Fragile Magick (Descent Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “Upholding my end of a promise.” Brynja’s voice was breathless.

  “A promise to a dead woman.”

  The bell dinged. Jerick and I whipped around like naughty children caught dipping into the cookie jar. I pretended to wipe a smudge off the door, cutting the connection with the sigil.

  We both fell over ourselves to attend to the new customer, as if that could excuse the fact we’d intruded on Brynja’s private conversation. The customer barely had time to tell us what she needed, before a shriek burst from the back room.

  “Get out!” Brynja’s scream shook the walls.

  The door to the back room slammed open, and the stranger stalked back into the shop, anger blazing on his face.

  “Is there a problem, Bryn?” There was no laughter in Jerick’s voice as he maneuvered to place himself between Brynja and the obstinate-faced man. He may have been prettier than me with even better fashion sense, but he’d kick the Thor lookalike’s ass.

  “Stay out of this, child,” the man barked.

  Jerick’s eyes hardened, and his fists clenched.

  “No, no, everything is fine, Jerick. He was just leaving.” Brynja hissed this last, her magick flaring in her eyes like emerald flame. “And he will not be returning.”

  The man straightened. His anger seeped through the air, choking me, blocking the oxygen from reaching my skin. I clutched the counter, struggling to breathe through his wave of power.

  Oh, yeah. Definitely a witch.

  “Get. Out,” Brynja bit through clenched teeth. “Take your power play somewhere it is welcome.”

  He tipped a sardonic bow in Brynja’s direction. “As you wish.” Then he turned, his direct, sapphire gaze landing on me as if he were getting a feel for who I really was on the inside. He stared several moments too long, eerily unmoving. I shifted beneath his gaze, looking to Brynja for answers.

  She didn’t meet my eye.

  The man noted everything with a haughty smile. He turned on his heel, threw his scarf over his shoulder, and shoved through the front door, where he was swallowed by the busy street.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Dad! I’m home!”

  I shut the front door behind me and glanced into the dim living room, expecting him to be on the couch watching the six o’clock news. I didn’t actually believe he’d do what I asked and take it easy; there was no such thing in his world. But I’d at least thought he’d conduct his business as normal and then watch the news over a bourbon, his favorite way to end the day.

  The trains had been delayed over thirty minutes, so I was late and the sun had almost disappeared over the Jersey horizon. I shrugged off my coat and draped it over a hanger in the coat closet. My phone dinged.

  A text from Jerick: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, GURL.

  I laughed out loud. We hadn’t had a chance to discuss Brynja’s strange visitor before it was time for me to go. They’d probably just locked up for the night

  I know. Super weird. We’ll talk about it later.

  K. C U soon.

  I wrapped my arms around my chest, trying to rub away the chill. Winter was coming fast and hard.

  The small, messy living room was empty but for Dad’s familiar, Helga, asleep on the armchair. The elderly white cat was slowly losing vision in her right eye, and we knew it was simply a matter of time before she had to rebirth. She opened one eye and spoke before I could ask. “I have not seen him. We partook of lunch at noon, and he returned beneath.”

  I nodded, pausing a moment to stroke her soft ears. She purred beneath my hand, her eyes closed.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “No, Brigitta. Thank you.”

  I left the prim and proper familiar to her nap, following the sound of canned laughter to my bedroom. Hermod was sprawled across my mussed sheets, his shiny black eyes trained on an old episode of How I Met Your Mother.

  “Hey, Gitta, you’re home!” He waved a paw that promptly fell back to the purple sheets. “Please excuse me as I don’t get up to greet you.”

  “You’re not a very good dog,” I told him, opening a drawer in my dresser to find some warm sweats and a long-sleeved shirt to chase away the winter shudders.

  “There was not a written test for this position.”

  “Clearly.” I changed out of my work clothes and tugged my hair into a ponytail, then finished my au naturel home look with soft, thick, squishy socks. “Have you seen Dad?”

  “I haven’t seen him emerge from the cave in several hours.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  Herm sat up to look at me, his ears laying back. “How so?”

