by Alicia Rades
I slowed my step and listened closely. It was eerily silent—so much that the hair on the back of my neck stood. That was never a good sign.
“Guys, you need to come out right now!” I demanded sternly. I wasn’t screwing around. This whole thing was starting to freak me out.
I opened my mouth to shout again, but before I could get anything out, a groan met my ears. It was a pained groan that sent my stomach plummeting to my toes—the kind you couldn’t fake. I immediately started racing in the direction it came from as worry slammed into me. The groan came again, louder this time. I only ran faster, dodging around thick tree trunks and jumping over thick brush.
And then I saw him. A figure lay on the ground in the fog, curled up in the fetal position and shivering.
I came to an immediate halt, but I couldn’t make out what was happening in the darkness. I took a cautious step forward, my heart racing. “Grant?”
If this was all an elaborate plan of Chloe’s, I was going to curse the bitch the second I got my magic.
The figure let out another pained cry, and I nearly shit myself. The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t Grant’s. All the blood drained from my face—though it felt as if it was being sucked out of my entire body. My knees went weak, and my hands shook at my sides.
“Eric?” I stepped closer, until I could make out his features in the shadows.
Eric lay in the middle of the forest next to a thick oak tree, clutching his stomach. A dark substance coated his hands—
Holy shit! It was blood! And it was everywhere. It was so thick that it dripped out of his hands and soaked into the forest floor. It looked like he was trying to hold his guts inside himself.
I dropped to my brother’s side in an instant. “Eric! What are you doing here!?”
Eric’s face had paled until it was entirely void of color. A thick sheen of sweat coated his skin—even though it was ice cold out and all he wore was a t-shirt and jeans. Beside him lay a black cloth bag with its contents spilled out all over the forest floor. All I could process was a few potions vials, a deck of tarot cards, and a bloody dagger.
The dagger caught my attention, but only briefly. It didn’t cross my mind whether the person who’d done this was still lurking around. I was less concerned about finding out what had happened to him and more concerned about getting him somewhere safe. I didn’t know how much time we had before he’d lost too much blood. Eric gave an involuntary shudder.
I quickly stripped my jacket off and tossed it over him. “Tell me how bad it is. Eric! Eric!”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Forcing my quivering hands to steady, I cupped his face in my hands and slapped him a little to get his attention.
“Eric, look at me,” I demanded, staring him dead in the eye. “We have to get help.”
I grasped at the first thought that came to mind. Headmistress Verla’s house was right on the edge of the cemetery. She was an Alchemist, one of the best in all the coven. At the very least, she’d be able to whip up something for the pain and stop the bleeding before the paramedics arrived.
I glanced in the direction of her house, though I couldn’t see it from here. I quickly calculated how long it might take me to run there, get help, and come back. I didn’t know if we had time for that. If Eric was going to make it, I had to get him to Headmistress Verla’s the quickest way possible.
I rolled my jacket up until it resembled a long, thick rope.
“Eric, I’m going to need you to let me look at this,” I said, tugging his hands away from the wound.
I expected him to protest, but he didn’t. He must’ve been in too much shock. His hands fell away from his stomach, and blood poured faster out of the wound. I placed my rolled-up jacket over the wound and shoved the end between his back and the ground, wrapping it around his body. Then I twisted the two ends together and secured them tightly, creating a makeshift bandage to help slow the bleeding.
“Okay, Eric,” I said, resituating myself. “I’m going to need you to—”
Eric looked at me with a blank expression, then his eyes rolled back into his skull.
Shit. Shit. Shit! We didn’t have long.
I gave it everything I had. Taking one of Eric’s limp arms, I wrapped it over my shoulder, then hoisted his body up onto my back. He was heavy, but it didn’t matter. I’d carry him until he crushed me if I had to.
I knew I might regret this later—I was pretty sure it was the exact opposite of what they told you to do in emergencies like this—but it was the only option that made sense to me.
