Stolen Magic (Shadows of the Immortals Book 1) Read online

  STOLEN MAGIC

  Marina Finlayson

  Copyright © 2016 Marina Finlayson

  www.marinafinlayson.com

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Marina Finlayson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Act 1968 (Cth).

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author.

  Cover design by Karri Klawiter

  Model stock image from Taria Reed/The Reed Files

  Editing by Larks & Katydids

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  Published by Finesse Solutions Pty Ltd

  2016/12/#02

  Author’s note: This book was written and produced in Australia and uses British/Australian spelling conventions, such as “colour” instead of “color”, and “-ise” endings instead of “-ize” on words like “realise”.

  To be notified when Marina Finlayson’s next novel is released, plus get special deals and other book news, sign up for her newsletter at:

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  For Malcolm, who makes it all possible. I love you with broccoli on top.

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  EXCERPT: TWICEBORN

  ALSO BY MARINA FINLAYSON

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  1

  The rain made the rooftop slippery, but it also meant people were even less likely to look up and see me crouched there. Shifters looked up—particularly if their animal form was a bird—but shifters were hunters, and alertness came with the territory. Humans had mostly forgotten they were prey, and had lost the awareness of their environment that had once kept them from becoming some predator’s dinner. Fortunately for me. Even the drunkest observer would have found something fishy about a woman dressed head to toe in black, surrounded by a small army of cats.

  Rain trickled down my neck, icy fingers on my bare skin. The cats waited patiently, as only hunters can, their life force glowing softly to my inner sight. The connections between us also glowed, strands of light snaking out from me as if some kid had been waving a sparkler through the damp air. Wet fur pressed against me on all sides as I crouched on the rooftop, watching the last stragglers from the pub stagger home in the rain. It was spring in beautiful downtown Berkley’s Bay—best holiday destination on the south coast!!, as the sign on the road into town proudly proclaimed—but the cold rain fell regardless, and the staggerers would be only too glad to get out from under their dripping umbrellas and into their warm homes.

  From up here I had a bird’s-eye view of the small harbour. Like protective arms, the breakwaters encircled the tiny fishing fleet and the handful of tourist boats rocking gently on the dark water. On shore, the buildings huddled together against the winds that roared in off the sea in winter, their roofs zigging and zagging down the street all the way to the mayor’s imposing residence at the end. Ocean frontage. The biggest house in town, apart from Councillor Steele’s up on the headland. Nothing but the best for the shapers.

  Mayor Johnson’s lights had gone out some time ago, but I shared the cats’ predatory patience. I waited on the wet roof until the house had been dark a good half-hour.

  “Time to go, ladies and gents.”

  Nine pairs of yellow eyes glinted at me in the light from the streetlamps. Nine sleek wet bodies rose and paced the rooftops with me. I crouched low out of habit, but there was no one to see as we flowed from one roof to the next along the row. My foot skidded out from under me once, bringing my heart leaping into my mouth, but on the whole my borrowed agility kept me on my feet despite the slipperiness of the wet tiles.

  Nine was probably overkill, but the number appealed to me. Nine cats, nine lives. Not that they could lend me their lives, but their abilities came with the link I’d forged when I’d called them to me earlier. Cats were useful for their night vision and their seemingly effortless leaping and climbing. In view of the weather, I figured the more agility the better.

  At the end of the row of terrace houses, a laneway cut between the terraces and the Mayor’s home. His house stood a storey higher than the surrounding homes, which gave me easy access into the upper-storey windows, as long as I made the jump across the laneway in one piece. It was only a couple of metres. Piece of cake.

  I leapt, and caught the windowsill with both hands, my booted feet scrabbling for purchase against the wet bricks. Two tabbies made the leap as well, landing neatly on the sill. I shooed them out of the way and hauled myself up. Very thoughtful of the local architects to start a fashion for such wide windowsills.

  The window wasn’t locked. That was a nice local custom, too. No one in Berkley’s Bay locked their upper-storey windows, as if it were only city thieves who could climb, and the local ones would be content with ground-floor breaking and entering. Not that I was complaining.

  Thanks to the cats, my night vision was boosted far beyond its normal range. I was in a bedroom, though it had the impersonal feel of a guest room. Nothing sat on top of the small chest of drawers by the bed—no books, knickknacks, or other personal effects—and there was a musty smell in the room that suggested no one had slept in the bed for some time. The two tabbies padded across the room after me as I headed for the door.

  I cracked it open and peeked out, the cats brushing past my ankles. The faint sound of snoring drifted from behind a door further along the hall. That would be the mayor’s bedroom, then. I headed the other way, towards the stairs that would take me down to the lower level. That was where the shrine would be.

  My two feline shadows stuck close to my heels as I slunk down the stairs, stepping on the outside of each tread, where it was less likely to creak. The mayor was only a minor power, a water prime with a weak earth secondary, so his house wasn’t as grand as some I’d seen, but it was pretty swish by local standards. Berkley’s Bay was a holiday town. Most of the houses looked like they’d been constructed on the cheap, with bits added on here and there as afterthoughts, or as the families that owned them had grown. Kind of like the human territories, actually. It reminded me more of the town I’d grown up in than any shaper town I’d seen.

