Mystics and Mental Blocks (Amplifier 3)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  My heightened healing might not be enough to repair the damage the mystic had done to my synapses. The damage I was continuing to do.

  The sounds of a battle filtered through to me. Voices shouting. Aiden and Christopher coordinating an attack on the black witches, perhaps. I had no doubt that the sorcerer would help the clairvoyant breach the outer circle of the mystic’s complicated spell. Then the twins would fall.

  Which meant I needed to keep moving.

  I wasn’t certain what would happen if the others breached the encircled pentagram before I’d freed Zans. Before I could free myself.

  If that second part was even possible.

  I knelt by the telekinetic sprawled across the icy snow. Pushing through my exhaustion, I drew another draught of magic from the mystic. Chenda convulsed soundlessly. I wasn’t the only one running low on reserves.

  If the mystic succumbed before Zans and I were freed from her spell — if I drained her far enough to kill her — it seemed likely that would be just as deadly for us.

  Shoving my concerns aside, I held the mystic’s power in my palm, tracing my hand along the magic tethering Zans to the pentagram. Brushing my fingers against the blood tattoo that bound my magic to the telekinetic, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to sink into her mind.

  The house and the barn were on fire.

  The winter-dormant rose bushes that lined the driveway to the left had been wrenched from the frozen ground. The mature fruit orchard to our far right appeared to have been torn asunder by a hurricane.

  No. Not a hurricane.

  Zans.

  Samantha stood in the middle of the snow-covered front yard. The mystic’s encircled pentagram glowed brightly behind me.

  I sighed in disbelief.

  Dragging Chenda with me, I crossed toward the telekinetic. She appeared to be gleefully watching the utter annihilation of my home.

  The fire blazed, but I couldn’t feel any heat.

  I stopped beside Samantha, needing a moment to remind myself that I was in her mind, and that my home still stood in the actual world.

  “How did you think that would help?” I asked.

  Samantha shrugged, still grinning manically. Then she glanced over at me sharply. “Took you long enough!”

  She looked drained. Her normally glowing skin was saggy and gray even in the bright light of the house bonfire. A shadow of magic hovered at her right temple.

  A dark smudge.

  The block on Zans’s magic, just as Capri had seen it.

  I reached for it, then hesitated. I wasn’t a telepath. I’d been borrowing magic and blundering around in everyone’s heads, hopefully without long-term consequences. But it was Christopher and Aiden who had actually freed themselves, just using my presence as an anchor. I wasn’t certain I could actually wield magic within the mental projection.

  Removing the block on the telekinetic’s power, on her mind, was delicate, precise work.

  “Do it,” Zans snarled. Her teeth were white against her dark skin.

  “It might kill you.”

  “I’m dying anyway.” She swallowed, whispering, “I’d rather it be you, Socks. If anyone is going to put me out of my misery, I always thought it would be you.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say to me,” I snapped, pissed. “How many times have I put myself between you and death?”

  She laughed darkly. “I’ve lost count. So how about one more time?”

  I exhaled harshly. I needed a plan. I wasn’t even sure I could touch the magical block on Zans without —

  I reached down for the mystic, struggling to lift her. She was just so heavy now. “Help me.”

  Samantha grasped Chenda’s shoulders, heaving her upright until the mystic faced me. Her head lolled. I slapped her once, then again.

  “Trying to wake her?” Samantha asked.

  “Trying. I need the spell.”

  Samantha grunted, shifting the mystic’s weight mostly onto one arm. She reached around Chenda’s head, grabbed the skin where her nose met her lip, and twisted.

  The mystic screamed.

  Zans let go of her, taking most of Chenda’s weight from me. The mystic blinked through tears of pain, somehow still managing to glare.

  “I need the spell,” I said, “to remove the block on Samantha’s magic.”

  Chenda’s eyes darted around. “This … this isn’t possible …”

  Zans laughed.

  The mystic flinched. Apparently, she hadn’t known Zans was the one holding her aloft.

