Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  He looked at her strangely, perhaps appraisingly. “It can be.”

  “Anybody ever tell you that you make no sense?”

  “No one tells me anything at all.”

  “Glad to be the first, then. Now go away and let us be.”

  He tilted his head, and Aamira had the impression of a bird of prey focusing on his next target. “This will not end well for you.”

  Then he disappeared.

  The room brightened infinitesimally, or perhaps she just stopped concentrating with such stubborn determination; the atmosphere lightened, and she began to breathe more deeply, to loosen the tension between her shoulder blades. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s gone, we’re okay, she murmured, cocooning the boy in warmth and safety and love.

  As her fear ebbed, so did the boy’s, and, having absorbed all the energy that Aamira could safely give him, the exhausted child fell into a deep asleep. Aamira stayed connected as long as she could, knowing she still needed to hold onto enough strength to get away to somewhere quiet where she could dispel the injury and pain the boy had relinquished to her. This job wasn’t easy.

  “Oh, look at that! He’s tinkled all over you!” The nurse clicked her tongue at them, and the sixteen-year-old wasn’t about to disabuse anyone of the notion of whose pee they were sitting in.

  “I’m so sorry, Aamira, I had just changed his diaper before I gave him to you, but clearly, he’s quite a well-hydrated little boy!” She looked at his peaceful, sleeping face. “And quite relaxed, thanks to you.” The nurse checked the fluid drip, then rechecked each monitor; everything had to stay in balance for optimum results with a heart patient. In the ICU, this was of utmost importance, and another reason Aamira had learned to sip, not gulp; to trade health for illness but only bit by bit. She had discovered that if you improved a patient too quickly, the sensors would notify the nurses of a sudden change, and they would then be looking for a reason, which would lead to unwanted questions. If I’m ever found out, I’ll probably end up a lab rat in some government think tank… or in some rich dude’s private collection of ways to live forever. Go figure.

  That entity frightened her badly, made her see how close to death this little boy was, made her realize how shocking it would be to hold a child while he breathed his last and succumbed to death. The encounter also made her realize what a precarious position she was in, what danger she was leaving herself open to after being noticed by him. She had placed herself squarely in opposition to this strange creature of death who held infinite power. He’s a freaking death monster. Could he take me along with the boy? She carefully placed the child back on his bed, still sleeping, and headed to the nurses’ locker room to shower and change. And to purge what she had collected.

  At first, she had spent her time practicing taking a bit of illness or injury from the kids, enough to give them a boost but not enough for anyone to become suspicious, since she was unsure what they might notice. Even more concerning was how to dispel whatever she had absorbed without being discovered. It had required much covert experimentation. Once, in her rush to be of service to those in need, she had made a grievous error. The most painful injury she had ever obtained was from the broken arm (radius and ulna, compound fractures) of a screaming eight-year-old who had come in with multiple injuries following a fall. Aamira had caught up with him before they even had him out of the ambulance and, holding his (other) hand, she had paced the stretcher, pinpointed the worst pain, and focused on it until they had him in an examining room where the doctors shooed her out of the way. In those few reckless moments, she had succeeded in calming him until they could get more pain meds into him.

  But in completing such a rash action, the break had become hers. She felt she would pass out from the pain. She thought she must be dripping blood all over the floor, and, cradling her injured arm against her body, she gasped. In the flurry of activity of the well-trained trauma staff, a nurse thought she was going to faint from the sudden shock of seeing a child in such pain. Aamira was quickly ushered to a gurney parked in the hallway with instructions to lie there until the dizziness passed.

  Alone in an alcove of the Emergency Department, and afraid she would go into shock and lose consciousness (and be found with an unexplainable, freshly broken arm), she grabbed at a nearby pushcart and released her newly-collected injury into it and watched it burst into pieces. Then she really did faint. Later, Aamira was commended for keeping the child calm for those first moments and no one ever realized she had been in tremendous pain herself. That was a lesson I’ll never forget… if you grab for pain, you’re going to get pain; maybe too much to handle.

  Aamira dropped her forehead to the tile wall and allowed the hot water to wash away her tension along with the pungent smell of her own urine. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What if he had grabbed the boy anyway? What if he grabbed you too? You don’t know what that thing is!

  Scrubbing herself down with unpleasant antibacterial soap, she took notice of the various scars on her body, the ones she had picked up since she started absorbing various injuries over the last few years of experimentation. This thing she could do was not without consequences. Her once flawless black body now bore the marks of several injuries inherited from other people, and these were just the ones that could be seen on her skin; she wondered if she was affecting her own organs when the illnesses she absorbed concerned a patient’s organs. Case in point, was she hurting her own heart? Since it was unlikely she might wheedle her way into getting X-rays or an MRI, she didn’t have an answer.

  How do I find out what I’m dealing with? What do I do if he comes back? If?? No, when! Aamira groaned, thinking how she had always disliked listening to mama’s folktales handed down from the Egyptian side of the family. I have to ask mama. Like, right now.

  But right right now, she was hurting from the injuries she had just absorbed and needed to purge them. The nurses weren’t stupid. If you walked around with an illness, they were going to find you out. Where do they go when they die? What does it feel like?

