Magic Without Mercy (35 page)

Collins walked slowly backward, watching Jingo Jingo, and staying just one step out of the range of Jingo’s hunger.

But Shamus still stood.

“They’ll never be enough,” Shame said, his voice carrying across the distance between them. “Not all the magic in the world will be enough for you. Not all the children’s souls, not all the people you’ve killed and drunk down to the grave.”

Jingo Jingo chuckled. “Think I don’t know that, boy?” His words were sloppy. He was drunk on the lives, drunk on the deaths. “You think you’re the big Death magic user in town? Think you know what living is? Know what dying is? Think you got it in you to use Death magic like it can be used? ’Cause it’s powerful stuff. More powerful than anyone ever dared tell you.

“Your own daddy begged me to kill you. Said he saw the demon inside you. Knew what you could become, and begged me to burn it out of you. He sobbed on his knees in front of me, afraid and ashamed of what he’d brought into the world. He was willing to trade his life for yours. And I suppose he did, didn’t he?

“Look at you now. Nothing but a scrawny piss-poor disappointment. And all this screaming—” He pointed his hand at a man who wasn’t any older than twenty, and pulled so much life, so much energy out of him, he fell, dead.

“—all this dying’s just sugar frosting I’m gonna lick off my fingers. What I want is the simulacrum. What I want is magic. All the magic.”

He took a step, his cane in one hand.

The incredible bulk of him made the ground shake. “If you stand in my way, I’m gonna eat you down, drink up that fag lover of yours, then use your mama’s bones to pick my teeth.”

“Are you?” Shame said quietly. “Then you’d better get on with it now, big man. Kill me.” He held his hands out. There were no weapons in them. He was not tracing a spell. He just stood there, staring at Jingo with dead silver eyes.

Jingo licked his lips and smiled. “It’s gonna be my pleasure.” He drew on magic, a great gob of it, pulling it out of the Veiled who winged around him, catching up their magic and crumpling them like empty shells between his fingers. He twisted the magic and carved it into one spell: Death.

Shame tucked his hand against the crystal in his chest. He pulled the energy Terric had given him, Terric’s life, his soul, out of the crystal, like a man yanking a knife out of his gut.

People cannot see magic with their bare eyes. But I could. And I saw Terric’s soul hovering in Shame’s palm, white and gold and the soft green of growing things. If Shame were nothing but darkness and death, Terric was his exact opposite: life and light.

Shame suddenly went gaunt, pale. He swayed as if just keeping his feet took more strength than he had. He was so injured by Jingo Jingo that Terric’s soul was all that had kept him alive.

He whispered something against his bloody fist where he clutched Terric’s soul. Maybe he said “love”—maybe he said “live”—but his words carried a soft spell. And then he threw Terric’s soul, Terric’s life.

Not at Jingo Jingo, but back at Terric.

The soul, the life, the magic, flew true, and struck Terric
in the chest, resting there for a moment like water waiting for parched soil to drink it down.

Terric inhaled on a yell.

And Jingo Jingo’s spell hit Shame. Death tore through Shame like a beast made of fangs and claws. It bit the back of Shame’s neck, ripped through the side of his throat, and crushed the crystal in his chest.

Shame made not a single sound. His eyes glazed. Blood poured from his mouth. He fell, the spell, the beast, devouring him. Jingo fattened and grew, slurping down Shame’s life through that spell, growing strong as Shame faded.

“No!” I screamed, Maeve screamed, Zay yelled. I pushed onto my feet, every step burning through me, the taste of blood and hot copper slick on my throat. Moving, any movement, was agony, my agony, Zay’s agony.

But I wasn’t going to let Shame die. He couldn’t die.

Save him,
Zayvion whispered in my mind.
Save Shame.

Every step I took shot through me, through Zayvion. Too much pain. Zayvion fell to one knee. I stumbled, as darkness curtained my vision.

I refused to fall. I forced myself to move, forced myself to walk, to keep walking until I could touch Shame. Touch Terric. Hounds were good at enduring pain. The best. And I was a hell of a Hound.

Terric rolled up onto his hands and knees. Head hanging, he was calling for Shame, crawling to Shame.

Crawling to his fallen body. Empty now. Jingo had sucked the life out of him, leaving him a hollow husk.

