Logan
Everything was dark and smelled the way blackberries do after they’ve been basking in afternoon sun—fresh, ripe, and begging to be eaten.
Picking berries from the thicket near his house was one of his favorite things. He knew to watch for thorns. Mama warned him even sweet things could sting.
Rubbing his eyes, his long legs still shrunk into kid’s pajamas, he wondered what time it was and when he’d fallen asleep. One thing Logan knew without a doubt was that his spirit inhabited the body of a young boy, and he needed to figure out why. His memories, thoughts, and feelings merged with this small child’s until he couldn’t separate one from the other. After an hour or so of frustration, he stopped trying and simply gave into the nostalgic sensation of wonder.
Peeking out the circular window, Logan examined the snowflake-shaped stars scattered across the night sky until he settled on the brightest of all—the planet Venus. On tiptoes, he could see every crater, every hole like he had Superman’s vision. Daddy talked about the man in the moon, how if you looked close enough you could see him. But he never talked about this bright planet that looked like Mama’s smile.
His little heart skipped a beat when he looked down. He was so high up! How would he get down? Holding on to the splintery wall, he tripped on something—a rope—with bars. A ladder! He held onto the coils and was about to fling it down like the unraveling of a cartoon tongue, when he stopped. Something, an intuition maybe, made him set it back down.
Lily
I chased Clay through the woods until our destination loomed before us, filtering through both the coastal trees, and my despair, in wisps of broken light.
The Warlock Academy.
We crept up behind the palatial property, a dark mansion on sprawling, impeccably maintained grounds. Clay stopped and sat on his haunches, panting from his exertion on the trail. I knelt beside him, patting his warm, damp head. I cupped my hands together and the icy layer I created in my hands quickly melted into water I offered to my companion. After he drank to satisfaction, I whispered, “Logan’s in there, right? Do you know where?”
Nudging me in the thigh, Clay led me toward the outer corner of wrought iron fencing. He tilted back his head, sniffing the air. His tail twitched as his glowing eyes surveyed the area for Sons of Darkness; then he began to dig.
The hole Clay dug was just deep and wide enough for me to crawl through. I squeezed under after him, praying to the Seven Sisters to mask my scent for the next hour. Then with a twitch of my swordfinger, the mounds of loose dirt solidified back to the way we found them. My magic with Logan’s amulet was powerful, and surprisingly nimble.
Clay waited patiently, all the while sniffing the air for danger. Then he led me to the back of the building, a smooth gray wall devoid of windows or doors. To the naked eye, it looked like a dead end. But as Clay paced back and forth in front of the wall, I realized that he suspected more. Finally, he stopped, confirming my hopes. His wet nose pressed into a thin, almost invisible crack, and when he did, the fissure spread. I backed up, as the wall separated into two craggy pieces, and a dark chasm appeared.
In an intense, fluid motion, Clay nudged me through the opening. Immediately, the wall resealed itself behind me. The last thing I saw before it closed completely was a flash of Clay’s red tail, and then I was alone in the dark.
Logan
“Logan, shh…stay quiet.”
“Mama!”
“Shh. It’s okay, I’m here now,” she said in a soft whisper.
Like the hero-prince in one of her stories, Mama appeared in the doorway of the tree house—her hair tied in a knot, her mouth twisted with worry—to rescue him.
“How did you climb up without the ladder?” he asked.
Mama cupped his face in her hands, filling him with an odd sensation, like swallowing a mug of melted honey. “Magic,” she whispered.
“Teach me.”
“I will. Someday.” She kissed both of his cheeks, then glanced out the doorway again. Her expression, and the low, urgent tone of her voice, frightened him. “Don’t be scared. You are the bravest boy in the whole wide world.”
“Braver than Spider-man”
“Braver. And wiser than Merlin.”
“Wiser than Merlin? Nobody is wiser than Merlin.” He was trying his hardest not to shout.
“Except you, Logan. You are wiser than Merlin and stronger than the strongest dragon.”
