Jocelynn Drake - [Asylum Tales 02] Read online

  Trixie opened her mouth to say something, but never got the chance. Sofie jumped out of her arms and back onto the tattooing chair between Trixie and me. “Absolutely not!” she snapped. Her tail flicked back and forth as she paced along the chair. If she had been human, I think she would have smacked me.

  “You are a warlock, Gage! You do not have weaknesses. You do not allow ordinary, weak-minded thugs to control your actions through threats. You take care of them and continue on your way.”

  I gave a little snort. “This coming from a witch trapped as a cat for the past several years.”

  Sofie primly sat in the middle of the chair, facing me. “My condition has no bearing here. You are a warlock!” Her chest puffed up as she added that last bit, as if it was supposed to instill some kind of latent pride.

  I shrugged. “I’m not a warlock. I never finished.”

  “You became a warlock the minute you were taken to the Towers. Doesn’t matter if you finished.”

  “No. I’m not a warlock. I don’t kill.”

  I didn’t know it was possible, but Sofie managed to arch one little cat brow at me in mocking question. Fuck. Simon was haunting me.

  “That was self-defense,” I said slowly through clenched teeth.

  “You’re saying that you didn’t go there intending to kill him?” Sofie pressed. While it didn’t show now, I could easily imagine the smug expression on her human face.

  I looked away, glaring at the wall. I could argue that I didn’t go across town looking for Simon because I had been looking for answers from my old tattooing mentor Atticus Sparks. But deep down, I had always known that it would all lead back to Simon and that matter came down to killing him before he killed me.

  “Does Reave know about me?” Trixie asked, breaking into my train of thought.

  I jerked my gaze over to her and stiffly nodded. I wasn’t going to lie to her in an effort to leave her feeling safe when she wasn’t. It would be better if she at least knew to look over her shoulder on occasion, not that I wanted to add to her worries. She was already looking over her shoulder in expectation of seeing another elf hunting her. We might have earned a reprieve from her people, but neither one of us trusted it.

  “I won’t let him touch you,” I said.

  “Why? Because you’ll kill him?” Trixie’s words were soft and gentle, possessing a wealth of sadness for me and this life I was trying to live.

  I pushed away from the counter and walked over to the doorway so that I could look across the lobby and out the front picture window to the street beyond. Shoving my hands into my short hair, I leaned my elbows against the doorjamb and stared at nothing.

  “No, he won’t touch you because I’ll do as he asks until I think of some way to take care of this problem.”

  Trixie slid her arms around my waist and laid her head against my spine. I flinched. I hadn’t even heard her move from her seat she was so quiet. “And sell out your morals and beliefs in the process. Things like that damage the soul.”

  “Who says that I’ve got any soul left to damage?” I teased, but dark truth underlay that comment. I was already missing a piece of my soul. Simon had stolen it and I failed to get it back before killing him. After all the decisions I had made, I was beginning to wonder if I wasn’t missing more than that one piece.

  “Your soul is beautiful, Gage, if a little tarnished.” I didn’t say anything. I wanted her to believe this if only so that she would keep her arms around me for a little longer. “This Reave deserves to die for what he’s done to the pixies and everyone else he’s hurt. I won’t mourn him if you decide to get rid of him. Just don’t kill him with magic. You’ve already lost one year.”

  I closed my eyes against that horrible reminder. That little fact woke me up from a deep sleep on more than one occasion, scaring the shit out of Trixie during the few times I had slept over at her place.

  Magic had some strange rules. There had to be a little give for everything you got—particularly for the big things like killing someone. For the most part, you simply moved energy that already existed in the air, directing it to do your bidding. But killing someone with magic was another matter. You were ending a life, removing a big source of that energy from the earth, and that unbalanced things. The price was that you lost one year of your own life for each person you killed with magic. And it wasn’t one of those crappy years off the end. No, you could be twenty-five, healthy and happy in the prime of life, and fall dead while walking down the middle of the street with no warning. You’d be dead for exactly 365 days and then wake up as if nothing had happened; assuming that those around you were nice enough to preserve the body so that it could start up again.

  I had killed Simon with magic. He was dead and I owed magic one year of my life. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but I was terrified that it would happen before I could help Trixie solve her problem with the Summer Court. I was terrified it would happen before I could get Bronx free of Reave. I was terrified that it would happen and the Towers would discover my body helpless and unprotected. I was terrified of Lilith, who was waiting for me with a chunk of my soul on the other side.

  Forcing my eyes open, I drew in a slow, steadying breath before dropping my hands down to cover Trixie’s where they rested on my waist. “It’ll be fine. I’ll find a way to deal with Reave before he even thinks about bothering you.”

  “It’s not me that I’m worried about,” she said against my back.

  Turning, I smiled at her. “I’ll deal with Reave before he even thinks about bothering Bronx again.”

  Trixie made a sound of disgust as she shoved away from me and returned to her workstation. It wasn’t what she meant and we both knew it, but at least my comment succeeded in removing the concern from her eyes.

  “Do you have any appointments?” I asked, redirecting her thoughts.

  She glanced up at the clock on the wall and shook her head. “Not for another hour and I’ve already done the prep work.”

