Page 1 of Magic for Nothing

Prologue

“Every time I think my family has plumbed the depths of stupidity, somebody goes and finds a goddamn shovel.”

—Jane Harrington-Price

The upstairs bedroom of a small survivalist compound about an hour’s drive east of Portland, Oregon

Three months ago

ANTIMONY SAT CROSS-LEGGED in the middle of the room, one hand pressed hard against her thigh and the other held open in front of her, palm up and fingers spread. She stared at the air above her hand like it had personally done her wrong and needed to be punished for its sins.

“Just breathe,” said the room’s other occupant. Mary Dunlavy—family babysitter and family ghost, even though she hadn’t been a part of the family until long after she died—sat with her knees drawn to her chest, watching Antimony concentrate. “We both know you can do this. You’ve done it over and over again without meaning to. You just need to find the focus that turns it voluntary.”

“Because look how well ‘involuntary’ worked for Carrie,” said Antimony, still glaring at the air.

Mary raised her eyebrows, looking bemused.

Antimony swallowed a sigh. Getting exasperated with the one person even semi-equipped to help her was a bad plan. Sure, it was a plan she was familiar with and really good at executing, but . . . still a bad plan. “Fictional character,” she said. “Stephen King book. She moved things with her mind. Burned down half the town where she lived before dying horribly.”

“Huh,” said Mary. “I’ll have to check it out.”

She wouldn’t. Mary knew it, and Antimony knew it, and so neither of them needed to say anything about it. Mary existed in a ghost story—they couldn’t call it living, not when she’d been dead so much longer than she’d ever been alive—and she didn’t need horror novels if she wanted to be spooked by the things that went “bump” in the night. They were all around her, even when she was alone, because she was one of them.

Mary was also the only person who was both reliably available and had actually known Grandpa Thomas before he disappeared. (Grandma Alice, who probably knew him better than anyone else in the world, wasn’t around enough, and Antimony wasn’t sure asking a woman who thought bear traps were appropriate gifts for children to help her get her powers under control would be a good plan.) Mary had seen Grandpa Thomas do magic. Real, practical magic, the sort that ran in families and meant that sometimes having a nightmare meant waking up because the sheets were on fire.

Antimony was tired of taking the batteries out of her smoke detector and telling her parents she’d burned her hand on the hotplate during roller derby practice. She wanted this under control, and she wanted it under her own terms. She knew she wasn’t supposed to ask Mary for favors, but she was allowed to ask about family history, and Grandpa was family history. Grandpa was a loophole. Hence the closed door and a moment of privacy stolen while the rest of her family was downstairs watching her older sister Verity dance on live television. Because that was a good idea.

“Focus,” said Mary. “If you can do it while you’re asleep, you can do it while you’re awake.”

“I can fly when I’m asleep,” muttered Antimony. She narrowed her eyes, still staring at the air above her hand. It was all molecules. Little air molecules, moving faster and faster, until—

There was a spark, like someone had tried to strike a lighter and failed. It flared and was gone in an instant, leaving the smell of heat hanging in the air. Antimony yelped and dropped her hand. Mary smiled.

“I remember when your grandfather showed me that trick,” she said. “He was so proud of himself. ‘Look at this thing I can do,’ he said, to the girl who can walk through walls and won’t ever age. But it was just the tip of the iceberg. Magic is so much more.”

“Holy crap,” said Antimony.

Someone flung the bedroom door open so hard that it slammed against the opposite wall. Antimony and Mary whipped around. Kevin Price—normally the calmest and most level-headed member of the family—was standing in the doorway, wild-eyed behind his wire-framed glasses and panting slightly, with either exertion or distress.

“Annie, we need you,” he said.

Antimony pushed herself off the floor as she said, “You’re supposed to knock before you barge into my room.” The words sounded like whining even to her own ears.

Kevin shook his head. “It’s an emergency,” he said, before turning and running back down the hall. The sound of feet pounding on the stairs followed. Mary and Antimony exchanged a look. Mary disappeared, presumably reappearing in the living room. Antimony bolted for the door.

The word “emergency” wasn’t used casually in the Price home. It could mean a lot of things. It could mean a death, or a kidnapping, or a Covenant purge starting in one of the cities under their protection. It could mean a cryptid sighting they couldn’t explain away, something that would bring the Covenant down on their heads once and for all. It could mean genuine, inescapable disaster.

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, Antimony was moving so fast that she had to grab the banister to stop herself from slamming into the wall. She used her remaining momentum to whip around and into the living room, where the rest of her family—Mom, Dad, her older brother Alex and his fiancée, Shelby, both visiting from Ohio—were fixated on the television. Mary was in front of the screen, but that wasn’t a problem, since she was half-transparent with shock: Antimony could see through her to the image of her big sister, Verity, missing her wig and covered in blood, launching herself at the giant snake that had broken through the dance floor.

“Is this going out live?” she asked. Her voice was very loud.

“Yes,” said her father, and his voice was very soft.

They watched in mute horror as the battle played out, ending with an explosion and the great snake crumpling to the stage. Verity stood, battered but unbroken, and turned to the camera. She looked exhausted. She looked infuriated. It was a common combination for her. “My name is Verity Price,” she said. “This is my continent. Stay out.” Then she shot the camera. The picture died, replaced by a “technical difficulties” sign.

The living room was silent for a long moment before Alex breathed, “Holy shit.”

That about summed it up, really. Antimony looked to her father. “What’s going to happen now?” she asked. She hated how young she sounded, like a little girl asking her parents to make everything better—but in that moment that was how she felt.