I looked up at him again, focusing my eyes on his, trying my hardest to glean anything I could from him, but there was nothing. His defenses were up. He was shielding himself from me completely, the first time he’d done so in my entire life.
“So what now?” I asked, stepping forward, my skin on fire with anger. “Are you going to throw me in some magical prison? Bind my magic? What?”
“For now, you are permitted to go free. That is, unless you have something to confess?” Savvo said, a curious grin befalling his face.
“Why?” I asked. “If you think I’m responsible for this, then why am I not being punished?”
Savvo waved his hand. Suddenly, the air around me filled with a thick fog. Moments later, I found myself standing in a familiar place, though I wasn’t really there. I was still in the tower, still surrounded by the Council. Holograms stretched out all around me, magical and full of life. In a way, they were almost too real.
I was in RavenWalk, or as my dad might refer to it, the young witches’ side of town. There, rising high into the sky, was a mural, and not just any mural. It was me. I stood at the end of a runway wearing a lowcut purple dress. A signature witches’ hat sprang from the top of my head. I was surrounded by models and bright lights.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to make of it. I’d seen things like this in Atlanta, sure, but they were never this elaborate, and certainly never of me. All around me were young witches and warlocks, each one talking to another about their dreams. About seeing manmade treasures such as the Great Wall of China and the Taj Mahal. They spoke of dreams and opportunities, ones that to witches were once out of the question, but now, because of me, they suddenly seemed possible.
A loud snap rang out, the thick fog around me vanished, and I was once again standing in the dead center of the Council.
“You’ve caused a great lot of trouble with your little needle and thread, Ms. Black.” Savvo sighed. “Magic is a temperamental thing, and it is up to us to keep the balance aligned. Mortals live in the mortal realm while witches live in the magical one. It has been that way for thousands of years.” His words slowed. “And we need to keep it that way.”
“What does any of this have to do with the Greylock demon?” I asked.
“Perhaps it is magic itself that seeks you out,” the female council member said. “Perhaps it has released the Greylock demon upon you to show the consequences of upsetting the balance.”
“Are you serious with this?” I asked, her words sounding more than a little ludicrous. “Magic. As in . . . magic itself, is out to get me for having a dream? I don’t think so,” I said. “But trust this. I’ll find the truth of what’s happening here. I’ll find the person responsible, demon, witch, or otherwise. And when I do, I’ll prove to every young witch and warlock out there that there is no punishment for being true to yourself.”
So I marched out of there like a boss, then a little while later . . .
“I can’t believe they said that to you,” Babbs said, plopping herself down beside me and opening a tub of cherry vanilla ice cream.
“I know,” I said. “Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous in all your life?”
“I’m sure I have, but I mean . . . that’s pretty rough!”
I hadn’t set out to be an inspiration for anyone or anything other than myself. But seeing those young witches there, looking up at the mural of me with such hope, hearing them talk about things that to most of the world were simple but to them a dream . . . seeing all of that made me a little more comfortable with the idea of being the face of a revolution.
“I can feel it,” Babbs said. “I can feel it resonating from you. It’s coming out in waves.”
“What is?”
“The magic.” She scooped up a large helping of ice cream then popped it in her mouth. “I guess it’s because you went home. But it’s stronger in you now, kind of like it was when you first got here.”
“Oh . . .” I said. “I guess that makes sense.”
“I wonder what would have happened if I’d gone?” she mused. “I wonder if my magic would have gotten stronger? Or maybe it’s a different kind of magic . . . I don’t know.”
“I’ll take you there.” I looked at her, her deep blue eyes staring back at me with such inner turmoil. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll go.”
“I know,” she answered. “Thank you.”
I hadn’t made many wishes in my life, and I’d never seen a genie. But if I could, if there were a spell or a wish that could give me answers, I’d do my very best to help ease the troubled mind of my best friend. I’d always known exactly where I came from. I’d known my parents, I’d known my magic, and I’d known where I fit in all of it, even if it wasn’t where the Council wanted me.
But for Babbs, it was all so different. She’d never known her father. She’d never felt as if she belonged anywhere. I couldn’t imagine such a thing, being the only person you know of able to wield magic and to have no one to teach you how to use it. Everything she’d learned, she’d learned on her own. She was a self-taught witch, and a pretty damn good one too.
But there was something in her, something dark and mysterious. I’d felt it since the moment I met her. She did her best to keep it tucked away, hidden deep within her, but it was still there, still waiting to be set free. I guess it was something to expect, though, when you’ve lived a life like hers. A life of mystery and confusion, a million questions and no answers. It had to be more frustrating than anything I could imagine. My heart ached for her.
“What’s with the sadness?” she asked. “I can feel it.”
“Oh.” I shrugged it off. “Nothing. I just—wait, you can feel that?”
“Feel what?” she asked, her eyes growing wide.
“The sadness,” I answered. “My emotions . . . you can feel my emotions?”
“Yeah,” she said, her brow furrowing. “I guess so.”
“Have you always been able to?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Babbs!” I snapped. “Do you have any idea what this means?”
