Free Bloodring by Faith Hunter Page B

a convert to some Dark Power hiding in the hills.”
    â€œYou called Gramma?” he asked, suppressed dread in his voice.
    â€œI called her and my friends. A spawn is way cool. You think the spawn is the Power she’s talking about?”
    Rupert groaned. “Gramma is . . . not . . . actually one who should be talking about Marla or anyone else. Gramma has problems of her own.”
    â€œVery diplomatic,” I murmured, wondering what he thought he was hiding from Ciana. I bent over the chest where I kept the pendants I had already imbued with power, my right hand hovering over each, searching for one charged with protection from supernatural evil. I chose a slab of agate with bright bands of purple and lavender and removed it from the case before stringing it on a silver chain.
    â€œIs that for me?” Ciana asked, coming up behind me, leaning over the case. “It’s way cool.” She touched the stone, sending it swinging on its chain.
    â€œYes.” I looped it over her head and tucked it beneath her uniform tunic. “Way, way cool,” I said, mimicking her Pre-Ap TV slang. “Keep it out of sight at school, but wear it when you go outdoors and at night.”
    â€œIt’s beautiful.” She fished the pendant out and held it up to the light. “Is it magic?”
    â€œThere’s no such thing as magic,” I said, sticking it back out of sight. And there wasn’t. Not really. No matter what the humans called it.
    â€œThe foul neomages make magic,” she said, clearly quoting someone else.
    I nearly choked. Rupert replied, “Neomages draw upon the leftover force of creation to imbue things with power. More like prayer, not magic, no matter what the orthodox say about it. And we don’t believe in mage hating.” He thunked her head like a melon and she grinned up at him. “Remember that.”
    â€œGramma says all neomages make black magic and should be burned at the stake.”
    â€œGrampa had to have been spelled when he married her,” Rupert grumbled under his breath. “She’s more orthodox than a kirk elder. Maybe she should be burned at the stake.”
    â€œIf it isn’t magic, why do you want me to wear it when I go out?”
    â€œJust . . . wear it. Please.”
    Ciana shrugged again and tucked it into her shirt, out of sight. “It’s pretty. Mama will want it if she sees it.”
    â€œTell her Thorn made it. That’ll change her mind,” Rupert said. Ciana laughed, shrugged into her coat, and swung her backpack on. “Bye, guys. I’ll see you after school.” Her face fell and her eyes sought me. “How will I know if something bad happens to Daddy if I’m at school?”
    â€œWe’ll keep the TV on,” Rupert said. “If anything happens, Thorn’ll come get you.”
    â€œPromise?”
    I touched three fingers of my right hand over my heart in a seraphic gesture. “Promise.”
    â€œOkay. And we’ll go to kirk together?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “Together.”
    â€œCool. Bye.” And she was gone, shoes crunching on snow.
    â€œSo.” I faced Rupert, his eyes shadowed and still. “Why did you ask the questions about how the daywalker kissed her hand?”
    â€œIf it was a daywalker.” When I didn’t reply he said, “It was important to know if the daywalker breathed on her or licked her skin.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy did you flinch when Ciana asked if the pendant was magic?”
    Touché, I thought. “Because it is.” Rupert blinked. He’d clearly not expected that answer. I was glad I had chosen the agate, because I couldn’t lie to him worth angel bones. “The agate was from a batch I picked up last spring at an estate sale. Paid a pretty penny for it too. Supposedly it’s neomage stone from the early Post-Ap days. The heir said it was charmed against evil. I’m