Mag Subject 6 (Mags & Nats Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Author’s Newsletter

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Continue the Mags & Nats Series

  Discover other books by Stephanie Fazio

  MAG SUBJECT 6

  Copyright 2020 Stephanie Fazio

  Published 2020 by Stephanie Fazio

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

  Cover design: Keith Tarrier

  Mag Subject 6 is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, places, incidents, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Edition License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Visit https://stephaniefazio.com/

  ISBN 978-1-951572-16-7 (print)

  ISBN 978-1-951572-17-4 (e-book)

  Epub Edition copyright October 2020 eISBN 9781951572174

  First edition

  Author’s Newsletter

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  To Steve, Carol, Amy, and Erica

  CHAPTER 1

  Isat with my hands clasped so tightly that my normally mahogany-colored skin turned pasty. It had taken two hours to tame my thick twists into a sleek curtain, and so I made a valiant effort not to sweat and undo my hard work. My black heels tapped out a staccato rhythm on the floor mat. I was dressed to kill, but it did nothing to ease my nerves.

  Keep all eyes inside the van, I told myself.

  Maybe if I didn’t look, I’d forget—

  Someone outside the window shouted. I jumped at the sound and glanced out.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered.

  “Kaira Hansley, you looked.” A.J. pointed an accusatory finger in my face. “I told you not to look.”

  The grapefruit I’d eaten before we left was threatening to come back up my throat.

  “There are so many people,” I managed. “I didn’t expect—”

  “What did you expect?” Smith asked. He didn’t look up from the three laptops balanced on a narrow table anchored to the floor. “The Alliance Director is on trial for the biggest conspiracy Boston’s ever seen. People want to gawk.”

  “Easy for you to sit there, cool as a cucumber,” I said, folding my arms and freezing him with a glare I’d inherited from Grandma Tashi. “I’ve got you nice and illusioned.”

  I’d hidden Smith’s shoulder-length hair and skeleton-thin frame behind an illusion of a muscled man with a military cut.

  My magic adjusted for the rays of sunlight coming in through the windshield and the fact that Smith was always in motion, even when he was sitting.

  When I was younger, I’d had to learn how to control my magic to illusion an entire person’s body. Changing the appearance of a single attribute, like the shape of someone’s nose or altering eye color, was so easy I could do it in my sleep. But changing a person’s entire body was more involved.

  My magic needed to manipulate colors, light patterns, and shadows in just the right way to make a convincing picture. If my magic was even a little off, my illusions could turn people into monstrous creatures that were the stuff of nightmares.

  Growing up, that had been a fun side benefit of my magic during Halloween or when I wanted to scare my younger cousins. It was less beneficial when I was trying to use my illusions to keep my friends out of the limelight and protect their identities.

  Smith stuck his earbuds in and slouched back into his seat, dismissing me.

  All at once, the van’s confined interior became suffocating. I needed to open a window, but that would only expose me to the ogling spectators. Plus, the wind would ruin my hair, and then A.J. would probably kill me.

  “Air conditioning,” I managed, focusing on getting oxygen into my shriveled lungs.

  I’d spent the last three years as a veritable ghost, never wearing my own face in public. Now, we were crawling down the street with people on both sides of the van. I had no barriers beyond a thin layer of metal and glass.

  Graysen looked up from the law book he was scribbling in. His turquoise eyes met mine and warmed.

  “We’ve got this,” he said in a low voice.

  He passed me the thick textbook, indicating his chicken scratch in the margins. “Remwald has broken a dozen Alliance laws. This is going to be the shortest trial ever.”

  I scanned the passages he’d underlined.

  “You sure Remwald isn’t going to walk?” I asked, unable to conceal the anxiety in my voice.

  Edwardian Remwald was the ex-Director of the Alliance. He was being held in the same prison I’d broken Gray out of only a short time ago. In the last week since Remwald’s arrest, I hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep. I just wanted this trial to be over.

  “We’ll be done by lunchtime,” Graysen assured me. “There’s no way he’s getting off with anything less than execution.”

  “Famous last words,” Smith grumbled. “The UnAllied will probably find some kind of loophole, or he’ll escape through a hatch in the floor.”

  “This isn’t Phantom of the Opera,” Bri told Smith. “And even if Remwald does fall through a hatch in the floor, I’ll just chase him down.”

  She blew on her fists, and her skin turned into titanium.

  At nineteen, Bri was the baby of our group, which we’d affectionately termed the Seven. Bri gave off distinct cheerleader vibes, with her bubbly personality, long blonde hair, and pearl earrings. She was petite to the point of dainty. At least, that was how she appeared. When she turned titanium and kicked grown men’s asses from Boston to Timbuktu, there was nothing dainty about her.

