Hannah splashed out of the water, clinging to her as they drew back toward the gate.
“Hey, you were brave out there. Had some good instincts.” Red held the trembling girl up, trying to sound mentorly, even as she checked over her shoulder on the ghoul failing to pull itself out of the reeds.
“I had the wrong instincts.” Hannah blushed, drawing back to trudge on her own weight through the ragged grasses.
“Yeah, next time do the opposite of everything you did.” Red cringed, not knowing why she lied except to comfort the kid after nearly being ghoul chow. It was a white lie that could get Hannah killed out of ignorance later. “Okay, when you got nothing on you, the best thing to do with ghouls is pin them down and—"
Her ghoul blocked their passage, weeping wound staining the center of his ragged tunic. Bulbous white peepers fixed on them.
“And make sure you keep them pinned.” Red cursed, hurrying Hannah back to the tombstones for cover. “You got here first. Did you find any weapons?”
Hannah shook her head. “So much for having all we needed.”
Red studied the graveyard. Perenelle had promised. She crushed a flower under her shoe as she crouched.
A delicate scent hovered above the putrid rot. Ghostflowers.
“We have exactly what we need. Shove this at them. Right in the kisser. They can’t stand the stuff. If we can make a…” Grinning, Red gathered up the whitish-blue flowers and crushed them in her hands. The oily petals broke apart easily. She added a fistful of grave dirt to the mix. “A ghoul hex. Vic taught me this in Louisiana.”
Hannah nodded, mimicking Red, tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration.
Red stood and rushed to the ghoul, hoping she was close enough. She ducked under its arms. The graveyard and the laboratory looked different, but it was still the same space. Even separated by a dramatic magical curtain.
The ghoul spun, wobbling as it went for her.
She visualized the crystal grid on the worktables. Imagining her power moment, she wound her magic out and whirled it over her head like a lasso. It shot through the mist over the bog into the gloom. She felt it latch against the ritual setup, she was ready for levitation.
Pitching the ghostflower hex at the ghoul, she spelled it to zoom the rest of the way right into its gaping mouth. The crumbly dirt clump looped in the air. Her aim would have been good enough to get her on the academy softball team, if they had one. It flew right into her ghoul’s cakehole.
Gagging, the ghoul dropped to the ground, its body sagging under the tunic as the flesh split. A sputter like a flopping accordion warbled into the night, stirring the ravens in the tree. The ghoul didn’t get up.
Lifting her eyebrows, Red looked back to tell Hannah that Perenelle must have planted super-duper GMO ghostflowers. Her words died on her lips. The ravens squawked a belated warning.
The teen tripped on her injured leg, falling into the dirt and dry grass. She turned over, muddy hex ball oozing between her knuckles.
Suddenly, Hannah’s ghoul dropped on her, escaped from the bog. Broken reeds sticking to its torn tunic, mud speckling it limbs. Spotted dead fingers dug into the teen’s calf.
She kicked it. Paling, she rolled away.
Red grabbed the ghoul by its long hair. Strands stretching, it fought. She kicked its side. It felt like kicking a balloon full of pudding.
Hannah reared up, clutching her last kneepad with the ghostflower hex stuck inside. She slapped it over the ghoul’s mouth, keeping her fingers shielded by the heavy plastic, forcing it to eat the hex ball.
The ghoul convulsed and slumped, hanging by its hair over Hannah.
Panting, Hannah stared at Red. The moment dragged out as the ravens chattered like the distant crowd, reminding them of the competition.
Red dropped foul thing to the side. Her last courtesy was not dropping the ghoul on the teen. She bolted for the gate. It swung open in front of her.
The unseen alchemists shrieked as one. It was her only warning to duck.
Red crouched, gawking at the center of the room. She didn’t believe it even after a thick malignant darkness swam over her head.
The presence felt too big, like a giant trawled up from the depths and plopped into a goldfish tank. This wasn’t a ghost. She could tell it had never been human. It merged with the impenetrable tenebrosity hiding the ceiling and the Ranking Court spectators. Trailing arms bobbled behind it in the penumbra. A cunning round eye, bigger than a trash can, studied her. Shades obscured the leviathan once more.
