Outbreak

by Annabel Chase

  “My family swears by tea leaves,” Mia said.

  “Tea leaves remain a popular choice,” Professor Langley said. “Easy to obtain and interpret.” He directed his attention to me. “There’s one method you might find interesting, Miss Degraff.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Cineromancy,” he replied. “Like tea leaves, you read the ashes of the fire, but it must be a specific ritual or sacrificial fire, not merely a basic one of your creation.”

  “You look for runes in the ashes, though,” I said, a memory stirring. “You don’t see runes in tea leaves.”

  “Correct,” the professor said, appearing both surprised and pleased. “You have experience with this method then?”

  “Not really. I remember my grandmother reading ashes once,” I said. Although she’d been stripped of her magic, cineromancy could be performed by anyone, including non-users of magic. She would’ve been in trouble if she’d been caught, though. She’d always tried to dole out her nuggets of wisdom when no one else was around. The risk had been too great.

  “Do you recall what she was trying to predict?” the professor asked.

  “Not the weather,” I quipped. “I believe it was my future.” I still had a vivid recollection of one particular evening. We’d finished dinner and my parents had left the table as quickly as they’d arrived because they didn’t like to spend any more time than necessary with my grandmother. Once they’d dispersed, she’d expressed concern for me. There’d been too many remarks recently about our similar natures and skills and she’d wanted to glimpse my path. She’d directed my movements, teaching me how to conjure the ritual fire and how to douse the flames without disturbing the ashes. Preservation of their position had been crucial—she’d been adamant about that part.

  “And what did she see?” the professor asked, now perched on the edge of his table.

  My stomach knotted. “She didn’t say. In the end, she decided to keep it to herself so as not to influence me.” I’d wondered at the time whether she had seen a bad omen, but I hadn’t pursued it. Part of me hadn’t wanted to know.

  “Paths can change,” Cerys said softly. “The future is never set in stone.”

  “I know.” And I’d worked hard to insure that my future was a new beginning for my family.

  “Why don’t we demonstrate cineromancy now?” the professor suggested. “Miss Degraff, I’m sure you’re more than capable of conjuring a ritual fire.”

  I scraped back my chair and approached the fireplace. I produced my wand and used a simple cleaning spell to clear out the ashes from the professor’s fire. Hestia popped to her feet and stomped off, clearly resentful of my presence at the fireplace. I conjured a basic ritual fire so as not to bore the rest of the class. After all, it was the ashes they were interested in.

  “It’s had sufficient time to burn,” Professor Langley said. “Time to extinguish the fire.”

  I easily subdued the flames until there was nothing left but the dying embers.

  “Before you do anything else,” the professor said, “I’d like Miss Davies to join you.”

  I straightened and faced him. “Why? I’m good at reading runes.”

  “I understand that,” he replied, “but it’s usually a more accurate reading if you have someone else interpret the runes, rather than the one seeking information. Obviously, if there’s no one else on hand, then you’d do it yourself.”

  Cerys joined me in front of the fireplace. She kneeled in front of the ashes and blew a gentle breath across the top.

  “My grandmother said not to do that,” I told her.

  “That’s how I’ve seen it done many times,” Cerys replied. She kept her attention fixed on the ashes. “There are several rune markings here.”

  “We’re ready whenever you are,” Professor Langley said.

  Cerys looked over her shoulder at him. “My family always said reading runes is like telling a story. You should interpret the runes as a whole rather than individually.”

  I listened as Cerys spoke softly to herself. She had the same habit when she read her grimoire in our room.

  “A reversed fehu,” she said under her breath.

  My gut twisted. I knew that was a negative one. “Anything good in there?” I joked.

  “Thurisaz,” she said. “That’s associated with good luck and protection.” As she continued to read, her frown grew deeper and deeper.

  “Miss Davies, have you lost the power of speech?” Professor Langley asked.

  She brushed off her knees and rose to her feet. “No, sir.”

  “Then tell us more about Miss Degraff’s good luck and protection,” he urged.

