Magic Claims by Ilona Andrews

Let’s see what you have to say.

The priest-mage spun, weaving a complex pattern with their staff. Back and forth, and turn and spin… A kind of ferocious ballet, aided by magic.

Black vapor streaked through the air, trailing the staff.

The priest-mage pirouetted one last time and planted their staff in the grass. A pulse of black shot from it and settled into a glowing circle about eight feet across. Some kind of relief, shaped with pale and dark vapor… Oh. It was an aerial view of Penderton, surrounded by woods.

They had something that could fly. There was no other way for them to get this image. Bad news.

The priest-mage stared at me, waiting.

“Can you speak?”

No response.

I pointed at the map. “Town.” Penderton was a long word. Town was easier to say.

No response.

I pointed over my shoulder at the wall. “Town.”

The priest-mage jabbed the staff at the map and then at Penderton.

I nodded. “Yes.” Yes, I got it.

The priest-mage took a step forward and drew a horizontal line through the town, cutting it in half. The north half turned red; the southern half remained the same.

The priest-mage pointed to the red half with their staff and put their left hand on their chest, fingers splayed out.

Okay.

They pointed at the southern part and then at me.

Ah. Mine and yours. They wanted to split the town down the middle. We’d scared them. Good.

I shook my head. “No.”

The priest-mage waved their staff. Spheres formed above the smoke version of Penderton and plunged down, exploding on impact into fountains of smoke. The priest-mage opened their mouth and hissed. The dark smoke swirled around their head, forming a big phantom skull, its jaws gaping in a silent scream.

Do as we say, or we will kill everyone.

I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. No. Won’t happen.

The priest-mage stabbed the staff in my direction and pointed it at the ground, then clapped their chest again and raised the staff all the way up.

You are down there, and we are up there.

I rolled my eyes, pointed to myself, put my hands together, rested my cheek on them, and closed my eyes for a moment to indicate sleeping. Then I pointed at the mage-priest, pantomimed walking with my index and middle fingers, and spread my arms.

If you are so mighty, why did you come here and wake me up?

The priest-mage glared at me. Or at least it seemed like it. The skull kind of made it hard to tell.

I took my notepad and pen, drew the line of ten stick figures on it, and showed it to the priest-mage. Then I ripped the piece of paper off, slowly, deliberately tore it into pieces, and tossed them into the air.

You’re not taking any more people.

The priest-mage pointed at me and drew a line across their throat. Okay, that one was clear. But more importantly, I got a good look at their hands, especially their thumb. The fingers were long, with thick nails that looked like claws.

Hmmm.

The priest-mage was waiting for my answer.

I motioned to them with my right hand. Bring it.

The priest-mage thrust their hand into a small bag hanging from their leather-cord belt and hurled something at me. The object expanded in midair, and a car-sized rock smashed into my ward and bounced off.

The ward flashed crimson and held.

I yawned. Let’s see what else you’ve got.

The priest-mage hurled a second rock. Another bounce.

I can do this all day, buddy.

Dark smoke boiled from underneath the priest-mage’s feet. They stumbled back, suddenly unsure. The smoke coiled around them like tentacles. The priest-mage spun around, frantically trying to break free. Sounds came out of their mouth, foreign, strange words that sounded like begging.

The smoke snaked to their neck. The priest-mage dropped their staff and clawed at the coils with their bare hands. Their fingers slipped through the smoke.

It jerked them up, off their feet, shackling their wrists. The smoke forced the priest-mage’s right hand up, into their robes, and dragged the arm back, forcing the priest-mage to pull a large bulb out. It looked like an onion but with a thick, crusty outer skin.

The priest-mage flailed, trying to get away from it.

The smoke shoved the bulb into their mouth.

The priest-mage’s skull exploded into bloody mist. The headless torso jerked about in midair, flopping like a rag doll, and deflated like an empty water bag, as if all of their organs and bones had been turned into liquid and evaporated.

The Penderton tributes from the previous years were dead. All of them.

The bag of skin that used to be a person inflated once again and exploded without making a sound. Brown powder showered on my ward. It swirled and settled on the grass in an even semicircle, held back by the magic of my blood.

“I will find you.” The power in the forest probably couldn’t understand me, but I needed to say it. “I will eradicate you. You’re done.”

The forest watched me in silence.





A chorus of birds serenaded me in stereo, some from the woods and others from the town behind my back. I didn’t think there would be that many in October, but here they were, singing away without a care in the world.

Logic said that they were establishing and defending their territory so when the breeding season came in the spring, they were ready for mating. They were screaming, “My spot! Mine! Stay away!” But it was still lovely.