The Painter Mage: Books 1-3 Read online

  “This was his palace. He and my mom were here before he took me to Arcanus.”

  That was a long time ago. Probably longer than Taylor even knew.

  “Where did she go?”

  I shook my head. “She’s gone.” Unlike with my father, there was no question about what happened to her. It was the reason my father had brought me to Arcanus. He’d never really told me other than blaming himself.

  I started to let the curtain slip closed again as I turned to Devan. That was when the lanterns circling the house began to flicker. They went out with a soft pop.

  Something was outside. Extinguishing my protections would take serious power, power of the kind I’d seen in the park. And it was power I wasn’t equipped to stop if it could get past those protections.

  3

  I stared out the window, waiting to see if the lights would come back, not really convinced that they would. The energy pulsing around the house left the hairs on my arms standing taut. The ozone stink to the air told me what was coming next.

  Shit.

  The plastic bin Devan brought rested on one of the folding chairs. I grabbed it and flipped through, looking for one that might help if needed. It was possible I was wrong. Unlikely, but possible.

  What did it mean that I’d been here nearly two months and been left alone the entire time? Then she shows up and shit hits the magical fan. I didn’t think they could get into the house—it might not look like much, but my father had placed some serious protections on this place—but I had a sneaking suspicion that whatever was out there didn’t want to get into the house. Either they wanted beneath it, to the place my father had hidden, or there really was something or someone after Taylor. The entire house served as a sort of pattern protecting a simple basement, one I never knew about until he was long gone.

  I slipped the charms into my pockets, instinctively reaching for the hooks on my belt so I could hang powdered inks for easy reach. There wasn’t time to restock. “Devan? Can you tell me what we’re up against?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll find out.” She shifted her jacket off her shoulders and slipped out the door and into the night, pulling the door closed behind her as she went.

  “What is it, Escher?” Taylor asked. “What’s happening?”

  I shook my head in annoyance. “Oliver,” I snapped. “And Devan is going to see why my protections failed.”

  “They failed?” Her eyes searched around the house, as if looking for a way out. “Why would you send her out on her own?”

  I leaned my head against the glass window and stared outside. The only light now visible came from the lamps in the house leaking out the window. Devan’s faded white shirt caught that light and amplified it, making her seem to glow in the darkness.

  “She’ll be fine,” I muttered. I’d seen her through worse.

  Taylor rubbed an arm across the glass again, this time with more force, as she tried to peer out. I grabbed her arm, pulling it back. Anyone else, I wouldn’t be concerned that she could wipe away the layer of milky white paint my father placed there, but I still didn’t know the extent of Taylor’s power, or her control. Either might be enough to disrupt what had preserved me for so long.

  “Won’t they—”

  Hunters. That was what she feared, what most from Arcanus feared. “They aren’t out there. And if they were, they wouldn’t be able to reach the house, let alone harm Devan. Whatever is out there is something else. And Devan will learn what it is.” Once we knew what we were dealing with, I could figure out a way to stop it. At least slow it down.

  That’s sort of my thing. It was why I’d been allowed to live for as long as I had.

  Devan’s kind had certain protections. A sort of magical immunity. It didn’t mean she still wasn’t careful, but she would be safe so long as she didn’t do something stupid. She had the ability to detect other magical things. She had other powers, but they were different for her here and from they way she explained it, she hadn’t fully understood the changes. When it came time to knock things back, that’s where I stepped in.

  Devan disappeared around the corner of the house. I waited. If everything went fine, she’d circle back around in a minute. Like I said, it’s not a very big house.

  A muffled shout rang from the other side of the house.

  Damn.

  I sprinted for the door and threw it open. Taylor tried grabbing my arm but I shook her off. I wasn’t about to let her keep me from reaching my friend. “Lock it behind me,” I said.

  I didn’t wait to see how Taylor would react.

  Outside the house, the air had a cool and damp feel to it. The rain from earlier had left a chill as the storm moved out. A sliver of moon lit the sky, not enough to mask the twinkling of stars. Any other night, I might have stared.

  I searched for signs of Devan, pressing through the detection pattern crisscrossing through the house. How was it that we’d survived everything on the other side only to find her in real danger here? Maybe it would have been better for her to stay behind. Difficult, but at least she wouldn’t be hunted like this.

  There was nothing.

  Not that I didn’t feel Devan. I felt nothing. Drawing the detection pattern—a simple cross I’d worked through the house and out, stretching across the lawn—I should be able to sense movement of something, even if it were little more than the wind. Whatever was out there blocked me.

  More power than I could sling. And I was walking right toward it.

  As I made my way along the rim of my house, I grabbed two of the charms Devan had made for me and squeezed them in my fist. There wouldn’t be enough powder for me to do much. Maybe enough to scare whatever was out there away. And after the energy I’d drawn in the park when I first came across Taylor, I wasn’t sure how much I’d be able to do anyway. It didn’t matter. For Devan, I’d try. Without her, I might not be here.

