by Kevin Lawler
“It’s yours. You’ll want to keep it. Trust me,” she said. Meadow refused at first, but Cal insisted, and then Meadow took the photograph and sobbed into Cal’s shoulder. In one of her hands on Meadow’s back Cal held the rolled up documents that Reveille had saved for them.
Winter heard an explosion coming from the burning shroud. There was an arc of dazzling green light from the body’s leg toward the sky, like a firework.
“What was that?” Winter asked.
“It’s the gem bits inside her. The deposits,” Ipsy said.
A red-white bolt with a helix of smaller red around it shot forth from the top of the pyre and between Winter and Cal.
“Maybe we should back up,” Winter said. They were already backing up. They made space at first for the explosives, all except Topple, and then they had to back away farther to behind some trees, after another close call. Topple had to be dragged away from her place at the pyre into the trees. The fireworks kept going, stronger and louder.
Winter stabbed into the open air, over and over, practicing her cut. After the rest of the girls had filtered back to the bunk Winter had snuck off in the dark to the practice grounds. She had too much pent up energy, too much on her mind, and anyway the moon was out.
The pig was on his haunches waiting patiently and watching her. He didn’t seem to understand why they were out at night, but all the same, he waited respectfully on Winter.
Winter swung at the air forehand with the blade, then stepped in and swung backhand, cutting up across the chest of her imaginary opponent. Having taken part in the slaying of one witch, maybe now she was in the throes of bloodlust. That was a thing that must happen to witches. She thought not. She felt stupid in the dark. Parry. Thrust.
She turned and slashed down with a straight stroke, too straight to look cool as a fighting move, but maybe useful for cutting a roll of wrapping paper or vinyl. Revenge, though, that was a “righteous” cause. In some circumstances. Sometimes. That was an exception that could be made.
Winter’s concentration was broken by lantern light coming toward her. The light made her shield her eyes, but she could see that it was Will.
“What are you doing here in the dark?” he asked.
“What are you doing here?” Winter asked back, wiping her forehead with the back of her knifehand.
“I’m on watch,” Will said, “For suspicious behavior. Guess who’s under suspicion.”
“It’s not my pig is it?” Winter said, “Saehr’s just helping me work on my knifeplay.”
Sæhrímnir growled a pig’s growl at Will. He was ahead of Winter, standing defensively and baring his teeth.
“Easy, big guy,” Will said to Saehr. He bent down to scratch him behind his ear.
“I think his growl sounds a lot like a dog’s, except with the breathing backwards,” Winter said.
Will patted the pig on his rump to get him to trot off. Saehr was looking at her the whole time, waiting for her word. Without her cue he wasn’t going to do anything.
Will came closer to Winter and set his lantern on the ground. The illumination from below made his face look different. Faces in the dark were weird, the way the light played with them.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he said.
“I am?”
“Yes.” Will was almost next to her. “Can I show you?”
“Show me what?”
“How to stab right. Come here.” Will turned her, getting ready to position her arms. Winter knew what he was doing. She was only letting him close in because she needed to know this.
“It’s like boxing. Do you know boxing?”
“No.”
Will shook his head. “Well, two-fer then. Your jabs are okay. Those are the little quick thrusts you do.” Will took hold of her right arm and had her make fast, light jabs at the open air. “Right, see? These can be really effective. In a knife fight, you’re going to get cut, a lot of times. It’s better if you put the cuts on them. A jab doesn’t cost you much in terms of positioning, but even a light cut will disorient them and get them bleeding.”
Will moved his hands down to Winter’s hips. She tightened up.
“I’m just showing you,” he said, “Now, here’s where you need work: Your cross. Straight right, whatever you want to call it. You have to put your weight into it. You should transfer your weight from your back leg to your front. That doesn’t mean you have to be off balance, if you can help it, but you do have to throw your weight around. Here.”
Will brought her right leg back. “Push off with your weight,” he said, “and twist your foot, like this.” He demonstrated with his own foot. “You try.”
