Runaway Magic, page 9
“This?” Callum peered around the magic-soaked hallway. “This is a simple matter anyone could clean up. If you like, I can take it off your hands and leave you free to return to—”
“I don’t quit in the middle of a case.” Marshall cut him off harshly.
“Don’t suppose you do, do you? You should, though. It’s time to stop living in the past.” Marshall’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Callum forged ahead, obviously meaning to speak his peace. “Praetor Nala’s been dead more than a year now, and it’s time for a new one to take her place. It’s time for you to step up and be the man we all know ya to be.”
“The man you used to know is gone, Cal. I haven’t been him for a long time now.”
“You only say that because you can’t let go, won’t let go…”
“Callum…” Jack growled out a warning to the man.
Heedless of the warning, Callum forged ahead. “She’s gone, man! You have to let her go and move on. Stop wasting your talents mooning over a lost child—” Callum’s words froze in his mouth, and he swayed where he stood, his mind no longer under his control.
Marshall’s eyes burned as he fought to control himself. “She. Is. Not. Gone.” Each word was punctuated by Callum staggering back a step as Marshall’s will pushed at him.
“Mars.” Jack’s hand was on the back of Marshall’s neck, grounding him. “It’s okay, you can stop now. No one is going to keep us from finding Nova.”
Marshall snapped his gaze away from Callum, releasing the man from his control, and took a deep breath to calm himself. “I told you I’m not the man you knew, Cal. If you need someone right now, you’ll have to find another praetor. My time is not my own to give.” Not trusting his control, he kept his eyes on the wall next to Callum.
Not easily daunted, Callum stood his ground but showed sense and calmed his tone. “Your father, gods rest his soul, wouldn’t have left you to stew for as long as I have. But he isn’t here, so I’ll do right by you the only way I know how.”
“My father would have found her by now,” Marshall said bitterly.
“Self-pity doesn’t become you, sonny. Nor does it accomplish anything.”
Jack tightened his grip, as if expecting Marshall to get angry again, but Marshall only laughed softly. “You’re more like him than you know, Cal.”
“I don’t know. I think he would have kicked your arse for what you just did.”
“And brought me in on charges, I imagine. You can, you know.” Marshall could feel Jack tense behind his back.
What would his friend do if Callum decided to take Marshall in? Probably something rash. For all his jokes and relaxed attitude, Jack could be unpredictable when someone he cared about was threatened.
Callum shrugged. “Now why would I want to be doing that over so little a thing? Too much paperwork involved for my liking. Besides, if the Guard prosecuted people over every tiny infraction, they’d never get anything done.” He slowly relaxed his fists, showing that—kind words aside—he had been rattled at how quickly and easily Marshall had called up the power to control him.
Marshall closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your call.” Now that his temper had faded, all he could feel was a sweeping exhaustion gripping his body and mind.
Jack relaxed, dialing his protective stance back by half like he always did once a crisis had passed. Since that fateful day five years ago, Jack had been glued to Marshall’s side, ready to give Marshall the support he needed. Ever the watchful friend, ever faithful in helping him hold it together.
However, what Marshall really needed right now was for Cal to go away and leave him to his investigation in peace. It had been a long time since Marshall had needed the older man to hold his hand in the field. As long as he was around, Marshall would have to fight to stay in charge.
It had always been that way between the two. Even before the death of Marshall’s father, Cal had taken it upon himself to watch over him. Losing his mother moments after his birth, Marshall had attracted more than his fair share of parental figures, most of them benign.
Not Cal, though. Instead of letting him learn and grow, Cal tried to force Marshall along a path allegedly for his own good. His older sister Adelle had done the same at first, but when he had proven time and again that his judgment in the field was as unparalleled as his mastery over the Dreamscape, she had stood down from her self-appointed role as Marshall’s life coach. If she hadn’t, he never would have been able to work with her.
