Page 64 of The Filigree Key

“How do they work, anyway?” I asked. I was genuinely curious, but he’d only make a damnable mistake if I continued to rile him, so I kept my voice taunting. “You’re not a witch or mage, you’re definitely not a warlock, and practitioners can only perform little magics with the aid of natural magic sources.” I tapped my chin. “Those markings are fae-like in nature . . .. Did Ossian give them to you in exchange for being his lackey?”

“I earned these,” he snarled. “And I would’ve had more had you not put that barrier around that tree!”

Alec struck.

The fae-like markings turned to bluish-green fog and rolled towards me like a storm front. It was so thick I couldn’t see what it was doing to the grass, but one didn’t attack with a fog unless it would 1) asphyxiate you, 2) burn you, or 3) play tricks on your mind. Or, if you were as spiteful as Alec, it was probably all three.

I lunged to the side, away from the hut and my friends. The fog barreled after me like a cresting wave building in anticipation of pummeling me against the shore. Lashing it half-heartedly with my vines only sent sparks arcing into the air. It was rather solid for fog. Perhaps it needed something more direct. Like a stab.

Alec sprang forward with scream, suddenly appearing with his slashing dagger. Years of sparring against my knife-wielding father had me readily redirecting Alec’s strike and landing a flame-wreathed punch to his exposed ribs. Fiery ropes tore after him, but the magic hunter flipped out of the way and cut through the air with the glowing edge of his dagger.

It wasn’t an attack meant to cut, but to summon his fog. It condensed into a storm of serrated leaves that pelted against me like hail. Even as my flames consumed them, I was knocked this way and that from the sheer force.

Or rather, I let myself get knocked around.

My eyes were slits against the assault, more out of instinct than anything else, and as I watched through the whirling leaves, the fae-like markings on Alec’s skin grew dim. One even winked out entirely.

He felt it too, looking down in shock at the top of his left pec where the mark had once been. Then he touched the one just below his collarbone—the Celtic knot.

What was that he’d said at the elm tree? If we don’t replenish, we lose—

They lose their magic! Those markings were finite magic caches, and if not recharged, they would be lost for good. No wonder they were giving Wystan sanctuary. No wonder they were magic hunters—always in the pursuit of more to make up for what they expended.

Just as I was about to dispel this annoying leafy flock, Alec tackled me. He plunged his dagger down, skewering the leather of the foraging bag strap to the frozen dirt. His hand, protected by its own shield of magic, gripped my throat as he pinned my arms to the ground beneath his knees.

“Get off me!”

“I won’t kill you, witch.” He lowered his head until our noses almost touched. “I’ll only take what you owe me.”

I could dislodge him at any time, but I had to know. I had to know how Alec stole magic, how to enable my friends to defend themselves against him and his kind.

His grip on my throat changed, and the Celtic knot on his sternum turned white.

I felt it then, a pull. A drain.

He was doing to me exactly what Ossian’s first kiss had done. What his kisses continued to do to my grandmother.

Alec was taking my magic.

The Celtic knot formed the necessary connection between us and stole it away.

Or tried to.

Inside, the magic oak tree turned molten gold. Green electricity raced up from its roots, red from its heart. Its leaves burst from its branches, spreading out and interlocking into the shape of a familiar net. Except I had control of this one.

Alec’s grip tightened, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion, his jaw clenching in determination. His bright blue eyes, which would’ve been beautiful if they weren’t reflecting such a rotten soul, looked up from the Celtic knot on his chest to my face.

They widened when he saw the tight, patronizing smile on my lips.

“Big mistake,” I whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A roiling mass of green flames and writhing vines shot Alec into the air. His fingernails clawed against my throat, but the wounds sealed themselves almost as quickly as they were made.

His blood-curdling scream was silenced as a crackling bolt of copper magic shot him out of the air.

Still pinned to the ground by his dagger, I craned my head back to see the magic hunter crash into the ground. Clothes tore and flesh bruised as he slid across the turf until the old fallen log from where I’d collected the witch’s butter finally stopped him.