Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(52)

“You’ve been singing his name.” The man cocked his head at her, his grin wide. “We will clear this world of false kings and wake him. He will answer your call.”

With a laugh that sent spittle flying from his lips, he ran toward her. He moved as if he were unused to being confined in flesh, his body jerking at odd angles. She heard the slip of blood beneath his feet.

Finn never waited to be attacked; it wasn’t her style. She liked the power of making the first move, whether it was a good idea or not. In this case, it seemed like a very bad idea. But if Finn was known for anything, it was for jumping headfirst into things that were very bad ideas.

And she’d be maldito if she wasn’t going to stay consistent.

She dashed forward to meet him at the center of the pub, pulling stone from the ground to cloak her fists. The man made no move to defend himself; he only grinned. Finn landed a swift punch to his stomach. She felt his ribs crack, but the creature only stumbled back, a laugh bursting from his lips.

“For our cause we need bodies,” he crooned in his singsong voice. He stood straight, cracked ribs and all. Ignacio had taught Finn the agony of injured ribs; the man should’ve been doubled over in pain. “It matters not if they are broken or whole. And yours will do nicely.”

As he launched himself at her, Finn raised her fists again, but he batted them away easily, and she knew that he’d only been playing with her when he’d let her punch him. The embarrassment stung like the crack of a whip.

In the space of a breath, his black-nailed hand closed around her throat and, with terrifying strength, he lifted her off the ground. She clawed at his wrist, tearing at the delicate flesh there until his blood soaked her fingers, but he only grinned up at her. The grin slipped as he surveyed her, as if smelling a stink on her skin. “You are close, but of no use.”

His hand squeezed tighter, and Finn could feel her bones creaking under his strength. How long until they splintered?

Her eyes tearing, she choked out a single word. “Prince!”

She heard clumsy footsteps slipping in the blood, and then came the thick thud of something sharp sinking into flesh. The man stilled and dropped her, his eyes wide. Heat returned to her body as her back hit the blood-soaked ground. Her shadow was gray and limp at her feet. Behind the black-eyed man stood the prince, with a dagger of ice poking through the man’s chest.

As the black-eyed man fell to the ground, still with death, Alfie didn’t know how he’d done it.

How he’d killed someone with his own hands.

Finn had called for him and the desperation in her voice had sent a shock of adrenaline through him, his paralyzing fear replaced with searing energy. He’d run behind the man and stabbed him in the back, right through the heart. Like some sort of coward. And now he stood at the center of the pub in a nest of overturned tables and chairs, a body at his feet and his heart in his throat.

A sound broke past his lips, a mixture of a gasp and a sob.

He’d feared himself on the day he’d attacked Paloma. He’d so deeply feared what he was capable of that he sought to bury it. But who was he if he could kill a man this way? Worst was the nagging inside him that told him he had no time for this, no time to break open and worry that he was losing himself. He had to trap this magic and save his kingdom, even if it meant committing acts that made him a stranger to himself.

Finn rose to her feet slowly and walked to his side, her eyes wide with uncharacteristic fear. Then her hand was on his back, resting stiffly between his shoulder blades.

“One bad thing doesn’t undo all the good, Prince,” she said, her eyes on the corpse. “It takes more than this to lose yourself, trust me. I’ve seen it.”

Alfie fell silent. How could she see so clearly into his heart as it broke in his chest? It occurred to him that long ago she must have reacted this way to a killing of her own, but over time she’d shed that part of herself like a snake shed its skin. It struck Alfie as a horribly sad way to live. He jerked the flask from his hip and took a long swig. The heat of the tequila settled over him, like a patch placed over a gushing wound. He looked at her, his eyes wet. “Will you stop me if I get too close?”

She met his gaze, the set of her mouth grim. “If you do, I’ll tell you and you’ll decide to step back or dive in, but I can’t stop you.”

Alfie could only nod before whisking the back of his hand over his eyes. His shadow curled close around him, his anxiety pooling around his feet. The blood spilling from the man was stretching across the floor. He made to step away but let the blood soak the sole of his shoe instead. This was his fault. He’d freed this dark magic and stained his hands with this man’s blood. Why not his shoes too?

“I’m so sorry,” Alfie said to the body, his voice thick. He knelt beside it, unsure of what to do. What to say. Paloma had told him never to dabble in unknown magic because it always came with unknown consequences.

He should have listened to her. He should have known his place.

Alfie’s hand found the corpse’s shoulder. “Please forgive me,” he said, his eyes wet. “I never meant to hurt you or anyone. This is my fault.”

Finn’s hand moved from his back to his shoulder. “Prince, we have to go before it happens again. Come on, get up.”

“No,” Alfie said. His limbs felt weighted with stone. He was responsible for all of this, for the boy and nothing but his earring left in the ash. He could not leave no matter how afraid he was.