  She cast an anxious glance at me. “Like I said, they can’t be read individually. They have to be taken together as a whole.”

  “And what did this whole say about Miss Degraff?” the professor prompted. “What is her future?”

  Cerys appeared to regret her decision to read the runes. She looked at me, her eyes soft. “Failure,” she said. “I’m sorry, Dani. I saw an overwhelming message of failure.”

  Chapter Two

  “Dani, are you sweating?” Mia asked. She observed me closely, as though hunting for evidence.

  I quickly wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. “No, of course not. Degraffs don’t sweat.”

  Bryn arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess. They perspire?”

  I shot her a menacing look. “Everything’s fine. It’s just dinner. It’s not like Peter and I will be bound for life because I’ve met his mother.”

  “Oh, I see,” Bryn said, and returned her attention the grimoire on her desk.

  “You see what?” I demanded. I reached into the closet and swapped a black top in favor of a blue one. The black one seemed too somber for the occasion.

  “You’re nervous,” Bryn said. “I guess that makes sense.” She didn’t bother to glance up from the page she was reviewing.

  “I am not,” I sputtered. “I know how to have dinner at someone’s house.”

  She craned her neck to look at me. “But do you know how to have dinner with the mother of the guy you’re crazy about? Even if she’s the nicest woman alive, she’s still Peter’s mom.”

  I huffed and turned away. “I am not crazy about Peter. I like him. Can’t that be enough?”

  Bryn snorted. “Sure. Whatever.”

  “Are you worried about what I saw in the ashes?” Cerys asked. “That maybe the dinner will be a failure?”

  “The thought did occur to me,” I said. What if his mother decided I wasn’t good enough for her precious offspring? My younger self had already been dealt that card. No magical family in the higher echelons wanted to mingle their bloodlines with my tainted one. I was persona non grata.

  “Runes are notoriously inaccurate,” Mia said.

  “That’s not true,” Cerys countered, which was followed by a harsh shush. Probably Bryn.

  “Failure can mean anything,” I said. “It could mean that I don’t perform as well in Mixology as I expect to. It can mean that Peter’s mom doesn’t like me.”

  “Those are the best case scenarios,” Bryn said.

  I turned to give her my best stink eye. “Gee, thanks for the positive energy.”

  “The runes were an odd mixture,” Cerys said. “I thought there was something about a journey gone awry, but then it seemed to say something about possessions and property. I thought maybe it was about Peter and his smuggling.” She splayed her hands. “I don’t have a lot of experience reading runes in ashes.”

  “The method doesn’t matter much,” I said. “You don’t need to make excuses. It’s not your fault I have failure on the horizon. I feel like everyone here wants me to fail anyway.”

  “Dani, how can you say that?” Cerys asked. “You know we don’t feel that way.”

  “Professor Fraser gave me a hard time about overachievement. Professor Langley always gives me a hard time.” I changed my top and pulled on a pair of boots. “This is casual enou
gh, right?” I didn’t want to seem like I was trying too hard.

  “You are beautiful, as always,” Cerys said. She sat at her desk, painting new runes on a rock she unearthed near the golden apple orchard. She’d said that the rock had excellent energy and she didn’t want to waste it.

  I glanced in the mirror and fluffed my strawberry blond hair for the hundredth time. “Are you sure? Do I need gloss? Maybe my lips are too matte.”

  “I doubt Peter’s mom cares whether your lips are matte or glossy,” Bryn said. “Just don’t smear them all over her son in front of her and you’ll be good to go.”

  “I would never…” I stopped talking. Bryn was trying to push my buttons. It seemed to be her specialty.

  “Be nice, Bryn,” Cerys said. “I still remember the first time you met Gray’s parents. You were a wreck.”

  “They’re vampires in a castle with a moat,” Bryn shot back. “They’re not exactly the warm and fuzzy type.”

  “But you like them now,” Mia said.

  Bryn smiled to herself. “I really do.”

