Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(45)

He was magnificent.

The dark magic drew close to him, making the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. He shivered and pulled his cloak closer about him, his cloudy eyes searching for the source of the sudden chill.

We can give you what you seek. . . . The magic purred around him, its voice a braid of hisses.

The man started where he sat. “Who are you? What do you want?” he croaked.

We want to give you what you desire. . . .

He stiffened at the proposition. “How do you know what I want?”

The dark magic pressed into his mind and played the images the man so desperately wanted to make reality—that girl dying in his hands, begging for forgiveness.

The man gasped, his hands clutching at his head. “What are you?”

We are a power that can give you what you seek, for a price. We can make you what you once were.

Again, the magic pressed into his mind and pulled upon the man’s fondest memories. Memories of the time before his eyes had been ruined by the one he so desperately wanted to kill, when his power over others was as unstoppable as the rising sun.

The man’s eyes flew wide with hunger, and the dark magic could sense him wondering if this was all a dream.

“Name your price,” the man said, his voice cracking with desperation. “Please, I will do whatever you ask.”

Give us your body to grow in, help us spread over this city.

To awaken its master, it first must spread its darkness to others. Only then would it have enough to take what belonged to its master from the palace and clear the throne for a true king.

Once we have accomplished this, we will give you the girl. . . .

The man barely seemed to be listening, his mind clinging fervently to the fantasy of what was to come.

“Yes,” he said. He spoke the word as if he were saying a prayer. “Please take me.”

The dark magic reared back like a cobra of smoke and poured itself into the mouth of the man in the gray cloak. The man wrenched backward against the wall as the magic worked its way down his throat, into his very veins. The further the magic dug into him, the more the man’s shadow drew inward, his own darkness moving inward to eclipse whatever smidgen of light he had left.

The man screamed in agony as his body burned from the inside out, filling with a power meant for a god that must instead settle for a man.

For a moment, the dark magic feared the man would burst into ash and it would be homeless once more. But then a calm fell over him. Now that its essence had been given a body, the magic could feel its power fortifying the man, bringing him strength.

That, and a hunger to spread.

The man stood slowly. As he passed a hand over his eyes, the magic heard his unspoken command. His vision was restored. The magic surged with the pleasure of serving a master even if it wasn’t his own. It was made to be commanded and this man would do until its master returned.

“Incredible,” the man sighed, his head swiveling as he took in his surroundings.

That is only the beginning. . . .

The man flexed his hands and slid his shoulders back. Desires slid from his mind and into the magic’s grasp without pause. In the blink of an eye, his shabby clothes were made new. The worn shoes at his feet were replaced with boots of fine leather, his legs draped in soft-clothed trousers and his shirt of rough-hewn fabric transformed into a fine emerald silk that hung loose on his chest. The holes in his gray cloak knitted closed as it returned to its former spotless glory. He was clothed in a gray storm cloud and could not wait to unleash a barrage of lightning.

The dark magic spoke in his mind. Spread over this city; find those who are dark-hearted and they will become our servants, ours to control.

The man strode out of the alleyway, his head held high. He moved toward a pub with a bright blue door, as good a place to start as any. Perhaps there were men with dark intentions within, men who would be worthy of their cause, men whose bodies would help awaken their waiting master. The magic stretched its jaws, spreading its own hunger through the man’s veins like wildfire. The man shivered.

“I’ll do as you ask.” His hand on the pub’s doorknob, the man paused. “And then I get what I want.”

The magic flashed the image of the one he hungered to punish in his mind once more. You will have exactly what you wish and more.

“Then let’s begin, shall we?”





16


The Book


Hunched close beneath the cover of the vanishing cloak, Alfie and Finn moved through the tiled corridors of the palace to retrieve the book.

First he’d lugged Luka to his room (a sight that the guards were quite familiar with thanks to Luka’s habit of overdrinking and underthinking). Then, while the thief remained hidden, they used the cloak to walk to Paloma’s private room unseen by the guards and the servants who rushed about to prepare lunch to be delivered to the doors of the royal family after yesterday’s late night.

All the while, Alfie feared that they would turn a corner and the dark magic would be there, lying in wait. But they had yet to encounter it. Whether by luck or because it had truly left the palace, Alfie didn’t know, but he was grateful all the same.

Until he found himself stepping into a pile of ash that went over his shoe. He moved backward, giving a short sound of surprise. Thankfully, the corridor was empty.

“What the hell is that?” Finn asked as she pulled the cloak off them.