Magic Swap (Hidden World Academy Book 1)

by Sadie Moss

  The light turns green for us to cross the street, and we all make our way across, trying to walk in a straight line. As we reach the middle of the street, I notice a dark spot in the pavement ahead of me.

  Huh. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought, but that looks like—

  Side note: usually, when I’m in my right mind and see what looks to be an open manhole, I don’t walk directly into it.

  I just feel the need to point that out so nobody gets the impression that I’m normally this level of stupid.

  But, nope. Today I am not in my right mind. Today is tonight—two in the morning, as a matter of fact—and I’m plastered.

  So instead of avoiding the manhole, I just stare at it and squint a little and think wow, that’s not safe, someone will fall in.

  And a half-second later, I’m the idiot who’s falling in.

  Blackness engulfs me, and I have just enough time for one more coherent thought before panic overtakes me.

  I’m such a fucking dumbass.

  Blurry images rush by me, and at first I think it’s my life flashing before my eyes. But I’m not going to die, am I? Manholes aren’t that deep though, are they? Shouldn’t I have landed by now?

  But the images can’t be memories, because I see myself in them, as if I’m standing outside my own body. Or at least, I think I do. Is it me?

  I’m not quite sure.

  Things feel… different somehow.

  Then everything goes black, and I don’t see anything at all.

  When I wake up, I’m in an ambulance.

  Oh, thank God. Okay. So maybe I just dreamed that weird Alice-down-the-rabbit-hole bit and those images I thought I saw were hallucinations or something. I must’ve just fallen and hit the bottom of the sewer.

  Gross. I hope I don’t smell like shit.

  “Kamala?” I croak, prying my eyes open.

  My eyelids feel like they’re coated in sandpaper, but after a few blinks, my vision starts to clear. One of my friends must’ve called the ambulance. But where are they? The EMTs would let Kamala or someone ride in the ambulance with me and hold my hand, right?

  None of the girls are here though, and panic starts to tighten my chest. My parents must be freaking out right now. But Kamala’s smart and responsible. She’ll have called them on my phone so they can meet me at the hospital.

  Unless water damaged my phone. Shit.

  I try to move, but pain radiates up my left arm and I stop, crying out softly.

  “Miss, it’s okay,” one of the EMTs takes my right hand and squeezes gently. Her voice is kind and confident, and that helps ease some of my anxiety. “You’ve broken your arm, so don’t move it. We’re going to get you all set as soon as we reach the hospital.”

  “What…” I trail off. My tongue feels fat, and my pulse is throbbing in my temples. “God, my head hurts.”

  “That would be the concussion. We’re not sure how extensive the damage is yet, but you’re awake now, so that’s a good thing. I’m going to keep you talking to me and keep you awake, all right? We can’t have you falling back asleep.”

  Sleep actually sounds amazing right now, but I know I have to listen to this woman. Vaguely, I remember reading somewhere that when a person has suffered a concussion, you have to keep them awake. That must be what this is.

  Unfortunately, now that I’m not floating in that weird blackness anymore, all kinds of thoughts are crowding my brain, making the headache pound even harder.

  I can’t believe I was so stupid. My body aches all over from the fall, and on top of that, I broke my arm and got a concussion? This is going to be massive as far as medical bills go, and I can’t afford to miss school. What was I thinking?

  Oh, right, I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking at all. How could I have been such an idiot? I’d kick myself if I could.

  “Miss?” It’s another EMT, a younger guy with red hair. He pulls a few items out of one of the compartments along the wall of the ambulance, then pauses to write something up on a clipboard. “Are you allergic to unicorn blood?”

  I blink at him, my eyebrows rising slightly.

  Huh.

  My head and arm hurt so bad that I kind of assumed they hadn’t given me any pain medication yet, but it must be kicking in now. Whatever they gave me, it must’ve been good. I feel a strong case of the giggles coming on.

  “Er… Not that I know of.”

  Hey, that’s true, right?

