Dead Witch on a Bridge

by Gretchen Galway

  All witches had some innate core of magic, of course, to set them apart from nonmagic humanity, but modern Protectorate teaching had a low opinion of the soft, invisible, mysterious powers of a person’s inner self. A modern witch should instead develop the power that came from metal and stone. Such as a gold torc. It was power you could use, see, measure, nurture, collect, share—and steal.

  The lingering pain vanished, the exhaustion fell away, and an urge to laugh overtook me.

  “Demon’s balls, Jasper,” I said, fighting a giggle. “You sure know how to make a cocktail.”

  He nodded. “Finish it off. Don’t want to waste a drop.”

  I did as I was told, knowing it took days of difficult magic to fill a small bottle. The buzz wouldn’t last long, only a minute or two, but it would erase the ill feeling from the broken silence spell.

  When I’d recovered my wits, I licked the rim of the glass and stood, handing it to him with a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Least I could do.”

  “So, Silverpool…” I paused to confirm the spell was gone. Not a single needle jabbed me, so I took a deep breath and continued. “There’s a wellspring here.”

  He stared. “What?”

  “A wellspring. Here in Silverpool.”

  “No! Where?”

  “It doesn’t usually come to the surface. Not year round and not every year. Only when the conditions are right, around late December.”

  He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “The floods.”

  “Silverpool’s namesake,” I said. “It’s not too far from here, actually, which is probably why you have so many fairies bothering you all the time.”

  The town was named after the seasonal lake that formed during wet winters when the Vago River flooded. The business district, wisely, had been constructed a half mile up river, on higher ground. On the west side of town, however, where the river snaked toward the Pacific, a high tide and heavy rain changed the landscape. At the winter solstice, under a full moon, the contained waters jumped their banks and transformed a narrow, steep-banked ravine into a pool.

  Silverpool.

  “I feel like such an idiot,” Jasper said. “I never suspected a thing.”

  “Lots of magic has been used to keep you in darkness,” I said. “The Protectorate—” I stopped myself. I could break the minor spell of a kindhearted Emerald witch, but going against a major one and spilling the secrets of the Protectorate would trigger far worse. I gave him an apologetic shrug.

  “Got it. Say no more,” Jasper said. “Well, how about that. I thought the fae were attracted to me and my magic. Very humbling.”

  “I’m sure they’re also attracted to your magic, Jasper.” I patted his arm. His homemade moonshine had left a lingering buzz on my mood. Tristan was dead, and it wasn’t right to bounce around giggling. “And so is everyone else with any magic. I want to get home before anyone makes another visit.”

  “Would your father come back?”

  “If he does, I need to make sure he can’t get inside my house again,” I said. “The Protectorate will think we’re working together.”

  “Would he really do that to you? Risk incriminating you?”

  With a snort, I got to my feet again. A wave of dizziness overtook me. “He wouldn’t see it like that. I may be his biological child, but I’m not actually him. That’s what matters. Besides, I worked at the Protectorate, so I’m one of them. And I’m a Bellrose, which makes me, as you pointed out, destined to receive certain privileges.” I gave Random a pat on the head and moved to leave. With each step, my head cleared a little, and by the time I opened the front door, I was cold sober.

  Random tried to follow me, but Jasper held him back.

  “I wish I knew if and why somebody sent me a dog,” I said, lingering in the doorway.

  “I’ll see what I can do. I might have better luck after I feed him.” Jasper looked into the dog’s soulful eyes. “Do you like cheese, Random? How about peanut butter?”

  Random wagged his tail, but his gaze darted to me. Don’t go, he seemed to say.

  I squinted at the dog’s jaws and long pink tongue. Had he actually said that? I touched the necklace at my throat, soothed by its weight against my chest, and looked out into the yard. A fairy mist was gathering on the hillside near the pear trees. Jasper might be able to make a charmed collar, but would it be strong enough if the fairies were truly motivated?

  I just didn’t feel right leaving him. “You know what? Never mind,” I said, reaching out my hand. “I’ll take Random with me.”

  Jasper didn’t release his grip on the dog’s collar. “Are you sure? It might be dangerous to take him with you. Somebody sent him or he sent himself, and either way—”

  “I’m sure.”

  After a pause, Jasper let go. Random trotted over to me and sat on my foot, gazing up at me adoringly.

  “At least take this,” Jasper said, opening a closet and taking out a leather leash.

  “Where’d you get that?” I asked.

  “Student left it behind.”

  “Are you sure? It looks new.”

  “The kid’s long gone. I’ll never see him again. Don’t worry about it.”

  I took the leash from him, grateful I wouldn’t have to buy one myself, although I’d have to get other supplies. “Thanks.” I wasn’t starving, but I didn’t have many pennies to spare.

  “If you need another drink later, if the pain comes back, just let me know,” Jasper said.

  “It won’t come back,” I said, “but thanks.”

  “You’re the only witch I know who could just walk away from a broken Protectorate spell.”

  I’d always thought Jasper had an overrated opinion of the Protectorate’s powers. “I owe it to your knack with potions, Jasper.”

  “Nothing I make is that strong.”

