L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set

by R. S. Collins

  Quinn cleared his throat.

  Handsome or not, I wanted to trim his hair with a well-placed fire bolt. I didn’t have an answer. I could ward the temple grounds and gardens, but wards could always be broken. I could sequester the Dana’Kell, but that would be no life. I could—

  A soft silvery gold glow behind Quinn caught my attention. Well, not behind Quinn. Behind the hill separating the Dana’Kell gardens from the rest of oldeTowne. I put my hand above my eyes to block the light. Sure enough, there was a glow. And in moments, the source became obvious.

  The Circle was on the move, led by at least twenty hags carrying large cloth bags. Their serpentine hag-spirits bobbed along beside them, or wrapped about their heads or arms. Sherise and Helden each clasped the younger girl Kella’s hands, but the stones of all three glowed with equal radiance, creating the haze of magic I had seen.

  Quinn turned to see what I was staring at, as did the other nine priests. They spoke in murmurs of surprise and what sounded like discomfort, but Quinn rendered them silent with another sharp clap. He turned quickly back to me.

  “Are we to be meals for another set of witches?” he inquired calmly.

  “No. These aren’t carnivorous.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose again. “Well, at least not the children.”

  Hags ate what they wanted and preserved the rest in grisly splendor, but I saw no reason to discuss that reality at the moment. Or the fact that the hags with the Circle were hochkonigin, the hag equivalents of a ruling class—essentially the head of each major hag clan.

  Why had I been so fast to assure the priests that they wouldn’t be eaten?

  The Dana’Kell got more still and more stiff as their visitors approached. Quinn twitched a few times and kept looking at me with his unusual eyes. I flexed my fingers, keeping them limber just in case.

  The hag caravan stopped a few yards from the priests, at the imaginary line where the fledgling meditation gardens began. To my relief, it was Helden who let go of Kella’s hand and stepped through the lines of black-robed oldeFolke to speak with us. Helden was a witch I had rescued from an ancient German village Nire destroyed. Helden had a gift for diplomacy and peacemaking, and she wasn’t actually a hag. More of an honorary hag. If she served as spokeswoman, then the hags’ intentions must not be too drastic.

  “Greetings,” Helden said more to Quinn than to me. Her kind eyes sparkled as she offered her hand. Unlike the wrinkled hands of hags, hers were smooth and dainty.

  Quinn, who looked powerfully uncomfortable at seeing a beautiful modern witch amongst the hags, took her hand and gave it a brief kiss. Helden’s expression faltered slightly before becoming radiant again when he let her go, and I wondered if the priest’s touch made her uneasy.

  “We have come to help,” Helden explained. “With your leave, we will take up residence with the Dana’Kell and help build your temple and tend your gardens as we train for Beltane. The distractions of physical labor would be most welcome. It might help calm our nerves.”

  I don’t know who looked more shocked, the priests or me. “The offer is kind,” Quinn said quickly, “but out of the question.”

  “You need us,” Helden said without a hint of annoyance at his brush-off. “The Circle wields a magic almost as powerful as the queen’s. We can protect you as we train, and our hag-sisters can hasten the growth of your gardens.”

  Not to mention keep at bay stubborn klatchKeepers, I thought, stunned by the wisdom and generosity of the offer.

  Hags, being generous.

  The idea was almost frightening.

  Perhaps it was nearing the end of the world as we knew it, like some of the hags believed. Or as others, including myself, believed, the nearing of a battle that would make or break the future of all magical folk. All I knew for certain was that the gathering of so many descendants of powerful witching lines was far too much for serendipity or coincidence. The unusually good behavior of the hags sealed that fact, without a doubt. The Circle had some role to play in whatever would happen when the fires of Beltane blazed.

  And Quinn was about to do something foolish like refuse this magnanimous gesture. The hochkonigin probably would kill him then, and use his fingers and toes in potions.

  “A brilliant solution,” I cut in before the priest could speak. “So be it. I will send laborers to hasten the temple’s construction, so you will all have proper sleeping quarters.”