  Borrowing fresh scrubs the nurses kept around for just such icky calamities, she chose an unpainted waste water pipe, took careful hold with both hands, exhaled gently, and ‘leaked’ the bad energy into it, knowing it would flow through the pipes like static and hopefully dissipate somewhere far down the line. The taste in her mouth from forcing the injury to flow out of her body was enough to make her gag and the metal became warm under her hands. At least there was no colossal explosion, as there would have been when she was first learning her craft. I really need to find better ways to get rid of this crap energy I keep collecting.

  She had listened to mama’s stories of ancient and far off lands deep into the night and, although she had had little sleep, felt much better about her situation. If that ‘Escort’ dude shows up again, I’m sure I’ll be ready for him. As soon as school was done, she headed straight for the hospital and was pleased to see her favorite nurses were on duty. They were all favorite nurses, of course; they loved children as much as she did. The nurses remarked how much better little Jeremiah was doing today but he was napping, so they sent her to play with the children in the peds playroom.

  She went right to work, scanning the room with squinted eyes to see if there were any disturbing auras, anything that would give her a clue of where to look for that Escort fellow. At least, she thought it a fellow, but technically, she had yet to see his or her face. Or it. Maybe it was an it. But she had only seen him when she was connected to a severely ill patient, one in danger of dying.

  She found not one, but three children in seriously questionable health; two with muddy brown glows around parts of their bodies, most likely correlating to the location of their illnesses, and a third with her body encased in a soft, dull black. Not good. She hoped she wouldn’t have to spread herself too thin to keep up with the workload of boosting their energies after getting so little sleep. She chose the child with the darkest aura, the thin one with the gaunt face and sunken eyes, and plopp
ed down on the floor next to her. She knew how to talk to kids; one had to wait for the child to accept them before intruding further. Sometimes they just wanted to be alone with their own thoughts.

  “I like what you’re building. Are you making a house out of blocks?” The girl kept her eyes on the wooden squares she was stacking but showed Aamira a little plastic horse tucked carefully beside her.

  “No, it’s a barn, silly! The horsey needs a place to sleep. She’s really tired.”

  “Oh, I see,” Aamira said, moving just a bit closer. Now their knees touched, and it was enough; Aamira relaxed and tried for a tentative joining. If it worked, she might be able to find the Escort again, and could check out what was wrong with the girl at the same time. “What’s the horsey’s name? They like to have names, you know.”

  The child considered this for a moment; such important decisions required serious thought. “Her name is Clara. Just like my friend. Would you like that, Clara?”

  At first Aamira thought the child was talking to the horse, but then someone else sat down across from them. Or kind of someone. Aamira could see right through her; a girl of maybe thirteen, long blonde hair and beautiful light blue eyes. Aamira thought her heart would stop right then and there. This was her friend Clara, the friend who had died years ago, the friend that Escort guy had taken away.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea, Quinn,” Clara responded, as if her being there was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Clara?” whispered Aamira. “MY Clara? But… you’re dead! Is this my imagination? How am I seeing you? I don’t understand.”

  Clara shrugged and nodded toward where Aamira’s knee touched Quinn’s. “You’re asking me? This is your thing, not mine. Go figure.”

  Aamira reached for her friend but then pulled back. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she touched her friend and didn’t want her to disappear. “Why are you here? I still miss you so much! Are you okay?”

  “I miss you too, and yeah, I’m fine. But you have a problem because Dead Guy has a problem and that gives me a problem. ’Parently he was getting ready to collect a kid and you are slowing him down. What gives?”

  Aamira picked up a few blocks and stacked them as if she were playing, just in case anyone was watching. “He took you away, didn’t he? What is he? I think he was going to kill a little boy yesterday. How do I stop him from taking more kids?”

  “You’re asking all the wrong questions, girlfriend. I like what you’ve done with your hair, by the way.” Clara turned her head and smiled at the little girl sitting with them, but Quinn seemed uninterested in their conversation. The ghost continued. “He doesn’t kill kids, silly. He just collects them when their bodies won’t let them live any longer. When they’re ready to go.” The little girl looked up and smiled at Clara, then went back to building her horsey barn.

  “They don’t have to go,” pleaded Aamira. “I can help them. They don’t have to go with him.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Like with me.”

  That brought Aamira to the verge of tears. “I tried to help you, I really did. I’m so sorry…”

  “That’s the point. You tried, and it helped for a while… but not for long. Not your fault, girlfriend; I was too far gone. My body was worn out and I had to go.”

  “I can control it better now, I’m helping kids get better.”

  “Sure, I know that. Think about it: you didn’t even know you were a healer back then. You were eleven years old! Don’t beat yourself up about it. Well, maybe just a little… I think it was your mentioning me that made ol’ Dead Guy look me up and ask me to talk to you. You have the bestest memories of what was a truly crappy time for us both!”

  “The best and worst, yeah. Hey, right after you left, I tried helping someone on purpose for the first time, and I blew up a toilet! I had absorbed so much illness that I couldn’t hang on to it and I busted a crapper! Like… BOOM! All over the place.” The girls laughed, young again, an exquisite, carefree moment.

