Witch's Brew - Spellspinners 1 (Spellspinners of Melas County)

by Heidi R. Kling

  Mom’s magic, too? “Do you know why?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid I do. I haven’t wanted to tell you, sweetie. It’s just…so horrific. We are cursed, the lot of us.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “My magic has been all over the map lately, so I did some research on the Fifth Floor.”

  She sighed. “My bright daughter. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

  “How do we make peace with the warlocks? I read something—well, here.” I unzipped my backpack, and the origami rose fluttered into my hand.

  “Can I…unfold this?”

  “Sure,” I said. But she didn’t have to—the paper unfurled itself, spreading out in her palm. She read aloud:

  “Under a broken rose moon

  Lies a broken magic man

  With the art of a broken rose moon.”

  For a moment, her face was still, her lips pursed. She didn’t look surprised.

  “You know what that means?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “The broken rose moon is a mark, a mark on a warlock.”

  “A mark?”

  “Like the warlock’s ink, but much more important. A transparent mark that only his mheaitseáil—his match—can see.”

  “Match?”

  “His…magical equal.”

  “Equal? But they’re our enemies.”

  “Indeed,” Iris said. “Which is why breaking the curse has been impossible. And why I fear that in a year’s time our magic will be eradicated forever.”

  “What if I can find a warlock who bears the mark? The Roghnaithe?”

  “What makes you feel you’d be up to the task?”

  “The book said this boy would resist the characteristics of the warlock, right? So he wouldn’t have the rapid aging, he—Mom, it said he’d be able to do something no other modern spellspinners could do. It said he could breathe underwater.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can breathe underwater, Mom.”

  “Yes.” She nodded again.

  “So I look for someone like that! If he’s like me, he’ll be in the water as much as he can be.”

  “But warlocks aren’t allowed to leave their academy.”

  “I’m technically not allowed to leave my boundaries either.”

  Iris looked at me with this knowing pride. Like, most kids would’ve been grounded and she was all happy about my conviction. “If the Seven Sisters gave us a clue on how to fix things, they must want us to try. I need to try.”

  Iris was quiet.

  “You knew I’d want to try.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  I reread the torn-out page, where it outlined the Roghnaithe’s foretold powers. “So other than the Breathing, and the youth, and whoa, flight? He can fly? How will I know the difference between a human boy and a warlock?”

  My mother looked at me, her lilac eyes round with secrets. “You won’t know when you see him. You will know when you feel him.”

  Feel him? Spidery unease crawled through my veins, only tinted with something else, something oddly pleasant—a spoonful of honey in bitter green tea.

  My throat tightened around my next question, “What does it feel like to be around a warlock?”

  I swore Mom’s face flushed when my question hit her ears. “It will feel like…” She glanced down at her long-fingered hands, before tilting her nose in the air like the answer was a bubble she hoped might land on the tip. “It will feel like what you’re doing now.”

  “Recovering from a spell?” I glanced up at the bird’s nest, where the reunited avian family was happily singing.

  “Like you’re climbing up the tracks of an old roller coaster. That moment right before you fly down the other side. That anticipation that something is going to happen, and then when it does, is wilder than you imagined. When you get off, you’re dizzy and your balance is off, and even though you feel sick and flustered, you’re exhilarated. And the only thing you want to do is get right back on.”

  “Really? I thought the whole experience would be painful. Have you ever encountered a warlock outside the Stones, Mom?”

  While I waited, I clenched a handful of grass. I’d never heard anyone describe a warlock in anything but negative terms before. What she’d just described sounded, well, not exactly terrible.

  Her eyes had filled with inexplicable sadness—a look that made a million questions pop into my head. “What’s wrong?” I asked. Nothing was worse than detecting a crack of weakness in my rock-solid mom, especially when I felt so broken myself.

  “Remember, Lily Rose, just because something feels good doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

  Feels good?

  “But warlocks aren’t just not good for us. They are our enemies.”

