The Potioneer (Shadeborn Book 3) Page 4

  Michael was speaking in a low tone with his shoulders hunched, and those assembled before him craned in the same twisted position, eager to hear his advice. Lily felt her fists clenching, and a familiar tickle of flames toyed with her fingertips. After all the bad things that had happened to her on her first day back in her normal human life, discovering a small society of fascist idiots was by the far the least terrifying. In fact, it was just plain annoying.

  “And then, of course, there’s the Imaginique, and its… contents,” Michael added with clear disdain.

  Lily bit her lip. Her veins pulsed with energy and an anger that she hadn’t felt in weeks. It was always anger that spurred her shademagic far more than any other emotion, and now her irritation was rising with every moment she spent eavesdropping at that classroom door, listening to Michael’s voice twist every mention of her people into something foul and distasteful.

  “But surely,” a small, female voice uttered, “not everyone at the theatre is…?”

  “I don’t know,” Michael answered, “but we can’t take any chances. You’ve all got your books, and I suggest you read them carefully. We need to be prepared for the next disaster that these freaks bring to our town.”

  The word ‘freaks’ was the point where Lily lost her temper. A gust of air smashed open the door, and as the very tips of the wind died down, there was a flicker of flames within the gust. Lily thought that, considering the day she’d been having so far, the Illustrious Minds were lucky that she hadn’t gone full flamethrower on them as she burst into their meeting. Michael Sampson leapt off the table he was sitting on, standing behind it as he beheld Lily with a look that smacked of both fear and hatred. It was hard for Lily to recall that he had been her boyfriend not that long ago, when she had still longed for normality in her life.

  “I wouldn’t advise taking on the theatre, Mikey,” Lily told him coldly. “We’ve a few more tricks up our sleeve than you’re prepared for.”

  As she spoke, her eyes roved over the assembled crowd, who barely reached a dozen people, and each of them clasped a home-bound book in their quivering hands. The title was printed in a ghastly, mock-gothic font, and it read: Defence Against Demons, by M. Sampson. It was quite a thick volume, and it occurred to Lily bitterly that Michael had finally put his English studies to some use. She found herself fairly amused by the title. Even as she began to laugh, a girl jumped up from her chair, producing an object from within her sleeve as her defence guide clattered to the floor.

  “Back, demon!” she cried, and Lily recognised her curly red hair in that moment.

  She had been the vice chair of the IMLS last year, the one that Bianca and Chelsea had walked all over, and Lily had never yet learned her name. The girl was holding up a cross, minus its Jesus figurine, but instead inscribed with a poorly-drawn rune, that had no effect whatsoever on Lily when she looked upon it, aside from a another sniff of derision. With a flick of Lily’s wrist, the cross went flying out of the girl’s hands and shot across the room, embedding itself in a whiteboard as Lily’s heavy-handed gravity powers gave it just a little too much of a shove.

  “This isn’t Scooby Doo, you idiots,” Lily told them all, her grin receding to mark the seriousness of the situation. “This is big, and it’s real. You’re going to get yourselves hurt if you get mixed up in things you don’t understand.”

  “Don’t pretend that you care about our safety,” Michael spat. “You’re a thing, not a person, and you don’t care about any of us.”

  Lily’s irritation faltered then, because she saw something that looked like pain in Michael’s eyes. For all the beastly things he’d said about her being a freak, she knew that she’d lied to him, and betrayed him, even if he was only a casual boyfriend. She was pulled back for a moment to that day in the park, when he’d asked her what their relationship meant, and how he’d looked so downtrodden when she’d made out that it wasn’t that serious. Perhaps, months ago, it had been serious to him, and Lily couldn’t quash the fact that she felt some sort of apology was in order for the way she’d treated him.

  “You can believe that, if it makes you feel better,” she told him in a lower tone, “but it doesn’t change the fact that the smart move is to stay out of my way.”