“Now I know you are making up stories, Mama. I’ll never be as strong as a dragon.”
“You are the most special boy in the world, and one day you’ll be strong as a dragon.”
“I don’t feel as strong as a dragon.”
“You will, Logan,” she said, with flashing, knowing eyes. Then Mama pulled something, a chain with a glowing stone, out of her pocket. “This is for you. It’s a magic amulet. Never take it off, and it will always guide you.”
“A necklace?” He crinkled his little nose. “Necklaces are for girls.”
“Not this one. This one is for wizards.”
The amulet shone in his hand. “Cover its light. Like this.” Mama tucked the stone under his T-shirt’s collar. “It will keep you safe.”
“You keep me safe.”
Mama wrapped him tightly in her arms. So tight it almost hurt. He tried to wiggle away, but she only held him tighter. She whispered in his ear. “It will keep you safe…” her voice cracked, “when I can’t. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, do not come out of this tree house. Do you understand?”
“But I can’t stay here forever.”
“Someone will come for you. Do not come down alone. Promise me.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know. I love you so much.”
Logan smelled smoke, more than just chimney-smoke this time. He heard voices. Scary voices.
His mother kissed him again, and when she backed away, his cheeks were wet from her tears.
Facing him, she stood in the doorway of the little tree house. He covered his mouth, stifling a scream, as she took a step back and floated on air as if there were an invisible platform under her boots.
He wanted to call out for her, to please come back, to please not leave him alone, but he remembered her warning, to stay quiet. To stay still. All he could do was reach out his hand and watch powerlessly as she floated away into the smoky darkness.
Lily
I had no idea where in the “house” I was (if you could even describe this mammoth residence in as modest a term as “house”). My only clue was that it was pitch black and smelled of moldy fountain water in the middle of a southern summer. Guess I’m not in the master suite. (Unless warlocks did as vampires do and crypt it up at night. Which, for what I’d seen of Jacob, was a distinct possibility.)
I stepped forward, just a tiny step, but stumbled as I reached back to the wall for support. It offered nothing more than an oil-slick surface; my reward was a harsh tumble down a flight of cement stairs.
Landing at the bottom in a heap, I surveyed myself for physical damage—throbbing wrists and butt; bruised shoulder, but nothing broken—then pulled myself up carefully as my eyes struggled to adjust to the dark.
I couldn’t See like I could outside. The warlocks must’ve protected their secrets with a spell that blocked me, and I couldn’t undo it without revealing myself. The question of the moment: did I dare spark my swordfinger or risk another blind-as-bat injury in this labyrinth?
Logan
He opened his eyes expecting the interior of the tree house, the frightening smell of smoke. Instead, he was met by a fishy odor, like seaweed steaming on a hot beach. When Logan turned to his side, his hipbone jabbed into hard cement. His back was twisted into knots. The thin raggedy blanket he lay on reeked like moist dust and moldy cheese.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and he realized where he was.
The dungeon.
Logan groaned as his mind flooded with memories from earlier in the e
vening, though the details of how he’d gotten here were fuzzy.
That woman in his dream. She had to be his mother. He reached for his amulet and found Lily’s. Wear it for always. Never take it off, his mother had said. And he had—until he lent it to Lily.
What happened to her after she floated away? What Jacob had told him—that he’d been abandoned on the steps of the Academy—didn’t match up with the caring mother in his dream.
Then he thought of Lily and the fire. He needed to get out of here. Find her. He’d blacked out after Jacob set the brush aflame. She could easily ward that off, but what if he’d had backup?
This wasn’t like the other punishments.
Now he had something worth protecting: Lily. And a clue to his past he was determined to follow.
Lily
I inched along the slick walls in the dark, my palms slipping along the smooth concrete. Then suddenly the surface wasn’t cool and hard anymore. I felt my hands squish wet indentations into the wall that smelled of fresh blood. I tried to jerk my hands back as I heard a low hissing. A swishing of something…reptilian.