  “Yes, since the split they’ve carried hatred in their hearts, gazing upon us only in animosity and hatred. Wanting our magic, yes, but nothing else.”

  “But once upon a time it wasn’t like that?”

  I waited to see if she’d fess up to any more historical lies she’d thrown my way in their regard, but she didn’t.

  “If you go about this mission, tread carefully. Warlocks are terribly dangerous, and no matter what happens you need to remember that at all times. They don’t have our best interest at heart. They only care about themselves.”

  “But according to this”—I pointed at the page in the book—“this boy will be different.”

  The crystals of melancholy left her face, evaporating altogether, and were replaced by a thin-lipped smile. “That’s right,” she said matter-of-factly. “And in that passage lies a glimmer of hope. But Lily?”

  “Yes?”

  “Remember, this clue has been around for a hundred years. A warlock suddenly in contact with a curious witch will say anything to make you believe he’s the one. It’s in their nature to want to spend time with you. He’ll say anything to get just one more moment around your energies, your youth. This roghnaithe—this chosen one—is different. But the other warlocks are the worst things about our world.”

  “But you’re saying I can try.”

  “I’m saying”—she held my hand tightly in hers—“never let down your guard.”

  Witch’s Brew

  I pumped the pedals of my beach cruiser and flew toward the beach so furiously, I thought we might quite literally ascend into flight. To keep the thick rubber tires from fleeing the sidewalk, I ran a grounding spell, forcing my beach-town broomstick to chill out. The last thing I needed was some sort of false UFO sighting in broad daylight, or some kid shouting from his backyard swing, “Look mom, it’s the kid from E.T., only without the alien in the front basket!”

  Still, I was pretty freaking fast, whizzing in and out of beach traffic, using my mad clairvoyant skills to anticipate oncoming cars, light changes, and other cyclists.

  By the time I got to the beach I was pretty beat, but determined to prove to Mom I could do this for our coven. If a broken magic man existed. And he could Breathe? I was going to find him.

  I slipped out of my flip-flops and, holding them in one hand, I ran down to the shore. I knew it was a total long shot. Warlocks weren’t allowed to leave their boundaries, but like I told my mom, witches broke rules, too. We’re not allowed to spin spells in public, and yet we do.

  Rules are…bendable.

  And I knew from my own experience, the desire to get into the water was so great, there was no way someone who possessed that gift could simply ignore it.

  From where I stood, I could only see three people in the water, a group of surfers way out from shore. I pulled my T-shirt over my head and stepped out of my shorts, leaving them in a pile on the beach next to my towel.

  After quickly adjusting my bikini, I ran to the water and dove in headfirst. I peeked up once before diving down for good to make sure the surfers hadn’t spotted me. The last thing I needed was someone to report a possible drowning. That’s why I only disappeared under water when no one was
around to worry about a missing girl.

  Mom’s words spun in my head as I swam: “Warlocks are the worst thing about our world. No matter what happens, don’t forget that.”

  No matter what happens?

  What did that even mean?

  What if Iris was right? What if the chosen boy had already come and gone, and we hadn’t detected him?

  What if it was too late for me to try?

  After my long swim, I plopped into a velvet chair in the corner of a dark café called the Witch’s Brew. I ran my fingers through my wet blonde hair, twisting it up into a loose bun. I pressed my fingers to my eyelids and allowed myself to disappear into my thoughts, as I searched for an answer to this most daunting of complications.

  From the time I was initiated into the Melas County Coven at age thirteen, I had had one goal: to beat my enemy—my matched warlock—in the Gleaning the year I turned sixteen.

  Then, when I beat that warlock, I’d jump up a level, attaining more magic when I reached Fire, then Jade, Crimson, then Indigo. Then…who knew.

  It was my path. My plan. I was special, Iris was always saying, as I squirmed under the weight of her pride. You could be the one to obtain a greater magic than any of us modern witches have ever known. You could channel the ancestors and lead us into new territory. You, Lily Rose, you.