  “I’m getting really tired of having to chastise people for using the word ‘impossible’ when it comes to the Five,” I said. “Feed me the spell I need to remove the block.”

  “Or what?” The mystic’s head lolled again, but she snapped it up. Fighting the exhaustion.

  I wasn’t feeling so great myself.

  “Or we kill you,” Zans said conversationally. “I’m sure that’s possible. I burned down the house easily enough.”

  “And maybe killing you here won’t kill you in the physical sense,” I said. “But I guarantee it’ll shred your mind.”

  “It will shred your minds,” Chenda spat.

  “Well.” I sighed, really tired. “As Zans said before you woke up, she’s dead either way.” I shrugged. “And I’ve always had an overblown sense of my own ability to survive. Anything.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Zans muttered, her condemnation edged with glee.

  “So how about you, mystic?” I asked, tilting my head as if I were listening to something. “The twins, having already been drained, then mentally assaulted by me, aren’t going to hold off the clairvoyant, the sorcerer, and the demon dog. Your circle is about to be breached. I’m guessing it would be better if you were conscious, with your mind in one piece, when that happens.”

  The mystic jutted her chin out, eyes gleaming with hate. And for a brief moment, I thought she was going to be an idiot, sacrificing herself just to spite me.

  Then she reached up, pressing her hand against my face. Magic shifted between us. I placed my hand over hers, grabbing the spell as she cast it, amplifying it.

  Holding it in my right hand, I reached for Zans. “Drop her.”

  Samantha released the mystic, allowing her to dead drop between us. I placed my bare foot on Chenda’s hand, keeping her pinned and maintaining skin-to-skin contact.

  I hesitated. “This is probably going to hurt.”

  Zans snorted. “It always hurts when you amplify me, Socks.”

  I hadn’t known that. Hadn’t had even an inkling. Not even through my much-maligned empathy. I only ever felt thick layers of animosity whenever I touched the telekinetic. A survival mechanism, perhaps, developed over the many years of Zans needing to be amplified for our missions and training. “But you … never said.”

  She shrugged. “I got used to it. The blood tattoos helped a bit. Maybe we just aren’t that compatible.”

  I set one hand over the blood tattoo on her back, my magic anchoring me to her. Then with the mystic’s magic in my hand, I reached up and grasped the smudge in Zans’s mind. Trying to be gentle, but failing.

  She winced, then growled as I coaxed the magic I’d harnessed from the mystic around the smudge on her temple.

  “I guess it’s a little late to wonder if she lied to us.” Zans groaned.

  “We’re linked mind to mind in this space. I don’t think it’s possible for her to lie through that,” I said. “But yeah, let’s hope she didn’t fake me out.” I wrapped my fingers around the cocooned smudge, squeezing.

  Snarling in pain, she grabbed my shoulders, holding herself upright.

  I wrenched the smudge free.

  Samantha shouted, swaying into me. We almost went down. I was that weak myself. But she gained her balance, panting.

  The mental block, freed from the telekinetic’s mind, dissolved in my hand.

  Grinning, Samantha placed her hand on my spine, her palm over the blood tattoo that bound
her magic to mine. “I hear there’s a fight going on,” she said playfully. “Can’t let the boys and the dog have all the fun.”

  “Keep the house out of it.”

  She laughed. “Sure thing, Socks.”

  “And the barn!” I shouted.

  She was gone.

  I swayed on my feet. The yard became dark around me, compressing, stripping away my sight. Then it snapped back into focus.

  The house and the barn and the orchard were all intact. I was back in my own mind — assuming that was how any of this was actually working. The double circles and the pentagram felt far, far away. The two tendrils of magic tethering me to the pentagram were gossamer thin.

  I wrapped my hand around the mystic’s wrist and started dragging her back toward the pentagram. Somewhere, on another level of perception, the sound of a battle ceased.

  All was quiet.

  The black witches were presumably vanquished.

  Then the outer circle dimmed, flickering. The others were trying to breach the spell.

