Dark Magic, page 5
part #3 of Hunted Shifters Legacy Series
“I’m not answering that question until you answer mine. How long have you been fighting underground? Do you realize that’s illegal and might affect the clan status?”
Oh, she was good.
“It’s not going to affect clan status because I make it a point to limit my fights during my free time. And it’s a human hobby, not a supernatural one. Strictly kept apart.”
“So are my hobbies.”
“Which include taking a stroll in the low district?”
“I like the clubs here,” she replied quickly. Too quickly. She smirked to cover it up, and her tone turned mocking. “It’s not my problem if you think I’m too much of a snob to enjoy things, no matter what they cost.”
“No. You’re a snob in general, but you have the tenacity of a bulldog. You’d go anywhere so long as it’s related to a mission…except this isn’t one; otherwise, the boss wouldn’t be asking you where you are.”
Now her eyes narrowed into slits as she realized he hadn’t just been following.
“Does it give you great joy to be eavesdropping, Fitzgerald?”
The coat was wrapped securely around her, and he couldn’t see her dress at all. Her jewelry was gone, too. That told him this destination was deliberate. Also…
“What’s inside your pocket, Leila?”
To her credit, she didn’t stiffen nor give any outward reaction. In fact, a certain confidence seemed to simmer all around her, invisible but filling him with awareness. That awareness had his back going up, too.
“Why, Ovie, I didn’t think you’d be interested in the assets inside my pocket,” she mused, voice going throaty. Smoky. “Are you asking me to open my coat right now and show you in public?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m asking you,” he deadpanned, looking her in the eye. “Unless you want me telling your brother that you’ve been lying to him this whole night.”
That got to her, and he watched as something flickered on her face. Too bad he couldn’t read what it meant, but he was sure enough now that she was hiding something.
Something big. Something Edmund didn’t know and Ovie intended to find out.
Leila scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Interrogations were his thing, and the clan often relied on him to break prisoners’ vows of silence—sometimes their sanity, too, especially if it was a nasty prisoner. He could stand there all night asking questions, but the problem was Leila knew most of these tactics, and she wouldn’t be as susceptible as they were.
Still, it was worth a try.
Ovie opened his mouth, sorting through the details and suspicions in his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something curling: smoke, tendrils so light that they almost whispered against the pavement, then his feet. Alarm coursed through him, heavy and insistent, his gaze immediately sweeping the area in search of the source.
And then he found it.
“Sorry, Galaxy Ov, but I have to go. I’m late for my date and all.”
The smoke flared outward, covering the whole space up and hitting him in the face. Stunned, he could only cough incessantly the first few seconds before finally jumping away, but the smoke relentlessly followed as if seeing where he was going.
Impossible, but also…not impossible. Another stunned moment hit him when he realized what could make it possible, and dread began curling in his stomach.
It couldn’t be. Edmund had expressly forbidden it—had pretty much vowed very bad things to whomever in the clan practiced it. But the smoke clearly wasn’t from some bomb, and it shimmered around his skin in a way that made him shudder. Ovie held his breath, trying not to inhale a whole lungful. Eventually, the smoke dissipated, allowing him to see better again.
Of course, Leila was gone.
* * *
There was something to be said about a discovery that could change too many things in a clan, and it had Ovie reluctantly deciding to ask questions first and face the consequences later. Naturally, that meant keeping this from Edmund for now until he gathered enough details and not just speculation.
And Ovie was going to get those details, one way or another.
Leila was the last person he pegged to be using magic this way—or at least potions, because it seemed that was what the smoke show was. She was loyal to her brother to a T, didn’t tolerate bullshit given to the clan. Hell, she’d almost killed Celine once upon a time, simply for existing and being a mild threat to the clan’s future.
Why was she doing this now?
Suspicion rose, but he set it aside and decided to pursue it later. Only one person came to mind as to who he could get confidential information from, and he took out his phone as he hurried out of there.
“Hey, Fitzgerald.”
The bubbly response made him smile, and he greeted her back as he got out of the area and headed towards Manhattan’s busier streets. He eyed the crowd before deciding to head inside the nearest large-scale hotel, where he stood in a corner.
“Kit, I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“No, no, you didn’t. What’s up?”
“You mentioned earlier that Leila has no official assignment for the clan.”
“Yes?”
He took a deep, inward breath. “She’s roaming around the city now, and I think she’s in trouble.”
Instantly, Kit’s voice turned alert. “What kind of trouble?”
Magic trouble, he almost said but kept the information to himself. “I’m not sure yet, and that’s what I’m trying to find out. But trust me when I say the danger is starting now, and I’d rather have her location and put a stop to it before it goes any further.”
There were keyboard clicks on the other line, so quiet that he barely heard it even with his sensitive hearing. He also heard murmurs in the background: a radio playing and Jack, who seemed to be talking on the phone. Ovie had only met Jack Stallone a few times, and in those times he learnt a few things: that Jack was a cop, a half-shifter, and had pretty much proven that he loved Kit too much to let the clan dictate their lives—but also, smart enough not to openly defy Edmund and the clan.
