Magic on the Storm

Okay, Victor was Zay’s boss. Head of the Closers, who followed the magic discipline of Faith. Tall, elegant older man. Cultured, intelligent, and ruthless. He had a sort of calm and deliberation about him that I liked. It was a little like Zayvion’s Zen mode, and I wondered if Zay picked up that particular habit from him.

I may not fully trust Victor-issues; I have them-but other than Maeve, who taught Blood magic, he was my next-favorite teacher despite the fact that he taught Faith magic.

Faith magic was the same magic Dr. Frank Gordon had used to dig up my dad and try to kill me. Well, Frank had used a lot of disciplines, Faith, Life, Death, Blood. He’d probably used everything he could to try to open the gates between life and death. Wanted to control dark magic. Sacrificed a few innocent girls to do it.

I did not regret that he was dead.

“Allie.”

Oh, right. I was supposed to be dealing with the magic that was trying to burn its way out of me.

Victor. What had he taught me? That magic was a river, a constant flow. But it could be thought of as shape and form too. As glyphs. And every glyph had a beginning and an end. Every glyph had break points, corners, places where you could block and stop magic.

So what I needed to do was think of the magic in me as a glyph, find a corner, a break point where it flowed through me, and block it.

Good thing using magic was so easy.

Not.

I imagined myself as a river. Magic flowed up through my feet, filled the pool I held inside me-the small magic I was born with that was now a raging sea-and then magic poured out, too slowly, through my fingertip and into the ground again.

Where was there a break in that?

“Another hint?” I asked.

Zayvion placed his hand high up on my thigh, his long fingers curving downward. I sighed as cool mint washed along all the rivulets and pathways magic had torched through me. Swallowed and tasted mint on the back of my throat, and breathed deep to make room for Zayvion to tap into the magic I carried. I wanted to close my eyes and savor the feel of him within me. I licked my lips, shifted in my seat a little, and drew my fingertips up the back of his hand.

“Hey,” I said all breathy-like.

“Hey. Are you going to pay attention to what I’m doing?” he asked.

Spoilsport.

I rolled my head to one side and looked at him. I didn’t draw Sight. Using magic right now was sort of the opposite of what I was trying to do.

Still, there was that whole soul-to-soul thing between Zayvion and me. When we touched, I could sense him. I concentrated on that, felt what he was doing.

Sweet hells, the man put the multi in multitasking.

He held himself in a very disciplined, meditative frame of mind. He had sort of opened himself up, a lot like how I breathe deeply to let magic move through me.

But instead of just making space for magic inside him, he had made a channel.

He had drawn a glyph, mentally. The glyph of Grounding wrapped through him like cold steel cables. He concentrated on feeding magic into it. I’d never seen this spell worked on a purely mental level.

Probably because I’d never seen any spell worked on a purely mental level.

Zayvion Jones kicked magical ass. I wondered if even my father, who was one of the most powerful magic users I’d ever known, was as strong as Zay.

“Wow,” I breathed.

That got a small smile out of him. His eyes squinted, laugh lines edging the corners.

“Thank you. Can you see how it’s channeled?”

“Other than magnificently?”

We stopped at a red light. He looked over at me. “Other than that, yes.”

I stared into his eyes, at the gold burning hot and deep there. All that did was make me want to touch him, kiss him, pour so much magic into him he’d be begging me for mercy.

Magic rolled in me, deep in my stomach, and I worked hard not to moan with the need to have him.

“You are not winning,” he noted.

“No kidding,” I gasped. Right. The idea here was to not give in to magic. Or, apparently, my need for Zay.

I pressed my fingers against my eyes. My right fingers were hot, and my left were cold, positive and negative from the magic pouring through me. I took a second to breathe in again and clear my mind.

When I looked again at Zayvion, he was paying attention to the road, taking us across the bridge, calm, unconcerned. And he was Grounding like mad on the inside.

All I had to do was find a way to slow magic pouring into me. That meant a glyph that would track back and forth at the beginning, loop and loop so that magic had a long way to travel before it could add to the pool I already carried. I could do that.

I thought.

“Victor said I could use any of the spells that slow magic, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I didn’t care how good Zayvion was-I was absolutely certain I could not just mentally draw a glyph and expect it would work. I used my right hand and traced a liquid, curvy glyph for Linger in front of me. These kinds of spells were used inside stores, restaurants, and salons. They gave off a comfortable, relaxed feeling. If they were particularly well drawn, they made shoulders drop, smiles come out, and people spend way more money and time in their vicinity.

I pinched the glyph between thumbs and two fingers of both my right and left hands. Instead of pouring magic into it, I was going to push the spell into me, so the magic in me would be forced to follow it.

I had no frickin’ clue how to do that.

“Uh,” I started.

“You can do it.”

“A little help?”

“I’m watching.”

“I wanted help, not an audience.”

He just gave me a look.

Okay, fine. I recited my go-to mantra, the “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack” jingle, to clear my mind. Then I pulled the glyph into me, toward my chest, concentrating on it wrapping around the flow of magic, the speed of magic, the pressure of magic.

My heart stuttered. Whoa. Not good. I concentrated harder on the spell. Magic, not heart. Find the magic. Just the magic. I released the spell. It sank like a rock toward my feet, then settled beneath my feet and pressed against my arches and heels. It rested there like a layer of sand and stone and soil, soaking up the magic, filtering it, and giving it a place to stretch out before it trickled up into me at a much slower pace.

My head cleared. I broke out in a sweat.

“Holy crap. Good?” I asked Zay.

He nodded. “Not how I would have done it, but effective. So yes. Good. You have control?”

Oh, right. That was the other half of this deal. I cleared my mind again, calmed my thoughts, and pressed back on the magic rolling within me. Magic fluttered, pressed once again, tempting me to use it, to fall to its siren call.

Nope. La, la, la. Not listening.

Magic quieted.

“Very nice,” Zayvion murmured. “I’m impressed.” He drew his fingers slowly up my thigh, then away, leaving the lingering cool warmth of mint and his touch behind.

“Are you still dizzy?” he asked.

“No. I feel pretty good.”