A Darker Shade of Magic Read Online Free

up, expecting his Collector client and finding instead an unknown Enthusiast, his mood soured considerably.
    “Seat taken?” asked the Enthusiast, even though he was already sitting.
    “Go away,” said Kell evenly.
    But the Enthusiast did not leave.
    Kell knew the man was an Enthusiast—he was gangly and awkward, his jacket a fraction too short for his build, and when he brought his long arms to rest on the counter and the fabric inched up, Kell could make out the end of a tattoo. A poorly drawn power rune meant to bind magic to one’s body.
    “Is it true?” the Enthusiast persisted. “What they say?”
    “Depends on who’s talking,” said Kell, closing the box, sliding the lid and clasp back into place, “and what’s being said.” He had done this dance a hundred times. Out of the corner of his blue eye he watched the man’s lips choreograph his next move. If he’d been a Collector, Kell might have cut him some slack, but men who waded into waters claiming they could swim should not need a raft.
    “That you bring
things
,” said the Enthusiast, eyes darting around the tavern. “
Things
from other places.”
    Kell took a sip of his drink, and the Enthusiast took his silence for assent.
    “I suppose I should introduce myself,” the man went on. “Edward Archibald Tuttle, the third. But I go by Ned.” Kell raised a brow. The young Enthusiast was obviously waiting for him to respond with an introduction of his own, but as the man clearly already had a notion of who he was, Kell bypassed the formalities and said, “What do you want?”
    Edward Archibald—
Ned
—twisted in his seat, and leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m looking for a bit of earth.”
    Kell tipped his glass toward the door. “Check the park.”
    The young man managed a low, uncomfortable laugh. Kell finished his drink.
A bit of earth.
It seemed like a small request. It wasn’t. Most Enthusiasts knew that their own world held little power, but many believed that possessing a piece of
another
world would allow them to tap into its magic.
    And there was a time when they would have been right. A time when the doors stood open at the sources, and power flowed between the worlds, and anyone with a bit of magic in their veins and a token from another world could not only tap into that power, but could also move with it, step from one London to another.
    But that time was gone.
    The doors were gone. Destroyed centuries ago, after Black London fell and took the rest of its world with it, leaving nothing but stories in its wake. Now only the
Antari
possessed enough power to make new doors, and even then only they could pass through them.
Antari
had always been rare, but none knew
how
rare until the doors were closed, and their numbers began to wane. The source of
Antari
power had always been a mystery (it followed no bloodline) but one thing was certain: the longer the worlds were kept apart, the fewer
Antari
emerged.
    Now, Kell and Holland seemed to be the last of a rapidly dying breed.
    “Well?” pressed Ned. “Will you bring me the earth or not?”
    Kell’s eyes went to the tattoo on the Enthusiast’s wrist. What so many Grey-worlders didn’t seem to grasp was that a spell was only as strong as the person casting it. How strong was this one?
    A smiled tugged at the corner of Kell’s lips as he nudged the game box in the man’s direction. “Know what that is?”
    Ned lifted the child’s game gingerly, as if it might burst into flames at any moment (Kell briefly considered igniting it, but restrained himself). He fiddled with the box until his fingers found the clasp and the board fell open on the counter. The elements glittered in the flickering pub light.
    “Tell you what,” said Kell. “Choose one element. Move it from its notch—without touching it, of course—and I’ll bring you your dirt.”
    Ned’s brow furrowed. He considered the options, then jabbed a finger at the water. “That one.”
    At least he wasn’t fool