Winter squared herself. Then she pushed off of her back right foot and brought her arm around, transferring her weight to her front left foot and stabbing forward at the same time. Will rotated her through the motion, guiding her arm. The added power was palpable.
“See?” Will said. He pulled away. “That’s enough for today. Maybe I’ll show you the next trick tomorrow.”
“We’re leaving in the morning,” Winter said.
“Oh,” Will said, “Good luck.”
Chapter 19
They had taken the short path to Ibiza, where they shouldn’t be bothered by miners or other witches. Apparently right after the mourning was done it was customary to celebrate, but nobody seemed fully ready to Winter to do that yet.
The music inside the club was loud but it was a comfortable loud. The music reassured Winter that they were protected here, like the rain at night when she was sleeping. Winter squeezed through the shirted backs of the clubgoers, trying her best not to be rude, but still, trying to move them out of the way.
There were lights everywhere inside of the club and yet somehow it was dark enough to take the harshness out of things. Winter wasn’t sure what that lighting was called, but she liked it, she didn’t need someone pointing it out if there happened to be a spot on her face.
They had gotten there early, since there was a lot of time to kill, and so they had a table on the side, even though the building itself was now jammed with people. At this point in the evening Winter had seen few actual drunk people, but Ipsy was definitely drunk. She was very handsy, even with Meadow and Louisa, who she usually kept her distance from. She was slower, like she was in her own world, and she laughed loudly at every joke three seconds late. Ipsy apparently had more rude comments inside her than she let on when she was sober because they were all coming out now.
Cal was sitting in her tall-legged chair up against the wall, declining every and all invitations. She seemed very out of place and had resisted coming.
Topple was sitting at the table and pushing at an ice cube with two dinky red straws. She seemed amused at Ipsy. Winter was thankful again about the light in case Ipsy had anything to say about her. Meadow was still broken up about the day before, and mercifully drunk Ipsy could still pick up on this. She didn’t insult Meadow but she must’ve checked she was OK a million times. Louisa tried to keep Ipsy occupied.
Winter wanted to dance but there didn’t seem to be a lot of interest from her friends and she didn’t want to go alone. There were already a lot of strange guys trying to talk to her and she wasn’t that great at getting them to go.
Meadow’s eyes lit up as Phil returned to the table. He had come with them on his way home and had decided to stop to celebrate with them. He had a thoughtful look on his face and held his drink up as he talked. Winter couldn’t make out all of what he was saying, but he reached out gently to take Topple’s hand as he nodded towards the dance floor.
“No, I can’t,” Topple said over the noise, amused. She pulled back her hand. Phil made a disappointed face behind his glasses and moved on.
Why? Why turn him down? We could be out there dancing. Winter felt a little defeated. Meadow’s face began to twist in confusion.
Phil was already over extending a gentlemanly hand to Cal. She was too old for him, but she seem flattered anyways and thankful
for a break in the monotony so she accepted. Thank you, Phil, Winter thought. Phil led Cal respectfully through the crowd. When they got close enough to the center Cal grabbed him and started. He looked like he was having fun dancing, despite keeping it polite, the way a boy dances with his aunt.
Topple seemed to be chewing on her decision to sit. Meadow looked more confused than before. Ipsy laughed long and loud.
“She’s too old for him,” Ipsy said, “Why would he go for that?”
When the song ended Winter thought she could see Cal say “One’s enough.” Cal walked back tired but delighted to her seat. Ipsy and Louisa were already headed to the dance floor. Winter had decided to get up herself. Phil came back to Topple, who was sitting. He reached out his hand to her and she looked at it for a moment, thinking, before taking it and rising from her seat with an audible screech from the chair cutting the noise of the dancehall.
In the middle of the dancefloor Winter saw the many-colored lights trace around the room. Louisa danced with Ipsy and looked like she was having fun. Topple and Phil were farther over in the crowd. Topple had a smirk on her face and seemed like she was watching Phil more than she was paying attention to the dancing. She was kind of goofing really.
