Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(54)

Alfie stood slowly, grabbing the table behind Finn for leverage. When his shaking hand came away bloody, he couldn’t tell if it was from the table or if his palm had already been scarlet from the man he’d killed. Alfie walked close by her side as they stepped over corpses, shattered lamps, and smashed bottles. His shoulder bumped hers, and he couldn’t help but savor the moment of contact. To relish the knowledge that he was not alone here, that though this day was a nightmare, it was a shared one.

When they finally stepped out of the pub, Alfie gulped in the cool air. He’d never been so thankful to breathe air that did not taste of clotted blood.

“I’ve got to say, Prince,” she said, “I didn’t think you could pull it off.”

As they moved deeper into the Brim and farther from the bloodied pub behind them, Alfie stared at the stalls of magical baubles and trinkets, pastries and sangria, with a new appreciation. His people were safe to enjoy all that the marketplace had to offer, all that this kingdom had to offer. He watched his people move merrily from booth to booth, smiles on their faces as they prepared for tomorrow’s Equinox Festival.

Alfie’s heart still ached at the thought of the man he’d killed and all those who had fallen to dust at the magic’s touch, but now there was hope. He’d fixed it.

His mind hazy with exhaustion and adrenaline, he couldn’t help but look at Finn, gratitude welling up in his voice. “Finn,” he said. “Gracias. I—”

A force he couldn’t see thrust Alfie back, sending him flying the length of ten men until he slammed against the door of the Blue Thimble, his head cracking against it, his sentence dying on his lips.

“Prince!” he heard Finn shout as he slid down the door and onto the ground, but it sounded as if she were calling his name from the other end of an endless tunnel.

Then there was only darkness.





18


A Father’s Instinct


The man walked through the Brim, power flitting through him like lightning trapped in a bottle.

He’d torn through a pub, letting the magic within him ravage everyone in sight and slaughtering those who dared fight against him. With each body the magic claimed, more power bloomed within him. His senses grew deliriously heightened. Each hair on his skin seemed to be alive. He could sense the currents of air, individual threads of wind that moved in their own right. He could smell the fresh coat of paint swathed on a hacienda miles away, deep in the city.

As he watched the people in the marketplace, he wanted to shout, to laugh in their faces, to tear them limb from limb so they might know how insignificant they were beside him.

He wanted to make them all kneel.

Not yet, the magic hissed. Those in the pub fall to dust, for they are not worthy. This power you feel will fade as their bodies fade. We must seek those strong enough for—

“Silence,” he said. Something called to him in the air. Something painfully familiar that clawed at his insides for attention, for punishment. There, in this medley of scent and sound and touch, was the girl who had taken everything from him. He could smell the scent of her, of her fear.

Not now. The magic persisted. You will have the girl and much more after we—

He shook his head, the magic’s words falling on deaf ears. Finn was here. Fate had brought her to this city just as he’d thought. The man turned on his heel and walked back toward the pub he’d left soaked in blood, knowing his daughter would be there awaiting his love, his judgment. It was strange how those two things were often one and the same.

As the magic writhed in annoyance within him, Ignacio pushed its words away. After all, what kind of father would he be if he didn’t pay his daughter a visit?





19


The Puppet Master


A dagger in her hand, Finn barreled through the crowds of the Brim and ran back to the Blue Thimble, where the prince sat crumpled against its doors. She knelt at his side, her eyes scouring the congested marketplace for an enemy, for whoever had magicked the prince backward as if he were a stick for a dog to fetch.

But there was no one of note around her, just shoppers moving from one brightly colored stand to another, chattering about the festival on their tongues. A few were looking at her and the prince, whispering behind their hands, taking steps forward to help but moving back at the sight of her dagger and her snarling face.

Alfie’s chest rose and fell to a steady rhythm, but the back of his head bled against the door where he’d fallen after slamming against it.

“Is your friend all right, se?orita?” An old man ambled toward her and Alfie, a cane in his hand. He reached for her shoulder. “Qué pasó—”

The man fell quiet, frozen before her.

Her heart pounding in her throat, she stared up at him and snapped her fingers in front of the man’s still face. “Hello?”

It was as if the man had been turned into a statue. He did not blink, but his eyes didn’t water from the effort. His fingers didn’t cramp and twitch where they hovered above Finn’s shoulder, she could feel the heat emanating from his skin, and yet he was still as the dead. Was she somehow imagining all of this? Had she hit her head during the fight in the bar?

It was then that she noticed how strangely silent it had become.

She looked beyond the old man and saw that every soul in the Brim, from the shoppers and the vendors to the dancing couples and the street musicians, had fallen still. Mouths hung open, mid-conversation. Hands were frozen, outstretched to drop pesos into a merchant’s palm. Everything and everyone but her had stopped.