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Dark Light of Day Page 13
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“Noon,” Ivy continued, as yet unaware of Serafina’s tiny body beside mine and the danger she was in, “I know you’re really worried about Manipulation—who wouldn’t be?—and I don’t blame you for wanting to spend Saturday night with Ari, but… Fitz and I were counting on you tonight to go over the differences between sedition, subversion, and incitement. Our Sin and Sanction midterm is next week. You said you wanted to stay in the study group. You have to pass…” Ivy enumerated her concerns on her fingers in typical Ivy fashion, but I was too panicked to pay attention.
Before, when I had pushed magic back at Ari, it had felt like I was throwing out an array of kitchen knives. Ari had melted the knives or engaged in a bit of playful parrying. But Serafina multiplied and sharpened my magic and threw it back at me. The strike hit me with the force of a copper-pot blow to the head and the toxin of a thousand scorpion stings. I grabbed her and pulled her out from under the covers. I was desperate. Words wouldn’t work; Serafina couldn’t understand me. Magic wouldn’t help; she just repelled it and sent it back with greater force.
A sick, awful feeling bloomed that had nothing to do with the toxic magic Serafina was throwing off. What if she started directing her magic toward Ivy? No Hyrke could survive a demon attack. It dawned on me how stupid I’d been and what I’d let happen. Serafina was a demon. I’d let her out of the ball, I’d kept her out of the ball, and now I couldn’t control her. Ivy could die.
Ivy realized it at the exact moment I did.
“Noon,” she said, her voice going soft, “is that”—she swallowed as her eyes met Serafina’s—“is that…did you…” Ivy backed up until she hit the desk. I didn’t need to speak Serafina’s language to know that she saw Ivy as a threat. Serafina was a demon familiar, one of the most jealous demon species there was. And it was just occurring to her that I had a roommate, a friend, someone else who talked to me and spoke my language. Somebody else who I gave my attention to. Someone else who, in Serafina’s eyes anyway, received a share of the adoration that was due to her. Cold, hard fear sliced through me, cutting the veiled haze I’d felt since opening Serafina’s silver ball.
I felt Serafina’s signature change just before she struck. Everything in the room seemed to stop—the sound of my breathing, Ivy’s heart beating, the low rumbling in Serafina’s chest. Even the light seemed suddenly static, as if the scene in front of me were a life-sized photograph instead of the real thing. The day’s fugue fell away like a cloak cut from my body. The room seemed to contract and expand and then, a moment later, Ivy’s hands were on fire.
She screamed and I reacted without thinking. Instead of trying to ward off Serafina with the magical equivalent of a bunch of blunt butter knives, I thrust a razor-thin, needle-sharp shaft of magic at her. I could feel its strength. It was unlike anything I’d ever thrown before. All my life, I’d thrown defensively. This was instinctive and aggressive. What I’d thrown before was like aluminum or tin. This magic was as hard and clear as a diamond and directed to lethal effect. Serafina collapsed in a liquefied puddle of demon flesh. Anguish surged through me, but I had no time to dwell on it. Instantly, I leeched the oxygen from the air around the fire.
I was too late. Red, angry welts and blistery burns covered Ivy’s hands. She cradled them against her chest. Ivy clenched her teeth together and breathed through her mouth, clearly trying to deal with what must have been immeasurable pain. Never, in my whole life, had I felt so helpless. The desire to heal was palpable. And yet I could not act on it. I’d caused Ivy’s injury; I couldn’t cure it.
Ivy needed a Mederi.
How I wished for Night’s steady presence, but he was at least a hundred leagues to the south. Even my mother was across the Lethe. Ivy needed help now.
“Noon,” Ivy said, panting against the pain, “call the medics.”
“Hyrke medicine won’t help you,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat and pushing all kinds of emotions out of the way for now. “You need a Mederi.”
I rushed over to the room’s wall mounted harmonic and turned the crank, nearly ripping it out of the box in my efforts to get an immediate connection. When the operator answered, I yelled Ari’s name into the mouthpiece. After a few agonizing seconds, he answered, his voice thick with sleep.
