Enchantress Under Fire, page 2
part #4 of Arcane Artisans Series
“Adrienne ...” Kendall’s voice choked.
I turned to see her eyes brimming with tears. “What ...?”
A lump worked its way down her throat. “I held on, thinking maybe the disguise wouldn’t work, but now that we’re here ... it’s so dangerous. If you go among them, if they figure out who you are ...”
“They’ll sacrifice me, strip out my enchantment and my innate magical ability with it, and use that power to kill every Void in the Bay Area.” My voice came out flat, emotionless. Ever since the cult had sent its first operative into the city, I’d been learning to live with the prospect of my life ending in torture. “But we have to even out the world’s magical field. I need help to enchant it back into balance. If we don’t fix the imbalances ...”
“I know, I know, we all die.” Kendall worked her jaw and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I know there’s no other option. But there should be.”
A smile ghosted across my lips. “Don’t should on me.”
She choked on a laugh. “Stop using my own jokes against me.” She placed her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t die, okay? We’ve all lost way too much to lose you too.”
I pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for being such a loyal friend.”
“Don’t you dare start that deathbed talk. I’ll kill you myself if you give up like that.”
There was the Kendall I knew. “Don’t worry,” I murmured. “I’m a long way from giving up. This war isn’t even close to over.”
Chapter 2
MY JEANS FIT SNUGLY ON MY NEW BODY. My green shirt accommodated my enlarged chest, and its long sleeves hid the tattoos on my forearm. The clothes had come from a donation pile at a local church charity, along with a smile and a prayer from the older lady handing things out. I’d appreciated the blessing. Divine help would be useful right now.
I sat on a bench in Ghirardelli Square. Magic kissed my skin, not gentle touches but aggressive, heavy, as if trying to claim me. Sweat prickled on my scalp and neck, despite my hair being pulled back in a braid. Grueling sun had drawn sweat from every pore in my body on the short walk from the bus stop. When the city’s fog took the day off, California’s aggressive summer gave no quarter. It was midday and midweek, but still tourists sat at the eateries and browsed the shops. Children carried dripping ice cream cones. Parents snapped photos with phones held high, a few sporting fancier cameras on cords around their necks. Couples sat on steps in the shade of small trees. Hints of chocolate and funnel cake scented the air.
My mouth was too dry to salivate. I had sat out here for an hour, pretending to read a novel while watching people walk by. Now I watched the turn-in from Beach Street, where in a few moments a woman should enter the square. She’d be wearing white shorts and a plain blue tank top and sunglasses, her hair in a short afro, her skin umber brown. She looked like anybody else out enjoying the sunshine, but she had come around the same corner three times while I watched. Each time, she’d made a slow circuit of the square, pausing under a tree or by the fountain, before entering the pub on the corner. Presumably she’d then left through another door and repeated her route through the area.
Now she appeared again, just as a particularly strong wave of magic blasted through the square. KADUM! I didn’t react, long practice schooling my instinctive shudder to a mere twitch. But the woman’s head snapped to one side. She rubbed her arms. Quieting goosebumps, I knew. I’d done that myself often enough.
Once she’d taken up a position across the square, pretending to text someone, I acted. I winced and rubbed my forehead. Then I glanced around as if to make sure nobody was watching me. I pressed my palms together and let in a trickle of the magic thickening the air. Nowhere near my true capacity, but enough that it would make a difference in the ambient magic. Then I fleshwrote.
It was a simple enchantment, a spell to take the edge off the heat. Personal, magical air conditioning. Even so, fleshwriting when I already wore two enchantments on my body, not to mention the massive hidden one, posed a threat to my sanity. I concentrated on the idea of cooling, of the heat on my skin pooling into the enchantment. Not a single distracting thought could interfere, or the enchantment might go badly.
The pounding in my head worsened. I channeled the magic down my arm, flooding my veins with warmth as another enchantment tattoo etched itself on the inside of my wrist. As the magic took hold and my head started to cool, I breathed a small sigh of relief. I’d successfully not killed myself.
The new tattoo was tiny, only half an inch across. But for all its petite size, it had caused a small drop in the level of magic in the square. Small, but noticeable.
My heart kept racing nonetheless, for when I looked across the square at the woman in the white shorts, she was staring right at me.
I quickly dropped my gaze, grabbed the black purse I’d picked up at a thrift store this morning, stuffed my book into it, and headed out of the square. No need to look back. The woman in white would follow.
On the sidewalk, I passed one of the spots where the late Bush Man used to hide behind shrub clippings, then jump out and scare tourists. Desmond and I had stood and watched him for over an hour one time.
Better not to think of Desmond right now.
Nearby, a man covered in silver body paint stood completely still, waiting for someone to drop money into his coffer, at which point he’d perform a robotic dance. I passed the street performer and crossed Beach Street into the park that bordered the Bay. Across the grass and onto the sand I walked, occasionally lifting my hand to massage my temples, or absently rubbing my wrist. Little signs, innocuous to a normal, that would confirm the woman’s suspicion that I was the fleshwriter she’d felt working in the square.