  No pressure there.

  And now I needed to take on an even bigger task: identify a warlock, befriend him (somehow?) and figure out how to make peace.

  Iris essentially conceded all hope of reconciliation yesterday when we’d talked on the lawn for what seemed like hours. But I knew there had to be a way. From the time I was little, I believed (probably because I was taught to believe) that even in the direst of situations, if you looked hard enough, you could find a hint of light. A glimmer of hope.

  I wouldn’t give up. I would peer into the darkness until I found this chosen boy. Until I found a spark.

  Witch’s Brew, with its dark pierced guys crawling with tattoos, was a decent place to look, simply because it was so close to the sea, and I had no other leads to go on—I certainly wasn’t going to go poking around the Academy by myself.

  My mom’s apocalyptic words kept tumbling over themselves in my head:

  We’re all fading. Fighting in the Gleaning isn’t enough anymore.

  I thought of Daisy, my darling sister, who was so looking forward to tapping into her magic when she turned thirteen.

  And Orchid. Without magic what would she be left with? Not to mention all the good we were able to do for humans: the water we cleaned in impoverished rural villages without their knowledge; the healings we did for people uninsured or unwilling to seek Western medical help; the fires we put out with our cool breath when the trucks were taking too long; the lost children we led back home.

  We needed our magic. Humans unknowingly relied on it.

  Sighing, I surveyed my surroundings. All around me seemingly happy teenagers chatted together in human harmony. For instance, a long-haired guy with rubber spacers in his ears was strumming a shiny black guitar in the corner, a gaggle of girls surrounding him, humming along to his part-original, part-covers music. Did they feel something similar to Iris’ roller coaster scenario when they watched him sing, when the low notes of his sexy voice vibrated in their ears? Or when he met their eyes, smiling with his own, while he sang a particularly seductive lyric?

  From across the café, I could hear their whispers. “He’s so hot!” a pretty, olive-skinned girl said into her friend’s ear.

  “Don’t I know it,” her friend answered.

  My eyes ran down the musician’s arm. Thin, white. No significant muscle tone, no notable tattoos. (At least not on the tops of his forearms.)

  I listened to him sing, tried to feel what the girls felt, to feel the sensation mom described. I closed my eyes and leaned back in my faux velvet chair. I felt the vibration through the floor; the music moved me, certainly, but the boy making it?

  Nada.

  Grumbling under my breath, I picked at my whole-wheat low-fat blueberry banana muffin, but my mouth tasted like metal, the crumbs rolling over my tongue like rocks. I tossed it back down into its crumbly paper holder. I didn’t want to eat anyway, didn’t want to calm down with sweet jasmine tea. I just wanted to slink down into this chair and pretend what was happening wasn’t real.

  Maybe I should bend the rules and get some caffeine.

  If I was going to attempt this, I had to wake the heck up.

  “Hey,” the nice, pink-haired barista said. “What can I get for you?”

  “Hey,” I noticed the ink rolling down his arms. A mermaid. “Nice tattoo,” I said. “Is that a mermaid?”

  “A siren, actually.”

  “That’s awesome. Did it hurt?”

  He glanced down at it. “Nah, not really. So what can I get you?”

  Oh. Right. “Can I have…what has the most caffeine?”

  “The most caffeine?” He smiled. “You can get a basic espresso, or do you like milk? You can get a latte and get up to four shots.”

  “Shots?”

  “Of espresso.”

  “Sorry,” I laughed, “I usually just order tea.”

  And usually was here with Orchid. The energy in here always made me a bit nervous.

  “Yeah I know,” he said. “You’re Lily, right? I’m Jonah.”

  “Oh, hi. Good memory.” That was interesting. So he’d noticed me before?

  And he had ink on his forearm. A siren, no less. Maybe I should see if he wanted to go down to the water later…

  “I’m sorry, but have you decided?” he glanced over my shoulder, “There’s a line.”

  I blushed. “Oh, sorry. Okay, well, just, how about a latte with one shot. Of espresso.”

