by Ivy Asher
I move quickly, ignoring the drag of the bodies behind me as I go. I should feel worse than I do about pulling them along, but I don’t want to use more magic and risk alerting people that something’s amiss. I don’t know how my scream and pulse of magic have so far gone undetected, but I’m not going to push it. Someone could round a corner and slam into me at any moment. The need to get out of here is riding me too hard to care about anything else.
My pace is steady, silent, and I find myself hoping that I’ll somehow run into Rogan as I make my way through the windowless building. Did he know I’d come back? I mean, he did ask me to, right? Was that just something whispered in the loss of the moment, or did he mean it? But if he knew, then where is he? Why isn’t he waiting nearby to intercept me?
My suspicions begin to harden with each step I take. This has to be the work of the tether, otherwise Rogan would be here. He probably doesn’t even know I’m back. I reach for the tether inside of me, but I quickly realize my magic feels like a frenetic mess. It’s as though my power is a newborn faun, all wobbly legs and spastic unsteady moves. There’s so much strength to it, but it feels untrustworthy too, like it’s not all the way awake and focused yet.
Maybe dying reset things and my magic needs a moment to wipe the sleep from its eyes and deal with the morning breath and bed head before it’ll be up and ready to go. I push my power and search for the tether, but all I can seem to really focus on is the hold I have on the bodies behind me. I look over my shoulder to find them following me like obedient baby ducks.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to them.
They don’t answer back. Let’s hope this coming back from the dead thing isn’t a onetime shot, because otherwise I’m probably going to hell next time for this. I pass a door and then back up, reading the sign next to it: Showers. I pause next to the door for a moment, debating. I don’t feel any magic, or sense any amulets or protections on anything around me. I don’t think I’m at a magical facility, but what the hell do I know? It doesn’t make a lot of sense that I’d be at a human morgue either, but wherever I am, I’m not sticking around to ask questions about how I got here and why.
I press my body snatched accomplices against the wall of the hallway and then withdraw my magic. “Stay,” I order them, just in case.
Slowly I press against the door to the room marked showers, holding my breath as I look inside. Swanky looking walnut lockers take up two walls. A couple of them have belongings tucked into the cubby above the closed cabinet below, but I don’t see any locks on anything. The look of the space is less high school locker room and more something I’d expect to find in the home arena of a revered sports team. I step into the room, moving in the direction of the occupied cubbies, when a trilling whistle fills the air. I freeze. Adrenaline explodes inside of me, and I look around frantically for the source. The light birdsong morphs into a tune I know but can’t place, and I realize that someone is in the showers on the other side of the wall to my left, whistling away as they clean up.
Crap.
I hesitate, questioning if I should still try to steal some clothes or get out of here as quickly as possible. My panicked gaze lands on a row of shelves, green stacks folded neatly in columns. I stare at the organized piles for a beat before recognition slaps me across the face.
Scrubs!
As though I’m some cartoon character sneaking around with exaggerated movements, I quietly stalk over, reading the labels on the shelves for the one labeled small. As swiftly as a striking viper, I pull down a top and a pair of matching bottoms, quickly pulling them on and listening for anyone who might be headed my way. I look for anything that I can put on my feet, but all I see is a pair of sneakers tucked under a bench. They look entirely too huge to be of much use to me, so I say fuck it and opt to head back out barefoot.
The telltale squawk of a shower knob being turned urges me on. I’m out of the locker room and back into the now dark hallway before the water in the showers can so much as stop dripping. Once again, the fluorescent lights above me flick on as I move, but this time I don’t flinch in alarm. The hallway ends at a trio of elevators. I press the call button and hold my breath as I watch the numbers count down. I must be in a basement.
The ding of the elevator is alarmingly loud as the steel doors part, revealing an empty carriage. I call the bodies to me, stepping into the stainless car. Cold flesh rests on one of my feet, and I try not to gag. Maybe I should have gotten them scrubs too. No, there’s no way I can make what I’m doing better. Naked and dead or dressed and dead, I’m still stealing them.