A small groan escaped my brother’s lips as I began to carry him through the forest toward the gate at the front of the cemetery. The sound should’ve made me want to vomit, but it gave me hope. My brother was still alive. I could still save him.
We broke out of the trees to the wide expanse of the graveyard lawn. I almost stumbled over the nearest gravestone when I spotted a dark cloaked figure staring our way. Was it a reaper, here to take my brother’s soul to the afterlife? No, that was silly. If it was, I wouldn’t be able to see them.
When the dark figure began making their way toward us, I got the strangest feeling that they were not to be feared—that they were there to help. Was it perhaps the cemetery groundskeeper?
The figure reached me, then spoke before I could. “Lucas Taylor.”
I didn’t know why, but I was surprised to hear a woman’s voice come from under the dark hood. Her voice was so melodic that it sounded like a song.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “My brother. He’s hurt. Can you help?”
The woman nodded once, then brushed her hand through the air. I felt the weight of my brother’s body vanish. I whirled around, expecting him to be floating there behind me—I figured this witch was a Mentalist with telekinetic magic—but what I faced was entirely different.
Eric’s features had been stamped into the fog like he was a ghost. Just as I caught a glimpse of ghost-Eric, his image washed away, like a cloud in the wind. Anger and fear coursed through me all at once. I spun on the woman in a flash, my nostrils flaring.
“What did you do!?” I cried. “What happened to my brother?”
“Relax, Lucas,” she said kindly, like my harsh tone didn’t bother her at all. “Your brother is fine for now.”
For now? I wanted to ask, but she didn’t give me the chance.
“You’ve impressed me,” she said softly.
“I… what?” I asked. The anger had melted from my tone, replaced by confusion. What the hell was going on here?
She reached up to her hood. “It’s me, child.”
Her velvet hood fell to her shoulders, revealing her face. I’d never seen anyone so beautiful before. Her features were perfectly symmetrical, and her pale skin was so smooth that it looked airbrushed. She had dark eyelashes and red lips, though she wore no makeup. Her dark brown hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders.
My knees buckled beneath me, and I fell to the ground. I hadn’t meant to do it, but I was so shocked I couldn’t stop myself. I leaned forward to bow, because it seemed like the proper thing to do in the sight of a goddess.
“Mother Miriam,” I said breathlessly, my eyes pointed toward the ground. “It’s an honor.”
“Lucas, my child.” She bent to one knee. “There is no need to bow to me.”
“But you’re—you’re…” I looked up to see she was smiling down at me. It was a truly loving gaze—the gaze of a mother. It was stupid of me to think I could argue with her. She reached out and helped me to my feet.
I straightened. “Is this real? Or is it part of my test?”
“It is in your mind,” she said.
I sighed in relief. Eric wasn’t in any danger. He’d only been an illusion.
“What happens now?” I asked our goddess. “What's my next test?”
She shook her head and smiled. “You only needed one, Lucas.”
“Only one?” I asked breathlessly. Most people went through at
least three or more.
“Walk with me,” Mother Miriam said, offering her hand.
When I took it, the fog around the graveyard dissipated, and a warmth spread over me. The cool wind completely died down, and it felt like a warm spring night.
“In this test, there were many different choices you could’ve made,” Mother Miriam explained. “Among the coven’s Casts, the Mentalist would’ve made Eric comfortable and gone to find help. The Alchemist would’ve looked through the potions to see if there were any that could help. The Seer would’ve reached for the cards first—though most would never use them in such a dire situation, but whether they use them or not is not the important part.”
“And Mortana?” I asked, looking over to her. The Death Cast.
“Most Mortana would’ve considered the dagger as a means to a merciful death,” she said. “But you, my child, took a route most would not. You carried your brother’s burden on your back. It’s clear where you belong, Lucas.”
“Where?” I asked, not understanding what she was saying. There was only one other Cast she hadn’t mentioned—one that had died out years ago. But I didn’t see how my choices would put me there. Could I be the first Curse Breaker of my generation?