I stopped on the beach, watching the water caress the rocky shore. Alcatraz hunched in the Bay, a straight swim from here, but a deadly one in the frigid saltwater. The Golden Gate Bridge was visible far to my left, an arching red leviathan. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a russet-red squirrel grooming itself on the branch of a nearby tree. Kendall had her eye on me.
I counted to thirty-three before the woman in white tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, could I speak to you for a moment?” Her voice was gentle and kind, suited to a massage therapist or yoga instructor.
I gave her a sharp glance and had to stop myself from gasping as I recognized her up close. She was a fleshwriter I’d seen in the city before, trying to recruit paranormals to the cult’s cause. Her companion had been shot by Voids. Apparently she had made it out okay.
Covering my surprise, I shook her hand off me and stuck to the role I’d chosen to play. “Not interested.”
“I’m not selling anything, I promise.”
“I don’t have any cash.”
“Not panhandling, either.”
“Leave me alone.” I started to walk away.
“I know what you did back there.” Her voice was still quiet, but it gained a sharp ring.
I stopped dead. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” She approached me from behind, then came around to face me. “You can do magic.”
I let out a little breath. “You’re one of them. I heard rumors there were other magic users gathering here, but I didn’t know how to find you.”
She paused, then nodded. “You’re not the first to come here seeking us. It’s all right. We know how to find you.”
“Can you prove it? That you’re like me?”
The woman smiled and removed her sunglasses. With a conspiratorial wink, she turned to the side and pointed to her leg. A medium-sized enchantment tattoo stood out in pure black against the dark brown of her skin. “Extra endurance, for long days walking around the city. What’d you make with the magic you just used?”
I rolled down my sleeve to show her the dime-sized tattoo. “Cooling off. It’s hotter here than I thought it would be.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You have more than one.”
I let her study the two enchantments I’d created to disguise myself, which climbed my arm beside the air conditioning tattoo. “The smaller one makes me a little bit faster. The bigger one helps me remember things. Phone numbers and stuff. I try not to keep paper records.” Both effects could easily be faked, since the cult wouldn’t know my initial running speed or memorizing abilities.
She bought the lie. “I understand. It’s often safest for people like us to remember what we need to know. As for the heat, you could stop wearing long sleeves.”
“I didn’t think it was safe to let these be seen.” I rolled the sleeve back over my tattoos. “I’ve heard some groups don’t like us.”
Sympathy softened her face. “When did you arrive?”
“A couple weeks ago.”
“Then you’re lucky. Until a few days ago, being like us would have gotten you killed if the wrong people had seen you.”
That was completely untrue. The Underground had made a point of not killing the enchanters we fought, at least until that final disastrous battle. But I showed the appropriate concern at her words. “Is it safe now?”
She smiled. “San Francisco is the safest place in the nation to be an enchantress right now. But we’ll talk about all that later. When did your powers come to you?”
“About a year ago. I found a few other people like me, mostly online. They told me there are groups that can teach me to use this power. They said a major one was setting up in San Francisco, so I came here.”
“From where?”
“Fresno.”
“I’m surprised we haven’t found you ourselves before now. We have people all over California looking for other magic users.”
“I was trying not to be found until I got here.”
“I understand.” She smiled and stuck out a hand. “My name’s Sydney. Welcome to the city.”
Trying not to hold my breath, I accepted the handshake. When our skin touched, Sydney gave no sign of sensing any strong magic within me. My heart eased. The enchantment disguising my power and tattoo was working.
“I’m Marcela,” I said. “Marcela Rodriguez.”
Her tone, her words, the exchanging of tattoo information, it was all so familiar. They were steps to a dance I’d learned in the cult. Each gesture, each phrase carefully designed to probe the sensitive spots of a rogue enchanter, to lure them into the fold. I’d even used the techniques myself a couple times.
The next step in the script would be for Sydney to hand me a business card or scribble down an address to invite me to learn more about the paranormal world, trusting my hunger for information to drive me into the cult’s arms. Then they’d answer all my questions, provide me a good meal and likeable new friends, and slowly groom me until I happily handed my life over to the cult.
That process used to take a couple months. Now, with war on their hands, and me presenting a completely willing recruit, I’d put down money they’d speed the process up. I figured within a few days, a week at most, I’d be fully welcomed into the cult.
Sydney released my hand. “This is going to sound a little forward, but you came here searching for us. More than we need you, you need us. For protection. For belonging. For family. We have the answers you’ve been seeking. But it’s up to you to claim them. Would you like to meet some other members of our group?”
“Right now?”
“Sure.”
I smiled, this time genuinely. Apparently we were skipping the business card step. “That’s why I’m here.”
Sydney put an arm around me and shepherded me back toward the street, where a blue sedan crawled along searching for parking. I felt like a fish who’d just spent ten minutes watching an interesting-looking hook dangle in the water. Only difference was, I’d come here to bite.
We reached the road just as the blue sedan double-parked beside two SUVs. The large vehicles hid us from sight from the rest of the street. A man opened the back door of the blue car and leaned out.
A prickle of alarm spread across my scalp.
That was all the warning I had before Sydney jabbed something sharp into the side of my neck, and I blacked out.