  Desperately, I tried to pick up the pace. It was like walking through a large vat of molasses. Which was ridiculous. I was in my own head. I should have been able to visualize myself within the pentagram and then simply be there.

  Still dragging Chenda behind me, I retraced our route along the path we’d already cut through the snow, trying to mentally project myself forward.

  Nothing happened.

  As expected.

  Damn it.

  The outer circle collapsed.

  I wasn’t going to make it.

  I shoved that idiotic thought away, reached down, heaved the mystic over my shoulders, and ran.

  The inner circle collapsed as I was crossing through it. I stumbled, losing hold of the mystic.

  She rolled into the pentagram. I fell, half on my knees, half on her.

  I could feel the magic of the pentagram flexing and sparking around me. I felt an ache where the tendrils attached to the blood tattoos on my spine.

  Panting, utterly exhausted, I wrestled the mystic onto her knees even as I kneeled before her. Mimicking our positions in the real world. She was unconscious, but I didn’t have the time to try to wake her.

  I pressed her hands to my face and held them there, pulling the last of her magic from her.

  The tendrils of power anchoring me to the pentagram snapped. Searing agony shot through my spine, radiating up my neck and into my mind. Screaming, I lost hold of the mystic, lunging for the snapped ties. I managed to grab them with the final licks of Chenda’s power, knowing somehow that I needed to hold myself in place, to absorb that final connection, so that I didn’t lose myself when Aiden breached the mystic’s pentagram.

  Then I slumped forward.

  And my mind … fractured …

  I was holding the ripped pages from the children’s books with Christopher …

  I was pressed against the wet tile with Aiden’s mouth on my neck …

  I was watching my house, my home, burn with Zans at my side …

  And then I wasn’t anywhere anymore.

  Chapter 12

  I struggled to open my eyes. They felt glued together at first, then more as if they were coated in sand as I managed to blink. Soft golden light filtered in through a single window centered beneath a sharp peak in a bare wall. Boxes, chests, and old furniture were set against the other walls. The flooring was hard and rough under my feet.

  I was standing in the attic.

  I had no idea how I’d gotten there. I slowly pivoted.

  Other than the furniture and the boxes, the attic was empty. I crossed to the drop-down staircase that descended into the upper hall, but it was pulled up and locked into place in some way that meant I couldn’t budge it. I then crossed to the window overlooking the front yard, oddly unable to see through it. Everything was hazy, indistinct. If I angled my head, I could see a smudge of red — the roof of the barn.

  But I couldn’t open the window. Either it was painted shut or not meant to open.

  I spun back to take in the attic a second time.

  Still empty.

  I was trapped in the house.

  As Christopher had said he’d seen me.

  I was … trapped in my head?

  I crouched before one of the chests, reaching for its latch. If I could find something inside it with a sharp edge, I might be able to pry the window —

  Magic whispered from behind me, caressing my right cheek. I slowly pivoted, still crouched.

  A large blanket fort had appeared, situated under the window on the far side of the stair hatch. The stairs appeared to still be locked in their upright position.

  Layers of blankets were draped across two mismatched dining chairs on the left and a wrought-iron headboard on the right. I couldn’t see any opening into the fort. Just edge upon edge of worn cotton quilts and thick wool blankets in shades of pink, orange, and blue.

  I skirted the stair hatch, crouching down to seek a way through the blankets. I found a viable entry point, crawling over pillows and sleeping bags through a narrow tunnel that stretched before me. The spatial dimensions instantly confirmed that I wasn’t actually in my attic, no matter how it had looked.

  I reached an impasse. But, fairly certain who I would find on the other side of the pink-and-green-flowered, cream-colored quilt — identical to the quilt that adorned my bed — I pulled the pillows out from under my knees, shoving them behind me. Then I burrowed underneath.

  Tiny fingers closed over my wrists, tugging me forward. Magic flickered over my skin. Witch magic.

  I looked up, folding my legs under me. The top of the fort was too low for me to sit upright.

