Urban Mystic Academy: Third Project (A Supernatural Academy Series Book 3)

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  She clawed at her face. "Nooooo," she wailed.

  All I could do was continue to hold her. There was no consoling someone in her situation.

  I feared what her anguish would become—what it would fester into. It had to channel out of her somehow, some way. But how?

  Vengeance? Insanity? Or worse—black magic?

  There was no way I could know, but the only thing I could think of was the book of spells. Maybe there was something within it that could help her, either by dulling her grief or fading the horrific images etched inside her mind.

  "Courtney, I'll use the book to help you," I said, reaching my hand under the table.

  I felt around, hopeful of finding our salvation, and gasped as my fingers trailed over the wooden box.

  Courtney stared, wide-eyed, as I pulled the wooden box out from its hiding place. I dragged it over and placed it in my lap. Courtney pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped tighter within her blanket, watching.

  Fumbling with the blade that hung off the side, my shaky hands pried it into the seal of the box. After some resistance, the lid popped off, and I carefully removed the ancient leather-bound book from its safekeeping.

  I placed the box aside and set the book on my lap. Running my fingers across the detailed cover, I studied the designs in the dim candlelight—a five-point star surrounded by an infinity circle, and faded writing in black ink that had absorbed into the leather to the point of illegibility. But the pages inside were well preserved, and I held my breath as I opened the book.

  Its familiar sketches and initial pages of rituals and summonings caught my eye, encouraging me to keep turning. My heartbeat quickened as I moved toward the part of the book where the Incantation of Souls awaited. The missing pages were from that particular section, and I prayed they would be intact. Those pages were crucial in helping Shane, but now with this new devastation among us, I wondered if the pages could help Courtney and her sisters too.

  I glanced up at Courtney with hopeful eyes, but she stared off into the dark corner of the cellar with a lost gaze. It was too much to expect of her to think she could process any of my plans. I'd have to move forward without her, and do my best to fix the unthinkable horrors of the Dawson homestead.

  Focusing back on the book, I turned the thick parchment pages, careful not to crease any. My fingers trailed along the rough-cut edges, and with each turn, my eyes danced across the detailed illustrations of fire, dancing figures, and powerful beams of light. Blotched cursive lettering in quilled black ink scrawled across the pages, leading chants and rituals of every description.

  I slowed my pursuit as I got closer to the section of the book that focused on souls.

  My dexterity became clumsy as I turned the final parchments to the area I'd been searching for—the section of stolen pages that could help us.

  As I struggled with stuck sheets, my attention snapped to the hatch as it lifted with a loud creak.

  "It's me," Shane called down. "Grab this."

  In shocked surprise, I moved the book and placed it on its box. I'd been so lost in my pursuit, I'd forgotten all time and space. Shane's return to us brought every detail of the horrors back to the front of my mind.

  I scrambled to my feet and moved to the ladder. Shane came down a few rungs and handed a heavy black pot to me. I took hold of its handle and lowered it to the floor. The smell of warm soup filled the dark space with hope and nurturing.

  "I have cups here," he said, swinging a sack over his shoulder. "You've been asleep for hours." He took more steps down, closing the hatch behind him.

  As he dropped his feet to the dirt floor, he reached for my face. Dirt lined his fingernails, impacted under them, and his weary eyes fought to hide his exhaustion.

  "Are you okay?" he whispered, touching my cheeks with his fingertips.

  I nodded, fighting back tears. "Yes."

  But seeing him in such rough condition nearly broke me again.

  I grabbed my blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  "You need to rest," I said, leading him to a spot by Courtney and the book.

  Without resistance, he dropped to the ground in a heap.

  Courtney didn't flinch from the new activity and continued to stare into the darkness.

  I rifled through the sack and pulled out cups and spoons. As I pulled open the lid of the cast iron pot, a waft of steam hit my face, filling my senses with its life-giving promises.

  After ladling the thick soup into the tin cups, I handed one to Shane.

  He wrapped his dirty hands around it and breathed in the steam.

  "It's a bit over-done," he huffed, searching for any sign of chunks. "Hours of simmering turned it to mush."

  I gazed into my cup, overjoyed with its contents. "It's perfect," I said. Then, pondering his words, I asked, "How long was I asleep?"

  He took a sip from his cup and closed his eyes as the soup warmed him. "All day," he said. "It's dusk now."

  My air whooshed out of me. "Are you serious?" I ran my hands through my hair. "I'm so sorry."

  "No, it's okay," he assured me. "It was for the best." His eyes glazed over as he likely thought of what he had accomplished in the day.

  I dropped my gaze to the floor, knowing full well why his hands held etch marks with deep lines of dirt. No level of scrubbing could remove the grim shadows of the solemn deed he had performed.

  "Thank you," I whispered. "For taking care of them."

  He swallowed hard, holding his emotions at bay, and only nodded. Staring off, he held his soup in trembling hands.

  I closed my eyes, dreaming of the day we would be carefree.

  But the heavy cloud that hung over us threatened that that day would never come.

  It was too late for that.

  We'd seen too much.

