Bitter Magic (World War Magic Book 2)

by Lee Hayton

  In science class one year, a teacher had made a remark about how a human being was just like a donut. While the room had squealed with laughter, the lecturer explained that we all had a hole straight through our middles.

  He meant the intestinal system that runs from a person’s mouth all the way down and out through their anus. A word that always had and always would cause an avalanche of sniggers. When the teacher drew a shortened version on the blackboard in demonstration, Grainne had understood.

  What she thought of as her insides were actually her outsides. Food didn’t enter her body, so much as her body gradually pulled through the few nutrients it deigned to grant entry. It touched gently against our outside, while we absorbed into ourselves only what we needed.

  The theory was interesting. On long, lonely nights, Grainne even found it poetic, beautiful. The words though, absent of the teachers meaning, they’d clicked straight into place.

  Grainne was a human being with a gigantic hole in her middle. That absence of solidity in her belly, it was where the yearning lived.

  Her Granddad once spoke of it, as though it were a family curse that passed down through each generation. While he held a young Grainne on his lap, he talked about the sorrow. He’d first experienced it as a boy, soon after his father died. Running through an open meadow, his heart had imploded as though the blood had stopped flowing through it.

  Her mother never spoke of it, but then again, Grainne’s mother barely spoke at all. When the cancer diagnosis was delivered to her, the nod of acceptance was indistinguishable from a nod of relief.

  A whole life had passed by with Grainne watching from the sidelines. Sure that if she studied closely, she could replicate the happiness she saw on others, within her own life.

  It hadn’t happened. Not in the schoolyard, not in college. Not in the nunnery on the long nights when Grainne tried to talk with a God who’d stopped speaking back to her. It hadn’t happened when she left her cloistered life, moved to the city, into the middle of the bustle of life.

  The closest that she’d ever been, to something real or fulfilling, had come in the moments after she smiled at a woman in the library. A woman who would become her friend. Emily started to fill a gap that had been empty so long, Grainne had almost forgotten it was there.

  In a moment, gone.

  It was nice now that people were reaching out. Nice too, that she no longer felt as though she were dying alone. In the end, though, Grainne missed her friend. Even if she made it out of the cage she found herself in, she would still be all alone.

  Chapter Eleven

  People were watching her. Grainne woke up repeatedly throughout the night with that thought in her head. She realized that she’d grown casual about the lack of a door on the bathroom, about the view the hallway camera had at the edge of its sweep of her bedroom.

  At one point, she woke and sat straight up in bed, staring at the camera in the corner. For a few seconds, her mind insisted that the face cloth she’d used to carve out one small piece of privacy had fallen. That she was lying in bed, exposed. Then the last of her dream struggled loose of her head, and Grainne saw that the protective cloth was still in place. Clutching her arms around her legs, she closed her eyes and rocked until she sensed her shock and fear drop away. Or, at least, until they withdrew back to their normal levels.

  Lying on her side, panic briefly over, Grainne wondered if she could keep it together in front of the cameras. Each second knowing for sure that people were greedily watching her. Before, although she started out imagining that eyes were following her, in time she’d forgotten. There were so many other considerations, it drifted further back in her mind.

  Now, though. It was front and center. A bright red beacon that shined with eagerness. If Grainne weren’t to let it go crazy, she needed to come up with a plan.

  They were watching her, then give them a show.

  The idea popped up out of nowhere. She wasn’t a voyeur or an exhibitionist. Watching other people or parading in front of others had never excited her imagination. Now that she knew it was happening, for real, she needed to take advantage of it. There were people out there watching her, some of them had come to her rescue. If Grainne could work that angle more, perhaps they’d free her from this place.

  The thought stole her breath away. Just the idea that it could happen gave her a thrill down to the ends of her toes. That reaction, more than anything else, drove home the hopelessness that had overcome her. To be so far removed from the idea of freedom that she hadn’t even dreamed of it any longer, showed that she’d dropped out of society too far.

  Who knew what the people on the other end of keyboards were actually like? Grainne didn’t need a photo, she just needed their good intentions. From what she’d read so far, the bulk of them were male. Perhaps if she flirted with the cameras, not a lot—she was middle-aged, she didn’t want to sicken any young things out there—then they might have more goodwill for her. Enough people on her side and she might finally break free. She could have the chance to tell the world what had happened here.

  Flipping onto her back, Grainne stared up at the stucco plaster on the ceiling. After being in the dark so long, she still had every light in the house turned on. If her mother had been alive, she would have chastised her. A spendthrift, through and through. As a child, to leave a light turned on when you didn’t need it, or to keep the tap running after filling your glass, were crimes enough to bring the furies of hell down on her head. If “waste not, want not” were an art form, then a photo of her mother would hang in every gallery on earth.

