Sea Cursed: An Adult Dystopian Paranormal Romance: Sector 13 (The Othala Witch Collection)

by Amy Lee Burgess

  The door swung, and I silenced the creaking with my magic. When it was all the way open, Logan pushed me through.

  “What about you?” He turned halfway through the doorway to stare at Matilda.

  “I’ll delay them as much as I can. Get into that passage!”

  She shut the door between us and locked it.

  Logan flashed his light around the room. Bookcases climbed floor to ceiling stuffed with leather-bound books. Journals.

  I moved toward the nearest shelf.

  “We haven’t time!” Logan snarled, frustration and fear deepening his voice. The light centered on the small fireplace in the center wall. “They’ll be doing a door-to-door search. Damn it. We should have sunk that boat no matter how well built and how much magic we’d stuffed it with.

  Logan’s friend, James, had wanted to sink the Sea Cursed and Logan had talked him out of it. I’d been relieved at the time the boat wouldn’t be scuttled, but sentiment might have undone us.

  Logan moved to the left of the fireplace, counting out stones, while I stared helplessly at the rows and rows of journals. We’d probably never have another chance to examine them. It could only take the guards a few moments to make their way here. Still, maybe we had some time to try to find Thirteen’s journals. They’d most likely be on a top shelf. But which bookcase housed the oldest volumes? The one by the door or perhaps the one nearest the fireplace? If only they were numbered! I spied a ladder on wheels obviously used to retrieve the higher-up books. Did I have time to climb it and at least look at one of the journals on the top shelf nearest the ladder?

  Logan found the third stone and pressed it. The rocks shuddered and groaned, and the fireplace and rock wall moved. Logan leaped out of the way as the wall swung forward to reveal a narrow passageway.

  How on Othala do you close this damn thing?” Logan muttered, ducking into the passage. I hesitated, torn between following him and rushing to the ladder, until he whisper-shouted, “Demetria!” in such an awful voice, he scared me.

  “Maybe we can just hang out in this passage and come back into the archives when they’re done searching?” With a last, desperate glance back at the ladder, I ducked into the passageway.

  “That’s what I plan on doing.” Logan said. “But first we have to close this damn thing so when the guards get here, they won’t see what we’ve done.” He pressed a small lever he’d found, and the wall swung back into place. I barely leaped out of the way in time to avoid barking my heels.

  “Shit,” Logan said. He shone the light on the lever, which had sunk back into the rock. “It only works one way.”

  Disappointment crushed into me, smashing my spirit into bits and pieces. “Oh, Logan. We were so close. We’ll never get another opportunity to get back into the mansion. And now they know we’re here.” Panic clawed at my voice, spiraling it up higher and higher until I was nearly screaming.

  “They don’t.” Logan took me by my shoulders and gave me a small, hard shake. “They only suspect. So they found an empty boat adrift. How the hell did we get back here? Did we swim? So maybe we drowned trying to get back here. Nobody really knows anything.”

  I took a deep, calming breath, but it barely touched my agitation.

  “Except Dustin and the other guard, and everyone aboard the Selkie,” I said.

  Logan stared at me, shock widening his eyes. “The Selkie? They’re all witches. They’d never betray us.”

  “Not even if they were tortured? Their families imprisoned? The Regent isn’t stupid, Logan.” I fought hard to keep my voice smooth, but even so it hitched. “That witch ship wasn’t even supposed to be out of the harbor. What kind of cover story do they have, and how long will it stand up? As far as I can see, all those witches are in such deep trouble right now it’s not even funny. And if even if they do stand up to the Regent, will Dustin and the other guard?”

  “It’s their lives on the line if they don’t.” Logan’s grim expression couldn’t mask his growing unease.

  “Maybe if we give ourselves up first. Tell the Regent we did bring the Sea Cursed as close as we dared before swimming to shore. Sea witches never drown, Logan. No one’s going to believe we drowned. Not even non-magicals.” Fear gripped me, twisting my insides until I nearly threw up. Our deaths wouldn’t be easy, nor would our families escape. Mother. I steeled myself against thinking of her. The alternative would be to doom every witch on the Selkie and the guards that helped us. And their families.

