I thought about the new boy with his brown eyes and his gentle smile, and my gaze dropped to my fingers. Black tint concealed the telltale golden sheen of my nails, but it couldn’t coat the sudden golden ache in my heart.
What was I about to do?
“What you have to do,” whispered my father’s voice, from beyond the Shadows.
“What you must do,” insisted all the witches, from all the Sanctuaries.
And that intuition from deep in my being said Bren might be the one to free the Path from Nire.
“If his soul is good,” I said aloud. “If I train him true.”
Just like the prophecy foretold.
I covered my face with my cold, cold fingers. Did Father think the same of Alderon? Did he really believe that oversized oaf was capable of finding Nire and ending the Shadowmaster’s hold on the lives and safety of all witches?
Was I making the same mistakes Father had made?
Mother’s favorite refrain snaked through my thoughts. Weakness springs from two sources, Jasmina. The mind and the blood. Thanks to your father, you have a liberal amount of both to overcome.
And indeed, I did.
Just the thought of Mother and her constant disapproval—of me, of Father, of everything not clean and perfect—made me shiver. My stomach twisted with guilt. Over Mother’s capture. Over Father’s death. Over all the other witches who had not survived Nire’s attacks.
“Oh, man!”
The boy’s shout brought me to attention.
Outside, he was turning in circles, waving his muscular arms. “My mom’s truck!” he yelled. “Where’s Mom’s truck? I am so dead.”
Once more, my heart ached. If I opened the shop door—if I told him to flee before I connected L.O.S.T. to the Path—the boy could go home. He would be years discovering his witch talents—if he ever found them. His life would go on as it should, and he might never know the horrors of the Path.
Goddess save me. I have to let him go.
Without another moment’s hesitation, I hurried to the shop entrance. The boy stopped running and sat heavily on the ground. His longish hair clung to his forehead, hanging close to those enticing brown eyes. His expression had gone fierce. He doubled his fists and looked like he wanted to punch something. In that moment, he radiated more power and potential than the moment I first saw him.
Those hands—so large, so strong…
Perfect for sword work.
And his legs. I felt sure they were muscular beneath his jeans, and his feet more nimble than they first seemed.
Perfect for walking the Path beside me.
He shall come to find his power…
The prophecy from the Witches’ Book of Tyme had to be coming true, or we would all die soon. The Shadowmaster would see to that.
I raised my hands and closed my eyes, focusing on the energy around me, before I could change my mind again. A picture of Live Oak Springs Township, the Sanctuary I had created on the boundary between the witching and non-witching worlds, rose in my mind. I imagined L.O.S.T. bathed in bright yellow hues, a bubble floating safely in space, gradually drifting toward the dark ribbon of the Path.
So much preparation. So much energy. No new Sanctuary had been created in the four years since my father’s death, because no one besides me had the strength or knowledge to do it. And I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. Still, I persevered, practicing, pouring my energy and emotion into building the town, and then hooking it to the Path, to the bridge of energy my father had created.
In my mind, the bubble floated ever closer to the ribbon.
The picture was simple enough, but in truth, very complicated. My father had built a road through time—a road made of sheer energy. It tied together places and periods of history that were friendly to witches. He had intended to continue developing it, making it longer and more stable. But, of course, he was killed before he could complete this miracle.
The bubble in my thoughts settled against the ribbon.
A loud snap startled me, and I opened my eyes. The sky had returned to glitter-gold and blue.
I had done it. I had successfully connected L.O.S.T. to the Path!
And now I had precious little time. Once in a connected safe haven, the boy and I were on the Path—and L.O.S.T. was now the newest Sanctuary. The Path’s energy was still adjusting to L.O.S.T.’s presence, so Nire’s interfering spells were weak enough that Bren might successfully travel with me, at least to Shallym. After that, whether he developed the strength to walk the Path beside me, only the fates could decide.