I make sure all three of my accomplices are in, and then hurriedly start poking the button that closes the doors, while eyeing the panel and the floor options. I scan the carriage for a camera, but I don’t see the telltale sign of a red light or a placard telling the rider that they’re being recorded. I select G, hoping it spills out to a garage. It’s probably a safer bet than the lobby or the ten floors listed above it.
It’s all I can do not to shush the elevator as it dings loudly again and opens up to an almost empty parking area. Relief whooshes through me as I step over a body and out onto the cold pavement. It’s dark outside, but a hint of early morning is lightening the horizon and reigniting my urgency to get as far away from this place as quickly as I can. Rubbing the chill from my arms as I go, I speed walk my ass away from the elevator. My escape partners sweep closely behind me, the light making their pallor even more sickly.
Yep, definitely going to hell if I ever die again and stay dead.
I scan the area for a good place to hide three bodies. I never thought that would be something I would ever think to myself, but alas here we are. Thankfully, it’s as though the universe landscaped around this building, knowing I would need hiding places someday. There are plenty of tall bushes that are surrounding several groupings of trees. The clusters of foliage dot the property evenly all around me.
I instruct my magic to relocate my little death ducklings, and then I slam a hand over my mouth with shock when my power goes overboard and practically launches the bodies. It’s like that attraction at a circus where they shoot someone out of a huge cannon, only so...so much worse. In a blink, each of the people I’ve stolen streaks across the ground into different groupings of brush. I cringe as they settle fully hidden away, whipping my head around to make sure no one is nearby to witness the depravity I’ve stooped to. I’ve never felt more selfish and messed up in all my life.
“I don’t know who you are, but I will, and I swear just as soon as I can, I will give all three of you the most beautiful funerals ever,” I whisper into the chilly morning air. Streaks from the rising sun start to glow brighter as though the universe approves this message, but I still feel like shit. “Headstones!” I whisper yell, my eyes darting here and there, ensuring that I’m still alone. “We’re talking the most regal headstones you three have ever seen. The kind of stuff you find in hundred-year-old cemeteries in Europe,” I tell them. “Tall, unbreakable, moss-covered even if that’s your thing. You want it, you got it,” I reassure them as if it somehow makes my theft and fucked up game of hide-and-go-seek okay.
They’re dead, Lennox, I remind myself. I mean, what do I expect, that they’ll spend their time hiding in the bushes, thinking about how I can make this up to them? I press my palm against my forehead and tuck my guilt away with a sigh.
“Best funerals ever,” I promise one last time and then hurry away without trying to look like I’m hurrying. It’s easier than I thought it would be to make my way out of the parking garage, hide three bodies, and then scurry away like the cockroach I now am. So easy in fact that I start to question if this isn’t some sort of setup.
What if the Order or High Council do have me and they’re letting me sneak away on purpose so I can lead them to Rogan and Elon? Suspiciously my gaze darts all around as though threats and danger are instantaneously waiting at every corner, but I don’t see anyone or anything that makes me feel as though I’m be
ing watched or followed.
I stroll quickly but casually out of the shadow of the building I’m fleeing from and discover I’m in a city. As clear as that revelation is, none of the surrounding buildings spark any kind of familiarity, and I feel just as lost as ever. I’m definitely not on the block the Order occupies in Chicago, but that’s about all I could say for sure. I hasten my steps, hoping I’m not drawing attention to myself. I probably look like some patient escaping from a psych ward, but so far there’s been no one around to side-eye me.
My feet pad quickly across the cold ground. Ignoring the small rocks that occasionally prick my soles as I go, I scan everything around me, scared and frantically trying to figure out what to do now. I need to get home, to Rogan, but I have no idea if it’s safe or how I’m going to manage it. I have no money, no shoes, no phone or way to get a hold of anyone to come get me. The surrounding skyline is unfamiliar; I could be anywhere, although I’m hoping I’m in the US, based on the fact that I made a phone call to a US number without any issue. I thought that evil church was maybe overseas, but now I’m not so sure. Or maybe they transported me to wherever I am.
