Magic Bleeds (Kate Daniels 4)

“Why, thank you, that lovely beachside property in Kansas you’re selling sounds wonderful.”

“Your abilities complement my own. I can use you, and I would much rather rely on you than on the people I employ now, because you can do it better and you’re chained by a code of ethics, which, while bewildering, would prevent you from betraying me. My offer makes more sense than working long hours for an organization that is refusing to provide you with the resources and authority to adequately do your job.”

A small part of me actually sat up and thought, This sounds good. Ted must’ve gotten deeper under my skin than I’d realized.

At the core, Saiman was right. I was paid a fraction of what a knight made, my professional designation was precarious at best, and my half-assed status barred me from most of the resources available to a full-fledged member of the Order. If I took a cynical view, and it was probably right on the money, Ted had placed me into this position of “neither here nor there” on purpose. It was a bait-and-wait. Show me things I could have, give me a taste, and wait until I got frustrated enough to demand the whole enchilada and agree to joining the Order permanently. Except that he decided I betrayed the human race in the Midnight Games.

I looked at Saiman. “How do you decide if someone is human?”

He braided his long, slender fingers on his bent knee. “I don’t. It’s not up to me to assess someone’s humanity. Being human in our world is synonymous with being included into the framework of society. Humanity entitles one to certain rights and privileges, but also implies voluntary acceptance of laws and rules of conduct. It transcends mere biology. It’s a choice and therefore belongs solely to the individual. In essence, if a person feels they are human, then they are.”

“Do you feel you’re human?”

He frowned. “It’s a complex question.”

Considering that he was part Norse god, part frost giant, and part human, his hesitation was understandable.

“In a philosophical sense of the concept, I view myself as a person, a being conscious of its sentience. In the biological sense, I possess the ability to procreate with a human and produce a viable offspring. So yes, I consider myself a type of human. A different species of human perhaps, but human nonetheless.”

I considered myself human. I knew Andrea did, too. Derek was human to me. So were Jim and Dali. And Curran. Ted Moynohan did not see them as humans. He wasn’t alone. I’d glimpsed similar views within the Order during my time at the Academy. That, more than anything else, made me want to leave.

“Back to my offer—being your own boss has its advantages,” Saiman said. “Money doesn’t purchase happiness, but it does provide comfort, cashmere coats, and chocolate. Think about it.”

Thank you for that demonstration of your steel-trap memory. The only time he caught me drooling over chocolate was almost three years ago, when we first met. Saiman forgot nothing. “It’s a good offer. But I would be trading the Order’s leash for the chain of being in debt to you.”

His voice gained a soft velvet quality. “Being in debt to me wouldn’t be taxing.”

I matched his voice. “Oh, I think it would. A leash is a leash, whether it’s silk or chains.”

Saiman smiled. “It wouldn’t have to be silk, Kate.”

Full stop. Change of subject before we got to a place I didn’t want to go. “Were you able to crack my parchment?”

Saiman assumed a martyred expression. “I should be insulted that after all this time you still doubt me.”

I knew what was coming—the Saiman show. He’d cracked it and now he wanted to show off.

Saiman reached into his coat and produced a narrow lead box. “Are you familiar with the Blind Monk’s Scrolls?”

“No.”

“Twelve years ago, an Eastern Orthodox monk by the name of Voroviev attempted to exorcise what he perceived as a demon, which had taken over the local school. He sought to banish the deity. The creature had attacked him during the exorcism, blinding him, and he defended himself by means of an ancient religious scroll containing a prayer. When the exorcism was completed, the scroll went blank. It was placed into a glass case, and over the course of the next three years, the writing gradually reappeared.”

“What happened to the monk?”

“He died of his injuries. The question before us is why did the writing on the scroll vanish?”

I frowned. “I’d guess that the scroll’s enchantment was exhausted by coming into contact with the creature. If the writing itself was magic, it would vanish.”

“Precisely. The scroll slowly absorbed magic from the environment, and when it replenished its magic reservoir, the writing reappeared. Your parchment is of the same ilk. The writing is still there, it’s simply weakened beyond the level of our detection.” He snapped his fingers. A black oblong stone about the size of my middle finger popped into his hand. Saiman the magician. Oy.

He turned the stone. A rainbow danced across the smooth black surface. He wanted me to ask a question. I obliged. “What is it?”

“A tear of rainbow obsidian retrieved from under a ley line. Very rare. When properly positioned, it picks up residual magic, amplifies it, and emits it. I placed your parchment on one side of it and a piece of true vellum, calfskin, on the other. The vellum was cured with chanting over a period of two months. It’s extremely magic sensitive. A scroll of this vellum costs upward of five thousand. As I’ve mentioned, my fee is a mere pittance.”

“You’re making more on this job than I make in a year.”

“A disparity I have offered to remedy.”

Not in this lifetime. “So the obsidian picked up the weak magic from the parchment and radiated it onto the vellum. What was the result?”

Saiman opened the box and held up a small square of vellum. Blank. All except a corner, where eight tiny lines crossed each other: four vertical and four horizontal, forming a square sectioned off into nine smaller squares, like a tic-tac-toe field. Numbers filled the squares: 4, 9, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 1, 6.

I’d seen this before. The sum of each row, column, or diagonal would be equal. “Zahlenquadrat. Magic square.”

Saiman cleared his throat. He must’ve expected me to be baffled and I stole his thunder.

“Yes. The magic square is quite old. It was used by Greeks, Romans, Chinese, Hindus—”

The wheels in my head started turning. This was the area of magic I knew very well, because it related to my biological father. “It’s a nine square, three by three. Five in the middle, the sum is fifteen. The Jews employed Hebrew letters as numerals. The center number, five, corresponds to the Hebrew letter heh, which is a symbol for Tetragrammaton, YHWH, the holiest of the names of God. The sum, fifteen, is the Hebrew yah, which in itself is a name of God. This is a Jewish magic square.”