  Downstairs, polished cedar floorboards gleamed in the silvery light spilling from the semicircle of glass above the front door. A large lounge room opened off the foyer on one side. On the other, a closed door looked more promising. The cats lost interest in what I was doing and slipped away as I opened it. I loosened my grip on their minds, letting them wander. I didn’t need them for this part.

  And bingo. Here was Mayor Johnson’s shrine, to the water god that had given him his powers. Or so the shaper myths said. People who followed the One True God—humans, mostly—said He’d created the shapers, same as everything else. That they were no more special than cockroaches or mosquitoes, and just as annoying. To absolutely no one’s surprise, the shapers’ preferred mythology put themselves centre stage, the children of a race of divine beings who gave them the earth as their plaything and then conveniently disappeared.

  No one could actually agree on who those divine beings, known as the First Shapers, were. Some s
aid the Norse gods, some the Greek or Roman, while others called on Celtic mythology, or Indian, or Chinese. Every culture had gods who fit the bill in its pantheon. Naturally, there’d been wars fought over the details—shapers could get just as crazy over religion as humans—but, at least on this continent, most shapers had agreed to disagree. New Holland was actually pretty progressive, if even half of what I’d heard about the Old World was true. In parts of Europa, worshipping at the wrong altar was still a hanging offence.

  I shut the door of the shrine behind me. There sure was a lot of gold on that statue. Not that that mattered. I wasn’t taking it for its resale value.

  “Manannan Mac Lir,” I whispered. “Mayor Johnson is a rebel. Who’d have thought?”

  The Greek gods were in fashion in these parts. I bet Johnson having a statue of the Irish god of the sea in his shrine, instead of Poseidon, would raise a few eyebrows if the Sapphire Council heard about it. Almost made me want to tell them.

  Ha. That would be the day, when I voluntarily got into a conversation with a shaper.

  The statue was the size of my head, and made a hefty weight in my hand—just not as heavy as it should have if it really was made of gold. Looked like Johnson wasn’t that fond of old Manannan. I tucked it into my backpack anyway, grinning as I pictured the Mayor’s confusion the next time he came to pray, and discovered the god had abandoned him. It would serve him right.

  A cat yowled somewhere in the dark house. My heart lurched, and I jumped so hard I nearly dropped the backpack on my foot. Quickly I reached out, searching for the tabbies who’d come with me. I’d been so preoccupied with Johnson’s statue that I’d lost track of what the cats were up to.

  Bad move. One of them had caught a mouse. The yowl had been its way of telling the world what a fearsome hunter it was. I froze with my hand on the doorknob, listening. Stillness lay on the house. Not even the sound of Johnson’s snoring could be heard.

  Oh, shit. A light flicked on upstairs. Johnson was awake.

  *What the hell are you doing? You didn’t go to the pub!*

  I jumped, even though I recognised Syl’s voice, and I knew it had only sounded in my head.

  Syl was my constant companion, and I nearly always had a link open to her so that we could chat. It was my peculiar gift, this ability to link with animals. It wasn’t shaping—I certainly couldn’t hurl fireballs or drain rivers or do any of the other impressive shit with the five elements that shapers indulged in. It was just something I could do, and as far as I’d ever been able to discover, I was the only person who could do it. Not that I told anyone about it anymore. I’d learned my lesson a long time ago.

  *Not a good time, Syl,* I sent back to her, mind to mind. Last I’d seen, she’d been curled up in the middle of her bed, her elegant body a neat circle, tail tucked under her chin. She’d opened one jade-green eye momentarily as I left, but shut it again without comment. Of course, I hadn’t changed into my working clothes until I was out of her sight.

  *I can tell that.* Her mental voice was as acidic as her real one, though it had been months since I’d heard it, months since she’d taken human form. *Whatever you’re doing, you just got such a shock I nearly fell off the bed. Where are you?*

  A world of suspicion attached to those three little words. I hesitated, giving the tabbies I’d brought with me a mental shove towards the window by which we’d entered.

  *It wasn’t a shock. Just a little jolt of adrenaline.*

  Fortunately, our link didn’t allow Syl to see through my eyes, though I could use her senses if I wished. I’d known she wouldn’t approve of tonight’s excursion, hence the sneaking off without her.

  My heart sped up as I thrust my awareness out through the dark house. I found the dead mouse’s brothers and sisters lurking inside the walls in the kitchen, and brought them out, skittering across the floor to be my spies. Even better, one of the family was upstairs already. Perhaps it and the one the cat had caught had been up there together, mountaineering, or whatever mice do for kicks. Gently I guided the little spark of life into the hallway, checking on the mayor.

