Magic at the Gate Read Online Free PDF Page A

now.”
    New Dad spoke. “Allie, that sword burns like a flame in the shadows of death. They see it, even if they don’t see you. If you don’t put it away, they will tear you apart. And I—we—can’t stop them.”
    Did I trust him—either of him? No. Did I think he could be telling me the truth? Maybe.
    The Hungers started toward us, heads hung low, scenting the magic. More Hungers poured out from the corners of the buildings, drawing up out of the slick pools of shadows on the street. Magic that had hung off them like leeches in life was multicolored ribbons here, draped across their bodies like woven harnesses that shifted against the roll of muscle.
    Their ribbons glowed metallic, pastel rainbows, like the marks on my arm, like the magic in the river.
    They were dangerous. Deadly. Hungry. Beautiful. And they were closing in. One of the beasts carried something in its jaws. I realized with a jolt that it was the shadow of Zayvion’s sword—the sword he’d taken with him when he was pushed into death—the shadow of the sword I carried.
    Stone growled again.
    I shifted my one-handed grip on the sword. The beasts lifted their heads, following that movement.
    Okay, maybe the dads were right. Maybe I should put the sword away.
    Breathing wasn’t going so well. Holding the sword—just supporting the weight of it—was like holding up a mountain. My muscles shook so hard, the sword wavered with my heartbeat.
    The beasts were a quarter of a block away now. If they attacked all at once, I wouldn’t be able to hold them off one-handed. I tipped the sword back into the sheath, slid it home.
    The Hungers paused, lifted snouts to the wind, and sniffed.
    “I’d like to hear your plan,” I said softly to the dads.
    Stone growled.
    The beasts growled back.
    And I drew the dagger from my belt, ready to fight.

Chapter Two
    “A llison,” the dads said.
    I didn’t care what they had to say about this.
    “Come.”
    That last word was cast with so much Influence behind it, I fell to my knees.
    I managed not to skewer myself on the dagger but lost contact with Stone, which meant I couldn’t breathe. Maybe that was a good thing. I would have screamed if I’d had the air. Falling hurt.
    Stone pressed against me and I could breathe again. I inhaled a long, ragged moan.
    Pain stabbed my wrist. I looked down. Amber magic with sparks of red glinting through it, looped around my wrist and stretched back behind me, like a rope held taut. The magic was smooth and cool as marble or silk. And it was very, very solid.
    I glared at the dads, at their identical expressions of anger. Old Dad held the other end of the amber rope in his fist.
    “Fighting the Hungers in death will kill you,” they said in tandem. Stereo creepy.
    “Get this off me.” I held up my bound hand, dagger and all.
    The amber rope, the flecks of rubies, shone. Solid, real. I couldn’t smell the honey sweetness, but it was Influence, the spell my father had most often cast on me—the spell I had never been able to fight against. Right here, before my eyes. And it wasn’t just around my wrist. The Influence spell clasped my wrist like fine jewelry and followed the pattern of magic up my forearm, closing around my neck like a choker.
    I’d always known my father was a powerful magic user. One of the most powerful I’d ever known. And I’d always known his magical signature was elegant and clean, defined by a grace and surety of the cast. But I did not know how beautifully he could use magic.
    Yes, even though that magic was a chain, I was impressed by the skill behind it.
    “Influence?” I asked rather stupidly, because, duh, what else would it be?
    New Dad nodded. “Stand, and walk to us now. Quickly.”
    The rope around my wrist lifted my arm, tugged on my neck, and my body followed. I was on my feet and a dozen steps away from the Hungers, who were still sniffing the air for the scent they’d lost, before I remembered I didn’t like doing what my