Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
P anic flooded her veins as Clio raced through the Market, a step behind Joss. A desperate buzzing sounded in her ears. Not Maret.
Together, they burst into the tent to find Wilmot Hagan standing over Maret’s sleeping form. He had his walking stick raised, but his attention had turned away toward the leaping flames of the lantern and the iron dragon’s eyes, glowing red.
“Step away from her,” Joss ordered.
Wilmot straightened, still staring at the dragon holding the lantern. His puzzled expression faded as delight spread over his face. He glanced at Clio, at Maret, and then back. “It’s a siphon !” he exclaimed.
“Move away. Now ,” repeated Joss.
“Quiet, boy,” the old man snarled.
Clio bristled. Maret still had not awakened or stirred. Had the old man spelled her asleep?
Wilmot’s attention focused on her as she stepped toward her friend and mentor. “Great plains of Hades,” he breathed. “It’s you , isn’t it? It is maintaining this whole enterprise, and you are the source it pulls from.”
“None of this is your business,” Clio said coldly. “I want you to leave the Night Market. Right now.”
“No,” Wilmot answered flatly. “I think you know by now who I am. Who you are. My granddaughter. I am the head of the Hagan family and you are a part of it.” He scoffed at Joss again. “Far more than he ever will be.”
Clio was grateful for Joss standing so close, right at her side. He raised a questioning brow and she knew he was asking if he wanted her to step in. She shook her head, grateful that he knew both that she could handle her grandfather and that it was her place to do so. Joss shifted and she noticed the bauble, lurking behind his back. Hiding.
She understood suddenly. The bauble had not been afraid of her because she wasn’t a Hagan, but because she was.
She raised her chin and stared haughtily at her grandfather. “I am a Hagan. I am the daughter of Finn and Celyn. My parents were first driven away by your family, then murdered by them. I do not answer to you.”
The old man sneered. “You answer to him?” He shot a scornful glance at Joss.
“No,” Joss interjected. “Everyone at the Night Market answers to her.”
Hagan glanced over again, and Clio saw the avaricious gleam in his eye. “What a waste of your talent and potential. A carnival like this? You listen to me, girl. I will guide you to true power.”
“Thank you, but no.” She raised a brow. “It would be wiser if you obeyed me and left.”
“Obey?” He choked out a laugh. “I don’t think you understand anything at all, girl. I am a Hagan. Siphoning magic is my specialty. I can master any siphon.”
It was Clio’s turn to scoff. “The Night Market is far more than just a siphon.”
“Nonsense,” he barked. “I know what I am about. You will come with me and so will your little lantern. Do not make me force the issue.”
“This is your last warning,” Clio said.
“Very well,” the old man said with a sigh. “But do recall, later, that I gave you the choice.” He raised his walking stick again and waved a hand over it. The silver filigree over the rounded end dissolved. He barked an order.
Clio gasped as the stick separated and a black orb rose free.
Joss stiffened beside her. “What have you done?”
Wilmot ignored them as the bauble floated before him, cold and black as his heart. “Drain the old one,” he ordered. “Perhaps my granddaughter will see reason if her friend’s welfare is at stake.” He turned away. “I’ll see to the siphon.”
The bauble, dark and malevolent, went to hover over Maret.
“He’s twisted it,” Clio whispered to Joss. “Perverted it.”
Joss frowned at the orb, narrowing his gaze and Clio realized he was looking at it with his other vision. “It’s taking her magic,” he said, suddenly aghast. “Not just absorbing the released magic of a spell, but stealing the magic right out of her. Just as people fear. ”
In her sleep, Maret made a choking sound of protest as the bauble sunk closer.
Joss looked again, and the color leached from him. “I think it’s more than that.” He leaped forward. “Don’t let it touch her! I think it’s draining her , her life!”
Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small, glass bead. “A null spell,” he said curtly as he tossed it at the dark orb.
A glittering circle of light, surrounded the bauble, then contracted to cover the entire surface. “It’s cut it off, for now.” He jerked his head. “I’ve got this. Keep him from harming the Market.”
Clio turned to see that Wilmot Hagan had lifted the lantern away from the dragon-shaped holder. “Oh, you are a clever little thing, aren’t you?” he crooned. “We shall learn all of each other’s secrets.” He opened the oval door and reached in to touch the flame but snatched his fingers back. “Damn it!”
