Outwit: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Enforcer of the East Book 1)

by Annabel Chase

  “Fine,” Mona huffed. “I’ll handle the dream walker and you handle the oracle.”

  “What about me?” Kendall asked.

  “You’re in charge of Toppers and keep Terrene officials out of it,” Mona advised.

  I looked from Mona to Callan. “What about tonight? Are we going back to the academy?”

  “Not in your condition,” Michael said. “You need rest. Stay here. Ben could use the company.”

  Callan grumbled under his breath. “Guess I’m staying too, in that case.”

  “Someone should let the academy know then,” I said. “It’s late.”

  Mona rolled her eyes. “I’ll do the honor of calling Warden Sunshine. I’m sure nothing will please him more than to hear from me in the middle of the night.”

  Kendall chuckled. “Be like old times.”

  Mona glared at him. “Watch it, Care Bear.”

  My brow creased. “Care Bear sounds like a compliment.”

  Kendall jabbed his thumb at the Amazon. “Not the way she says it.”

  Michael beckoned me forward. “I have a cot in the room with Ben for when his parents visit.”

  “What about me?” Callan asked.

  Mona fixed him with a withering stare. “You’re a grown werewolf. You’ll tough it out.”

  Kendall snickered as he and Mona sailed out the door.

  “Please rest,” Michael urged me. “I know you think you’re young and indestructible, but I can assure you that you’re not.”

  “I know I’m not,” I said quietly. I’d learned that lesson a long time ago. “Thanks for your help. Good night.”

  “Sleep well, Cerys,” Michael said.

  “Guess I’ll be right here curled up in a ball,” Callan said, shrugging helplessly. “Because where else could I be?”

  The next day Callan and I worked our way through a busy sidewalk, bumping elbows with shoppers as we passed by.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about an oracle,” I said. “I think we’re better off researching Toppers.”

  “Kendall’s on it,” Callan said. “The oracle might not be scientific, but when does our kind ever rely on pure science for anything?”

  True. “And the oracle is in this busy town?” The bustling town center of Hearthstone was a far cry from the lonely street where Toppers was located.

  “She likes it here,” Callan said. “Lots of people means lots of cosmic energy. Martha Worthington is very sought after. Even Terrene celebrities come to see her, although they don’t realize who she really is. They think she’s good for telling them whether their next movie will be a hit or a flop.”

  I hustled to keep in step with him. His long strides made it challenging for someone of my petite stature. “What do you mean? They don’t know she’s an oracle?”

  “They don’t know she’s a Fate.”

  I nearly choked. “A Fate? Living in Terrene?” The Fates were among the most powerful fortune tellers in existence. Not only that, but they possessed a certain amount of control over life and death. Martha wasn’t a paranormal I’d want to annoy.

  Callan sidestepped a meandering toddler on the sidewalk. “She has to live somewhere and she’s not in danger of anyone identifying her here. Humans believe the old Greek tales of only three Fates. Makes it easy.”

  “So she isn’t a wrinkled hag?” I asked.

  “Come on, partner.” He linked his arm through mine. “I’ll let you decide for yourself.”

  Martha Worthington was not a wrinkled hag. Quite the opposite, in fact. The Fate was insanely gorgeous. Callan and I stood on the sales floor of Martha’s high-end lingerie boutique, Madame Buttercup. We’d only made it a few steps when she emerged from the back room with a customer. Her titian hair cascaded down her shoulders and her elegant red dress accentuated her perfect curves. Diamonds glittered on her ears and fingers. Although she was the epitome of modern style and wealth, her creamy complexion reminded me of a Renaissance painting.

  “You’re in danger of catching a fly with your mouth open like that,” Callan whispered and I snapped my jaws shut.

  “I promise you that purple is the way to go,” Martha said to the customer, a woman who appeared to be in her mid-fifties. “That’s the color that gets his blood pumping.”

  The woman tittered. “I don’t know how you know these things, Martha, but you’re always right.”

