The crystals seemed to sing.
“Red, go to your mother.” Hannah’s voice felt far away and wrapped in layers of cotton. “She’s in there. Go to the place where you left her.”
Red shuttered as her stomach churned. The usual kaleidoscope blacklight visuals of her third eye were in hyper drive. Mystical energy raced over her like a meteor shower.
“Now I remember… there’s peyote in this.” Hannah brought over a trash can.
Red immediately puked into it like it was a charm. Her body sat up for a sip of offered water, but her mind was miles away.
“Your mother. Can you see her?”
Lying down, Red closed her eyes. She opened them to a completely different room.
A kitchen.
The room was filled with natural light streaming in from wide windows overlooking a fenced-in yard. It was so green outside. The room smelled like spring and pancakes. Her eyeballs shifted under her lids, and the image blurred. Shadows lengthened to late afternoon. A woman appeared, back turned, at the sink. She hummed a familiar tune as she washed dishes. An old Tom Petty song—"Learning to Fly.” The woman shuffled in a small dance, whirling around. “Where is my Junebug?”
Darkness fogged over her face, leaving only veiled contours of cheeks.
“Go to her. See her face, Red.” The orders came like bird song on a breeze.
Red jerked herself up to walk through the kitchen. She left some of herself behind. Déjà vu of the Dreamland hit her. Gliding like a spirit toward the woman that felt like home, she squinted, trying to make out the veiled features. “Mom!”
The shadows retreated from a smile so like her own. Even down to the little crooked curve to the right side. The eyes weren’t green. They were brown and full of love. Mom raised her arms. “Oh, Junebug.”
A yank on her spirit like a spelunker’s lifeline tugged her out of the kitchen. Red floated in a dark abyss. Stacks of black and white TVs crackled to life. Each showed a different still image like broken tiles, torn lace, and a missing fence board in a big backyard. The screens started to move.
She rocketed down through the bottomless pit like gravity was mad at her. The screens blurred. Flailing her arms like a salmon swimming upstream, she tried to will herself back into the kitchen, to teleport as she had in the Dreamland. Nothing happened. Her mother was gone. She wasn’t strong enough to go back. Tears dimmed her vision.
Conscious awareness landed with a plink like a marble on a wooden track.
She tried to get up but only stumbled, kicking the crystals out of alignment. Kneeling, she hurled into a trash can like she had eaten old mini-market sushi. She collapsed on her side. The cool stone felt divine on her hot cheek. Then the convulsing started.
Reality whisked together with hallucination. She couldn’t keep up with the images flapping against her brain with the urgency of a caged crow.
Big hands held her shoulders down as a worried faraway voice asked, “Hannah, what happened to her? Do I need to get my mom? What about Vic?”
“No!”
Red rose, hoisted in strong arms, yet she couldn’t stop yearning for her mother’s face. The shadows had almost cleared around it. Hallucination beat reality. The academy corridor transformed into the sunny kitchen. Then it shuttered like a video skipping. Tower walls and the brass staircase spun, but the images in her mind were even faster.
Darkness crept into frame like fire eating away at film. A cemetery grew on a hill in the ashes. The tombstones blurred into a red booth in a diner. Three names were scratched into the underside. The montage moved too quick to read them.
The bellow of the horn announced a new twist. A train window chugged past darkened landscapes into a misty blackness that dissolved into a short man in a top hat and orange plaid suit. He scrawled names and numbers on the wall-sized green chalkboard.
“I see my name!” Red lifted her arms like a swimmer finally breaching the surf. Waves churned in her ears. The name dissolved like foam.
A hand gripped her wrist, two fingers pressed on her pulse. A firm thumb slid her eyelid up. She noticed a white coat before a pen light blinded her. “The worst of it is over. The charcoal elixir should soak up the rest.”
She screwed her eyes shut, curling on her side as the light moved on.
“Thank you, Doctor Finch,” A foggy voice said close by.
A high snigger drifted over her, muffled at the end by a cough. “No, thank you. I mean, you’re welcome. It’s a shame how incompetently the twenty-second alchemist brewed this potion.”