Damn, how long have I been dead?
Magic flares out of me uncontrollably as my distress builds. Swearing, I hurry to yank it back. It’s as though I’m roping a wild horse and pulling at it with all my might for control. Something strange flares through my chest, a searing heat cutting open my depths like a welding torch. I gasp at the shocking sensation, but my attention flashes away as I suddenly feel the call of magic. Magic that is the very answer I’m looking for.
I close my eyes and thank the stars and my ancestors as incredible power pulses invitingly toward me like a long forgotten friend.
A ley line.
That’s it. That’s my answer.
I mean, if I can manage not to get myself stuck inside of it, that is. Or accidentally flash myself to some place worse than where I am now. But how hard can it be, right? I did pass out the first time I rode one, but I’m way better equipped now.
Totally ready. Badass even.
Who am I kidding, this is probably a horrible idea, but what other options do I really have?
I roll my shoulders as I turn right and move closer to the beckoning power. I’m the Bone Witch. One of two left in the entire world. I’ve got this.
Hopefully.
Probably.
Ah, moon shits.
2
Concentrating hard, I work to recall the frequency of the first ley line I ever magically tapped into. I conjure the memory of that night with Rogan in the park, and I can once again feel the awe and nerves I felt as he explained how it all worked. The warm, manly scent of mahogany and teak fills my nose, as though Rogan himself is once again standing near me, guiding my thoughts and actions with his smooth, tantalizing voice. I can practically feel the cool grass under my feet as the park I played in as a kid suddenly surrounds me in my mind.
I can recall the way the moon called to me that night, the silvery light caressing my back in warm encouragement.
All at once, the pitch and resonance of the ley line back home takes over my senses. My mind and magic seem to have cataloged the frequency even though I’ve only tapped into it the one time. It’s like reading my grimoire for the first time and realizing that the literal bones of the information are now with me forever.
Magic is fucking cool. I don’t know how I could have ever thought otherwise.
Relief washes through me. I know I’m taking a risk even thinking about riding a line as an inexperienced baby witch, but the familiar call of where I want to go offers me reassurance. It’s probably a false sense of security, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers at this point. If I want to get away, to stay under the radar as long as possible, this is my best shot.
I start to sense the other frequencies of the lines all around me, my magic now tapping into the grid of magic, all doing their best to tempt me in different directions. I stay honed in on the frequency that leads me home.
Home.
Surprisingly, the thought of that one simple word doesn’t conjure the images and memories that it used to. A sparsely decorated one-bedroom apartment isn’t what pops into my head. Tad and my Aunt Hillen’s house doesn’t make an appearance either. No. What now occupies my mind is a moss-green gaze, rich brown hair, and the gorgeous face that accompanies a soul that’s so much more complex and resolute than I understood before.
Rogan’s face is as clear in my mind as my own. I can feel his arms around me, sense the way my body, my magic, called to him from the beginning even though I was doing everything I could to fight it.
I love you.
I pull in a deep breath at the memory of Rogan’s unwavering declaration as I lay in his arms, drowning in my own blood, my heart breaking with the realization that I wasn’t going to live long enough to bask in what he was saying to me. I shut that line of thought down, refusing to let the pain and trauma of what happened drag me under. The flash of what went down in that church feels like a bucket of ice water to my senses, and I refocus on the task at hand. If I get stuck in a line, it will all be for nothing.
I fill my lungs with the chilled morning air of wherever I am, a car honking somewhere in the distance. I close my eyes and reach out to the ley line running parallel to the massive fountain I’m currently standing next to. A rush of wind sends some of the frigid mist from the massive water feature my way, and I can’t help but feel like it’s warning me to hurry.