  She fell back into an uneasy sleep, waking again well before her normal hour. Her first task was to allow outside eyes a glimpse of her bedroom. Before she did that, though Grainne lifted up her nightgown and pulled on her bra. She’d grown used to not bothering. In just six weeks with one set of underwear on offer, the relentless wash and dry each day had caused her bra and panties to sag into gray, shapeless garments. If she were putting on a show, though, she needed all the help she could get. And, she may be skirting closer and closer to the edge of morality with her plan, but she wasn’t quite over the far edge yet. She could pretend to take part in an unknowing strip-tease, but she wouldn’t be able to force herself to go fully naked. A bra was going to be on her body at all times in front of the camera. If she pretended it was a bikini, then all should be okay.

  Dressed up to her self-imposed standards, Grainne checked the position of the camera out in the hall. It would do her no good at all if she were in full view when she was carrying out her planning. She walked to the edge of the door and pretended to be listening, her head tilted to one side. Keeping the camera in her peripheral vision, she counted out the seconds that it took to turn through each set angle.

  Once she had that information stored away in the back of her brain, Grainne timed out her movements. Careful of where her body was positioned in the bedroom, she waited until the hall camera was facing toward the shower. Then she stood beneath the camera in the corner and snagged the edge of the covering face cloth down a bit.

  Walking back into what she hoped was full view of anybody watching, she sat for a while on the edge of the bed. After ten minutes or more had ticked by, she took a deep breath and eased the edge of her nightgown down over her shoulder. Even with the bra in place, she had to tip her head forward to hide the rising crimson stain of embarrassment. Chastity was one of the virtues that had always come easily to Grainne. To act in direct opposition was a strain.

  Pretend they’re not watching.

  Easier said than done. Especially when all her movements so far that day had been ensuring that an audience was able to see. She slipped into the clothing she’d left heaped down at the end of the bed. Really, she’d need to start paying more attention. It was one thing to treat her bedroom like she was a teenager when she was alone in the house. With the world treating her like a reality show, she needed to up her game.

  From now on, she would dress and undr
ess, folding each item of clothing carefully onto the chair beside her bed. When she was waiting for one change of clothing to dry, she would wrap a bedsheet, toga-like around her body while she waited out the hours.

  While pretending that no one was watching, Grainne also needed to remember at every second of every minute of every day that her best hope of obtaining freedom was entertaining the hordes of viewers into liking her enough to let her go. She needed to instill an emotional response in them.

  From now on, there would be no hiding her tears or putting up a stalwart face to pretend that she wasn’t scared to death. If fear was close to overwhelming her, she needed to start letting it. Her eyes needed to cry tears, her breathing needed to hitch. She needed to look like a helpless little old woman. If she could remind the faceless viewers of their mom or their grandma, then she would be one heart closer to freedom. One sympathetic viewer closer to escape.

  After a lifetime of hiding in the shadows, waiting in the wings, Grainne needed to step up to center stage. It was time to put on the performance of her life. Be everybody’s leading lady.

  One shot. Maybe a fortnight left of rationed food between Grainne’s freedom and her death by starvation.

  One shot. She needed to hit every mark and remember every line.

  One shot.

  ***

  The new considerations were exhausting. Less than one day into it and Grainne felt like shutting off every camera and just chancing out her fate.

  Each time she moved, each step she took, was a motion that she weighed up the angles for a dozen times over before they were acted upon. Sitting at her computer, she would suddenly realize that she’d barely moved for an hour. If she stayed there, fixed in place, the audience would grow bored. If they turned the channel once, it was bad. If they turned it off more than that, they might not be back. If she lost those viewers forever, then her fate would be to die alone.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t suddenly start to bounce around the house like an aerobics instructor. There was a protocol that she’d set, long before she knew that she was doing it. If she acted outside of expectations, then the end result could go either way.

  When she fetched a glass of water, she no longer gulped the drink back in a few long swallows. No. Now she sipped like a lady should. Just like her mother had shown her decades ago. If she thought about it long enough, Grainne would even lift up her little finger. In every way, she was the perfect specimen of decorum.

  In the evening, when it came time to pull out her ration for the day and try to pretend it was enough, Grainne thought through the best expression to plaster over her face. Winsome. Hungry. Pained. She settled for sadness in the end, as though the food was a long-lost friend that she’d never see again. In a way, it was true. That made it easier to act.

  When she sat down again in front of the laptop, she went through every website she’d already made contact with. She made herself type out messages to strangers, to anyone at all who’d replied.

  The social awkwardness that had cursed Grainne throughout her life rose like a choking heat inside her chest. Even if the depths of teenage anxiety, certain that every eye looked at her, pronounced judgment, and found her wanting, the fear had never mounted up like this. It was a living thing, its own monster. If she didn’t keep it tightly reigned it might see her dead.

  As each false message was dispatched into the wide web, Grainne relaxed into her role a little more. If she could find the sweet spot, begin to act, then the nerves would fall away. Even though she hated attention, acting direction attention somewhere else. To a person who’d never existed, spouting lines that no one had ever said.

  If only she had a script in front of her now, this next bit would come easier. Having to think on the spot, not being able to send it out to test on early audiences, that killed her. Still, better to be interacting falsely with somebody, than to heave her way through the loneliness of just the day before.

  Better to make awkward conversation with people who could restore your power, than to molder away in the dark.