  “This morning before I left, I found him passed out on the cot downstairs. He was so out of it I couldn’t wake him up. When he finally did wake up, he told me he wasn’t feeling good.” I shrugged. “I just can’t remember a time he’s ever been sick.”

  “Oh, hogwash. Everyone gets sick, Gitta. Even your father.” Herm stood and stretched, his legs unbalanced on my lumpy mattress. “Come on, let’s go check on him. The man does push himself a tad too far sometimes. The council runs him ragged.”

  I followed my familiar down the darkened hallway as he spoke. “Lauranna was the same way, gods rest her soul. When we found out she had perished due to a heart attack, it simply made sense.”

  Lauranna had been his witch before me. “How old was she when she died?”

  “A hair’s breadth over two hundred. Much too young to die, mind you.”

  I smiled, shaking my head. At twenty… well, twenty-one now, I couldn’t wrap my head around the longevity of my people. My dad turned 298 last year, and was barely considered middle-aged.

  “Lauranna worked herself to death, I tell you. And I reprimanded her so many times.” Herm tsked, the sound foreign coming from his bully body.

  “Do you miss her?” I really wanted to ask, “Do you wish you still had her instead of me?” but I refrained from the sullen jealousy.

  We walked into the kitchen, and I reached out automatically to turn on the lights.

  Herm turned, his tail wagging once. “I do miss her. We were companions for nearly two centuries. But life does continue, Brigitta. It must. When one lives as long as the witches, one learns very quickly to adjust or become a victim to one’s emotions.”

  He stepped forward to nudge my hand until I petted him, his silky ears flopping beneath my fingertips.

  “You are my girl now, in this lifetime. And I would not change that.”

  I kneeled, burying my face in his neck. I didn’t say anything. After two decades as my familiar, Herm knew me inside and out.

  The chandelier cast a merry glow over the kitchen table. Herm’s toenails clicked rhythmically on the stairs as he led the way to the basement.

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked, leaping gracefully over a fallen Christmas tree I was pretty sure hadn’t been on the floor that morning.

  “Asian fusion, if Dad’s up for it.”

  “Delightful. Is there any hope of me securing some tasty sushi? I prefer the spicy versions.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Spicy crab yum yum coming right up.”

  He woofed, bouncing on his hind legs, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Dad’s office door was closed. Stoneface sat stonily outside it as if he were guarding my dad’s cave. Herm’s tail swished impatiently as he waited for me to catch up. I grabbed the old-fashioned doorknob and pushed the lever down, opening the door.

  “Dad? It’s me.” I poked my head in the room.

  Herm shoved through the door before I could open it all the way. “Mikhail! Your daughter has promised me spicy crab yum yum. I require your presence to conduct payment.” Herm clicked over the concrete floors, his nose in the air as if seeking Dad via scent.

  Dad was hunched over his work bench, head resting on a thick dusty book as if it were a pillow. One hand still held a pen, and his athame — the black-handled knife he used in ritual magick — rested just beyond his fingers.


  I rushed forward with a sense of dejà vu, since I’d only just come across a similar scene that morning. My voice high and scared, I yelled, “Dad!”

  He jumped. The pen in his hand flew across the room and landed in a dead potted fern.

  “What? What is it?” Dad sat up, the stool beneath him teetering. He caught himself on the edge of the work table before he fell to the floor.

  “Sorry! I’m sorry!” I cringed. “After this morning, I guess I was worried — ”

  “It’s okay, chickie. How was work?” He looked down at his watch and yawned. “Dear gods, I’ve been asleep for two-and-a-half hours. Are you just getting home?”

  “Yeah. Delays with the trains.”

  “Go order dinner. Get me something with noodles.” He gestured at the table. “Let me get organized here, and I’ll be up by the time it arrives. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I made it a point to kiss his cheek with the intention of feeling his skin. Still clammy, but instead of ice cold… I put a hand to his forehead. “Jeez, Dad, you’re burning up.”

  “I’m fine. Order our dinner. I’ll be up soon.”