Do they know? Could the High Council and their cronies be hunting me already?
Rogan’s voice sounds in my mind, his careful instructions playing back to me to feel the line and then reach out to it with my magic. Without another moment of hesitation, I connect to it, opening myself up until the hum and cadence I feel and hear in my chest matches what the line’s giving off. A quiet peace crawls through my limbs, and just when I’m about to internally high-five myself for owning this shit, I’m brutally yanked away.
Fuck!
My name unexpectedly rings with warning all around me, as though Rogan is right here admonishing me for getting pulled in. My stomach lurches like I’m on a rollercoaster that’s looping around before executing a sudden death drop. Everything is too bright. I’m tingling all over. Sounds and sensations blur and mix in a frantic disorienting way. I grit my teeth and fight to expel everything from my mind except for the frequency of the ley line that runs through the park back home.
Black spots form in my periphery, and the enticing lull of unconsciousness begins to beckon. I shove it away and quickly adjust the frequency of the line radiating through me to the tone of my destination. Just as soon as I do, my body is hooked sideways at what feels like sickening speed. A grunting squeal of a scream rips out of my throat, the force flinging me around so strongly that the sound is torn away before my ears can really register it.
I want to shut down, to turn this feeling off, but I know if I do, I could get stuck in here or worse. I battle to stay awake and aware, to keep my wits about me. A loud popping threatens to cause my eardrums to explode, and then just as quickly as I was sucked into sound-barrier-breaking speeds, I’m thrust out of them, landing with a dry, pathetic yelp on brittle, unforgiving wood chips.
Ughhhhh, I groan as I lie on my side for a minute taking stock. Surprisingly, I discover that I can breathe, but the rest of me feels very...melty. Like I’m more puddle of goo than person. I lie at the base of a yellow slide and pant awareness back into myself, while also trying to reassure my stomach that there’s nothing in it to try and throw up. My body blobs back together like a lava lamp. That’s what it feels like anyway as I take a moment to settle and once again feel like me against the mulch-covered ground.
It’s later morning here in Marblehead, Massachusetts, and the brighter sunlit sky forces me to squint as my eyes adjust. I take another second to be sure any slow-moving lava lamp bits have time to catch up and reattach to me before I move. I definitely don’t want to get up to
o fast and realize that I left a tit in the ley line. Running my hands over my body, I double-check that everything is where it’s supposed to be, and then realization dawns.
Holy shit, I really did it. I just rode a ley line.
A smile spreads slowly across my face as pride seeps into my soul. “Wooo hooo!” I scream, and it sounds almost like a battle cry. I shoot up to my feet shockingly fast and steady for what my body just went through. “I fucking did it!” I bellow to the bright overcast sky above me.
An answering high-pitched scream makes me jump and whirl around in alarm. A man decked out in running gear clutches his heart in fear, his eyes wide and focused on me as though I could attack any moment.
“Omg, I’m sorry,” I rush to offer. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” I add, waving at him limply as though that’s all the reassurance he should need that I’m not crazy or a threat. He watches me for a moment and then hesitantly starts to lope away on the wide cement path. I observe that he’s not running for his life though, so he probably didn’t see me just apparate out of nowhere.
Thank the ancestors for small miracles.
I brush mulch off my stolen scrubs and turn to the parking lot. I pump my fist with excitement, as I find my old Pathfinder still parked where I left it, but I keep my happy whoop to myself, not wanting to traumatize any other early morning park goers. Quickly, I jog over to the car and kiss the hood before walking to the gas tank. Popping open the little door there, I pluck my emergency spare key from the magnetic holder attached inside.
I was faintly worried my car might have been towed, figuring some watchful park-going parent would have reported it by now, but I’m in luck. I climb into the driver’s seat and pet the steering wheel a couple times as I shove the key into the ignition and hope with everything I have that the old boat starts. I almost cry when the engine turns over and the Pathfinder rumbles to life. I didn’t even need to sweet talk it.