  I held out my arms. “Sure it is. Look at me.” Before he could argue, I turned away and walked to my Jeep with Random at my heels, keeping so close you would’ve thought I had a pocketful of bacon.

  Chapter Ten

  Random and I returned to my Jeep. Because the passenger side was tilted into the ditch, he waited for me to help lift him inside. And then, like before, he sat upright, staring straight ahead.

  “What’s your story, doggo?” I asked him.

  Without breaking his gaze from the road ahead, he licked me on the mouth. I wiped it away, trying not to gag, and slammed the door shut. “Note to self. Watch out for the tongue.”

  I glanced up at the field behind Jasper’s house and sent a silent greeting to the fairies. They didn’t like witches very much, but I appreciated their company. Often I could hear them talking to each other, singing, sleeping, shouting. Sometimes they were loud enough to wake me from sleep. The tone of their voices could alert me to danger, warning me of incoming storms, powerful strangers (usually witches), human violence, wildfire—and death. Like last night.

  I’d never told anyone about this little trick, mostly because it hinted at Shadow—something evil. A witch wasn’t supposed to be able to hear the fae unless they wanted to be heard or had a specific magical amulet designed for the purpose, and even then most witches would need to team up and pool their resources. With my father, I’d had enough trouble developing a Bright reputation. I’d avoided admitting anything odd or suspicious about myself.

  I started the Jeep and drove down the hill. Just before I hit the main road, I drove off the pavement and steered around a mound of blackberry brambles and into a smooth patch of dirt. Not quite a road but almost, and it hid my Jeep from any traffic.

  I was going to visit the wellspring.

  If Tristan had been killed because of the power beneath Silverpool, there might be a clue at the spring itself. Maybe some evidence of someone searching for it, upturned earth or broken branches, maybe even magic residue.

  And I might be able to collect a little of the wellspring water while I was there. It was a valuable currency, although dangerous to keep aroun
d because of the unpredictable creatures it attracted. I kept a special kit in the car for collecting useful objects such as herbs, branches, bark, bones, fur, and liquids.

  Even though I’d been to the wellspring several times before, it wouldn’t be easy to find it again. Many forces worked to hide the spring from the world: nature, by keeping it dry most of the year; humans, by building fences and roads and property lines that diverted traffic away; witches, through the Protectorate; and the spring itself, inherently elusive as it rested deep below ground.

  But the fae couldn’t resist gathering around it like teenagers at a bonfire. The wood sprites that bothered Jasper so much would be there long after he was dead and gone—the wellspring was irresistible to them. Day and night, some of them would be camped out nearby, watching eagerly for the winter rains to begin and bring their party to the surface.

  And party it would be. To fairies, the wellspring was the biggest kegger of the year. When the road flooded, Silverpool nonmagicals wrote letters to Caltrans and begged for highway funds, but the fairies came from miles around to drink the intoxicating water. When the pool was at its deepest and most powerful—late December, around the winter solstice—the fairies would camp out, drink, and party.

  I tucked a few glass vials into my pocket and closed my eyes to listen for the fairies. I needn’t have bothered—they were impossible to ignore. But they weren’t celebrating; they were arguing. And loudly.

  I turned to Random to see if he sensed them too. “Hear that?”

  Random looked at me, panting and cheerful, giving nothing away. I attached the leash and guided him out the driver’s side door. He jumped down into a patch of bare earth, still blackened from the wildfire last year. To find the pool, I had to puncture a blanket of spells that wanted me to forget the significance of a recent wildfire. To my right was the jagged stump of a charred tree. The fire had only burned a few acres, taking out the grass and trees halfway to Jasper’s house.

  But to the left, trees and brush grew wild and untouched. A straight line divided life from destruction.

  That’s where I needed to go. Along the fire line and then into the ravine that sloped behind the ancient oak with… I concentrated… all the fairies under it.

  Lots of fairies, right there. There had to be a dozen of them, mostly the greenish-brown variety who lived rough, in fur loincloths and bark hats and that sort of thing. No velvet waistcoats for the little wood people.

  Twelve. No wonder it was so loud. But that was a good sign—if a demon was around, they wouldn’t be gathered now so openly and in such large numbers. They seemed to all be talking at once, waving their arms and stomping their bare feet. Most humans, even witches, would’ve seen the dust and assumed the wind had kicked up a dirt cloud. But I was looking for them.

  Luckily, they weren’t looking for a witch and a dog, and were too busy with each other to see me and Random sneak behind another mound of blackberries and climb down the steep slope into the ravine. I kept Random close, wanting to keep him away from the poison oak. That stuff was nasty. Didn’t bother the fae, of course, which is why they planted so much of it.

  The branches of the California buckeyes were already bare, but the many oak, fir, and redwood kept the ravine heavily shaded. A dry creek bed snaked through rocks, bare earth, fallen branches, grass, shrubs—and my mind failed me. What am I doing here?

  I blinked and found myself staring into Random’s warm brown eyes. Who is this dog?

  For a moment I was hopeless and lost, but then I waited it out, listened to my breath going in, going out, going in, just gave myself time to catch up to reality, and it all came into focus.