  “Dem.” Logan said through clenched teeth. “We have magical power. We can –”

  “Fight?” I whispered, shaking my head. “Witches protect. That’s what you told me. If we fight, how are we any better than any Trumbull regent who ever murdered witches marked by Othala?”

  Logan hung his head. “We aren’t.”

  I heaved a sigh, fighting nausea and a horrible pity. Logan defeated was not a Logan I wanted to see. With his proud head lowered and his strong shoulders shaking, all I wanted was to wrap my arms around him and make him whole again. But I couldn’t. All I could do was take his hand and lead him down the passage toward whatever terrible fate awaited us.

  Chapter 27

  I clutched Logan’s hand. Being deep underground gave me a curious sense of limitless space, regardless of the narrow confines of the passageway. On some weird, magical level, I reveled being in the earth like this.

  Logan, on the other hand, hunched his shoulders more and more as we walked, as if drawing himself in as tightly as he could. He sent several nervous glances up toward the rounded ceiling, although there were no signs of crumbling rock.

  “No windows freak me out,” he muttered as we made our way past endless rock wall. No twists or curves, just a straight, narrow tunnel.

  “I feel oddly comfortable,” I admitted, glancing at him to see if his expression morphed into horror at my confession.

  Instead, his lips twitched into a wry smile. “Earth witch, you’re in your element, aren’t you?”

  “Literally,” I said, making him laugh. “Remember how scared I was the first night at sea?”

  “You adapted like a pro.” Logan squeezed my hand with such affection my throat tightened.

  “The circumstances were a bit different,” I said. “But I swear we’re not in any danger here.”

  “Never mind my claustrophobia. This damn tunnel has to come out somewhere at some point.” Logan gulped. “At least that’s what I keep telling myself.”

  He stumbled, and the flashlight jerked out of his hands, smashing to the floor. The light winked out, leaving us in pitch blackness.

  “Now, damn it, that’s not fair.” Logan groaned and fell to his knees, letting go of my hand so he could scrabble around in the dark for his flashlight. “Othala curse it, I heard it roll in this direction.”

  “It’s broken,” I said. “And we don’t really need it. This tunnel goes nowhere but straight. We just have to keep walking.”

  “I’m not walking in the dark,” Logan declared, crawling away from me. “Besides, if the flashlight is broken, so what? I’m a sea witch. I can cast light spells on the battery. If I can find the damn thing!”

  He sounded so exasperated I bit my lip. I probably should help him. I sank to my knees and reached around with my hands as I crawled forward.

  “Ouch!” I sat back, trying not to swear when I bashed one hand against the hard stone wall. I’d miscalculated the distance. “Logan, come on. Let’s just walk. It can’t be that far to the stables, can it?”

  “I don’t care. I’m finding that stupid flashlight if it’s the last thing I –” Logan’s irritated voice petered out into a hoarse yell of surprise followed by the sound of something – his body, I presumed – crashing downward. Stairs maybe. Had he found the way out? More importantly, was he all right?

  “Logan!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet. I couldn’t run in the dark, but I walked damn fast in the direction of where I’d last heard his voice. “Logan! Are you all right? Answer me!”
r />   “Be careful,” he shouted, his voice echoing. Where on Othala was he? “There’s a mean flight of stairs ahead.”

  “I’m coming!” I rushed forward, and my left foot came down hard on something cylindrical that rolled. My leg went out from under me, and I fell hard on one elbow. Shooting pain skyrocketed up and down my arm.

  “Dem?” Logan yelled in a near-panicked voice. “What happened? Did you fall?”

  I closed my fingers around the cylindrical object. “It’s not a total loss,” I said through gritted teeth as pain continued to jolt up and down my arm. “I found the flashlight.”

  “Turn it on!” Logan ordered.

  Muttering imprecations under my breath, I pressed the on button. Nothing.

  “It’s broken.”

  “Bring it to me. I’ll fix it.”