Shamus Flynn, my friend, Zayvion’s brother. Shamus Flynn, who had fought with us, laughed with us, bled with us, was dead.

I didn’t see another Veiled around Jingo Jingo. Didn’t see Shamus’ ghost.

Then magic exploded out of Shame, smashing into the bubble of Illusion surrounding the park and making it ring like an angel’s scream.

The magic gathered together, pouring down to re-form into a spirit, a soul, a magic user’s ghost with silver white eyes.

Shame.

I fell to my knees in awe. “Shame?”

Shame watched me, his face calm. And even though he was no longer alive, I could see the fire of hatred burning through him. Could see that he wasn’t nearly done with this fight yet.

A single black line of magic wrapped around Shame’s neck like a leash. A leash that Jingo held in his hand.

Terric couldn’t see him unless he cast Sight, and Terric was in no condition to stand, much less pull on magic.

“Don’t,” I said to Shame. “Shamus, please. Don’t do this. Don’t let him do this to you.”

Jingo was laughing. Big, lungy guffaws. “He won’t listen to you, Allison Angel. I own him now. Just like I own all the dead.” He gestured to the Veiled who circled him, feeding him their magic, their energy. Draining out to making him stronger. And I saw that they were attached to Jingo by lines of magic too.

“He is a part of death now, a part of Death magic,” Jingo said. “And I am Death magic’s ruler. Come to me, boy,” Jingo commanded, yanking on the leash of magic. “Sit at my feet.”

Shame pulled against him, pulled against the line that connected them.

“Oh, we can do this hard, if you want,” Jingo Jingo crooned.

He flicked his fingers and the Veiled lashed out. They attacked Shame, digging fingers and teeth into him and pulling him toward Jingo Jingo.

Shame leaned back, fought to hold his ground. But there were too many of them. He was dragged closer and closer to the man.

The mark,
Dad said in my head. He had been quiet for so long, I jumped at the sound of his voice.

What mark?

Your palm. The death mark Mikhail gave you. Use it against the Veiled. Break their ties to Jingo Jingo, so he no longer has their strength.

Using magic would knock me out. But if it gave Shame a chance, I didn’t care. I lifted my left hand. Even though Dad had always been the one who used this mark before, I knew that circle of Death magic in my palm was mine to wield.

I traced a glyph: Sever.

Cold fire washed down my left arm, but I focused, refusing to lose the spell. My right arm burned hot, hotter. I guided magic as it whipped out from the mark in my palm, filling the Sever glyph with raw power.

Then I threw it at the Veiled.

The Death magic spell shattered the bindings between Jingo and the Veiled. I teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, blinking in and out of awareness. Jingo Jingo’s yell was the sweet song that called me back.

The Veiled pulled away from him, free, running fast, faster than any living thing could, returning to the bodies of the fallen. Some of the Veiled stepped back into their own bodies. Some ran through the streets, toward the city, toward the hospitals, in a flash.

And those that had no body left to return to simply faded away.

Except for one.

Shamus Flynn.

He did not run away from Jingo. He ran to him.

Jingo Jingo never had a chance.

Shame was on top of him in an instant. He drove his fist into Jingo’s chest. Then Shame wrapped his hands around Jingo Jingo’s heart.

“Rule this, you fucked-up son of a bitch,” Shame growled.

Jingo Jingo shuddered, his mouth popping open and shut, gasping for air. There was no life left to him, no air left to him.

Shame drank him down, first his heart, which smoldered until it was nothing but dust, then his body. Shame plunged his hands into Jingo Jingo’s head and took from him all the lives, all the magic, all the souls, Jingo Jingo had feasted upon.

Jingo collapsed in on himself, smaller and smaller, until he was nothing but bones with globs of flesh hung upon them.

Empty, burned. Jingo Jingo was dead. Not even enough of a soul left to rise as a Veiled.

Shame stood and exhaled. The souls, the magic, the death, he had breathed in from Jingo Jingo slipped from between his lips in silver smoke that faded into the night.

Just as Shame was fading.

“No,” Terric growled. “You will not die, Shamus. You will not leave me alone.”

Terric placed his bloody palm over the physical Shame’s chest, cutting his hand on the jagged edges of the shattered crystal there. Even though it felt like forever, it had been only moments, no more than a minute, since Shame had fallen. Terric’s hand glowed white and gold and green, and the mark Mikhail had placed in his palm—the blessing, the Binding, he had given him—pulsed silver-hot.

