Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
I am determined to finish this. The island is clear—for now; Knox and his people are safe, hired guards trussed and warded.
All that remains are the last two mages and the circle.
I know Knox is right. If the opportunity arises, I should eliminate Meredith. Part of me even wants to wipe out the entire coven; the knowledge they carry should never be allowed to spread.
But Meredith is the instigator, and for the safety of every magic user alive, something must be done about her.
And there is the problem.
Lander and Dayna will argue for justice and due process, insisting she be taken back to the Ministry.
Beryl’s voice echoes in my mind—calm, ruthless, certain: “You do not let an enemy escape.” I showed them mercy, and look how well that turned out. Meredith has already proved what she will do if she walks away with dangerous knowledge.
We head back to the building where Samuel and Meredith are holed up. Thus far we have kept everything quiet.
“Hey,” Jill murmurs as we approach.
“They are safe,” I tell her and Dayna. “Warded and waiting in the security wing until this is over. What’s happening inside?”
“Samuel has finished the circle,” Dayna says. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I have,” I reply. “It is straight out of my nightmares.”
“Can you deal with it? I’m a specialist in ritual magic, yet I have no idea what to do with that thing. It frightens me, Harper.”
I rest a hand on her arm and manage a small smile. “It frightens me too, but I know the design well, and I have a few ideas for destroying it.”
Knox’s quarters sit at the compound’s centre, half hidden behind clipped hedges and scattered saplings. The house is handsome, with red-brick walls, wide, deep-silled windows, and a smooth rendered facade painted a neutral cream.
A small porch juts over the step, just large enough for a mat and a battered pair of boots set tidily to one side, and someone has left a mug on the front windowsill, a coffee ring dried around the rim.
Jill and Dayna remain on watch by the door. George shifts to cover the side windows. That leaves Lander, Riker—with his trusty hammer—and me to go in.
Inside, the air smells faintly of rotten magic. In the main room, a low sofa, piled with mismatched cushions, and a sprawled, sleeping Samuel face a coffee table scarred by old coaster rings. A bookshelf crammed with paperbacks lines the wall. Spell books and handwritten notes cover the floor.
Two plain doors open directly off the living room. One stands slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of rumpled bedding, a laundry basket, and the corner of a wardrobe. The other is Meredith’s warded room. There is no safe way through. George is tapped out, and the best tactic is to wait her out.
First, though, we must deal with Samuel.
I meet Lander’s gaze and shake my head. High-ranking Ministry mages they may be, yet they are careless.
Lander lifts his paper gun and puts a round into Samuel’s chest. A muted pop; Samuel’s snore merely deepens.
Riker retrieves the paperweight beside him, nods to us, and carries it out to smash. He won’t return until the job is done.
And so we wait.
Dawn is close; the sky has begun to pale at the edges, a thin grey seeping through the blinds. The others settle in a nearby annexe. Lander and I crouch in a corner of the lounge, hidden in shadow. Meredith won’t see us until she steps fully through her ward.
Leaning against his shoulder, I slip off my goggles and stifle a yawn. The only sounds are the creak of old floorboards and Samuel’s rhythmic snoring, like a badly tuned engine.
Then—
“Where are those idiots?” Meredith’s voice rings from the bedroom. “They were supposed to bring breakfast!”
More rustling; footsteps. “Samuel! Samuel, get up!”
She stomps about, knocking into furniture, her tone sharpening.
“You useless man. I know you finished the spell, but honestly, you could have made sure I ate! That circle had better be flawless.”
She sweeps into the living room.
Lander and I rise in silence.
She prods Samuel, scowling when he fails to stir—then freezes as Lander presses his paper gun to her temple.
“Good morning, Meredith,” he says calmly. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She stiffens. “Councillor Kane? What are you doing?”
“I’m here because you’ve been very naughty. You broke the treaty,” he replies, his voice mild yet lethal. “Illegal spells. Soul magic, no less.”
Her face drains of colour.
“This circle,” he adds, nodding to the glowing sigil on the floor, “is not merely frowned upon; it is forbidden—and extraordinarily dangerous.”
As Lander distracts her, I move towards the bedroom. I stand in the doorway and, from my backpack, pull an extra-special short-range charge spell. Small radius, just enough for what I need, and it should not be recognised by Meredith’s ward.
The weight sits on the dressing table, gleaming like a threat.
I toss the spell through the ward.
It lands true. The spell vial shatters, and the charge flares in a sharp blast. A chunk of the dressing table vanishes; the paperweight is obliterated. Magic seeps into the floor like blood into soil.
The dressing table and wall bear scorch marks; a few of Knox’s shirts are singed, but nothing permanent.
I breathe—deeply—for the first time in hours. The pressure in my skull eases, the headache lifts, and the nausea fades.
I pull a small, silvery blue bottle from my pack and drink the recharge tonic; citrus, salt, and a sharp herbal note hit my tongue. I offer one to Lander, but he shakes his head. This mission has been a walk in the park for the Magic Hunter. He is still buzzing with magic.
Goodness. That is better.
When I turn back, Meredith is glaring. Lander has already slipped an anti-magic cuff over her wrist and is tying her hands behind her back. Her face is crimson, eyes wild. While he secures her, I crouch beside Samuel, roll him onto his side and bind his wrists.