Clio felt the tug at the line that connected her to the Market. She felt the pull strongly as it called for magic from deep inside her. She knew the best thing she could do was to loosen her hold and let it flow. Magic poured out of her as she watched the iron dragon stretch its mouth wide, then snap it shut. It rolled its shoulders and began to grow.
The old man did not notice. He was holding the lantern high and murmuring. The flames inside lashed and writhed as if struck by high winds.
The dragon grew quickly. It hopped off the table, its scales blazing gold and its eyes glowing red. It stretched out, larger and larger, until Wilmot Hagan could not fail to notice it. He turned to face it, but flinched back as the dragon’s neck stretched out, the jaws spread wide, and roared its fury at him.
“Shard it!” she heard Joss curse. Glancing over, Clio saw the dark bauble had somehow freed itself of the null spell. Joss tossed another spell-infused glass bead, with no effect. The orb started lowering toward Maret’s chest and Clio saw the concern rise in Joss’s face as he reached into a corner and grabbed up an umbrella.
“ Don’t touch her ,” he grunted as he swung it and knocked the orb away.
The dark bauble went soaring off into the depths of the tent, but came racing back. It dodged as Joss swung at it again and changed its focus, abandoning Maret and advancing on him. Joss crouched, his umbrella raised like a sword as they began to circle each other.
The dragon roared behind her again and Wilmot Hagan gave a shout. She whirled to find the dragon had grown huge. It was larger than the elephant she’d once seen in a traveling circus, yet somehow, the tent had expanded to fit it. The iron dragon towered over the old man, snarling, but he stared back in defiance, holding the lantern high as if he meant to dash it to the ground. “Back away,” he growled. “Or I will destroy it!”
A great clacking sound made her turn her head back to Joss. He’d been fighting to keep the dark orb from touching him, but now it had come in behind him and attached itself to the middle of his back. He had his arms raised, trying to sweep it off with the umbrella, but Clio could see him visibly weakening. His golden bauble was throwing itself against its dark brother, trying to free him.
Another roar.
A crash as Joss fell, sliding down a wardrobe just past Maret’s bed.
Clio’s focus was torn between the two battles. Her heart jumped in her throat. Her ears were buzzing again as panic, worry and fury all battled inside her. She was being pulled in too many directions.
Control.
Closing her eyes, she fought to quiet her mind. Pushed away all the noise. Reached for calm. She narrowed the flow of magic going to the Market once more, calling on those reserves for her own use.
Clio breathed deeply. She considered what she wanted. Formulated her plan. Raising her arms, she pulled ribbons of shining magic from the stuff of the universe. Swirling it between her hands, she infused it with both her will and a vast amount of magic. Stardust and lights flashed in every color as she released it, thrusting the spell away and directing it to fill every nook and cranny, all the magically enhanced spaces of the tent.
And inside the tent, time stood still.
Every living thing, save her, stopped, frozen.
Clio went first to Joss. He lay slumped against the wardrobe, his golden bauble hovering before him. She leaned him forward, trying to pry the dark orb away from his back. It clung stubbornly, resisting her efforts. She tried a null spell, as Joss had, but it was readily repelled. Huffing in frustration, she considered, then slammed a simple barrier spell between Joss’s back and the orb. At last, then, she was able to pry it free. She wrapped the barrier spell around it, and holding it gingerly, she took it and stepped outside Maret’s tent, where time still flowed on and the normal late evening crowd had begun to thin.
Clio let out a piercing whistle. Her call was answered by a screech and the fast-flying form of Athena, who came at once to perch above the tent flap. She held the orb aloft. “It needs safely tucked away, kept where it cannot harm anyone until we can see to it,” Clio told her friend. “Can you find a dead tree, perhaps? And make sure it stays there, for now?”
Athena whistled acknowledgement, then took off and circled around to snatch up the orb. Clio didn’t wait to watch her fly off, but turned back to enter the tent again.
Wilmot Hagan stood, the Market lantern held high, the iron dragon still looming over him. Clio took the lantern from him, then crossed back to Joss. With a gesture, she released him from the spell and knelt before him. “Joss. Can you stand?”
He put his hand to his head, then arched his back. “Where is it?” he demanded, his gaze darting wildly.