  As I bowed to show my respect to the hag clan mothers, Quinn wheeled on me, outright fury etched in his expression. He opened his mouth to speak, but one of the other priests put a hand on his arm. The man murmured something to his leader, and my keen hearing picked out the important words, “queen,” “respect,” “best interests,” “watch them,” and “for now.”

  Quinn’s fae features grew less drawn and sharp as the other man spoke. The high priest nodded, took a slow breath, and seemed to absorb a new wisdom from his charge’s admonishment.

  When next he looked at me, he had reclaimed the serenity I had come to associate with the Dana’Kell. “As you will, Your Highness.” He bowed his head. When he straightened and turned to Helden, he said, “Our gratitude to you and your hag-sisters. Welcome to what little shelter and food we have to offer this night.”

  One of the hags commented in hag-speech that she had brought plenty of dried meat and fresh vegetables in her bag, and she would be more than happy to cook a splendid feast. The youngest girl Kella flinched, but made valiant efforts to keep smiling like Helden. So did I. Sherise looked faintly ill.

  As I surrendered the Dana’Kell into the care of the hochkonigin and told Helden and Sherise I would be back that evening for another training session, I fervently hoped the priests didn’t choose to take the hag up on her offer to cook—or if they did, that they didn’t look too closely at the feast’s ingredients.

  The priests said something about completing their morning rituals, then dispersed, grumbling amongst themselves.

  The hag-spirits eyed the men, hissing softly.

  It was all I could do not to scream, so I thought it time to make my exit.

  Instead of flying back to the center of town, I decided to walk. The day truly was lovely, and I wanted to enjoy some of it if I could. Stretching my legs felt good, even if the sensation couldn’t totally banish my worries. For these five minutes, at least, L.O.S.T. seemed to be at tenuous peace. Maybe the message scrawled on Bren’s door meant nothing. Maybe the quiet would last.

  And perhaps if I willed such a reality hard enough, it would come to pass. Sooner or later, the inhabitants of L.O.S.T. had to become more unified, or they would never stand against the threats we currently faced. The Erlking. And worse. Dare I even speak the name? But I had to. The truth never hurt as much as lies in the long run.

  Nire.

  Light the fires. Nire comes!

  The Erlking had sworn to bring back the Shadowmaster, and I had deep fears that the wicked dwarf might make good on his threats. I wanted to deny it, but I couldn’t. I wanted days off from the reality of being queen, but I couldn’t have them.

  More than anything, I wanted Bren walking beside me, holding my hand, telling me about some swordfight or how he had tinkered with this or that on his motorcycle—though the motorcycle wore a bit thin after a few minutes. I just wanted to hear his voice, but I couldn’t have that either. We were promised to each other, but I saw him less and less. Even Sherise got to spend more time with him than I did, since Rol had taken over her weapons training. I tried not to be jealous of her. Really, I did. She was definitely Todd’s girlfriend, but … still. Bren often seemed to like her overly much. When he liked anyone at all.

  Ever since the Erlking kidnapped Todd, Bren hadn’t been himself. That dark, bitter part of him seemed to be growing.

  I sighed.

  “Your Majesty! Queen Jasmina. Wait!” A girl’s voice, and it sounded urgent. I sighed again. Then I pasted on a smile and turned to find one of the rescued Shadow witches hurrying toward me. By her
dress and manner, she looked to be from the Middle Ages.

  “Please,” she gasped, struggling for breath as she fell to her knees before me. “My father went hunting outside of oldeTowne and fired upon a quail, and now the covey is trying to eat him!”

  Shims. By the Goddess. How did they get out? That place on the bridge of my nose begged for pinching again. Todd and his breeding experiments. Why would anyone create man-eating quail? I would have had them all put down if the hags weren’t infatuated with their poisonous eggs. Enough toxin to paralyze without killing. Only hags would be excited about that.

  “When I asked the hags and other witches for help,” the poor girl continued, “they told me nature would take its own course—but, Your Highness, he’s my father, and—”

  “Be at peace.” I took her by the arm and lifted her to her feet even as I raised my other hand, envisioned the strength and power of the live oaks all around us, and cried, “Wind!”

