Shadow Magic (Darkling Mage 1)

Chapter 21

Everything was blinding white when I opened my eyes again. My mouth was cotton-dry, my head felt like it had been kicked in repeatedly, and my chest – the best I could say was that it felt like a small, burning coal had been shoved in there, like someone was driving a cigarette into me, right through my scar.

And somehow, in these cases, my mind had been conditioned to expect one and only one person at my bedside: Thea. I guess it was only natural for me to start scrambling against the headboard the first time I opened my eyes since the battle outside HQ. Later on I was told that I was screaming. They had to sedate me.

It turned out that it was always someone different keeping watch over me. Prudence, a few times, and Herald. Even Bastion, bless him and his douchebaggery.

Clerics took turns fixing me up, or so I was told. It wasn’t a one-doctor job, and several clerics had to go through cycles of healing and expending energy, but I liked to think that I wasn’t the only case they were working on. There were a lot of injuries in the aftermath of the battle at the square, after all.

Bastion tried to convince me that I was an especially tough patient to handle, though. All the screaming, he said. I scoffed at first, but Prudence later told me that I took a lot out of the clerics because my wounds weren’t only physical. I didn’t ask what she meant by that. All I knew was that the burning in my heart eventually subsided.

At some point, in between the marathon sleeping sessions, I noticed that a television had found its way into a corner of my room. I knew that no one had installed it, that this was HQ’s way of reacting to my presence, because some part of me wanted to know what was going on. And that was how I caught up on things, in small, blurry periods of wakefulness.

Between news reports and snatches of conversation with Prudence and, once, with Odessa, I put things together in my drug and magic-addled state. Odessa’s shield had done its work of locking the abominations in and keeping the normals safe.

Shrikes, the Scions had come to call them, the creatures with tentacles and dozens of mouths, the things that bayed like demons, the children of the Eldest. Then the Lorica had sent out teams of Mouths to wipe all traces of the battle from the minds of the normals and emergency responders who were within the vicinity.

It would have been too much work, no, near impossible to rectify things for the entire city, though, so those furthest from HQ, and the public, in general, were appeased with some cockamamie story about a PR stunt for an upcoming blockbuster. That was what the pillars of light and explosive battle were for, all just a roadshow for some big-ass movie with a promotional budget to match its production.

The Lorica had more than enough funds lining its coffers to get multiple PR firms and news outlets cracking on the story, enough to drum up buzz and create a cover for a film that was never going to happen. I joined the Lorica in fervently hoping that people would eventually forget about Hypergalactic Facepuncher: Armageddon in Lunar City.

They never found Thea. She probably blinked off somewhere to lick her wounds. I tried to take some comfort in knowing that she couldn’t possibly do anything more destructive than calling that massive circle, but knowing what little I did of magic and the undergro

und, I was sure that Valero hadn’t seen the last of her.

Her shrieking portal, Prudence explained, was an actual rupture into our dimension. Not just a regular gateway, but a proper tear, the summoning circle being massive enough to have possibly caused permanent damage to our reality. The exact point of the rift became an object of curiosity for the Lorica, something that HQ’s biggest brains had explained was now the brittlest part of our world.

Kind of like how scientists noticed that there was a thinning in the ozone layer before a permanent hole was punched in it. Great. Super awesome. Prudence said HQ was working on a way to reinforce the barrier, to make sure we never got another screaming tide of hell beasts ever again. The last thing we needed was another shrike invasion. I didn’t like the way her eyes kept glancing away from mine when she told me about it.

Days passed – it felt like weeks, really – and my aches subsided enough that I could get around on my own again. Color me boring, but I felt that I’d had enough action for what was technically only my first month on the job. One day Odessa was visiting, and I more or less tendered my resignation by telling her I didn’t think I had what it took to be a Hound anymore.

Odessa sighed. “I don’t blame you. Things are never quite this dangerous at the Lorica. Haven’t been for a long time, but it looks like Thea Morgana was in it for the long haul.”

Morgana? That was Thea’s last name? God. I really didn’t know her at all.

“She really took her time to study what she needed,” Odessa continued. “Fifteen years at the Lorica. Can you imagine? Waiting that long, biding her time until the right victim came along – sorry.”

I gave a weak smile and tried to shrug it off. Fifteen years? That would put Odessa at ten years old when she joined the Lorica, which made no damn sense. The only thing old about the Scion was something in her eyes, a kind of depth and knowing that only came with experience and age. Maybe I’d never find out her secrets, but I still had a couple of questions that needed answering.

I was in the middle of packing my things then. Truth be told, I guess I didn’t really need to tell Odessa anything about leaving the Lorica. The sight of me sorting out my belongings must have been resignation enough.

“About that. Me being the victim and everything. Is there any reason she might have picked me?”

Odessa shook her head. “I can’t think of anything specific. I’m inclined to believe what Thea said, that you just happened to be there. Still, the question remains: what exactly did she do to you?”

It was my turn to shake my head. “My guess is as good as yours. Like that whole thing with the shadows just – spilling out of me. Ripping things apart.”

“Yes. That. Those things on the field that night, the mists and the tentacles. Is that what you see inside your head?”

“Not in my head, but in the Dark Room, when I walk through it to step somewhere else.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you need me to tell you that there were stark similarities between your shadows and the shrikes that poured out of that rift. The tentacles, I mean, the blackness. At best I can tell you that the source of Thea’s battalion is the same source that feeds your very specific brand of magic.”

“The Eldest.” The word made me shiver. Just a word, but loaded with too much meaning I couldn’t decipher or comprehend.

“Whatever it was that she embedded inside you seems to anchor your power to the Eldest and their reality. It must be why your magic is so – unusual. We’ve seen Wings with abilities similar to yours, but considering what you did the night of the attack – no, you aren’t strictly a Hand either, are you?”

I set down a shirt, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at my palms. “I’m not sure what I am, if I’m honest.” Or what Thea had turned me into. I clenched my fists. “But whatever that is. Do you – am I going to turn into one of those things, you think? Am I one of them, whatever they are?”