The voices faded as a door closed. Red felt lucidity fly away, a hat blown off in a breeze. She no longer cared. Reality could crumble if it led to her mother. That primal mammalian instinct drew her across the dystopian ranges of her subconscious.
The landscape shifted as a blood-red sun set over a wide crimson river and seven hills. She shared wine with Lucas on a park bench overlooking a candlelit city beside dark waters. Gun blasts exploded the scene. The smoke cleared on a rain-drenched rooftop. Kristoff pulled her close, kissing her so deeply that her knees buckled. He disappeared as her heart beat against his unmoving chest. She ran down an asylum hallway with Maxwell Baldacci behind her.
Her mother’s frightened warning echoed. “Run, Junebug!”
Her eyes flipped open as if she had been slapped. Red jerked up in bed, head in her hands, screaming. Her heart raced like a spooked mustang. She flinched from the hand on her shoulder.
“Hey, hey, you’re safe!” Ezra turned her face to him. His hazel eyes scanned her sweaty face. He stroked her hair as he sat next to her sprawled legs on the bed.
Head throbbing, she tried to figure out where she was. Her stomach rolled. The room had stopped spinning enough for her to pick out her bedstand and clothes hanging in the corner. She gasped out, “The academy.”
“Yes. Home.” He dropped his hands. “You’re coming down from a trip. Hannah told me what was in that potion. It’s just drugs.”
“I thought I saw my mom.” Red put her hand to mouth to hold back the dry sob. She felt like she had been wrung out. She didn’t even have tears to cry as she leaned into him. “I can’t remember her face now. Oh god, I know I saw her. Where did it go?”
“Shhh, it’s just the peyote playing tricks on you.” Ezra patted her back. “I went to college in Vegas, so I’ve had a bad trip or two. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s temporary.”
“Promise?”
“I’m got my pinky ready for it.” He reached to grab her a glass of water.
Sniffling, Red accepted it with a small sip. She figured she must have been coming out of it for the embarrassment to hit her. “I’m sorry for screaming, then crying on you.”
“You had a rough night,” Ezra said, taking the unsteady cup from her and putting it on her bedside stand. “I’m not at the bar, but I’m still ready to do the sympathetic bartender thing and listen to the tale.”
Red studied his face. He meant it. She opened her mouth, not even knowing what she would say.
“Oh, my god, are you okay?” Hannah rushed into the suite, slinging her backpack on the table in the sitting area.
“Luckily.” Ezra stood and glared at Hannah. “How about you try to rest, Red?”
Red nodded before slumping back on the pillow from a rush of vertigo. Closing her eyes, she felt like she would have to rest whether or not she wanted to.
Heavy footsteps clomped on the floor. The door closed with a soft click.
Hannah’s high voice drifted from the other part of the dorm suite. “I got some food, but the sparkling water might be all shaken up. I ran up the stairs when I heard the scream.”
“I can believe you didn’t even know what was in that potion before you gave it to her,” Ezra said, disappointment etched into each word. “You know how these alchemists brag in their guest lectures during ranking season. That could have killed her.”
Hannah’s voice trembled. “She wanted to.”
“After you promised it would f
ind her long lost mom. I caught that much from her gibberish. You dangled the one thing she wants most in the world right in her face and told her to trust you because you’re a Hero.” Ezra sounded farther away, his footsteps retreating. “I’d tell my mom if you wouldn’t both get into trouble. I used a good favor to get Doctor Finch to do a house call.”
An unseen door opened to the cawing of crows.
Cawing grew in Red’s ears as a current, blacker than a raven’s wing, washed over her.
A sparkle of pink lightening exploded from the hands of a hopeful looking dark-skinned girl. “Follow me—” the girl said. The howling wind stole a name from her throat. They ran until they reached a cliff where burnt tree trunks cowered in submission. A portal grew below. Dark dreams oozed out of the rift in reality as the witching hour approached.
She didn’t remember any of it when she woke with Hannah curled up at the foot of her bed.
After repeated apologies over breakfast, Red finally had to tell Hannah to knock it off before they met Trudy for a lesson. Sure, the night hadn’t been fun with her brain twisting itself into a Gordian Knot. All said and done, she didn’t understand the appeal of psychedelics. Her stomach still protested anything more than toast and sparkling water. Tired, she didn’t want to dwell on the magical peyote trip. It was her dumb, desperate move too.
