We rode along country roads at such a high rate of speed that I couldn’t enjoy the view. I wondered if he always drove this fast, or if he was trying to get me off his motorcycle as quickly as possible.
Finally, we slowed and stopped in front of an old church. He parked the motorcycle and I whipped off my helmet. Although I’d heard of helmet hair, I wasn’t interested in experiencing it for myself.
“If you know a spell to create light, you might want to remember it now,” Gray said.
I wasn’t E.T., but I’d give it a try. “We’re going in here?” I cocked my head at him. “Are you even allowed in here?”
He grinned. “Library guy was right. You don’t know much, do you? Let’s go, RWF.”
“What’s RWF?” I asked. My brain ran through the possibilities. Relevant Woman Friend? Really Witchy Female?
Gray pointed to my shirt. “Resting witch face.” He yanked open the creaky wooden door and stepped inside. The interior looked like a typical church, albeit past its prime. A few of the pews appeared crooked and the altar was nearly bare.
“Is this place abandoned?” I asked.
“Not exactly.” He pushed the edge of the first pew and I watched in amazement as it slid across the floor to reveal a hidden set of stairs. “Time for that spell.”
“I thought you had perfect night vision,” I said.
“I do, but you don’t.”
Right. I decided to focus on my fingertips, stoking the magic inside me. I didn’t have a lot of experience with fire magic, but I’d taught myself a few small tricks over the years, especially to stay warm in alleyways after my mother died.
My body pulsed with energy. I felt the magic flow through me, toward my index finger. My hands tingled, and then—
“Ready,” I announced. My fingertip glowed with a white light. I was officially phoning home. “No batteries required.”
“You’re a little odd,” Gray said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“You should at least get to know me better before you insult me,” I shot back.
“I’ll go first because my vision isn’t compromised,” he said. “Follow my lead, and you’ll be fine. Not normal, of course, but unharmed.”
I nodded mutely as he began he descended the stairs. I followed close behind, not wanting to be separated. Once my head cleared the opening, Gray stopped to return the pew to its original position. Darkness enveloped us, and I became acutely aware of the vampire’s proximity. He didn’t need a heart—mine was beating hard enough for the both of us.
“Your light,” he reminded me.
“Oh, right.” I held up my glowing finger to illuminate the path, and Gray’s face loomed in front of me. I gasped and quickly jerked my hand away.
He laughed softly. “That bad, huh?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I wasn’t expecting to see a face.”
He turned without another word and continued down the faded stone steps. The temperature cooled and my body responded to the moisture in the air. The dampness called to the magic inside me.
“This is the entrance to the market?” I queried. It seemed unlikely that anyone passed through here on a regular basis.
“There are many entrances to the Obscura,” he said. “This happens to be my preferred one because it’s rarely used.”
“The Obscura is a literal underground market,” I mused.
“The labyrinth connects many paths that lead to the Obscura,” Gray said, moving forward with ease. I hugged the damp wall, afraid to stray too far.
“So, you could find entrances all over town that lead down here?” I asked.
“No, it doesn’t work like that. The labyrinth is magical, not logical,” he said. “You can also access it from Terrene, if you know where to go.”
My shoe splashed in a small puddle. “Is it dangerous down here?”
He peered at me over his shoulder. “It’s dangerous everywhere, Bryn. You’d do well to remember that.”
I shivered and continued to inch my way forward.
“You should practice using the vulgar tongue before we get there,” Gray said.
“The what?”
His broad shoulders tensed. “Library guy didn’t tell you? He was supposed to give you a quick tutorial.”
“He didn’t.” And he’d hear about it from me later. The last thing I wanted was to be unprepared in a scary, underground paranormal labyrinth.
Gray spoke to me over his shoulder, as there wasn’t enough room to walk side by side. “To get what you want here, you need to speak with a shaded tongue. That’s the language of the Obscura.”
“With a what?”
“A type of slang,” Gray explained. “There was a version in Terrene called the vulgar tongue used in eighteenth century England.”
“Never heard of it,” I said.
“The critical part to know is that, if you can’t speak it, then you can’t bargain here.”
“What’s the language? A lot of cursing?” Because I could do that.
“No, nothing to do with cursing.” He paused. “I’ll give you an example. If I’m talking about heavy baggage, what do you think I mean?”
I chose the obvious route. “Rocks in your suitcase? Too much luggage?”
“Nope. Women and children.”
I grimaced. “That’s sexist.”
He grinned. “Thought you’d appreciate that one.”
“How about a bleeding cully?” he asked.
“No idea.”
“Someone who can be easily parted from his coin,” Gray said. “In other words, an easy target in the market.”
“I take it you don’t want me to give the impression of being a bleeding cully,” I said.
“That would be best. Under different circumstances, though, it might be the right way to play things. Always depends on the mission.”
“I think I’ll leave the talking to you,” I said.
“I would have suggested that anyway,” he said. “But it’s still important for you to understand. Consider this part of your training. If you expect to become a warden, you definitely need to learn how to navigate the Obscura. I get a lot of valuable information here.”
The tunnel emptied us into a dimly lit alleyway, and I felt a pang of longing for Icarus. I wasn’t used to leaving him behind. I hoped he was okay back at the academy.
