Pia shook her head, relieved at the woman’s businesslike attitude. “Nothing too dark, I think,” she said in a rusty voice. “Something with serious consequences, though. It’s got to mean business.”
The witch’s dark eyes shone with a sardonic sparkle. “You mean a kind of ‘I swear I will do such-and-such or my ass will catch fire until the end of time’ type of thing?”
Pia nodded, her mouth twisting. “Yeah. That kind of thing.” “If someone swears an oath of his own free will, the binding falls into the realm of contractual obligation and justice. I can do that. And have, as a matter of fact,” the other woman said. She moved toward the back of her shop. “Follow me.”
Pia’s abused conscience twitched. Unlike the polarized white and black magics, gray magic was supposed to be neutral, but the witch’s kind of ethical parsing never did sit well with her. Like the relaxation spell in the shop, it felt manipulative, devoid of any real moral substance. A great deal of harm could be done under the guise of neutrality.
Which was pretty damn self-righteous of her, wasn’t it, coming fresh as she did from the scene of her crime and desperate to get her hands on that binding spell. The urge to run pumped adrenaline into her veins. Self-preservation kept her anchored in place. Disgusted with herself, she shook her head and followed the witch. Here goes nothing.
She really hoped that wasn’t true.
They concluded business in under an hour. At the witch’s invitation she slipped out the back to avoid more heckling from the protesters. Her backpack had been lightened by a considerable amount of cash, but Pia figured in a life-or-death situation it was money well spent.
“Just one thing,” said the witch. She leaned her curvaceous body in a languid pose against the back doorpost of her shop.
Pia paused and looked back at the other woman.
The witch held her gaze. “If you’re personally involved with the man that is intended for, I’m here to tell you, honey, he isn’t worth it.”
A harsh laugh escaped her. She hefted the backpack higher onto one shoulder. “If only my problems were that simple.”
Something moved under the surface of the other woman’s lovely dark eyes. The shift of thought looked calculating, but that could have been a trick of the late-afternoon light. In the next moment her beautiful face wore an indifferent mask, as if she had already mentally moved on to other things.
“Luck, then, chica,” the witch said. “You need to buy something else, come back anytime.”
Pia swallowed and said past a dry throat, “Thanks.”
The witch shut her door and Pia loped to the end of the block, then moved into the sidewalk traffic.
Pia hadn’t shared her name. After the first rebuff, the witch knew not to ask and she hadn’t offered. She wondered if she had TROUBLE tattooed on her forehead. Or maybe it was in her sweat. Desperation had a certain smell to it.
Her fingers brushed the front pocket of her jeans where she’d slipped the oath binding, wrapped in a plain white handkerchief. A strong magical glow emanated through the distressed denim and made her hand tingle. Maybe after she met with the shithead and concluded their transaction, she could take her first deep breath in days. She supposed she should be grateful the witch hadn’t been more of a shark.
Then Pia heard the most terrible sound of her life. It started low like a vibration, but one so deep in power it shook her bones. She slowed to a stop along with the other pedestrians. People shaded their eyes and looked around as the vibration grew into a roar that swept through the streets and rattled the buildings.
The roar was a hundred freight trains, tornadoes, Mount Olympus exploding in a rain of fire and flood.
Pia fell to her knees and threw her arms over her head. Others screamed and did the same. Still others looked around wildeyed, trying to spot the disaster. Some ran panicked down the street. The nearby intersections were dotted with car accidents as frightened drivers lost control and slammed into one another.
Then the roar died away. Buildings settled. The cloudless sky was serene, but New York City most certainly was not.
Alrighty.
She pushed upright on unsteady legs and mopped her sweat-dampened face, oblivious to the chaos churning around her.
She knew what—who—had made that unholy sound and why. The knowledge made her guts go watery.
If she were in a race for her life, that roar was the starter pistol. If God were the referee, He had just shouted Go.
He had been born along with the solar system. Give or take.
He remembered a transcendent light and an immense wind. Modern science called it a solar wind. He recalled a sensation of endless flight, an eternal basking in light and magic so piercing and young and pure it rang like the trumpeting of thousands of angels.