  The EMT nods and makes a note, then asks me what my blood type is, following up with a couple of other questions that seem routine. At least, I think they are. I’m still feeling fuzzy and woozy, and the pain starts to fade a bit as the drugs hit my system.

  “You’ve never been bitten by a vampire, correct?”

  He hovers his pen over the clipboard, waiting for my response. When I start giggling hysterically, he glances up at me, a little line appearing between his brows. “Miss? Have you?”

  Okay, great, so I’m totally tripping balls right now.

  I blink a few times, as if that will help make my brain function better, but it doesn’t seem to accomplish much. The guy’s still looking at me, waiting for a response.

  All right. Gonna have some hallucinations then. No problem, I can handle this. Just gotta stay awake until they give me the okay.

  I manage to rein in my laughter long enough to answer the poor EMT, who seems very patient and understanding as he listens to me ramble on about how yes, I have read Twilight, and no, I’m not ashamed to admit it.

  A few minutes later, we get to the hospital, and hoo boy.

  I once watched this crime show where the guy who committed the murder did it because a nurse had found out that he was stealing medication from a hospital. Now, I’ll admit right up front, I’m not a heavy drug user, so my knowledge is limited. But at the time I thought, huh, why would the guy try to steal drugs from a hospital? Surely he could get some good stuff at a club like, I don’t know, ecstasy or heroin or whatever people are doing these days.

  But, man, oh, man. Now I know why. This stuff is insane.

  The EMTs wheel me in, and I see a guy standing at the emergency room desk talking to the nurse—but he has dark red skin and two small horns poking up out of his hair. As I’m wheeled into the elevator, I see a woman standing off to one side with her child, and they both have eight black, glittering eyes like spiders, and their teeth are oddly pointed.

  Yeah, this absolutely crazy.

  I don’t say anything to the EMTs, of course. They must hear the ramblings of drugged-up patients all the time, and I don’t want to annoy them. I also kind of don’t want to amuse them too much. I mean, I know I’m tripping, so there’s no need for me to say stupid stuff and then have them cracking up about me later. I fell into a damn sewer; I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day.

  Other than the occasional hallucinations, everything else about the hospital seems normal. It’s just the drugs making me feel pretty… off. Like something isn’t quite right. Like I’m peering through a camera that’s just barely out of focus.

  Finally, they get me into a room, and a nurse tells me they’re going to put me to sleep so they can run some scans on my brain, and that when I wake up, they’ll have some results for me about my concussion.

  “We’ll also put a cast on your arm to heal the break,” she adds in her calm voice.

  That all sounds great to me, so I give a little nod.

  “Now, your aura is a dark gray right now, which isn’t a good sign.” She shakes her head, peering at me with a slightly furrowed brow.

  Uh, what now?

  Geez, this is so fucking weird. Unicorns, vampires, auras… I’ve heard of visual hallucinations, but I’ll be honest, I didn’t know auditory hallucinations were even a thing. You learn something new every day, I guess.

  “My aura is… gray?” I ask, my voice slurring a little. This poor woman is probably really telling me about my fractured arm bone or something, and here I am hearing her talk about damn aur
as like we’re in a hippy psychic shop on the waterfront.

  “Yes. It indicates a blocked energy field. Not at all unusual when you’ve suffered some trauma.” She pats my good hand. “We’ll have someone come in to realign your aura energy after we finish the operation.”

  “Okay. Sure thing.” This is freaking me out a little, not gonna lie.

  “Perfect. Now just hold still…”

  As she speaks, someone comes toward me with—I shit you not—glowing hands.

  “Um.”

  I scoot up a little on the bed, trying to get away from the strange white light.

  It’s just a hallucination, I tell myself. That’s all it is, Gabbi.

  But it looks so real, and I am very much freaking out right now. I shift even higher on the bed, drawing my knees up as I scoot as far back as I can.

  “Hey, uh, is that—are you—um, could you—”

  “Just breathe,” the nurse tells me, reaching for my hand again. “You’re okay. This will put you to sleep.”

