looked over at her, or pointedly avoided her gaze. Wasn’t that interesting? Liddy didn’t look at her. Neither did Mike Barham, and half a dozen other people. No, instead they looked at one another.
Uh-oh.
The sky above us clotted with color. Lightning flashed again, shattered the sky with wild glyphs so bright I couldn’t blink away the burn. Even flash-blind, I thought I saw a shadow moving back by the trees on the other side of the wall of magic. Short, female.
It was Mama Rositto, the woman whose youngest boy had been used as a Proxy, and almost killed, to cover up my father’s murder several months ago. I used to Hound for her, but after her boy had been hurt, and her son James had been thrown in jail, she’d made it clear I wasn’t welcome in her life.
What would she be doing out in the park in a storm?
With the Illusion up, she wouldn’t see us, couldn’t see us. And if we did our job right, she’d go her way, take her walk or whatever it was she was doing, without ever suspecting that the most powerful magic users in Portland were about to bring the sky, and all the magic in it, crashing down in her backyard.
Lightning flashed and thunder exploded so close they joined.
A drop of rain hit my head. Then another.
Great. Why did it always rain when the world needed saving?
The disks around the circle flickered as rain pattered through the rising magic.
I looked around, uncertain as to how this was a storm rod that was going to channel the magic. Unless they intended to channel bits of the magic into the disks at their feet. Even so, there weren’t nearly enough disks to contain that storm.
The big, heavy figure of Jingo Jingo lumbered out into the center of the circle. He carried a sack over his back. Lightning struck, painting him pale as a horror-movie Santa Claus. A flash of ghostly faces, children’s faces, swarmed around his body, tied to him, clinging to him in sorrow and desperation.
Darkness returned, snuffing out the ghosts.
But I knew I’d see them in my nightmares.
Jingo swung the bag off his back and upended it.
Disks poured out, dozens and dozens, striking one another in sweet glass tones, primal music and magic, ringing in song so pure I caught my breath. Disks and magic poured into a pile, a mountain, a treasure of glittering, beautiful power.
I moaned softly. I wasn’t the only one.
There it was—the unattainable dream. Easy magic.
Safely contained, safely used. No price to pay. Ready to do what you wanted it to do. At no cost.
I wanted it to stop a storm. I wanted it to help me open a gate so I could get Zayvion back.
I looked around the circle, at faces brushed in liquid light from the disks at their feet. I saw awe, doubt, greed. I saw anger, and fear. All the good things a human could feel and all the bad, played out across the faces of those gathered.
The Authority, Zayvion had told me, was on the brink of a war.
And someone had just poured a pile of loaded weapons at their feet.
“What?” Thunder struck, covering my voice. I shot a panicked look at Shame and Terric, both of whom looked away from the thrall of the disks and at me. They looked as confused as I felt.
“We need a focal point,” Sedra said softly next to me. “I had hoped there would be another way. If Zayvion hadn’t fallen, he would be the one standing here. I would not have asked this of you.”
“Asked what of me? Explain—” Lightning, thunder. I waited them out, or at least until the thunder’s volume went down a notch. Tried again, “Explain what you think I’m going to do.”
She smiled, and it looked out of place beneath her cool, brittle eyes, as if there were two different people with two different emotions behind that face. “You are going to direct the wild magic. You don’t need to wield it, don’t need to absorb it. You simply need to Ground it, into the disks.”
How had she not noticed that I sucked at Grounding? I thought my teachers reported to her about me. I wasn’t even any good at keeping control over the magic inside me and never left home without a void stone anymore.
Volatile was the polite word my teachers used when they didn’t think I was listening. You’d think someone would