Chapter 3
I WOKE IN A HOTEL ROOM on a fluffy queen-sized bed, my head engulfed in a gigantic down pillow. Shit, I thought. This was not part of the plan. I knew they’d speed up the recruitment process, but not to a matter of mere minutes. I was supposed to have a few days of hanging out with the fleshwriters at bars and private homes before they fully welcomed me into the group. A few days of feeling out the cult’s tactics and using that to form a more concrete infiltration plan with Kendall. Now I was caught off guard in an unknown location, with no way of contacting anyone for help. If Kendall couldn’t track me down, I’d be completely on my own.
Red and gold curtains covered a window on one side of the room, facing a door on the opposite wall. A table and two armchairs formed a sitting area beside the door. All the furniture boasted the dark wood and bizarre, colorful upholstery of typical hotels. Magic beat heavily within me, a repetitive tapping on my nerves.
I reasoned that these people couldn’t have identified me as Adrienne Morales, fleshwriters’ most wanted. If that had happened, they wouldn’t give me a soft bed and access to magic. So this was a new part of their recruitment plan. Which meant I needed to play my role.
I bolted upright and sprinted for the door, hoping it led to the exit and not the bathroom.
The door opened in my face, and Sydney stepped in, still wearing the same outfit. Two cups of coffee sloshed in her hands. I caught a glimpse of a gold and red patterned hallway outside and lunged for it. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Sydney said, blocking my way with her body. “Calm down!”
“Calm down?” I demanded, my anger only partially feigned. “You kidnapped me!”
“It’s for your own safety.”
“¡Mentirosa! You said it was safe in the city now.”
“I know you don’t understand,” she said. “I promise I’ll explain everything. You’re free to leave at any time, but I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” She offered me one of the steaming cups. “Caramel latte?”
After a proper hesitation, I took the cup and sat down on the end of the bed. Sydney sat in one of the gold-and-red armchairs. “It’s a bit tense in here,” she said. “Can you feel it?”
“Tension? Yes, I’d say so.”
“I mean the magical tension. Just a moment.” She closed her eyes, and the magical pressure in the room eased. For the first time in days, the kadum of magic in my head receded to a mere buzz. I’d almost forgotten how nice it was not to have a constant headache.
Sydney tapped the back of her forearm, where a circling line had traced a pattern. “Watch this.” She showed me her latte, then turned her hand palm up, fingers cupped, and tilted it over the open cup. Black coffee appeared out of thin air, pouring from her palm as if from a carafe to refill the latte.
She cut off the flow of coffee by closing her hand and gave me a pleasant smile.
“That,” I said, “has to be the most indulgent use of magic I’ve ever seen.”
She laughed. “It’s just conjured coffee. It doesn’t actually last.” She tilted her cup so I could see the level of the dark liquid hadn’t changed from before she’d cast her enchantment.
I took another sip of my latte, slurping slightly to cool it as it passed my lips. It had extra caramel and everything. The taste made my chest ache. My adopted abuela, Veronica, had made the best lattes. Then she’d died in the battle for the city. “So the city is the safest place to be an enchantress, but it’s also not safe. I was willing to come with you, but for some reason you drugged me and dragged me here instead. I’d appreciate those explanations, ahora, por favor.”
Sydney’s gentle smile didn’t falter. “Please speak only English. I’d like to be able to understand you fully.”
Another of the cult’s rules. No one could speak a language Geralt didn’t know. I’d wager if I’d been speaking French, Sydney would have let it pass. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just angry. Tell me what’s going on, and maybe I’ll calm down.” I half-wondered if she’d make a “feisty Latina” comment, but to her credit, she didn’t offer the stereotype.
“Let’s address the big questions first,” said Sydney. “Yes, almost all of us here can do magic. We can sense the magical field that surrounds the world and permeates everything in it. We can take that field and guide its energy into ourselves, shaping it with our thoughts to produce changes in reality.”
“You make it sound like a science,” I said.
“It is. It produces predictable, repeatable results.”
“Not always. I tried to repeat an enchantment I’d done, and I gave myself a massive headache.”
“That happens sometimes. Your control of the magic is the key. Without it, the magic runs wild and causes pain. Or worse. We can help you refine your control, though based on the enchantments you showed me, you’re already pretty good at it.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“You have to be, to stay ahead of the magic.” Sydney smiled sympathetically. “How much do you know about the larger paranormal world, and the conflicts in it?”
Kendall would have lost her latte laughing at the irony. “Pretend I don’t know anything,” I said.
“All right,” said Sydney. “The world is full of enchanted beings. Shifters, merfolk, vampires. Just about any human-based magical being you’ve heard of exists somewhere in the world. All made by us. Many of the paranormals think of us like royalty. A form of respect, for the gifts they’ve been given. But sometimes the enchantments creating them ... don’t work right. They lose their sanity, which is a very real threat to anyone touched by magic. When that happens, or when a paranormal simply gets too cocky in the use of his or her powers, somebody has to keep them in line. Someone must control the paranormal world, keep it hidden, to prevent it from frightening the normals into literal witch hunts. In some areas, it’s us. In others, though ... but we’ll talk about that another time. I don’t want to scare you.”