  I highly fucking doubt that, and I flinch away, but the person with the glowing hands presses them to my chest, and suddenly I feel warm and loved and—

  Dead asleep.

  Chapter 3

  Hhnngghh.

  My head’s all fuzzy. I feel like someone replaced my brain with a hundred cotton balls.

  How much did I have to drink last night? What…

  I blink, the world coming into focus around me.

  I’m not in bed at my dorm. I’m not in my room back at my parents’ place either. I’m not even in Kamala’s studio apartment where I’ve crashed a few times after a late night.

  Nope, I’m in a hospital room.

  Last night comes rushing back to me all at once, and I smack myself in the forehead with my left hand. Oh my God, the fucking manhole. I was so stupid, how could I—

  Wait.

  My left hand?

  I sit up and stare down at my totally, completely, one hundred percent healed left arm.

  But…

  My arm was broken. I know it was broken, it hurt like a motherfucker, I could barely move it at all without crying out in pain. The nurse, or EMT, or whatever she was told me they’d put it in a cast, but now it’s… it’s just better.

  I blink down at my perfectly normal looking arm for another two seconds.

  And then a thought strikes me, sending panic ricocheting through my body like a stray bullet.

  Holy shit. How long have I been asleep? I had a concussion—did that send me into a coma? How long does it take broken bones to heal? Six weeks or something? Have I been in a goddamn coma for six weeks?

  Oh my God. Mom and Dad. Where are they? Do they know I’m here? They must’ve been worried sick this whole time. And Shane! What about the dance crew? I’ve missed so many rehearsals. And school! My classes!

  I yank at my bed covers. I don’t see any tubes or wires attached to me, so that’s good, I don’t have to yank those out. I swing my legs over the side of the bed—and see a clock on the wall.

  A clock with the date on it.

  Why does it say only one day has passed?

  Yesterday, my birthday, was September twenty-sixth. Arms take at least a month to heal. We should be into October—no, November—but that clock says September twenty-seventh.

  I suck in a ragged lungful of air, pressing one hand hard against my chest like I’m having a heart attack.

  I am. Not. Freaking out. Totally not freaking out. Haha. Who says I’m freaking out? Nobody, because I’m not. Why on earth would I freak out? It’s not like my arm was just somehow healed in the span of a single night with nothing but a small scar on the inside of my elbow to show for it.

  Okay, yes, I am completely freaking out.

  I twist my arm, rotate my wrist, lift it up and down, wiggle my fingers. There’s a bit of a twinge and a slight ache, but that’s it. I’ve had dance sessions that left my muscles feeling more sore than this.

  What the actual fuck?

  The memory of last night comes back, or rather, the memory of the last thing I can remember before falling asleep. A person came at me with glowing hands. He wasn’t holding a light. His skin was radiating a bright white glow, and he was gesturing oddly, making strange motions with his hands.

  Was that really a hallucination?

  I mean, yeah, it sounds crazy, but what about all the other things I saw last night? The weird questions from the EMT?

  Panic is seriously setting in, and I look around for a chart, a file, anything to tell me what’s going on—when the door opens and a young woman steps in.

  She has tan skin, light brown eyes, and thick, dark brown hair that shines even under the ugly hospital lights. Her features are so sharp and defined that it looks like she was drawn by a master artist. She’s got a long straight nose, thin lips, and annoyingly perfect eyebrows. She also looks to be about my age, and she’s sporting what looks like designer clothing. Way above my pay grade.

  “Holy shit, you look like hell,” she says, striding in like she owns the place.

  Um. Am I supposed to know this person?

  I’m still sitting on the edge of the hospital bed with my legs dangling over the side, and she comes to stand in front of me, her gaze sliding over me like she’s taking inventory of my appearance.

  “At least you’re all in one piece. You had me worried when I heard the news. I mean, they said you were all banged up, but it looks like the healers got you patched up pretty damn well.”

  “Ah, uh, yeah, I—my arm got healed in a night!” I blurt. “It was broken.”