  “Do you think the tarts are ready?” I’d offered to bring zazzlewick tarts for dessert and Hazel had kindly offered to oversee the baking process. As the chancellor’s right hand, Hazel had every inch of the academy at her disposal. It was helpful that she liked me.

  A knock on the door answered my question. I yanked it open and Hazel stood in the corridor, seemingly pleased with herself. “I nearly pinched one myself. They smell delicious.” She handed me the container.

  “Thank you so much, Hazel,” I said. “I owe you big time.”

  “Never mind that,” Hazel said. “You go on and enjoy yourself. You deserve a nice break away from the academy. You tend to overdo it.”

  Great. Even Hazel had gotten wind of my recent wrist slaps. That meant word had reached the chancellor.

  “We’re due to have a nice break from the academy tomorrow,” Mia said. “Field trip!”

  “It’s not really a break from the academy when it’s a lesson,” I said. Not that I needed a break from lessons. The more, the better as far as I was concerned, no matter what anyone said.

  “And I get to travel with you all,” Bryn said brightly. “Bonus!” Because Gray was in charge of our clinic, Bryn usually had to work solo with Warden Armitage. The field trip meant that we’d all spend the day together, however.

  “As though you’re not together enough with Gray as it is,” Mia said.

  Hazel placed her hands over her ears. “I don’t need to hear anymore. I’ve no interest in knowing things I shouldn’t.”

  “Ha!” I barked. “Since when?” Hazel Hazeldine was the best resource for gossip in the entire academy.

  Hazel wiped her hands on the front of her housedress. “I’ve just delivered you homemade tarts for your boyfriend. You can’t possibly mean to insult me.”

  I patted her arm. “Of course not. Thank you for the tarts.”

  “I best be getting back before the chancellor misses me,” she said. “You don’t want to be scarce when the boss needs you.” She clucked her tongue. “I had to learn that the hard way.”

  I laughed. “What on earth could be the hard way?” Chancellor Tilkin was the most gracious and elegant witch I’d ever met.

  “Oh, not Chancellor Tilkin,” Hazel said. “Her predecessor.” She wagged a finger. “You forget how long I’ve been here.”

  “She knows where all the bodies are buried,” Mia said.

  “Fonthill might know a few as well,” Hazel joked. The elderly groundskeeper had been employed by Spellslingers for as long as Hazel. “Have a wonderful time, miss.”

  I thanked her again and closed the door. “I hope his mom likes tarts.”

  “With Peter for a son, she’s probably used to them by now,” Bryn quipped.

  I stuck out my tongue. “Hardy har.” I glanced at the clock and my pulse sped up. “Great Goddess of the Moon. It’s time to go already.”

  Are you sure you don’t want me to join you? Clementine asked. My familiar stretched across my pillow, clearly in no hurry to move.

  No, thank you, I said. Only those of us who like Peter should show up to meet his mother.

  I like him if you like him.

  Liar.

  Clementine licked her paws. Bring me a few leftovers.

  You’re such an entitled brat sometimes.

  Takes one to know one.

  “How are you getting to his mother’s house?” Mia asked. “Fonthill’s truck?”

  “No. Good, old-fashioned broomstick,” I replied.

  “Your hair will get messed up,” Bryn said.

  “That’s what a wand is for.” I slipped on my cloak and tucked my wand into the pocket. “Wish me luck.”

  “Dani Degraff is the last witch on earth who needs luck,” Cerys said. “You make your own luck.”

  “Too right,” I said, and sailed out the door.

  Mariana Elmer lived in a modest one-story house in a cheerful neighborhood. Each house on the street was similar in size and shape, but in varying colors and details. Mariana’s house had a stone facade with a black door and red accents. The front lawn was meticulously cared for, with flowerbeds bursting with golds, reds, and oranges and pleasant scents.

  I untied the package of tarts from my broomstick and propped my mode of transport against the wall on the front porch before ringing the doorbell. Peter answered the door so quickly that I suspected he’d been lingering there for quite some time.

  “I’m not late,” I said.