  I bit the inside of my lip to keep from swearing at him. In as nice a voice as I could muster, I said, “If I could see you, I could do that. I don’t know where you are.”

  “At the bottom of some damn staircase,” Logan said. Unhelpfully. I already knew that.

  “Is it straight ahead or off the wall?” I hauled myself to my feet, holding my injured arm to my side. I hadn’t broken anything, but I’d smacked my funny bone, and I resigned myself to a lot of painful tingles.

  “Off to the left. Follow my voice, but go slow. I’m coming up the stairs, and I’ll meet you halfway.” Logan’s voice sounded marginally closer.

  “You’re all right, aren’t you? You fell down the stairs.”

  He chuckled. “There’s only four of them. Shallow staircase. It opens up into some sort of room I wish I could see. Are you almost here?”

  “I think so.” I kept walking as I listened and talked, but I traveled slowly. The dark pressed in around me, not precisely unnerving me, but I wished I had at least a speck of light. At least my elbow had stopped tingling.

  “I hear you getting closer. Turn to the left. Hold out your hand. I’m holding out mine. I’m at the top of the staircase.”

  “I hope I don’t knock you down it again.” I stretched out my arm, waving my hand around until I touched Logan’s fingers. At least I hoped they were his.

  “Got you.” He pulled me close enough to hug, and until I buried my face in his shoulder, I hadn’t realized how hard my heart pounded. His too. I placed a hand on his chest and his heart thumped against my palm.

  “Where’s that flashlight?” Logan asked. I stepped back so I could hand it to him – an awkward, groping exchange in the dark. He muttered something beneath his breath, and the flashlight lit. Magic.

  “I’m so glad you’re a sea witch,” I said when I could see his face. He smiled at me before brushing a soft kiss on the middle of my forehead.

  “Come on, let’s explore this room. We’ve got time, haven’t we? Maybe this is another way out.” He took my hand and turned back to a small archway in the stone wall and four shallow steps.

  I glanced at the tunnel, which continued in straight line.

  “Matilda said the passage led to the stables. She didn’t mention anything about having to go down stairs into a side room to find the exit,” I said, but allowed Logan to draw me downward.

  Once at the bottom, Logan flashed the light around the room. Shelves lined the room stacked with old books, some of them crumbling at the edges. The musty scent of ancient paper tickled my nose.

  “Logan.” I hardly dared to breathe, especially when he reached out a trembling hand to take down a book on the shelf nearest us. The leather cover was stamped with the symbol of Othala.

  “Hold the light.” Logan hastily shoved the flashlight at me, and I held it as steady as I could while he opened the book. Cramped handwriting filled the lined pages. I caught fragments of sentences like “unrest with the non-magicals”, “nothing short of an open regency election will appease”, and “against everything we sacrificed for the spell of Reutterance.”

  “It’s dated almost two hundred and fifty years ago,” Logan said tersely as he flipped through pages. “This must be one of the journals kept by one of the last Othala-marked witches who served as co-regent.” He paged back to the inside front cover, and I shone the light so we could both read her name. Tatiana Wood.

  “There are still some Woods in Seawall South. Could be descendants,” Logan muttered. He put the volume back on the shelf and scanned the higher shelves. “I think I can just reach.” He went up on tiptoe to grasp another, older volume.

  “What did she mean that there was unrest? Did the non-magicals really think an open election for a new regent would be fair? Non-magicals outnumber us three to one.” I struggled to make sense of the phrases I’d read and put context to them.

  “Back then I’m sure many non-magicals would have voted for a witch.” Logan rocked the book with his fingers, letting out a sigh of triumph when it fell into his hand. “It’s all they knew for one thing.”

  “What did they sacrifice for the spell of Reutterance? We didn’t sacrifice anything.” I held the flashlight steady so we could see the inside cover of the new book.

  “Mary-Angela Vincenzo,” Logan read aloud, then frowned. “What kind of a last name is that for a witch? Witches either have earth-associated names or watery ones to designate which kind of witch they are. Vincenzo is a non-magical name.”