  “You mind keeping an eye on things for a little while? I’ve got a couple things I want to check on downstairs.”

  Trixie gave a little wave of her hand as she sat back on her stool, leaning against the counter behind her. “Go for it.”

  “Thanks.” I flashed her a quick smile before I turned to look down at Sofie. “You care to join me in the dungeon?”

  “Fine with me,” the cat replied, jumping off the chair to follow me. “I’ve been waiting to see your stash of goodies for a while now.”

  I gave a soft chuckle as she trailed me down the narrow hallway to the back room. I closed the door behind her, but didn’t lock it. Trixie wouldn’t enter unless it was an emergency. She knew of the dangers associated with my private storeroom.

  “Hang back until I call you,” I said as I knelt and pulled up the trapdoor in the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sofie give a little nod as she sat a few feet away, her tail softly swishing across the floor.

  The basement was one of the reasons I had chosen this building when I decided to open up my own shop. After living several years with Sparks, I had been eager to get out on my own and a part of it had been because I thought I could set up a secret place to practice a little magic. I had been stupid. It was only recently that I discovered that Gideon had always known about my secret spot, though I was hopeful that he didn’t know about everything it contained.

  I paused while descending the stairs as a thought struck me. If Gideon was no longer the guardian who kept an eye on me, I would need to close this spot down or whoever was assigned as my parole officer would drag me in before the council in a heartbeat. I’d have to get rid of everything, or get Gideon to help me hide it better.

  The warped wooden stairs creaked under my feet as I continued to the dirt floor. I walked to the center of the pitch-black room and blindly reached up, feeling for the beaded metal cord that hung from the only light. I had been in the basement a thousand times, knew it blind, but my stomach still churned the f
irst few seconds after entering. I had already checked it once when I first arrived at the shop, but it was only after I turned on the light and saw that nothing had been touched that I started to relax.

  Lifting my right hand, holding the open palm toward a symbol spray-painted on the far blank wall, I murmured a few words and directed a little energy toward it, disarming the protective spell.

  “It’s clear,” I called, leaning toward the stairs and the opening in the ceiling.

  A second later, Sofie poked her head in the opening, peering down before delicately descending the stairs on silent paws. She stopped halfway, the hair on her back standing on end. The cat gave a little shake, settling her fur back while narrowing her eyes on me. “Goodness,” she said, sounding a bit breathless. “You’ve got some powerful magic down here.”

  I smiled a bit stiffly at her. This was the first time I had allowed another witch or warlock to come into my secret dungeon. I felt the heaviness of the energy too, but I had grown accustomed to it after so many trips. I even felt it when I was on the main floor, but only slightly. I wondered if Sofie did as well.

  “I’ve got some dangerous items down here.”

  Sofie started to come down the rest of the stairs, but abruptly stopped when her eyes fell on the black symbol that covered the only blank stone wall in the room. Every muscle in her body had gone stiff and I could almost hear her heart pounding in her chest. “That’s a very strong protection spell.” Her voice was tight and barely above a whisper, as if she was afraid that the slight sound would awaken the dormant spell.

  “Like I said, I’ve got some dangerous items down here.” Sofie continued to stare at the wall, unable to move. “Sof, I wouldn’t invite you if I couldn’t properly shut down the spell. You’re safe.”

  “But it’s not shut down. I can see it . . . moving . . . underneath the paint.”

  I squinted at the symbol, but didn’t see anything. It might have had something to do with the fact that she was looking at it through the eyes of a cat, but she was right. It wasn’t completely shut down. I could feel the energy humming around it. “I mean, shut down against you, me, and Trixie. You’re safe.” To prove my point, I walked over to the stairs and gently picked her up. She growled at me, but didn’t move, her eyes locked on the symbol.

  Sofie was right. It was a dangerous spell and not very discerning. If the spell lashed out at her, it was going to get me as well. When someone entered the room who wasn’t supposed to, it attacked violently and the results were always lethal. If anyone entered while I was away, I wouldn’t find a dead body at the bottom of the stairs. I would find mangled body parts and a lot of blood.

  I had installed the protection spell when I was younger and didn’t know as many spells as I should have. It was the most dangerous and strongest spell I knew. I had picked up a few others over the intervening years, but I had never bothered to change it simply because this one, while frightening, was still the best.

  With a half smile, I picked Sofie up and cradled her against my chest while rubbing my knuckles gently against her cheek. Slowly, the muscles in her body started to loosen and her breathing evened out.

  “Better?” I asked.

  Sofie took a deep breath, rolling one shoulder and then the other. “You’re insane, you know that?”

  “Have to be to try to escape the Towers and expect to live,” I said. “Do you want me to put you on the floor or on the table?”

  The cat tore her eyes from the wall to look around the room, taking in the three walls of cabinets and the makeshift, chest-high table against the far wall. “Table.”

  Keeping her close, I carried her to the table and set her on the flat surface amid the random flotsam I had collected over the years. There were bits of twigs, half-burned candles of every imaginable color, a row of old baby-food jars holding pieces of chalk arrayed in a line of colors, feathers, and a few dead animal parts—magic, as with potions, wasn’t always the prettiest of things to watch. Crystals of different shape, size, and color hung from leather thongs along the back wall.