Red shivered in her wet denim, suddenly chilled to her soul.
A silent tweed-clad sentinel, Trudy stood behind a podium encircled in bones. An open grimoire shimmered, like murky light filtered through strange waters. Spectacles couldn’t hide her fully black eyeballs. Dark veins emerged over her temples and the apples of her angular cheeks as if magic pulsed under the skin. Her raised fingers cast shadow claws on an open arched passage away behind her. “The last door is unlocked if you can pass.”
The swirling tentacles whipped down.
Red dived out of the way, skidding on her side, sliding easy on the stone floor from the ghoul goo and swamp muck.
Racing into the room, Hannah fell back as the presence turned on her. The gloom churned, like an aquatic terror disturbing the sediment. An outline of a broad pointed fin jetted toward her.
Red pushed the girl out of the way. She cringed as vaporous presence hit her. The impact burned as round suckers drew her up toward a shadowy beak. She flung herself away. Hobbling to her feet, she touched her arm. She winced as the scorched denim jacket rubbed the circular burns. “Damn, Trudy, I heard you were good, but I didn’t know you were ‘Lovecraftian horror’ good.”
“If this was a real battle, you would have shown your hand. Quell your emotions,” Trudy said, an unearthly glare on her wide lens. “Quips are for the desperate.”
“Rub it in then,” Red quipped.
A phantom appendage swung down from the gloom as a reply.
Red fell back against a black iron candelabra. The candles fell, their flaming wicks extinguished in the wax. Instinct took over. She swung the candle stick at it.
The tentacle shied away.
Red grinned manically at the candle holder, inspecting the metal. It was cold iron. Unlike regular iron, it neutralized witchcraft. She propped herself up on the candelabra, feeling each bump and bruise as she stood and cursing Hannah’s youth. The kid probably bounced back like a beach ball.
Hannah held her hands high. Energy, pearly white and swirling like the inside of a rose, flowed from her fingers. The shadows retreated from her as she walked with staggering steps around the grim circle to the archway.
Red frowned, catching her breath. That was one way to do the thing. It still left their main problem as she saw it. She knew what she’d do in the field. It wouldn’t win her any brownie points with her magic teacher, but Vic would love it.
Hannah hissed as a shadow double slapped her wounded leg and exposed knee. She sagged to the floor.
“Fuck.” Red sighed. Waving the candelabra over her head like a tennis racket, she rushed to Hannah. “Over here!”
Red zagged away from a tentacle to rush for the circle of bones. She couldn’t just break the circle without releasing the leviathan. She needed to defuse it. The presence flailed above her, curling and snapping. A feeler caught her on the ankle. It seared the thin skin over the bone. Pain shot through her leg.
It wanted to distract her. It knew she was close to winning.
Feet kicking, she dove forward and slid on her chest, candlestick out, greased on a trail of muck. Cracking the circle of bones like a bowling ball, she felt the cold iron neutralize it.
The phantom creature vanished.
Trudy’s glasses slid down her nose, revealing determined black eyes. She opened her mouth. The grimoire flared like a comet shooting around a distant star. A dark orb grew above it.
Pushing up on her palms, Red locked
eyes with Trudy. She couldn’t have a chance to say an incantation. Jolting forward, Red elbowed the Bard aside into the podium.
The grimoire toppled and closed with a snap.
As Red sprinted for the archway, her feet didn’t seem to touch the ground. She broke the threshold. The bright light of the auditorium blinded her after the darkness. The applause deafened her. She hunched over, hands on her knees, panting like a smoker after a marathon. Straightening, she heaved out a wavering breath. She had won. She was the First Witch.
Ghoul grime crusted the front of her old shirt. She tried to shake it off along with the swamp muck, then peeled off her beyond disgusting jacket and tossed it into a trash bin. She needed a bath in antibacterial gel. If she didn’t have to live at this academy for a while, she would have been tempted to have ripped off the rest of it too. It was Vegas after all.
Vic jogged over to slap her back. “Boo-yah! That’s my intern!”
Hannah staggered out, the dirt-speckled blood on her injured leg brighter in the electric lights. Burnt holes spotted the arms of her turtleneck shirt. Ezra and Doctor Finch met her and led her to a chair.