  Suddenly, Aamira felt confusion; somehow, she just knew. It was a flicker of darkness across her vision, a hollow pain in her chest, a heaviness in the pit of her stomach: that dark entity was nearby, he was back. Aamira looked up but saw nothing suspicious. Clara, still thirteen, watched her reaction. Alarm bells were going off in Aamira’s head; no, in her heart; no, not her heart, in Jeremiah’s heart. He was in trouble, and that freakin’ Escort — ‘Dead Guy’, Clara had called him— was back.

  “No… he’s after the boy! No! I can’t let him…” And she was off and running to the pediatric ICU.

  Aamira stood in the doorway, searching for Jeremiah. It wasn’t hard to find him; she just had to listen for the gentle alarm bells and look for where the nurses were congregating. There he was, in the middle of it all. Swift hands and sure minds were working on the toddler, lying lifeless on his bed in the midst of the commotion. Aamira was pushed out of the way as more people entered, intent on helping if called upon. It was their job, and they were well trained, and they loved their charges. Minutes passed, her heart in her throat; she knew they wouldn’t let her near him when he was being worked on. All she could do was watch, desperate tears in her eyes. I tried so hard to make him live! It’s not fair! Leave him alone, let him live! For a moment, she thought she could see the Escort. He wasn’t looking at the boy, he was looking at her. Then the apparition was gone.

  A collective sigh went up among those present and they quietly drifted back to their assigned jobs, leaving Jeremiah’s nurse checking leads, measuring medicine pump outputs, and covering his small body up to his waist. She smiled at her patient, and he squirmed restlessly.

  Aamira gasped. “He’s alive? He’s okay?”

  The nurse beckoned her closer. “He’s okay, just a momentary crisis, but he’s decided.”

  Aamira looked at the toddler’s face, incredulous when he looked over and smiled at her. Alive! I won! Whatever that Escort guy was, I won! Jeremiah is still here!

  The nurse smiled at her small charge. “He’s decided he’s going to stick around, haven’t you, Jeremiah? Yes, you’re going to be with us for a long, long time.”

  Something still wasn’t right, she could feel it in her bones. A malaise she couldn’t describe yet couldn’t dismiss, an uneasiness that was turning her delicate stomach upside down. The toddler was doing better, so it wasn’t that. She felt the Escort was still somewhere nearby, he just wasn’t in the room any longer. He… Aamira’s breath caught in her throat: she understood. Jeremiah wasn’t his target today; it was someone else. But who? The next darkest aura was Quinn’s, but she was with Clara, and Clara…

  …had just been talking about collecting kids …when they were ready to go.

  Aamira hadn’t even made it back to the playroom when she saw the renewed commotion, the organized chaos of yet another emergency, a stunning déjà vu moment. They had Quinn on a gurney and were wheeling her down the hallway and out of sight of the other children, working on her the entire time. Aamira reached out and touched her shoulder as they passed, but it was no use; she could see the girl’s aura was gone, completely gone.

  But further down the hallway she saw just an outline, just an echo, of her friend Clara, who was waving goodbye. And Clara was holding hands with Quinn, who was smiling and clutching a ghostly image of her horsey.

  The little girl who promised herself she would never enter a hospital again has grown into a talented and dedicated young physician specializing in children’s care, hiding her use of a forgotten magic that might save so many lives. But stealing kids from the jaws of death comes at a price: a messenger of death wants to steal them back. He might settle for taking Aamira instead. Find out in Forgotten Magic.

  About the Author

  As a newspaper reporter, Realtor, and paralegal, Barbara Letson told other people's stories. Now she tells her own, writing tales filled with magic, mayhem, monsters and ghosts.

  Her urban paranormal fant
asy series, Fort Hopeless, follows Bobbi Harwood, a reluctant witch who returns to her ancestral home to discover she is next in line to inherit the family curse and is charged with protecting the town from ancient harm. ‘Aamira’ is the origin story of one of the main characters. The first novel in this exciting new series, Fortress of Fear, releases in Fall 2020. For more by Barbara Letson, visit www.ghost-stalkers.com.

  Don’t forget to grab your copy of our next anthology, Forgotten Magic, for another exciting chapter of Aamira’s story.

  The Ones Who Fight

  C. S. Johnson

  “The Ones Who Fight” is the second part of “Omelas Revisited,” a short story about a futuristic, utopian society that uses magic to maintain its Community’s happiness and order. With the Bloodmagic, the substitutionary magic, a young boy continually takes on the pains of injuries and the shame of disputes. Skyla Mercer found out the truth about her life and found the boy. But what will she do now? Will she stay in the City by the Sea and accept that someone else has to suffer for her perfect life, or will she choose to walk away from the City? And there is also the matter of Aiden, the boy she’s never fully known how much she’s loved—can she leave him as well, since he’s already chosen to stay in the City? We all want choices that don’t cost anything to anyone, but that is not the nature of reality. I like how Skyla’s choices are not easy, with multiple factors that will be affected. Doing the right thing is often much more difficult than we realize, and it takes a lot of bravery to face the cost of our choices in the end.

  C. S. Johnson