  Opal peered at me, blinking her reddened eyes as if just waking. Except I knew we were in a dream.

  “Hello, dream walker.” I smiled, just so incredibly happy to see the young witch.

  “Emma,” she breathed. Her grip on my wrists tightened. Then her face crumpled. “I couldn’t find you.”

  I opened my arms.

  The young witch crawled into my lap, pressing her face to my stomach and curling her legs around me. She held me like that, shaking soundlessly.

  I smoothed my hand over her arm gently. Over and over. Magic shifted between us. It wasn’t magic I could harness, or needed to harness — it belonged to Opal. But it meant I was free from the mystic’s grasp. Opal had either pulled me into her dream or was walking through mine.

  When the young witch’s breathing evened out, I said, “I like your fort.”

  Her words were muffled. “Samantha took my room.”

  I laughed quietly, settling my hand on her shoulder and simply enjoying the contact, whether it was just a dream or not. Because it being a dream didn’t mean that Opal wasn’t there with me. “You could have converted my sitting room, or taken the empty room between mine and Christopher’s.”

  “No,” she said stubbornly.

  “We’ll get some more furniture. Do you like the wrought-iron bed frame you’re using for the fort? We could paint it … any color. Any color you want.”

  Opal sat up, peering at me intently. “Your magic looks … quiet, but okay. Everyone is freaking out.”

  I tilted my head questioningly. I couldn’t quite remember who everyone was, and why they’d be upset about anything.

  “Emma,” Opal said, getting exasperated. “It’s time to wake up now. Even … I caught Aiden crying … I think … he thinks he hurt you.” She gripped my shoulders. “You need to wake up.”

  I smiled at her. “You came to collect me?”

  She nodded, her bottom lip quivering. “I’ve been trying for days. Days!”

  Days? I’d been out for days? Did that mean …

  What if … what if I didn’t wake up?

  What if this was all I ever got … one last goodbye?

  I brushed my fingers against Opal’s smooth cheek, trying to ignore the fear streaking through my chest.

  The young witch continued babbling, as if she
was afraid I’d stop her from telling me everything she wanted to say. “Christopher is threatening to leave with Samantha. They’re trying to track down Bee.”

  Bee. Amanda. Tel5.

  Right.

  Telepath.

  The others were worried that my mind was damaged. They needed Bee to … check. Because if I was injured … if my mind had been broken … she wasn’t a healer.

  But Bee would help me. If she could …

  “It’s nice here,” I said, curling up on my side and tugging Opal down into my arms. Savoring the moment, just in case this was all I had left. “I’m glad you invited me.”

  She fidgeted until she faced me, then she laid her hand on my cheek. The brown shards in her blue eyes were almost the same color as her skin. I remembered gazing at her in the same way across a barrier of magic while the life slowly drained from her. I never wanted to see that image again.

  “You promised to look after me, Emma.”

  “I did.”

  “You promised Aiden and Christopher and Paisley some stuff too.”

  “I did.”

  “Okay. Time to wake up, then.”

  I let the dream walker’s command sink into me, realizing with an extra level of clarity that I was dreaming. And if I could dream, then maybe I could wake up. “Only if you promise to stop running away.”

  She glared at me. “How do you know I ran away?”

  I laughed. “You pulled me into your dream, didn’t you? That requires a certain proximity.”

  “Maybe I’m just that great of a dream walker.”

  “Are you really debating this with me?”

  She grunted noncommittally.

  “So … stop running away, and I’ll wake up.”

  Her mouth dropped open, then she snapped it shut and frowned. “That’s like … blackmail!”

  “Well, nothing else has worked so far.”

  She twisted her lips. “Fine. I won’t run away again.”

  I laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m glad you found me, little witch.”

  I opened my eyes. The room was brightly lit, curtains wide open. I was snuggled under a tightly tucked quilt — the pink-and-green one from my dream. The room practically vibrated with magic — the bed, walls, and floors all hummed. Then I realized my perspective was off, as if the bed had been dragged to the center of the room.