Magic Currents (Cursed Angel Collection) Read online

The door was secured by a series of locks, all of which could be opened from the inside. Perhaps Heaven really was shining its luck upon me. I let myself outside and hesitated for the briefest of seconds, making sure the way was clear and considering whether I should use a tiny, quick spell to re-lock the shop. But remembering that the proprietor had left the back window open, I decided he’d sealed his own fate. It definitely wasn’t worth the risk of casting magic and possibly tipping off the Hunter.

  I hurried along the wall on my toes, trying to be quiet, move quickly, and listen at the same time. Feeling somewhat naked without my knife, I regretted not grabbing one from the butcher shop. I scanned nearby buildings to get my bearings. When I spotted a familiar dressmaker’s shop across the street, I realized I hadn’t gone far off the path I’d intended to take to the Harbor and past the outer edge of southtown.

  At first, I glanced over my shoulder every couple of steps, fully expecting the Hunter to appear and come pounding after me, maybe with the drunk warlock staggering after him and yelling insults at me. But by some miracle, I was alone and unpursued.

  If I could just make it past the outer edge of southtown and the dump, I should be safe.

  The sun wasn’t up yet, but the eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten and warm with the promise of sunrise. Probably around four thirty in the morning, I guessed. Shopkeepers would be stirring soon.

  I inhaled sharply as two men appeared around the corner ahead. I tensed, ready to spring into a doorway. But they carried buckets, nets, and rolls of fishing line and took no notice of me. It was an hour when seeing a woman out alone could still attract the wrong kind of attention, though, so I veered off onto a side street.

  I skirted around the Harbor, keeping out of sight of the fishing boats where a few fishermen were already preparing to launch their craft.

  Past the Harbor was an enormous, stinking pile of refuse—one of a series of dumps around the outskirts of The Colony. What I sought was beyond the dump: the rocky cliffs that dropped down in an almost perfect vertical to the sea below. The estuary where gold-dollar oysters could be harvested from the brackish water that split the cliff in a narrow crack that went on for miles inland.

  The estuary was inaccessible by boat, due to the riptide along the sea-facing wall that would pull boats into the sandbars and rows of jagged rocks that lurked below the surface of the water. And from above, the estuary was a death fall down a sheer vertical cliff to the water below.

  With a sea breeze tugging softly at the strands of hair that had escaped my hat, I went to the edge of the cliff and carefully lowered myself to a ledge about five feet below. There, I took off my cloak and hat, and then quickly removed my dress and undergarments, folding my clothes into a neat little pile. On top of the pile I set my boots, to weigh down the fabric and keep it from blowing away, and my empty knife sheath.

  My pulse tapped a thrilling rhythm as I stepped, shivering, to the edge of the ledge and looked down into the dark water of the estuary below.

  I took a couple of deep breaths and backed up the three or four steps that the ledge allowed. Then, with a running start, I hurled myself off the edge.

  Mid-air I sucked in one last breath and held it, and reached for my magic. I directed my power downward and pulled, forcing a great column of water to rise up and meet me. I plunged into the column, giving me a considerably softer entry than a bone-jarring freefall down thirty feet that it would have been otherwise.

  The shock of the cold was enough to make me go rigid. But then I felt the sensation of my magic mixing with the sea as if they were sugar and water, one mingling easily into the other. I never knew if this comingling cooled my body, warmed the water, or something else entirely, but it made the plunge tolerable, and the water pleasant enough to stay in for a long time without getting too chilled.

  I released the column of water, and with it I lowered to the level of the sea. Still holding on to my magic, I treaded water and reached out with my sixth sense, the awareness that let me feel along the rocky walls of the canyon that enclosed the estuary on either side. I scanned the clusters of oysters, searching for the biggest ones.

  Ah, there they were.

  I swam over to the canyon wall, braced my feet, and began pulling them off one by one, letting them fall down through the water where I would collect them.