  Underestimating Bri was a mistake people only ever made once.

  “If I were Remwald, I’d choose execution over messing with our Steel,” A.J. noted, poking at Bri’s solid skin.

  “You know it,” she replied, high-fiving A.J
.

  A.J., a Level 10 Telekinetic, was making Smith’s computers spontaneously rise up in the air to annoy the Techie. At the same time, a comb was working its way through his tangle-free hair. Normally, A.J. had satiny black hair that he a habit of flipping back like he was on a hair commercial. I’d made it white and thinning for the sake of the middle-aged man illusion he now wore. A.J. had been complaining about the illusion since we’d left the house. Out of habit, I kept adjusting the dimensions of his hair illusion so it appeared that the comb was actually working its way through the strands.

  My friends expected my illusions, but random people tended to balk when their eyes didn’t see what their brain expected.

  I’d illusioned A.J.’s clothes into a less conspicuous outfit of jeans and a beige shirt. He was actually wearing mint-green critter shorts and a purple T-shirt that said Kale yeah, I’m vegan!

  We didn’t need any extra attention on us, and even in a crowd, A.J. drew attention to himself like a magnet.

  “Seriously, though,” Graysen told me. “This is going to be fine.”

  He was right. After everything else we’d been through in the last couple of weeks, this trial was going to be a cinch. All we needed to do was give our testimony on what we’d witnessed at MagLab. I had to prove Remwald was a powerful Animate Illusionist, and then we could go home.

  Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, as A.J. would say.

  And yet, when my eyes went to the window where people were amassed on either side of the street that led to the courthouse, my nerves skyrocketed.

  My skin flickered from its natural brown to white. The others’ illusions began to waver.

  The only times I ever lost control over my illusions were when I was distracted or deeply emotional. Unfortunately, those were often the times when I most needed my illusions to hold.

  I unclenched my fists and slowed my breathing before I lost complete control of my illusions. Graysen and I might have outed ourselves to the entire country, but the rest of the Seven still had their identities to protect. They had put themselves in enough danger to help us. Since I didn’t yet know what the repercussions would be for breaking the second high law, I wouldn’t risk their safety by putting them on the Alliance’s radar.

  The second high law required every Magic to be Marked. I’d broken the law when I destroyed my records and removed the tracking chip from my arm. Now, the Alliance couldn’t monitor my location and every bodily function. It also meant I technically didn’t exist.

  Before Graysen’s arrest, I’d been helping other Mags like me. I got them away from bad situations and into Boston, where they could start new lives.

  Everything was different now. I still wanted to change the second high law, but I could no longer hide behind the scenes. And as I was quickly coming to find, getting anything done by the books was a real bitch.

  Tomorrow, Graysen and I would be meeting with the interim Alliance Director to discuss whether we would be on trial for our own crimes. We had only been given a temporary reprieve because of everything we did to expose Remwald and the horrible truth behind MagLab.

  So far, we’d kept our friends off the Alliance’s radar. And that was how I intended to keep it.

  “Easy on the merchandise,” A.J. said, batting my hand away from where I had been twisting the hem of my skirt. “That’s Dolce & Gabbana.”

  While the world had changed drastically since 2040 when Mags revealed their existence, some things stayed constant. Like luxury brands. And taxes.

  “Actually, it’s Yutika,” Bri said.

  “I feel like we need to add an & Co. to the end of that,” Yutika said, flashing us a gap-toothed grin in the rearview mirror. “You know, like Tiffany & Co.”

  “That’s jewelry, sweetheart,” A.J. told her.

  As a Creator, Yutika could bring anything she drew on her sketchpad to life. Usually her magic was used for far more important tasks than clothing design. She had made the van we were riding in now, along with all of Smith’s electronics and our cash reserves. But her magic also came in handy when A.J. looked through my rather significant wardrobe and proclaimed there was nothing worthy of testifying against the greatest Mag crook in Boston’s history.

  The others continued to squabble good-naturedly, but their words had turned to background noise. All of my attention was fixed on the people leering at us.

  Yutika should have made the windows tinted.

  “Hey.” Graysen leaned close to me so only I could hear him. “If you’re having second thoughts—”

  “No,” I said quickly, as much to convince myself as him. I let out a nervous little laugh. “Besides, it’s a little late for that. I outed myself in front of the entire country, remember?”

