by Lizzy Ford
“Awesome,” Beck said sarcastically. “How many?”
“A couple dozen. I’m working on tracking them down, but she’s managed to use Bartholomew’s magick to shield a lot of them.”
“I didn’t think crazy was contagious.”
“I can’t say as though I blame them entirely. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish I could be a normal Light witchling, someone deserving of Summer,” Decker replied.
“You wouldn’t try to destroy me and the Light though.”
Decker raised his eyebrows. “What part of a homicidal Master of Dark barely in control on his best day makes you think I wouldn’t?”
“The part only a Master of Light can see,” Beck retorted. “The part of you Summer sees.”
“You people are more lost than I am.”
“Whatever, Decker. Summer and I know the truth, even if you refuse to admit it.”
Decker shrugged. “Ever wished we’d paid more attention in school? Like in knowing how Tranin trapped Bartholomew in the soul stone a thousand years ago?”
“Every damn day. I don’t think the problem is us, though. I’ve been over every history book I could find about that time period. The records are barely there. Nothing more than the story we know now, that Tranin trapped Bartholomew with the soul stone and banished his soul to the Dark where it belonged. Do the souls buzzing around your head have more information?”
“Not that I can find. Bartholomew is so strong. I think the knowledge was lost on purpose sometimes.”
Nothing’s easy. Beck sighed. “You want to take care of this?” Beck motioned to the cave where the Dark crouched.
“Yep.”
“I’ll let Amber know. I’ve got a day of admin crap ahead of me.”
“Have fun.” Decker rolled his eyes. “If she hears of any other pockets like this, have her call me directly.”
“Will do.” Sensing Decker’s Dark surge, Beck stepped away and summoned his fog.
He envied Decker’s seamless ability to wield his Dark power. While the earth worked with him, the Light was generally aloof, and Beck didn’t know if it was simply the way it worked or if he was, as usual, doing less than he was supposed to.
“More paperwork!” Amber said cheerfully the second he appeared in her office.
There are days … Beck grimaced. “Hand it over. I’m here the rest of the day.”
“Oh, I found something you were asking me about last month.” Amber added. “History books about Tranin and other Light Masters.” She rifled through her drawer and pulled out an antiquated book a foot and a half long that smelled musty. “This one was recorded in the eighteenth century.”
“Hmm.” Beck accepted the behemoth book. “Might not be early enough.”
“You never know. A lot of knowledge has been lost over the years. This is a recording of oral traditions the author recorded to try to preserve them. Maybe there’s something we’ve forgotten over time.”
“It’s possible.” He sat down at the small table Amber used to prepare her lesson plans. Beck flipped the cover of the book open and sneezed. “Where did you get this?”
“In the basement. We have a lot of junk down there. I was looking for equinox decorations and stumbled across a few old books.”
The elements wanted it found. Coincidences didn’t happen in a world where magick interwove with everyone and everything. Beck’s attention went from the book to the administrative tasks Amber needed. With some reluctance, he decided to tackle her tasks first before hauling the large book home to read.
Chapter Five
“Can, um, Red make my drink?”
Morgan looked up from where she was washing her hands at the end of her shift. The request came from a college-aged girl, one of her usual customers, though she was about two hours late today.
Rosy twisted to face her and cocked one eyebrow up in a silent question. The barista at the bar was already stepping aside, accustomed to moving whenever one of Morgan’s regulars came in.
“Sure,” Morgan said half-heartedly. She was ready to go home after a day of espresso and Stu flirting with her, but she understood the importance of keeping the customers happy. She returned to the station and made two drinks quickly.
“She tipped us a five,” Rosy whispered between patrons. “You should start keeping your tips, Red. They’ll pay for your college.”
“Nah. It’s okay,” Morgan replied. “You guys split it.” It wasn’t because she didn’t need the money – she probably would eventually – but because she wanted to keep her coworkers as happy as the customers. Happiness bred loyalty of sorts or at least, they’d hopefully alert her if someone came snooping around looking for her like several days ago. She had learned a thing or two about being cautious from reading articles online. Being social wasn’t really her thing, so sharing tips made up for her lack of interest in those around her.
“Thanks, Red!” Rosy called as Morgan tossed her apron into a laundry bin beneath the counter. “See you tomorrow!”
Morgan waved and left, stepping into the cool night. The lights of The Strip reached the suburbs, and the sky above Vegas glowed. She’d gotten her wish of a winter without snow. A native of northern New York, she was accustomed to the cold and snow but had never cared for it, less so after going to the unwelcoming boarding school in northern Idaho.
On nights like this, when she felt lonely, she had the urge to call her brother and tell him she was alive and well. She had heard that Connor, a water witchling, had turned Light. Without the soul stone and with the support of the Light witchling community, he would have a better chance at life than her parents had. She was proud of him and aware when he found out about her, he was going to flip out.
She smiled mischievously, unable to help her satisfaction at knowing how shocked her sibling would be. Competitive and equally hot-headed, Connor and she sparred over everything when they had the chance.
I miss them both.