  I would take only a few, so as not to attract too much attention. In the market, buyers were usually excited enough about the mark-up they could command for such specimens that they didn’t ask questions about where I’d gotten them. But it wasn’t wise to overstep, so I never took more than would fit in the two pockets of my cloak—eight total.

  Just as I was about to dive down to gather my loot, a high-pitched cry cut through the quiet slapping of water against rock. My head swiveled as I scanned for the source of the noise. It could have been a bird.

  “Help!”

  My eyes went wide. It was no bird. It was the terrified voice of a child.

  I swam away from the wall, looking around. How had a child ended up here? If she’d tumbled from the cliff above, she wouldn’t have survived. She was likely the child of a fisherman who’d fallen overboard and gotten swept past the estuary in the riptide.

  “I’m coming!” I shouted, swimming toward the estuary’s outlet.

  My heart hammered in my chest.

  But where was she?

  “Help me!”

  I squinted, fairly sure I’d spotted a blonde head bob above the water in the pale pre-dawn light about thirty feet away. As I neared the opening of the canyon, I began to feel the strong pull of the tide. It would sweep me out and to the left, farther from The Colony and eventually into the blood mist that surrounded The Colony on air and land. If the cursed vapor touched me, I would transform into a rabid, demonic creature, and drown.

  The plea came again, this time too gurgling to make out any words, and the blonde head swept around the corner of the outlet and out of sight.

  Damn it all. Even if I could get to her, I wouldn’t be able to fight the current to get back here, not without magic.

  I couldn’t just let her die, though.

  I reached for my magic and sent my awareness zipping through the water, searching for the human body struggling out there. I found her, and used magically stirred currents to raise her to the surface.

  I had no choice but to take her in the direction of the riptide, as my magic wasn’t strong enough to fight the force of the current and keep her head above water at the same time. Straining at the limits of my power, I aimed for an exposed outcropping of rocks, and created a gentle wave to lift her onto it. Treading water and heaving breaths, I watched anxiously.

  After a couple of seconds, her arm reached out, and she pulled herself higher onto the rocks. My heart started beating again.

  I couldn’t linger. It had been a risk to use my magic to help her, and if she told anyone, it would mean trouble for me. Some in The Colony were willing to turn witches in to the Watchtower with the hope of a reward—the Demon Lord’s gift of immortality.

  I turned and began swimming back to where I’d left my oysters. Hugging the canyon wall, I looked out and saw that one of the large fishing boats had already spotted the girl. It had to stay well out in the open ocean to keep clear of the sand bars and rocks, but the boat’s dingy could make it to the girl if the person paddling it used the currents correctly. The dingy would be at the mercy of the riptide, but the larger fishing boat would catch up with it farther down the coast where the riptide eased, before getting swept into the blood mist.

  I’d done all I could do, so I pushed away from the wall, ready to dive down to collect my oysters. When I happened to glance up, I froze.

  A man stood up there on the edge of the cliff directly above. I inhaled a sharp breath as I realized I recognized him.

  It was the drunk warlock from the alley, and he was peering straight down at me.

  Chapter 3

  A GHOST OF a smile quirked the warlo
ck’s lips, and then he straightened, turned, and disappeared from view.

  My heart palpitated and I let out a string of curses in my mind. Had he followed me here? How much had he seen? He was a warlock, so he’d certainly sensed the magic I’d just cast, and probably watched what I’d done for the girl.

  I treaded water, scanning the edge of the cliff. Was he waiting up there with the Hunter who’d chased me?

  Maybe the warlock just wanted to watch a woman take off her clothes and swim naked. Something about his smile alternately plucked at my ire and raised my curiosity, which only heightened my agitation.

  Stars in heaven, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t bob around in the estuary forever, but I couldn’t get back up the cliff without magic.

  I let about a minute pass, and finally decided that he’d already identified me as a witch earlier and then witnessed me cast just now. It wasn’t like I needed to hide it at this point.

