by Dodge, Lola
Before I could finish the thought, the glass vial cracked with a stuttering c-c-ce-crash.
Tar-colored paste oozed onto Agatha’s countertop.
Seriously?
What the hell was wrong with my power?
Wynn pushed past me, the neck of his T-shirt yanked up to cover his nose. He kicked the oven door closed, cutting off the smoke belching into the kitchen.
Right.
The smell.
Exactly how you’d expect an irradiated turtle to smell. Like a swamp fire with a whiff of disappointment.
Wynn edged away from the counter like the cookies were dangerous.
Maybe they were.
I dumped mismatched plasticware from the cabinets, digging for a safe container. Plastic would melt.
Instead, I grabbed the grubbiest, rustiest cast iron pan in the cupboard—one that already needed to be re-seasoned and Agatha hopefully wouldn’t kill me for ruining.
I scraped the shattered vial and oil slick of a potion into the pan before it could eat through Agatha’s counters and then clapped a metal bowl on top to capture the turtle-butt smoke.
The potion looked zero percent like the glittering original.
A bubbling blub-hiss drew my gaze back to the cookie sheet. The mutated blobs pulsed like they were baked with boiling volcano mud.
Using the longest spatula I could find, I corralled the cookies into the middle of the sheet and trapped them under glass before they became self-aware and rose up to overthrow the bakery.
This failure had nothing to do with the vortex. Or with my emotions.
My thoughts, feelings, and actions had all matched the intent of the spell. I’d nailed the incantation and the recipe.
So I was positive the problem wasn’t the vortex or my casting.
Something else was happening.
Something bad.
Something I hoped could still be fixed.
A muted blub, blub, blubbing matched the seasick motion of the pancakes in my stomach.
Two
I finished scrubbing the goo off the counter but didn’t have time to hide the rest of the evidence before Agatha busted into the kitchen. Her sharp gaze snapped straight to the smoking baking sheet.
“Were you scavenging in Fondant’s cat box?” She leaned over the tray and plugged her nose.
“What’s wrong with me?” I jammed my hands into fists. If she fed me another line about the vortex, I’d crack.
Agatha untied her purple apron and tossed it over a chair back. She wore her chef’s jacket with Agatha’s Bakeshop embroidered over the pocket in black and purple thread. Just seeing the logo reminded me of everything I had to lose.
This shop was my home now.
Or I wanted it to be.
I gripped the counter, hoping Agatha had some witchy wisdom or a magic cure-all spell, but in the pit of my stomach, I knew the solution would never be that easy.
She removed the glass bowl keeping the cookies captive, then grabbed a knife from the drawer and poked at one of the misshapen lumps. “What were these meant to be?”
“Sugar cookies. I brewed a spirit-clarifying elixir and—”
She made a noise in her throat, cutting me off. “How’d that work out for you?” Using the tip of the knife, she sliced one of the cookies in half. Liberated from its outer shell, the middle plopped out like the guts of a stepped-on slug.
“Not well.” I clapped a hand to my mouth, suppressing a gag. “How did cookies turn into that?”
“Not the foggiest, but…” Agatha spread her fingertips, letting them hover over the baking sheet. The mostly purple, sometimes rainbow light of her own magic buzzed at the tips of her fingers. With a wince that made my stomach shrink up into my throat, she drew back her hand. “It feels like death magic.”
“Death?” My voice squeaked out. Death was not my power. I put happy feelings in sugary cakes. Never curses. Never even bad intentions.
Dizzy dread made the room wobble. I grabbed the counter to keep steady.
How did I get infected with death magic?
I wasn’t a necromancer.
I did know a couple necromancers who might be able to help figure out what was happening, but the idea that my power was corrupted made it feel like a dark shadow was gnawing at my spirit.
Wynn shifted warily, gripping his sword. What was he going to do? Slice and dice a bunch of cookies to keep me safe? The ridiculousness helped me stand up straight and take a deep breath.
