The demon cawed by her side, like it approved of this lesson about its history.
“They’re made from the darkness left behind by the cursed spells. Spells that steal a mind, spells that steal a soul, and spells that steal a heart.”
When Zekia stroked the shadow demon, half of her hand grazed its spine and the other half fell into the abyss of its ghostly body.
“You can’t kill shadow demons because they’re made from magic and magic can never die,” she said. “In the end, magic always wins. It’s forever. It’s a gift from the Many Gods and we have to protect it.”
Wesley kept his breath steady.
“Is this part of the torture?” he said. “You didn’t break me with your mind magic or your shadow demon, so you want to bore me with a history lesson?”
Zekia laughed.
She laughed a lot when Wesley spoke, even though half of what he said really wasn’t that funny. Torture had dampened his sense of humor.
Still, she always laughed, like she thought that if Wesley knew she liked him, he might just forgive her for everything. And the thing was, he did. Wesley missed the little kid he’d befriended, who, despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to hate.
“You’re too stubborn and Ashwood will get mad soon,” Zekia said. “You’re ruining everything, Wesley. The future is so dark and I can’t make it light without you, don’t you see?”
She pushed her long black braids from her face, her bracelets clinking together.
“If you’re looking for light, I’m the wrong person,” Wesley said. “Just because Asees and Arjun gave me a magical loan, it doesn’t mean I know anything about your Crafter dreams. I’m not like you, kid. I never was.”
Zekia played with the hem of her dress.
“You know that’s not true,” she said quietly. “You know that you’re not a vessel for someone else’s power.”
Wesley sat up against the wall in a way that made his ribs hurt a little less.
“Wesley,” she said, her voice a mix of nerves and joy. “Don’t you feel it? Your magic isn’t borrowed or stolen. It’s awakened.”
“I’m not falling for any more of your mind games.”
Zekia shook her head and took three quick steps toward him, almost excited. She bent down, her dress pooling into his blood.
“You’re a true Crafter, Wesley,” she said. “You’re one of us. I knew it the second I got into your mind. I’ve been wanting to tell you for days, but you’ve been pretty mad and I didn’t know how to say it.”
Wesley shook his head. “Bullshit.”
“It’s not,” Zekia promised. “I swear it on the Many Gods and on my life and on everything else in the realms. You’re not like the other buskers and crooks. You’re like us, Wesley. You’re just like me.”
An Intuitcrafter.
Wesley wanted to tell her she was even more crazy than he’d thought, but the more he looked at the earnestness in her face and the more he tried to rack his mind, the more nothing else made sense.
A true Crafter.
As the thought raced through his mind, the magic inside of him sparked.
Yes, it whispered, after so long silent. Yes.
Was that why magic had always felt like home to him?
Not just a skill Wesley needed to learn and master, but a part of his soul that had always been missing. When Ashwood first took him from the streets and taught him to be a busker, it was like a fire inside of Wesley started to burn too hot and fierce to ever dissipate.
He touched the silver staves running up his arm, so similar to the ones Zekia had.
They had appeared during the shadow moon, when his power felt infinite and wondrous. He’d been so worried they would disappear one day and that he’d become that empty shell again, but they hadn’t. They’d stayed and the power inside of him hadn’t left either.
You’re like us.
You’re one of us.
Wesley had never belonged to anything or anyone.
He’d never had anything he hadn’t stolen or taken with blood. Except for magic.
Magic had always felt so very much his, even when it was just a trick bag or a charm he kept in his back pocket. Each and every one felt like air in his lungs.
Now he finally knew why.
“I know you think we’re wrong,” Zekia said. “But we just want the Crafters to be okay again. Like before the war. Like better than before. You have to want that too, now you know you’re like us. Don’t you?”
Wesley wasn’t sure what he wanted right now, except to get out of this place and take her with him. He needed to see the sun and feel the air on his face and have Tavia glare at him like he was a huge bastard.
It was the only way to get any kind of damn clarity.
“Kid,” he said. “Let me get you out of here. I can take you back to your family and we can fix all of this. We can go to the forest and—”
“Be quiet!” Zekia snapped. “You can’t talk about that place here.”
“Then let’s go and talk about it somewhere far away from here,” he said.
Zekia’s smile faded and she stood up slowly from the floor, the damp dripping from her dress.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said.
“Kid—”
“No!” she yelled, shaking her head wildly. “You can’t go. I won’t let you leave.”
Wesley sighed.
Thing was, he already knew how to escape. He’d been planning it since the moment they took him, going over every possible scenario. The problem had never been that he couldn’t go, but that he didn’t want to go without Zekia.
The chains weren’t keeping Wesley prisoner; she was.
Even now, she was still the ghost inside his mind, making him second-guess every decision.
She was like this because of him.
She was with Ashwood because of him.
Wesley couldn’t leave her behind again, like he had done all those years ago, when he’d thought being an underboss was worth any sacrifice.
He couldn’t go back to Tavia and Saxony and Karam without her.
Zekia deserved a chance.
At the very least, Wesley owed her that.
At the very least, he had to try.
6
Karam
KARAM WIPED THE BLOOD from her knife.
“Again,” she said.
Tavia opened her mouth in outrage, nursing the minor flesh wound on her shoulder. She really was very dramatic at times.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Tavia said.
Karam pocketed her knife as a show of peace. “Believe me, I take little pleasure in trying to school someone with no athletic skill.”
Tavia’s eyes narrowed in the beginnings of a glare, though there wasn’t much heart behind it. “I think I’m offended,” she said. “I’ll have you know that I once scaled a building.”
“Which you got pushed out of.”
“I stole a backpack full of magic from Rishiya’s best busker.”
“And then got chased by his friends so I had to rescue you.”
“I faced Dante Ashwood and survived,” Tavia said, grinning proudly, her chin aloft.
Karam raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “We all did that.”