Spells and Shadows (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Chapter One

Darcy crept through the underbrush, placing each foot carefully, all too aware that any misstep could cause a snapped twig or other noise. He gathered shadows around his body, rendering him nearly impossible to glimpse—even with the full moon. But his magic could do nothing to muffle sounds.

Fortunately, the gathering in the clearing was generating enough noise of its own; the sounds of chanting filtered through the trees. Apparently Benjamin Tolliver’s information had been accurate, Darcy thought. Good. It had cost enough.

Towering pine trees edged the clearing, which was illuminated by a roaring bonfire as well as moonlight.

The robed figures had assembled a crude circle of stones, none bigger than a human head.

Darcy was shocked to find approximately twenty men; he had expected perhaps a dozen.

And no doubt some were not present today.

His cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, who had recruited Darcy into the Assessor’s Agency, had only recently learned of this group’s existence and sent Darcy to investigate.

Richard expected a small group; he would not be pleased to hear about these numbers.

Darcy had hoped to disrupt their activity, but he could not do much alone against so many mages.

Well, Darcy would gather as much information as he could about the illicit magical activity and relay it to Richard, who would relay it to Viscount Cranston, the director of the Agency. Cranston would decide what to do about the group.

Darcy crept to the edge of the clearing, concealing himself behind a tall bush.

He needed to identify the participants. Everyone wore gray robes with hoods shadowing their faces, but Darcy had been born with the power to manipulate shadows.

He pushed and peeled them away—slowly and gently so that nobody would notice—to reveal the participants’ identities.

The Earl of Cassing’s second son, the younger brother of Viscount Fletchley, the third son of Dalloway, a well-known sugar magnate, and Tolliver himself—the second son of an admiral.

Others were unfamiliar to Darcy, but he was certain they were the same ilk: disgruntled young men with too much time on their hands and insufficient funds.

Unfortunately, the leader, who stood on a wooden platform a little removed from the others, and a dozen of the participants wore masks that appeared to be Egyptian in origin—although Darcy doubted they were anything close to authentic.

He had no way of identifying those men or knowing if they were people he would recognize.

The words of the chant that he could discern sounded like Latin. The leader would call out a phrase, and the others would echo it. At least these young men are wringing some use from their expensive classical educations.

Darcy noticed no clues about the leader’s identity.

Tolliver had not known the man’s name, which was apparently a closely guarded secret.

Twice he had almost backed out of meeting Darcy, who had been forced to double the amount he paid the informant.

Even so, Tolliver had been pale and nervous when he met Darcy in the town of Luton.

The chanting reached a fever pitch, causing the very air of the clearing to pulse with magical power as the flames rose higher than the men’s heads.

This unfamiliar magic prickled at the back of Darcy’s neck; he drew more shadows around himself.

This group would not be forgiving if they discovered him now.

The leader’s voice rose as the chanting died down.

He must have purchased a far-speaking charm, allowing him to project his voice but distorting it at the same time.

The words were intelligible but somewhat sonorous and slow.

“My friends! The Council and their enforcers at the Agency have long told us that each mancer must limit himself to one kind of magic.” Darcy leaned forward.

That was what the Council for Enchantment taught because that was how magic worked. Each mage was born with one mancy.

The leader continued. “But, they lie! Through assiduous study, I have developed new magical powers! Powers that the mancers on the Council can only dream of!”

The listeners were silent, utterly entranced as they absorbed the leader’s words.

Darcy could practically feel their excitement at the idea that they could develop additional magics.

Even he found the idea appealing, although he doubted the leader could follow through on what he promised.

If he indeed had developed new powers, it was using methods that were illegal—methods that always relied on pain, blood, and death.

“But we will not be bound by their shackles!” the leader cried. “We long to reach our fullest potential! Today they force us to exercise our magic in secret. But soon we will do so where everyone will know!”