“Weapons aren’t going to help this time.” Agatha pulled a container from the cupboard and knocked the cookies inside. They made disturbing wet plops as they hit the glass. “We’d better pay the Wu family a call.”
“Now?” I hoped so because I wanted the answers.
“Give me twenty. I need to change.” She plucked the sleeve of her white coat.
Not a bad idea. I hadn’t planned on leaving the house today, so I wore my thinnest, grubbiest leggings and a T-shirt with wear holes around its neckline. It was comfy as anything, but not the most appropriate for visiting a funeral parlor.
I finished off the last of the dishes, then hurried to my bedroom on the third floor, careful to avoid the thorns on the purple roses that wound up Agatha’s banisters. I’d already pricked my fingers bloody more than once.
Wynn moved too quietly to make footsteps, but I could feel his presence at my back stronger than ever now that we’d shared blood and power. He didn’t have the energy of a witch, but he had some kind of magic. I’d only seen him use it when he fought Seth and his warlock Hands.
I shuddered. If those were the only situations where Wynn’s power came out, I hoped I never saw it again.
When we reached the end of the hallway, I hoped he’d finally peel off and give me some privacy. Instead, Wynn crouched across from my door, taking up his post.
I hesitated, hand on my doorknob. After everything that happened with Seth and even what was still happening with my magic, I shouldn’t be annoyed by something so little. Wynn only intended to protect me.
But I was annoyed. Almost all the time. Homeschooling myself the past few years while Mom was at work, I’d gotten used to quiet and solitude.
When he wasn’t in my sight, I could still sense Wynn beyond the doorway or sitting in the next room. He kept me from ever fully relaxing and the tension of his constant presence wound me tighter and tighter when I was already worried about my power.
I couldn’t keep doing this.
I whirled to face him. “Could you stop following me around the house? Please?”
“No.” He crouched in the same holding position as always, with his eyes closed and that stupid sword resting across his knees.
“Why?” The word came out sharper—a little more crazed?—than intended.
Wynn opened one eye, and somehow crammed a monologue’s worth of disdain into that slit-eyed glare. “I’m keeping you alive.”
The cold heat in his voice dried up my arguments. I swallowed. I couldn’t give in to him that easily. “But when we’re inside—”
“Keeping you alive.” He was on his feet before my brain could process his movement. Both eyes open. The fury in that hazel glare backed me against the door.
I’d caught flashes of Wynn’s anger before. He’d been rude and cranky all along. But this anger sank its fangs into my soul. I couldn’t meet his gaze.
After we’d saved each other’s lives, I thought we’d at least made a truce. Apparently, I’m the only one who thought that.
I still gripped the doorknob. It would be the easiest thing to disappear into my room, leaving this rift between us.
But the rift was exactly what bothered me. He was seething and wouldn’t tell me why.
My heart vibrated like a laundromat washing machine, but I straightened up my spine. “I don’t understand you. You’ve hated me from day one.” I remembered his furious glare the first time we met—that same rage cut into me now. “I don’t know you. I don’t know your story. If you’d t
ell me what’s wrong instead of giving one-word answers, I might even help you fix it. Otherwise…” I gulped, regathering my courage. “Otherwise, you should leave. Contract or no contract, this is making us both miserable.”
As he studied me, the hate radiating from his body dialed itself down click by click. He relaxed from an eleven, muscles tense as a steel bar, to a four, leaning back on his heels and shooting me more suspicion than hatred.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said at last.
“Exactly!” My fingers went rigid, and I would’ve shaken the guy if I thought he’d let me. “How could I know? No one has bodyguards where I come from, and no one I ask tells me anything about the Shields. Including you! I can’t exactly Google magical contracts, Wynn.” It pained me not to have the answers, but it was even worse when someone else had them and wouldn’t share.
“So you want to know my story.” His weight shifted back, tension easing one more click.
Seven words. I was really making headway. “If you tell me, I’ll listen.”
“Not now.” Wynn dropped back into his crouch against the wall.
“When?” I finally turned the doorknob, but I wasn’t letting this go.
