Transport, yes, I need to transport. I think of the front room of the shop, a spot near those stands of new releases, and I jump to it. When I appear, a female customer screams and snatches her daughter closer.
"Sorry," I mumble, and then I'm outside in the cool September day, and I can breathe again. I sit on the steps and a draw in great lungfuls of fresh air.
Kieran comes to sit beside me. He's quiet, just rubbing my back.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Don't be."
"I think I had a panic attack."
"You did."
"I've never had one. Wynnie had one when we went to the movie theater a couple weeks ago. But I never have." My eyes are filling with tears. "I'm such a wimp. A weakling."
"Stop." He takes my face in his hands. "You're the strongest person I know. You've been through such darkness and pain, and you've come out as a champion."
"But I haven't been through nearly as much as Wynnie. She has a good excuse for it; I should be tougher than this."
"Don't compare yourself to someone else. And don't be ashamed for suffering the effects of your past. I have, and I will, for the rest of my life. We deal with trauma in different ways, and it's not a one-time fix. It's a process." He hesitates. "I'm sorry for my part in it."
"Kieran, seriously? Stop apologizing." I slip my arm around his neck. "I've forgiven you, you know that."
"I haven't forgiven myself yet." He sighs and stands up. "But this isn't about me. How are you doing? Better?"
"Yes. We should go back in; Ikumi will be wondering where we went."
When we walk back in, the woman and her kid, the ones I startled, are whispering urgently to Ikumi. I don't know what she says to them, but it seems to calm them down, and they go back to browsing the books.
Ikumi comes up to us, a question in her eyes.
"I don't do well in basements," I say.
"It's fine," she says. "I understand. Why don't the two of you go upstairs and sit in my living room to look through everything?"
"That would be perfect, thank you," says Kieran.
Ikumi's living space is a stark contrast to the clutter of her shop. It's calm, minimalistic, and it feels bigger than it is. A small fountain bubbles near a shrine, and the seats are low cushions, neatly arranged on mats. Immediately I feel myself relaxing.
Kieran and I spread out the papers and books Ikumi brings us. Most of them are enclosed in protective plastic, and the ones that aren't are photocopies of old manuscripts and stone tablets and wall writings.
I soon discover that I'm only useful with translations or pictures. I can't read the Old Gaelic writing very well; it looks like some kind of Elven script to me. Kieran sits cross-legged on a cushion, immersed in it, his silver eyes flicking eagerly over page after page. He could probably stay here for hours.
After reading a long article describing the gory details of druid magic, I move on to some pictures— old sketches, charcoal rubbings, engravings. The papers I have are copies of someone's photos.
One sketch I find especially disturbing— a giant wooden frame in the shape of a man, maybe two or three stories high, stuffed with the wriggling bodies of naked people. Apparently the druids used to construct these enormous effigies and fill them with prisoners and volunteers and slaves. When the wicker man was crammed with living people, the druids would set it on fire. They thought that the sacrifice would please the gods. I'm not sure I'd want to serve gods that would demand such cruelty.
I set the sketch aside.
There's another interesting image, a stone engraving of a large man with a broad beard and wild hair, dressed in robes and armor. He's not wearing a crown, but the caption reads "Conchobar mac Nessa, King of Ulster. Cathbhadh, Druid of Ulster." Cathbad is pictured wearing the very same amulet I gave Zane— except that in this image, there are lines stretching out from the amulet, straight toward a wormlike monster.
"Kieran, look at this."
He leans over. "Looks like an Oilliphéist. Like a dragon, but smaller, and meaner."
"What's Cathbad doing to it?"
Squinting at the image, he says, "It seems like some kind of power, emanating from the amulet."
"That's what I thought. What if Zane's amulet can do something magical?"
"Then he's going to be surprised and displeased."
"You don't have to look so happy about it." I nudge his arm, and he laughs.
We go back to our research, and although most of the stuff I read is interesting, it doesn't seem to help us in our current situation.
