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Greenfire attacks the mind, not the body. The pain is an illusion, and as long as the person inflicting it stops before your heart gives out from shock or your mind cracks, it does no lasting harm.
For most practitioners, imposing Greenfire on someone would require complex hand gestures and perhaps some incantations. It would certainly require a hell of a lot of concentration. For my father, it was all but effortless, magic flowing from the earth into his body and out again with no resistance. Bren could do that sort of magic, too, but the scary thing was that increasingly, so could I. My connection to the earth and my control of my powers were growing by the day.
My father kept up the assault for five minutes, then waved his hand just as casually, and drew the fire back into himself. “You have seven days to pay the debt in full. Next time, it’ll count as breaking our lien.”
And we all knew what happened to people who broke liens. Dad wouldn’t even have to lift a finger.
Gibbins lay on the floor, gasping for air. An acolyte lifted him to his feet and led him out.
As I’ve said, Dad is—and was—a good man, but he couldn’t afford to appear weak. If magic were granted to everyone who asked, with no tests and no payment, demand would far outstrip supply. The result would be utter chaos.
He used the payments as a form of rationing—and ensured the debts were paid for much the same reason. He couldn’t stand it when people tried to avoid their obligations. Left unchecked, that sort of lack of respect for him and his family could start to undermine the order of things in Mannith. But it also demonstrated a lack of respect for the magic itself and for the solemnity of the magical deal. Treating things like that lightly was dangerous for all concerned.
All that said, as a family, we did pretty well out of those deals. We could achieve most things with magic if we really needed to, but sometimes, it was simpler or raised fewer questions to do things the human way, and all the cash certainly helped that along.
“We’re done for tonight, ladies and gentlemen,” Dad announced.
Some of the practitioners in the room traversed themselves away, some used the door. I excused myself and surreptitiously followed Gibbins and his guard out to the driveway. He flinched at the sight of me, as though an eighteen-year-old girl in pyjamas was more terrifying than the scarred, muscled, forty-five-year-old guarding him.
“Can you afford to pay the next instalment?” I tried to mimic my father’s authoritative but dispassionate tone.
“I’ll pay. I swear I’ll pay. Don’t hurt me.”
My family’s reputation protected me from a lot of things, but it made it hard to have a civil conversation.
“If you don’t pay, you’ll die. I don’t think you have the money. And I don’t think you have any way to get it in seven days.”
I reached into my handbag and withdrew a pile of notes. “Here. It’s a gift, not a loan. Enough to pay up next week. That’ll give you a month to find the following payment. Don’t expect me to help you again.”
The acolyte gave me an exasperated look. “Miss Sadler, please. We’ve talked about this before.”
I understood all the arguments about only giving magic to those who were willing to make a sacrifice; about the need to treat liens with the seriousness they required; and about the importance of maintaining authority and control for the good of the town. And on an abstract level, I agreed with them. But that didn’t make it any easier to see an individual suffering just because they’d been foolish enough to play with magic they didn’t understand.
“I wouldn’t give family money to debtors, but this is my tutoring cash.”
Gibbins took the money. “Thank you. You’re an angel.”
“Hardly. Now get out.”
I went back inside, hoping the rest of the family would assume I’d simply taken an extended bathroom break.
I’d just settled back down on the sofa with one of my history books when the screaming started.
Chrissie jumped to her feet. “That’s Bren.”
Chrissie was a much stronger empath than I’d ever be. If she thought that was our brother screaming, she was almost certainly right. But this was our house. Our sanctuary. Protected by magic and strength. Nothing could go wrong here. Besides, Bren was the strongest practitioner out of all of us, and more than capable of looking after himself… right?
We all glanced at each other, then dashed outside.
There was an unfamiliar convertible car on the driveway, and by the back porch, Brendan sprawled, contorted in agony.
I stared at the man standing over him. I’d never actually met Gabriel Thornber in person before, but I knew the son of my father’s only rival by reputation. By all accounts, he was the most powerful practitioner of magic in town. Perhaps in the entire country. Though he was a few years older than me—around Bren’s age—he was a subject of fascination amongst the practitioners in my year at school. Some had insane crushes on him thanks to his cheekbones, wavy blond hair, power, and general air of mystery. Others repeated dark rumours about his background, his magic, and his family.
“I heard he can mesmerise most practitioners as easily as we can mesmerise humans.”
“I heard he can change his appearance at will. Like really change it. Body-switching, that sort of thing.”
“He drains people’s magic while he screws them.”
