Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(41)

“Get away from me,” the girl snarled through clenched teeth. “Stay away!”

The magic curled closer, running its airy form over her like a breeze burned black. Her shadow quivered about her, drawing the magic’s attention. A host with propio would be sublime.

The girl gave a strangled whimper at the chill of its touch, as it looked into her soul, into the balance of light and dark within her. The boy who’d freed it had too much light, that much was clear. But this girl had some darkness in her, deep and unyielding. The body that could house this magic best would be one that waded in the dark, not one that basked in the light. Maybe she could be of use.

But then the magic recoiled.

She held a darkness in her that was painfully close to eclipsing her fully, but not close enough.

Her fearful breaths bursting past her lips, the girl’s eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted just as the boy had. The magic wasted no time. It passed through the walls of the room and drifted down the halls in search of a proper host. At the sight of the opulent corridors, an awareness struck it like lightning. What its master so needed was here, within these very walls.

It only needed a body to get to it.

The magic darted down the twisting hallways of the palace. A servant woman rounded the corner of the corridor. She caught sight of the black tendril of magic curling through the air like a snake and froze in fear. The woman opened her mouth to scream, but the magic did not let her. It poured itself through her lips, forcing itself into her body, not bothering to gaze at the balance of light and dark within her. It would not be picky when it came to a body now, not when its master’s awakening was so close at hand.

It burrowed into her body like a blade into a beating heart, like a row of teeth sunk into a juicy apple. For a magnificent moment, the magic had arms to move, lips to part in a feverish grin, a pair of legs that would take it deep into the palace to retrieve what it so needed.

Then the useless body began to tremble. Fissures of darkness bloomed on her flesh like shattered glass. After a moment, the body burst into black dust, leaving the dark magic homeless once more.

The magic surged through the air angrily. It needed a body. It needed to wake its master and be made whole again. Once more, it flew through the halls until it found another, a young boy. The magic poured itself into him, burning down the child’s throat like whiskey. For yet another precious moment it was swaddled in flesh and bone. Then, once more, the body crumbled to ash around it, leaving it exposed and naked in the silent corridor. The magic quaked angrily. The thought of leaving this place without what belonged to its master was painful, but it needed a body and strength. It would not find either in these walls.

The magic poured itself through the walls of the palace like blood gushing from an open wound, and soon it was out in the open air, an entire kingdom before it. The first fledgling peels of sunlight began to lighten the sky.

An endless supply of bodies to wriggle into like fingers into gloves.

It would find what it needed. Then it would return for what belonged to its master.





14


The Why


When Alfie awoke on the floor of the Blue Room, sunlight was pouring through the windows, caressing his face in gentle strokes. Calm. As if what had happened were nothing more than a nightmare.

But Alfie knew better.

He sat up so quickly his head spun. A layer of sweat lay dried on his forehead. His bones rang with an impossible soreness. Alfie looked around the room, focusing until his head ached. Nothing.

The dark magic was gone. He was safe, for now.

Alfie caught his breath, his hand against his chest. His shadow was limp at his feet, dragging behind him like the train of a gown. It was a shade lighter than it ought to be—a sign that the awful thing he’d released had made him sick with effort. What had he done?

A loud, wet snore stole his attention.

Just behind him, Luka was lying on the ground, his limbs splayed out like a starfish. A film of dried drool stained his cheek and his hair was mashed down on one side. His chest rose and fell. There was no blood on the floor. It was as if it had never happened. Alfie could feel his heart beating in his throat.

Luka was alive. The relief of it draped over him, pulling him under like the tug of sleep. His eyes stinging, Alfie could not help but grab Luka’s hand and squeeze it.

A dagger sliced through the air, nearly winging Alfie’s ear. He dodged, before throwing himself over Luka like a shield.

Before him stood the thief, looking livid. “What the hell did you do?”

Alfie looked behind him, where the dagger had wedged itself into the wall. “Qué?”

“When you fixed him.” She pointed at Luka with a shaking finger. “What did you do?”

Alfie raised his hands in flat-palmed surrender and spoke the truth. “I have no idea.”

Her jaw dropped, as if she couldn’t believe he was this stupid. “That thing circled me like I was its maldito dinner, and you’re telling me that you don’t even know what it was?”

Alfie could only stare at her uselessly. He truly didn’t know what it was, but he was certain that it was something that should never see the light of day. Worst of all, he knew that no matter what it was, he could not regret releasing it when Luka lay before him, alive and well.

The thief glared at him. “Explain,” she hissed.

Alfie swallowed. “I’m not sure of what happened. Truly.” He didn’t know how to even begin to explain what had happened.