How she missed Beck, someone she didn’t know for very long, as much as Connor baffled her. She didn’t know what Beck would do if he found out she was alive. Flip out? Beat her like her uncle might or scream at her the way her father did? She didn’t know enough male witchlings to know what was normal for them. Although …
Beck was sweet and gentle and had always treated her like she was precious. He hadn’t resembled any of the men in her family. She allowed her mind to wander wistfully back to the night he’d taken her somewhere he never took anyone, even Dawn: to meet his extended family. She’d dared him to make a choice about whether or not he was interested in her. He’d done so and then upped the ante and challenged her to.
I chose you, Beck. Not that it mattered. She’d managed to ruin things as usual, and even the best man in the world hadn’t been able to make things right.
The happy memory faded, and she trudged home. Her evening routine was always the same: dinner, an hour of television, a hot shower and then to bed.
This night, Morgan sat and gazed at her surroundings. She intended to leave tomorrow and was finding it hard to want to walk away from the apartment that was hers. It had been nice to have her own little home for once.
With a sigh, she double checked her locks then went to bed.
Sometime later, in the middle of the night, Morgan jerked awake. The sound of someone banging on the door of her apartment made her sit up quickly, and she threw off the blankets to grab the bat she had tucked just under the bed. Without bothering to get dressed, she crept to the door. The pounding had stopped, and her heart raced at the fear streaking through her of being discovered by Dawn.
“Fire!” the muffled cry was accompanied by the shadow of someone running past her living room window.
Morgan didn’t lower the bat until she peeked through the peephole to confirm no one was outside. She opened the door and leaned out to see the crowd gathering in the parking lot while someone else ran door to door alerting the occupants and ordering people to wake up. Sirens wailed in the distance.
She closed her door and locked it, sensing there was no better time to make an exit than now. She released fire magick to find out where the fire originated and which direction it was headed.
With a frown, Morgan sensed the fire magick of another witchling present. She let her magick follow the traces of power through the building. The fire originated outside but had spread quickly to the roof. The apartment building was burning from the roof to the ground.
Dawn had a fire witchling for one of her lackeys. Troy. Morgan recalled her last interaction with both and shuddered. Like most fire witchlings, Troy was Dark, and a faint thread of Darkness was interwoven into the flames tackling her apartment building.
The fire wasn’t accidental but a sign she’d been found. Morgan tossed the bat onto the couch and started away from the door. Movement from the corner of her eye made her whirl, and fire flared to life in her hands again, illuminating her surroundings.
The only lackey of Dawn’s capable of canceling out her fire magick was in her home. Morgan hesitated then bolted towards her bedroom.
Troy tackled her and slammed her into the wall between the kitchen and bedroom. Morgan gasped, and fire spun off both, sparking and igniting the kitchen cupboards. Troy couldn’t burn her, but he could disable her magic and turn this into a purely physical battle.
She sucked in a breath and shoved away from the wall, twisted and socked him as hard as she could. Troy staggered back with a curse, and Morgan darted into her room. She slammed the door behind her, aware it wasn’t going to impede a fire witchling for long, and snatched the soul stone from its hiding spot beneath her pillow.
The door exploded, and she winced as splinters of wood scraped her face and arms. Before Troy could get her again, she had ducked into the tiny bathroom and slammed the door closed.
Smoke poured in through the vents, and she locked the door, breathing hard and scared. The soul stone was so small to be of such interest to the world, and she gazed at it briefly. In a matter of moments, Troy would knock down the door and attack her again.
She had a secondary bat under the sink and opened the cupboard to yank it free. The sound of dripping water drew her attention to the faucet in the bathtub, and she rose. Drips turned to a stream then to a torrent. The bathroom sink began to fill as well.
The best way to deal with a fire witchling: suffocate her, which Dawn had already tried and failed. Second best: drown her.
Starting to panic, Morgan gripped the bat tightly, her fire magick warning her there were at least three people waiting for her outside the door. Another of Dawn’s henchmen had been a water witchling, like Noah, but without Noah’s conscience.
Water soon filled the bathroom to her calves, her knees, her thighs. She tested the doorknob and wasn’t surprised to find the door sealed, probably by an air witchling, and impossible to open.
Morgan dropped the bat, coughing in the smoke and terrified of the rising water. With another look at the soul stone, she popped it in her mouth and swallowed it, washing it down with the water whose level was at her waist.
The stone was cold enough to burn as it traveled to her stomach, and she turned her flames inward to keep it from killing her. Climbing on top of the toilet seat, she wildly sought another avenue of escape.
There was none. Just water. Hot tears burned her cheeks, and she stepped precariously onto the slippery sink to press her face to the ceiling.
Why is it always water? She’d barely survived the lake incident in December, and this time, there was no Noah to help her live through this one.
Morgan clawed at the vent cover high in one wall and pulled it free, hoping to provide an outlet for the water. Instead, more water streamed into the bathroom.
“Morgan!” the cry was faint. Uncertain if she heard someone calling her name or not, she went still and listened. “Morgan!”
“Noah!” she screamed. “I’m trapped!”