  “Bloody birds.” I swore as I slammed the entrance to Todd’s aviary. It was a beautiful enclosure, really, evil quail notwithstanding. Grass, trees, a pond, even a few nice caves for roosting. The feral quail had managed to carve through the netting on one end, but I’d seen to repairs and helped capture the little feathered fiends after I plucked the helpless Shadow man out of harm’s way. He had a few gouges and talon marks, but nothing the healers couldn’t handle. Except for the nightmares, of course. I was quite sure he’d be seeing fang-beaked monstrosities in his dreams for many nights to come.

  Ah, well. Better than what awaited me—endless hours of crying children.

  For months, I had spent most of my sleeping hours searching dark, impenetrable forests and jungles, trying to find sobbing children. My mother felt this was an offshoot of my freeing and becoming undisputed ruler of Nire’s remnant Shadows. The Shadow witches were well and truly babes in the woods of the modern world. They needed so much care, and I feared I was running out of energy and failing them. Hence the dream, where my new “children” were all so pitiably lost and alone, like the harpy children Bren and I had rescued from the land of the dead a few months ago.

  At least we hadn’t failed those children. The young harpies were alive, well, and as hideously ugly as ever, though I had to admit, I was getting used to them. As if hearing my thoughts, two flew by, along with a large and incredibly smelly adult harpy, escorting some of Todd’s giant toads back to their containment area.

  If it weren’t for the harpies and their ongoing efforts, Todd’s collection of odd and strengthened magical animals would be totally out of hand.

  Coughing at the new, vile stink from the harpies and toads, I traipsed to the nearest well in Todd’s zoo and drew out a bucket. After making sure there weren’t any unpleasant leavings in the water, I took a slow, cool drink and used my magic to rid myself of muck and blood and shim droppings. The smells, however, remained recalcitrant.

  Grand. Just grand.

  My stomach rumbled despite the lingering stench of bird filth. Where was Bren? Wasn’t he supposed to do the smelly tasks? I snorted. He was probably riding that damned motorcycle on some daring rescue out in the desert. Or crossing swords with Rol at the training grounds.

  But wait. He had promised me lunch by the pond in our favorite glen. I glanced at the sun, judging it to be time, or a little past. To avoid notice, I left the animal compound through the barn exit and cut through the side alleys of oldeTowne. Near the border of the old-style section of L.O.S.T. and the beginning of more modern homes, I passed my mother, who was leading thirty or so Shadow children in a basic cleaning chant. Clouds of dirt hovered above them all, probably scrounged off little noses and little fingers and little toes. Leave it to Mother to focus on cleaning spells first. I rolled my eyes. At least my habits had a strong genetic basis.

  Bren’s father passed me near the new great hall at the general store without even looking up. He had a sheaf of papers clenched in his hand, and I figured he was making for the library and documents repository. Something his Spellnet program generated, no doubt. My father would have loved Spellnet. My mother, of course, thought it made us lazy and dependent on unreliable technology.

  A witch should use her six senses, Jasmina. Only that and nothing more, else you lose touch with the fundamentals of your own magic…

  “Blah, blah, blah,” I muttered at the Mother-voice in my head, borrowing a phrase Bren had been lately fond of using. Spellnet was a grand undertaking, a triumph, especially with the new sensitivity modifications.

  Yet, I couldn’t help feeling we might be headed in the wrong direction. The dark images from my nightmare gave me a shiver as I slipped behind the general store and strolled toward the glen. In my terrible night visions, the “children” weren’t able to help themselves. They all depended on me, just as the Path witches depended on Spellnet and their king and queen to make rescues. There had to be a better way-but what was it?

  Bren and I kept turning over ideas. Maybe we’d hit upon a solution soon. Already my heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him. Would he have a picnic for us? He could be thoughtful like that. Well, sometimes. If I hinted hard enough. He wasn’t exactly what you would call the most romantic guy, but he was mine.

  I could just imagine pastries and iced tea and flowers on a soft blanket by the pond…

  More like bologna sandwiches, soda pop, and potato chips if Bren was offering his usual fare.

  My cheeks heated as I smiled. Bren. My Bren.

