Magic Claims by Ilona Andrews

Roland rolled his eyes.

“Is he doing well with the spells?”

“He’s learning faster than anyone in my memory. However, as you recall, the incantations for the siege spells are long.”

“And tedious. So tedious.”

“The tedium is the point. If it were easy, Blossom, anyone could do it.”

My father, the magic snob.

“You seem troubled.” Roland dipped his head to meet my gaze.

For all his faults, Dad was always observant.

“Did Conlan tell you about Penderton?”

“No.”

“During the last flare, some sort of evil appeared in the woods north of Wilmington, near a town called Penderton. It sent its human servants to demand tribute from the town.”

“What form of tribute?”

“People.”

Roland furrowed his eyebrows. “Dangerous and foolish. Go on.”

“They come for tribute every year. They infected the town with something, and the residents die if they leave. The town offered us a lot of land if we can eliminate the threat.”

“I see.”

“I need your expertise, Father.”

I opened the cooler, took out one of the gold collars from the morgue and the plastic cup, and put the bag with the sphere next to them.

Roland picked up the bag. It opened in his hand on its own. A stone sphere floated up, wrapped in red string. Roland flicked his fingers. The stone ball slid back, putting a few yards between us. The red string snapped. The sphere expanded into a boulder.

Roland focused on it. It shrank into a ball, expanded again, then shrank again, and expanded one more time.

“This is of them?”

“Yes. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“No.”

The boulder rotated. Thin strands of light wrapped around it—my father analyzing the enchantment.

“It feels primitive somehow,” I said.

“The idea behind it is so basic. What could be more rudimentary than throwing a large rock at your enemy?”

“A very large rock.”

“But only a rock still. The concept is crude, but the execution… I do not know how this is done.” Excitement sparked in his eyes. “How peculiar. Simple idea, tremendous amount of magic to make it function. Grand and yet so inefficient. The work of a toddler god.”

“Is it divine?”

“No. This was made by a human.”

The collar was next. I watched it expand and contract in his fingers.

“Have you noticed the weight?” he asked.

I nodded. “Heavy.”

“Almost pure gold and heavily enchanted. Once put on, it will not come off. The wearer?”

“Dead.”

He sighed. “Of course they are. What did they look like?”

“They were shapeshifters. After they died, they turned human, but they did not look like us. They grow ridges of hair along their spines, their profiles are strange, and they have horns.”

My father raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. The cup?”

I explained the meeting of minds on the killing field in front of Penderton.

He took the lid off. The brown powder snaked out, swirled around his fingers, and slipped back into the cup.

“Spores.”

“What kind of spores?”

“A magical fungus, perhaps. Something that implants within the lungs when it’s inhaled. How quickly did the people die once they left the area?”

“Three days.”

“So it’s fast-acting, and yet the population of Penderton is still alive. Something is inhibiting their growth in Penderton.” He tilted his head and looked at me. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Do you have ink and paper?”

A piece of watercolor paper appeared on the table with an ink bottle, a brush, and a crystal cup filled with water. I took the brush, dipped it into the ink bottle, and colored a circle in a uniform, even purple.

“This is what we do.”

I washed the brush, then drew another circle with water next to the first one. Then I dipped the brush into the ink again and let a single drop fall off its tip into the center. The ink spread through the water circle, a saturated purple in the center that grew paler and more diluted toward the edges. A gradient.

“This is what the forest does.”

His expression shifted. The kind, wise sage was gone. An immortal wizard peered at the paper, the full power of his staggering intellect directed at the problem like a laser.

“A precursor?” he murmured. “Or a variation?”

“That’s how it’s suppressing the spores.” The priest-mage’s clawed hand still bothered me. “Father, are we the only ones capable of this?”

“By ‘we,’ you mean our family?”

“Humans.”

“I don’t know.” Roland’s face clouded.

What? “You know everything.”

He smiled at me. “If that was so, I would go mad for there would be nothing left to discover. The family records don’t specify how or when we acquired this power. However, in my lifetime, I have met three outsiders, none of them with our blood, who were capable of it.”

None of this was comforting.

Roland tapped the ink circle. “This and the fact the blood ward stopped the spores makes your course clear. You already know what you must do to save them.”