“Morgan, hold on! I –”
She had no time to process the sounds of scuffling. Within seconds, the air was gone. Morgan held her breath and floated, silently screaming for help. Her lungs burned, but not as much as the coldness in the pit of her stomach. Darkness crept from the edges of her mind, and she felt herself start to slide into unconsciousness.
Chapter Six
Beck slept surprisingly well after all the tedious tasks that went into running a school and an attempt to read through some of the archaic writing in the massive book Amber gave him. He woke up later than usual and took a long shower, grateful for hot water after his time in the forest. It managed to warm every part of him but his mourning heart, which remained cold and heavy.
When he was dressed and ready for his day, he picked up his phone. It had three messages on it, one from Biji probably telling him she wanted to go back to the forest, one from Decker and another from a number he didn’t recognize.
He listened to the message from the unfamiliar number first.
“This is Doctor Sheila Bridges. We found your phone number in a cell phone belonging to someone we hope you can help us identify. Please give me a call.”
Puzzled, Beck listened to it again, guessing someone had his number by mistake. He debated ignoring the call, but the side of him that didn’t like others to be hurt got the best of him, and he called back.
“Doctor Bridges,” came the curt response. From the voice on the speakers and sounds of quick movement, she was in the middle of a busy emergency room.
“Hi. You called my number earlier about identifying someone,” Beck said. “I think –”
“Yeah. One second,” she said in a thick Boston accent. There was a muffled sound as if she had placed the speaker against her clothing while belting out a couple of orders. Seconds later, she returned. “Female, no name, no identification aside from a cell phone. Wicked strange medical condition.”
“I think you have the wrong number,” Beck said.
“Your number was listed as home in her contacts.”
His instinct tingled, the subtle whisper of the Light tickling him while he tried to identify what it wanted. Was it simply because it was his obligation to help people and this was an opportunity to make up for failing others? “All right,” he said. “You’re at which hospital?”
“St. Mary Mercy.”
“Which is where?”
“Las Vegas,” Doctor Bridges said impatiently. “Can you be here before my shift is up in two hours? Or should I leave a note for my replacement?”
Beck almost smiled. It was a trick question for him. He could be anywhere he wanted in seconds. “I can be there by then,” he said.
“Great. I just need your name for the emergency point of contact form.”
He shifted his weight between his feet, not sure he was ready to take responsibility for some stranger’s life like this. He wanted to help, not adopt someone. But he gave his information, scribbled down the address and hung up.
His eyes strayed to the history book once more. He had some time before needing to be in Las Vegas, so he sat down and skimmed through a couple more chapters. The material was mostly pretty dry, reading like a school manual. The chapters were labeled according to names he didn’t recognize – sources of the oral histories – and he looked through the printed pages for mention of Tranin or Bartholomew. At the rate he was going, it would take a week or two to get through the book. An hour passed, and he rose finally, stomach growling.
Trotting to the main floor of the cabin, he made his way towards the origin of the wonderful scents filling the house. The doors to his father’s office and the family room were closed. He hadn’t yet seen his parents but knew they were going to be occupied with the equinox crowd.
“Grandpa Louis!” he exclaimed as he entered the kitchen and wrapped the small, dark-skinned man with curly white hair in a tight hug. He had spent the entire previous day at school with Amber and had yet to eat a home cooked meal or talk to his family.
“My lumberjack,” his grandfather said affectionately.
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Beck smiled as he released him. “It’s gone.” He motioned to his cheeks. Grandpa Louis had been the only one in the house to see his full beard.
“Breakfast?”
Beck considered, eyes on the heated pans in the buffet line for visitors. “I’ll have whatever’s ready.”
“And cookies.” Grandpa Louis went to the far counter to retrieve a plate of five, each one a different flavor.
“I love you!” Beck said and took them. “Thanks for sending me food in the forest.”
“Someone has to keep you all fed.” Grandpa Louis went back to monitoring the pots on the stove and contents of the oven, while Beck took a seat at the breakfast table.
He looked around, loving everything from his mother’s rustic chic décor to the plates of food. He hadn’t known how much he missed everything until he was back in the middle again.
“Are you back from the wilderness for good?” Grandpa Louis asked.
Beck focused on the cookie he was breaking in half. “I don’t know.” He was still raw and being in the schoolhouse where Morgan’s memories were more intense yesterday didn’t help take his mind off anything. He hadn’t wanted to return until he had a chance to heal.
But it was looking like he would never heal from losing her, and it disturbed him to think he’d spend his life in pain.
“Did you notice I quoted Nacho Libre? The wilderness?”
Beck looked up, startled. His normal stoic grandfather rarely cracked jokes. “No, but I do now,” he said with a laugh. “Run out of serious British shows or World War Two movies to watch?”
“I can enjoy a comedy from time to time.” His grandfather smiled warmly. “Decker had a fight with Summer, short circuited like he and your mother do when they’re upset, and melted my favorite movies. I had to watch what you boys watch for a week until he’d replaced everything.”
Beck grinned, not surprised to hear about Decker’s meltdown. The dynamics of his family were often strained, given he and Decker sat on opposite sides of the good-evil fence, but they were always united when it came to their calm, wise grandfather.
