Shadow Magic (Darkling Mage 1)

I clicked off the final light, sighing in resignation, the sound of my breath the only thing left in the apartment – which was why it jolted me when I heard something else.

“Sterling told me you would be here.”

I whirled around, my hand flying to the knife in my pocket as I looked for the source of the voice. I didn’t have to look very far. The man was only a few feet away from me, the only thing separating us a scant measure of floor. He stood by the window, the tan of his skin visible in the light of the moon, slick, styled hair falling in locks over his shoulders, his beard carefully trimmed. The man wore a fine suit, and a soft leather glove on one hand. On his fingers gleamed gold rings embedded with jewels in amber, orange, and ocher. And his eyes, most striking of all, were yellow, like a cat. Like a beast of prey.

“I don’t want any trouble,” I said, holding one hand out between us. “I’ve had enough weirdness this week.”

The man stepped forward, his movement so lackadaisical that it was hard to find it threatening, and he spread his arms. “I’m just here to talk.”

About what? The god murders? My own death? There were so many variables at play now that it was nothing short of exasperating trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. But this, at least, I could figure out on the spot.

“You’re Sterling’s boss. Whoever you are.”

The man tapped the side of his nose, aquiline and handsome, his grin confident. “The very same,” he said.

“He promised me that no harm would come to me tonight,” I said, willing hardness into my voice, summoning the last dregs of my flagging confidence. “He said he was ordered not to hurt me.”

He pressed his hands together, holding them in front of him with the fingers laced, like this was just some business meeting, and not some prolonged threat.

“That was what I ordered him to do, correct. But I made no such promises myself.”

I pulled the knife out of my pocket. The man’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of it, and he chuckled.

“Let’s not be so crude, Dustin. I’m only teasing. Surely Sterling told you that I only wanted to talk.”

I frowned. “How do you even know my name? How do you even know about me?”

“And the special things that you can do. How indeed.” He ran a finger along the length of the rickety wooden thing I called a dinner table, then inspected the tip of it for dust. “When you died – and I do apologize for bringing up such a stinging memory – your gifts awakened inside of you. Such a stressful, terrible moment for it to happen, but there we are. Magic came alive inside of Dustin Graves on that night, setting aflame. And those of us who perceive magic, those of us who live it, we can see that fire from afar.”

I looked around uneasily, only taking some small comfort in the fact that my entire apartment was, at this point, one giant shadow. I was only afraid that I still didn’t have the strength to make another shadowstep.

“So that’s how the Lorica found me? Is that what you’re saying? Because I was some giant beacon when I died – when I awakened?”

The man nodded. “It was such an interesting signature, too. Not quite like the norm. Imagine that you are only accustomed to seeing orange fire, which, silly me, is how you have experienced fire your whole life anyway. And one night, a black fire appears. It is curious, and it draws many of us.”

“So it’s not just you and the Lorica who are after me.”

“That I know of. You are – different, to say the least, Dustin. May I call you Dustin? You may call me Carver.” He smiled tightly, then went on. It was a formality, I knew, and he didn’t wait for a response, just went on speaking. “Who knows how many parties are interested in what you can do, and who knows what lengths they’ll go to find and, shall we say, acquire you. It’s only a shame that you awakened in such unusual, such excruciating circumstances.”

“What do you mean?” The hand I was holding the knife with was lowering, like the fight was going out of me. I knew something bad was coming.

“You didn’t know?” Carver tutted. “When one awakens to magic is not accurately documented. All we know is that it happens eventually, whether in childhood, adolescence, or even in middle age. Your experience was accelerated because of what happened to you. Your awakening was not an accident. Someone meant to do that to you.”

“I – I don’t understand.”

The man sighed, though not to express impatience. It sounded sad, almost. Sympathetic. “Every mage has a spark inside of them, one that grows into a roaring fire when they come into their power. Whoever did this to you threw kindling on yours by thrusting you into a horrific situation. They forced you to awaken.”

“Then my murder had a purpose.” I looked at the knife in my hand, my grasp around it now loose, my fingers limp. But I tightened my grip again, my blood going hot. “You had something to do with this.”

Carver’s eyes flashed. “Don’t be foolish.”

“You’re part of the Black Hand.” I pointed at his leather glove. “Hell, you are the Black Hand.”

He spoke slowly, incredulous. “The Black Hand.”

“That’s right. You sacrifice people to your dark gods. No, not just earth entities. You psychos worship the Eldest, don’t you?”

It was bait. I didn’t have the slightest idea what worshipping them entailed, or how insane someone would have to be to try, but if he knew what the Eldest were –