Winter put her head down and shook her hair. Then she put her hands up. With her head down in this way in the crowd she could dance however she wanted. Several songs passed. It was good not to have to worry about anything. When Winter looked over again Topple had an intense look on her face.
There’s not a soul out there
She was dancing close in with Phil.
No one to hear my prayer...
They were moving like one person. Huh? This was very serious. The intensity of it took Winter aback. Green and red light passed over Topple’s carrot-colored hair. She swept her arms up his back and stared into his eyes. OK...
Won’t somebody help me chase the shadows away?
They kept moving to the music. Winter turned back to Louisa and Ipsy. They had noticed the same thing.
Louisa was wide-eyed. Ipsy did nothing to conceal her surprise. “Oh My God!” she mouthed at Winter.
“I know!” Winter mouthed back.
Before they could hash it out the glass roof above them shattered. It came down in a waterfall of pieces and scattered the crowd around it. There were some already bloodied about the head and crawling desperately out of the way, pulled by their friends from the glass bed on the floor.
Winter looked up. She could see a row of uniformed young girls standing against the backdrop of the night, around the edge of the opening in the ceiling. They had berets on and a hard edge to their faces. Some of them looked slightly nervous. Winter herself felt very nervous. The adrenaline flooded her body and her thoughts took on a syncopated, truncated pace. Get back.
The crowd was not yet screaming. Cal stood up from her place in the chair over by the wall.
The rank of berets opened and into the center stepped Agnes. She looked down over the scrambling dancehall with a disapproving eye. When she saw Cal she made an expression of regret.
Agnes shouted down, “It would’ve been easier for you, Cal.”
She continued, “All this slinking around and hanging out in disreputable places. It isn’t fitting for a grandmother. I can only imagine how you must’ve debased yourself for the miners... Whatever it is you are looking for, you won’t find it out there, roaming around. You can’t find it here. You have to build it yourself.”
“Agnes,” Cal shouted, “You’re all mouth. Come down here and get a fist in it.” Cal raised her fist. Tightly clenched, sun-worn skin. Winter could see Cal meant it.
From inside her dress Agnes unslung a vintage-looking pistol. It had a long barrel that gave it the appearance of an airgun. When Agnes revealed it, the cadets fells back as if it were contaminated. On instinct Winter scattered. Now the crowd screamed. When she looked back, Winter saw that Ipsy and the rest of her friends had scattered. Cal only was standing her ground. She stood there with her hand making a claw trying to explode Agnes’s gun. She tensed her hand into a claw again but nothing happened. The pistol remained unaffected in Agnes’s hands.
“Go ahead, does anybody else want to try?” Agnes asked, “I’ll wait.” Agnes had already drawn a bead on Cal. “Aren’t you going to run, Cal?” she called down, “I won’t look down on you if you do. There’s no dishonor in it.”
Cal started to sweep her hands, for what spell Winter did not know, and as she did so a projectile from the pistol tagged her in the lung. The bolt protruded from Cal’s chest like a silver lever. She tried to continue, but found she could not.
“This one’s from Isobel’s lab,” said Agnes, “It’s a new cocktail we have to test. You like cocktails right? I’m sorry we had to this to you, but we couldn’t pass it up. I have to be economical. Maybe in the next life.” Agnes raised her arms and mockingly said, “Foes clashing, spell against spell, a test of strength!” She looked genuinely sad in spite of her mocking tone.
Cal fell sideways and caught herself awkwardly with her hand. She was on her knees and her face was agonized. Cal looked up at Agnes, and then a blast of viscous red slush shot from Cal’s mouth and nose, like a stomachful of wine and oatmeal. Winter thought at first that Cal might be drunk and puking. Then a gush shot from both of Cal’s eyes and Winter realized that it couldn’t be that.