“Ari,” I said, brutally repressing the urge to burst into tears, “I need your help.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly alert.
“It’s Ivy. She’s hurt.”
“Take her to the infirmary. I’ll meet you there.”
“She needs… I can’t…” Even though we had no time, I stopped speaking for a moment to regain control. Feeling all these emotions right now was selfish. Ivy needed help and the only way I knew how to get it for her was this call. It wouldn’t help Ivy if I couldn’t succinctly state what the problem was. “Ari, Ivy’s been attacked by a demon. She needs a Mederi. Can you ask one of your… uh, friends to help us?”
“Attacked by a demon? Noon, did I hear you right? Is she alive?”
“Yes,” I snapped, “but she’s badly burned and she needs help now.”
“I’m coming over,” he said shortly and hung up. He was there in seconds, which made me wonder if he’d used some kind of magic trick to appear so quickly. He burst through the unlocked door, his eyes locking on mine. His gaze swept the room, taking in Ivy’s burned hands, my uninjured state, and the slowly congealing mass of still-steaming demon flesh eating a hole through my bed.
In two strides he was by Ivy’s side, lifting her gently into his arms. He looked at me again then, his expression different, unreadable. I forced myself not to look away. It wasn’t defiance—not at all. I wanted him to know that I accepted whatever consequences came of this. I wanted Ari to know that I knew this whole situation was my fault and that, even though I couldn’t fix it, I wasn’t going to run away from it. I would do what I could, limited though my help would be.
“Come with me,” he said and walked out. I followed, not bothering to shut our door and practically ran to keep up with him.
We crossed Timothy’s Square in a blur of movement and Ari hailed one of the cabs running down Angel Street. We piled in the back, with Ari still assisting Ivy and my only contribution my useless presence.
“Eight Dauphine Street,” Ari told the cabdriver and we sped off.
Ivy sat in the middle and I put my hand on her leg. The pain seemed to be getting worse. It would probably feel that way whether it was or not simply because Ivy’s strength in keeping it at bay was likely ebbing with time. I tried not to squeeze her leg. She didn’t need to deal with my stress on top of her injuries.
In the cab, Ari asked only one question.
“It was a demon familiar, wasn’t it?”
I nodded and then turned to watch the passing row houses with their brick fronts and marble steps. I didn’t want to look at Ari and see accusation or condescension in his eyes. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down. If I had to face Ari’s judgment too, I knew I’d become a blubbering idiot, which wouldn’t help Ivy and would only make me look worse. So I stared out the window, desperately trying not to think about the fact that I’d brought a demon into the room I shared with one of my closest friends here at St. Luck’s. I’d endangered Ivy’s life and caused her injury. And… I’d done something tonight that I’d never done. Something that made me even more of a monster than I’d thought I was before this. Something that was, if possible, even worse than killing trees or plants or gardens. I’d killed a living creature.
I’d killed Serafina.
Demon or no, she shouldn’t have died. Tears welled. There was no stopping them. I didn’t weep for me, but for Serafina. If I’d had more experience using my waning magic, this never would have happened. I would have been able to get her back into the ball before Ivy came home. Or, at the very least, I would have been able to control her enough during the encounter so that Ivy would not have been hurt and Serafina would not have died. That needle-sharp piece of magic
I’d thrown in the end that had killed her was the work of an amateur. In my fear and panic I’d used the wrong weapon. I should have subdued her, not killed her. She was dead because of me. I wiped my tears away quickly and was glad when we pulled down Dauphine Street.
In the dark, number eight didn’t appear much different than any of the other row houses attached to it. There were a few potted plants on the stairs that Ari didn’t think twice about walking past as he stepped up the few stairs and rang the doorbell. I stood at the foot of the stairs with Ivy leaning heavily against me. I put my arm around her waist to support her, wishing I could do more.
The door opened and Beauty—Bryony—stood there. Of course it had to be her. Of all the Mederies Ari knew, apparently Bryony was the one he thought of first to call when there was trouble. And apparently she, with no explanation or forewarning, was happy to open her door for him at two hours past twelve. I knew I should be thinking only of Ivy, but I couldn’t help wondering how deep their relationship had been.