  The wellspring was just ahead under an eroding bank held together by the gnarled roots of the ancient buckeye growing overhead. I couldn’t see the spring from where I stood, but I knew—with effort to overcome the magic twisting around me—it was there.

  It seemed undisturbed. I sent out a spell and sensed nobody but the many fae.

  Turning my attention to Random, I dropped the leash, wanting to see if he ran to the irresistible magic spring. If he was magic—part fae, possessed, or a bewitched creature—he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from responding to it. But he trotted in the opposite direction and got busy peeing on some weeds.

  Again, I was relieved. Sometimes a dog was just a dog.

  I strode over the rocks and stones to the earthy patch under the eroding slope. I found a long branch and used it to push aside the mass of poison oak growing over an oval-shaped depression. As I got closer to the bank, the earth grew darker and wetter until there in the shadows was a shining puddle no larger than my palm.

  After using a few heavy branches to pin down the twining poison oak out of range, I sank to my knees and dipped the three vials, one by one, into the water. Because of the magic, the liquid was perfectly clear, untouched by dirt, leaves, algae, or insects. Anywhere my fingers got wet, I felt a thrum of power, neither Bright nor Shadow, just raw energy.

  I quickly tucked all three vials into the inside pocket of my jacket and got to my feet. I wasn’t sure how I’d use my treasure, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to, but I’d wanted to collect some before it was too late. With so many forces descending upon Silverpool, it was unlikely I’d be able return to the wellspring again without being detected.

  The sudden sound of crunching, dry leaves made me fear it was already too late.

  Chapter Eleven

  Before my eyes, the poison oak began growing at a furious rate, pushing aside the branches I’d placed on top of it a minute ago, tendrils and leaves the color of old blood spreading like molten lava. The roots of the large buckeye tree on the bank came alive, twining over the wellspring in a thick net of gnarled wood. And the blackberry brambles began to expand, multiplying in every direction, long branches twisting and reaching like a monstrous, thorny octopus.

  I spun around, careful not to draw attention to the vials in my pocket by doing something stupid, such as putting my hand on them to make sure they were safe.

  I wasn’t able to see who had joined me in the ravine. The sudden growth of vegetation blocked my view—and my escape.

  Preferring to take my chances with the blackberry than the poison oak, I stepped on the thorny vines and began stomping my way out. Thorns caught on the legs of my jeans, the hem of my jacket, the delicate skin of my sad, bare hands, but I kept going, too afraid of whatever lurked nearby to attempt any spell.

  “Alma, are you all right?”

  Jasper’s voice reached me just as I tripped. I stumbled out of the branches onto my hands and knees. Stones and jagged sticks from the dry creek bed dug into my palms, and my left foot was stuck in a thorny cluster behind me, but the rest of me was free.

  As I kicked and tugged my leg out of the brambles, Random, the leash dragging behind him, jogged over and licked my face.

  I ducked to escape the tongue and rolled toward Jasper, who was making his way through the poison oak. He was one of those lucky creatures who was immune to the nasty stuff.

  “You followed me?” I asked him.

  He smiled apologetically. “Not exactly. I came looking for the wellspring and saw your car. Figured it must be down here somewhere since you said it was close.”

  I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t told him where I was going. Maybe because I’d already broken the rules and told him it was there. Maybe because I was embarrassed to admit I’d been looking for clues, chasing demons again as if the Protectorate hadn’t fired me.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I thought— I was curious to see if Random had any interest in the wellspring.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Not before the spells kicked in anyway.”

  I got to my feet and wiped myself off. My hands and ankles were scratched, but I was basically fine.

  “Too bad the Protectorate didn’t teach you the spell to break through.” When I didn’t say anything, he added, “I wonder if Phoebe knows it.”

  I heard t
he longing in his voice—and not for Phoebe. Wellsprings could be irresistible for witches as well as fairies. Like poison oak, some were more sensitive than others. I hadn’t noticed any effects myself and had never been distracted by its pull—but I could see by the wild look in Jasper’s eye that he wouldn’t be so indifferent if given the opportunity.

  I decided not to tell him about the small stash I had in my pocket. In fact, I began to regret telling him about the spring in the first place. It might become a problem to keep him away from it. Witches were drawn to the springwater for its power over fae, the difficult, mysterious creatures who didn’t use magic like us; they were magic. Unpredictable and dangerous, fae broke spells and ruined potions with the blink of a small, golden eye.

  “I’m not sure it’s the Protectorate who’s guarding the spring,” I said. “It feels… wrong.”

  “Shadow?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s something Tristan cooked up.” Random sniffed my hands and then began licking the blood from my torn-up skin. Pulling away, I picked up his leash and began to walk toward the Jeep. “Let’s get out of here. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  We climbed back out of the ravine, skirting the tree where I’d seen the fairies, although now they were silent, hidden, or gone. Or I was too stressed to concentrate properly.

  I looked around. “You came on foot?”

  “You said it wasn’t far. My bike is over there.” He gestured to the other side of the road from the Jeep.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going. I’ve gotten used to keeping it a secret and—”

  He held up a hand to stop me. “I don’t want you to tell me any more secrets. I’ve hurt you enough already.”