“I don’t know,” Frieda said. Her voice was almost a scream. “I don’t know ...!”
Emily looked past her, frowning as she saw the book on the table. “Malice?” She’d taken the book from Mother Holly, three years ago. It had been so crammed with dark magic that her skin had crawled every time she looked at the creepy leather-bound cover. She had no idea what animal had been used to make the cover, but the pages were made of tanned human skin. “What are you doing with that?”
“Studying,” Frieda said, sullenly.
“Idiot,” Emily said, sharply. Frieda knew better, didn’t she? “Those magics are dangerous.”
She sucked in her breath. Lady Barb had urged her to destroy the book. Emily hadn’t been able to bring herself to do that—burning books was akin to blasphemy, as far as she was concerned—but she had stored it in a hidden safe. Frieda should never have been able to get her hands on it.
“How did you find it?”
Frieda shrugged. “I want them to respect me.” Her voice was defiant. “Dark magics will ...”
“No, they won’t,” Emily said, sharply. She understood the impulse far too well—it was better to be the victimiser rather than the victim, if those were the only choices on the table—but she knew it was dangerous. Frieda couldn’t force people to respect her through dark magic. “It’ll drive you mad.”
“So what?” Frieda’s hand played with her bracelet. “What do you care?”
Emily closed the book, trying to ignore the crawling sensation. Whoever had written the book—there weren’t many copies, according to Lady Barb—had been a monster. And he’d created many more monsters. The spells in Malice more than lived up to the book’s name.
“I am your friend,” she said. It was hard, so hard, to put her feelings into words. “I taught you how to do magic—proper magic—at Mountaintop. I took you to Whitehall and arranged for you to have decent classes with decent teachers. I took you into my life ... I even brought you into my home! And you ask why I care?”
“You abandoned me for him.” Frieda’s hand was still touching the bracelet, her fingers tracing the runes carved into the metal. “He was unworthy of you and ...”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. The bracelet ...
Frieda had made it herself, hadn’t she? It couldn’t be dangerous, not when Whitehall’s wards would have sounded the alarm. God knew there were a handful of students who brought prohibited items every year. But ... it was new and Frieda’s behavior had changed after she got it and ... was it a coincidence? Or was it something to do with the bracelet ...?
“Frieda,” she said, slowly. “Take off the bracelet and give it to me.”
Frieda seemed to hesitate. “Why ...?”
“Now,” Emily ordered. She was suddenly certain she was right. The bracelet was dangerous. If it had somehow been slipped through the wards, it could have been influencing Frieda for months. “Take it off and put it on the table.”
“I ...” Frieda stumbled forward. “Emily ...”
Emily put out a hand. “I’m here for you,” she said, as reassuringly as she could. She rested her hand on Frieda’s shoulder. “But you have to take off the bracelet ...”
Frieda leaned forward and kissed Emily on the lips, hard. The touch was so unexpected that Emily froze, just for a second ...
... there was a flash of excruciating pain.
And then there was nothing, but darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
EMILY HURT.
Her entire body hurt. It felt as if someone had beaten her bloody, then healed her only to beat her bloody again. Her limbs were stiff, flashes of pain coming from her wrists and ankles; there was a foul taste in her mouth, a taste so vile she wanted to throw up. But her body ached too much for her to even try. And the world was dark.
A finger poked her chest. “Open your eyes,” a voice said. A male voice. “I know you’re awake.”
Emily forced her eyes to open, despite a puffy feeling suggesting at least one of her eyes had swollen. She was lying on her side in a darkened room ... one of the rooms she’d never used for anything, she thought. Her hands were tied firmly behind her back. The only source of illumination was a light-globe hanging over the speaker’s head, bathing the entire room in a faint radiance. She reached for her magic desperately, only to feel it recede from her grasp. The taste in her mouth confirmed that she’d been dosed with potion.
Durian-based potion, she thought. It would make it impossible to use her magic, as long as it stayed within her body. There were ways around it, but she doubted he’d sit down and let her work on them. Shit.
She twisted her head to look up at her captor. He was a tall man, wearing a long dark robe and a hat that cast an odd shadow over his face. And yet ... she saw enough of his harsh, angular face to feel as if she’d seen him or someone like him, not so long ago. There was something oddly familiar in the slant of his chin and shadowed eyes. She stared at him, trying to place him, but failed. She’d met too many people over the last five years to remember them all.
Besides, it could be nothing more than an illusion, she thought. For all I know, he could be a woman.
“An impressive piece of work.” He pointed to her chest. “I assume you carved it yourself?”
Emily looked down. He’d cut her shirt open, revealing the rune between her breasts. Oddly, he’d left the breasts themselves covered. She wasn’t sure if it was a courtesy or an unspoken reminder that he could rip the clothes from her body at any moment. A skilled magician would have more on his mind than rape and molestation ... she hoped. Whoever her new opponent was, he’d already put himself beyond the pale.
She cleared her throat, wincing at the taste. “Who are you?”
“Call me Daze.” He knelt down next to her. “I’ve actually been looking forward to meeting you.”
Emily frowned. The sense of familiarity was growing stronger. And yet ... she still couldn’t place him. She wished she had enough magic left to get a sense of his magic, but he’d forced enough potion into her to make it impossible. The only magic she seemed to have left was the familiar bond.
And if he tries to take my bracelet, he’s going to be in for a nasty shock, Emily thought, grimly. She tamped down the bond as much as possible. A Death Viper made one hell of a secret weapon, but she didn’t dare unleash the creature without a plan. Daze could easily kill the snake if he wasn’t killed in the first few seconds. If we’re on the lower floor, I wonder if ...
She put the thought aside, for the moment. “What did you do to Frieda?”
Daze shrugged. “What do you think I did to Frieda?”
“You ... influenced her in some way,” Emily guessed.
“True enough.” Daze shrugged. “Frieda spent two months working ... away from you, away from anyone who might notice too soon. It wasn’t too hard to start slipping commands into her mind, slowly turning her thoughts to violence. I’m actually quite impressed she lasted as long as she did before going completely bonkers. No one else has remained sane quite so long.”