Bryony was in her nightgown. She’d thrown a robe over the top of it but hadn’t had time to belt it. Her lustrously wavy red curls fell loosely around her face as her azure blue eyes gazed adoringly at Ari. Beauty was no poker player.
“I didn’t know you’d be back,” she said, smiling as she motioned toward her now dead plants. But her face showed concern as she caught sight of Ivy and I huddled together at the foot of her stairs.
“Bryony, we need your help. One of my friends was attacked by a demon. Can you heal her?” Ari said, coming back down the steps and ushering us toward the door before she even answered. Bryony’s face registered surprise, but she kept her questions to herself.
“Of course. Bring her inside,” she said, stepping back, giving us room to enter. “Lay her on the couch,” she said as Ari squeezed past her, already headed in that direction. He seemed all too clear about where to go.
Bryony’s hallway was lit by one dim bulb. Ari had once again scooped Ivy into his arms. I followed him down the shadowy hallway. Odd angles of light fell across patches of torn wallpaper, showing crumbling plaster beneath. Bryony’s living room was dark when we entered but she switched on a table lamp while Ari walked over to the couch. The room was small and the contents beyond worn, but it was neat as a pin.
Bryony had taken the natural Mederi’s love for all things flowering and run amok. Floral prints covered every conceivable surface of her living room. The couch was awash with a large orange poppy print. In the corner, a whitewashed secondhand folding table was draped with a pink and white azalea tablecloth. Even the hooked rug in front of the couch bore a faded rose motif.
Ari laid Ivy on the couch, careful not to touch her hands. Once Ivy was in position, Bryony, to her credit, did not even bother with us. She just got right to work. She knelt down in front of Ivy and placed her hands over, but not on, Ivy’s own. Bryony closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
I’d seen a Mederi heal before. But it was still something to behold. Waxing magic was so different than the waning magic Maegesters used or the spells the Angels believed in. If waning magic was like the sucking sound of a black hole then waxing magic was the sound of wind blowing life back into the world. Waxing magic was the spark of life, whereas waning magic was the paroxysm of death.
Watching Mederies work always made me uncomfortable, as if my mere presence might taint the process. I glanced at Ari to see if he felt the same, but he was staring at Bryony as if transfixed. I was instantly envious, unaccountably angry. Ari’s face changed as soon as I’d formed the thought and he turned to meet my gaze. I felt an answering swell of magic in him, a response to my sudden irrational anger. His signature suddenly felt like a great big ball of warmth. I wanted to crawl into it. I wanted to wrap it around my arms. I wanted to take solace and comfort inside of it. I bit the inside of my cheek, not wanting Ari to know how desperately I longed to have him look at me the way he’d just looked at Bryony.
Ari crossed the distance between us and took my arm by the elbow.
“Take her in the kitchen, Ari,” Bryony said, without looking up from her work. Only the best Mederies could converse and heal at the same time. “There’s some tea in there if you’d like and even some dried fruit and biscuits. Just don’t open the icebox. I’ve got a lot of salad stuff in there.”
“See?” Ari said softly to me. “Ivy will be fine. If Bryony is worried about her salad, then Ivy should be healed up in less than an hour.”
I nodded miserably. Nothing about this situation was fine.
We entered the kitchen and Ari flipped a switch. The lights flickered for a moment and then steadied, illuminating a drab and hopelessly out-of-date kitchen. Well, really it was little more than a kitchenette. The entire space was only about twenty square feet. I thought the space might once have been a porch. It jutted out precariously past the end of the house. The floor sloped slightly and was laid with chipped tile. The appliances were old and the faucet dripped but, like the living room, it was clean and neat. Not a dish in the sink and not a trace of food on the counter.
Ari went to a cupboard and pulled down a blue tin—decorated with yellow daisies—from the top shelf. He grabbed a teakettle from beneath the sink and filled it with water. It galled me that he knew his way around this Mederi’s kitchen so well. Ari put the water on to boil and turned to me, opening his arms wide. I didn’t even think. I didn’t care, for once, that Ari might think I was weak. I rushed into his embrace and clung to him fiercely.