Outside, the boy eased to his feet, obviously surprised by the softer skies now visible even to him. He knew something had changed. He knew something in his world had gone horribly astray. Any moment, he would realize why.
And then he turned and saw me.
His brown eyes narrowed.
I covered my mouth and shivered. The illusions I had cast fell away, and the store reverted to its real appearance, with its real contents. For the briefest of moments, Bren seemed to tower above the store. I couldn’t tear my gaze from him, or even move my feet to step away.
By the old prophecies, perhaps this Bren will be our savior after all.
***
Chapter Three
My keys—they were gone, and all I had was that figurine in my pocket. Did I leave the keys in the truck? What a lame thing to do.
Or maybe it was that Goth girl—the one who didn’t like it when I called her Jazz. She looked guilty. Maybe she picked my pocket when I was in the store.
“Hey, you!” I yelled at the girl. “Where’s my truck?”
The girl dropped her hand from her mouth and stared at me with those witchy gold-brown eyes, as if she was waiting for something. I looked behind her—but the convenience market I’d entered just a few minutes before was gone.
A blast of ice-cold air shot through me.
I’d been afraid before, lots of times. But not like this. Something was wrong. Like, really wrong.
The convenience store had turned into something like an enormous roadside market. It was filled with rows of strange-looking fabrics, plants, candles, and things I couldn’t even begin to figure out. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to know.
Some of that stuff looked dangerous.
Even worse, everything smelled too strong, like the onions, garlic, and herbs that my mom cooked with, and the sandalwood incense she burned all the time.
And the sky—it glittered. Like gold dust scattered across a shimmering blue wave. Way too poetic-sounding for me, but that was the only way I could think to describe it. Well, it did also kind of look like that glitter gel toothpaste I used as a kid.
My mouth went dry and I swallowed past the baseball-sized lump in my throat. I turned back to the girl, who seemed as cool and calm as a mannequin. She would have made a great storefront dummy, as rigid as she stood. Her skin was pale and, well, flawless. Not a strand of hair was out of place, and not a speck of lint or dirt was on her black clothing.
Respond, don’t react. Mom’s endless preaching echoed in my head. Think it through.
Dad’s voice came right after that. You’re so impulsive. So irresponsible. Now you’ve lost your mother’s truck and got yourself tangled up with some building-swapping town.
I clenched and unclenched my fists. Took a deep breath. And strode toward the girl. She stood her ground and raised her chin, as if she might be a queen looking down on some peon.
“Where am I?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Lost,” she replied, her voice soft but clear.
“Do I look stupid? I know I’m lost. Now where am I?”
“L-O-S-T.” She spelled it out this time, then turned and started toward the building behind her. “It stands for Live Oak Springs Township. And we need to hurry, or you’ll be in L.O.S.T. forever.”
I reached out, grabbed her upper arm, and pulled her to me. She glanced at my hand and back to my face, and by the look in those wicked eyes, I had th
e feeling she could easily shove a knife through my heart without a second thought. But for some strange reason, I didn’t want to let go, no matter that the girl’s weird eyes were spitting fire—a golden sort of fire, a lot like the glitter in the sky.
“Let me go,” she demanded, her tone hard. Nothing soft about her now.
I let go of her. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
The girl lifted her chin. “You have no choice, Bren. You have been chosen.”
“What do you mean I haven’t got a choice? Chosen to do what?” Anger flowed through me in a hot wave. Then it dawned on me that she called me Bren, and I knew I hadn’t told her my name. “Wait a minute. How do you know who I am? Who are you?”
“As you well know, my name is Jasmina.” She whirled around, and before I had a chance to catch her, she vanished into the spooky shop.
“Wait! Come back.” I ran inside, and the first thing I saw was the fruit basket—only all the apples were gone.
Fingers. There were fingers in that basket. Neatly stacked, but definitely fingers.
I blinked and shook my head. Imagining things. I had to be—or this was some big gag. Tearing my eyes away from the shriveled-up thumbs and pinkies, I took off in the direction the girl had disappeared, dodging crates stuffed with…dried tarantulas? Toadstools? A foot?
