by Coralie Moss
Ocean-going mammals make a very distinct, short chuff when they surface and blow out. The sound can carry over the water for hundreds of yards, depending on the weather conditions. Inside the cavern, there was no wind to ruffle the surface of the water, no wake from a passing boat to send waves slapping against the rock wall. Every horror-film-avoiding witch knew what was next. I cued the music in my head and called for Alabastair. My voice wobbled.
His did not. “Clementine. Do not move.”
More chuffs sounded from different locations. It took everything I had to stay in place and not scream or try to clamber up to the tunnel and wiggle my way home.
Threads snugged against my forearms and lower legs and wove in between my fingers. A battalion of them broke off from the main clusters and constructed a chest piece. I felt them expanding as hands—strong and cold—circled my ankles and pulled.
I let go of the bit of ledge I was holding. I slipped. My rib cage hit rock, bruising my solar plexus and ribs, and I whacked an elbow. I saw stars as my chin snapped forward.
I let go.
My diaphragm stuttered and froze at the shock of hitting cold water and going under. I was momentarily freed as whatever had hold of my ankles let go, only to shift their grip to my throat. I surfaced, grabbed at the elbow they wedged under my chin, and dug my nails into their skin. Filling my lungs with a gulp of air, I yelled, “Alabastair, get help.”
An orange light flared then went out. Alabastair’s response bounced around the cavern, specific syllables lost within the echoing of my strained breathing, thrashing legs, and overwhelming panic. The arm holding me never wavered.
My boots filled with water, loosened, and slipped off of my feet. The moving mass of threads knotted their way over my heels and arches. The chest piece continued forming up toward my throat and around the back of my head.
I was so cold. And the magic-filled threads were making themselves into clothing or armor, or maybe this was a stress response and I was about to be the lucky recipient of a water-logged body stocking.
That no one in the world would ever see because I was probably going to die.
Another series of orange blips flashed from the tunnel just as the creature hauling me away from my sisters swam us around a corner. I squeezed its arm more tightly and let loose the garbled, strangled sounds that had been collecting like bubbles in my upper chest. “Please” and “Stop” and “Mom.”
I forced myself to shut my mouth when the threads covering my throat and chin crept across my jaw, cheeks, and eyes. I sucked in a breath, choked on the water, and spat it out. Another hand pressed on the top of my head, forcing me under the surface.
Never one to pray, I prayed. The arm crooked around my neck relaxed its hold. A hand gripped my shoulder, slid down my arm, took my wrist, and drew me deeper. Everything went black. Fingers nudged my chest. A mouth pressed to mine and forced oxygen into my mouth and lungs.
At least, I think it was oxygen. Whatever it was came as a lifeline, a gift wrapped in terror and tied with the ribbon of death.
Clementine, one of these days you’re going to get into trouble, get in way over your head, and neither of us is going to be around to fix it.
That day had arrived. Beryl’s and Alderose’s voices continued in my head, back and forth, over and over, their tone changing from the adoring—
It’s not her fault, she’s only four, she’s so cute.
To the frustrated—
Damn it, Clemmie, you cannot chase that boy, that skunk, that—whatever off-limits thing had snagged my attention and was running away from the glare of my curiosity and impermeable sense of safety.
That net was gone.
I should have listened to Alabastair.
I should have listened to Beryl.
I should have—
The creature’s other arm circled my belly, right underneath my rib cage, with enough force to push my breath out hard. My lowest ribs poked at the nearest organs. I drew my knees toward my chest, reflexively protecting the most vulnerable part of my torso. Other arms hoisted me up and out of the water by the waist of my pants and tossed me onto a mound of sand.
“Cherchez-la!”
I was patted down, roughly. They started at my hands and fingers, moved onto my hips, the fronts of my thighs, and down my legs. The same chuffing sound that preceded my capture sounded from the creature giving the orders.
Fingers pinched the covering over my eyes and lifted, allowing a knife or the tip of a claw to slice across my eyebrows. The action was repeated at my mouth. I kept still, my heart a loud, erratic drum in my ears.