Basil had agreed when he visited them that morning to see if the experimental potion had done soul-deep danger. The soulmancer hadn’t been as sympathetic as Ezra had been. He told her to walk it off and be early to the auditorium this afternoon for her grand debut in his guest lecture.
Hannah pushed open the door to their usual laboratory. The wall counter jungle of herbs and botanical specimens looked patchy on the empty side of the room. The sight of the potted living counterparts in front of the chalkboard solved that mystery.
Trudy looked up from placing a pot next to an arrangement of dried herbs on the table. “Hello, girls. Excited to help Basil with his presentation?” She pushed her glasses up and stared at Red. “You’re looking a little pale. Have you been straining yourself with magic outside class?”
“You caught me.” Red said, sitting down. She’d rather cop to that lie than the truth.
“I appreciate your go-getter attitude but there’s a reason I assigned you more reading than practical projects to start with. Brute magical strength can only go so far. You need tools to achieve stamina and regulate. Next week, I’ll teach the concept of how to personalize a magical object or relic so you can draw on it and imbue it with power. Books, rings, and crystals can all become as useful and familiar as your hand, triggered for specific spells.” Trudy gestured over the common bundles of dried sage and marigolds, then patted the springy living basil. White ghostflowers glowed by her elbow. “This week will cover the most common botanical defenses against the supernatural. Before we break for Basil’s lecture, I want you to see your specimens. What can you identify?”
Red raised her hand.
The door burst open. Vic stomped inside, jabbing his finger out like a bayonet at Trudy. “We need to talk!” He glanced over his shoulder. “So, buzz off Hannah.”
Trudy nodded to her charge. Her face took on a fixed patient cast as if she was mentally counting to ten for serenity. She crossed her arms and turned to Vic, glasses slipping down her nose to peer at him. “Can I help you, Mr. Constantine?”
“Your glasses make you look too smart to play dumb,” Vic said, jerking his thumb at the exit as Hannah slowed to gawk. He waited for the girl to close the door. “You got me kicked out of the brotherhood!”
“Excuse me?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Vic?”
He glared at Red. “I texted you. Charge your phone.” He shook his head, stepping up to Trudy like a dueler who had been waiting for high noon all morning. “My login didn’t work so I called up HQ. Turns out its not supposed to.” Stiffened with righteous indignation, he raised his finger to the heavens. “The plot friggin’ thickens, madam. My man on the inside told me you made a complaint. About me. ”
“Oh, that—"
“Don’t lie. I know how you career Bards play politics.”
“Hey, maybe this is just a mistake.” Red tossed out the attempt of diplomacy with the timidity of a first day zookeeper feeding hungry tigers. Would they calm down or want fresher meat?
Vic veered his cynical gaze to Red. “No, this was by design!”
Lowering her chained glasses, Trudy rested a hand on her chest. “Certainly not.”
Vic began a slow clap to Trudy. He leaned against the table, steel tension in the pose, tucking his hands under his arms. “What a showing from the ‘best of the best.’ You come out of retirement to mentor some big champion, and I roll in to save her. Maybe that was a blow to the ego, I don’t know. I’m a dirtbag and I don’t have one.”
Drowning out Trudy’s surprised “Preposterous,” Vic raised his voice. He dropped his arms, rocking on his heels. “We have one disagreement over a fucking reading list, and you tattle on me. It’s the straw that broke your camel toe, I guess.”
Nose wrinkling at his turn of phrase, Trudy crossed her arms. “You’re the scion of the Constantine family. You have legendary Head Bards in the family tree. How could I get you fired?”
“I’m a bullshitter, and you know how the saying goes.” Vic flapped his arm up like he was shooing a dive-bombing pigeon. “You’re in textbooks at the Brotherhood university. Don’t deny it. They finally got the golden girl back in the fold, and I’ve always been a pain in their ass. You do the math.”
“I told them you were rude when I reported your arrival, I didn’t tell them to fire you.”