  To demonstrate this, Lily laid one hand out flat, and the defence guide that the vice chair girl had dropped came floating up from the floor. The Illustrious Minds watched in fascinated silence as the book landed with a dull thud on Lily’s palm. She felt its lack of quality at once: the fresh, modern printer paper was so different to the ancient tome that she referred to for her own magical studies. It was a small, frail thing in her powerful hands, and she had a brief urge to set it aflame before them.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she simply asked the would-be demon hunters a question.

  “Mind if I borrow this?”

  No one opposed her.

  A Whole New World

  “‘Beware of strangers wearing ceremonial robes,’” Jazzy read, then blurted, “oh, this is just ridiculous!”

  Lily had read Defence Against Demons from cover to cover in the days that followed her encounter with the Illustrious Minds, and after that she had passed the book to Jazzy for inspection. What had started as a bad day at Piketon had continued into a bad week, and was nearly a bad month by the time the two girls came to be sitting together in the Theatre Imaginique’s grand auditorium. Lily had had to wait for Jazzy to do all her preliminary reading for her literature class before she would even consider reading a book for fun, and indeed Michael’s descriptions of his demonic experiences thus far were a merry read.

  “And get this,” Jazzy added, flipping a page in the book. “‘The demons are capable of beguiling even the sharpest of minds, convincing poor unsuspecting humans that they are in love with them.’”

  Lily rolled her eyes at that.

  “Do we have a suspicion that Michael’s working his issues out on the page here?” she asked.

  Her friend chuckled. “Indeed we do.”

  Jazzy was sitting cross-legged on an ornate rug, with the defence guide open in her lap. Lily had her hands outstretched, concentrating all of her power into her fingertips as she stared at the very edges of the rug. She took a breath, forcing herself to stay balanced and grounded, as Novel always told her she ought to be when she cast with her powers. Slowly, the edges of the rug that Jazzy sat on lifted up to cradle her a little, and the short Indian girl gave a gasp as the rug lifted cleanly into the air.

  “I’m Princess Jazmine!” Jazzy exclaimed.

  She had to use her hands to keep her tender back in the right position, and Lily eased a little gravity into the space behind her friend to give her some support. It was precise work, but Lily had always found that practising with Jazzy present was a good and calming influence. Her friend looked down as the magic carpet ascended to about three feet from the stage, where Lily let it hover for a moment as she practised sustaining her skills. Jazzy put a flattened hand to her brow in a searching motion.

  “But where’s my Prince Ali?” she asked with a pout.

  “I think he’s rehearsing his limbo routine in the attic with Poppa,” Lily said with a wry grin.

  Jazzy shot her a wicked look, but it quickly turned to wistful sadness in her eyes.

  “Oh, don’t,” she sighed. “It’s never going to happen with Lawrence.”

  Lily looked up at her with a dissatisfied huff.

  “And why not?” she demanded.

  It was as if Jazzy became a different person in that moment, for her whole posture shifted as it grew tense. All her merriment at reading Michael's defence guide evaporated, and she set the book down on the floating carpet’s edge. Slowly, she picked up one of her small feet, enveloped in its faded red Converse sneaker, and dropped it again. The foot fell limply, devoid of life, and when Jazzy next looked at Lily, her eyes were brimming with the gleam of prospective tears.

  “Well,” she said quietly, “he’s not going to want to go out wit
h a… I can’t even dance with him.”

  Lily felt as though a cold hand had ripped her heart away and shoved a stone in its place. Jazzy had lost the use of her legs defending Lily, and no matter how much she tried to tell herself that that was out of her control, Lily still carried the guilt deep within her. If she had practised harder, or known better how to battle Mother Novel, then perhaps Jazzy would have been standing on that carpet and riding it like a surfboard right now, instead of sitting motionless with her head hung low.

  Both girls made to speak in the same moment, but a noise disturbed them. It was a voice that cut through the echoing abyss of the empty auditorium, and Lily was careful to maintain Jazzy’s levitation, despite the shock of the sound.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Novel asked.

  Lily heard his footsteps as he reached the stage, and when he was in her view, she noticed he was carrying an old gramophone in his arms. It must have been his time to rehearse on the stage, and she shot him an apologetic look before turning her gaze back to Jazzy. To her surprise, her best friend had cleared all trace of sadness from her expression, putting that brave face back on in the illusionist’s presence. Jazzy put her hands together as if in meditation, and looked down at the carpet with a half-grin.