A female with hair the color of oxidized copper and light brown skin flecked with opalescent patches stared at me. Her figure and features were human, except for the single gill coverings on either side of her neck.
“You are one of Moira’s daughters.”
I nodded. My jaw had started to shake and I couldn’t get it to stop.
“The youngest,” she continued.
“How do you know that?”
“The threads chose to bring you to me rather than see to your drowning.”
That was sobering. The female leaned closer and cut away more of the matted threads covering my face. I was just getting my shivering under control when she stroked the tip of her knife down the side of my neck. She almost punctured my skin when she came to the spot where Rémy’s silver sigil had embedded itself. Her hand began to shake.
Leaning forward, she positioned her lips right at my ear and whispered, “Do not fail me.”
Confused, I opened my mouth only to have her grab a fistful of my hair, expose my neck, and scrape the tip of her knife across my skin. I screamed and dug my heels into the ground, trying to push away, get back into the water, anything to put distance between me and this—this creature. My efforts only ground the back of my skull deeper into the sand and pebbles and highlighted the futility of trying to escape.
My head and neck throbbed. I smelled my own blood, felt it coat the side of my neck.
I couldn’t see any other of her kind. Though I heard muted sounds of approval.
She kept a relentless hold on my hair and spoke. “You are a daughter of Moira Brodeur. I am bound by the tenets of my kind to do you and your sisters no harm.”
Before she released my hair, she drew her knife along my jaw.
“Do it,” echoed from the wall behind her.
She ignored the voices. “Stand up,” she said, nudging me with her foot.
I balanced myself on wobbly legs as quickly as I could and faced her. The female lingering in the shadowed walls behind her could have been her sister—they shared the same eye shape, same features, same build—but for her neon-orange hair and the vitiligo that gave her darker brown skin pinkish patches around her mouth and down the front of her throat.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The one in the shadows looked affronted and swatted the side of my captor’s arm with her fingers. Fingers that were tipped by long, onyx nails filed into blades. “Qui fait ce qu’elle pense qu’elle est?”
“C’est Clémentine. C’est une fille de Moira.”
The other being’s eyes went wide before she squinted at me, wrinkled her nose, and pushed off from the rock at her back. Faint light from an unseen source glinted off the weapons lining the outsides of her arms and legs. What I thought were large gill covers and pectoral fins turned out to be the silhouettes of straight and curved blades.
“I am Gosia,” said the being at my side. “That is Jadzia.”
Found Gosia on 30 April.
Every instinct I had cautioned me to keep my mouth shut.
Jadzia positioned herself next to Gosia. Her fingertips played along the outside of her legs where weapon handles poked out of streamlined holsters. Everything about Jadzia said she was fast, deadly, and would protect Gosia first and maybe ask questions later.
I swallowed hard. “May I ask what kind of Magicals you are?”
“No, you may
not.”
Jadzia kept her gaze on me as she patted her weapon pockets closed before turning her back. “We have to go,” she said. “Now.”
“I am ready,” Gosia answered. “Let me rid us of this witchling.”
“If you’ll point me to the tunnel I can swim back,” I said. I really, really wanted to live.
“Remove the threads. They’ll weigh you down.”
The chest, leg, and arm pieces melted off my body in chunks. I stripped off the last bits, down to my underwear and bra, and covered my chest with ice-cold arms.
“There is a current. You will have to swim against it.” Gosia pulled her hair back and motioned for Jadzia to braid it. As her companion set to working the strands under and across, Gosia drew her fingers across her chest and came away with a clump of nacreous threads. She held them to her lips, whispered a spell, and tossed the shimmery filaments into the water.
A snake formed from the threads, swam to Gosia, and circled one of her ankles. She bent to stroke its head. “Guide Clementine back to the tunnel. Stay with her until I call you back. Do not let her speak of us.”
