The Consumption of Magic (Tales From Verania 3)

“But I was wrong. Randall and Morgan are working under the theory that Myrin was trying to eat me.”

Silence. Painful, painful silence.

Then, “You want to run that one by us again?” Gary asked. “Because I don’t know if you meant that the way it sounded. Or at least I hope you didn’t. Because that’s either sexy or cannibalism or sexy cannibalism, and I don’t think that any of those choices is a good thing.”

“Sexy cannibalism?” Justin asked. “Do I even want to know?”

“It’s a thing,” Gary insisted. “People have weird kinks.”

“Cannibalism isn’t a kink.”

“Some people dress like cats,” Tiggy said. “Kinky, kinky cats. I say, here kitty, kitty, but I no like those cats.”

Everyone stared at him.

He hummed quietly to himself as he rubbed a finger down Gary’s snout.

“You are incredible, and I love that I know you,” Gary said reverently.

“Pretty Gary,” Tiggy cooed.

“It’s called the consumption of magic,” I said quickly, trying to get it over with. “He wants to eat my magic and combine it with his own. Randall and Morgan think that’s what he was trying to do. That the scars came from that. It wasn’t supposed to happen then, but he wasn’t expecting me to be as powerful as I was.” Everything hurt. My shoulder. My head. My heart.

The castle creaked and groaned around us as the ice settled and shifted.

Gary sounded horrified when he said, “But your magic is part of you. To take that from you would be like ripping out your soul. He can’t be that big of a bitch.”

“I beg to differ,” I said, going for some levity. “He’s pretty much the biggest bitch.” My words fell with a resounding thud in the room. No one even cracked a smile. Tough crowd. “Look, it’s not as if it’s going to happen—”

“How do you know that?” Ryan asked, voice quiet and deadly.

I tried to smile at him. “I’m Sam of Wilds. I won’t—”

“Cut the shit, Sam.”

“Language,” I said. “You know you’re—”

“Sam.”

“You don’t think I know?” I demanded. I was frustrated and annoyed. It was mostly with myself, but still. “It’s fucked-up. It’s Dark. But in the end, it’s just another godsdamn villain with delusions of grandeur. It doesn’t matter who he is or what he was to Morgan and Randall. It doesn’t matter what his endgame is, because he’s not going to get it. I don’t give a flying fuck what the

gods say, or what the star dragon says, or whatever it is that Vadoma wants to show me. It’s bullshit. It’s all bullshit. Myrin is just like everyone else that’s come for me before. He’s going to monologue how he’s going to take over the world, that he’s going to be the death of me, and you know what? I’m going to kick his fucking ass, and it’ll be over. Nothing’s going to happen to me. Nothing’s going to happen to any of you. Can we just—gods. I don’t even know what I’m asking. Just… I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry that I hid all of this, but I can handle it. I’m a wizard, for fuck’s sake. It’s my job.”

The retort, when it came, wasn’t from Ryan like I expected. Oh sure, he looked as if he was gearing up for a serious rant, his face a storm cloud of anger. And whatever he was about to say was undoubtedly deserved. If he’d said anything to me like I’d just said to him, you can sure as shit bet I’d be shooting that down right quick.

But Gary beat him to the punch. Figuratively and literally.

He was up on his feet before any of us could blink, eyes blazing as he stalked toward me. If I’d had time, I probably would have attempted to dive out the window to escape his wrath. As it was, however, I was frozen where I sat, eyeing with growing trepidation the glitter beginning to slough off Gary. It was one thing to witness Unicorn Rage when it was directed at someone else who deserved it. It was another thing to have it directed at myself.

“Don’t murder me!” I managed to say before his face was pressed up against mine. He was breathing heavily, and I went cross-eyed trying to focus on him. Glitter was getting in my mouth, and I tried not to grimace at the thought of inhaling Gary’s Unicorn Rage. It didn’t seem very sanitary.

“You shut your whore mouth,” he growled at me.

“Shut my what!”

“Now you listen to me, Sam of Wilds,” he said, and the glitter practically dripped off him. By the time he was done, it was going to look like the aftermath of a massacre at an arts and crafts fair. “If you ever try to hide something of this magnitude from me again, I swear to the gods that there will be no end to the suffering that I will rain down upon you. You will know pain, because I will never stop giving it to you. And you should know it won’t just be physical pain.”

“Oh no,” I breathed. “Not my self-esteem. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.”