Trudy strode out of the archway behind her charge.
A sickly green mushroom cloud surged up behind her. Archway crumbling, the grey fencing fell in on itself. The swamp swirled like a released drain. Its loud sucking battled with the cheers of the crowd. The ranking field disappeared, leaving a wood floor smoother and shinier than a basket court.
Trudy’s serious gaze met everyone’s and no one’s at the same time. Her eyeballs lightened from black to hazel, magic-juiced veins fading. She pivoted on her heel like a soldier, arms behind her back. Her head tipped up to the far judges on the high seats.
On the opposite end of the auditorium, yhe Synod bent their heads together. Distance obscured their features more than their cloaks. Diego Blanco didn’t pull down his hood and wink this time.
Alchemists stirred in the bleachers, debates breaking out in the rows. Binoculars changed hands. A little man stood on a middle bench, only a head over his seated neighbor, waving a book. “It’s not over, sport fans!”
“I don’t get it,” Red murmured to Vic.
Jaw tense and fists clenched, his voice came out low and quick like the flick of a switchblade. “You won this.”
Time passed slower in the spotlight. Her heartbeat in her ears drowned out the speculating crowd. She shivered, telling herself it was the wet chafing denim.
At last, Darius Jefferson, First Alchemist of Las Vegas, rose to his feet and lowered his hood over his gray dreadlocks. He raised outspread fingers for silence. Dropping his hands, he bowed to the two witches across the Ranking Court.
“The rank of First Witch goes to Hannah Proctor.”
Chapter Nine
The First Alchemist said it clearly. He said it firmly. He said it with a wizard’s gravitas, projecting the words over the Ranking Court. The whole academy heard it and echoed the judgement from the bleachers. There was no mistaking it. He didn’t need to paraphrase himself.
“Hannah Proctor has earned the rank of First Witch.”
“The fuck she has!” Vic stomped forward, pushing his trucker hat back so far it fell off his head. His fists dropped to his side like waiting wrecking balls.
“Come on, Vic…” Red snapped, wanting to crawl away and hide. Her arm and ankle throbbed from her burns. She still had some ghoul on her shirt. The rest of her was soaked from the rainy swamp, and now everyone was watching her mentor lose his shit like an angry parent yelling at the ref at a little league game. “Let’s just go.”
The group around the First Witch gaped at them. Hannah put her face in her hands. Ezra wrapped an arm around her, glaring at Vic. Doctor Finch paused in the act of spraying a green potion on the teen’s injured leg, his pity focused on Red.
Fighting the flush on her neck, Red jerked away from the sympathy from yards away. She didn’t care about this stupid ranking. It didn’t stop the embarrassment when she noticed the small bookie collecting cash from scowling alchemists in the stands.
Perenelle walked up to them, hem breaking against her legs like a rough tide. She calmed the tick in her cheek by the time she stopped.
Vic jerked down to grab his hat from the ground, jamming it on his head. He jabbed a finger toward Red. “My intern was robbed.”
Red stepped forward, lifting her hand to block his puffed-out chest. She flashed him a warning look. “I think what my Bard is trying to say… What did I do wrong? I got through the door first.”
Perenelle nodded, lips taut even if her answer came out diplomatically. “The Synod was grading you on your spell work as well as time. While I advocated for your innovation, Hannah’s use of a shadow repellant was deemed more impressive and awarded more technical points. It’s their rubric.”
“It would have gotten her killed in the field. And what’s more, you know it. Always go for the mage first. You’ve been around, lady.” Vic shook his head. “Couldn’t have advocated a little harder? You’re the boss.”
Perenelle’s expression grew frosty. “I am not a dictator. I allow the Alchemical Synods academic freedom on their campuses.”
“I get it.” Red shrugged, even if it stung to lose points on a test. She tossed Vic a “see, I’m fine” look. “It was a cool spell. Wish I knew it.”
Perenelle smiled, and there was no pity in it. Only respect. “You were clever with your strengths, compensated for your weaknesses, and you showed compassion to a rival. Those were noted. Be proud of your performance.”
Vic looked ready to spit once Perenelle turned to walk back to the Synod.