The snake returned to the water, churning oxygen into the bioluminescent organisms living in the underground cavern. A broken stream of light followed in the wake left by its impatient circling. I didn’t like how quickly the tiny beacons disappeared.
“Swim fast, little witch. There are creatures in these waters who have not fed for a long, long time.” The hiss in Jadzia’s voice sent a spasm of fear up my back.
“Es-tu prêt?” she asked. At Gosia’s nod, Jadzia dove into the water, her arms alongside her body, her spine as fluid as any aquatic creature’s.
Gosia waited, all the while staring at me.
“I can’t read your mind,” I whispered. She blinked once and followed Jadzia’s dive with one that was quieter and even more elegant.
I had to get going. The snake was moving away and taking my resolve with it. I felt for the rock wall and slid my feet along the ground until my toes curled over the edge of the landing.
I lowered to the ground, slipped into the chilling water, and told myself I could do this. Breathing in and out fast and hard, I kept the reptile’s trail in sight. What little light had been illuminating the spit of land faded into black. I swam forward, ignoring my brain’s insistence on calculating how deep the water was or imagining the hungry creatures that might inhabit this place.
The cut on my neck went from stinging to numb. Ahead of me, one pale light, then two, appeared. I homed in on the glowing dots. The snake kept swimming. I paused to tread water and tried to force my voice to carry. “Bas, is that you?”
“Clementine! Do you need help?”
“Keep the light on. Please.” Hope was a powerful propellant. I switched to a crawl and even let my face go below the surface of the water for greater efficiency. One hand smacked rock and the other fumbled for something to grab. I pushed my hair away from my eyes and looked up. Alabastair was crouched on the narrow bit of ledge, poised to dive in.
“Let me catch my breath,” I said.
“Clementine?”
I rested my forehead against the wet rock. “Yes?”
“I—I don’t know how to swim.”
I let his admission sink in. “Then it’s a good thing you stayed here. Any chance you have a blanket for me?”
The snake wound itself around my arm and settled on the left side of my neck, in the hollow of my collar bone. It was becoming a popular spot.
“You may have my cape. I left it in the tunnel. I will save my questions for when we are reunited with Maritza and Beryl.”
I crawled to the top of the steps. Alabastair boosted me into the tunnel. My joints and limbs were so cold he had to wrap the cape around me. He didn’t push to get a move on until my teeth had stopped chattering. Numb, I followed the necromancer through the tunnel until he exited into the abandoned portal station to the sound of Beryl’s and Maritza’s overlapping questions.
I rested on my forearms and knees within the tunnel’s entrance, hugging the velveteen closer and pulling the hood over my head. Post-trauma shakes had set in with a vengeance. I was on the verge of tears and I didn’t want anyone to know.
I’d pushed too far.
I’d put Alabastair at risk, because his sense of responsibility meant he might have attempted to swim after me anyway. I’d put myself at risk, because I dropped into a potentially dangerous situation without a weapon. Though I wouldn’t have known how to use anything Alderose might have slapped into my palm or strapped to my thigh.
But my risk taking—and my mother’s threads—had led me to Gosia. And Gosia’s mood had switched the moment she saw the living sigil Rémy had affixed to my neck. Do not fail me, she had said. I had no idea what she meant other than not failing her had to be connected to the water mage wreaking havoc on downtown Northampton’s weather.
The same water mage whose violent action singled me out. I was a mule, a magical mule, swimming messages I couldn’t decipher across dangerous waters.
A flashlight’s beam swept across the interior of the tunnel. “Clementine Brodeur, I am beyond pissed at you.”
“Save it,” I said, “at least until I can get into dry clothes.” Clutching the cape to my chest with one hand, I crawled forward.
12
Maritza organized the four of us into a tight group. Alabastair activated the portal. We landed in front of the stone tree in the dirt-floor cellar. Alderose was waiting on the lowest step in a stance I knew all too well, backlit by wall sconces and looking much taller than her five feet two inches.
“We have a problem,” she said, working her hands into a pair of fingerless gloves. Her entire torso was encased in a segmented body protector. She’d left the front zipper undone. Underneath was a stretchy catsuit that matched her skin color.