  See, when I left Arcanus, I’d been in a dark place. Anger that no one believed my father still lived made me violent at times. I like to convince myself that Arcanus threw me out, but the truth was that I forced them to. There are natural patterns, things like simple circles and squares and crosses, all of which can be used to draw power from a painter, to augment it to create the magic, sort of like our spells. Then there are what Arcanus referred to as unnatural patterns. Shapes meant to deceive the eye, to distort. Arcane patterns.

  The Masters in Arcanus forbid studying these patterns. Too many painters have destroyed themselves pulling power through them. It was what they claimed killed my father.

  I knew better. My father was an artist. Any pattern he created—any paint he mixed—simply worked. There was a reason he sat above the Masters, the same reason they called him the Elder.

  When he disappeared, I began studying the arcane patterns with a fervor bordering on obsession. If that was how my father disappeared, then I was going to understand, no matter what the Masters said. But I’m nothing more than a tagger. If I were an artist, they might have given me a little more slack. Had they not caught me working one of the forbidden patterns, I might have been able to stay. Of course, had I not attempted those patterns, I would never have known Devan. She was drawn to it somehow.

  The magic in the world is complicated. Painters like myself and Taylor pull on power within ourselves. We use color and shapes and patterns to amplify that power, to give it meaning, but it has to come from within. The hunters are said to feed on that power. It gives them life.

  Then there are those like Devan. When I first met her, I knew little more than painter magic. As I spent time with her people, the Te’alan—enough to understand that Arcanus only scratched the surface of what was possible—I learned to become something more. Now I was something of a bruiser in the magical world. We were already on the run from her father, a powerful being known as the Trelking, but if anything happened to Devan, I had no doubt what her father would do to me.

  And besides, we were friends. So for her, I’d risk whatever terrifying power
was out in the night.

  I might not feel anything else, but the power that was out there pressed against me like a raw nerve. For me to feel it like that meant enormous power.

  A soft moan came from around the side of the house. I moved silently, keeping my feet twisted in such a way that each step formed a pattern, pressing through my shoes as I walked to solidify it. Another trick I hadn’t learned from Arcanus.

  With the charm in my hand, I reached the corner of the house. The power out there practically buzzed like a fluorescent bulb. It came from nearby, close enough that I could touch. Goosebumps rippled across my skin and I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat.

  As I stepped forward, I thrust both charms overhead. If Devan’s charms didn’t work, both of us would be dead. Guess it wouldn’t matter then.

  I squeezed, ejecting the ink, letting it spray up and out in the preset patterns.

  When it struck the ground, I pressed through the ink, solidifying the connection. The effort was nearly more than I could stand.

  The protections held. Barely, but they pushed back what I felt hiding in the night.

  My legs trembled and I nearly fell. Devan coughed quietly and I nudged her with my toe. “Devan? Don’t tell me I’ve lost you already,” I said.

  “You’re an idiot.” Her voice was weak, and she coughed.

  “I know. But can you stand?”

  She grabbed my leg and pulled herself up, pressing up against me as she went. Unlike me, she couldn’t feel the edges of the patterns the ink made. From working with the charms, she likely had an idea, but she needed to be close to be safe within them.

  “You shouldn’t have come out here,” she said. “I was fine.”

  “What happened?”

  Her shirt glowed, this time not catching the light from the window. Devan infused it with her power, one that was so different from mine. The medallion she had made me pressed with cold energy against my chest.

  Light reflected off greenish-gold eyes not a dozen steps from me.

  “What the hell is that?” I whispered. “I thought you said it was a wolfhound!”

  The creature stood nearly as high as my chest. Each eye had to be nearly the size of my fist. Now that I saw where it was, I could make out its outline against the night. Whatever it was, the thing was enormous.

  “Don’t know,” Devan said. “Maybe I should’ve stayed inside. He sensed me as soon as I left the house.”

  I shot her a sharp look and she shrugged. What she suggested shouldn’t be possible. “And you don’t know what it is?”

  She didn’t answer.

  I studied the creature, trying to think of how to get us back to the house. From the size, I had a vague notion of what it might be, but hadn’t expected to see any of their kind here in Conlin. And I was surprised Devan couldn’t detect it.

  “Let’s get back to the house,” I said.

  “Good idea. Any suggestions as to how?”

  Devan twisted and I followed her eyes. I hadn’t realized it, but I’d gone farther from the house than I intended while trying to reach her. We were probably twenty feet from the corner. It would be another twenty to the door. And the creature just sat there, watching us.

  My hand went to my belt, feeling for a satchel of ink. None. I checked my pockets. No ink. I had the charms she’d made me, but only one would give us a chance of reaching the door. And that was if it worked.

  They hadn’t been tested. I was lucky the ones I’d used to reach Devan worked as expected. Maybe not lucky. With Devan, there’s more than luck involved, especially when it came to her creations. But if they hadn’t worked, what would the creature have done? For the most part, Devan seemed unharmed.

  I’d have to figure that out later. For now, we needed to reach the house. We’d be safe there. Reaching it meant testing the other charm, the one I wasn’t as certain would work.

  Guess there was no time but the present.

  “I’m going to try it.”