“It’s gone for now. I wrapped it in a barrier spell and sent it off with Athena for safekeeping.”
Climbing to his feet, he stared around. “You did this?” He grinned at her. “Have I told you that you are amazing?”
She flushed with pleasure. “No, but feel free to do so.”
“You are utterly and completely amazing,” he said firmly. He took in the scene again. “What is the plan, then?”
“The plan,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “is to make my grandfather understand the way of things.”
“I am extremely glad I am here for this,” he said, low and fervently.
She laughed, and they went to stand before the warlock and the dragon. Clio freed the dragon first. It blinked at her and shook its head in confusion before she held up the lantern for it to take. “Here, now,” she said kindly. “You have done your part. I’ll handle the rest.”
It snatched up the lantern and raised up on two feet again, but no amount of persuasion could convince it to move back or shrink down.
“Very well,” Clio said with a sigh and a waggle of her finger. “But I am in charge of the humans.”
The dragon squawked in agreement and with a wry glance at Joss, she clapped her hands over her head and released the spell.
The old man came back to himself in a much quicker fashion. He lowered his hand, realizing he no longer possessed the lantern, and took a threatening step toward her—only to draw quickly back as the dragon snapped its jaws at him, stopping just a hair’s breadth away from piercing his flesh.
“You think you are clever, don’t you?” He snorted. But he didn’t wait for an answer before he muttered a word of power and thrust a finger toward her.
Clio only had time to flinch, but Joss had already stepped in front of her. She could feel the power of the spell, but it bounced right off him.
“I’ve been around him enough to anticipate that move,” Joss said. “And I’ve also spent enough time with him to have a shield spell primed to operate continuously anytime I am in his presence.”
“Is that how it is to be with you?” her grandfather sneered at him. “No power of your own, beyond your trinkets, so you’ve found a powerful witch and you’ll hide behind her skirts, ever after?”
“No, I’ll stick by her side, if she will have me,” Joss said stoutly. “Unless you are around, then I’ll stand between you.”
“I am the head of the family,” the old man began, but Clio shook her head, and his expression darkened. “Very well, then. Have it your way.” He straightened and looked down his nose at them. “But you cannot protect her every minute of every day.” He glanced up at the lantern in the dragon’s grip. “Nor the siphon.”
“He won’t have to.”
They turned and Clio was surprised to see Jarby at the tent entrance, with Droose and a host of other Night Market folk behind him.
Wilmot Hagan actually took a half-step back. “Jarby Lightbirch?”
The crowd shuffled in and moved into a semi-circle around the three of them, staying well back from the dragon. Once again, the tent somehow managed to accommodate them.
“It’s been a long time, Wilmot,” Jarby said.
Her grandfather lifted his chin. “Not long enough.”
Jarby laughed.
Clio stepped up beside Joss. “Jarby, you are acquainted with my . . . with Mr. Hagan?”
“Oh, aye. From way back, although acquainted is putting too nice a face on it. We were deadly rivals once. We fought each other in the dueling pits.”
Clio flinched. It was not a reassuring thought.
“I defeated you back then,” her grandfather said darkly. “It would be child’s play to do it again.”
Jarby pursed his lips. “We were evenly matched for a long time, I will remind you.” He nodded toward the golden ball hovering behind Joss’s shoulder. “You never definitively beat me until you showed up with one of those.” His tone lowered. “Drawing on its power was against the rules and your cheating saw us both banned from the pits.”
Clio flinched again when her grandfather flashed an evil smile. “Rules are for the weak.”
Beside her, Joss bristled. “Rules are for the good of us all. If you cannot operate within the rules that benefit our communities and still become a great man, then you are weak.”
“No doubt you’ve grown stronger, Wilmot,” Jarby said. “Don’t mind saying, I’ve done so, too. But I’ve grown smarter, as you clearly have not. Smart enough to know that I don’t have to fight you again. Nor does anyone here.” He shot Clio a smile. “Although I would dearly love to see you face off against our Clio. She’d wipe the floor with you within thirty seconds.” He lifted a shoulder. “But it won’t be necessary.”
The old man started to speak, but Jarby held up a hand. “I’ll tell you why, but first, I’ll tell you that you have a fine nephew here in Joss.”
Her grandfather snorted.