  “Did I accuse you of tardiness?” he asked, somewhat amused.

  “No, but you seem like you were anxiously awaiting me.”

  He grinned. “Maybe because I was anxiously awaiting you. I do look forward to seeing you. A lot.”

  “Is she here, Peter?” a voice called.

  My stomach knotted as his mother headed toward us. I wiped my palms on the sides of my cloak. Why was I so nervous? She was a normal druid. A normal druid who’d fallen in love with a Death Bringer and had given birth to Peter.

  “You must be Danielle,” she said, beaming. One glance at Peter’s mother and I immediately noticed the strong resemblance between mother and son. Same shade of hair. Same toothy smile. When I reached out for a simple handshake, she pulled me in for a tight hug and I had to fight the urge to resist. Hugging strangers was unnatural to me. I’d only become comfortable hugging my friends in the last year or so.

  “Call me Dani,” I said, careful to keep the container of tarts from getting squished between us.

  She released me and took a step backward. “Only if you call me Mariana.”

  “These are for you, Mariana,” I said. I held out my offering of dessert.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated. “Zazzlewick tarts?”

  “They are,” I said, impressed. “You have a good nose.”

  She ushered me further into the house. “I do, and not just for tarts.”

  The house smelled like a combination of sweet and spicy-hot. It was nice.

  “Mom mixes a mean watermelon mojito,” Peter said. “Want to try one?”

  “I have no idea what that is,” I replied.

  Mariana poured a pinkish liquid from a pitcher into a tall glass and handed it to me. “Peter brings me the most exotic drinks from Terrene. I don’t know how he finds these things.”

  “He is very adept when it comes to cocktails,” I said. I took a sip and found it delightfully refreshing. “Very tasty.”

  “Was there ever any doubt?” Peter asked.

  “Is this like Vegas?” I asked. “Do I need to be careful not to black out?”

  When Mariana’s brow lifted, Peter quickly interceded. “She doesn’t mean that she actually blacked out, Mom. I’d just warned her that some Terrene alcohol can knock you on your derriere if you’re not careful.”

  Mariana ruffled her son’s hair affectionately. “Always looking out for your loved ones.”

  “I was hoping you would do the same,” Pe
ter said, motioning to the mojito pitcher. Mariana laughed and poured a second glass for him.

  “Why don’t we sit out on the deck and enjoy the nice weather?” Mariana suggested, opening the sliding glass door. “I prefer to be outdoors as much as possible.”

  “Typical druid,” Peter said. He sounded so happy that I couldn’t help but feel happy, too.

  We sat at a round table on the deck and the sound of birdsong filled my ears. “It’s like a nature preserve out here,” I said.

  Mariana smiled as she surveyed her backyard. “It can be. I try to attract them here, of course, but the key is getting them to return on a regular basis.”

  Peter grinned. “Same reason she keeps watermelon mojitos and Wish cookies on hand.” He kissed his mother on the cheek. “But I’d come back even if you only had cold vegetables.”

  “I love Wish cookies,” I said. “They were a rare treat when I was younger.”

  “I learned to bake them as a little girl,” Mariana said. “I tried to pass my knowledge on to Peter, but…” She hastened a glance at her son. “Let’s say he’s partial to eating them.”

  “I made a few attempts,” Peter said. “Remember that time I decided to bake a couple of dozen for the picnic with Barton?” His expression crumpled at the mention of Barton.

  Mariana reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It’s all right, Peter. You couldn’t have known how black his soul had become. I certainly hadn’t noticed.”

  Barton was a druid that had been a member of the local community and a friend of Peter’s family. Driven by his unrequited love for Peter’s mother, he’d recently orchestrated a series of events that involved stealing an ancient artifact from my aunt’s house and hiring a banshee to murder Peter and me. He was now safely stowed away in a high security prison, awaiting trial.

  “But you knew enough not to want to be romantically involved with him,” Peter pointed out.

  “I don’t know that I knew enough,” she said. “I just wasn’t interested in him that way. Never have been.”