  One day down, hopefully many to go. When Grainne went to bed that night, she lay awake with her brain running through every word she’d typed to point out its flaws. If she fell asleep at all, it gave her no relief. She didn’t notice it. Only ran through a giant maze where pitfalls waited at every turn.

  The world which offered her hope, but could just as easily snatch it away.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Die then.”

  “I’d like to split you sideways.”

  “You get what you deserve.”

  Grainne stared at the hatred spreading across her screen. There were messages of support as well. Kind words that spoke of hope and strength and an imaginary sisterhood.

  It was hard to see those messages against the backdrop of hatred and vitriol that spat its venom in her face.

  Her hand itched to slam the laptop lid down. Her cheeks flushed with heat until she wanted to turn away. Where would she go, though? Into a corner of her bedroom where the public couldn’t see in. Buried underneath her bedspread so that nobody could see her cry.

  It was hopeless. No matter what thoughts Grainne had the day before, the truth was now laid bare. As soon as she made an attempt to connect, to engage in a conversation, everything went wrong. The hatred rose up amongst the populace until it spilled over the edges of its container.

  The site didn’t matter. Grainne had scrolled through a dozen already. Each one held the same mixture of death threats amidst the careless words of hope. She needed people to love her. Instead, they hated her in equal measure.

  You get what you deserve.

  If only she could reconcile that message into nothing. Too much of the words were true, though. She’d been stupid and irresponsible. Grainne had led her friends into danger and certain death. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known. She hadn’t given the matter enough thought to reach the correct conclusion. One night. That’s all it had taken. One night and she’d gone screaming to the authorities, seeking help. As though her entire adult life had been a dream.

  It was the act of a child, wasn’t it? Asking for help from someone you thought was in a better position than you.

  All through her childhood, the same messages drummed into her head. Obviously, they’d stuck no matter how much she’d dressed in a punk uniform as a teenager.

  If you don’t know what to do, go to the police. If you need help, call 911.

  It was all a load of bullshit. That belief had landed Grainne in this mess. Why hadn’t she realized when she had the chance, that authority was the enemy.

  People on the internet were freely discussing now how dangerous she was. A middle-aged lady, trapped in a house, starving. The notes made her sound like she was Genghis Khan. Like she could shoot bolts of magic out of her fingertips and reduce the world to ash.

  She couldn’t even cry in private. That was how mighty and powerful she was.

  For a brief minute, she’d had a few powers within her control. She’d heard her friend’s voices in her head, read their thoughts. What good was that to her? Even if the magic still worked under the weight of the entrapping immosium seal, what good would that do?

  At best, there might be a guard within her radius. Grainne might gain access to an internal monolog about what was good to eat before he gave in and ordered pizza.

  Great power. Awesome power. Next.

  She’d had the power to heal, as well. Not that it had done Emily any good. Her friend had burned to a crisp in front of her before a soldier put a merciful bullet in her brain.

  Such a handy skill. Kneel and tremble before that one.

  What else could she do? Or what could she have done if her immediate reaction hadn’t been to run screaming for help?

  Her knowledge of magic was murky. Just the stuff of history and legend that she’d learned at school or through her own family history. Even that had been hard fought over. Some discussions had ended in screaming matches with h
er parents trying to win their point of view by shouting loudest.

  In the convent, she’d been the closest to what she thought magic had given people. A sense of purpose and direction. Something to follow and something to chaff against. Something to believe and to argue against.

  Her school friends, such as they were, thought Grainne was mental when she announced that she was entering the convent. For months, everyone she knew was poised, waiting for the joke. To her, it was no laughing matter. It was the first time in her life that she’d done something that felt like the right thing to do. Even in the depths of despair, during the tests of her novice days, her conviction had never wavered. Grainne’s belief had stayed strong, stayed firm. For decades, it had been the one certainty in her life.

  Her mother had always held tightly onto the belief that Grainne joined the convent because she wanted to escape from real life. The opinion was always shared without needing to ask. If a bottle of wine was open nearby, it was usually accompanied by a curl in her mother’s upper lip.

  Grainne’s dad, meanwhile, seemed grateful that the specter of a sexually active teenage daughter was behind him before it had ever begun. Never had a parent been so happy to lock up their young daughter as her dad. He’d rubbed his hands against each other as he walked from the convent door to his car.

  The surprise conversion hadn’t been a joke or a game, though. Not to Grainne. She heard the word of God, and she responded in the only way she knew how.

  All that seemed such a long time ago. The two decades Grainne had spent at the convent felt as though they took up less time than the five years since she’d left. A life wasted, that was how she felt looking back on it. A life spent locked up voluntarily, and now the joke really was on her.

  Once upon a time, Grainne thought she had a power no one else had. Once upon a time, she thought she was singled out from a planet where a god would be spoiled for choice. The long years of realization that she’d been mistaken, or just plain wrong, took courage to face up to. For ages, she’d stayed in place. The world outside had moved so far ahead. It required a far greater leap of faith to jump back in it than leaving had ever taken.