the magic swirling through her. Magic was like a heartbeat; when people lied it moved erratically. Hers didn’t, so it wasn’t her. He hadn’t just made a deal with a girl who had done this to Luka.

“Help me,” he said to her, his voice breaking. “Por favor.”

For a moment she stood there, frozen. Then she closed the distance between them and knelt beside Luka.

“I don’t—I can’t help. I don’t know much desk magic. Someone taught me to magic the card for the cambió game. I don’t know anything else.” Her eyes told Alfie exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

Luka was dying and there was nothing that could be done.

For a moment, Alfie felt nothing. But chasing that cold numbness was a blistering anger. No. This room was not going to take anyone else from him, from his family. Not again.

His eyes darted about the room, looking for anything that could help, but it held nothing but haunting memories. He nearly stood to run and get help, but the thought of leaving Luka here only to return to find a corpse held him fast.