And then Kieran taps my arm. "Aislinn, I think I found something about the spell. A copy of it, maybe. Listen." There's a photocopy of an ancient stone tablet in his lap, and he reads a few lines in Gaelic. It's a prayer to Gesacus for passage through the endless void to a new world. There's an invocation, some lines to chant, and a diagram— a figure with a circle on its chest and an alien-looking skull between its spread legs. Images of the sun rising and setting appear along the edges of the tablet.
"Here are the instructions, for the placement of the relics, the use of the blood, and the rhythm of the chant," says Kieran. "And this is helpful— the gate can only be opened between the first sunset and sunrise of Samhain. So we don't have to keep them from doing the spell for the entire twenty-four hours of Samhain."
"Yeah, just twelve hours. Kieran, we'll never last that long."
"We'll figure out a way," he says. "When we get home, we need to go up to that mountain and figure out exactly where the gate is. From what Zane said, it's probably inside the bat cave. We need to get eyes on it."
"But they'll already be guarding it," I say.
"Maybe not. We dealt them a big blow, and they may not have reorganized yet. Plus they don't know that we're onto their plan; they won't expect us to show up there."
There's another page accompanying the first one, all about star charts and planetary movements and optimal times for opening the Gate. I'm guessing the druids have the original versions of these, guiding them to the right century, year, date, and time to do this thing.
"Here's something else," Kieran says. "The blood used to open the gate can also shut it."
"Convenient."
He shrugs. "Perhaps giving those who would date open it a chance to change their minds. The blood closure isn't permanent, though. We'll have to figure out how to seal it properly, as they did with the Gate in Ireland."
None of the texts or images tell us exactly where to find the Gate, or how to seal it permanently. My eyes are burning from peering at old writing, and I'm starving.
I stand up and stretch. "We missed lunch."
"Hm." He's deep in another document.
"Kieran." I kneel behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. Then I kiss the back of his neck, right at the top of his spine. I trail more kisses along the slope of his shoulder, pulling his shirt aside so I can reach the bare skin. Then I hug him from behind, my cheek against his cheek.
"You're going to drive me crazy," he says, setting down the paper he was holding and reaching up to twist his fingers in my hair.
Footsteps in the next room— I sit down beside him quickly, a second before Ikumi enters the room. "Did you find anything?" she asks.
"We did, thank you," I tell her. Kieran snaps photos of some of the documents and sketches with his phone, so we can refer to them later. We help Ikumi set everything in order, and then we're out of the shop, walking down a colorful Charleston street in the bright September sunshine.
I don't know whether to feel encouraged or depressed about what we discovered— so I choose to just be happy, right here, right now, walking with Kieran and breathing in the faint, wild scent of the ocean.
11
SHALLOW
Zane
Thursday night. I'm lying on the bed, my head buzzing with Introduction to Sociology study notes. My roommate is on his bed, too, twirling his pen so that it taps against his teeth in this staccato rhythm— tap tap, tap tap, tap tap.
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It's about to drive me crazy.
"Hey man, what you studying?" I ask, thinking maybe I can distract him, get him to stop.
"Principles of Microeconomics," he says, and goes straight back to the twirling and tapping.
I can't think. Can't concentrate.
Tap tap, tap tap, tap tap.
I'm gonna kill him. I have to leave the room or I will kill him.
As I think it, the medallion on my chest pulses suddenly, vibrating with magic. I glance down, and it's shining, bright yellow. I close my hand around it.
No, no, no. Whatever is happening, stop happening.
It's like it reacted to my anger, my thoughts about my roommate. I glance at him— he's still tapping the pen. He hasn't been struck dead by my magical Seer's necklace.
My phone buzzes, and I leap for it like it's a lifeline, still clutching the amulet in one hand.
It's Aislinn, texting me that they're back from their week at the beach. I'm kinda sore that Kieran overwrote the memory of her beach vacation with me; but I know that's a dumb way to look at it. People round here go to the beach every year, or more often, since it's just a few hours away. She was bound to go there again with someone eventually.
