the doorknob was as big as a cantaloupe. My right hand, still tingling from the spell jolt, unhosted the second aphid, and I set it to join the first.
When they were both the size of fuzzy, pale-green watermelons, the tiny scritching sound of their feeding stopped and they dropped from the doorknob. I caught one, and Gareth caught the other. “Do you want the power?” I asked.
“What?”
I cradled my aphid in both hands, and it deflated, feeding me spell power again, exquisite hate and strength, a hot syrup both burning and sweet. “Put it down if you don’t want the power.” My voice was hoarse as my body adjusted to this influx. I was lucky to have had a taste the day before, otherwise I could see this killing me, as poisonous as it was-or it could have killed me if I hadn’t had my special protection. What if someone random touched the doorknob?
I directed the power flow into a fireproof box in my mind. I could store this power and dilute it for personal use later.
The aphid vanished into my palm again.
“It’s stuck! Ouch! It burns!” Gareth tried to shake the aphid off his hand, but it clung, a gelatinous mass, and shrank. He keened, a high, mindless wail.
He didn’t have the defenses to handle this. I grabbed his hands as the aphid vanished under his skin and followed floods of power along dried riverbeds inside him, places where his witch power ought to flow. I couldn’t stop the rush of hot new power, but I could soften it by adding power of my own, cold power I rarely tapped. He gasped over and over, and I saw that his mother’s power didn’t poison him either. He had been living with the restriction spell inside him long enough to acclimate to it.
The power rushed through all his channels and reached the river’s source, burst through a wall, and uncapped the spring inside. I had to let go of him then, he burned so hot.
He screamed. I covered my ears with my hands and waited it out.
Finally he collapsed, twitching, on the floor.
I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I wasn’t sure that was the right prescription, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.
When I rejoined Gareth, he sat up and took the glass from me, and my shoulders, tight as corsets, loosened. I hadn’t been sure there was anything left of his mind.
“I feel sick,” he whispered.
“I know.” He could talk! I relaxed even more. “Do you need anything I can get you?”
“An explanation?”
I laughed, relieved he could ask. I rose and grasped the doorknob. It didn’t bite this time. I turned it and pushed on the door, but the door rattled: it was locked. Mechanical protection in addition to magical. I knew a lot of unlock spells, though, and the first one I tried worked. “Let’s see what we earned.” I hauled Gareth to his feet. He staggered, straightened, wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
I let go of the doorknob and stepped back, giving him the choice. He studied me, then gripped the knob and turned it.
First thing out of the room was a smell, cold and rotten, like a cave where corpses were stored. The door opened inward. Gareth pushed it and let it swing. The floor inside was painted a lightsucking, tarry black.
“God,” he said. “I’m glad I never saw this before. I couldn’t sleep in the same house with this again.”
His mother’s altar took up the whole far wall, a black freize with niches in it where tentacled god-statues lurked, some veiled with dark lace, others staring, visible and revolting. On the flat stone bench below, a large brass bowl held ashy remains of burnt things and a scattering of small charred bones. A red glass goblet was half-full of dark liquid. A scorched dagger lay between the goblet and the bowl. A carved ebony box stood on the bench, too.
One of the god-statues waved three tentacles at me. I’d had dealings with him before. For a dark god, he had a great sense of humor. I wiggle-waved back.
“Let’s go,” Gareth said.
“Wait. Look in there with your witch eyes. See if there’s anything you need to take.”
“What?”
“Look.”
Along the side walls of the room-any windows had been covered over-there were shelves full of magical aids and ingredients, and a small library of hide-bound books. Gareth stepped over the threshold into the room. A shudder went through him as he stood in the heart of his mother’s power. “What am I looking for?” he asked.
“Something that belongs to you.”
“I’ve never seen any of this stuff before.”
I shrugged. He examined the shelves without touching anything. I wouldn’t have touched, either. Everything looked dusty or dirty, even the ingredients I recognized.
After a tour of the room, Gareth stopped at the altar. He held his hand above the dagger, the bowl, the goblet, and finally the box. He lifted the box’s latch and swung the lid up. Soft light glowed from inside. “Oh,” he cried. His hand hovered, then dipped in. He lifted a fist and pressed whatever he held against his breastbone. When his hand lowered, there was nothing in it, and nothing on his shirt, either. He turned toward me. His face was alive with confused excitement.
The front door slammed open. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” cried Gareth’s mother. She saw the open door to her secret room, and shrieked.
“I’m the girlfriend,” I said.
She stalked forward, her anger growing with every step, until her shadow towered above her, filled with lightning strikes in random directions.
“How dare you open that door?” she screamed, and then, when she saw that Gareth was in the room, she went silent, which was worse than the screams, though less ear-torturing.
At last she stepped forward, muttering words that hurt my ears. She slammed her left palm into my chest, sending a powerjolt through me that would have knocked me on my ass if I hadn’t just processed a lot of her power. I was still humming with stolen strength, though, and her own power inside me shielded me from the new assault. She flicked her hand toward Gareth. A bolt of blue lightning shot out, sizzled through his shirt, scorched his chest. He staggered, straightened, planted his feet, and faced her.
“Okay,” he said.
She gasped.
“I got your eviction notice, Mom. I’m moving in with Terry.”
“What?” She stepped toward him. She laid her hand on his chest. “You-what?” Her voice was a whisper now.
“Good-bye.” He pushed past her, and her hand slid off of him.
She ran to the bench and opened the ebony box, gasped again.
By that time we had grabbed Gareth’s things and were headed for the front door.
Mom made cocoa in the kitchen for us after Gareth had stowed his duffle and backpack in the guest room.
“He’ll be able to pay rent and utilities,” I said. “I’m hiring him as my assistant, so he should make plenty of money.” Too bad his mother was so short-sighted. She hadn’t known what a valuable asset she had. He was mine, now. Her mistake.
“Sure, sure,” said Mom.
“I better protect you, Mom. His mother’s really scary. She might come after us.”
“Great,” Mom grumbled.
“Are you okay with me spelling you a shield against her? She almost killed us.”
“Terry!” Mom reached across the table and grabbed both my hands, clutched them tight. “Don’t do dangerous things! How many times do I have to tell you?”
“I had to rescue him, Mom. You would have, if you saw what it was like at his house.”
She softened. She reached for Gareth’s hand. He ducked her, then stilled and endured her touch.
“All right,” my mother said. “Protect me, Terry.”
Strange, almost scary happiness shot through me. Mom didn’t trust me with magic; she knew my track record.
