A Darker Shade of Magic (Shades of Magic #1) - V.E Schwab Page 0,48

remained in its wake. And then, slowly, his arms slipped to his sides, the veins running over them now a true black. The color of true magic. His head drifted up, and he blinked two black eyes and looked around, then down at himself, considering his form. He flexed his fingers, carefully, testing.

And then, slowly, steadily, he got to his feet.

VII

THE FOLLOWER

I

Lila could have simply gone down into the belly of the Stone’s Throw, but she owed Barron enough already—he wouldn’t take her coin, either because he thought she needed it or because it wasn’t hers to begin with—and she needed the fresh air to clear her head.

Other Londons.

Men walking through magical doors.

Stones that made something out of nothing.

It was all the stuff of stories.

Of adventures.

All of it at her fingertips. And then gone. And Lila left feeling empty, hungry, and hollow in a new and terrifying way. Or maybe it was the same kind of hunger she’d always felt, and now the missing thing had a name: magic. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that, holding the stone, she’d felt something. And looking into Kell’s ruined eye, she’d felt something. And when the magic spun the wood of the wall around her wrist, she’d felt something. Again the questions surged, and again she shoved them down, and took in the night air—thick with soot and heavy with impending rain—and trudged through the web of streets, and across Westminster to the Barren Tide.

The Barren Tide sat near just north of the bridge on the southern side, tucked between Belvedere and York in a crevice of a street called Mariner’s Walk, and she’d taken to stopping in on some of her more successful nights before heading back to Powell (the way she’d seen it, it left one less coin for him to skim). She liked the pub because it was full of dark wood and fogging glass, rough edges and rougher fare. Not a smart place to pick pockets, but a fine place to blend in, to disappear. She had little fear of being recognized, either as a girl (the light was always kept low, and her hood kept up) or as a wanted thief (most of the patrons were wanted for something).

Her weapons were in easy reach, but she didn’t think she’d need them. At the Barren Tide, people tended to mind their own business. On the not-so-rare occasion that a fight broke out, the regulars were more concerned for the safety of their drinks (they’d sooner save a pitcher from a shaking table than step in to help the man whose falling body shook it), and Lila imagined someone could cry for help in the middle of the room and earn little more than a tip of the cup and a raised brow.

Not a place for all nights, to be sure. But a place for tonight.

It wasn’t until Lila was firmly stationed at the bar, fingers curled around a pint, that she let the questions take her mind and run free—the whys and hows and most of all what nows, because she knew she couldn’t simply go back to not knowing and not seeing and not wondering—and she was so wrapped up in them, she didn’t notice that a man had sat down beside her. Not until he spoke.

“Are you frightened?”

His voice was deep and smooth and foreign, and Lila looked up. “Excuse me?” she said, almost forgetting to keep her voice low.

“You’re clutching your drink,” explained the man, pointing at the fingers wrapped knuckles-white around her glass. Lila relaxed, but only a little.

“Long night,” she said, bringing the warm beer to her lips.

“And yet still young,” mused the man, taking a sip from his tumbler. Even in the Barren Tide, whose belly filled each night with a motley crew, the man seemed out of place. In the low light of the pub, he looked strangely … faded. His clothes were dark grey, and he wore a simple short cloak held by a silver clasp. His skin was pale, made paler by the dark wood bar beneath his hands, his hair a strange, colorless shade just shy of black. When he spoke, his voice was steady without being sweet, empty in a way that gave her chills, and his accent had gravel in it.

“Not from around here, are you?” she asked.

The corner of his mouth tugged up at that. “No.” He ran a finger absently around the rim of his glass. Except it didn’t feel absent. None of