  A week ago, Graysen and I had stood in front of a camera in our living room while Smith broadcasted our recording to the entire country. We’d revealed Remwald’s identity as a Mag who had been parading as a Nat. We’d exposed the truth about children who were the product of relationships between a Magic-Natural couple. Those children didn’t have the genetic mutation—Deadly Acriobacterial from Magic and Natural Descendants, or DAMND for short—like everyone believed. Rather, they were an extra-powerful race of Magics. These Super Mags had more than one ability and registered far beyond the normal 1-10 power scale.

  Remwald had planned to use the Super Mags as soldiers to overthrow the country’s Natural army. His intention had been to kill or enslave every Nat in Boston, and then move on to the rest of the country. If we hadn’t stopped him, our city would now belong to him and Valencia Stark, the infamous leader of the anti-Nat group who called themselves the UnAllied.

  “I could make you a Xanax,” Yutika offered, using her knees to balance the steering wheel as she whipped her sketchbook from the center console.

  “Wheee!” A.J. cackled as the van careened around a turn.

  “Damnit, Yutika!” Smith grumbled as his laptops slid across the table.

  My teeth clacked together as the vehicle went up and over the side of the curb. Michael grabbed the wheel and righted the van.

  “We’re all going to need a Xanax before we even get to the courthouse,” Bri complained. “Or maybe a barf bag.”

  “Oh, settle down,” Yutika replied. She waved Michael’s hands away as she reclaimed control of the steering wheel. “This NYC girl is going to prove some of us can drive.”

  “Will that be before or after you get all of us killed?” Smith asked.

  Yutika furrowed her thick eyebrows as she pretended to consider his question.

  Yutika was short and a little round. She had a mass of glossy dark hair and bangs, which she had a habit of blowing out of her face until she looked like she had just stepped out of a storm.

  Compared to most of the Seven, Yutika was an open book. She came from a huge Indian family, most of whom believed Yutika was working in an elite private equity firm. Apparently, that was the preferred profession of the Sharma family.

  I’d met her whole family last year when they invited me to their Diwali celebration. There had been close to fifty Sharmas all stuffed into Yutika’s parents’ house in Newton. We almost burned down the entire house with all of the little oil lamps we’d lit. The cops had shown up when her grandparents set off fireworks in the backyard. Undeterred, we’d spent the rest of the night gambling.

  If we’d been betting anything more than grains of rice, I would have lost my shirt. Yutika’s relatives were sharks.

  Sitting next to Yutika in the front seat, Michael looked like a giant. He was so tall that he had to hunch down to keep from bumping his head. Even with his seat pushed all the way back, he was still eating his knees. His dark scruff of beard gave him a somewhat sinister appearance, which was completely at odds with his gentle temperament. As a Level 10 Whisper, he could convince anyone to do anything with just a few words. Michael was as quiet and reserved as Yutika was boisterous. They were an unlikely couple, and yet, the connection between them was undeniable.

  The
van lurched to a halt outside a row of police cars that blocked off Courthouse Way.

  “Last chance to back out,” I told everyone.

  “We’re with you, hon,” A.J. said.

  My friends were already unbuckling their seatbelts. I wished I shared their confidence.

  I checked to make sure everyone except Graysen and I were illusioned. Then, I opened the door.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was a beautiful June day in Boston. There was a slight breeze, and the blue sky was scattered with fluffy, cotton ball clouds. We were close enough to the Boston Harbor that I caught a whiff of the briny water.

  It was a perfect day for a picnic in the park or window-shopping on Newbury Street. Instead, I was about to testify against the ex-Director and head of the UnAllied.

  One glance at the anticipation shining in Graysen’s eyes reminded me that we would never be a normal couple. And there wasn’t a single thing about us I’d want to change.

  The sidewalks were packed with people for the entire street leading up to the courthouse. The cops had blocked off a narrow pathway for us to get from the van to the courthouse without being mobbed. The authorities were having a difficult time containing the crowd, which was pushing up against the wooden barriers.

  “I feel popular,” Graysen said. He buttoned his blazer and gave the crowd a little wave.

  People went wild. Women swooned. Smith and I rolled our eyes.

  Graysen was as much in his element as I was out of mine.

  A Nat woman at the front of the police barricade held up a poster board that had “Marry me, G.G.!” written in glittery letters across it.

  “Should I assume G.G. stands for gooey gumdrops?” A.J. asked innocently.

  “Kaira Hansley!” a male voice shouted.

  I whipped around at the sound of my name. A man leaned over the barricade to my left. He pushed up the sleeve of his shirt and grinned at me.

  “Oh,” I managed, too startled to say anything else.

  An image of my face was tattooed on the man’s enormous bicep.

  “I’m your biggest fan,” the man called, giving me puppy dog eyes as he flexed his bicep.