  I brought Courtney's cup of soup to her and held the steaming contents under her face. I hoped the warm smell of home would snap her out of her catatonic trance, just long enough to get some nourishment into her body.

  She didn't flinch, so I placed the cup next to her.

  Moving back to Shane, I sat next to him, touching my arm to his, and we finished our soup in silence. Before he placed his empty cup to the floor, his head slumped, and his weight leaned into me. His heavy breathing resonated through my soul, and throughout the dark space of the cellar.

  I leaned back against the wall, allowing him to rest on me.

  Reaching across the floor without disturbing him, I pulled the wooden box close to my knees and took the book into my lap.

  The light of the candles on the table flickered as they reached their waxy ends. I wouldn't have much more time to search through the book before they extinguished themselves. I didn't want to disturb Shane to set up new ones, so I moved quickly through the pages with my limited time.

  Holding my breath, I reached the section of souls and leafed through the ancient rituals in search of the missing pages. As I turned the final page leading to the section of incantations, my breath fell out of me in despair.

  The pages were missing.

  In stunned silence, I stared at the ragged seam in the spine of the book. I ran my finger along the torn shreds, noting approximately three missing pages.

  I closed my eyes in heavy sadness as hopelessness took me over. Like a tidal wave of misery crushing down on me, I sank lower into my anguish. Without the pages, I held little chance of saving Shane or any of the others. They could be lost anywhere, in any time.

  Darkness settled in around me, and I floated off into its ominous abyss.

  The howl of a lone wolf visited my dreamless state, encouraging me to open my eyes. I resisted, pushing back on the sound that now filled my mind. The primal howling came together in my head with a message. It held words hidden within its tones—words of an animal language that I could understand.

  A message rang through the fateful cries—one of waking, one of taking action, one of courage.

  My eyes widened at the sound of the
wolf.

  Its command.

  I reached through my mind, channeling my thoughts to him.

  Straining, my eyes squinted as sweat beaded across my brow. But my determination kept me searching, reaching through the recesses of my thoughts to find him.

  And then, there he was.

  As clear in my mind as if he were standing right in front of me.

  Dom.

  Chapter 17

  A scream escaped through my thoughts as I gazed into his deep blue eyes. He grinned as I stared at him in gaping disbelief.

  "You miss me?" he snarked.

  I wanted to hit him, but the only reaction my body had was to hug him.

  Throwing my weary self into him, we embraced within our minds, and a rush of relief moved through us.

  Then my emotions collapsed in on me, and I sobbed into his chest. His strong arms held tight as he allowed me to release all of my terror and my fears into him.

  "It's so bad," I choked.

  He soothed me with his calming voice. "I know. I watched it all.” His voice tightened. “I tried to stop them, but I was powerless. They shot at me like I was a filthy animal." He huffed at the sick humor of it, then winced as if in pain.

  My heart broke for him, knowing he'd carry the horror of the events on his soul for the rest of his life, always doubting himself and whether he could have done more. It was tragic the way the human psyche turned on itself like that.

  "It was already written, Dom. We walked into something that had already happened."

  "No," he hissed. "I don't believe that."

  I exhaled, not knowing what to believe.

  "Well, we're here to bring you home now," I said. "Courtney too." I considered the monumental task of pulling her away from this place. "So much has happened, Dom. I don't even know what our mission is anymore."

  He paused, looking around as if someone were coming.

  Before he could speak a word, I gasped, feeling it too.

  Someone had entered our thoughts.

  I smacked my hand over my forehead. How could I have been so stupid? Allowing Dom into my thoughts, assuming he had the skill to channel only one person—I'd left us vulnerable to others entering our thoughts.

  Just as my heart moved into my throat, Shane's voice smacked me from behind.

  "So, you're back," he sneered at Dom.

  "Such a warm welcome," Dom retorted.

  Shane huffed. "Well, I’m not unhappy to see you. We could use a little help at this point."

  "I got you," Dom smiled. "So, what's the plan?"

  "The first plan is to shut down this stream of consciousness,” I said. “Before anyone else joins it."

  My spine stiffened at the thought. Opening our thoughts like this was risky, particularly since Dom hadn't practiced the same level of restraint that Shane and I had.

  Shane took a final moment to explain Samhain, the full moon, and the opening of the portal, and Dom listened intently. As the three of us discussed the details of the monumental event, another voice burst into our consciousness, silencing us in panic.

  She sounded meek at first, unsteady in her words, but then she grew stronger in the presence of other UMAs.

  "I can help," Courtney stated. "We need to get out of here before they return. I can get us through the woods."

  I gasped from the sound of Courtney's voice in our thoughts and choked on my breath as it caught in my throat.

  Opening our collective consciousness had helped Courtney to reconnect to us, and maybe see hope at escaping this insanity.

  It was incredible how she found us in our minds. She was so easily able to communicate to us this way, when in the physical world, she was still stuck.

  I wondered if Blake had access to us. If he knew what we had stumbled upon.

  He was so far away, maybe we just couldn’t hear him.

  Either way, the four of us were together now, and together we would fight to get back.

  As we celebrated the joy of being reunited in our minds as well as in body, we lost focus on our fragile state of being. We were still in a world where we were hunted—a place of unrest and danger that condemned witches.