  There was also an old, wooden box at the back edge of the workbench. I could hear it humming as if resonating in time with some silent song that rose from my soul. The locked box held my wand. I had told the council that it had broken in my battle with Simon. I had even shown them the remains of a wand I had used a couple times and then snapped. I knew that if they allowed me to leave the Ivory Towers, I couldn’t let them take my wand. Regardless of what sanctions they put on me, I knew I would need my wand in order to survive a witch or warlock attack. I rarely took it out, rarely used it. The risk was too big.

  Now I prayed that Sofie didn’t notice the box, couldn’t hear the humming. Sofie and I were friends, but I knew better than to try to push the friendship too far.

  “Nice collection,” the cat said as she picked her way across the table. She leaned down, sniffing here and there, but always careful not to touch anything. “Albeit a little messy.”

  “I don’t exactly have a housekeeper doing rounds down here,” I muttered. Rolling my shoulders, I forced my jaw to unclench and relax. I told myself that I didn’t have anything in common with other warlocks, but it was a lie. I didn’t know of another witch or warlock who was comfortable with someone else touching their collection. It was like letting a stranger rummage through your underwear drawer while reading your diary. “I don’t get to spend much time down here.”

  Sofie paused and glanced over her shoulder at me. “That is probably for the best.” She continued on, stopping at the end of the table, where I had a large stack of black hardback journals. “What’s this?”

  “Notes. For the most part, it’s potions that I’ve come up with for one thing or another.”

  Sofie jumped up and sat on the top journal while staring at me with wide eyes. “And the parts that don’t fit in your ‘most’?”

  Leaning against the table, I crossed one leg over the other and smiled at her. “Take a wild guess.”

  “Gage,” she said sternly.

  “Oh, come on, Sofie!” I angrily waved one hand at her and the journals. “Did you expect me to quit? I can’t. I can’t quit magic any more than I can quit breathing. At first, it started out with me making notes, listing all the curses, wards, enchantments, and charms that I learned while I was with Simon. It wasn’t about learning anything new. I didn’t want to forget anything that I had learned.”

  “But . . .” she prompted when my voice died off.

  I shrugged, my eyes dropping to the sundry bits on the top of the table. I picked up the severed leg of a raven. The claws were turned inward, still looking as sharp as the day I found it in a potion ingredients shop. “I started remembering things that Simon did, but didn’t necessarily teach me. With a little time and thought, I pieced the spell together. Others, I thought of on my own, so I made note of them. Sometimes, magic comes easy to me. A lot easier than tattooing ever has.”

  “Why did you leave?” Sofie shook her head at me. There was a sad note to her question. She lay down on the top book, tucking her paws in at her chest. “Learning magic would have made you so happy. You’ve got such raw, natural talent. You could have been great.”

  “And I can’t be great now, as a tattoo artist? I could only achieve greatness as a warlock?” I teased, but Sofie wasn’t amused as her ears flattened a little against her head.

  “I don’t know what a tattoo artist can achieve, but I know what you could have done as a warlock.”

  “I loved learning magic,” I admitted. “When I held my wand for the first time, it was like all the buzzing around in my soul and along my skin settled and found a direction, or like music notes lining up into a symphony. But I couldn’t be a warlock if it meant being like Simon or any of the others that I knew, and I had to do that if I was going to survive in the Towers.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. If you want to be a warlock, you have to be willing to kill. You have to kill other warlock
s and witches to get ahead. You have to kill other creatures to use their organs in potions and spells. You have to kill innocent people or risk them not fearing you. The Towers survive on two things: power and fear. To achieve both of those, you have to be willing to kill.”

  Sofie remained silent when I finished talking. She was staring at the far wall, looking at one of the cabinets with the glass-and-wood front. There were locks on each of them. If someone managed to get past the protective spell, I didn’t think the locks would stop them. They let me sleep better at night.

  “How did you do it?” I asked softly. “You were there for years, but you were the only one I ever saw who didn’t beat the shit out of an apprentice if they failed to cower before you. You seemed nice.”

  The cat sighed heavily, closing her eyes. “At first, I was no different than you described. I killed, constantly and indiscriminately. I think that might be how I stayed a little sane while there. Young and old. Helpless and powerful. I killed them all without blinking an eye, and nearly all were for no reason. I told myself that God didn’t need a reason to kill any of them, so why should I? But when I reached my second century, I started to mellow. I killed less, though when I did, there didn’t need to be a reason. I no longer had anything to prove to anyone. That may be why I seemed nicer than the others when we met.”

  I tried to smile at Sofie, but the corners of my mouth weren’t working properly. I didn’t know if she was any saner than the ones who lived in the Towers. She had found a way to deal with the violence that that life required, but her way wasn’t the answer. Gideon was closer to the middle ground, but I felt his underground movement was progressing far too slowly. The Ivory Towers had to stop. Stop being overlords for the world. Stop demanding abject fear and total obedience.

  Magic wasn’t about being powerful and controlling the world. Magic was about tapping into something beautiful and about becoming more than a fleshy meat bag if only for a couple seconds.