The Spell by Heather Killough-Walden Page A

event, I give you –” he paused as he raised his right hand, and a ball of fire erupted in his palm. The crowd gasped and then clapped, and he continued. “A light in the darkness!” With that, he pulled his arm back and threw the ball of fire. It sped over the heads of the revelers toward the waiting, yet dark bonfire pit beyond.
    The ball of flame struck the enormous pile of wooden crate and pallet remains and exploded into a towering mass of brilliant, raging fire. A few women screamed a little, and the men roared with impressed delight. The children squealed, jumping up and down. But the show wasn’t over.
    Above the raging bonfire, amidst the streams of smoke rising toward the heavens, shapes began to take form. The first was of a man, tall and strong. Only his smoky outline could be discerned. But he reminded Lucas of someone, and the image gave him a truly nasty feeling.
    The male outline seemed to erupt into flame itself, burning away into oblivion until it was followed by a second shape. This one was of a motorcycle. It also erupted into flame, again amongst the excited, impressed ooh’s and aah’s of the crowd. The last form to take shape was easily recognizable and when it materialized completely, Lucas’s eyes began to heat in his head. His vision was changing again, turning more red.
    A massive black wolf sat back on its haunches and lifted its head to howl at the moon. Despite the immaterialness of the smoky outline, the wolf’s howl reverberated through the Festival grounds, echoing hollowly, sorrowfully, before its image was also engulfed by flame and burned away.
    The message was clear. Lucas was no fool.
    He looked away from the fire pit toward the stage to find that his assumption had been correct. The man on the stage was watching him. Even though he was far enough away that he couldn’t tell what color the man’s eyes were, Caige could feel those eyes upon him, burning into him with nothing short of pure, unadulterated hatred.
    There was more magic pouring out from him than Lucas had ever felt or smelled before. The crowd no doubt believed that everything they had just witnessed was due to pyrotechnics and advanced planning and illusion and technology. It was none of those things. The man on the stage was a wizard, and a powerful one at that.
    Lucas felt his chest rumble and realized he was growling low in his throat. He was losing control. This was all too much. The wizard obviously had something against him – the burning images were testament enough to that – and whatever it was, it was serious. But this was not the place to hash out their differences. There were children here.
    Danny was here.
    Lucas tore his gaze from the stage and glanced down at Danny. She too was watching the man with the light blonde hair. Her kaleidoscope eyes were huge in the frame of her beautiful face. His protective instincts were taking over. He needed to get her out of there.
    And then he would come back and find the wizard and rip his fucking throat out. He didn’t care what beef the man had with him. The fact that he was magic and hated Caige was enough. It was an itch that needed scratching. And if he died in the process of trying, then so be it. Everyone had to go some time.
    But then there was a sucking-popping sound, and Lucas’s head whipped around once more just in time to see the man on the stage vanish. The torch he’d been holding in his left hand dropped to the stage and went out, its smoke curling lazily upward toward the night sky. The people in the audience clapped and cheered and began to disperse.
    “We should go,” Danny said beside him. He looked down at her to find her smiling a small smile, her eyes large and pleading, her expression a mixture of confusion and worry. He found himself wondering what she would have to be confused and worried about.
    What had she and Imani been talking about? Come to think of it, who was this Jason person? And why had she been watching the man on the