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“Repression’s bad for the soul,” he replies.
I try to ignore him. He may be able to pour out magic with his attention on something else, but I’m out of practice, and I need to focus on the spell and nothing but the spell. But he’s difficult to disregard, so close I can feel his body heat and hear his heartbeat.
Furious as I am at the way these Thornber bastards are ganging up on poor Connor, I don’t want to kill anyone. Besides, if I tried anything lethal, I could just as easily hit the person I’m trying to save. But there’s something I saw Dad do once, to break up a fight between two of his acolytes. The intersection of physics and magic defies meaningful description, but in effect, you enclose a space and pull all the oxygen out of it, until everyone slumps down unconscious. Let the air back in a few seconds later, and after a minute or two, they all wake up, groggy but unharmed. At least, that’s the theory.
I turn my left hand palm up, spread my fingers, and curl them in towards one another. I turn my right hand palm down and keep the fingers straight and stretched. It’s a clunky way of doing things. Once, I’d have been able to throw my hand out and make my will reality. Now, I’m going through the motions like someone who’s just learning.
I’m dimly aware of the fight going on down below. Connor’s still standing, but he’s taking more and more hits. And I’m painfully aware of Gabriel right next to me, saying nothing but watching me with a little smile.
What if I can’t do it? The idea is terrifying on two levels. Firstly, because Gabriel seems so confident in my powers, there seems a good chance he’ll let the fight run until it’s too late. Secondly, because it’s one thing to voluntarily turn your back on being special, it’s quite another to have no choice but to be normal. Magic’s a part of me, whether I’m using it or keeping it in check.
“Do you want a hand?” Gabriel asks. “There’s no shame in being a little out of practice.”
I’ll show him—even if that’s exactly what he wants. I visualise what I need to happen, rotate both hands a few times, throw them out and down, draw an arch to enclose the space, then pull them back towards me, drawing the oxygen with me. It’s a painfully literal way of casting the spell.
Down below, the fight stops and everyone freezes in defensive stances, staring up at the balcony. Magic is flowing from me to create the airlock and towards me to pull the oxygen away. It’s swirling around me, visible to anyone with any capacity to see it. This started as a carefully controlled paint by numbers spell, but it’s rapidly turning into something wilder and more primal, emanating from my subconscious rather than my rational brain. It’s the sort of magic Gabriel and Brendan do, the sort I used to love. My finger is glowing red from the activated brand, but it’s too late to worry about that.
The men don’t know quite what’s hit them yet, only that they’re in the grip of some sort of spell. Unlike something more lethal, oxygen deprivation takes a few minutes to kick in fully. Only the people within the bubble can see me, but they’re all staring at me with universally stunned expressions. I can’t hear anything they’re saying through my airlock, but it seems clear the Thornber henchmen are shouting to Gabriel for help. I don’t care about them though. Connor is wide-eyed with betrayal.
His expression makes my heart contract. It’s too late to do the right thing and be honest with him now. If we make it out of here, all he’ll see is someone whose cover was blown. He’ll never believe I was going to tell him the truth. And right now, the whole situation is so chaotic that he might even believe I’m working with Gabriel—who I’m seemingly standing side by side with—and trying to hurt him. After all, my spell isn’t discriminating between him and his attackers.
Somehow, though, through all the horrible emotions, I keep the magic going, wave after wave of it, out from me and back towards me. God, I’ve missed the high of this. Slowly, slowly, all the fighters, Connor included, sink to the floor.
I keep drawing out the oxygen. None of it seems real. I’m supposed to break the lock and let the air back in now, but the magic is beyond my control.
“That was worth waiting for,” Gabriel says. “You’re out of practice, but I can feel the power radiating off you. Now please don’t kill ten of my men and your father’s enforcer.”
I snap out of my almost trancelike state. “I can’t stop.” I gasp out the words as though the spell’s stealing away my oxygen, too.
Think rationally. Go back to basics and the painfully literal spellcasting. One hand needs to push the oxygen away from me and channel it back into the room. Some sort of pushing motion. The other needs to tear apart the airlock. A clawing gesture perhaps. But pushing seems to force more magic towards the unconscious men, and clawing seems to tighten the grip of the airlock. I can’t think this through logically, and my subconscious magic is all over the place.
I clench both hands into fists and draw them towards me, gasping.
“Just breathe. It’s like you’ve tried to run a marathon when it’s years since you’ve done more than a fun run.” Gabriel steps behind me, closes his arms around my waist, and takes a tight hold of both hands. “Your magic knows what it needs to do. Let it do it.” He eases my fingers open, moves my hands away from my chest, and wraps them in his. He holds our entwined hands out in front of the two of us.
“If it comes to it, I can cut your magic off and let them breathe. I’ll do it before there’s any serious harm done to any of them, so don’t panic. But I know you can do it yourself.”
His heartbeat is slow and steady behind my back, and his breathing is deep. My heart and lungs copy his pace. And his own magic is wrapped around mine like a comfort blanket.
I visualise air in the room, the men below breathing as easily as I now am, and the barrier gone. I raise my hands a little, lifting Gabriel’s at the same time, and let a fresh surge of magic rush out of me. The barrier shatters and the oxygen flies back in. Instead of stopping, my power surges again. This time, it tears the impenetrable bubble around us into shreds, and the noise of the rest of the casino surrounds us.
Gabriel guides our hands back towards my chest. He grips them a little harder, and it’s like turning off a tap. He lets go of me as soon as the magic stops, but when I fall back against him, he wraps an arm around my waist. It’s both an attempt at comfort and the only way to keep me standing. Never mind a marathon, I feel like I’ve done an Ironman Triathlon.
Down below, Connor and the others stumble to their feet, all thoughts of fighting extinguished. And attracted by the surge of magic now the protective shield is gone, Liam, Chrissie, Ray and Shane all suddenly appear on the balcony, hands raised ready for attack.
“Get your hands off my baby sister!” Chrissie screams, panic evidently making her forget I’m supposed to be undercover.
Gabriel doesn’t move. I don’t want him to. This is all his fault, but right now, the touch of his body and the sense of his magic are both equally comforting. I’ll feel guilty about this later no doubt, but right now, there’s no arguing with my lizard brain and my frenzied powers.
Liam clenches his hands into fists. “Let go of her now, Thornber, or God help me, I’ll take you down. I’m not Brendan. You’d beat me in a magical duel any day. But I’d like to see you take a punch to those pretty cheekbones.”
Gabriel only tightens his grip. When I asked him to let go of me earlier, he complied in seconds. He’ll listen to me. But he lives for defying the rest of my family. And right now, he doesn’t seem quite in control of himself. I’m certainly not. I should tell him to let go or I should tell my family I’m fine. But I can’t speak any more than I can stand unaided.
The marathon metaphor was an apt one. Like exercise, using magic as a practitioner is good for you. Never do it, and you’ll get weak. Do it regularly, and you’ll get stronger and stronger. But work out for the first time in years, and you’ll be sore afterwards. Go in too hard when you’re out of shape, and you risk giving yourself a heart attack. I think I’ve just done the magical equivalent.
“You know the rules, Liam,” Gabriel replies. “Your sister and I have a deal. And you can’t attack someone for something they’ve done as part of a legitimate bargain.”
Liam takes a step closer. He’s quite evidently going to hit Gabriel, and to hell with the consequences. And being punched by Liam with intent never ends well.