But, as annoying as Cal was, he was the only person other than Adelle and Jack who cared about how young Marshall was. Cal still pushed Marshall to be someone he wasn’t ready to be, but he planned to help Marshall once he became praetor. In the long run, that would be far worse than what the people who treated Marshall like the savior of the world were doing now.
Cal saw Marshall as a stand-in for his father and pushed him to take his place. But once he got Marshall where he wanted him, Cal wanted to be his regent. It would be done out of love, but he would never stop trying to coddle Marshall. If Marshall allowed Cal to do as he pleased, he’d have the man stepping on the back of his shoes for the rest of his life.
Sometimes Marshall felt so small inside, like maybe he should just sit back and let Cal and the rest of the Guard plan out his life for him. But whenever he was at his lowest and ready to give in, he would think about Jack and Adelle and the support they gave him. Their confidence in him was far more powerful than anything Marshall had magically. With them at his back, he could do anything.
Pulling together all the authority that the mantle of being a guardian had bestowed on him, Marshall looked at Cal. “When this investigation is over, I will come to you, and we will discuss this further, but I don’t promise that you will like the results.” He held up a hand to forestall the argument he saw brewing on Callum’s face. “Later. Right now, I have a case to solve.”
Only slightly mollified, Callum looked thoughtful for a time, his massive eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and then nodded. Finally, he reached out and clapped Marshall on the shoulder. “You’re a good boy, Marshall. You’ll do the right thing when the time comes.” He turned to look at Jack with skepticism. “You look out for him, you hear?”
“I don’t need you to tell me that, old man.” Disdain dripped from Jack’s words.
“Don’t start, you two.” Marshall jumped in to forestall the inevitable argument that occurred when Jack and Callum were in the same room together. As far as Marshall could remember, those two had never gotten along.
Callum leveled a narrowed eye at Jack, but after a moment, he shrugged and turned to leave.
As Callum walked away, Jack said, “I don’t know why I bothered to stop you. If I had waited another minute, you could have Crafted him a better personality.”
“You stopped me because you’re a good friend. He means well even if he is irritating.”
“Where does he get off calling you boy? You’ve been a guardian for years.”
“I think at his age, everyone looks like a child. He was born in the sixteen-hundreds, after all.” And as much as Marshall liked to think otherwise, he was still considered a child by the Guard’s standards. The fact that Marshall had his own team was unheard of at his age.
Jack snorted but said nothing. The scowl on his face spoke volumes.
A tall woman with long, honey-colored curls entered the hallway. Her hazel eyes matched Marshall’s as well as the large, round pendant she had hanging from a chain around her neck. The rest of her attire was tight, black, and functional, befitting a guardian in the field.
“Adelle, where have you been?” Marshall snapped.
“Dearest, I saw Callum on the stairs, and I’m sure he rattled you just now, but there’s no need to be snippy; it’s not like you.” Adelle kissed her brother on the cheek and asked Jack, “How bad was it?”
Jack shrugged. “Cal could have been more controlling and obnoxious. I mean, he left when Marshall told him to, so that’s something.” His words were light, but his eyes told a different story.
Adelle nodded like she understood exactly what had happened.
Marshall hated it when they did that. For the most part, all three of them worked together seamlessly. Their skills and personalities complemented one another so well it was like the gods had created them to work as a team. Then there were other times when it felt like the two of them were only doing the job because Marshall was and that their real job was to support him and keep him from going insane or losing control.
Marshall was starting to suspect they weren’t wrong to behave so. Under specific circumstances, his control over his temper wasn’t what it should be. The burden of too much power on young shoulders had left Marshall far less stable than he should have been.
Aside from that less-than-minor detail, Marshall was a master in his field, so Fire was always called in to handle the big cases. If a situation had gone completely pear-shaped, Marshall and his team were the ones to get called in to fix it, and it was beginning to look like this might turn out to be one of those cases.