Anyway, her being back means that Wynnie and Arden are back, too, which is cool. I'm not seeing my old gang of friends as often anymore, with Julio doing senior year over again and Frank at a college in Florida. Frank doesn't even text me anymore.
Sure, I've made friends here. It's a great campus, lots going on. But all those friendships feel shallow, not deep or real yet. Except for Laurel. She and I have had lunch a few times now. It's becoming a regular thing.
Still, it would be cool to see Aislinn and Wynnie and even Kieran again.
Tap tap tap.
I leave my books and everything right where they are, and I walk outside with my phone.
There are people going by in the hallway in twos or threes, but they don't bother me. Not like that tapping noise did.
I text Aislinn back. "Coming to town tomorrow afternoon for the weekend. See you guys?"
Her reply pops up. "Sure, dinner tomorrow?"
My parents won't mind if I hang with friends Friday night, as long as I spend Saturday and Sunday with them. "I'm there. Text me where. Get the crew together if you can."
She sends me a thumbs up. I'm feeling good now; I got Friday night plans like other college guys. Not a party or anything, but a place to hang.
I wonder if Laurel wants to come.
She's in the same dorm as me, and it's co-ed, so all I gotta do is walk to her room.
I hear the noise before I even get to the door. There's no way in hell they're gonna hear me knock over that music, so I just walk in.
It's full of girls, and a couple guys too, with more girls on their laps. Everyone's sitting around half-yelling at each other over the music, then cracking up over nothing and rocking back and forth laughing. They don't notice me for a minute.
Then— "Hey hey, what have we here?" One of the girls hops off a guy's lap and sidles over to me. "Hey handsome. You lost?"
"Lookin' for Laurel," I say.
"Oh, she don't hang with us. Says we're too noisy. She's got somethin' stuck up her butt for sure." There's a chorus of laughs, and it makes me uncomfortable. Laurel can be controlling sometimes, a neat freak maybe, but she's worth ten of these chicks. These are just the kind of girls I can't stand.
"You wanna hang with us, honey?" says a blonde right at my elbow; I didn't even see her till now. Her chest is swelling right out of her tank top, kinda overflowing over the neckline like the shirt's too small; and her shorts barely cover her butt. She runs her fingers over my bicep.
"Nah, I'm good," I say, backing up a step.
"Oo, a grouchy guy. I love the grouchy ones."
"Where's Laurel?" I ask again.
"Probably in the lounge," says one of the dudes.
"Thanks, man."
I turn to leave, but the blonde follows me out. "Why so serious?" she says, smiling. "Come chill, have fun. You're too cute to be chasin' after little Miss Priss."
"Laurel's a good friend," I say. "Brainy and classy. That's the kinda girl I like." I give her a once-over look, from the shirt she's bulging out of to the super-skimpy shorts. The outfit's kinda hot, in a trashy way. I might be into the look, but only if there was a cool chick somewhere in all that. Right now, it just looks like her body's the only thing she's got going on.
I guess I offended her, cause she curses at me as I walk away. I ignore her and head to the lounge.
Sure enough, Laurel is there, curled up on one end of a couch. She's talking to a couple guys. Of course she is. She's like the hottest thing on campus.
But when she sees me, a smile the size of the state spreads across her face. "Guys, I want you to meet my boy Zane," she says. "We been friends since we were kids. Same school."
They introduce themselves, but they don't look too happy that I showed up, especially when Laurel says pointedly, "Well, see y'all later. Stay classy." Dismissed, they wander away.
I throw myself on the other end of the sofa. There's a fake plant thing right next to it, hanging over and tickling my cheek. I push it away a few times and Laurel laughs.
"Why do you think I sat over here?" she says.
I scoot closer to her to get away from the fake tree. "How you doin', girl? Getting back home this weekend?"
"I wish. Got plans to work on a project."
"You gotta live a little, girl. The gang's all getting together this weekend."