“We need to be good sports.” Red pointed at him, raising two fingers to her eyes to show that she would be watching him. She shook her head, walking away. He was acting like he had lost. She was the damp achy failure.
Frowning, she wiped her hands absently on the cleanest patch of her jeans. Realization dawned. In his mind, he had lost to Trudy. He had never been assigned a Hero, deemed a wild card early on by the Brotherhood, even though he would have been great at it, in her opinion. This was more a battle of the Bards than anything either Red or Hannah had wanted.
Focusing on that last bit, Red went over to Hannah’s chair where Trudy stood over her charge. The girl had done some impressive magic and been brave in the graveyard even if she’d had no idea what to do. Sure, she screamed a lot, but Red had seen grown men piss themselves at the sight of a ghoul. Not hop on them with a leg clawed like Satan’s cat had used it for a scratching post.
Shooting for her most sporting smile, Red held out her hand. “Congratulations. I really mean it. That was some good spellwork.” She acknowledged Trudy, nodding. “Both of you.”
“I guess. Thanks.” Sheepishly, Hannah shook her hand. Her mouth twisted as if she were fighting the tears in her big brown eyes. “Is Vic really mad?”
“He’ll get over it.” Red reassured the girl, patting her shoulder.
Hannah turned her gloomy dirty face to Vic. “Sure.”
The doctor spared Red from having to figure out if she should console the teen or not over a very unrequited crush. He handed over the medicinal spray bottle labeled with instructions, then led an arguing Hannah away (“No, First Witch, you need to rest, not play with your phone.”) through the emptying Ranking Court.
Once alone, Trudy pulled her glasses off. She tapped the oversized frames against her chest. A new consideration had settled in her deep-set gaze as if she were looking at a peer than a student. “You did very well.”
Vic took Red’s arm, teeth bared at Trudy. “We have better places to be.”
“I need to get the ghoul bits off of me.” Red smiled in apology for Vic. They walked out of the Ranking Court and into the concourse with the departing crowd to Pyramid Hall.
Alchemists in clusters and pairs debated the match again idly like movie patrons streaming out to the parking lot. Snippets of conversation echoed on the marble.
“Did you see t
hat conjuring!”
“Now that Bard is really the First Witch.”
The speculations and summaries swirled around her and Vic. If her fingers weren’t disgusting, Red would have plugged her ears. She already felt like a swamp creature in her soaked clothes. She kept her mud-flecked chin up.
“I shouldn’t be hungry after seeing those ghouls but I’m so craving Vietnamese now.” A dark-skinned woman said, crowned by a colorful wrap, looking down at her phone.
Her friend squeaked, noticing Red, and pulled her away. “That witch is looking at us. Do you think she heard me say…?” The voices lowered to whispers as the adepts trotted away from Red and Vic, barely hiding the gawks over their shoulders.
One robed man groaned, walking by Vic. “I can’t believe how much I lost on that weakling. Did you see that levitation?”
His companion snapped. “Yeah, me too. She blew it! What a poor excuse for a—"
“I got a magic trick for you.” Vic called out before she could stop him.
The two male alchemists turned, sharing a nervous look when they recognized him.
“We don’t need trouble,” Red murmured. She wasn’t interested in giving the rumor mill anything more to grind.
“Oh, no this will be fun. They’ll love it.” Vic nodded at the alchemists, gaze sharpening. “You’ll love it.” He took off his hat and put his hand in it. Smiling wildly, he pulled his fist out like a magician with rabbit. He intoned the magic word. “Abracadabra.”
His middle finger flipped up.
Rolling their eyes, the two robed men turned, muttering.
Red dipped her head to hide her grin. It was juvenile, but that was a benefit to having a best friend. They could be petty when you had to show grace.
Vic licked his lips, slapping his hat back on. A vein pulsed in his forehead. He exhaled heavily through his nose. Shooting a tense smile at her, he lifted his hand as if he were going to punch her shoulder playfully as he usually did when he doled out an ‘atta girl. His cringing eyes on her grody clothes, he redirected to a thumbs up.
“I know, I’m gross right now. Definitely have a bog smell.”
Witch On The Run: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Red Witch Chronicles 4) Page 15
