Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell #3)(28)

I was alert. Strong. In charge. And damn if it didn’t feel good!

But as I kindled Heka, somewhere in the horizon of my mind I spotted the now-dreaded flicker of blue light.

No f*cking way. I definitely did not want to screw around with wild magick while I was trying to do something so specific and technical. And I damn sure didn’t want to hear my mom’s treacherous voice again.

It was all I could do to hold on to my kindled energy while I pushed back the Moonchild magic. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep it at bay, but I had it under control for the moment. Maybe I could learn to pick and choose what I want to use for kindling: electricity or moon power. The best of both worlds. That thought gave me a little thrill.

Breathless and shaking, I sputtered the words to the spell, a phrase of rough commands in classical Hebrew. Then I slammed the graphite tip of the winged caduceus onto the outer edge of the calling sigil.

“Priya, come!” I shouted into the wind and released the kindled Heka. It poured into the caduceus, coursed through it, and spread across my red ochre marks—all the way through the line that connected the calling sigil to Priya’s name. The marks lit up with a pulsing white light.

Reflected energy ran back up my arm and hit me like the kick of shotgun. My shoulder jerked back as the caduceus overloaded and flew out of my hand. It streaked across the cement roof and struck the low brick wall, exploding into a shower of wood splinters and golden sparks.

And before I had a tenth of a second to be surprised, the post-magick nausea lashed up and slapped me silly. My stomach clenched, my chest heaved. The sharp, acrid stench of the vomit that followed mixed with something sickly sweet. I really wish I hadn’t eaten all those stupid blackberry bars.

Lesson number one when doing any big spellwork involving a lot of kindled Heka: bring tissue and water . . . which I did not. As I swayed on my knees, I spit twice in disgust, then wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my jacket, making a mental note to shove it in Kar Yee’s washer later.

A mass of crackling white light appeared in front of my face.

“Shit!”

I instinctually scrambled backward, struggling to pull my legs out from under me. The light flickered like a TV set with a bad connection, then a humansized boy lunged out of the sky.

A boy with a head of black hair that stuck out straight in all directions like a sooty nest.

Flying.

With wings.

His body was human, mostly. His nails were glossy, black, a little longer than they should be—almost talon-like. His skin had a silver gray cast to it. He was wearing loose pants that fell below his hips.

A massive pair of black, feathered wings fanned over his bare shoulders.

What the hell was going on? Because unlike Priya—who used to appear to me as diffused, soft translucent being, neither man nor woman, stoic and cold—this creature flying in front of me was solid flesh. Very male flesh.

He gazed at me with enormous black eyes.

Bird-boy had a dusky gray halo, which rose like smoke above his punked-out, anime hero, Robert-Smith-meets-Sandman mop of hair. He also had a handsome face with sunken cheeks and high cheekbones, and an aquiline nose that was prominent and curved and beaky, but definitely still a human nose.

His wings flapped madly, stirring up the air and whipping my hair across my face. He floated closer and reached out a hand. I jerked away and fell back against the concrete roof. Undeterred, he shifted his wings—Jesus, they were huge!—and his body tilted. He flew over me, inches above, mimicking my prone position.

My heart galloped. I sucked in a strangled breath and tried to unscramble my thoughts.

What had I done? Was this an Æthyric demon? Had I just summoned a damn Æthyric demon with a binding triangle? Couldn’t have. No way. That wasn’t a summoning circle. And Hermeneus spirits didn’t actually cross the veil to our plane: they were just projections—magical holograms.

But they had birdlike features. Priya had birdlike features. Just not quite like this . . .

The flying boy studied my face with his big, black eyes. Tiny feathers framed his eyelids instead of lashes. And I stared back, his mouth widened into a disarming grin.

His teeth weren’t human teeth, but tiny, silver points! Dozens of them.

I flinched. The back of my head smacked the cement. He flew closer and touched my cheek with long, cool fingers.

“My mistress. It is I, your loyal guardian.” His voice was low and crackly. Rougher than rough. He cupped my face in both hands, long fingers grazing my scalp. “It is Priya.”

My heart stopped.

“Priya?”

His dark eyes went all squinty as he smiled and touched the tip of his nose to mine.

“Mistress!”

I pulled away from him and scooted across the cement into a sitting position. He squatted down in front of me, flapping furiously, and folded his wings into two black compact shapes against his back.

My voice stuttered along with my panicked heartbeat. “It can’t be—you’re . . .”

“Changed,” he said with great pride. “I am reincarnated into a new body.”

“You’re a boy,” I said dumbly.

“A beautiful boy,” he agreed. His chest plumped with pride. “Do you find me pleasing?”

“Uh . . .” I blinked rapidly, my eyes darting over his bare silverfish skin, ripped with muscle. “Sure. You’re something, all right.”