"The gang? Who?"
"So far, me and Aislinn and Wynnie and probably Kieran. But Aislinn's gonna ask Carmen and Julio to come, too."
"I gotta get this project done, Z. But I am sorry to miss it."
"Nah, that's okay." I'm disappointed, more than I thought I would be. "I get it. How's the management major going?"
"It's dumb," she says. "I don't want to do all this preparatory crap; I just want to plan events. I already know how to do it, too, that's the thing. This is all just the business side, so I can have credentials or some crap like that."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Half this stuff they're teaching us, that we're paying to learn, we probably won't even use."
"It sucks."
"Yeah."
We sit there for a second, thinking about the tens of thousands of dollars we're paying to get a piece of paper and a couple letters tacked onto our names. Talk about B.S.
"Let's talk about something else," Laurel says. "My brother called today. He can't say where he's stationed, but he's okay, which is— epic."
"That's good news."
"How's Kali, she good?"
"Yeah. In love with a boy in her class who doesn't know she exists, you know. Kid stuff."
"Yeah," says Laurel, with an odd look on her face. "Kid stuff."
Silence.
Well, that conversation ran into a brick wall real fast.
"So, I'm gonna go," I say. "Back to my room where my roommate is annoying the hell outta me. Got to try to study."
She looks at me from under her eyelashes. She's not wearing lipstick, and somehow those luscious lips of hers look even more kissable without it. "Bring your stuff here," she says. "Study with me."
Study on the same couch as my hot friend who might be into me again? Hell yeah.
"Don't move, girl. I'll be right back."
I jog back to my room to get the books, and I'm pumped cause it feels like there's still something here for Laurel and me. Like embers of a fire, that could flame up again if we give it a chance.
12
LEGENDARY
Aislinn
We can't find anything online about Bluerock Mountain. No photos, except satellite imagery and some topography maps. There's a page for it on a mountain-climbing site, but no information about its difficulty level, and no climbing notes— which makes sense, since it's a protected area far from any trails. Still, I find it strange that there's nothing, absolutel
y nothing, picturing the mountain itself clearly, or the bat cave.
There are no photos to transport by, so on Thursday night Kieran and I drive as close as we can get, and I transport us to the druid compound, the CorpsMac building, out in the middle of the forest. We skirt the building cautiously, but it looks abandoned, with strips of yellow police tape barring its front doors. There's no sign of light or activity.
The sun is beginning to set, and using our maps and compass we hike straight for the mountain as best we can.
We don't speak much during the trek. My heart is pounding from the exercise and from adrenaline, and Kieran seems to be deep in thought. Finally I realize that the ground is angling upward, more and more noticeably. From what I can see on the elevation map, this is it.
We're here. Bluerock Mountain.
It isn't a huge mountain— more of an over-sized hill, according to the map. From its base, in the growing gloom, all we can see is its sloping side, rocky and dotted with trees.
I have no idea where the entrance to the cave will be. We'll have to hike over the whole thing, looking for it.
Kieran holds out his hand for me to stop walking. "We have to be careful now," he says, low. "I don't think they're expecting anyone, but they may have sensors, cameras, or traps out here."
Cautiously we move up the slope through the trees. The last light of the day glances off a rock face up ahead, higher on the mountain. Its gray and brown surface is mottled with shadows, any of which could be the crevice we're looking for. I point it out to Kieran, and he nods and heads in that direction.
When we reach the edge of the tree cover, he stops me again. "Wait here. I'll scout ahead."
He disappears, and I flatten myself against a tree trunk.
It feels as if he's gone forever, and the air up here is getting colder and colder. I wish I'd worn a heavier jacket.
Then he's back. "No traps or cameras that I could see," he says. "At least not between here and the cliff."
"Let's go, then."
Together we cross the open space, climbing up to the cliff, the wind from the valley blowing chill through our hair and clothes. I snap several photos with my phone while the sky still has some light. This way, I'll have visuals for transporting here if I need to.
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