Magic Claims (Kate Daniels: Wilmington Years, #2; Kate Daniels, #10.6)

“He’s a good guard. He doesn’t play around too much, and if he sees something, he’ll ring that bell. We’re not like you. We’re not soldiers and shapeshifters. We’re just townspeople who made a militia because we had to. Take Ian over there. He’s in his seventies. He worked all his life. Now his knees are worn out, his hands swell up, and his back hurts. He can’t do much of anything anymore, but he still wants to work. It’s not just the money. It’s his way of living.”

Heather frowned. “If you want the truth, neither of those two were supposed to be on the wall when the forest came. I’ve got a better team that I rotate between the gates. But those bastards showed up a month early. If I break the schedule and rotate them out, I’ve got to rotate someone in. Either way, someone’s son, someone’s mother, someone’s spouse ends up on that wall. How do I decide to trade one life for another?”

I had no answers for her.

“I’ll talk to Foster,” she said. “Tell him to stay in the tower. I hope you’re ready for whatever comes because we aren’t.”

She walked away from me.

I watched her go. The house where we were staying was lit up, the windows glowing gently. The shapeshifters had slept and now they were getting ready for a late dinner.

As if on cue, the balcony door swung open. Curran stepped outside. Our stares connected. He smiled and went inside. Checking on me.

I turned back to the forest. Heather was in her twenties, but she seemed older. Putting people in harm’s way tended to age you. I’d meant to ask her why she was the interim chief. Something must’ve happened to the original chief. Oh well. Next time.

If I had to be in charge of choosing people to guard the wall, I’d never sleep, because if a real threat came, it wouldn’t matter which one of them was on the wall. None of them would be able to do much. Not with this enemy. They would die where they stood.

Curran was better than me at that. He had the steel core needed for it. He never wanted to lose anyone, and when he did, it bothered him, but he also accepted it. It punched me harder. A couple of weeks ago Conlan and I were talking about Roland, and he told me that his grandfather had failed as a king because he couldn’t handle not being able to protect everyone. It was a very smart observation.

Perhaps I had inherited more from him than I realized.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure in dark gray clothes drop from the second-floor window of our house. He landed without a sound, ran up the stairs, light on his feet, and slipped past Ian. The old man never sensed he was there.

The figure approached like a shadow. I let him get within fifteen feet.

“Is there something you need, Jushur?”

“Sharratum,” the spymaster said. “Your senses are as sharp as ever.”

He came closer and hopped onto the edge of the wall, dropping to sit, cross-legged, with the agility of a man forty years younger. I had no idea how old he really was. Fifty? Sixty? Eighty?

“I get that your heart is set on helping Rimush with my approval, but pledging yourself to me was a bit much, don’t you think?”

He looked at the forest. “It was not my plan.”

I looked at him. “Then why are you here?”

“We came because this is a turning point for you. As the chroniclers of your journey, we must witness it.”

“A turning point?”

“Surely, you feel it. Even now, when the magic has ebbed.”

Oh, I felt it. It was very weak, but it was still there, shivering between the blades of grass and coating the stones, thin like a spiderweb. And it annoyed me. So much.

“This is the moment you reclaim your heritage.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

Jushur shrugged. “I may be wrong. Alas, I’m not infallible. But should it happen, we must not miss it.”

“Then why not just say that? Why the kneeling and the pledging?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

Jushur smiled. “Your father gifted me coffee a few times, as a specific reward in appreciation of my service and loyalty. In all of the time I served him, he never personally handed me a drink in the way you offered me coffee.”

I raised my eyebrow at him.

“He has never forgotten the chasm between us. He was Sharrum. He stood upon an apex of the tallest mountain and saw me as a servant below. It would never change.”

“He is set in his worldview.”

“You see the shapeshifters as your allies. You happen to be in charge of them, but they are not your lesser. The way you spoke to my son tells me that you view him in the same light. I decided it might be interesting to connect my life to yours. Also, your discomfort was quite amusing. We shall have to work on that. If something as trivial as a person kneeling before you can disturb you, it will be easily utilized by our enemies.”

I opened my mouth. I needed to say something smart that would knock him down a peg.

“You will need allies, Sharratum, and we are very useful. We will be your eyes and ears. I have brought you something. A small token of what we’re capable of.”

He reached inside his clothes, took out a rolled-up piece of paper, and offered it to me. I took it and opened it. A shockingly beautiful blond woman looked at me from a photograph. She wore a grass-green gown, and despite the mane of golden blond hair cascading down her back, the Shinar blood was unmistakable. Was this some sort of cousin my aunt neglected to mention?

There was something familiar about her eyes and the expression. So famili— Julie. It was her. The face wasn’t hers, the hair was the wrong color and texture, the eyes were green, the body seemed too muscular, but it was her. It was my kid.

“How?”

“She was dying. Erra went into a deep sleep with her for nine months to heal her. When they woke up, Julia looked like that.”

And they didn’t tell me. Why? There must have been a very good reason. Both Erra and Julie told me everything, from which enemies they fought to a detailed review of chicken nuggets they had for lunch.

Anxiety punched me, rolling over me in an icy rush. “Is she okay now?”

“She’s healthy and strong. Her powers have grown, and she fights in the way of the old kingdom, with magic and blade.”

Nothing short of a catastrophe would have stopped them from telling me about Julie nearly dying. What had happened?

Jushur frowned. “We don’t know the details and, most importantly, we don’t know why this happened. We will find out, Sharratum. I give you my word.”





Magic skimmed my skin, as if a cold, clammy hand brushed me with its fingertips. My eyes snapped open. The bed next to me was empty. Where was my husband?

The magic thickened around me, like a fresh spring that broke through the ground’s surface and was now quietly bubbling up, flooding the area. The sky was still dark. The clock said 5:03 a.m. Sunrise was about two and a half hours away.

Medmagic took a lot out of the body, and I had gotten two intense treatments in one day. I could barely keep my eyes open once the sun had set, and around 3:00 a.m. or so, I’d gone back to bed. When I had gone upstairs, Curran was on the second floor, eating and watching Jushur and Rimush interact with the pack. Now he was gone.

If something urgent had happened, Curran would’ve woken me up, so whatever took him away likely wasn’t too alarming. The dense currents of magic swirling around me definitely qualified as an emergency, however. I couldn’t tell if the magic wave just started or if it had happened while I slept. Either way, the source of this sudden magic influx was up to no good.

I slipped out of my bed and stepped onto the balcony.

On the wall, Ian was asleep, slumped over in his chair. To the right of him, on the wall, Andre and Hakeem were passed out, Andre draped against the stone and Hakeem curled up. The chances of them both naturally falling asleep where they stood at the same time were about a million to zero. Magic shenanigans were afoot.

Beyond them, about a hundred yards from the wall, a lone figure waited. A priest-mage, like the other two, dressed in white and red and holding a staff. A mask obscured the top half of the face, a part of some sort of strange animal skull with two scimitar fangs that were turned upside down and attached to the skull like horns. Clay-covered face and hands again. I couldn’t tell by the silhouette if it was a man or a woman.

The figure pointed at me and waited.