Oddly enough, Edmund had gone along with it, and they now had a lone shifter ally on their side.
“Her tracker isn’t turned on, Fitzgerald. And you know your trackers need to be turned on for my equipment to detect it.”
He figured that, but…
“Can you update me when she does turn it on? Or when she calls in for assistance? It’s really important, Kit. I prefer to tell the clan once I’m sure of the details and she’s safe because the boss is going to kill me if she turns up dead.”
“Of course,” she said, alarm in her tone now. “Should I try to convince her to head back to the mansion if she calls…?”
“No,” was his firm response. “Just find a way to get her location and I’ll handle the rest.”
Relief surged inside him when Kit easily believed him, but that relief was followed by guilt when he hung up. Inside the hotel lobby, he paced, then sat down on the couch, trying to keep his nerves contained. It felt like something was brewing, and it felt like it was getting thicker by the second without his knowledge.
How frustrating.
An hour passed, and the lack of any update had him getting out of the hotel and slipping in the nearest bar. He ordered a beer while hankering for some Guinness, though it gave him a sense of comfort. Had he really wanted to be comfortable, he would’ve returned to the underground ring and watched the fights. But that was a lost cause for now, considering how he booked it out of there the minute he’d defeated his opponent without even getting his share of earnings.
It occurred to him that Leila must’ve seen him in action. It made him wonder if she was going to tell Edmund and if there was going to be any consequence over it.
“You look like you could use another drink or two.”
The feminine, jazzy voice had him glancing at his side, where he found a tall, willowy female hitching herself up to the stool beside him. She was wearing some sparkly white dress, reminding him of Leila so much that it annoyed him that she was in his head. He nodded in the woman’s direction.
“I could, but I might end up drinking too much.”
Delight flared in her eyes, and she gave him a bright smile. “You’re Irish.”
“I am.”
“The accent’s faint, which means you must be a long-time resident of New York.”
“I am.”
At that, she gave him a wink. “I thought Irish guys could handle their drinks.”
“We can,” he agreed, as polite as ever. She was obviously flirting, and normally he would be more receptive to it—more friendly, at least. Flirting didn’t necessarily mean falling into bed after, and this was another pastime he liked: hanging out in pubs, getting to know strangers. Having random conversations before disappearing into the night, safe in the knowledge that his identity was still secret above all of it.
“Well, then, if this is your first drink, a second wouldn’t get you drunk yet,” she teased, fingers tapping on the bar. They were close enough to touch his. “I would really love to order you one. Actually, I would really love to hear the story of how a handsome fellow like you got yourself from Ireland to New York, of all places.”
The vibration in his pocket nearly had him jumping, just as he was about to reply. He gave the woman a smile, realizing he hadn’t even gotten her name yet.
“I’m sorry, but it looks like I’m needed for something,” he said, casually waving his phone. “Maybe next time.”
Then he excused himself, catching her disappointed look but not willing to do anything about it. Business first.
“Fitzgerald, I expected you to pick up on the first ring…”
“Hold on, I’m in a bar. Let me transfer myself.”
The line went quiet as he walked out of the bar and headed back to the hotel, where he again sat on a couch away from the crowd.
“Okay, Kit, I’m good. Any updates?”
“Can you turn on your tracker for me? I need to check something.”
It was an odd request, but he acquiesced and took out his ear pod from his pocket. He turned it on right after.
“It’s on.”
“Alright. Hold on, I’m still checking something.”
Her line went quiet again, save for the radio still on in the background. He figured she was listening to her frequency device and checking Queens for any trouble—something she often did at night, then reported back to them in case it needed the clan’s intervention. The clan kept to itself most of the time, but the members did come out of the woodwork when there was a close chance of humans finding out about the supernatural existence.
Gotta protect the neighborhood, they’d once said.
“Still checking,” Kit said after a while.
“What are you checking?”
“Well, your location, for one. I want to see if it’s as accurate as it looks here…okay, can you tell me where you are, exactly?”
He stated the address, then waited as she got busy muttering some things. Finally, a sound of success escaped her lips.
“You’re showing on my tracker screen at the location you just stated.”
“Okay, great. What does this have to do…?”
“Leila just called, and I managed to get her to turn on her tracker for research purposes. Your ear pod is as updated as hers is, and I’m still getting the update on the others. It’s taking a while, but…anyway, I have her address.”
“Great. Where is she?”
“She’s fifteen minutes away from where you are, and she’s not moving. I think she’s in some closed space, probably inside a building. Here, let me send you the address.”
Chapter 7
The first potion was taking her forever.
Leila supposed that was a given, and she should be used to it by now. Making potions hadn’t been an overnight thing for her, but a talent discovered through teenage wonder: basically, getting curious during her visit once in an apothecary shop, which ended up being a magician’s abode as he sold special mixes under the radar. That curiosity had her purchasing some, along with a book for beginners that masked as a trick book but contained hidden pages on how to properly mix and match. She’d snuck it into the mansion, realizing Edmund would know even if she locked herself in a room.