  He stood in the doorway of his bedroom, his long shadow stretching across the floor in front of him, outlined by the light spilling from the room behind him. From a mouse’s perspective, he looked enormous and threatening. He’d probably look pretty threatening from a burglar’s perspective, too, but it was too late now to consider that even a weak watershaper was plenty strong enough to make short work of a mere human. Particularly with the whole damn ocean right outside his house. Shaper tsunamis had wiped out entire towns before. Best to get out of here before he got much closer.

  *It’s one o’clock in the morning, Lexi. What are you doing?*

  I eased the door to the shrine open just far enough and slipped through the gap, my backpack a heavy weight on my shoulders. The front door was only a few steps across the foyer.

  *Heading for the mayor’s front door,* I said truthfully.

  *At this time of night? I doubt he’ll appreciate a visit. Wait …* A complex whirl of emotion swept across our link: fear, anger, and worry mixed with a deep resignation. We’d only met a year ago, but she knew me better than anyone. *Which side of the door are you on?*

  *The wrong one.*

  Upstairs, the mouse shrank back into a doorway as the mayor moved. A click flooded the hallway with light that spilled down the stairs. Time to go. I closed the distance between me and the front door in three steps—the mayor’s heavy tread sounded on the carpeted floor above, and I had to be out of here before he caught sight of me.

  *You’re in the mayor’s house? What is wrong with you? We’re supposed to be hiding out here. Keeping our heads down. How is breaking and entering laying low?*

  I was only half listening to her, my attention focused on the sounds from upstairs, my shoulders hunched in anticipation of a blow. Dammit, I should have watched those cats or, better yet, made them stay outside. I’d been doing this long enough to know better. Nine months on the big city streets of Crosston had made me quite an accomplished thief.

  My hand closed on the door handle, but when I tried to turn it, it wouldn’t budge. Deadlocked. Why did the mayor have to be so goddamned untrusting? What did a shaper have to fear? The man was a watershaper, with the power to move the seas if he ever chose to get off his fat arse. Or perhaps not. A truly powerful watershaper probably wouldn’t be content to live as the mayor of a tinpot little town like Berkley’s Bay, and one in the heart of fireshaper territory, no less. The Ruby Council held sway here, and the Sapphire Council’s seat of power was a long way away.

  Heart pounding, I glanced over my shoulder. In a moment, Johnson would reach the top of the stairs. I’d be caught. And I had no defence against a watershaper’s powers.

  I sprinted for the lounge room, uncaring of the noise I made. But the foyer was wide, and a blast of water as powerful as a fire hose caught me halfway across, knocking me from my feet. I slid across the floor in a spray of icy water and slammed into the wall.

  The mayor stood at the top of the stairs, his face red, bellowing something that I couldn’t hear over the roar of the water. I tried to get up, but the force of the water held me pinned, each drop an icy nail that hammered into my skin. So maybe he was only a second-rate watershaper, but he was good enough to drown me. Turning my face away from the deluge, I gasped for breath.

  Then I took the only option left to me, and prodded the little mouse into action.

  A very unmasculine shriek rose above the thunder of the water as the mouse faithfully skittered along the hallway and clawed its way up the mayor’s pyjama leg. The jet of water stopped abruptly. Soaking wet, I scrambled to my feet and darted into the shadows of the lounge room. I heaved a window open, to the heavy thumping of the mayor dancing a jig at the top of the stairs, complete with slapping sounds and little cries of horror.

  The smell of rain lingered on the cool night air, but I sucked great lungfuls of it gratefully. I half-clambered, half-fell
over the windowsill in a squelch of wet clothes and shivering limbs. Safe outside, I released the mouse, who leapt free and bolted for cover, its tiny heart beating almost as wildly as my own. I followed suit, disappearing into the shadows behind the mayor’s house. Now I was grateful for the change of clothes in my pack. I couldn’t stop shaking. That water had felt like it was sourced straight from the bloody Antarctic. I needed to peel myself out of these wet clothes, but the first priority was putting a little more room between me and the enraged mayor. I hitched the backpack into a more comfortable position and turned away from the lights.

  *I’ll be home soon.* I jogged along the laneway, teeth chattering, keeping to the shadows. Not that there was anyone to see me. I cast my senses wide, and nothing bigger than a cat lurked in the darkness around me. A cool salt breeze blew in off the sea, teasing at my dark hair in its dripping ponytail, and I shivered some more. *Nothing to worry about now.*

  *Maybe not now.* Syl’s mental voice was grumpy. *What about when he misses whatever you took? I assume you took something?*

  *You make me sound like a kleptomaniac. This is the first job I’ve done since we left Crosston.*

  *For good reason,* she pointed out. *Did you also want to put up a big flashing sign saying Here we are in case Anders misses the hints you’ve so thoughtfully laid out for him?*

  *Relax. Anders is a fireshaper, Johnson’s a watershaper. They probably don’t even know each other. How is Anders going to find out Johnson’s lost his altarpiece? And even if he does, there’s no reason for him to connect it to us.*

  *You took his altarpiece? He’s going to kill you!* She almost moaned. *Why would you do a thing like that?*