“Oh, I didn’t trust him completely, not at first. I rather liked him, but it is hard to trust a Hagan. So I did a bit of digging on my own.” He shot Joss an apologetic look. “I’ve been spending some time in a rowdy little inn. The Three Crows.” He watched Wilmot Hagan closely. “Right near your ancestral pile, isn’t it? Heard a lot about your family while I lingered there. And I found it’s a great favorite with your hulking bully of a son, Gunther.”
Her grandfather bristled. “You will stay away from my son.”
“Oh, too late for that. He’s a bit of a prick, isn’t he? But he gets friendly when you buy the drinks. Talks when he’s deep in his pints, too.” Jarby tapped a finger to his temple. “I said smarter , didn’t I? Once we got him drunk enough, your Gunther sang like a bird. In front of witnesses, too. Several of which are in this tent, right at this moment.” Jarby straightened. “We know , Wilmot. We know some of the things you tried to force Finn’s wife to do. We know why she ran, and Finn with her. We know Gunther killed her—and then he murdered his brother, too.”
For once, her grandfather had nothing to say, but the color draining from his face spoke for him.
“Here’s how it will go,” Jarby continued. “Joss will escort you out beyond the borders of the Market. You should not ever be able to get back in. But if you somehow circumvent your banishment, then I will be here to keep you from further mischief.”
“I will be first, before you,” Joss declared.
“I’ll be with him,” said Droose, fiercely.
“And I.”
“And I.”
“And all of us,” someone called.
The dragon roared, and nearly everyone ducked in surprise.
Tears filled Clio’s eyes. Her heart swelled.
“Let me be clear,” Joss said, facing his uncle with determination. “Here is one rule you will follow. Clio will never set eyes on you, nor any member of your family, unless it happens at her request.”
“Don’t hold your breath waiting,” she added.
“If you break that rule,” Jarby took up the point, “then I will gather the witnesses to Gunther’s blubbering confession, and we will go to the Witches’ Council.” His tone darkened. “And once they know what I know, I guarantee your life will never be the same.” He paused. “Do we understand each other?”
Her grandfather stood mute, his jaw working.
“Wilmot?” Jarby demanded.
The old man nodded.
All the Market folk cheered.
And Joss stepped forward to take him by the arm. Her grandfather’s face grew darker with each step. As the crowd parted and Joss stalked away, pulling the man with him, Clio darted forward and fell in step with him.
Together, they marched Wilmot Hagan through the emptying aisles and causeways. Their gazes met several times, but no words were exchanged. Not until they reached the edge of the Market.
“Goodbye, Uncle,” Joss said simply.
Her grandfather’s temper ignited. His face contorted. “You will regret?—”
“No.” Clio passed a finger horizontally before his angry mouth. Abruptly, he stopped. “We have no wish to hear it. In fact, I don’t wish for my name to ever cross your lips.” Her fingers moved again. “Wilmot Hagan, you will hereby be unable to speak, sing, write or otherwise in any way communicate my name or anything about me. You will remember that I exist. That Joss and I both reject you and your hateful ways. But you will forever more keep your thoughts about me—about us—to yourself.”
She finished off the spell and gazed at the man sadly before turning to Joss. “I have had a home here for many years, and for most of them, I thought I was missing a family. I didn’t understand that I had that, too. I was just missing one piece. One strong and caring man who loves me enough to help me see clearly.”
Her grandfather grunted, struggling against her spell, but Joss merely gave him a push. Stumbling, he crossed the Market border and disappeared.
Joss opened his arms, and she melted into his embrace. She’d never felt safer or more confident. There was security and peace and joy in knowing that now and forever, they would be together. He would be at her side, large and lovely, barreling alongside her as they met the challenges of life.
“I love you, Clio,” he whispered.
“I know,” she whispered back. “And I love you, too.”
He laughed.
“That’s how I know all will be right,” she said.
Nodding, he pulled her in and kissed her tenderly. She leaned into it, sweeping along as the kiss deepened—until a thought made her pull abruptly back. “You’ll be content? Living, traveling with the Market?”
“I will be honored,” he said roughly. “As long as I am with you.”
She burrowed back into his arms, so filled with happiness she ached with it—until she felt a cold nudge and Joss’s bauble nestled into the curve of her neck, right where she could hear the beating of his heart. It was the last drop—and now she knew her happiness was complete.