Their original investigation would have to be put on hold for the time being while Fire sorted out this new mess. Which was a shame, because Marshall had put a lot of research into creating the persona he was planning on using for that mission. If he finished this case quickly enough, he might even remember it when it came time to use it, though he wasn’t holding out much hope for that.
Marshall had a hunch Callum had been incorrect in his assessment of this assignment. While it was true that ninety-nine percent of the time, the discovery of demonic energy during an investigation ended up being nothing more than an ignorant witch delving greedily into magic he or she didn’t understand, and that it was simple enough for a single guardian to take care of without a team, it would be foolish for Marshall to assume so.
Marshall had empirical knowledge that, on rare occasions, it turned out to be something much, much worse.
Pain flared in Marshall’s hands as his fingernails bit into his palms. He unclenched them slowly, trying not to draw attention to how close to the edge he still was. Taking in a slow, deep breath, he centered himself. If there were nightmares, or—his breath hitched—demons about, he was going to need every bit of calm he possessed to deal with them.
After another steadying breath, he turned his mind back to the present moment. He looked at the white spots on either end of the hallway. Even if they were made from ignorance, rather than intent, they could still be harmful to any unsuspecting person who got too close to them. When demon magic was used, it left a thin spot between dimensions. If those spots were thin enough, something nasty could reach out from the Demon Realm into the Real and treat itself to a free lunch.
“Jack, I need you to check on the officers I passed on the way up here. If any of them came in contact with these spots, they could have been possessed and will need to be purged.” He touched Jack to show him the essence of the officers he needed to find.
Communicating through touch was the easiest form of telepathy, but most dreamwalkers preferred not to. It was such an intensely personal experience that the majority of dreamwalkers chose to spend their time and energy setting up a remote link even though a simple touch would give them instant access. Marshall had been through so much with his teammates that such intimacies were second nature to them. It conserved energy and was a more precise method.
With a cocky grin and an ironic salute, Jack left to carry out Marshall’s order.
Marshall made his way to the nearest stain of demon energy, gesturing for his sister to follow. “Addy, what do you make of this?”
Adelle followed but stopped before Marshall did, sniffing at the air around them.
She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, it smells terrible. I hate demon cases. Eating is nearly impossible until they’re done.” Adelle was a rarity among dreamwalkers. While most of their race could sense magic in only one way, Adelle could both see and smell it, making her an excellent tracker. Once Adelle had a person’s essence, they couldn’t hide from her. There was one notable exception, but they all tried not to dwell on it.
Marshall gave her shoulder a sympathetic pat and winced as a hint of her disgust at the smell rolled through him. “Sorry, but it’s got to be done. Can you tell which side did this? If it’s the Blaikes, this could get ugly.”
A vacant expression settled on Adelle’s face and Marshall waited while she sorted through what her senses were telling her. When she came out of her trance, she looked vexed. “The taint is too strong to sort out a signature. All I can tell for sure is that a young male used this spot to gate out of here, and…”—she directed her attention toward the other spot down the hall but took only a moment to conclude— “a middle-aged female used that spot to gate as well.”
Marshall ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully before he could stop himself and then had to stop himself from whipping out a mirror to see if he’d messed it up. Control issues? Who, him? Surely not.
He laughed at himself and then asked, “Could it have been our mystery couple? Possession would be a good explanation for why a norm had such a shield protecting him. If they were both newly possessed, their life force wouldn’t have been drained enough for us to have seen it through the distortion of the replay we saw. Our vantage point was pretty crappy.”
“The little one was pretty enough to be a woman. We could have gotten their gender wrong,” Adelle mused. “It could also explain why they didn’t know how to use their magic. Sometimes it takes a demon a while to figure out how to operate the host.” She shook her head. “I can’t say for sure if it was our mystery couple. I’ll need more to go on. This hallway is so crowded with magic that it’s impossible to sort it all out.” She pointed to the blood on the wall. “It’s possible Stella was the one who gated out here. If she was low enough on power for her shield to pop, she might have gotten desperate.”