  “What do you think Novel, a new act for your show?” she suggested.

  Lily gave her a supportive giggle, and then her look snapped back to Novel with a quizzical brow raised high.

  “Yeah, you never do genie stuff,” she remarked. “I bet there’s a whole series of acts in that. Emerging from a lamp, smoke and mirrors, flying carpets…”

  She trailed off, watching as Novel’s face took on that stony quality, the way it had that night that Gerstein had spoken of luck. It had happened far too many times in the month for Lily to brush it off any more, because she knew now that there was something Novel wasn’t telling her.

  “What?” she challenged. “Do you have something against genies now?”

  There was a coldness in the illusionist’s pale blue eyes that stung Lily deep in her chest. Novel turned on the heel of his polished shoe and retreated, not bothering to look back as he gave her a clipped reply.

  “I’ll come back when you’re done with this foolishness.”

  When he was gone, Jazzy found herself slowly floating to the ground as Lily relinquished her levitation powers.

  “Ouch,” she remarked, adjusting her glasses in a fumbling, nervy way. “I guess it’s not any easier when you’ve snagged the boyfriend, is it?”

  Lily did her best to hold most of her sadness in, but Jazzy’s words rung out with a truth that she could hardly stand to face. They may have been kindred souls, and they may have fought and nearly died for one another in the face of danger, but in the face of a peaceful life, Lily wasn’t sure that she even had that much in common with Novel. She didn’t understand half of what went on behind those frosted eyes, and he so rarely let her in on what he was feeling that it was as though a wall had risen up between them in the last few weeks.

  “I still haven’t told Novel about the blue face in the lecture hall,” Lily admitted with a shrug. “I’m… I’m afraid he’s going to think it’s stupid.”

  Jazzy gave no reply, and Lily’s words fell flat, as if they’d been unheard. It hurt her for a moment to think that Jazzy wasn’t listening, but Lily soon realised that her friend was not merely staring into space with ignorance. Jazzy was looking at something high up in the gods of the theatre, where the domed ceiling began. Lily followed her friend’s eye-line, but saw nothing, and she concluded, with one of those eerie shivers, that Jazzy was watching a person that only she could see.

  “Something’s going on with this place,” she murmured. “Something sad. Something bad.”

  That was all Jazzy could say on the matter, and Lily realised, with a knot in her stomach, that no matter how awkward and secretive things had become with Novel, she always needed him when things turned bad. She only hoped he’d still be there, if Jazzy’s words of warning came true.

  October

  Dance Like The Devil

  If there was one thing that Lily could always be certain of, it was that Novel believed in the old adage ‘the show must go on’. Despite Salem’s continued attempts to break free of his bedroom and procure himself a neat and tidy death, and despite the building tension between Lily and Novel, she still found the illusionist in the attic, undertaking his Saturday rehearsal as usual. She could hear him even as she was traversing the long, winding corridors that led to the rehearsal space, for his feet beat out a thundering rhythm on the tired old floorboards.

  He had left the door open, and a great fan of flames shot out of the archway seconds before Lily stepped up to it. Novel wore a short-sleeved shirt, white with black braces, and his focus was solely on the floor before him, where he watched his own feet move to a tune that only he could hear. Lily marvelled, as she always did when he danced, admiring the perfect syncopation of his footfalls and the sway in his hips, back and arms as he rotated in the routine. Every now and then, those flames returned, surrounding him like the fiery feathered wings of a phoenix.

  Novel’s pace grew quicker, and soon it was hard for Lily to follow his steps at all, though the illusionist still trained his eyes upon his feet. Curls of his pure white hair were slicked in sweat from the physical effort, hanging down about his forehead as his pale brows grew heavy in concentration. The flames rose higher around him, dancing and multiplying in volumes that matched the increase in his speed, and soon he was spinning and stamping with such ferocity that Lily could hardly see him within the cyclone of fire. It seemed to her that every step brought him closer to the brink of an explosion, like the raw, unkempt energy of his movements was crackling with static in the air of the small room.