“You can turn off your finger now,” Gray said. He arched an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound weird. At all.”
The glow darkened and I dropped my hand to my side. “How often do you come here?”
“No more than necessary,” he replied. “Too often and it draws attention. I don’t like attention.”
We reached the end of the alleyway and I came to a halt. A sprawling market filled the space in front of us as far as the eye could see. The moment I emerged from the alleyway, I felt the shift in energy. The varying scents were overpowering. A rainbow of awnings dotted the landscape and each vendor seemed to have colorful items or food I’d never seen before.
“Be aware that some vendors don’t take no for an answer, especially from a woman on her own,” Gray warned.
“Good thing I’m not on my own,” I said, and took his hand.
His eyes widened before he lapsed into a grin. “Good idea.”
We continued winding our way through the stalls, avoiding the pestering salesmen.
“Love potions,” a man called. I noticed that his bottom half was a swirling mist of air.
“Genie?” I inquired, and Gray nodded.
“No such thing as a love potion, either, so don’t be tempted,” Gray said.
“I’m not tempted,” I replied. Not by the love potion anyway. “What kind of potion is it?”
“There are potions that can inspire lust or admiration, but not true love. That’s impossible to create with magic.”
“Get your poison berries here,” a woman yelled, ringing a loud, clanging bell. “Need to be rid of a mother-in-law? A needy mistress? I’ve got the solut
ion here.”
I glanced at the woman’s stall to see rows of baskets filled with red and purple berries. That was a lot of poison in one place. “Please tell me there’s no such thing as poisonous berries, either.”
Gray smirked. “Those are real. Don’t touch them. Some you have to ingest for the poison, but others are based on contact.”
I moved to the other side of the vampire, putting him between the berry baskets and me.
“Almost there,” Gray said.
Whenever anyone strayed too close to us, Gray simply scowled and they scuttled—or fluttered—away. He made an excellent bodyguard. I laughed when I saw a T-shirt declaring Keep Calm and Shop the Obscura.
“The place we’re after is at the end of this row,” he said in a low voice.
“That’s a relief,” I said. “This place is an assault on the senses.” My head was beginning to throb from the chaos. I barely noticed when a six-foot-tall plant began cat-calling me. I simply sidestepped it and carried on walking.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Gray said, “because this place is all about food.”
I glanced up at the wooden sign--The Bottomless Cauldron. “It’s safe to eat here?”
Gray gave me an amused look. “It’s not the underworld. A few pomegranate seeds won’t keep you here forever.”
Phew. “I thought we were here for information.”
“We are,” he said. “It’s called multi-tasking.” He entered the tavern with a swagger. “Agatha, the most beautiful witch in the land. How are you?”
Agatha was a far cry from a beautiful witch. The wrinkled, balding woman stood behind a counter, in front of an Inglenook-style fireplace. An enormous black cauldron steamed behind her.
“Young Mappleworth,” she croaked. “The king of the gypsies has returned.”
“She means I’m the ringleader of trouble,” he whispered to me.
The old witch’s eyes glinted in the dim tavern. “And who’s this? Too old for a kinchin.”
“Not a thief,” Gray replied. “A client.”
She motioned to the cauldron. “Two plates?”
Gray offered a curt nod, and Agatha wiggled her fingers. Two plates danced over to the cauldron.
“Picture the food you want,” Gray instructed me.
“In my head?” I queried.
“No, on the wall,” he shot back. “Of course in your head.”
The first image that came to mind was macaroni and cheese—my mother’s comfort food.
“Table twelve,” Agatha said.
“Let’s go.” Gray wove his way through the wooden tables and benches until we reached one with ’12’ carved into it. Two plates arrived simultaneously—one was piled with macaroni and cheese. The other was a rare steak, resting in a puddle of bloody juices. Cutlery was already on the table.
“You weren’t kidding about bringing my appetite,” I said. “This is a lot of food.” As someone who was often hungry in the human world, it seemed even more overwhelming.
“A lot of carbs on that plate,” Gray said.
“A lot of raw-looking meat on yours,” I said. “So let’s not food shame each other. You can try some of mine, if you like. That steak could use a side dish.”
“No, I have what I wanted.” Gray cut his steak with graceful gestures that I would have expected from royalty, rather than a bloodthirsty vampire.
“Is the Bottomless Cauldron meant to be taken literally?” I asked, shoveling the food into my eager mouth. I could eat macaroni and cheese every day and never get tired of it.
“Pretty much. Agatha has built an entire business around it. She does well here.”
“And she trades in information?” I asked in a hushed tone.
“For the right patron,” Gray replied quietly. “Give her two minutes and she’ll be along. She knows that’s the reason I’m here.”
He was off by a minute. After three minutes of silent eating, Agatha joined us at the table. She was even less attractive up close, more like a witch in a fairy tale, which made me wonder what else she served from the cauldron. I tried not to think about it.
“I’ll ring you a fine peal,” she exclaimed.
Gray held up his hands. “Mea culpa. There’s no need, Agatha.”
She wagged an arthritic finger at him. “Let’s not kimbaw each other, Young Mappleworth,” she said.
