The magic washed over us. The music died, cut off midnote. The black specks of tourmaline embedded in the granite buzzed with energy and glowed as the magic coursed through them. Conlan swiveled his head like a surprised kitten.
“Baddadada . . .”
“Shiny.”
“Shaaai.”
“That’s right. Shiny.”
I walked to the wall and let him touch it. He tried to scratch the dark shiny specks out of it, then leaned forward to the wall and licked it.
A woman wearing scrubs passed by us and gave me a weird look.
“That’s one good thing,” I murmured to Conlan. “We don’t need to worry about germs anymore.”
Luther packed a lot of magic power, thought for himself, and wasn’t afraid to take risks. His work space reflected that. Several fire-retardant lab tables bordered the walls, filled with microscopes, centrifuges, and other bizarre equipment, spawned by the need to perform research through the constant seesaw of magic and tech. A decontamination shower occupied the far corner. The wall on the left supported a shotgun, a fire extinguisher, a flamethrower, and a Viking-style axe. The sign above the odd collection said, PLAN B.
Usually a metal examination table occupied the center of the room. Today it was pushed to the side. A large chalk-and-salt circle marked the sealed concrete floor. Luther stood in the circle, eyes closed, hands raised in front of him. He wore scrubs that had been washed and bleached so many times, nobody could determine their original color without some serious divination.
“This is Luther,” I told Conlan. “He’s an important wizard. He’s also weird. Really weird.”
“I can hear you, infidel,” Luther said. “It puts its sword into the box or it doesn’t enter.”
I sighed, pulled Sarrat out of the sheath on my back, and placed it in the wooden box on the metal table by the entrance. This had been a constant ritual ever since I was pregnant. Luther claimed that Sarrat’s emissions interfered with his diagnostic equipment.
“And the knife.”
“Why the knife? It’s not magic.”
“You think it’s not magic. Everything you handle on a daily basis is stained with your magic. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
I arched my eyebrow at him.
“Box,” Luther intoned, as if it were a Buddhist prayer.
I pulled my knife out and dropped it in the box. My shark-teeth throwing blades followed, together with my belt.
“Satisfied?”
“Yes.”
“Should I put the baby in the box, too?”
“He wouldn’t fit.”
I sighed.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning my work space. I wish people would stop taking weird crap out of Unicorn Lane and then calling us panicking when it tries to eat the children.”
“You’re right, they should just let it devour their young.”
“Har-har. So funny. As it happens, I had to drop everything and do an emergency analysis of a child-threatening item yesterday, and the tech interrupted me, so I had all sorts of residual mess in this containment field.”
He clenched his hands into fists. A pulse of magic burst from him, drenching the circle. “There. Good to go.”
He stepped over the magic boundary and froze, his gaze fixed on Conlan. A moment passed. Luther sputtered and pointed.
“Yes, it’s a human infant,” I told him.
“Give!”
“I’ll let you hold him if you swear by Merlin’s beard.” Because it would be funny.
“By Merlin’s beard, whatever, give.”
I handed Conlan to him. Luther took him, carefully, as if my son were made of glass. Conlan stared at him with his big gray eyes.
“Hello there,” Luther said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Aren’t you a wonder?”
The wonder farted.
I laughed.
“When did he awake?” Luther asked.
“Around six this morning.”
“That’s not what I am asking! When did his magic manifest?”
“A couple of days ago. Something scared him, and he reacted.”
Luther gazed at my child in awe. They looked kind of adorable, my baby with his kitten eyes and head of soft dark hair and Luther, a slightly unkempt, eccentric wizard.
“It’s like holding a nuclear bomb,” Luther said.
“You ruined it.”
“He’s bursting with magic. Glowing with it. I had no idea this was inside him.”
“He doesn’t know how to cloak yet.”
Luther squinted at me. “Is that what you look like? Show me.”
Yes, and for my next trick I’ll dance and sing a song. “No.”
“I’ve analyzed your dead varmint for you. Free of charge.”
“It was your duty as a public servant. You would’ve done it anyway.”
“Kate! Don’t be difficult.”
“Fine.”
I dropped my magic cloak. Luther blinked. He stepped forward very carefully, deposited Conlan into my hands, and stepped back.
A blond woman wearing scrubs appeared in the doorway. “What is it with all the magic splashing? Damn it, Luther, can’t you control your . . .” She saw us and stopped. Her eyes widened.
“Wow,” she said softly.
“I know, right?” Luther said quietly.
For a while they just looked at us. Conlan squirmed in my arms.
“Is this what we will be one day?” the woman murmured. “Future us?”
“This is what the past us were.” Luther sighed. “Better put it away before Allen runs over here. We’ll spend the whole day trying to get him to leave.”
I hid my magic.
The woman lingered for a few moments, shook her head, and left. I sat Conlan down on the floor. He ran to the chalk circle, puzzled over the line, and reached out, waving his hand in front of his face.
“He feels the boundary,” I told Luther.
“That’s sickeningly cute.” Luther grabbed a handle on one of the square metal doors on the wall and pulled a body shelf out. On it lay the remnants of my monster.
Conlan hopped in place by the chalk line, achieving about an inch of lift.
“Do you want to jump?” Luther said.
“Don’t encourage him.”
“It’s good for him to try. It’s a major developmental milestone. Toddlers learn to take tiny jumps around two years old. It’s very exciting for them.”
“How do you even know this?”
Luther spared me a look. “I have nieces. There is no harm. All he can do is a hop.” He waved to Conlan. “Don’t listen to your mom. You can do it. Jump!”
Conlan gathered himself into a tight ball. I’d seen Curran do this a hundred times.
“You can do it!” Luther prompted.
Conlan leaped three feet into the air, cleared a full twelve feet, and landed in the circle. Luther’s jaw hung open.
Conlan giggled and jumped out of the circle. Then back in. Then out.
“So,” Luther said. “He is a shapeshifter.”
“Oh yes. You’re slipping, Luther.”
“I’m not slipping. He is emitting all sorts of magic, and I don’t sniff or lick other people’s children, even to diagnose their magic. That would be creepy.”
In and out. In and out. When we got home, I would draw a circle for Conlan. It would keep him busy for a couple of minutes.
“He is a shapeshifter,” Luther said again.
“We’ve established this fact.”
He faced me. “Kate. He is a shapeshifter with magic.”
“Dali is also a shapeshifter with magic.”
“Dali is a sacred animal. Completely different. All her magic is divine-based. She curses and purifies. He is a shapeshifter and he has magic. Mountains of magic. Oceans of magic. There has never been anything like it.”
Tell me about it. “Any progress with Serenbe?”
“So you’re just going to blatantly change the subject.”