“Where do you want to be put?” she asked.
I contemplated the question. No one had ever told me Mother Miriam offered a choice. I’d never really thought about it before. I always figured it didn’t matter; I’d accept whatever gift she gave me, because I knew she’d choose the right one for me.
“I will do whatever you ask of me,” I told her honestly.
I barely noticed that we had returned to the trees near the site of the mausoleum. I was too entranced by being in the presence of a goddess. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“Anything I ask, Lucas?” she asked.
I nodded. I couldn’t think of anything she could ask that I wouldn’t do. Her teachings were simple. Protect the coven. I’d do anything to protect the ones I loved.
“Anything,” I confirmed confidently.
Mother Miriam led me up the rocks to the entrance of the mausoleum. Nothing had changed since I left.
She stopped and guided me around to stand in front of her. “I’m so glad you feel that way, Lucas. I know you’ll make me proud.”
When she said that, it felt like I was floating in the air again. My parents never said they were proud of me—not even Mom, though I knew she loved me. This was our goddess, the very deity we worshiped, and she thought I could make her proud.
“I’ll do my best,” I promised her. “Which Cast will I be placed in?”
“Shh…” She held an index finger to her lips. “You will find out soon enough. Have faith, my child, for I am always with you.”
She shoved me hard in the chest, and my heart leapt up to my throat. The chill air returned, whipping by me as I tumbled backward. My body slammed hard against the concrete, sending an ache shooting through my body. My skull throbbed from where it impacted with the ground.
“Lucas! Lucas!” I heard Grant’s voice, but it sounded like it was coming from a mile away.
Chloe’s voice came a second later. “Here, let me try.”
A small, cold hand slapped against the side of my face. My cheek stung as I shot upright. Grant was so close that we nearly knocked heads. He quickly jumped out of the way.
“Holy shit!” I cried, cradling my cheek. My friends were inside the burning candle circle now. “That was one helluva swing, Chloe.”
She smiled proudly. “Told you I could wake him.”
“Fuck,” I groaned. “What happened?”
“You were floating there, and then your body just slammed to the ground,” Grant said, sounding worried.
“That’s normal, dipshit,” I said, shoving him. “It signals the end of the ceremony. You didn’t need to get the Wicked Witch of the West here to make me lose feeling in my face.”
I made a show of moving the muscles in my face to test them out. Chloe didn’t look concerned at all. She just beamed at the Wicked Witch comment, like she wore it as a badge of honor.
“So, which Cast were you assigned to?” she asked eagerly.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, turning my hands over for any sign of a mark. “Mother Miriam didn’t say.”
“What was it like meeting her?” Chloe asked. “Was she as beautiful as they say?”
“Slow down,” Grant insisted. “Let’s figure out which Cast he’s in first.”
I stripped off my jacket and tossed it aside, looking up and down my arms. The mark would appear as a tattoo, as if I’d just come fresh from the tattoo shop. I checked the back of my bicep, where Grant’s mark was, but there was nothing there. It could be anywhere.
Chloe nudged me. “Take your shirt off.”
I sighed and stood, then tugged my shirt over my head. I hoped I didn’t have to strip down all the way to find the mark. It was cold as shit out, and I sure as hell wasn’t giving Chloe a strip tease. She’d enjoy it a little too much.
“There it is!” she cried, pointing to my lower back. Her hand slapped over her mouth, and she stifled a giggle.
“What?” I asked, turning to try to get a good look. “What’s wrong? Why are you laughing?”
“You have a tramp stamp!” Chloe cried, reeling back in uncontrollable laughter.
“Aw, fuck,” I muttered. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
Even Grant had joined in on the laughter. “No, bro. You’re not.”
“Would you just tell me what it is?” I demanded. I hated being the last to know. “I can’t see it.”
“It’s a skull,” Grant said. “Here, let me get a picture.”
