Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(58)

Alfie watched Finn’s face crease with agony as she fought to keep the wall of earth up. But with only a look from the man, it crumbled to sand. This was not the magic Alfie knew.

He turned his attention back to Alfie, a wicked grin on his face. “As I said, have you ever felt as if your whole life has led up to a single moment? I suppose you wouldn’t; you look so young. So untried. Walk to me,” he said, beckoning. Alfie moved forward, one step after another. There was no struggle, no fight beyond the one in his mind. This magic was seamless, pulling him forward as if he were an element to be controlled. “Stop, and keep your arms at your sides,” he added, an afterthought, as if testing his power.

Ignacio watched with relish as Alfie’s arms lowered, palms flat against his sides. He could feel the dragon burning against his chest, as if trying to call his attention to something, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He thought of stunning spellwork that would give him a few moments to grab Finn and get away. Paralizar. Maybe it’d be enough. “Par—”

“Don’t talk.”

Alfie stopped. He couldn’t form a sound. If this man told him not to breathe, he would stop. He would stop until he died. He should have listened to the thief.

He should have run.

The man looked down at Alfie’s hand. “Let me see,” he said. Alfie felt his arm rise up of its own accord. The man hadn’t even given the magic a specific instruction or command to raise Alfie’s arm. It interpreted his words, his desires, and put them into action. There was no balance here, no rules, nothing. This was not right.

The man took Alfie’s hand and ran his fingers along the palm. “Soft as a dove. Don’t scream,” he said. He looked at Alfie’s hand and said, “Break.” Alfie’s index finger broke with a brittle snap. Alfie wanted to scream but he couldn’t, couldn’t fuel a roar with his pain, but he could whimper like a child. The man must have wanted to hear it, because the magic allowed it.

He smiled at Alfie as if they were about to play a very fun game.

Ignacio raised his arm and flexed his fingers. Then whirring through the air were fine white strings. They burrowed deep into Alfie’s skin at his knees, elbows. The man lifted his hand, made a fist, and pulled backward. Alfie felt as if his bones were going to pull free from his skin. The strings pulled him down onto his knees.

“When you were my little girl, you would only eat your fish if I took the bones out for you. You’d point them out and I would pull, do you remember?” When there was silence his eyes hardened, his light tone gone in a flash. “Answer me.”

“I remember,” Finn said, her voice quivering.

“Let’s play, then! Which bone should I take first?” he mused.

“No,” Alfie heard her say quietly behind him.

“What was that?”

“No!” she shouted. “I won’t!”

Sweat prickled on Alfie’s forehead. The dragon was searing against his chest now, scorching his skin.

“You will,” Ignacio said. “If I tell you to. But I won’t just yet. I’ll start. I say we start small—his little finger.”

He flicked his hand. A string whirred and burrowed itself in the tip of Alfie’s finger, wriggling under his nail. It sliced through the flesh at the tip of his finger over and over again, then the string nestled into the gash and pushed outward, parting the skin wide until blood poured out. Screams of pain grew and crested inside him, waves with no shore to break on. He could not speak, only endure. With a beckoning finger from Ignacio, the string began to pull and pull until Alfie could feel the bone rising. He could see the white, bloody tip of it bursting through his bleeding skin, like a tooth through gums. He couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move.

Ignacio cocked his head at Alfie. “Scream, if you like.”

Alfie’s mouth fell open, scream after scream tearing from his throat. He couldn’t tell if he was screaming because the man had told him to or because of the pain. All he wanted was for it to stop, for it all to stop. The pain, this man, the thief whimpering behind him as if she’d seen these horrors far too many times. He needed it to stop. The dragon pulsed rapidly against his chest in sync with his heartbeat. A sudden wave of pain tore through Alfie’s body, as if he were being wrung dry of every ounce of energy he had left. This pain was beyond what the man was doing; this was something else. It felt as if the pain had come from within and wriggled out of his skin, maggots bursting out of an abandoned corpse.

Then his wish came true. Everything stopped.

The man in the gray cloak stopped. Alfie could move again. He stood shakily, watching the bloodied strings fall from his body. A pained sob broke past his lips as he closed his hand over his bleeding finger, willing the flesh to close over the visible bone. He looked over his shoulder. Finn had her head tucked between her knees, her hands clapped over her ears, a look of anguish frozen on her face.

How did he do it? How did this happen? Every bone in his body rang with pain, as if a needle had punctured every inch of him simultaneously. What had he done?

The dragon was glowing black against his skin. He could feel the magic buzzing within it with renewed vigor, as if it had just been fed.

Alfie’s stomach clenched.

He’d used the magic. It had heard his desire to be free and listened. That must have been where the pain had come from, from using it. Magic usually bloomed from his fingertips, but this one had singed him from the inside out. What had he done? Was he now infected with the magic? He took stock of himself. His veins weren’t black and raised like the man before him. He didn’t feel different. He was in pain, but otherwise he felt the same.