“Tell me!”
“You’re an empath,” I said. “And if it’s new, that also means your magic is still growing! Babbs, I think you’re a witch! Like a witch witch!”
“Shut up!” she snapped. “You mean I’m not just a mortal with killer hair and the ability to cast spells?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I think you’re a witch. Like, for real.”
“Well, it’s about time!” She gasped. “A little good news! And hey, don’t forget we have that meeting with Oana in the morning.”
“Crap!” I said, having totally forgotten about it.
8
I’d met Oana Petran about a month after settling in Atlanta, and for the most part, she was a pretty cool girl, though when it came to business, she was a little less bubbly and a lot more serious. I guess I really couldn’t blame her, though. She was, after all, an accountant. That combined with her military upbringing made for a pretty serious girl when it came to work.
Babbs introduced us after officially signing on as my business partner. Man, I never really expected the mortal world to have so much paper work. The magical realm has almost none . . . but anyway, I digress. It occurred to Babbs that we needed someone to watch over the finances since I wasn’t used to worrying about money and Babbs was as loose as a spinning top.
So, after meeting with Oana and hearing her pitch, we decided to bring her on. And for the most part, it worked out well. That is, until the bar tab came due. Drinking with friends is much less fun when in the end, one of those friends scorns you for the cost of the bill.
“Hey, Oana,” I said, sitting down across from her in the small coffee house.
“Let’s get right to it,” she said. “You’ve gone a little overboard on the budget for notions . . . things like zippers and buttons. I see no reason they need to cost so much.”
“Your not seeing a r
eason ain’t gonna make them cheaper!” Babbs snapped. “And without zippers, we’d be serving boobs, not fashion.”
“Need they cost so much?” Oana asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I don’t know,” Babbs said. “They needn’t, but they do.”
“How about we order some coffee?” I said. “We can go over this a little slower.”
Born and raised in Transylvania, Oana was a unique individual. With dark skin and hair, save for a shock-white streak running down its center, she looked mysterious and interesting in an almost dangerous way. Not to mention her beautiful and strange accent. In her early teens, her father joined the armed forces, first going to Germany, then Spain, before hopping around a few other places and ultimately settling in the United States. It was an interesting story, one Oana didn’t mind telling after a few drinks.
Apparently, she’d lived in an old castle at the base of a mountain, one she swore was haunted. I believed her too. I’d seen enough spirit activity in my life to know hauntings weren’t all that uncommon. Especially in places with histories as rich as that of Transylvania.
“Hey,” Oana said, seeming to loosen up after a few sips of coffee. “Did that guy find you?”
“What guy?” I asked.
“The guy from the fashion magazine. He said he wanted to interview you.”
“When?” I asked.
“Yesterday. I was dropping off some papers in your mailbox when I saw him standing outside your house. He asked if you were home.”
“What did you tell him?” I asked, though I had no idea who she was talking about.
“I told him I thought you were out and that I had no idea where you were. I lied, of course.” She took another sip of her coffee. “But I didn’t feel comfortable telling a stranger where you were.”
“Maybe it was the guy.” Babbs turned to me. “The warl—maybe it was Adrian Chang.”
It had been difficult, in a way, keeping the truth of myself hidden from Oana. Based on where she was from, I’d have assumed she’d be open to the idea of magic, but that’s a tough call. You never really know how anyone will react to the news that you’re a witch and that magic is real, that it’s all around them but they can’t use it.
Keeping it hidden from Babbs was never an option, but after I realized Oana didn’t know the truth, I decided to save both of us the story and to just keep my mouth shut. So far, it seemed to work out great, that is, unless this crazed warlock, or Greylock demon, came back. Was he really a Greylock demon? I thought to myself.
I’d seen the things before. They were ugly, wretched little creatures with long arms and a nose that could cut glass. The warlock pretending to be Adrian Chang was actually kind of hot for a guy old enough to be my dad.
“You met Adrian Chang?” Oana asked. “I didn’t even think he was in town until late last night.”
“No,” Babbs assured her. “He was here.”
“Huh . . .” Oana said, working through the story.
If nothing else, Oana was meticulous when it came to details. She likely knew Adrian’s plane schedule better than he did. If he wasn’t supposed to get here until last night, then by golly, Oana knew it. And if there was one thing that bugged her, it was getting her facts wrong.
“I think he took an earlier flight,” I interjected. “Something about a problem with the lighting. Very last-minute . . .”
“Oh.” She gave a sigh of relief. “That makes sense.”
Babbs and I pretty much got chewed out for the whole budget thing, but then . . .
Inner Bean was among my favorite places to pass the time in the entire small magical borough known as Second Buckhead. Like I said, when I left Enchanted Lake, I never dreamed I’d find such a place again, one that was filled with magic and witches. But here I was, surrounded by everything familiar to me.
It was the best of both worlds. Not only could I live in the mortal realm and chase my dreams, but I could chat with other witches about spells, incantations and hexes. I’ll admit, at first, it really rubbed me the wrong way, but the more I thought about it, the more comfortable I became with it. Just because I was near magic didn’t mean I had to use it.