“Later.” He closed his eyes, ending our makeshift heart-to-heart.
“Fine.” If he could one-word answer, I could one-word answer. I locked the door behind me and sank back against the wood.
Was I the cranky one now?
Probably.
But at least when Wynn and I bickered, I didn’t have to think about death magic creeping through my soul.
Because Lonnie was out running errands in her SUV and Agatha’s purple hot rod only had two seats, we hopped into my fancy electric car. The custom lavender paint had a hint of glitter. Agatha never missed a chance to make something purple. Because even if she called the car mine, it was hers.
She let me borrow it, but it would stay in Taos if and when she kicked me out.
You’re not getting kicked out.
I had to keep reminding myself, but a lifetime of being booted from schools, clubs, whole towns, and even a sandwich shop once was a lot of history to ignore. The other shoe always dropped, and it was usually a combat boot.
I jittered the whole ride to the Wu house. Luckily, it was just down the main drag from Agatha’s. The locals called Warwick Street Witch Way and I still hadn’t gotten to explore it from end to end. I wanted to comb through every single shop from the peddler/possible gnome guy who made enchanted stilettos that felt like fuzzy slippers to the cluster of food stands where a witchy Italian granny cooked up paper bowls of zero-cal ravioli.
But today Agatha, Wynn, and I were destined for the town’s only funeral home and necromancy parlor. Thankfully, it didn’t look like there were any services today. The huge parking lot was empty except for the Wu fleet of vans, SUVs, and hearses.
One of their undead Servants was already waiting under the overhang when the three of us climbed the short steps. I hadn’t figured out how many Servants the Wus had on staff, but I was starting to think they could resurrect a limitless number of them.
“Welcome.” The man wore a slick black suit and a piney cologne—looking more businessman than zombie. “Mistress Wu is waiting for you.”
The subtle scent of incense wafted around us as we stepped through funeral home’s main entrance. I managed not to shiver, but the place gave me serious creeps.
Blair Wu strode to meet us, flanked by two more black-suited Servants. “Anise. Agatha. My mom’s in the workroom.” She gave Agatha a polite nod that made her short hair bob. She wore a gauzy black top over black pants instead of one of her usual print dresses, and with her naturally dark hair and eyes, she was in full-on necromancer heiress mode.
When Blair glanced my way, her energy rolled over me. The dark, spectral feel of her magic usually left me shivering, but now it hit me like a wall of warmth—as if the hearth of my own power was already dead cold.
She winced. “What’s up with your power?”
This time, I did shiver. “That’s why I’m here. Any ideas?”
“Mom will know.” Blair waved me down the hall.
I was already rubbing my arms. This place had the temperature of a walk-in freezer, and the dread sluicing through my veins wasn’t helping. I tried to focus on something other than the my-magic-is-seriously-screwed-up problem.
The decor looked reassuringly normal for a necromancy parlor/funeral home. A flower-patterned carpet and generic landscape prints decorated the main hallway. No skulls or black flowers or human-shaped candles. Nothing that screamed we resurrect the dead.
Until Blair stopped in front of one of the doors. Peggy Wu waited in an empty box of a room with zero furniture except for a gigantic marble slab.
What the—?
Peggy wore a pencil skirt and suit jacket and was busy arranging an altar at the head of the slab. The spread included sprinkles of what I’d guess was grave dirt, silver instruments, and little ivory rods that the swoop in my stomach said were finger bones. I’d seen Blair cast with them before, but they still gave me the creepy-crawlies.
Peggy glanced at my entourage. “Can I have Anise to myself for a few moments?”
Wynn moved behind me, stepping so close I could feel him bristle at the idea of leaving me alone. I kept my mouth shut. There was no need to speak up when Peggy was already staring at him like a gnat in her espresso.
When the air shifted between them, Wynn retreated back into the hall and a Servant closed the door behind him, leaving Peggy and me alone in what I was struggling not to think of as a crypt.
“Have a lie-down.” Peggy gestured to the slab.