  “Got it.”

  He turned around and flipped on the machine. A loud hum filled the café as the milk steamed. He poured it and when he handed it to me, there was a design on top, a little leaf.

  “That’s cute.”

  “Thanks. That’ll be $3.25.”

  I dug into my bag, but realized in my rush to come down to the beach, I had forgotten my wallet. Oh crap. Now I was the obnoxious, no-clue-how-to-order-coffee girl. Without money.

  I closed my eyes, and snapped my fingers inside my bag. A flash of light, and a handful of coins appeared in my hand.

  I scooped them up and handed them to the barista.

  He looked at them strangely then said, “Where are these from?”

  “From?” I looked at the coins. The clearly foreign coins.

  Jacked-up magic: 1.

  Lily: 0.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I dumped them back into my bag. “I must have something in here somewhere.”

  He grinned. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”

  “I’ll pay you back next time.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Hey, how about tonight? Do you have plans?”

  “Um, no.”

  “A bunch of us are having a bonfire on the beach, bringing our music. Want to come?”

  The beach. At night.

  Optimal swimming atmosphere.

  Optimal Breathing atmosphere.

  I thanked him, bashfully, and while I was getting details for tonight’s bonfire (shockingly I hadn’t frightened him off), the chimes on the front door rang, echoing in my ears ten times louder than they would a human’s. As I stood, a hot surge of energy crept from the base of my tailbone up through my spine, landing with a shock to my brain, when I saw the boy in the doorway.

  Dark tousled hair grazed his broad shoulders; he wore a black hoodie and baggy sweatpants, sunglasses over his eyes.

  When he walked through the door, he pushed his glasses up onto his head, and suddenly shivers rushed over my skin like the temperature had dropped 30 degrees. He scanned the room, and when his eyes caught mine, another sharp jolt shot through my body like he’d crashed into me with a million volts.

  His eyes. They were so blue. Preternaturally blue.
I’d never seen a color like that. Ever. Now shooting bright effervescence through this dim café, straight into me.

  The boy blinked in my direction, cocking his head to the right, eyebrows arched, as if he was as confused by the image of me as I was of him. I’m sure I was a strange sight, too, this girl staring and possibly trembling from a temperature change only she was experiencing.

  I tried to move but was frozen in place, his eyes trapping me in some sort of a force field. He blinked, and the hard lines of his jaw clenched, as if he’d been doing something wrong, and I’d caught him. After what seemed like minutes, he ripped his eyes off mine and that’s exactly what it felt like—a literal rip. My eyes stung and I felt another jolt, this time sharper, as he glanced at his friend. In the absence of his gaze, I was momentarily blinded, as if I’d just been staring into the sun.

  The friend mumbled something to him, and the boy stuffed his sunglasses into his hoodie pocket. He pulled his hood up over his head like a turtle retreating into its shell.

  I stayed frozen in place, staring, as the electric-eyed guy sauntered up to the counter.

  Since I had no friend with me to do so, I gave myself an emergency pep talk.

  You’re a witch. A powerful, impeccably trained sorceress. You can’t handle seeing a hot guy?

  But my instincts told me this was no ordinary hot guy. Like Mom had prophesized, right away I knew.

  This was a warlock. And something inside of me recognized him. But from where?

  “Here’s your drink,” Jonah said, drawing me back to reality. His nose wrinkled under his round-rimmed glasses as he glanced down the bar at what was distracting me. “Oh. Those guys.”

  “You know them?” I asked quietly. Could he feel the energy too? I glanced at the clique of girls I’d been observing before, but they were still flirting with the guitar player.

  “They are infrequent yet memorable customers,” Jonah answered.

  “How so?”

  “They hardly ever come around, but when they do, they pay in huge bills.”

  “Well, you do spin a pretty rad double.”

  Where did that come from? The first time I ordered a latte was today.

  “Didn’t you order a single?”

  “Yeah, it’s just…an expression.”