City of Spells (Into the Crooked Place #2) - Alexandra Christo Page 0,16
would forgive him for it anyway.
Zekia could try all she wanted, but she’d be hard-pressed to create an illusion as damn irritating and wonderful as the real thing.
“Want to give it another whirl?” Wesley asked. “I think I’ve still got some sanity left in me today.”
Zekia let out a great huff of breath, like she was frustrated that Wesley had stolen her favorite toy. Beside her, a shadow demon growled, its eyes like pure darkness. It looked at Wesley in a way that said, Yes. Again. Let me taste the blood this time.
“No,” Zekia said. “Enough for today.”
Thank the Many Gods, Wesley thought, and then hoped she hadn’t heard.
Though it was impossible to be sure, and being unsure was something Wesley hated. Even more than the fact that he knew he looked like utter trash and had to turn away from any reflection he caught sight of. His suit was always stellar—one thing Zekia was good at in between the torture was keeping Wesley dressed very much like himself—but the sharp edges in his eyes that he’d carefully cultivated over the years looked more rounded and dull.
Maybe it was the lack of food.
Maybe it was the lack of sun.
Or maybe he just didn’t adjust well to being tortured.
Either way, Wesley didn’t plan on sticking around to get used to it.
The shadow demon bared its teeth, talons rising, and Wesley couldn’t help but grimace. Not because he was scared—he’d never show that so easily—but because he could smell the demon’s breath from across the room.
There was torture and then there was just plain nasty.
“Down, boy,” Zekia said, clicking her fingers in the air.
The shadow demon howled, the sound like the whistle of a boiling teapot, or an old steam train that couldn’t slow down. It cozied up to her side and Zekia smiled. She didn’t need to kneel down to stroke it, because Zekia was only fourteen and the shadow demon was nearly the size of a grown man. Perhaps twice that when it was on its hind legs.
It was weird to watch it obey her, like she was a leader and not just a kid who didn’t know she needed help.
“Do you know why a shadow demon can’t be killed?” Zekia asked.
Wesley was not in the mood for a quiz.
“It’s because they’re not born of blood and bone like us.”
The demon cawed by her side, like it approved of this lesson about its history.
“They’re made from the darkness left behind by the cursed spells. Spells that steal a mind, spells that steal a soul, and spells that steal a heart.”
When Zekia stroked the shadow demon, half of her hand grazed its spine and the other half fell into the abyss of its ghostly body.
“You can’t kill shadow demons because they’re made from magic and magic can never die,” she said. “In the end, magic always wins. It’s forever. It’s a gift from the Many Gods and we have to protect it.”
Wesley kept his breath steady.
“Is this part of the torture?” he said. “You didn’t break me with your mind magic or your shadow demon, so you want to bore me with a history lesson?”
Zekia laughed.
She laughed a lot when Wesley spoke, even though half of what he said really wasn’t that funny. Torture had dampened his sense of humor.
Still, she always laughed, like she thought that if Wesley knew she liked him, he might just forgive her for everything. And the thing was, he did. Wesley missed the little kid he’d befriended, who, despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to hate.
“You’re too stubborn and Ashwood will get mad soon,” Zekia said. “You’re ruining everything, Wesley. The future is so dark and I can’t make it light without you, don’t you see?”
She pushed her long black braids from her face, her bracelets clinking together.
“If you’re looking for light, I’m the wrong person,” Wesley said. “Just because Asees and Arjun gave me a magical loan, it doesn’t mean I know anything about your Crafter dreams. I’m not like you, kid. I never was.”
Zekia played with the hem of her dress.
“You know that’s not true,” she said quietly. “You know that you’re not a vessel for someone else’s power.”
Wesley sat up against the wall in a way that made his ribs hurt a little less.
“Wesley,” she said, her voice a mix of nerves and joy. “Don’t you feel it? Your magic isn’t borrowed or stolen. It’s awakened.”
“I’m not falling for any more of your mind games.”