So she bided her time, found a motel outside she could rent for the night.
And there, she’d discovered a hobby that turned into an obsession—which then turned into a secret that she’d practiced and curated for years.
Leila had limited herself to potion-making for now, understanding that the actual use of magic involved more than this: generally, an invasion of body and soul that she just wasn’t quite ready for. She had plenty of time to prepare for it when the need came, but for now, she was content to get herself involved in a venture she was wicked good at and was absolutely useful in many ways.
Like saving Celine’s life once, for example.
And making a magic-user lose his magic completely.
Her mind was wandering in many directions, so she willed it to stay blank and focused her attention on the glass bowl in front of her. Inside was a colorless liquid, and it had remained colorless in the hour that she’d dropped many, many items in. She measured a few more items now: a tiny amount of red powder, then a dollop of pearly gel. It turned into a slimy pink concoction, which she then dropped on the colorless liquid.
Immediately, the liquid swirled, then shimmered so beautifully. Despite seeing this sight too many times to count, it still caught her eye, had her unable to turn away. She stepped back when the shimmering stopped with a pop, a cloud forming over the glass bowl and slithering up to the ceiling. The liquid changed color, a very pale pink that cruised around in its container.
The concoction wasn’t supposed to have any feeling to it, but this one almost seemed playful. Wary of it, she stepped back and went to her other table, just wanting to finish this as soon as she could.
A shadow slithered at the corner of her eye, making her freeze instantly. Her claws and sharp teeth were out in a second as she faced the lurking danger—
Leila paused, then froze further.
“How the hell did you find me here?”
As soon as the question was out, she realized how she’d been found. Gritting her teeth, wondering if it had been a setup, she quickly turned off the ear pod and gave Ovie a glare, one that often made those on the receiving end wither.
The damn bastard merely returned it.
“Don’t even think about killing her off. She didn’t know what she signed up for when she gave me your address.”
“Of course I’m not going to kill Kit,” she snapped, glaring harder. “What do you take me for?”
“A ruthless, calculating woman who would get rid of any threat by any means necessary,” was his fast response. Which was accurate.
“She’s important to the clan, practically irreplaceable. I’m not that stupid.”
“Yeah. And if you kill her, you’ll expose yourself to Edmund.”
And Ovie wasn’t stupid, either.
The more they argued, the more time she was losing. Leila decided fighting Ovie now—verbally or physically—would just result in her failing her first potion, and she couldn’t have it. She only had enough materials for three.
“I’m not going to kill her, so that topic is closed. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
The dratted man braced himself, gaze sweeping his surroundings before locking in on her. His gray eyes were disapproving, and they were snapping with energy that told her he’d attack if she did.
“What is all this, Leila?”
“You’re not blind,” she returned in a hiss. “Go see for yourself, but stay out of my way for the next few minutes. Otherwise, I’ll snap your head off.”
She strode to the other table, turning her back on him and willing herself to relax—not an easy feat, considering he could attack at any second. When no attack came, she managed to tear her focus away from him and back to her collection: powders, liquids, and gels in different containers, labeled in small letters and shorthand. With a deep inhale of air, she forced herself to keep her mind blank again before her hands reached out for fresh items from the packet.
A teaspoon of powder, a few drops of liquid. The mixture was more of a balm now, thicker than gel as she carried it to the glass bowl. She dropped it in, stepping back when the mixture shimmered again and danced more wildly.
“Leila…”
“It’s a potion,” she said, cutting him off. “It’s not going to explode if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve been doing this for years now, and I’m not stupid enough to create one without knowing the basics first.”
Stunned silence followed her declaration, which she took advantage of as she carefully eyed the mixture. A puff of cloud appeared before pale pink turned purple, and the potion went back to playfully dancing. She turned to return to the other table, aiming for one last drop of liquid.
Ovie stepped in her path, essentially blocking her from getting to the table. He was close enough that she could smell him: a mixture of sweat, masculine hormones, and beer, which surprisingly made her stomach tighten. He was also close enough to keep his voice lowered, but there was no missing the tension in every word.
“Leila, if you’re in trouble and you think this is the solution, think about the clan. Stop being selfish for once and think about how this will affect our home…actually, no. Be selfish and think of what will happen if Edmund finds out. He’ll destroy you.”
Her chin lifted, and her shoulders turned rigid. Leila’s hands itched to push him off, but she knew that wasn’t going to budge him.
“Contrary to your belief, Fitzgerald, this isn’t about me.”
“Then why are you venturing into something illegal?”
“Because I need it for someone—and if you just step back a bloody minute and give me space, I can complete this and show you how well-versed I am in this whole thing.”
She didn’t wait for him to step back but sidestepped him and snatched the liquid she needed before backing out. Hurrying to the glass bowl, she uncorked the bottle and poured the entire contents in, watching as liquid turned from purple to violet…then, to black, but still with some violet shades swirling all over it.