Oh, man.
As I chased after her, I noticed that everything in the shop was arranged neat and orderly. Even the dead spiders were lined up in perfect rows.
“Stop fooling around,” I shouted. “I need my truck, and I need to get to San Diego. My friend’s waiting for me, and my dad will kill me if I don’t find the truck and get out of here.” I dodged something black dangling from the ceiling, and then I almost fell as my foot slipped on the spotless floor. “Come on, Jazz. Jasmina. Whoever you are.”
Over stacks of colored cloths, I glimpsed her standing in front of a shimmery wall. She ran one finger down it, and a hole the size of a door appeared in front of her.
“Hey!” I rounded wooden barrels brimming with grain and saw her dodge through the hole. I charged after her—
Into almost total darkness.
A darkness filled with gross smells and screeching noises.
The only light filtered in behind me, but as I turned to go back, I saw Jazz run her hand up the hole, and everything went black. It was like she had sealed the entrance shut with her fingers.
I got so dizzy I nearly threw up, and then I felt a hand tug on my arm.
“This way,” the girl said.
Where was she?
Where was I?
I couldn’t see a thing. I tried to turn around, but when I looked over my shoulder, everything was dark behind me. And the ground I was standing on seemed to be moving.
“Don’t linger.” Jazz’s voice floated over me like a ghost whisper. “There are things here you don’t wish to see.”
Cold air chilled my skin, and the darkness smelled of mold and sour dirt. My stomach clenched and it was all I could do to keep from freaking out. Something was…bad here. Awful, and dead, and cruel, like the worst evil imaginable.
My knees wobbled because of the sensation of wrongness, and because of the moving ground, but I took a step. And another. It felt like walking on an escalator backward and running away from something horrible, all at once.
Puking was still definitely an option.
“What’s going on?” I yelled, trying to keep my balance.
“Hurry! You must follow me.”
“I must follow. Yeah.” But before I could move, the need to puke overwhelmed me, and I tossed what was left of my breakfast. The wet feel of it on my shirt and the acid taste and smell almost made me sick again.
Jazz tugged at my arm as I swayed and reached for anything to hold me up with my free hand. There was nothing around me but air and the heavy, wrong blackness. Blackness that seemed to move, here and there, just like the floor.
Batting cage, I told myself. Maybe this was like the batting cage. I’d do better with my eyes shut. Just listen for the pitches.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I kept walking, allowing Jazz to drag me along. Faster and faster. After a minute, I was almost running. And then I was running.
Jazz let go of my arm, and a second later, light hit my eyelids. When I opened them, I could see a doorway. Jazz was heading through it. I ran over that stupid moving floor, through the door, straight into the light.
“You’re not getting away.” I held my hand up to block the glare as I chased her. And slammed into something hard. Solid.
I stumbled sideways and landed on my butt—and stared up at the most gigantic man I had ever seen. The guy wore no shirt, just a pair of leather pants and boots, and his skin shone like polished ebony. He had awesome muscles. Was he ever buff.
“Who—I mean what—” I stammered. “Who are you?”
Before I knew what was happening, the giant grabbed my wrist and yanked me to my feet. He stepped back, folded his arms, and studied me with his jet-black eyes, like I was a piece of sports equipment he was looking to buy. My puke-soaked shirt felt cold against my chest and the faint stink of it kept me on the edge of sick.
Behind the giant, in the near distance, was a medieval village, like something out of a fantasy movie. Old buildings crammed the street, people rushed around and gabbed with each other, and a horse-drawn cart rattled over the cobblestones. And the stench—you’d think the air would have smelled clean since there didn’t seem to be any cars around. But it stunk like manure and rotting fish guts. And something else. Salt. Brine.
Was I near the ocean? But San Diego was still a good hour away. My head swam, and I felt like I’d entered the Twilight Zone or something.