That was a hard and fast rule I’d stuck to since the day I’d left my home. Never once had I enchanted a needle to sew the dress itself, though there were a few times when my fingers were sore enough to consider it. Still, I just forged on.
“Heya, doll,” Everly Pine said to me. “How’s it spellin’?” I’d first met her in this same coffee house about a week after moving in with Babbs. I still remember how stunned I was to see her casting in broad daylight. That, of course, was before I realized I was surrounded by magic.
She’d been using nothing more than an incantation to hard-boil her eggs. There they sat on her plate, shaking back and forth as though they were submerged in water. It only took a few seconds for the magic to do its job. After that, the shells cracked and peeled themselves. That, however, wasn’t the part that stuck in my mind.
Obviously, I’d seen people eat before. Heck, I’d done a pretty good bit of eating myself. But I’d never seen someone enjoy a simple boiled egg as much as Everly did that morning. She basically fell in love with that thing over and over with each bite, slowly licking her lips and sucking the edges of her fingers until each one shimmered under the light with a thin layer of saliva.
We’d had our troubles after I went on the one and only date I’d had since coming to the mortal realm, but we’d managed to move past it. I mean, how was I supposed to know I’d accepted a date from her recent ex-boyfriend?
“Hey.” I smiled at her, my eyes trying not to focus on the pile of bright red curls high above her head. For as much as my father’s entrances resembled Endora’s, Everly’s hair and makeup did just as much to call her to mind. It was true. No one loved a gorgeous over-the-top look as much as I did, but the whole thing about piling pounds of makeup onto your face had always been lost on me. “What’s up?”
“Not a lot.” She smiled back. “But let me you . . .” she began. For most people, beginning a sentence with the words ‘not a lot’ would have pretty much ended the story. For Everly, though, it was just the beginning. She was, if nothing else, a conversational well, one that seemed to have no bottom and no hope of drying up. “You know how last Saturday I told you I’d seen this warlock down near Phipps Plaza, right? The one with the dark-wash jeans and the jet-black hair . . . you remember?”
“I do,” I replied, knowing full well my simple words would send Everly dipping into that endless well of hers.
“Well!” she said, wrapping her hands around a tall, thin glass which immediately filled with orange juice. Grabbing a second glass and repeating the process, she slid it to me. I know, I know . . . no magic. But hey, I wasn’t the one who did it, and there was no point in letting it go to waste. Especially once I took a sip and realized it was, in fact, not plain orange juice but orange juice mixed with champagne. Say what you want, but I doubt you’ll find any girl, witch or otherwise, who would say no to a nice mimosa. “I saw him again later that night, so I did the only thing I could do.”
“Introduced yourself?” I asked.
“No,” she scoffed. “I stalked him out the Yin-Yang!”
“Right . . .”
“I cast my best cloaking spell and followed him around the city all night. In the beginning, it was a little dull. But you’ll never guess what he did just before I was about to go home.” She paused for a moment to take a big gulp of her mimosa. “He went to this abandoned building. It was creepy as hell, so naturally, I followed him in. Turns out he’s a total creep!”
“Well . . .” I answered, “walking around the city at night and going into an abandoned building generally doesn’t speak too well of a man’s character.”
“I could deal with the sulking around town all night. I mean, heck, it might even be fun. But it was what I saw in the building I couldn’t deal with.”
“And what was that?”
�
��He’s keeping pet demons up there!” Her tongue forked. “Greylock demons!”
I’ll be honest, by that point, I wasn’t listening too much, but the words Greylock demons pulled me from almost-dazed and slammed me right back into reality. “Greylock demons?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” she answered. “They were definitely Greylock demons. He was feeding them something. It was so gross!”
Her words floored me. I’d spent most of my life never giving Greylock demons a second thought, but now I’d heard about them twice in the last two days. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew it couldn’t just be coincidence. I knew this warlock had to have something to do with what happened to Elle, and unless I could figure out what was going on, who knows what else would happen?
9
“Thank you for coming in today, Ms. Black,” the detective said as I sat down across from him. I remembered him from the day Elle died, though I couldn’t exactly remember his name. “I’m detective Robert Hamm, just to refresh your memory.” Right, there it was . . .
“I remember,” I said. “How can I help you?”
I’d received his phone call early in the morning, just as I was beginning to go over my look book for the big show. For a minute there, I was afraid my model dying in the runway was going to hurt my chances of showing, but with almost nothing to go on in terms of their investigation, it seemed the local police force wanted to keep the whole thing a secret just as badly as I did.
“I was looking over the case notes when I came across something curious.” Detective Hamm raised an eyebrow.
“Really?” I asked. “What was that?”
We’d lied to him, Babbs and I. We’d told him nothing about the warlock masquerading as Adrian Chang when asked if anyone else was there. He’d probably seen some video footage or something proving us as liars. Damn, where was a good time travel spell when you needed one?
Witches & Stitches Page 5