  “Well, of course they healed it. What did you think they were going to do, just let it dangle there like a limp noodle?” The girl puts her hands on her hips, drumming her fingers in a fast rhythm. “Come on, get dressed. We’re going to be late for class. Any reason you’re gaping at me like a fish?”

  “Um, no, no reason.” Other than the fact that I don’t have a fucking clue who you are. “I had a concussion.”

  She waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, well, they’ll have patched that up too. Did they fix your aura?”

  “They… said they would?”

  “Great.” She rolls her eyes. “I heard that with all the insurance bullshit going on, sometimes they’ll claim it’s not covered by your provider. But I know you have top-notch insurance, so I doubt they’d try to give you the runaround on that.”

  What, what, and what?

  This person might as well be speaking Chinese at me for all I can understand her. Actually, Chinese would be more understandable than this.

  The girl stares at me, leaning in and widening her eyes. “Um, earth to Roxie? Get your damn clothes on!”

  “All I have is…”

  I gesture across the room. My club dress, that’s all I’ve got with me. It’s sitting neatly folded on the chair by the door.

  She walks over and grabs it for me, not quite managing to hide a grimace of distaste as she holds it up. Then she hooks two fingers into the heels sitting on the floor by the chair and shrugs. “Well, it’s either this or your hospital gown. So, your call.”

  Well, when she puts it that way.

  “That, I guess.”

  I slide off the bed and walk over, taking the dress from her. I shimmy into it and leave the open-backed hospital gown on the chair in its place, then slip my feet into the shoes I wore last night.

  “Great!” Just like that, my, uh, friend, I guess is what she is, goes from sassy and impatient to perky. “Let’s go! I don’t want to get another side-eye from Professor Charleston about running late again. As if she’s got a leg to stand on with that nasty divorce that’s taking up all of her time, I swear she still hasn’t given me back my midterm from last year.”

  Okay, I feel like I’m in an insane episode of Black Mirror or something. Everything about this is wrong. My arm is miraculously healed, the girl who’s talking to me like we’re besties is someone I’ve never seen before in my life, and I honestly don’t know w
hat to do.

  Should I tell her I’ve never met her before? Have I met her? Do I have amnesia?

  I have the sudden horrifying feeling that if I admit how completely out of my depth I am right now, I’ll get locked up in a loony bin forever. It’s not even logical, exactly, but the fear is so intense that it binds my lips shut as if they’ve been crazy-glued together.

  The girl doesn’t seem aware of the panic sending me into a mental tailspin. She does notice that I’ve completely stopped moving, and she sighs as she steps forward and wraps one arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a side hug. I practically jump out of my skin at the contact.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” Her voice softens a little, and she gives me a gentle shake. “Hardly anyone knows about this. Sure, it’s a little embarrassing, but by tomorrow, it’ll be like it never happened.” She squeezes my arm one more time, then releases me, her energy level shooting back up again. “But seriously, we have to go or we’ll be late for class, and I do not want to have to deal with that bullshit, for real.”

  With that, she grabs my hand and drags me out of the hospital room.

  Nobody stops us—the girl just leads me through the hallways to the elevator and then down to the front desk, walking up to it like she owns that too.

  “I’m Bianca Diaz. Checking out Roxie Macintyre,” she says when the nurse looks up, and they both glance in my direction.

  Oh. That must be me. My name is apparently Roxie.

  I wave awkwardly at the woman behind the front desk. Bianca stares at me.

  I put my hand back down.

  The nurse passes me a form, and I fill it out as best I can, ignoring the weird shit on it that I don’t have a hope of figuring out. Then I sign my name in an illegible scrawl at the bottom. God, I hope that’s all done right.

  Once we get outside, Bianca tries to hail a taxi. We’re downtown somewhere, and it’s a messy snarl of traffic out here. It’s just after nine a.m., and I wince when I think about how likely we are to actually get a cab at this hour.

  “Could we walk?” I suggest. I’m not even sure I want to go wherever she’s taking me, so buying more time before we get there seems like a solid plan.