  Martha beamed. “It’s a gift.”

  The customer hooked her bag over her shoulder and gave a final wave before exiting the boutique.

  “Callan, what a lovely surprise,” Martha cooed. Her skinny heels clicked across the marble floor and she crossed the room to greet him. She reeked of floral perfume and I resisted the urge to cough. She kissed both of his cheeks before stepping back to admire him. “I swear you grow more handsome by the day. If that’s a werewolf trick, I’ve certainly never seen it before.” She turned her attention to me. “And you’ve brought a beautiful friend. How sweet.” Her bright smile disintegrated as she studied me. “No, not a friend.”

  “Not in the traditional sense,” Callan said.

  Martha’s brow wrinkled and her fingers flew to touch the lines. “Mother of Mayhem, you’re aging me by your mere presence. What’s the story here? I sense strong magic at work. Dark magic.”

  “Blood magic,” Callan confirmed. “A story for another day. We have more pressing matters.”

  “I see.” Martha’s tongue ran across her crimson lips. “I suppose we’ll be conducting business in the specialty room then.”

  Callan offered a somber nod. “If you don’t mind.”

  Martha led the way to another door that I hadn’t noticed. It was painted a deep, glossy red that matched her shade of lipstick. She placed her palm flat where the door handle would normally be and the door popped open.

  It was like walking into a queen’s dressing room. A gilded chandelier hung from the ceiling and a variety of shiny mirrors were fixed on the walls. Full-length, magnifying, brightly lit—you name it and Martha had the right reflection for it. To our left was a white marble fireplace with black marble surround. A large island took center stage in the room. The brilliant white base matched the shelving and drawers that lined the walls and its gleaming black marble top was devoid of items with the exception of a slender vase with a single red rose.

  “Do you have an offering?” Martha asked, observing Callan closely.

  “You know the League is good for it,” he replied.

  “The last bill I sent took thirty days to process,” she complained. “You know I expect payment when services are rendered.” She flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder. “I don’t do bureaucracy.”

  “I’ll make sure it’s pushed through this time,” Callan said. “This is an emergency.”

  Martha’s hands moved to her generous hips. “Fine. Only because it’s you.” She sauntered to the rows of long, thin drawers along the wall. “What’s your question? That will help me decide which bones are best to use.” She craned her neck to get a better look at me. “For what it’s worth, I don’t need bones to tell me that you need to overcome past traumas before you’re ready to move forward.”

  My chest tightened. “Is that a general tip?”

  “No, that’s for you, honey. Free of charge.”

  I could feel Callan’s eyes on me, but I refused to look at him. Martha eyed us with interest. “I sense a little tension here. I can’t tell whether it’s due to the nature of your business here or something else.”

  “It’s all business,” I said in a rush. Spell’s bells, I wanted to do a spell to quiet my own mouth. Why did I sound like a nervous amateur? It had to be the fact that I was standing in front of a Fate. Martha could destroy us with the flick of a finger if she felt so inclined.

  “Very well then. Since this is League business, I guess you’re not here to find out whether the Eagles are going to win the Super Bowl.”

  “Do people really waste your time with sports projections?” I asked.


  “It’s not out of the realm,” Martha said. “Sports, relationship predictions, health issues. I had a powerful political figure in here yesterday asking when his hemorrhoids would calm down. People have strange requests. I don’t judge.” She paused. “Well, I do judge, but only in my head. After all, I’m a businesswoman first and foremost.”

  Martha pointed her finger at the fireplace and flames appeared.

  “If you’re an immortal oracle, why do you bother running a lingerie boutique?” I asked. “Aren’t there better ways to spend your time?”

  Martha’s laugh rang like a bell. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you find infinite ways to stave off boredom. I ran a speakeasy during Prohibition. It was exciting for a while, but the stress started to interfere with my main business. I lost my connection to the bones for a brief period and I swore never again.” She inclined her head toward the bone-filled drawers. “A calmer facade works better for me.”

