Dark Heart of Magic
Page 8

“Ah. Summer love?”
His grin widened. “More like summer lust. Felix said that it was fun while it lasted. But now with his new mystery girl, I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“Probably just talk faster so he can juggle both of them at once,” I said, knowing full well that Deah Draconi would never, ever let herself be juggled any more than I would.
Devon laughed, and we went after Felix.
 
 
We left the Midway behind, cut through an alley, and entered a parking lot reserved for Family vehicles. Each one of the expensive SUVs and sports cars boasted some sort of crest on its doors, and for the Sinclairs, it was that hand holding a sword, done in white against the SUV’s black paint.
Felix was leaning against the side of the vehicle, his arms crossed over his chest. “Took you long enough,” he muttered.
I made a big show of scanning the parking lot. “Why? Because there weren’t any pretty girls around to keep you company? However did you make it five whole minutes standing here by yourself?”
“Shut up,” Felix growled again.
“So,” I drawled. “Let’s talk about you and Katia. She seems . . . nice.”
Devon snickered. “Felix certainly thought so last summer. Or at least he thought her lips were nice, since he spent a fair amount of time studying them up close and personal.”
I waggled my eyebrows. “And it looks like Katia wants to pick up right where they left off.”
Devon laughed. Felix gave us both a sour look, but his lips slowly twitched up in a sheepish smile.
“I doubt Katia will have time for me,” Felix said. “She was really upset she lost the tournament to Deah last year. She’s probably going to spend all her time training.”
“And being with you would, what, sap her strength?” I snarked.
Felix glared at me again, so I decided to be merciful and quit teasing him—for now.
“Tell me about her. What’s her Talent?”
“Katia is fast,” Felix said. “Like, superfast. She has a major Talent for speed. That’s one of the reasons she got to the final round of the tournament last year.”
Speed was a hard magic to defend against because by the time you realized what was happening, your opponent had already gutted you. In my experience, the best way to deal with someone with a speed Talent was to knock them on their ass. Hard to be superquick when you were scrambling around, trying to get back up onto your feet.
“Just speed?” I asked. “Nothing else? No other magic?”
Felix shook his head. “Nothing like Devon’s compulsion or your transference power, if that’s what you’re asking. But she’s a good fighter, one of the best in all the Families. She always wins the tournament up in New York every year, but she’s come up short against Deah twice now.”
“Well, maybe this will be her year.”
“I doubt that,” Devon chimed in. “Not with Deah’s mimic magic. It makes her almost impossible to beat. She’s won the tournament two years in a row, and she beat Katia in the finals both times.”
I frowned. “Deah’s a mimic? What does that mean?”
“Deah has the ability to mimic anybody she meets,” Devon said. “The way they walk, talk, move. So when she’s battling someone, she can mimic their fighting style, whatever it is, and use it against the other person. And that’s not all. It’s almost like her mimic Talent actually lets her tap into and use the other person’s magic too.”
“She’s amazing to watch,” Felix said in a dreamy voice. “She can throw around the biggest guard like it’s nothing.”
My frown deepened. That almost sounded like a version of my soulsight—like Deah could see the way people moved so well that she could copy their style. And if she could use their own magic against them as well.... That sounded suspiciously like my own transference power—the Talent that let me absorb other people’s magic and then use it for myself. Weird. I wouldn’t have thought that Deah and I had anything in common.
“What about the Sinclairs?” I asked. “How did you guys do in the tournament last year?”
Devon shrugged. “Katia beat me to advance to the final round. I thought I had her at one point, but she got the better of me.”
I eyed the muscles in Devon’s arms and shoulders. He spent his free time working out on one of the roofs at the Family mansion, so I knew how tough he was. Beating him in a fight was no small task.
“Katia and Deah must be really good.”
Devon shrugged again. “They are. Maybe you’ll get to find out for yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at Felix, and they both grinned.
“Oh, you know, when we go watch the tournament.” Devon’s voice was just a little too casual to be believable.
I waited for him to look at me, so I could use my soulsight and feel what he really meant, but Devon pulled out his keys and stepped toward the SUV. I glanced at Felix, but he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and slid them onto his face, hiding his eyes. Oh, yeah. They both knew something that I didn’t, and they didn’t want me to guess what it was.
Devon unlocked the SUV. He started to get into the driver’s seat, then stopped and glanced down at his persimmon-spattered clothes. “Reginald is going to kill us for dirtying up the leather.”
“Oh, Reginald’s bark is worse than his bite.” Felix arched an eyebrow at him. “Besides, you’re the Family bruiser. You’re not supposed to be afraid of anyone.”
Devon snorted. “Everyone’s afraid of Reginald. Especially you.”
“You’d better believe it.” Felix grinned. “But it’s your car, so you can be the one to tell him why it smells like a juice box.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
Devon laughed, and the two of them kept talking, debating whether they should ask the pixies to try to wash their clothes or just go ahead and throw them away when we got back to the mansion.
Instead of listening to them, I found myself focusing on the sudden, odd lack of noise. Sure, murmurs, music, and more floated down the alley from the Midway, but the parking lot itself was quiet.
Too quiet.
Devon and I had been attacked and kidnapped in this very spot a few weeks ago, and he, Felix, and I were the only folks here now. There was no love lost between Blake and us, so I wouldn’t put it past Blake to try to sneak back here with some Draconi guards in hopes of beating us senseless—if not worse.