  I leaned closer, staring at the side of his face. I could see his veins beneath his skin. Faint, yes, but still visible when they usually weren’t. “I think you need to go to bed and get some rest.”

  I glanced at Herm, my own concern growing in spades as I realized his eyes were worried. His mind had probably come to rest on Lauranna, too. Was my dad working himself to death?

  “Brigitta,” Dad barked, closing the big book that had been his pillow only moments before. “I am okay. Please do what I asked you.”

  “Yes, s-sir,” I stuttered, stunned by the sharpness in his tone. My father didn’t yell. Ever. At least, not at me. I turned to go.

  Before I cleared the door, Dad’s stool scraped across the floor as he stood up. I patted Stoneface on the head, mostly because I felt unhinged over Dad’s yelling and needed something normal. Something routine.

  A muffled thump.

  Herm’s hysterical barking.

  I whipped around to see my dad crumpled on the floor, one had clutching his chest as he struggled to breathe.

  “Daddy!” I ran to him, skidding on my knees the last few inches. My hands fluttered over him, unsure, and my heart beat so wildly I felt it in my ears. “Daddy, what’s wrong? What is it?”

  “Chest. Can’t. Breathe.” He panted between words, his dark, nearly-black eyes staring at the ceiling. His body undulated as if it were fighting the pain in his chest. He hit my legs but didn’t seem to notice.

  I had no experience in healing. The High Council had been instrumental in laying the framework for training natural-born witches in the magickal arts. Parents had to follow set guidelines, and healing wasn’t until after one mastered repairing broken objects.

  I’d yet to master that one. Every time I tried to piece a broken vase back together, it was as if my magick took on a mind of its own. I would forget pieces, or they would end up upside down or backwards. I should have mastered it by my twentieth birthday, and here I was a year later, and a week before I couldn’t put a wooden shelf back together without nails sticking out like porcupine quills.

  I laid my hands on Dad’s chest and closed my eyes, reaching for my power. I was a strong witch, regardless.

  Herm gasped. “Brigitta! You do not have the training for this!”

  “I have to do something!” I snapped, hands still hovering over my dad as he struggled to breathe.

  “Call 9-1-1 if you must do something. But you cannot attempt to heal him. You could make it worse.”

  Suddenly, Dad went still.

  Herm and I looked away from one another, staring at Dad. His hand fell away from his chest. His silent, unmoving chest.

  “Daddy?” I leaned over him, placing my ear near his mouth and nose.

  Nothing.

  I snarled, slamming my hands to his chest. I shot a jolt of energy in him so hot it burned my hands on the way out. I had already lost my mother and was never given a chance to know her.

  The universe couldn’t have my father, too.

  The jolt of energy did what I needed it to — it acted like a shock paddle and restarted his heart. Dad sucked in a breath, his eyes popping open. For a brief moment, our eyes met, and then his closed once more.

  But he was breathing.

  I stood on shaky legs and made my way to the phone mounted on the wall. My palms were blistered and smoking. I’d never been so thankful as I was the moment a kind, calm voice on the other end of the line said, “9-1-1, where is your emergency?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I sat with my back against the wall on a rust-colored, cushioned bench in the waiting room. The clock above me ticked loudly with every second, counting off in sets of sixty how many minutes I’d been waiting for word of what was happening on the other side of the emergency room doors.

  At nine PM on a Wednesday night, the medical center was packed. I’d already seen enough blood to last me a lifetime. The frenetic pace had started to wear on me, to grate against my nerves and peel open my migraine just that extra bit.

  I felt Brynja arrive, her peace and tranquility troubled but flowing from her as if her soul were a separate entity declaring her presence. She was casual in yoga pants and a purple blouse beneath her black jacket.

  I flew into her arms and burst into tears.

  “Shh. Oh, Briggie, baby, I’m here.” She shushed me, rocking me as she’d done when I was a child. I hadn’t heard that nickname in years.

  She let me cry it out, my tears soaking her shoulder and neck. When I finally quit, my sobs turning into tiny hiccups, she stepped back and cupped my face. “Have you heard anything?”