  “Maybe it’s not a witch regent’s journal,” I said, although this book appeared much older than Tatiana Wood’s.

  “Look at the date,” Logan said, and whistled through his teeth. “Dem. The year is Two AT. This is almost right after the ravagers took over most of the world leaving only Othala and the sixteen sectors fit for habitation. This means –”

  “You found Thirteen’s journals. This journal belonged to Thirteen!” My knees turned rubbery, and I grabbed onto Logan for support. He was none too steady himself.

  “We need to find journals further into her regency.” Logan stroked the book reverently. “History tells us that she cast the original spell twice. Once right after the Sixteen split Othala into sectors, and again nearly fifty years later when they realized Galveteen was drifting back to the mainland. It was after that she wrote the spell of Reutterance requiring two witches to do what she’d accomplished on her own.”

  “She must have been a very powerful witch.” I dared to touch the journal, frightened and awed by the idea that Thirteen herself had written the words I stared at.

  “All the Sixteen were,” Logan said, staring at the bookcase, obviously calculating where he might find a journal almost fifty years younger than the one he held.

  “Logan.” I fretted. “Do you really think finding out why she had to write the spell of Reutterance rather than going with the original spell she cast will help us? I mean, we already really know, don’t we? She couldn’t count on a witch as powerful as she was being alive every fifty years to recast the spell, but she knew two could do it.”

  “I want to know why her last name is Vincenzo.” Logan went up on tiptoe again to return the book from year two of the After Times to its original slot. “I want to know a lot of things. Like how she created the pool of magic we load the Othala-marked lightning bolt from and whether we can give power back to the other witches of Galveteen and still have enough for fifty years from now when the next set of witches perform the spell of Reutterance.”

  “Even if we can give them power, they won’t use it against non-magicals,” I argued.

  “Not to hurt them.” Logan spared me a brief glance before moving a few feet away to reach for a book on the shelf below the top one. “But we most certainly can intimidate.”

  “Don’t you think that’s what witches from Tatiana’s generation were doing? And maybe that’s why the non-magicals wanted a vote?”

  “Only she and the sea witch co-regent were powerful enough to intimidate.” Logan chose a volume and opened it. I moved closer to shine the light for him. “Tell you what.” He turned to me. “Why don’t you read Tatiana’s journal to look for that answer while I read Thi
rteen’s.”

  “Have you found the right journal?” I peered at the date on the inside cover. Fifty-one AT. That could be it.

  “Maybe. I’m going to skim through.”

  “We have one flashlight between us,” I reminded him.

  Logan rubbed his eyes. “Do me a favor. Shine the light around here. There has to be a light source around here. I saw candle sconces on the walls in the passageway. Maybe there’s something in here – aha!” He watched the light beam around the room until it illuminated a mirrored sconce on the wall between two bookcases.

  “Well? He shook his head. “What are you waiting for? Light it.”

  “But you manipulate light,” I said.

  “No, electricity. I can make batteries and light bulbs work. You control fire, remember? Light that candle.” Logan gave me a nudge, and took the flashlight as I passed him.

  I thought for a moment. Did I dare throw a fireball? What if I incinerated the books? Perhaps I could make the fireball into a spark.

  I moved to the candle and pointed my finger close to the wick. I concentrated and – poof – a tiny spark shot from my finger and ignited the candle. The light bounced off the mirror and the room lit up. Stupidly impressed with myself, I almost burst into laughter, but sobered when Logan handed me Tatiana’s journal. I sat on the floor beneath the sconce before carefully opening the book.

  Chapter 28

  Tatiana Wood’s journal sucked me in, dulling my gnawing anxiety, and sweeping me away into a Galveteen where the witches dominated at first. Only, a few years after she and her sea witch co-regent had returned from saving Galveteen, non-magicals became restless.

  “Did you know Tatiana Wood and Reilly Waters were the first witches marked by Othala to become co-regents?” I looked up from my journal to rest my eyes for a moment. Tatiana’s handwriting, small and cramped, made my eyes ache after prolonged exposure.