“And that getup you’ve procured needs an explanation.” Maritza motioned at Alderose to head back up the stairs. “I’m going to help Clementine wash up and we’ll meet you on the third floor.”
Alderose glared at me and grumbled under her breath, something about bossy aunts and demons who took up too much room. She hefted a medium-sized duffel bag onto one shoulder and turned. Beryl and Alabastair followed.
I pulled the borrowed cloak closer to my body and padded after my aunt. I had no choice. She had a near unbreakable grip on my bruised elbow. Maritza opened the faucet for hot water and stoppered the sink once the temperature was right. She placed two terrycloth hand towels on the lid of the toilet and unwrapped a bar of olive oil soap.
“Hmm,” she murmured. She rewrapped the soap and switched it out for a bar of fragrant peppermint. Once the second bar passed her sniff test, she draped Bas’s cloak over her arm, stepped out of the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. “Take off everything, Clementine. Scrub every inch of your body and don’t rush. While you wash, I’m going to make you something to wear.”
“You can w-work that fast, Tía?” I asked, barely able to get the words out for the intense tremor in my jaw.
“Yes, I can.”
“Why’s it so important that I scrub everywhere?” Peeling my underwear over my hips and down my thighs was slow going. “It’s c-cold in here.”
“I want you to be thorough because you were in that water a long time and there is a very real possibility that Rémy could use his powers to pull molecules off your skin and use that information to locate every place you have been.”
That was creepy. And interesting. And would possibly solve the problem of bringing Rémy together with Gosia. I used my thumbnail to pick at the fine flecks of mint leaves on the surface of the soap. “Mint can cloak the presence of certain types of magic.”
“That’s correct, sobrinita. Lather up. Don’t forget to wash your hair. My needles and threads await me upstairs. I’ll be right back.”
I gathered my hair into a ponytail and pulled the thick hank through the elastic once, then again, folding the tangled mess in half into a lopsided
bun. I decided to wash my body first, then my hair. I opened one of the hand towels, placed it on the floor, and wiped the grit off my feet.
Working up a thick, foamy lather, I washed and rinsed my face then swiped the soap over my arms and breasts. Loud booming sounded irregularly from the front of the shop. The weather Rémy brought with him on Friday had returned with reinforcements.
A slamming door, followed by a whoop and deep, masculine laughter announced it wasn’t the weather. Kostya had returned—with a sibling or two.
In all the years I’d known the demon, he’d occasionally spoken of his brothers but had never brought them around for introductions. Ivan, the youngest, was always off adventuring, and Laszlo, the oldest, was being groomed for a leadership position within their mother’s royal court. As a general rule, I ignored the ins and outs of demon politics and paid much more attention to what happened with their horns when they were aroused.
Heavy footsteps headed toward the back of the room and stopped. I protested when the door’s handle turned and one of the demons tried to push the door open.
“Hey, Kostya, I’m naked in here.”
Silence. “Sorry about that,” he whispered against the doorjamb. The brothers jogged up the stairs, their steps falling in rhythmic cadence.
I remembered that Kostya said he’d been fighting in skirmishes—in play and in real life—alongside his brothers since he could walk. Curiosity about his mysterious kin prompted me to scrub faster. I zipped through washing and rinsing my hair and wrapped it in a towel turban.
The next set of feet, descending this time, landed lightly on each step. I smiled, picturing my aunt pausing to tie off a stitch or rethread a needle. Her spaciness was endearing, and the tap at the bathroom door much more delicate.
“Clementine, have you finished?”
“Just drying my feet.” I ran a corner of the towel between each toe. “You can hand me the clothes.”
She opened the door a crack. A jumpsuit cut from brown canvas dangled from her fingers. I was hoping for something much more fashion forward, something she would wear. “I went for functionality, even with the undergarments.” My aunt sounded almost apologetic. “Which might not have been the best decision, given the newest addition to our rescue mission.”