  “We need a name,” Callan said. “Someone murdered eleven young men, possibly during some kind of ritual. They drank a potion. We found them at a vortex.”

  “A lead brought us to a formalwear shop called Toppers,” I added. “We know the owner is involved, but he’s not the main culprit.”

  “And he’s dead,” Callan said.

  Martha held up a perfectly manicured hand. “I don’t need the case file, my lovelies. That’s enough for now.” She contemplated the selection of drawers and finally chose one at knee level. When she pulled it open, I saw that it was lined with soft red fabric. The scent of rose petals drifted over to me and it wasn’t from the single flower in the vase.

  “Tortoise shells?” Callan queried.

  “Not today, hot stuff.” Martha bent over and plucked a few items from the drawer. She carried them over to the island and placed them carefully on the marble. It quickly became clear why she’d chosen black for the countertop. The bones practically glowed against the dark backdrop.

  “Antlers, huh?” Callan asked, examining her choices.

  “Not just antlers,” Martha said. She tapped another set of bones. “Oxen shoulder blade.”

  I glanced from Callan to Martha. “So how does this work? You touch the bones and get a vision?”

  Martha’s red lips broke apart, revealing a set of teeth that matched the pearlescent white of the drawers. “You’re an absolute sweetheart, do you know that?” Her gaze flickered to Callan. “How is she a witch but doesn’t know the basics of what I do?”

  “She’s still training,” Callan said. “She’s at Spellslingers Academy of Magic.”

  Martha’s sculpted eyebrows rose. “Ah, I see. Lindsey Tilkin is your chancellor, yes?”

  “She is.”

  “Be sure to send her my regards,” Martha said. She removed a small white bowl from the drawer of the island and set it beside the bones. “We used to be in the same book club many moons ago. Then I relocated to Terrene and it became too much of a hassle.” She hesitated. “They also decided the meetings should be alcohol free. That may have been the thing that pushed me over the edge.”

  “What’s a book club without a bottle of wine?” Callan asked.

  “I know, right?” Martha clucked her tongue. “Anyway, no offense to Lindsey, but I like a little buzz with my books.”

  “I doubt the chancellor has time for book club these days,” I said. She barely had time for running the academy. She seemed to be in need all over the realm.

  “Fair point,” Martha said. She tapped her fingernails on the sleek slab of marble. “What do you think of these pieces, earth witch? Do you feel their energy?”

  I concentrated on the bones. “I feel…vibrations. They’re different, though. One is deeper than the other.” I wasn’t sure whether ‘deeper’ was even the right word, but that was the term that sprang to mind.

  Martha’s dramatic lips curved into a smile. “Yes, they have different properties, so that makes perfect sense. My connection to the bones isn’t like yours, so I was curious to know what you felt.”

  “They’re both ancient,” I said.

  That remark sparked a laugh from the Fate. “You have no idea.”

  “Can I touch one?” I reached forward and Martha smacked my hand away.

  “Not yet,” she snapped. “The bones must remain in pristine condition until after they’ve been read. On that note, I need a finely honed question. Come on, Callan, you know the routine.”

  Callan leaned his elbows on the island. “Who is responsible for the murder of those eleven human males we discovered at the Allegheny vortex?”

  Martha snapped her fingers and the chandelier switched off. We were bathed in darkness except for the soft glow cast by the flames. The Fate collected the fragments of bone and cupped them in her hands. She shook them like dice and tossed them onto the countertop, scattering the pieces. They seemed to illuminate the top of the island.

  “Your palm, witch,” she commanded. I must’ve looked confused because she said, “If you expect a clear line of communication with the spirits of our ancestors, then blood is required.”

  “Why not use mine?” Callan asked, extending his hand.

  Martha looked down her nose at his open palm. “Because she has powerful magic. Her blood will yield a more accurate answer. I assume that’s what you’re after.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You can use my blood.” I offered my hand to Martha and she wasted no time using a small diamond-encrusted dagger to slice open my palm. I hadn’t even noticed the dagger until now.