  If he forgot about the picnic, I’d turn him into a bugbear and feed him poisonous shim eggs. Or perhaps he’d like to revisit his brief time as an actual ass? My fingers twitched.

  I rounded the last corner-and there he was. With a dark-headed girl.

  They had their heads together and seemed to be sharing a secret.

  Sherise? I squinted, but they were too far away for me to be certain. They were standing near one of the slither day-lairs, Harold’s in fact. The big red dragon was making growling noises in his cave and he seemed even more agitated than normal. Smoke rolled from the opening, obscuring my view of Bren and Sherise for just a moment.

  When I saw them leaning impossibly closer to one another, my stomach gave an odd twist, this one unrelated to hunger. If my cheeks had a color now, it would be green.

  Was I losing my mind? Definitely my dignity.

  I ground my teeth and spelled myself for total silence, and I stepped behind a sprawling live oak.

  Okay, Jasmina. My brain’s Mother-voice definitely did not approve of this course of action. You’re being jealous and foolish, not to mention sly and deceptive.

  Yes, I was all of those things.

  But…

  I should just step back on the path to the glen and make my presence known.

  Then again, I could peek around the tree and see if Bren and his mystery girl were through whispering.

  For about five seconds, I battled with myself. Then, like an idiotic schoolgirl, I peered around the tree.

  And screamed inside my bubble of silence.

  Bren and his Sherise look-alike were definitely finished sharing secrets.

  Now they were sharing a deep, passionate kiss. My fingers clenched, right along with my heart. Tears leaped to my eyes and raced down my cheeks.

  How—how could he? Unbelievable! Why had I ever felt sorry for him? Mourning Todd and worrying about goat-blood messages indeed.

  Magical rage crackled out of me in every direction, breaking the cone of silence I had formed. At the release of my trapped shout, Bren looked at me and Sherise pushed him away. Faster than I could think, she slipped around the corner of Harold’s day-lair. Bren took off at a dead run the opposite way, heading straight into the glen.

  “Come back here this instant, you coward!” I blasted the earth behind him as he disappeared into the trees.

  Spewing lightning bolts in every direction and not much caring what they struck and burned, I ran after him. When I burst into the clearing, the bastard I was promised to was s
tanding by the pond, holding a couple of cans of my favorite soda pop. His big slither Firestorm grazed nearby, as if nothing at all were wrong.

  Somehow my firebolts hadn’t made it to the pond.

  Too bad.

  “There you are,” Bren said and raised the cans. “I thought you’d forgotten. Listen, I know this wasn’t supposed to be about business at all, but we need to talk about a rescue we just made. The 1965 New York village has been abandoned, and part of it’s disappearing. I found this kid—he’s got silver magic and looks almost exactly like Todd—but he’s with the healers now, and—”

  This time my scream hurt even my own ears. “Jazz?” he said, having the gall to look concerned, confused even.

  I raised my hands and caught him off guard with a major changing spell. He had always been able to resist my command spells, but transformations had worked in the past.

  The cans fell to the ground with two thumps next to the blanket and picnic basket.

  As I stalked toward his now immobile and incredibly pungent form, I snarled, “Serves you right, you lying, despicable two-timing excuse for a witch! You make a very good titan arum.”

  As I reached his wide, tuberous body, I pinched my nose shut at the horrid odor of his single, towering ten-foot-tall flower. Already, carrion flies and beetles were homing in on the stench of that dead-looking yellow bloom with its foul purplish black blotches.

  “That’s the proper name for a corpse flower, in case you didn’t know.” My hands clenched and unclenched as I glared at the stinking tuber. “And it’s more than you deserve!”

  ***

  Chapter Five

  Okay. So Jazz had turned me into a flower.

  A big, stinky flower.

  Yet, I couldn’t quite feel the anger I should have. Instead, the single eye at the very top of my spadix looked for something to eat. Yum. Flies. Oh, dung beetles, too.

  Er, wait. I couldn’t eat them—they were going to pollinate me! Biology class, I remembered. Plus I’d had to study a lot more about plants and plant parts since I became King of the Witches. No other way to figure out what hags were putting in stew and potions and stuff.