“This pup, is he your choice?” the man asked in an unbelievably deep voice, snatching my attention back to him.
“Yes, Rol, this is the one.” Jazz appeared out of nowhere and stood beside me. She had said “the one” as if she was talking about some rock star, or maybe the president.
I glared at her. “What the—”
“Did you take him by force?” The giant narrowed his eyes at Jazz.
She looked away from him.
The man she called Rol sighed. Before I could say anything, he grabbed my upper arm and squeezed it half off my body.
“Hey!” I smacked at his hand.
Rol grunted. “For one so young, he is hardy.”
He turned me loose, and I rubbed my bruised biceps.
“Yeah, well, I play baseball.”
Rol and Jazz ignored what I said.
“Left or right-handed?” Jazz asked me.
I glared at her. “Left, but I’m a switch-hitter—”
“He’ll need a scabbard for his right side,” Jazz interrupted. “Do you think his own clothes will do?”
“His tunic—poor workmanship. And the smell, quite foul.” Rol grabbed the neck of my T-shirt with both hands and ripped it clean off me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I pushed away from the giant. My whole body started shaking, I was so pissed. “That was my favorite T-shirt. Haven’t you ever heard of a washing machine?”
Rol turned to Jazz and continued talking as if I wasn’t even there. “His breeches and footwear should do for now. I will get him a proper tunic, leather breeches, and boots.”
“Yes, he’s fine for the job.” Jazz eyed my bare chest and smiled, and I had a sudden urge to cover myself—like no one had ever seen me without a shirt on.
I folded my arms and glared at her. For the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words. It was all so surreal that I knew I had to be dreaming.
No way was I standing in some medieval village with a giant and a golden-eyed witch.
***
Chapter Four
“Witch.”
Bren’s thoughts blared like a radio from the non-witching world, hurting my mind’s ears. His sculpted body, however, was quite easy on the eyes, and I had to turn my ga
ze away to keep from staring.
“Yes, I am,” I said, sounding softer than I intended. I couldn’t help it. With his chest bare, his hair loose about his neck, and that damnable stubble of a beard, Bren looked like a wickedly handsome pirate caught between a roar of rage and a moment of embarrassment.
Rol frowned. The training master knew me only too well, and disapproval rippled through the iron of his muscles.
“Yes, you are…what?” Bren asked.
“I’m a witch.” I held up my hands, showing him my dark nails. “Note the paint. I have to wear concealment on my nails, eyes, and hair whenever I mix with unenlightened humans.”
“Yeah, right.” Bren rolled his eyes. “My mom wears stuff like that all the time. So do half the girls at my school. My brother, Todd, even got into the act on Halloween. Goth’s in. Didn’t you know?”
I sighed. “Bren, I’m a witch.”
The boy stared at me, splendid in his half-dressed perfection. “Okay,” he said. “Pinch me. I’m ready to wake up.”
Rol grabbed Bren and nearly squeezed his arm from his body before I could get my hand in the air.
“Cease!” I commanded.
Rol froze. Bren dangled like a doll from Rol’s massive hands, kicking and yelling. Nothing moved anywhere around us except Bren. Even the villagers and horses had halted midstep, and the ocean didn’t make a sound.
My heart pounded in my throat.
Bren was unaffected by my magic.
Already, he was showing more promise than Alderon ever achieved, even after training. It must be natural for Bren. Something inside of him. Something special. Almost not human.
But how could that be?
All of the oldeFolke were on the Path, in our Sanctuaries. Bren had to be of a human line of witches. And yet…
Bren’s inner power coursed within him even as he stopped struggling and climbed out of Rol’s statue-like grasp. Energy danced about Bren like a silver light, surprising me to my core. Most of our kind glowed, but usually gold or yellow, not silver.
What could that mean? Was he some sort of monster in the forming? And yet, I could see concern in Bren’s otherwise hard eyes. I knew he had no understanding of his own strength. Perhaps I didn’t, either.
L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set Page 2