  I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

  “Sit,” she commanded and marched to the nurse’s station.

  She may have been on the small and dainty side, but Brynja could throw elbows with the best of them. She knocked and dodged her way through the crowd until she reached a nurse. I couldn’t see her through the throng.

  Strong arms tugged me into warmth that smelled like my cousin. I hugged his waist and closed my eyes, breathing in his woodsy scent, so similar to Dad’s.

  “Brynja is threatening livelihoods, I see,” Jerick remarked wryly, his usually upbeat attitude replaced by the serious Jerick who had bristled for Brynja… gods. Only a couple hours ago?

  My voice muffled by his pea coat, I said, “Somebody has to for answers, I guess.”

  “We don’t know anything? Are you kidding me?”

  “Nothing.” I stepped back, swiping a sleeve over my eyes. I hadn’t bothered with anything as sensible as a jacket. I was still in my sweats and long-sleeved Charmed t-shirt, my squishy socks stuffed into boots I hadn’t bothered to tie. “They’ve had him back there for an hour.”

  “Do you want me to go say something? Or I could call Mom.”

  “What’s she going to do from Paris?”

  “Actually, she’s in Thailand now.” He grinned, but it faded fast. “Last I heard from her.”

  I sank to the bench, thankful no one had stolen my chair while I was blubbering. My legs could barely hold me anymore.

  “What happened?” Jerick asked, joining me.

  I told him about finding Dad asleep on his work table, and how he’d gotten irate when I pushed him to go to bed. I showed him my hands. “I guess he had a heart attack. Herm was telling me about his previous witch and how she basically worked herself to death.”

  “I doubt your dad is working himself to death.”

  “He’s in his lab all the time. Last week, three guys from the council showed up and they disappeared down there for hours. They finally came out, but Dad didn’t. And he’s been there ever since, literally working every single minute he isn’t sleeping.”

  “Sounds like a big project.”

  “It’s always a big project when the council is involved.” I gritted my teeth.

  “Hey, hey, now. Why the hostility towa
rds the council?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re shady. Dad had to sue them for money last year, remember? He did that spell for them for some stupid festival, and they reneged on payment.”

  “Let me see your hands.”

  I held them out, palms up. His large palms opened over mine, hovering close enough I could feel the heat from his skin. He closed his eyes and his lips moved, though he didn’t speak aloud. His cool magick washed over my skin, and I sighed with relief. Blistered red disappeared, replaced by tight, new tissue.

  Brynja came back then, her hands balled into fists at her side. “That fotze. I’m not family, so she won’t tell me anything. ‘Wait until the doctor calls for you,’ she says.” She let out a string of German words I was sure didn’t have nice meanings.

  Jerick scooted over to make room for her on our small piece of real estate, and we waited.

  * * *

  THE TELEVISION ENCASED BEHIND lock-and-key overhead had launched into the jingle for a local news channel’s eleven o’clock broadcast when the doctor finally called for us.

  The nurse led us down a sterile white hallway and directed us into a small room equipped with two chairs and a rolling stool. Jerick motioned for me and Brynja to sit, and then took up position behind me, a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  My eyes burned and my shoulders ached. I didn’t know what to expect. I’d never even been inside a hospital, and now here I was, teetering on a precipice. On one side, my dad could be dead. On another, something was very, very wrong with him.

  “Brigitta Holtzer?” A white-haired man in scrubs wearing a stethoscope around his neck slid through the door, his gaze on a clipboard.

  I stood awkwardly, wondering if I should have said “Present!”

  He waved me back to my chair and pulled the rolling stool closer to me. “I’m Doctor Keenan. Your father is just fine.”

  I let out a sigh, tension draining from my body. Bless the man for not wasting time on pleasantries.

  “We ran some tests and scans, and we’re still waiting on some of the results, but from what we can tell, there is absolutely nothing wrong with his heart at this time.” The doctor glanced at his clipboard balanced on his knee. “On the contrary, his heart is solid as it could be. Can you tell me a little more about what was happening before his episode? Were there any symptoms leading up to the collapse?”