  Blood dripped into a white bowl and Martha squeezed my hand closed before gently pushing it away. “Not to worry, the wound will heal quickly.”

  Martha dipped the point of the dagger into the blood and used it to draw on the bones. I didn’t understand the symbols she used. They weren’t runes.

  “It’s our question,” Callan whispered, seeming to read my mind.

  Martha set down the dagger and retrieved a poker from beside the fireplace. She placed the end in the flames and carried it over to the island, applying intense heat to the first bone. Once it cracked, she moved on to the next bone and did the same.

  “They’re broken,” I said quietly. “Do we need to start again?”

  Callan brushed his hand against mine. “No, it’s okay. It’s part of the process.”

  “Oh, you’re in for a treat, my lovelies,” Martha said. “I feel a vision coming on.”

  “That’s different from a prediction?” I asked.

  Martha shushed me. “Pay attention or you’ll miss a pertinent detail.”

  My eyes swept the room. Nothing seemed—

  The entire dressing room changed. Instead of white walls, we were surrounded by tall trees with…eyes? I gasped as an arrow zipped past the side of my head. I whipped around to see that the arrow had become lodged in a trunk of one of the trees behind me. I moved swiftly and snatched the arrow from its landing spot. Beneath my feet, the glossy floor now felt springy and mossy.

  “Help us,” a voice cried. It seemed to come from one of the trees. Was someone hiding in a tree to escape the killer?

  I tried to follow Martha’s advice and drink in as many details as possible. The eyes were creepy but even more memorable was a cliff visible behind the trees. With its white rocks and pockets of crystal, it seemed to be made of limestone. I felt drawn to it. My first thought was that there had to be potent magic there.

  Light suddenly poured into the dressing room and the forest disappeared. White walls replaced the trees. I still clutched the arrow in my hand. I placed it on the marble countertop of the island.

  “Well done, turtle dove,” Martha said. “Taking evidence from the vision is a bold move.”

  I stared at the arrow in the hope of learning something useful. A forest told me nothing new. We already knew where the bodies had been found.

  “Runes,” I said, noticing the carvings along the arrow’s shaft.

  “Hot damn.” Callan inched closer to me. “Can you re
ad them?”

  “Of course she can,” Martha said. “She carries rune rocks in her pockets as though they were sweets.”

  “I don’t eat them,” I objected.

  “No, eating rocks is for cyclops and other lesser beings,” Martha sniffed.

  Callan gave her a reproachful look. “Martha…”

  She sighed. “I know, I know. We’re all equal, blah, blah. Says you.”

  My finger traced the markings. “Blessed be the hunter, for he shall inherit the earth.”

  Martha’s crimson lips formed a tiny ‘o.’

  “You recognize this?” Callan asked.

  Martha seemed ready to foam at the mouth. “He’s back, apparently. That relentless bastard.”

  My head swiveled from Martha to Callan. “Who?”

  “He’s called the Hunter,” Martha said. “He’s taken many forms over the centuries.”

  “And what do you mean he’s back?” I asked. “He’d disappeared?”

  “Died,” Martha said. “The problem is if he isn’t killed properly, he comes back eventually as another being. It’s crucial to know what you’re doing or he’ll return soon enough.”

  “So you don’t know which form he holds now?” Callan asked.

  Martha shook her head. “Last incarnation he was a white lion, larger and stronger than any Terrene lion. He was killed by a group of poachers that mistook him for a valuable trophy. I wish I could have seen their disappointed faces when the Hunter’s body dissolved into thin air.”

  “How do we kill him permanently?” I asked.

  Martha wagged a finger. “No can do, blue eyes. I’m a Fate. We can’t offer advice on how to kill.” She leaned forward and peered into my eyes. “No wait, brown eyes. What’s going on here?”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a glamour.”

  Martha pinched my nose. “I knew you had a bit of ego tucked away in that gorgeous head of yours.”

  Callan glanced at me. “What’s wrong with brown eyes?”