“I wouldn’t dream of cheating you, Agatha,” he said. “We both have reputations to uphold.”
“Very well. It’s all under the rose, mind you,” she said softly.
“Naturally,” Gray replied. “We wouldn’t dream of sharing.”
“You’ve come to inquire about a ring, yes?” she asked.
Gray shook his head. “Not a ring. Why do you ask?”
“Ah, it seems the Ring of Panas has found its way to our borders. I thought that fact might interest you.”
“Not today,” Gray said. “We’re looking for a sword that went missing from Spellslingers.”
“Skofnung,” Agatha said.
“Yes, that’s it!” I couldn’t hide my excitement.
The old witch shifted her focus to me. “You have no need for such a sword. Such raw power, yet you do not use it.”
Gray shot me a quizzical look.
“I lit up my finger,” I said, and immediately regretted it. I may as well have said that I carried a watermelon.
Agatha tapped the table. “Show me your hand.”
I made a fist, afraid to reveal anything about myself.
“Agatha, my beauty, I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a rush,” Gray said.
She turned back to him and smiled, showing a set of rotting teeth. “Anton Harrington,” she said.
“Vampire, right?” Gray queried.
She nodded. “Hoards treasure like a dragon, that one. Greedy rook. He hosts a private auction at eventide tomorrow that may include your missing blade.”
Gray lowered his voice further. “Wards?”
Agatha’s expression confirmed that there were.
“The wards will be too strong to break in,” Gray said. “We’ll have to try another way.”
“You mean go up and ring the bell?” I asked.
“That depends, RWF.” He gave me an inquisitive look. “How do you feel about getting dressed up?”
10
Mixology was not as straightforward as I would have preferred. Although Professor Raffles seemed affable, albeit a bit of a bumbling oaf, I had a hard time following the instructions. I thought it would be as simple as pouring one bottle of purple liquid into a bottle of green liquid, and clearing the fallout zone in case it exploded. Not so. Betty, on the other hand, would have been pleased with the excruciating attention we paid to measurements.
“You look confused,” Mia whispered, standing beside me wearing thick protective goggles. Her eyes appeared comically enormous.
“I don’t know the names of any of these potions,” I said. “I feel like he’s speaking another language.”
Cerys adjusted her own pair of thick frames. “Don’t worry, Bryn. We’ll help you.”
After muddling my way through the first two potions, Professor Raffles announced a guest for the third potion. “For our healing potion, I’ve invited Alana to join us. As our expert in Healing Arts, our topics sometimes overlap, so it seems sensible to include her.”
An older woman with stark white hair padded into the room in bare feet, and wearing a floor-length ivory dress. Her olive skin was smooth, like the chancellor’s, and beads hung around her neck. She looked like she was about to marry Mother Nature.
“Seymour…sorry, Professor Raffles has asked me here today to assist you with a basic healing tonic.” Her voice had a slight accent, but I couldn’t place it.
“Who is she?” I whispered to Mia.
“I am the head healer on campus,” Alana replied, and I cringed. “Not to worry, my darling. Druid ears.” She tapped her right ear.
“This particular tonic is excellent for recovering from
an illness,” the professor said.
Dani raised her hand.
“Yes, Miss Degraff?” Professor Raffles said.
“Illness or injury?” Dani asked.
“This one is intended only for illness, I’m afraid,” Alana said. “If you have suffered an injury, I much prefer you come to see me, rather than attempt to heal yourself.” She gave Dani a doting smile.
“We’ll stick with the program and work our way up, Miss Degraff,” Professor Raffles said. “Not to worry. I know you have adept healers in your family, and I’m sure you’ll be no exception.”
Alana studied Dani. “Many Degraffs have graced these hallowed halls. You have the look of your grandmother, but I’m sure you have heard that before.”
Dani’s hardened expression suggested that she had. I wondered whether her grandmother was the one who’d cast a shadow over the family name. I didn’t want to pry, but there was clearly a story there.
“You’ll need your wands to bring the liquid in the jars to a boil,” Professor Raffles said. “Careful not to overheat it or the glass will crack.”
“I’ll heat yours,” Mia offered. “We should talk to Hazel again about your wand.”
“Do we need to use wands for this?” I asked. I was pretty sure I could warm the jar with my hands. I was surprised Dani wasn’t doing that with her fire magic.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear.” Alana approached our end of the table. “Did I hear you say you don’t have a wand?”
“I’m a new student,” I said. “They haven’t managed to get me a wand yet.”
“Or a grimoire,” Mia added. “Hazel said she was on it, but she must have gotten distracted by a project.” I got the impression that was typical for Hazel.
Alana clucked her tongue. “Bureaucracy is a beast. I’ll mention it to the chancellor when I see her. It isn’t safe to practice without the basic tools. I don’t want to see you in my clinic because you used your hands when a wand would do.”
“Thank you.” I resisted the urge to tell her I could do plenty of magic without a wand. Spellslingers seemed to like their wands.
Mia heated my jar to the required temperature before doing her own.
“How do we know if the potion works if no one is ill?” I asked.
Outcast: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Warden of the West Book 1) Page 9