That done, I study the circle.
What a mess.
All it lacks are candles.
A memory overlays the present—sharp and unwelcome. Another circle. A half-built house: bare floors, cold wind slipping through glassless windows, making the candles flicker and spit. The recollection strikes like a punch; for a moment I cannot breathe, my stomach lurches.
Now, Harper. This is now. You are safe.
I shake it off and focus on the circle before me.
Their lines are clumsy, the sigils messy—clearly copied from an early draft, not the master version I destroyed. I send out filaments and taste the spell; it has already been charged, but poorly.
Even before I twisted that original spell, his work was cleaner than this.
“This is dreadful,” I mutter.
The circle throbs at the edge of my vision, lines of chalk, salt, and blood straining against the floor. One wrong stroke and the whole thing could buckle, implode, and take half the compound with it.
For years, I have dismantled this magic in my head, rehearsing every possible failure.
I draw a stub of enchanted chalk from my pocket and kneel beside one of the sigils.
“What are you doing, you stupid girl?” Meredith snarls—then falls silent, surely prodded by Lander’s gun barrel.
Steadying my hand, I retrace the missing lines, matching every curve and angle, restoring the broken symmetry. A metallic taste floods my mouth; if I misjudge so much as a fraction…
Before I can hesitate, I add a rune of my own: a tight return loop nested inside the pattern. A siphon and release. I thread it back to the nearest ley line, sending the power home, clean and contained.
The circle shudders.
For an instant, the floor seems to drop away beneath me. Power surges down the new path; the chalk flares white-hot—then collapses into mundane dust.
A flick of my fingers, a spark of power, and the dust wipes itself away. Gone.
With a wave of my hand, the handwritten notes and books scattered across the floor rise. Pages flutter, covers tremble. Ink bleeds from the sheets, letters unravelling. Spines crack; parchment curls. One by one, the words vanish.
Fear and horror fill Meredith’s eyes. “How can you be so strong? How do you know this magic? Who the hell are you?” she whispers.
I smile. It is not a nice smile.
We leave the house together. I am sure Lander heard Knox’s words; he is guarding Meredith like she is a queen, never more than an arm’s length away. Beside us, Meredith rants—lawsuits, Ministry threats, promises of ruin—but we ignore her fury and keep walking.
My hand twitches towards the knife strapped to my thigh, fingers brushing the hilt. One small movement, one clean strike, and this would be over. I wait for an opening that never quite comes.
In the end, Lander lifts his paper gun and fires a single round—clean, precise, and silent. Meredith drops bonelessly to the ground, unconscious before she hits the grass.
His idea, not mine.
Now all the coven members have been hit by my magical bullets.
When I finally can, I sag against the wall of Knox’s house, lower myself to the floor and close my eyes, exhaling a long breath.
To an observer, I must look merely tired, but inside I reach for my power. My filaments unfurl, touching the spell that keeps everyone asleep.
Each person struck by my magic glows in my mind like a pinpoint of light. They are all fast asleep, all safe. The coven are clustered in the staff block, and I easily find Samuel and Meredith.
I will not kill them; that would be barbaric.
Instead, I tweak their memories.
The beauty of magic is that, once it sits inside someone, you can reshape it if you have the skill. Nested within the sleep enchantment is a secondary spell: a memory modifier. Harmless while dormant, it sits like a tiny bomb, waiting to be triggered. Now is the time.
I activate it, erasing the past few weeks from their minds—short-term and long-term alike. The guards and police I leave untouched, but every mage, witch, and wizard who saw that circle, who worked on that spell, forgets it entirely.
No one will remember the spell. That is how I want it. Let them keep their miserable lives, without the knowledge to endanger anyone.
“Harper, are you all right?” Riker asks softly.
I release the magic—mission complete—and open my eyes to find the shifter’s worried gaze.
“I’m fine, thank you. It has been a long night.”
“It has,” he agrees with a tired smile. “Lander’s on the phone, calling it in. He has all the evidence, so we no longer need to keep things covert. We’re just waiting for the cavalry to haul this lot away.”
“That is good. I am glad we do not have to squeeze everyone on the boat.”
He chuckles and offers his hand. “I wanted to say goodbye; I’m taking the boat back to my boss.”
I lean forward to shake it. “It was lovely to meet you, Riker.”
“You too, Harper.” He smiles, then the big blond shifter turns and walks off. A pang of guilt pinches as I watch him go.
Dayna, Jill, and George stand nearby, smiling. George already looks better; his personal shields are down, and the colour is returning to his face.
The guilt presses harder.
When the Ministry carts the coven away, they will remember nothing. The guards, however, will recall everything; their statements will suffice for prosecution. Yet I cannot shake the feeling I have crossed a line. Beryl would have said to stab everyone. Brutal, but effective.
I tuck my night-vision goggles into my backpack and stand, brushing dust from my trousers. Lander smiles at me, and guilt twists into sadness.
He likes me now, but he won’t once he learns I tampered with the coven’s minds. He told me his world is black and white.
I am every shade in between.
Lander will hate what I have done. He warned me not to twist spells, and I did. I tell myself it was necessary—because he cannot be trusted, can he?
The Ministry certainly can’t.
I guess neither can I.
Then the fire mage attacks.