take Zayvion with you. To return to life you’ll need to relinquish magic, Angel. This is the best I could do for you.”
“Don’t call me Angel. You haven’t done anything for me. It’s all been for you. You traded my magic without asking me. It’s not yours—it’s never been yours. And you expect me to honor your deal?”
“Yes. If you want to save Zayvion.”
“I can’t,” I said. “If I give my magic away, what do you think Mikhail will do with it? Destroy the world? I can’t pay that price. I can’t make everyone else suffer so I can have Zay.” I was angry and horrified that no one understood what was really going on here. They were making me choose between saving Zayvion and saving the world. I couldn’t make that choice. I shouldn’t put my love—my desperation—for Zay over the good of the whole world, and yet I wanted him alive with me so badly it hurt.
It was Mikhail who answered. “The magic you carry will not be used for destruction at my hands.”
“I don’t know that. I have no guarantee of that.”
“The risk is yours to take,” he said. “What do you want, Allison Angel Beckstrom?”
Zayvion. I wanted Zayvion. The whole world could go to hell for all I cared, as long as I could touch him again, hold him, be with him again. Alive.
It was selfish of me, greedy. But it was true.
“Don’t,” I said, torn between anger and need. If I’d had tears, I’d have been a sobbing mess. But there was no crying in death. Good thing. It forced me to keep thinking past the pain. And I knew what I had to do.
“I want the truth,” I said. “If you want my magic, you’ll let me cast a Truth spell and you’ll answer my questions.” Everything came with a price. That was how magic worked. It was time for the world-crushing, magic-hungry maniac to pay up.
He scowled, shoulders tensing. His hands, still clasped, went white at the knuckles. Not so much a sad guy now, he looked furious. I thought he was going to say no.
“Done.” He held out his hand, palm tipped upward.
Old Dad inhaled. Even he hadn’t thought Mikhail would agree.
I wasn’t sure Truth would work in death. It took blood to cast it, and I hadn’t seen a drop of blood since I’d been in death. I sure as hell didn’t know if Mikhail would bleed. But it was the best I could do. Breathing was getting harder. Shadows closed in on my peripheral vision as I walked over to Mikhail. Stone was moving a little slower too, his head cool under my hand as if he was running down.
There wasn’t any time left for second chances.
I stopped in front of Mikhail and worked on clearing my mind. It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but after a few verses of my “Miss Mary Mack,” song, my thoughts finally slipped from fight or flight to something more meditative. I set a Disbursement out of habit—I decided on muscle aches.
Mikhail waited the entire time, his hand open.
When my mind was clear enough, when the panic was more than a breath away, I slashed my left palm and placed it back on Stone’s head. Then I quickly drew the blade across Mikhail’s palm.
No blood from either of us. Instead, a dim red light drifted from my hand, lifting like smoke, while a bright white-blue poured from his hand in an icy stream. I caught and mingled the ice and smoke along the blade of the dagger and used it to draw the Truth spell into the air between us.
The spell blazed to life; a geometric glyph burned in the air. The connection was made.
“Are you going to use my magic to harm those I love?”
“No.” The word rolled through me, soft as a cat pressing and stretching. I knew he was telling the truth.
“Are you going to use my magic to harm or kill innocents?”
“No.” Again, the truth.
“Are you going to use my magic to destroy the world?”
A slight hesitation this time, and a wash of possibilities rushed through my head like math equations I couldn’t solve. “I have no desire to destroy the world.”
True, if
“Don’t call me Angel. You haven’t done anything for me. It’s all been for you. You traded my magic without asking me. It’s not yours—it’s never been yours. And you expect me to honor your deal?”
“Yes. If you want to save Zayvion.”
“I can’t,” I said. “If I give my magic away, what do you think Mikhail will do with it? Destroy the world? I can’t pay that price. I can’t make everyone else suffer so I can have Zay.” I was angry and horrified that no one understood what was really going on here. They were making me choose between saving Zayvion and saving the world. I couldn’t make that choice. I shouldn’t put my love—my desperation—for Zay over the good of the whole world, and yet I wanted him alive with me so badly it hurt.
It was Mikhail who answered. “The magic you carry will not be used for destruction at my hands.”
“I don’t know that. I have no guarantee of that.”
“The risk is yours to take,” he said. “What do you want, Allison Angel Beckstrom?”
Zayvion. I wanted Zayvion. The whole world could go to hell for all I cared, as long as I could touch him again, hold him, be with him again. Alive.
It was selfish of me, greedy. But it was true.
“Don’t,” I said, torn between anger and need. If I’d had tears, I’d have been a sobbing mess. But there was no crying in death. Good thing. It forced me to keep thinking past the pain. And I knew what I had to do.
“I want the truth,” I said. “If you want my magic, you’ll let me cast a Truth spell and you’ll answer my questions.” Everything came with a price. That was how magic worked. It was time for the world-crushing, magic-hungry maniac to pay up.
He scowled, shoulders tensing. His hands, still clasped, went white at the knuckles. Not so much a sad guy now, he looked furious. I thought he was going to say no.
“Done.” He held out his hand, palm tipped upward.
Old Dad inhaled. Even he hadn’t thought Mikhail would agree.
I wasn’t sure Truth would work in death. It took blood to cast it, and I hadn’t seen a drop of blood since I’d been in death. I sure as hell didn’t know if Mikhail would bleed. But it was the best I could do. Breathing was getting harder. Shadows closed in on my peripheral vision as I walked over to Mikhail. Stone was moving a little slower too, his head cool under my hand as if he was running down.
There wasn’t any time left for second chances.
I stopped in front of Mikhail and worked on clearing my mind. It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but after a few verses of my “Miss Mary Mack,” song, my thoughts finally slipped from fight or flight to something more meditative. I set a Disbursement out of habit—I decided on muscle aches.
Mikhail waited the entire time, his hand open.
When my mind was clear enough, when the panic was more than a breath away, I slashed my left palm and placed it back on Stone’s head. Then I quickly drew the blade across Mikhail’s palm.
No blood from either of us. Instead, a dim red light drifted from my hand, lifting like smoke, while a bright white-blue poured from his hand in an icy stream. I caught and mingled the ice and smoke along the blade of the dagger and used it to draw the Truth spell into the air between us.
The spell blazed to life; a geometric glyph burned in the air. The connection was made.
“Are you going to use my magic to harm those I love?”
“No.” The word rolled through me, soft as a cat pressing and stretching. I knew he was telling the truth.
“Are you going to use my magic to harm or kill innocents?”
“No.” Again, the truth.
“Are you going to use my magic to destroy the world?”
A slight hesitation this time, and a wash of possibilities rushed through my head like math equations I couldn’t solve. “I have no desire to destroy the world.”
True, if
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