Cal’s insides covered the glass on the floor like an uninvited puddle of vomit. She fell over dead into it. Face down in the middle of the dancehall she looked like a reveler at the end of her long night.
“Cal!” Winter called.
“Don’t touch her, Winter,” Topple shouted. Winter felt insulted; she wasn’t going to touch her. Winter felt bad about the way she felt. She was torn. She wanted to help her friend. But her disgust in the scene overruled.
Topple turned and looked up. “Agnes!” she shouted.
Agnes gestured to the cadets with the pistol laying in her upturned palm. One came up with a cloth to receive the pistol. Two other young women with tanks strapped to their backs stepped forward. The first cupped her hand below the nozzle end of a long spray gun. She played with her fingers for a moment, germinating a magic spark. She pulled the trigger and purple billowing flame burst forth. It danced down into the room, filling the hall with a purple sheen. “OH!” someone shouted loud over the noise. The second young woman sprayed her nozzle into the first flame, igniting her own jet.
Winter and her friends all had the same thought, which was to ignite the tanks. Winter aimed for one of the tanks and attempted to ignite it as she had been taught. But that didn’t work. None of the other attempts were working either. On the backs of the two young women the slim and somehow stylish grey cylinders remained unexploded. Should’ve guessed, thought Winter.
The purple flames burned out of the nozzle tips eerily. It was no normal fire and it dissipated like vapor. The young women sprayed the inside of the hall with the purple fire. The fire they shot clung to where it hit like napalm.
The crowd backed away to the wall least visible to the opening in the ceiling. They banged on the doors and screamed about them being locked. The wall burned, but they hadn’t been sprayed, which meant that Agnes must have people on the outside. The two young women continued to shoot fire down below and angled themselves to get a more direct shot at the crowd.
Winter grabbed a cocktail glass off the table, half water and melted ice, and she threw it at the opening, accelerating it magically with her other hand. The glass knocked one of the flamethrower girls in the head, causing her to step forward over the ledge and fall onto the dancefloor. The contact must have broken her legs in the process. Where she hit her tank broke free of its harness and spiraled off to the side, propelled by the pressure of the vapor inside. The girl squirmed on the ground crying. Meadow grabbed the bottle that had spun free and looked at it, turning the valve off.
“It’s cold,” was all Meadow said.
“We are trapped in here,” said
Topple, “We are going to burn to death.” The crowd had already been screaming that the heavy front doors were locked. Phil stood next to her trying to think. Winter looked around for an exit. The walls were burning but it wasn’t any hotter inside, and this made Winter even more worried.
“Do you sense a tree in here? Is anyone an arcane topologist?” Phil shouted to no one in particular, “I guess that’s too much too ask.”
The puddle from Cal was getting nearer to the girl on the floor. When it did reach her, the girl began convulsing and liquefying on her own.
Winter looked up to see that Agnes and her cadets had left the skylight. Probably running away. Hah.
The smoke from the purple flame was thickest near the ventilation system where the crowd was. That was where the people first began falling asleep. Winter herself had already noticed a drowsing effect from the smoke. She shook her head to stay alert.
The power went out. The emergency lights came on and the music stopped entirely.
Winter wished she had the explosives from the mine. In the mine she had been outraged to be carrying them, now, ironically, she wanted nothing more than a pack full of them. The mine reminded her of the stones she had taken. Winter had left them in her pocket. She pulled out a handful and showed them to Meadow. They were in many different colors, some of more than one color, with bands of colors, or sparkling.
“What about these?” Winter asked.
“Uhh,” said Meadow, looking them over, “I’m not sure what all of those do yet. Mine are in my box to split into smaller pieces and test. Those two there are not going to help, this one spins around and this one whistles. The rest...You could get yourself killed this way.”
“Well, I’m going to get killed anyway, OK,” Winter said, indicating the fire around them, “We don’t have time for that,” and she picked up a stone and discharged it at the wall hopefully. It shot out a rancid cloud of black smoke and then stopped, spent.