He lifted his phone and took a flash photo of my backside.
“Let me see,” I begged, and he handed the phone over.
I half expected him to be lying to me, but Grant sucked at lying. It was there clear as day, a skull mark tattooed along my spine just above my waistline.
“Mortana,” I said breathlessly. I was a Death Warlock.
I backed up and steadied myself against the rock Chloe had been sitting on earlier. Being Mortana wasn’t inherently a bad thing, but their magic was definitely seen as darker. Death magic was the touchiest of all. When it went wrong, it went wrong. Like, shit hits the fan wrong. Mortana were the kind of witches and warlocks who could reanimate the dead, kill with the touch of their hand, or see how people were going to die. I even knew one who could read the auras of a room and tell if a death had occurred there—and how bad it’d been.
The mark only told me my Cast, not which type of magic I’d inherited within that Cast. It could be days or weeks before I knew my specialty.
“You okay, bro?” Grant asked, rising to his feet and stopping beside me. He held out my shirt and jacket.
“Yeah,” I said, shaking off the sinking feeling in my gut. I put my clothes back on, contemplating what this meant.
I didn’t want to be the kind of guy who had magic everyone feared. But I’d been telling the truth when I told Mother Miriam I’d take whichever Cast she assigned me. Whatever my gift was, it was important to her.
I straightened. “I’m fine. It’ll be great. Maybe I’m a necromancer. I’ll raise an army of cat skeletons.”
“That’d be badass,” Chloe said.
I barely heard her as another voice cut through the silence. It came as if he was standing next to me, just beside Grant.
“I made a mistake. I don’t want to die.”
Every muscle in my body froze as my brother’s voice invaded my mind. It took me a second to realize he wasn’t here—that he hadn’t just shown up out of the blue and spoken those soul-chilling words for all of us to hear. My friends stared back with a blank expression. They hadn’t heard him.
It hit me so hard and fast that I suddenly became nauseous.
No! No, no, no… please don’t let this be what I think it is.
I took
off running before I could explain. I tore through the forest to the cemetery, then hurdled over gravestones as I sprinted toward the front gates. Chloe and Grant called from behind me, but I could barely process the sound of my own name.
Please, Mother Miriam, let this be a hallucination or something.
My feet carried me as fast as they could blocks away. My lungs were starting to burn by the time I reached home. I ran up the front steps so fast that I skipped several on my way. The door slammed into the wall when I flung it open. I pounded upstairs to my brother’s bedroom. Commotion came from my parents’ room as they were awakened by my loud entrance.
I skidded to a halt in the darkness of my brother’s doorway. My heart race, and it only quickened when I saw that his bed was still empty.
“Lucas, what in the bloody hell is—?” my father started, but I didn’t have time for questions.
I whirled around in the hall and shoved him out of the way. On any normal day, I wouldn’t get close enough for him to touch me, but right now, I wasn’t scared of him. I was terrified for my brother.
“Where’s Eric?” I asked Mom, who had stumbled out of their bedroom behind my father, looking only half awake.
“He’s not in his room?” she asked.
“No,” I barked. “Something’s wrong.”
Eric should’ve been back by now. He didn’t stay at school—since his professor of Seer Studies suggested it was best if he took the semester off—so he didn’t have anywhere else to go.
I checked my bedroom, then ran back downstairs to check the kitchen, living room, and bathroom. Each room was as empty as the last. My parents followed behind me, trying to get an answer out of me, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell them, not until I knew for sure what it meant.
I reached the door to the garage and flung it open. And that was when I knew...
I hadn’t imagined a damn thing. Those words I’d heard in the mausoleum were real—and they were meant for me.
I stopped dead in my tracks as my blood ran cold. Every inch of my body shook as I took in the sight before me. Dad stumbled in the doorway, catching himself on the door frame.
“My boy!” he cried, his voice wavering in genuine agony. I’d never heard him use that tone before.