The men cheered, but Darcy shuddered. What did the leader mean by that? Practicing dark mancy openly? How was that possible? The only situations Darcy could imagine would give him nightmares for weeks.

“Today you will witness a demonstration of a mere fraction of the power I have developed. I have summoned a new kind of servant to our cause!” The leader lifted his hand which held an amulet dangling from a gold chain.

Darcy’s informant had told him the amulet was carved with the image of Anubis, the Egyptian god of the underworld.

The medallion twisted in the wind, catching the light in flickers.

“Observe what I can do now that I have unleashed my full power!”

The leader laid the amulet on a tall rock at the outer edge of the circle.

Then, taking up an earthenware jar, he poured a dark liquid over it.

Blood. Darcy could only hope it was animal and not human.

The red stone at the heart of the amulet began to glow, then projected a beam of startlingly red light straight up to the heavens.

Absently, Darcy noted that all the creatures of the night had ceased making noise; the woods were silent as a grave.

The light widened and began to take shape, losing its glow as it transformed itself into a humanoid creature.

But nobody would mistake it for anything natural.

It was the approximate size of a human, but its face had only gaping holes where eyes and mouth should be—a truly horrible sight.

The creature’s hands were skeletal and tipped with claws; they disappeared into grayish-blue wisps of cloth that served as its body.

It had no legs but floated a few feet from the ground in the center of the circle.

The creature itself made no noise, but the rough cloth that made up its body constantly fluttered in a nonexistent breeze, creating a rustling noise like the wings of several bats.

Darcy shuddered. The leader had summoned a wight.

He had not wanted to credit Tolliver’s assertion, but the group’s leader was a necromancer, someone who had warped his natural magic until it had the capacity to control the dead.

He had made a human ghost corporeal, sundered the soul from God, and enslaved it to his own will.

It was an abomination, an affront to every sense of human decency.

Several of the robed watchers flinched away from the creature.

Darcy could hardly blame them. Even from his hiding place, Darcy could sense that the thing exuded a horrible sense of despair and hopelessness.

As terrible as the creature was, he could still muster sympathy for it; it did not desire to exist in this enslaved state.

“You stand in awe of my abilities!” The necromancer gloated, moving to the center of the circle beside his creation.

“But you do not know the full extent of my power. I have already created several of these, my servants, and have them hidden as they await my pleasure.” Darcy wondered if that was true or if the man was bragging to impress the others.

“Now, for a demonstration of the wight’s capabilities!” The necromancer gave a sharp nod to two robed men on his right side. Without warning, they seized Tolliver from among the gathered followers and dragged him toward the necromancer.

“What? Release me!” Tolliver shouted.

“This one sought to betray us!” The necromancer announced to his followers. “He took money and gave information to our enemies.” Tolliver babbled about his innocence and devotion to the cause, but nobody was listening.

Darcy’s heart pounded. Did the necromancer know what Tolliver had told Darcy? Did they know of Darcy’s presence? Or was Tolliver selling information to more than one person? The man was a weasel; Darcy would not be surprised.

Still, nobody deserved the fate that awaited Tolliver. But there were simply too many people surrounding him; Darcy could not manage a rescue. The captive made an inarticulate anguished cry.

“Behold, the fate of traitors!” The necromancer gestured grandly to the wight, which glided toward the prisoner.

It enveloped him and fastened its mouth to his neck.

Tolliver screamed, an unearthly wail of despair as if his soul were being sucked from his body.

His body went limp. The wight released it and it fell to the ground with a dull thud.

The necromancer raised his arms triumphantly. “This is the power of a single wight! Soon I will have an army of them!”

The words sent horrified shivers down Darcy’s back. What was the necromancer scheming to do with an army of wights?

Another follower brought forth a metal box, somewhat like a safe.

Using chants and gestures, the necromancer forced the wight into the box, far too small to accommodate the creature, but it was a type of ghost after all.

Once the wight was safely stowed, the necromancer lowered his arms, looking exhausted. “It is done.”