Marshall was quiet, allowing his mind to sort through the painfully small handful of facts they had. Due to the presence of demon magic, it was more likely the mystery couple were the bad guys. For as long as Marshall could remember, the Blaike family had been an unimpeachable presence in the Guard and the Other. Their family never had possession infestations because they were powerful enough to be able to identify a demon on their own and would have called the Guard in to kill it right away.
They weren’t known to be terribly sentimental, so harboring a possessed family member wasn’t their style. If something threatened the greater good, they would stamp it out ruthlessly. The building they had destroyed in the attempt to capture the two was a testament to that.
Still, Marshall was going to need to interview them. “It’s possible but not likely. You know what the Blaike family is like.”
Adelle shrugged noncommittally. “I’ve heard stories about them that don’t fit the image they project to the rest of the world.”
He chewed on that for a minute before asking, “Were you able to get anything from the crater downstairs?”
“The energy is even more muddled down there than it is up here. If I had been the first person on site, I might have been able to pick up something, but there are so many people freaking out down there that it’s one big psychic mess.”
Marshall nodded. “I don’t think there’s anything else here for us to see. Let’s clear out these spots, collect Jack, and get over to the Blaike mansion. You can tell me about those stories on the way.”
Chapter 8
Fourteen
It took longer to drive back to the warehouse than it had taken for Fourteen to get to the cemetery on foot. He’d had to backtrack several times to make sure they weren’t followed, then switch to another car, abandon it half a mile away from his warehouse, and carry Cym the rest of the way on foot.
They’d made the trip back in complete silence. Once the heat of the fight had faded, Fourteen’s mind began to cycle through the same thoughts over and over again. He’d had enough of Cym running off towards danger on his own to keep Fourteen safe and was ready to hash it out. The problem was, every time he was about to start in on Cym, the sight of the guy’s pale, defeated face took the fight out of him.
Exhaustion beat down on him as he carried Cym up the stairs and into his living space. Fourteen managed to lay Cym on the bed before collapsing to sit beside him. Only his training kept him from lying down too.
“Let me check your head,” Fourteen said, dimly aware of the fog-like quality the world had taken on.
Cym nodded wearily but remained silent, allowing Fourteen to run gloved hands over his scalp without protest.
Fourteen took his time examining Cym and was pleased to see his eyes were tracking properly once more. Once Fourteen ascertained that Cym had managed to escape a serious concussion, he said, “It’ll hurt for a while, but you’ll live. Does anything else hurt?”
“No.” Cym kept his eyes on the ceiling.
Spying a box of instant icepacks, Fourteen stood to get one and had to pause when the room did a slow, lazy roll. Once the world had righted itself, he pulled out a pack and squeezed it to activate the chemical reaction. “You planning on running way again?”
Cym’s reply came out in a sigh so quiet Fourteen had to strain to hear it. “No.”
“Good.” He put the pack on Cym’s forehead, remembering to be gentle at the last second. A nurse he was not, but he’d gotten good at keeping himself alive over the years, and that was all that had mattered up to now.
“That’s it?” Cym’s blue eyes finally met Fourteen’s, incredulity etched on his face. “I got caught five minutes after ditching you, nearly got you killed—again—and that’s all you have to say about it?”
“You already know what you did was the stupidest thing anyone still living has ever done. What more do I need to add to it?” Fourteen’s fingers flexed and he fought off the urge to shake Cym. Apparently, Fourteen was still upset. Where was the cold when he needed it? He paced around the room to give him a safe way to vent some energy. “Why should I bother to point out that magic seems to roll off of me? Or that if they have tracking spells, they’re probably affected by me too? Any halfway intelligent person would have thought of both of those things by now and realized I would be a valuable asset to them.” His voice was arctic—a direct contrast to how he felt inside.