Terric glowed with that light as if his skin were stretched over moonlight.

“Where are you?” he asked. He looked over at me. “Where is he?”

I pushed up to cross the remaining distance between us and took Terric’s hand. Somehow he got to his feet, and I guided him over to where Shame stood.

“He’s in front of you,” I said. “He’s right there.”

Terric’s gaze fell on Shame, even though I knew he couldn’t see him.

“Death can’t have you,” Terric said. “Not all of you. I still have some of you, here.” He pounded his chest. “I’m not going to let you get out of it this easy. If I have to live, you have to live.” He limped forward, and occupied the exact same space where Shame stood.

The mark on his palm grew into a silver and white thread that bound his wrist, and bound Shame’s wrist. Terric cast that magic, weaving it into a glyph for Life. At the center of the Life glyph was the infinity symbol, the symbol Terric carried on his palm.

He threw that spell, that Binding, out to wrap around Shame’s body.

Shame was caught by the thread, fueled by Terric’s life energy and magic. And even though the ghostly form of Shame shook his head and tried to step back, he was thrown back into his body, ghost, soul, and all.

Shame inhaled, and a hoarse, broken heave of air escaped through tortured lungs. He swore, once, then started coughing weakly.

Alive.

Terric passed out. I couldn’t even move to catch him.

I looked around me. No one was fighting anymore. The Authority, the Hounds, my friends. A lot of people had Sight spells in their hands. They had seen what happened. They had seen what Jingo Jingo had done, had seen the monster he had always been.

Dr. Fisher moved through the people, her voice distant
against the ringing in my ears, directing people to help the fallen, taking care of everyone still breathing, or breathing again as the case might be.

I looked for my own. Victor sat near Zayvion, holding a cloth over his eyes, blood staining his sleeve down to the elbow. Hayden was flat on his back, unconscious; Maeve next to him held a Blood spell to cauterize the stump of his arm.

Oh, God. He had lost his hand.

I needed to get to them, to help them, to help Dr. Fisher help them.

But before I could move, the air filled with the sound of a gong. Not just the air, and not just a sound. It was that bone-deep ringing of magic, all magic, light and dark, joined, reverberating out through the soil, the world, and everyone within it.

I’d heard a sound like that just once before.

Cody had unlocked Stone.

The Barrier spell Zayvion held broke, and he dropped, catching himself with one hand. He didn’t stay down for more than a second. He tipped his head up, met my gaze across the field, then pushed to his feet, standing strong, standing like every breath, every nerve in his body, wasn’t on fire.

Beyond him, Stone sneezed and shook his head. He flexed his wings and rubbed at his face with one hand. He burbled, first looking at Cody, then at Nola, who both looked well and alive.

I hoped to hell Stone still had the blending of magic stored inside.

He does,
Dad said.
He should.

That meant we won. That the price we had paid would be worth it. We could test this magic, see if Stone could filter it, find a cure.

But at such a cost. I was exhausted, reeling with pain,
shock, sorrow. I glanced at Shame. He was still breathing. I glanced at Terric. He was still breathing too. Both of them were unconscious.

I didn’t know what to do next.

“Such a mess you make in my neighborhood.” I knew that voice. I turned to look up toward the city. Mama walked down from the edge of the Illusion spell toward us.

Mama wasn’t a tall woman. She wasn’t a big woman. But she moved like she owned the world. A dozen of her Boys walked behind her, shotguns in their hands.

Behind the Boys were dozens and dozens of other people who called St. Johns their home. Business owners. Neighbors. Community. Family.

“It’s time for everyone to go home now,” Mama said. “The park is closed. You leave our neighborhood. Now.”

The click of guns being loaded filled the air. The Boys’ guns, and more, many more, as the people of St. Johns fanned out and leveled their weapons at us.

Magic is fast. Bullets are faster.

I didn’t need a second invitation. If I was going to get me and my people out of here, this was my chance.

But instead, I said, “We need doctors. All of us need medical care.”

At least twenty people stepped forward out of the crowd behind Mama, and spread out on the field, helping to tend the wounded. I saw Dr. Fisher on her way toward Hayden and Victor. I wanted to move, I wanted to do something to help, but it was taking all my energy just to remain conscious.