The Raven Spell (Conspiracy of Magic #1)(72)

“I did the summoning, as you asked,” he deadpanned.

Mary grew agitated. She circled the firepit, watching the flames shrink. “No, no, that was—”

At once the flames burst in the firepit, shooting up as high as the rooftops. Mary covered her face and backed away as fireworks detonated out of the center and exploded in the darkened sky above their heads in a shower of sparks for all the borough to see. Edwina rejoiced behind her gag at Ian’s fiery, rebellious words.

The gang stood with their mouths agape and their weapons momentarily forgotten at their sides. Ian used the distraction to free his arm and twist away, even as Mary berated them for being awestruck fools. He lashed out swiftly with a hurling spell meant to disarm, no longer bothering to disguise his conjuring in the open. The lad with the police truncheon had his arm slung backward by the magic until the weapon vaulted out of his hand and across the courtyard, splintering into a dozen pieces. His mate suffered the same, though he hadn’t let go of his club and was thrown into the wall. The third lad, who brandished the stick, had his weapon yanked loose only to soar into the blazing fire to become more kindling.

Like Ian, Edwina attempted to twist free, but the thug with the ghost eyes, quick as lightning, drew the bowie knife to her throat. Her mouth and magic remained gagged, so she stilled herself, hoping he had a steady hand. Then Ian’s magic found his knife too. The blade slid past her throat, cutting a thin line deep enough to draw a trace of blood, before embedding itself in the nearest door with a thud. Crossing himself, the lad ran off before the sting from the knife rose to the surface of her skin.

Free of him, Edwina removed the rag from her mouth. Sparks from the fireworks rained down from above, landing on the shingle roof of the tenement building. She sucked in a breath and tenderly checked the cut on her neck. Only a trace of blood came away. Shaken, she retreated to the door of the flat on her right.

Somehow unaffected by the disarming spell, Nick circled the firepit with his folding knife in hand, his eyes tracking Ian. But where was Mary? Edwina searched the shadows in the courtyard before spotting her strutting up the final steps to lean on the railing of the upper landing. She was too confident. Too smug. What had she done? Edwina studied Nick’s foul appearance. He was being protected, but how? Then she spotted it. The mother-of-pearl buttons gleamed with an iridescence infused with swirling magic. “Ian, watch out! He’s using a protection charm.”

Nick slashed with the knife, missing Ian’s middle by a mere inch when he sucked in his stomach at the last second. Ian took careful steps sideways as the tenement roof smoldered, sending smoke into the sky.

Mary grinned from her perch like some medieval gargoyle. “Careful, sister, your concern for a man is showing.”

Unarmed, Ian had no choice but to back up toward the courtyard wall as the final sparks of his fire spell shot into the sky. He was running out of room. Benjamin attempted to trip him, but as the boy was made of nothing more than mist and misery, Ian passed right through him as though he were smoke.

Ian spit out another spell. “With this charm, I disarm!” Yet the magic had no effect on Nick, who toyed with him by jabbing with the knife. Ian dodged until his back hit the brick wall. Mary watched with eyes as wide and black as coals, tapping her fingers lightly against her lips in anticipation of the death that surely must follow.

Edwina had seen hints of the specter of cruelty in her sister before with Freddie and that Thisbury boy, but it sickened her to witness Mary’s ghoulish complicity on full display.

As Nick taunted with the knife, relishing his power over Ian’s magic, the tenement roof burst into flame. There were children inside, and parents so desperate to feed them they took handouts from a murderer. Edwina concentrated on words potent enough to douse the fire. She stepped into the courtyard and raised her hand to the sky. “Gather in form, gray and frightening. Cloud and storm, thunder and lightning. Wind and rain, lash and blow. Fog and murk, sink below.”

She’d made no effort to hide her incantation behind mortal poetry. The spell was a beacon. A gust of storm to rattle the Constabulary to action. But she also needed the cloak of fog to hide her from those who’d soon swarm the yard.

The rain fell, lashing the burning roof with relief. The fog billowed and settled, enveloping the courtyard in a blanket of thick gray mist. Tenants ran out of their flats in a panic, their faces and bodies fading in and out of ghostly view. Ian called out Edwina’s name through the mist. Nick answered with a call for his blood. An emergency whistle shrilled in the lane.

Somewhere in the fog Benjamin sang, “Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home. Your house is on fire, your children shall burn.”

Mary, she knew, had already flown. And now she must too.

Fog swirled around Edwina as she held her arms out to let her shawl’s fringe hang free. She summoned her ancient heredity, letting the magic coalesce inside and flutter up to fill her veins. The grounded weight of flesh and heavy marrow fell away, replaced by broad wings and hollow bones that spread out in graceful arcs. From downy tufts to pinion feathers, from claws to polished beak, her primeval bloodline effused throughout her body, transforming her.

Then she took to the air.





Chapter Twenty-Four


The mortals, who’d been happy enough to stay silent while Ian was being attacked in their yard, streamed out of their upper-level flats, screaming the roof was on fire. And still Nick lunged. The dandy was done playing, but without his club to first render his victim unconscious, his blade kept missing the mark.