  Devan sucked in a breath. “Ollie—do you really think it’s a good idea to experiment with one of your charms right now?”

  “Not really, but what other choice do we have? If it works like I planned, the blast should give us enough time.”

  “That’s counting on your father’s protections holding.”

  I grunted. “I don’t think anything I can summon will rival him.”

  Devan touched my arm. Her fingers were hot and dry. “You’re an idiot.”

  I smiled and pulled the strangely shaped charm out of my pocket, the one that resembled Agony. If it worked as I hoped, it should create an explosive pressure in a twenty-five-foot radius. We could run behind the blast and reach the door. If it worked.

  “Be ready,” I said.

  “Damn it, Ollie.”

  I felt her tense as she prepared.

  Raising the charm overhead, I clenched my jaw and squeezed down.

  The ink expelled in a flash. As it struck, I infused it with intent, pressing what was left of my power through it. After this, I wouldn’t be able to do much else. So this better work.

  White light exploded outward in an irregular circle, slowly spiraling out.

  “Now, Devan!”

  We ran toward the house.

  A low growl erupted but I ignored it as I ran. If the wolfhound reached me, nothing else would matter.

  Devan sprinted ahead of me. She’d probably reach the house before me. Hell, with her speed, I might have to worry about her outrunning the blast.

  She kicked the door open and fell through as the blast struck the house. The protections worked into it held, pushing back against the explosion. A sizzling energy shimmered along the house as I reached the door. Some of the paint had flaked off in places around the doorframe. Streaks of char ran along the siding.

  I tripped and fell forward, unable to take my eyes off the house. The paint shouldn’t have been damaged.

  Strong hands grabbed me and pulled me into the house. The door slammed shut behind me. Devan knelt next to me. Worry lined her deep blue eyes.

  “What the hell was that?”

  I pushed myself up, cupping the charm she’d made. I had predicted a twenty-five-foot blast radius, but from what I could tell, it had gone double. And the power focused within it was more than I had calculated when sketching the shape the charm should take.

  “A little more juice than I wanted, but it worked,” I said.

  Devan pushed me back down and stood. “A little more juice? That’s all you’ve got?”

  I dusted my hands across my pants as I stood. “What else do you want me to say? I’m not an artist, not like—”

  I cut off, suddenly realizing we were alone.

  “Where’s Taylor?”

  Devan glared at me. “I don’t keep track of your girls, Ollie.”

  “She’s not my girl.”

  “I saw that look you were giving her. With her dark hair and those eyes, same thing I saw on my side too often.”

  Maybe I had stared at Taylor a little more than needed. “Whatever. Besides, when have I ever brought another girl around you?”

  Devan shrugged. “Usually you find some other place out of the way. Better to keep their brothers from knowing.” She moved slowly around the perimeter of the walls, neck stretched forward and nose upturned slightly, almost as if smelling for something. As she did, her skin glowed softly. The medallion went cold.

  “That was one time,” I said. And had Devan not intervened, it might have been my last time. I should know better than to mess around with sirens. Not as deadly as the stories made them out, but their families were fiercely protective of them.

  She tipped her head when she reached the window and pulled back the curtain. I started toward her, pain cramping in my leg forcing me to limp over to her.

  “What is it?”

  Devan pointed to the glass.

  I leaned in to study it. It didn’t take me long to see what Devan had detected. The painting placed on the glass by my
father was smudged. Streaks of brown worked across it. Taylor’s swirls mixed against the nearly translucent markings left by my father all those years ago, markings that had gone undamaged in the time since he made them.

  The pattern she’d placed on the glass changed that.

  “Damn her,” I hissed, testing the window. Unlike before the marks were made, it opened freely. Likely the same could happen on the other side.

  Had I not spent so much of the last two months of my life studying the house, I might not have known a way to undo the damage. When I first left Arcanus, fixing a distorted pattern—especially one made by my father—would have been impossible for me. Thankfully, I had learned much since then, things the Masters couldn’t—and wouldn’t—teach.

  “Can you grab the ink?” I asked Devan. I didn’t take my eyes off the glass, not wanting to lose sight of what I needed to do. I could see it in my mind and was afraid that if I turned, it would fade.

  “Which color?”

  “Something lighter. Green or yellow or…”

  Devan hurried to the kitchen, where I kept my inks, without waiting for me to finish.

  For what I needed to do, the color wouldn’t make too much difference. I needed gray, the one color that would resurrect the protections my father had worked onto the window. Sure, it could help to have gray ink, but I struggled mixing pure gray. I’d have to use what I could to turn the brown staining the window into gray.

  I hoped Devan would hurry. The blast might have pushed the wolfhound back, but it hadn’t stopped it. I’m not sure I could stop it, not with my power and definitely not as weakened as I was, and not with what I feared it might be. I should have enough strength to fix the protections on the window, but even with that, I needed concentration and focus almost as much as I needed painting strength.

  I heard the cabinet creak open and closed as Devan grabbed inks.

  The stink of ozone burned the air again. Power built. The hairs on my arm and head stood on end like when kids touch those Van de Graaff generators in museums. Whatever was happening would be soon.