  “Novel!”

  She called his name, and the flames sunk to the floor. The illusionist was within them, panting and heaving as he looked up in shock. It seemed to Lily that he had lost himself in the dance, and the music that no-one but he could hear. When he registered that she had been watching him, Novel even looked a little ashamed. It wasn’t a look that Lily liked to see on him, particularly since the first time she’d ever witnessed it was some forty feet below where they stood now, deep in the earthy catacombs on which the Imaginique was built. Deep in the darkness, where a pair of blood-soaked lips had been inches from the illusionist’s wrist.

  “Forgive me,” Novel breathed, “it’s a new routine.”

  “Looks good,” Lily answered honestly, “though I’d tone it down a little, unless you want to set the stage on fire.”

  Novel gave her a smile, and it was the barest twitch in one corner of his mouth. He straightened out his braces and stood upright, one hand sweeping his hair back into its usual austere style. That one wayward curl, however, sprang forward again, the one that Lily had often found her eyes drawn to in the year that she had known him. A quiet desperation was building within her as she stepped towards him, and she threw herself suddenly into his arms, her hands clasping his torso tightly.

  When he held her close, Lily felt a wave of relief run through her nerves. There had been so much strangeness between them that she’d feared for a moment he might run from her touch. Novel nestled his chin against her hair, and she felt his laboured breathing as his strong chest rose and fell alongside her fluttering heart. The tighter she held him, the more she felt the familiar thrill of magic pulsing in her blood. The Kindred Flame was burning in a faint orange glow, encircling the pair where they stood in a silent embrace for several moments.

  “Please,” Lily whispered, “won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  Novel pulled back, but he didn’t let Lily go. His hands came to rest on her biceps where he beheld her at arm’s length, studying her face with those pale eyes of his. Lily saw that they were not frosted, or closed to her investigation in the usual way. They looked stressed and filled with no small amount of sorrow, as the illusionist inhaled a deep and shudderi
ng breath.

  “You used to trust me,” Novel told her.

  “I trusted you completely,” Lily began, a lump forming in her throat, “but that was before I found you feeding a vampire in the secret basement tomb.”

  That shameful look returned to Novel’s features, where his mouth turned down and small worry lines appeared at the outer edges of his eyebrows. His grip on Lily was fading a little, his fingers growing weaker where they touched her, but he still did not let go.

  “Can’t you trust me to fix this on my own?” Novel asked.

  “So there is something going on,” Lily said, feeling the echo of Jazzy’s words as they came to her own lips. “Something bad?”

  Novel looked away, tight-lipped and turning frosty, as he always did when she dared to challenge him.

  “You do this every time,” she chided, her chest tense with a myriad of emotions. “You think that you can take care of everything alone, and what happens when you do?”

  Again, he would not answer her, and now Lily was the one that broke the last fragile touch of their embrace. She walked out of his arms and put distance between them in the small rehearsal space, her footfalls kicking up dust on an invisible breeze. An accusing finger found his face, and though he looked hurt, Novel had slipped his mask of pride back over every stoic feature, save for his gleaming eyes.

  “I’ll tell you what happens,” Lily continued bitterly. “You get put out of action, and I’m left with no idea how to fight. You don’t give me warning of what’s coming, because you know you can handle it, but what happens when you’re not here? I died, Novel. I died because you weren’t here.”

  This, Lily knew, was the reason that Novel hadn’t wanted to hear the ‘d’ word over the last few weeks, and she saw how it stung him, how he flinched when she used it with such accusation. She felt awful instantly, because he was not the one who’d caused her death, and he had been the one to revive her too. But the words were spoken, and they could not be taken back. Novel glanced down to his side, where one pale fist was clenched in growing fury. Lily saw the lightning that sparked from his palm, and the little sprouts of electricity fed back into his skin, leaving those spindly, fern-like Lichtenberg marks wherever they shocked him. It was his guilt showing in his magic, and Lily pushed her pride aside to approach him again.