  And our vulnerability was exposed in our open thoughts.

  And then infiltrated.

  A burning sensation ran up my arm, and I winced in pain. Pressing my fingers on the smoking brand, I felt the raised lines of the ancient symbol on my sizzling skin.

  "My mark," I strained.

  Everyone fell silent in our telepathic thoughts.

  And then a new voice broke through our collective consciousness.

  “Hello?”

  At first, it sounded like Blake. His high-pitched voice carried over centuries could have morphed into anything.

  But then it spoke again, and this time I was certain it wasn’t Blake.

  "What is this?" it asked. "Who are you?"

  The voice prodded around in our thoughts, attempting to know our origin.

  "Get out," Shane commanded us. "Shut it down."

  I shot my eyes open, closing my access to our stream of consciousness. Shane's eyes flew wide, then Courtney's.

  We stared at each other in the darkness of the cellar, panting.

  "What the fuck was that?" Shane gasped.

  I searched my mind for Dom to be sure he had left. With no sign of him in my mind, a sense of loss washed over me, hoping we hadn't lost him for good.

  A strange twinge of familiarity coursed through my veins as I heard the new voice replaying in my mind. It was the sound of someone unfamiliar with the practice of telepathy. They were lost and uncertain inside our thoughts. But it was definitely a voice I'd heard before.

  "We've been discovered," I warned. "By someone with similar gifts, but no understanding of how to use them."

  Shane and Courtney stared at me with similar worry. If someone out there knew about us, it wouldn’t be long until they found us.

  I focused hard on the sound of her voice. It was shrill and accusing, making my nerves prickle.

  Then a disturbing image flashed through my mind. A vision of a hand-tied bundle of herbs and twigs, just like the one I’d seen on the pyre.

  It was the ill wish from a local village woman.

  The woman had joined the crazed villagers in their maniacal hunt on the sisters when Shane and I were last here. She stood out to me at that time as a gifted one, as she had tapped into our thoughts then as well.

  And now, the ashes of her ill wish blew across the Dawson farm.

  Her wish had been granted.

  The witches were dead.

  But she knew there were more. Another sister. And her friends.

  And she had discovered our presence.

  She knew we were here.

  Thin rays of daylight shone through cracks in the hatch. The tiny bits of light allowed us to maneuver in the compact dark space. Shane made his way up the ladder and quietly opened the hatch.

  Light poured in around us, causing our eyes to squint as they adjusted to the brightness of day.

  "Whoever it was, do you think she heard our plans for Samhain?" I asked, still trying to shake off the fact that we’d been exposed.

  Shane shrugged one shoulder. "Not sure. She seemed a bit lost in our headspace. Hopefully, she just thinks it was a moment of personal psychosis, and she'll keep quiet about it."

  "This isn't exactly the safest town to talk about voices in your head," I agreed.

  Shane leaned out of the open hatch and glanced around the barn.

  "It's late morning, judging by the daylight," he called down to us.

  I calculated the amount of time we'd been here at the farm, knowing we'd need to plan our escape perfectly with the rise of the full moon.

  "That means one more day until Samhain," I said. "We have the rest of today and the early part of tomorrow before the portal opens. The full moon is tomorrow night."

  "The full moon?" Courtney murmured with a lifted brow. "You know the real lunatics come out when it'
s full, right?"

  My shocked eyes twitched, uncertain if she was serious or kidding. Judging by the smirk on her face, I went with the latter.

  But she wasn't wrong.

  From the perspective of an outsider looking in, it wouldn't be far-fetched to call us all lunatics.

  Courtney's comment held specific intention, though, even through its humorous delivery. She wanted to remind us of who we were up against. True lunatics.

  But, to be honest, I needed no reminder.

  "Come on out if you need a visit to the privy," Shane called down to us.

  I wasted no time shooting up the ladder, with Courtney close on my heels.

  Ready to burst, we ran for the outhouse as fast as we could, scared to death we'd be seen by curious trespassers. With a slam of the wooden door, we huddled together inside, panting.

  "You first," she said, eyeballing the cold station.

  I lifted myself onto the plank and wasted no time taking care of business. Courtney peeked out various cracks in the shed, surveying the farm for anything suspicious.

  "Are they still out there?" she murmured.

  "What?" My pee stopped mid-stream. "Who?"

  She swallowed. "My sisters."

  My heart plummeted to my feet. I hadn't realized she had no clue about what Shane had done. She had been catatonic at the time.

  "No, Courtney," I muttered into my chest. “They’re not still out there.”

  She turned and stared into my face.

  I gazed back into her questioning eyes, and said, "Shane removed them with care... He laid them to rest."

  Her eyes closed as her breath deepened.

  "Where?" she asked.

  I shrugged with uncertainty. "I'm not sure. Somewhere private, I think he said."

  "The family plot is in the woods behind here." She gestured to the area in back of the house. "I hope he found it."

  I had no doubt in my mind that he had. Putting them to rest with their other family members was something Shane would do.

  She whispered, "I'll place proper grave markers for them."

  I gave a slight nod, moving off the plank.