“You shook my hand as I gave you everything on Frank Lopes. Some olive branch.” Vic turned away. His stomps rattled the plant pots on their trays on his way to the door.
Red glanced between Trudy and Vic before she raced through the door after her mentor, passing Hannah eavesdropping on the other side. She shrugged off the tugging on her sleeve. Right now, all she could think about was Vic.
Chapter Seven
Red didn’t know what to say after forcing Vic to recount his call with the Bard Net IT guy, one of the few he had befriended during his Brotherhood studies in London. Sitting beside him, she brushed her hand over the grass in the shadow of the banyan tree. A swan floated nearby in the pond, undisturbed by their anxious huddle. In the center park of the busy Pyramid, the hanging branches shielded them from the passersby.
“You acted like you hated the Brotherhood sometimes.”
“Contemptuous of the bureaucracy, maybe. Not hated. That was my brother.” Melancholy, Vic rubbed his forehead. “Speaking of, he’s in town for a conference, and I don’t want you to tell him when you see him. He’ll try to get me a job with his accounting firm.”
There was nothing she could say to comfort him. Nothing that anyone could say. She might not have his deep ties to the Brotherhood, but she knew how cold it was outside the fold. Red flashed him a crooked wan grin. “You’re a rebel in the supernatural gig economy just like me now.”
Vic lifted a limp smile at hearing his past consoling words repeated back at him. “I bitched about them a lot, but all I can think about is what they did for me.”
“The bounties, the information, the occasional backup?”
“The mission. Henry thought he was handing it over when he adopted me, but I already knew exactly what I wanted to be. He walked the line between the hunters and the Bards. I fell off it.” Vic looked down, forehead creasing. “I was adopted into a long line of Bards, a tradition, and I broke the streak.”
“What if it’s not because of Trudy? What if it’s because of me?” Red brought her legs to her chest. “They rejected me.”
“Wouldn’t they have fired me last month, then? You at least got a form letter. They didn’t even tell me.” Vic shook his head, lips pressing together. “You like to take the blame for everything, but I’ve pissed off enough people. I bet it wa
s some asshole from my school days who finally got promoted high enough to screw me over, and Trudy’s complaint provided the opportunity.”
“Fat Crispin can help, right?” She rested her head on her knees, thinking about their Brotherhood point of contact who occasionally assigned them bounties.
“Could he help you?” Vic stood, nervous energy agitating his aura. “I need to walk. At least I still have that.”
Red sighed at the swans when he left. She pulled out her phone and called the Nostradamus Lounge. “Hey this is a message for Ezra. Tell him to turn the other way if he sees Vic.”
The time on the phone slapped her upside the head. Basil’s lecture was starting soon. She raced down the marble concourse off Pyramid Hall ahead of the pack of adepts filtering their way to the auditorium.
At the door, Basil checked his watch as he adjusted a long string necklace of uncut emeralds over a fitted teal tunic shirt that reached the thighs of his jeans.
“I thought you were wearing a suit?” Red asked as she came in, trying to hide her light panting from running to chamber. He hadn’t been sure before if his California shaman style struck the right tone. He had vetoed all of Vic’s pun suggestions in the name of professionalism.
“I thought you were going to be early.” Basil pulled her into a hug, giving her a lingering squeeze. “Excuse my nerves… Junebug?” He pulled away, saddened and confused by the word even as he said it. “That word is projecting loud and clear. We don’t have the time, but there is a lot going on with you, isn’t there?”
“You’ll will be able to sense Vic before you see him too.” Red said, jamming her hands in her pockets. Her head was so not on anything academic. She had nearly forgotten all about this, even after taking extra time on her makeup this morning.
“If I get a next lecture, I’ll invite him.” Basil shooed her closer to the stage. “It’s show time.”
Red stood awkwardly beside the carpeted stage stairs as the last alchemists took their seats. She straightened her dark jeans and buttoned her black cardigan to the middle of her hunter green top. Her nervous fingers twitched to fiddle with the buttons more. The presence of the audience felt as intense as a warding barrier spell. Open soulmancers were nonexistent. The house was packed. This was a student body that asked for seconds of homework.
Witch On The Run: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 4) Page 12