I did a lot of things, but I didn’t do snakes.
I jerked my arms back, but my wrists were held against my will, wrapped into tight cords. I bit back a scream and squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on the amulet in my pocket. Fire coursed through me, ran up my shoulders and coiled down my arms, until the snakes screamed in pain and let go.
I’d have to find Logan without the aid of this bewitched wall.
Unfortunately, once the fire in my arms faded, I couldn’t see a thing.
I slumped down on the step to think, careful not to sit completely or touch anything. Fighting the creepy-crawly chills skulking up my back, I reached the only thing of comfort I could think of and squeezed Logan’s amulet in my palm.
Where are you?
Tears stung my eyes as I thought of all the ways this night had gone horribly wrong. I’d tried so hard to do the right thing, to not lie to Logan, and everything had backfired perfectly. As if my imagining of the events beforehand—meeting him, explaining how I needed to know unequivocally whether he wore the mark before we entered the Gleaning—was the exact opposite of what actually happened.
Now he was down here, locked away somewhere in who knows what condition, and I had no tools to find him.
The amulet throbbed quietly in my hand. I felt its vibration rather than seeing its glow. Like it was alive—leading me, like Clay.
I couldn’t help but wonder: why would a warlock’s totem help a witch? The creature had led me on my enchantment flight as well. But for the moment, I had to push these greater wonderings aside and find Logan.
Shivering in the dark, I hugged my arms, focusing on all things Logan: his incomparable energy, the sensation of his skin on mine, on the images of our amulets. Statue-still, I waited for something to bounce back to me.
Lily?
I jumped forward, daring to reach out for the wall again, and I was surprised to find cold metal. A grate.
Logan! I’m here!
My fingers tangled on what felt like bars. Where are you? Logan, hang tight. I’m coming to find you.
I sparked my fingertip to peer into what I guessed was a holding cell.
Aside from a metal cot in the corner with a thin, burlap looking blanket, a pan on the floor with sloppish leftovers clinging to the metal, and a small, deeply unsanitary looking toilet, the place was empty.
My eyes grazed the toilet again. Ew. This place was breaking every single health code violation in the magic and human world.
How could the Congression allow Jacob to keep a dungeon in his Academy?
My whole body shook from the wrongness of this place.
Then my vengeful thoughts were interrupted by a sound, a scraping of something—chains? More snakes?—against the wall behind me. After clasping Logan’s amulet around my neck, I snuffed out my finger light and backed up to the wall, making myself as thin and invisible as I could.
Painting My Roses Red
Logan
Lilies.
Their beautiful smell overtook the moldy rot. Lily?
Couldn’t be.
Jacob was screwing with him. Imprisoning him wasn’t good enough. He had to add a twist of psychological torment as well.
No, the smell was organic and true. Nothing Jacob could reproduce, not this perfectly, not even with sorcery. But she couldn’t be here. She wouldn’t dare risk her personal safety for him, especially after he begged her not to…
Of course she would.
Damn it, Lil, he grumbled, but at the same time, a feeling of gratitude—of hope—bubbled into his core.
Lil? He dared use their connection.
Logan! I’m here, where are you?
In the basement, in a cell, somewhere. Are you okay? I saw the flames before I blacked out.
I’m fine. I doused them out.
Good. You’ve got to get out of here. Jacob will be back any second.
I’m at the end of a long hallway. I’ll stop when I feel you.
Please, just go. If he finds you here—
Not until I make sure you’re okay. Is there another level?
I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before. Lil, forget it. Just go. He’ll let me out. He has to. The Gleaning is tomorrow.
I’m not leaving until I see you.
I’m fine, really. He just wants to keep us apart.
He should force her to leave, assure her he was fine–but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. A moment ago he couldn’t move, but now he was stumbling toward the thick wooden door, wrapping his fingers around the bars, waiting for her.
Lily
I tried each door, finding nothing but square windows with cold, metal bars. The wall curved, and I found myself in another corridor. Then another. How big was this maze of epic creeptasticness?