  I dove down and gathered my oysters, stacking them in my arms. Then I drew magic and raised myself in a column of water, using currents to help me kick to the top. The pillar of sea deposited me onto the ledge, where I set down the oysters.

  Another swirl of magic pulled all of the moisture from the crown of my head down to my feet, as well as the water that had splashed on my clothes, forming a little rivulet that spilled over the ledge. It left dry salt clinging to my skin and hair.

  Keeping my gaze trained above, I pulled on my clothes and then tucked the oysters into my pockets.

  I climbed up, poking my head over the top and half expecting to see a crew of Hunters waiting to take me away to the Watchtower.

  But no one was there.

  I went up the rest of the way and straightened slowly, scanning the area. I was alone.

  With a huff of frustration, I started walking, half wondering if I’d imagined the warlock.

  I made my way back to the Harbor, where another wave of fishing boats was preparing to cast off. I glanced at the Watchtower in the distance, the dark spindle that contrasted with the graceful, sculptured, white House of Light below it, shivering as if I could feel the eye of the Demon Lord on me.

  The House of Light was ironically named, as the only thing light about it was its color. It was where condemned witches lived, working as slaves as they waited for the Demon Lord to call them to the dark Watchtower for their heart sacrifice. According to the legends of The Colony, long ago the House of Light had been a place where dancers, actors, singers, and musicians performed. But the stage and seating, if they’d ever existed, had been removed and replaced with slave quarters.

  Back in town, shops were opening, and the vendors at the market were putting the finishing touches on their wares before the horn that would announce the market was open for the day.

  I wove through the stalls with the oysters clinking softly in my pockets. I would have preferred to come a bit earlier, but saving the drowning girl had delayed things.

  I spotted the seafood vendor I was looking for. “Master Shan?”

  He straightened and turned, his wizened, lined face taking a shrewd expression.

  “Ah, Mistress Pearl,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  I’d never given him my real name when I’d sold oysters to him before, so he’d bestowed me a nickname.

  “Would you be interested in my oysters this morning?” I asked, pulling one of them out for him to examine.

  He turned it over in his hand, giving it an appraising once-over.

  Gold dollar, gold dollar, I chanted hopefully in my mind. Even if I only got a half dollar apiece, it would be enough for Chelle’s medicine, but I had a feeling she’d need more than one course of it.

  He gestured at my pockets. “How many you got?”

  “Eight in total.”

  He pursed his lips. “Five gold dollars for all.”

  I narrowed my eyes and waggled my finger at him. “Last time you gave me a gold dollar for each.”

  “Six and a half,” he said.

  “Seven, or I go to Master McAuliffe,” I said firmly.

  He tilted his head in concession. “Seven it is.”

  My shoulders lowered in relief. I really preferred not to deal with McAuliffe. He usually paid well, but always tried to pinch my rear end or some other inappropriate gesture. More than once, I’d fantasized about grabbing one of the fish from McAuliffe’s stall and slapping him with it until he lost consciousness.

  I lined up the oysters along the edge of Shan’s display while he counted out my money.

  Walking away with the coins tinkling in the small drawstring pouch that was hidden in the folds of my skirt, I felt ten pounds lighter. I’d escaped a Hunter, saved a girl, and managed to get the money for Chelle’s medicine, and all before breakfast.

  What a day, and it wasn’t even seven in the morning.

  “Victoria!”

  I turned to see Amy, another hidden witch and my dearest friend, waving at me from her spice stall. She lived on my floor, and we were around the same age. We were in the same enclave of the Underground, too. If not for that, I’d probably never know she was also a witch. The warlock magic that cloaked our abilities and kept us safe from Hunters also prevented us from sensing each other’s powers, unless we were very close to a witch who was actively casting magic.

  With a smile, I angled off the road toward her. She wore her usual crown of dried flowers atop her wavy honey-colored hair. Today she was adorned with lavender. She sold herbs and spices, and she worked tirelessly to build her business, with the aim of eventually moving out of the market and into a proper shop.

