Magic's Memories

Chapter Forty-five

As word of Desden's arrival reached her ears, Feyla's mind scrambled to adjust her plans. She'd wanted to catch Desden off-guard in his hideout and have Dormaeus lure him out. There was no time now. Maybe Dormaeus could lure him to the alley. She'd lie in wait and then leap into action, knocking him out and—

The still-healing magic burn on her arm blossomed into pain at Dormaeus's touch. His grip latched onto one of her shoulders as well and threw her against Hobrin.

Hobrin barely had time to move his knives out of her path before they were crashing to the floor.

"My brother is all I have now," Dormaeus said the words like an apology. "Good or bad, you're not taking him."

Feyla's eyes went wide at the blood-red magic sparking in Dormaeus's palm. He stared at her intently—in warning—and then crushed the light in his grip, shoving past the man at the door and bolting down the hall to the stairs. A shout echoed after him. "DES!"

"Ya just had to team up with the crazy wizard," Hobrin snapped as they scrambled to their feet.

"We need to cut him off." Feyla's head jerked to the other door, the one that led to the outside staircase. She could still fix this.

She flung open the door. A hot gust of wind sent the strands of her hair flying back. She could hear Hobrin sliding his knives into place behind her. Feyla bolted down the stairs, half jumping as she raced to cover more ground. "Where would they exit?" she shouted back at Hobrin.

"'Round front! It's the fastest way out from those stairs!"

She nodded grimly, tucking in her chin and dashing around the long building. Oh, how could she have been so foolish? To have let Dormaeus gain enough memories to pick a different side? If only she could have pushed those growing memories back down...

With what? The spell? You'd be no better than Daydrel.

Not that her obfuscation about Laryssa had been much better. Less magical but no less manipulative. During the escape, she hadn't had time to explain it fully but maybe she should have told him sooner. It had all happened so fast... Guilt pricked her chest again—true guilt, not the false feeling so often conjured by the echo of her mother's voice in her head. Feyla allowed it to seep into her fragmented heart and then threw all her mental focus into the blood pulsing through her ears and the building flying past. No longer was she being reluctantly dragged behind the healers. Now the hunt was all her own, driven by her own desires. If she didn't catch Desden now then she'd have no way to lure him out of the impenetrable fortress he'd turned that old summer house into. Not even Hobrin could help her extract him now that Crayden's men had their orders.

The night seemed to reach out hands to grab at the edges of her shirt. She waded through the blackness of the alley, barely avoiding overturned barrels and piles of refuse. The sticky scent of rotten rum stung her nose as she leaped over a barrel in her path. She rounded the building, lamplight now cutting a path for her. Feyla glanced back at Hobrin. He hadn't been as lucky with the barrel and waved her forward while he began pulling himself to his feet.

The shadow of two figures caught her eye in an alleyway across the main street. The drunk idiot from earlier "accidentally" stumbled into her path. Feyla used her momentum to latch onto his grimy shirt and vault herself forward while sending him falling to the ground.

She was on the smaller of the two shadows seconds later. He tumbled to the ground, a cry escaping from his throat. His staff clattered against the broken cobblestone while his yellow hat went sailing.

Wait.

Feyla barely had time to scramble off Mydel before Sandrina's staff lit the alley in a lavender light. The blade at the bottom skimmed the skin of her throat. Feyla swallowed.