I’m not leaving. Is this…? Logan?
“I’m here,” he whispered aloud.
I gasped with excited relief. “Oh, Logan. I was so worried.”
Through the bars, our fingers intertwined.
I pressed my face against the hard metal, ignoring the pain shooting through my forehead as my magic bent and melted the bars so my mouth could find his in the darkness.
Cupping his face with my hands, I felt the rough stubble that must have grown overnight. His hands were on my cheeks. His warm breath on my face.
“You aren’t close enough,” he said.
“What do you want to do, break down the door?” I joked.
“Something like that. Press your palm against the lock.”
I did as he asked. Through the heavy, wooden door I saw a dark outline of his palm. The lock snapped under the pressure of our magic. The door flew open, and he pulled me against him. His body was hard, and his hands were all over me: scrolling up and down my back, tangled in my hair, cupping my face. His kiss was just as hungry. Rough even. He pinned me against the stone wall of the cell and pressed his body into me.
“You’re insane to come here…why would you do this for me?” he whispered in my ear, kissing down my neck. Shivers exploded across my skin.
“I needed to see if you were okay. You’re the one, Logan. I need you. We all need you.”
“How do you know I’m the Rognaithe?”
“I feel it.”
“Oh? Even right now?”
I tensed. “Of course, Logan…why are you acting so…?”
His shoulders trembled. His forearm shuddered under my tight grasp, and before my stunned eyes, his dark brown hair faded to blond. Shifty cerulean eyes replaced his warm, steady ones; and now a different, startlingly gorgeous boy was staring back at me.
I blinked. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Jude,” he said in a crisp, British accent.
I took a step back. “Where’s Logan?”
He shrugged, wiping the back of his hand across his full lips, a reminder of where mine had been moments ago. “Down here somewhere, I imagin
e. Haven’t had the good luck of running into him yet. But if I do” —he winked— “I’ll let him know you stopped by.”
“You bastard.” I shoved him hard in the chest, leaving two glowing palm prints across his bare pectorals. His ink was different from Logan’s—brown and lyrical, like henna tattoos. I made myself stop noticing.
“Pretty isn’t it?” He glanced down at the ink. “Not as pretty as you, of course, but your kind of beauty would be difficult to match.”
“Flattery may get you killed, jackass. What do you want?”
My swordfinger lit preemptively in case I had to toss him back into the wall.
“Easy, darling.” He held out his palm. “Hear me out for a second, will you? Then I’ll leave you to your precious Logan.”
I had to find out what he wanted. “You have two minutes.”
“All you witches are looking for this Rognaithe fellow, yes? This ‘Chosen One’.” He curled his fingers. “Why are you all so convinced it’s Logan? Sure, he has the looks and the skills, not to mention Jacob’s favor.” He rolled his eyes dismissively. “But I’m the one with the pedigree. I come from a long line of ’Spinners, dating back to the Beginning. True magic. Pure, hereditary witches, none of this inbreeding shite” —He looked ill just uttering the words— “this New Religion rubbish. So, I’m just asking you nicely to give me a once-over, eh?”
“A once-over?”
“Give me a looksee.” He grinned and wiggled an eyebrow. He certainly was animated.
As casually as if he was showing me the time of day on a watch, he unzipped his fly and started pulling down his pants.
My hand flew over my eyes. “You’re not the Rognaithe. I assure you.”
“Just check for the mark, sweetheart. What would it hurt?”
“My retina is one guess.”
“Ah, but see, when you were kissing me,” he said, gesturing toward the wall, “it certainly didn’t seem like you were suffering, sweetheart.”
His expression was that of a prep-school villain. The guy you watched from afar but would never approach. The guy who knew how to get exactly what he wanted whenever he wanted without ever having to ask for it. Way too attractive for his own good.
The Gleaning, Spellspinners Series #2 (The Spellspinners of Melas County) Page 2
