“As you’re the one who gave me directions, I’m not surprised.” Magnus narrowed his eyes. “If you want more coin, you’re out of luck.”
“No, actually I came to make a visit Samara.” Kalum’s gaze was locked on the blade. “Seems you didn’t give that pretty piece to her after all, did you? Decided to keep it for yourself?”
Magnus didn’t reply.
Kalum raised a brow. “You said it’s priceless, yes?”
He’d have to be blind not to see the greed on the man’s face. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, boy. I could use a priceless treasure in my hands. What use do you have for it at your age?” The man clenched his fists. “Give it to me.”
“No.” He gripped the blade hard enough that the sharp edge of it bit into his hand.
Kalum’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t make a fuss about this, boy. I always get what I want.”
“So do I,” Magnus replied tightly.
The man lunged toward him so fast he wasn’t able to dodge Kalum’s fist connecting with his jaw.
Kalum grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed the back of Magnus’s head hard into the stone wall behind him. Stars exploded before his eyes, and his vision turned fuzzy.
Magnus sank to his knees, watching as if in a dream as the obsidian blade fell from his grip to the ground. All he could do was watch as the man picked it up.
Watch as he eyed it appraisingly, his lips stretching back from his teeth in a self-satisfied smile.
Watch as the man’s head whipped toward Maddox, who stood nearby, his expression etched in fury.
“What are you doing, boy?” the man gasped. “What . . . are . . . you . . . ?”
Kalum dropped the blade, and his hands flew to his throat as he staggered back from Maddox.
Maddox didn’t speak. He simply stood there, his hands fisted at his sides, his shoulders tense, his gaze fixed upon the man.
And his eyes . . . Was it only Magnus’s imagination or, for the briefest of moments, did they turn completely black? Black like the witch’s had?
Magnus’s headed pounded. He struggled as hard as he could to keep his eyes open until, finally, everything went black.
? ? ?
His head hurt a lot. So did his jaw.
That was his first thought as he slowly blinked open his eyes.
Something covered him, something stiflingly warm.
It was a cloak, but not one that belonged to him. This one was thin and poorly made, but it seemed familiar.
“Finally,” Maddox’s voice greeted him. “The prince awakens.”
Magnus’s eyes focused, and he saw the boy sitting a few paces away with his back against the stone wall. “The man . . .” he managed.
Maddox nodded to his right, where the man who’d tried to rob him was lying.
“You . . . you killed him.” Magnus’s voice wasn’t much more than a series of rasps.
“Killed him?” Maddox regarded him with shock at the suggestion. “Of course not. He’s unconscious—luckily longer than you were. Although I did bind his hands, which should slow him down some. I think this belongs to you.”
Maddox held up the obsidian blade.
Magnus couldn’t believe his eyes. “You didn’t steal it.”
“Why would I? But I will trade it for the return of my cloak.”
Magnus forced himself to sit up, pulling the garment off of him and handing it to Maddox. “Gladly.”
Without hesitation, Maddox took it and gave him back the blade.
Magnus felt the oddly comforting weight of it in his hand.
Then he gave Maddox a wary look. “What you did to that man . . .”
Maddox regarded him, his mouth a thin, tense line.
“That was your magic—the same magic that helps you vanquish spirits.”
Maddox nodded. “It was.”
His eyes widened. “You really are a witch boy.”
Maddox grimaced. “I don’t really like that name, but yes. I guess I am.”
“What else can you do?” he asked, ready to believe now in miracles he never before thought possible.
“I don’t really know. What I did to him . . .” Maddox nodded at the unconscious man. “I have no control over it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. I’m useless, really.”
“Far from it,” Magnus muttered, eyeing the boy as if seeing him for the first time.
A demon—one capable of the darkest magic. That was what Samara had said when she’d tried to tell Maddox’s fortune. What she’d seen.
Magnus still refused to believe it. There was nothing remotely evil about this boy—nothing at all.
He suddenly realized his wounded hand had begun to sting again, the pain of the mark the old woman had cut into his skin far worse than his injuries from the attempted thief. He looked down at it to see that it had begun to bleed again.
“How long was I out?” he asked, cringing as he made a fist to keep from dripping blood on the ground.
“Quite a while.”
Magnus’s chest tightened as he looked up at the darkening sky. The sun had lowered behind the buildings, and the sky had turned to a deep orange. “It’s sunset.”
“Nearly,” Maddox confirmed. He studied Magnus’s wounded hand. “You’re bleeding badly. Should we find a healer?”