  “You’re up very early,” she said, her eyes tightening for a split second, as if trying to discern my purpose in being out at this hour. She knew better than to ask in a place that was crowded with so many people.

  I nodded. “A bit of business here in the market. How are spice sales this week?”

  “Quite well. Thank you for asking.”

  This is how it often was for hidden witches in The Colony. Careful conversations. Vague inquiries.

  Her eyes sparked, and she leaned in a bit. “Did you hear? A Hunter was found dead not an hour ago.”

  My chin pulled back in surprise and my heart seemed to pause in my chest before jumping and taking off at a rapid gallop. “Murdered?”

  “A small dagger plunged straight into his heart,” she whispered. “Pretty one, apparently, the handle decorated with opal.”

  My breath died and my blood went cold. I’d always been careful to keep the knife concealed. It was the most valuable thing I owned, for one. And if I found myself in a situation where I needed to use it, I wanted to have the element of surprise on my side. Even Amy had never seen it. But my mind whirled, trying to remember whether I’d accidentally shown it to anyone who might’ve been able to identify it.

  I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe. “Any word about who may have done it?”

  She shook her head. “So far, no. But can you imagine? Someone killing a Hunter?”

  “I honestly can’t,” I said truthfully. “Such a crime is second only to murdering the Demon Lord himself.”

  “And that is unthinkable.” She finished the thought for me, each word heavy with finality.

  We both stood silently for a moment. The image of the drunk warlock, glowing with pale wings folded against his back, filled my mind’s eye.

  Dazed, I said goodbye to Amy and continued toward the apothecary shop for Chelle’s medicine.

  I was practically reeling as I tried to make sense of it all. I’d dropped the knife when I’d run past the warlock. He must have picked it up and stabbed the Hunter. But why would the warlock help me escape? He’d uttered the word “witch” as if it were the most despicable, vile word he knew. And considering the colorful cursing I’d heard in his mutterings, that was really saying something.

  For some reason, the drunk warlock who hated witches had murdered a Hunter so I wouldn’t get caught. And then he’d followed me to the estua
ry, only to spy on me and then disappear.

  My insides twisted as questions swirled through my mind. I found myself scanning faces as I walked, looking for the warlock. I wasn’t even sure whether I actually wanted to find him or if I feared crossing his path again, but curiosity was burning me up. He wasn’t a warlock of the Underground, a secret organization that helped protect hidden witches and tried to find ways to weaken the Watchtower, not if he despised witches. That made him dangerous. But if he wanted to turn me in to the Watchtower, he easily could have done it already.

  Still lost in my thoughts, I purchased Chelle’s medicine and then stepped out of the apothecary shop. I paused, trying to rein in my wild speculations. The street was busy now, and the morning sun slanted low-angled rays in between the residential buildings to the east.

  I didn’t have time to wander through The Colony looking for the warlock. I needed to get home, rouse the girls, get them fed and off to school, and then get to my job as a server in a nearby pub.

  Just as I’d resolved to keep focused on the day’s activities, my boots scuffed to a halt.

  There he was. The drunk warlock. He stood across the street, casually leaning against a lamp post and smoking a cigarette as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  He gave me an arch of one brow, and then an annoyingly knowing nod.

  My hand convulsively clenched around the sack containing the medicine. I stepped off the curb and onto the street, ready to stalk across and confront the warlock, when a commotion a block away drew my attention.

  A troop of Hunters was working its way toward me. At random, Hunters in the group were reaching out to grab people and yell in their faces or roughly push them aside in obvious attempts at intimidation. Pairs of Hunters broke off from the group to go into the shops.

  “What’s going on?” I asked a woman with a basket full of fresh rolls who was hurrying away from the scene.

  “Sweeps. They’re looking for information about the Hunter killing,” she said in a rush, without pausing.

  I glanced across the street, but of course the smirking warlock was gone.