I told him everything.
By the time I was finished, the front of his shirt was wet with my tears.
“If I hadn’t been so eager to open the ball before I’d read the materials my father suggested—”
Ari pushed me away from him and gently shook my shoulders. “Your father shouldn’t have sent a familiar to you in the first place.” His touch was gentle but his look was hard. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame your father for sending it. Or blame Seknecus for delivering it.”
I was mildly shocked by the intensity of Ari’s accusations. One didn’t usually go around casting aspersions on the executive of the Demon Council and the dean of demon affairs as cavalierly as Ari just had.
“I still failed her, Ari. My inexperience killed Serafina as much as my eagerness or my magic.”
“Serafina killed herself. Any demon who attacks, or attempts to attack, a Hyrke is to be executed. That’s the law. The demons’ rules are not to be broken.”
“But did she know that? She was a familiar. They’re known for their jealousy, not their intellect.”
“Does it matter?”
I made an impatient, frustrated sound and tried to pull away, but Ari wouldn’t let me. No, it didn’t matter. I knew that, as surely as I knew there were 899 other sins without sanction that would get you executed in Halja, whether you knew about them or not. It was unfair. It was unjust. It was Halja.
“It matters to me,” I finally said, looking down at the floor. “Demon or no, Serafina was a living thing. I didn’t want to kill her, even if it was to protect a friend.”
About an hour later, Bryony met us in the kitchen.
“She’s sleeping. And she’ll be fine,” she added, after looking at me and correctly guessing what I most wanted to know. “So what happened? Was it…” Bryony’s voice trailed off as her hands crept to her throat. Her earlier burns were nearly gone, only the faintest shadow of the two thumbprints remained.
“No,” Ari said. “It wasn’t the same demon that attacked you.” He glanced at me. “This was… an accident.”
Bryony’s eyes widened, but then she gave Ari an affectionate smile. “I didn’t think you had accidents. Is it safe to say the demon’s no longer a threat?”
“It was my fault,” I said quickly, before Ari could answer for me again. “I… Well, it was a demon familiar and I…”
What? I didn’t bother to read the warning materials my father suggested before opening my “gift”? I thought it would b
e a good idea to cozy up with a deadly demon I couldn’t control and then introduce her to my friend?
“The demon’s no longer a threat,” I said in a flat tone.
Bryony raised her eyebrows at me. “You took care of a demon threat? How’d you do that?”
I grimaced, recalling. “With waning magic. I’m a Maegester-in-Training with Ari at St. Luck’s.” I forced my tone and facial expression to stay neutral. Bryony was beautiful, and she was an old girlfriend of Ari’s, and she had the one thing in the whole world I wanted: waxing magic. But the last thing she deserved from me were snide remarks or sneers. She’d healed Ivy when I couldn’t.
She stared at me. I braced for the inevitable: revulsion, amusement, and pity were all things I was prepared to see in her returning gaze. Since curiosity wasn’t one of them, she ended up surprising me almost as much as I did her. I realized she didn’t even know my name.
“I’m Noon Onyx,” I said. I didn’t offer my hand. I wasn’t sure she’d accept it.
“Oh,” she said, “I know who you are. Your father was the one who saved me from the rogare demon who attacked me at the train station.”
“I know.” Thank Luck he had. Not just for Bryony’s sake, but for Ivy’s as well.
“I spoke with him earlier today.”
“My father? What about?”
“I think Peony’s missing.” She’d answered my question, but was looking at Ari when she said it.
“Who’s Peony?” I asked, confused by the sudden turn in the conversation.
“A friend of mine from the Gaia Tribe,” Bryony said.
“When did you last see her?” Ari asked.
“The last time I saw you. At Marduk’s.” She looked at me again, this time more piercingly. I guessed she was remembering that she’d seen me before. And perhaps was realizing why Ari had broken it off. I wondered when curiosity would change to antagonism. Things suddenly clicked for me too. Peony must be the other Mederi that had been with them that night, the pretty brunette with the ash-colored eyes and the dimple in her chin.