I tried to convince myself this was like a checkup at the doctor’s office, but instead of a crinkly paper sheet, my back hit cold marble. Wiggling back and forth, I tried to find a comfortable position but had to give up.
Comfort wasn’t happening. Not when I was probably the first non-corpse on her table in who knew how long.
Instruments tinkled against the stone behind my head. I couldn’t see what Peggy was doing, but as long as nothing touched me, I wouldn’t freak out.
Well. I wouldn’t freak out more.
“Tell me how you’ve been feeling,” Peggy said.
“I feel fi—” I cut myself off before I gave a stupid answer.
Did I feel fine? I’d only really thought about my wonky magic.
Closing my eyes, I let out a breath and tried to sink into my body. The hard marble pressing my hips and shoulder blades. The sting from seared fingertips. And a blanket of tiredness that made me want to keep my eyes closed and turn this necromancy session into a nap. There was my answer. “I haven’t been sleeping much, but nothing is off besides my magic.”
She offered me a shallow dish. “Can you remove your jewelry? Anything that’s enchanted. I don’t want any stray magic interfering with your energy.”
“Sure.” I slid off my rings and earrings, which held protective spells and power wells courtesy of Mom. I hadn’t had a chance to recharge them after the fight with Seth, but I felt naked without my charms.
Peggy moved the jewelry dish out of view. “Now I’m going to dab some oil on you.” Her thumb rubbed down my forehead, leaving behind a cool slick of herby-smelling essential oil.
“What does it do?” Whatever it was tingled against my skin, colder than the marble. I should’ve worn a sweatshirt instead of a dressy top.
“This will protect you from the pull of my power. It’s safest to take precautions when we cast on the living.”
Good to know, except that Blair had never taken any “precautions” in front of me. Was that why my magic was wonky?
“Try to relax.” Peggy moved to stand near my waist, stretching her arms out over my body.
I should’ve asked her what spell she was going to cast, but I didn’t want to screw up her flow now. Swallowing nerves, I reminded myself that Peggy was my mom’s best friend. She’d only ever looked out for me
and had my best interest at heart.
Her power billowed over me thick as a cool fog, lifting every one of my hairs on end and coloring the air between us spectral green. The chill of it leeched into my bones, but something in the magic kept my jaw from chattering with the cold.
I couldn’t shiver. Couldn’t twitch.
But instead of making me panic, the magic made me relax.
My shoulders sagged, loosening their tension. My breath and heartbeat eased, and my feet naturally spread open wider. Everything cold, calm, and deathly still.
I would’ve been more worried, but Peggy’s power was meant to feel like that. Necromancy was death magic—it wasn’t meant to be sunshine and rainbows.
“Bring out your power,” Peggy commanded. “Let it pool in your fingers as if you’re about to cast.”
I did as she asked, reaching for my inner fire. My flames were inside me, but they were dampened somehow. Like my hearth was full of ashes.
Black and gray and green ashes.
I summoned magic to my fingertips, already fearing what I’d see. Instead of cheery red and orange, my magic glowed with wisps of sickly green. Like molding oranges.
Decaying oranges.
Peggy touched three fingers to my hand. The green light inside me flowed to meet her, magnetized, then merging.
Because our powers matched.
Death magic.
Static crackled down the tunnels of my ears and panic jolted me rigid.
I’d really been tainted with death magic.
Peggy’s gaze flicked to the door. “Blair.”
A creak sounded, and I lifted my head to find Blair peeking through the crack.
“In,” Peggy said.
Blair slipped inside, not looking even a little embarrassed to be called out for eavesdropping—although maybe that wasn’t what was happening? I couldn’t read either of them while they stared each other down, mother and daughter both wearing identical ice masks.
I also couldn’t read either of them while my heart was beating this fast.
When I wiggled on the slab, Peggy patted my ankle. “It’s not permanent.”
I let out a breath at the same time as Blair, who flinched when her mother’s gaze rocketed back to her.
“Feel her energy,” Peggy said.
