“Sorry about the smell,” Alice said as we turned down a corridor with sparkling white floors. “I had to . . . clean the hallways a bit after Mr. Wake’s arrival. There was a lot of blood.”
My heart began to beat fast once again, but I did my best to slow it down and act normal. Freaking out wouldn’t do any good here. I needed to watch and learn because that would increase my chances of helping Father.
As we walked further down the hall I noticed that this particular corridor was so clean it actually felt sterile. The decor of serene paintings depicting nature also felt blander than the rest of the house—reminding me intensely of a hospital. Most strikingly, however, was that the stench of cleaner became impossibly stronger with each step. When we reached the end of the hall, the smell of astringent had become so strong that my eyes watered.
Alice gestured to the door on the left. “I know you were insistent on seeing him. But I want to reiterate that your husband is in very bad shape.” Her eyes drifted to me. “Should either of you want to wait in the sitting room, I can make you comfortable and come get you when we’re done working.”
Mother shook her head emphatically. “I want to see my husband, and Diana will not be kept from her father. She’s strong enough. Besides, she needs to be aware of everything the family trade entails. That includes misfortunes such as this one.”
Alice looked skeptical but she honored Mother’s wishes and opened the door.
Immediately, the metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils and my stomach heaved. Red was everywhere. On the floors, on the walls, there were even droplets on the ceiling. I closed my eyes and vaguely became aware that Mother had grabbed my hand and was gripping it tightly. That, like the blood, did not reassure me.
“The Headmistress of Spellcasters and her daughter are here,” Alice said, prompting me to open my eyes. I didn’t want the healers to think me a sniveling little girl who would faint at the sight of blood.
Even though I was only eighteen, I was well aware that this was the reality of spycraft. It wasn’t just all glamour and fighting the bad guys and saving those who couldn’t save themselves. People got hurt, even seasoned spies.
My father, instantly recognizable by his full head of blond hair and heavy-rimmed glasses, laid face-up on the table. Bags of blood hung at either side of him, dispensing life back into his veins as two heads bobbed above him, tending to his wounds.
The older of the healers held up a finger, unable to stop whatever he was doing at that moment. Desperate for a distraction from the erratic beeping of the heart monitor, I focused on the man’s appearance. He wore glasses and had a thinning head of brown hair that belied his youthful, lean, and muscular stature. His face was dotted with a smattering of freckles . . . and blood. I shuddered at the red specks and shifted my gaze to the younger man who worked at his side.
He was probably about my age and had the same dark hair and pale skin as Alice. As if the boy could feel my eyes upon him, he paused and glanced up, revealing startling blue eyes behind bold, square-framed glasses.
I hitched a breath. Despite the fact that this boy was also covered in blood—my father’s blood, no less—there was no denying that he was incredibly attractive. I looked away, uncomfortable with the thought during such a dire situation.
A full five minutes after we entered the room, the father and son reached a spot where they could pause and came to meet us.
“This is my husband, John, and my son, Alex,” Alice said. “I was just making more coffee when you arrived, but they’ve been seeing to Mr. Wake for the last hour or so. I must warn you, it looks like we’re in for a very long night.”
“The PIA didn’t tell me what happened. Will you?” My mother phrased her words like a question but her tone indicated they were more of a command.
I bit my lip. The PIA rarely shared personal information, even with spouses. It was all too likely that they would lay the responsibility of telling my mother what happened upon Father—if he survived. But they would have had to tell the Wardwells what happened, right? His injuries had been severe enough to seek out healers not involved with the PIA. And the PIA would have to give them information about the case to increase the chances of saving Father.
My mother’s request made John look uncomfortable, but Alice nodded. “I don’t agree with the Paranormal Intelligence Agency’s opinion that spouses should be kept in the dark until the danger has passed. And I certainly didn’t sign that ridiculous nondisclosure form they tried to shove under my face. Sit and I’ll fill you in.” She nodded to John, who, along with Alex, took that as a cue to get back to work.
Alice gestured for us to take two flimsy plastic chairs on the edge of the room. After pulling up a third seat, she perched opposite us. “Mr. Wake was tracking a black witch up and down the East Coast. It seems that sometime yesterday she realized she had a tail and decided to do something about it. As far as we can tell, Mr. Wake was tortured for hours and then somehow freed himself. He bears remnants of vicious battle magic scars born of black magic, and at least one curse which we have yet to figure out. We’re trying to repair the easiest injuries first so that dealing with the curses will be more straightforward.” Alice took a deep breath. “I fear, however, we might be running out of time. No matter how much progress we make in repairing your husband’s injuries, his vitals continue to diminish and he’s losing blood fast.”
“What can we do to help?” Mother asked, her voice shaking.
Alice gave her a small, understanding smile. “Honestly, nothing. My husband and I are the most skilled medical physicians and healers on this coast. Our son has been training with us and is quite knowledgeable too. The best thing you can do is to stay out of our way while we work.”
My mother’s spine straightened and her lips pressed together until they were white. I was sure she was about to snap at Alice, to say that she was a capable witch and surely there was something she could do to help. To live by her motto to question everything and continue acquiring knowledge from the Wardwells.
So, when after a few tense moments, she merely nodded and leaned back in her seat, my stomach dropped to my knees.
My mother, Priscilla Wake, the most formidable woman I knew, was willing to just sit and let others do the work? If I didn’t already know that my father was in a very serious predicament, her reaction drove the point home.
Tears began to prick in my eyes as I sat back in the chair and folded my hands tightly together. Following Mother’s lead, I relinquished control to the Wardwells.
Talk about the worst birthday ever.
Chapter Four
I’d nearly fallen asleep for the hundredth time when the heart rate monitor went psycho again and my head snapped up.
A day ago I would have said it was impossible for someone to fall asleep in an uncomfortable chair while three people worked tirelessly nearby and a heart monitor beeped in the background.
And I would have been dead wrong.
The adrenaline rush I’d experienced after hearing about my father’s incident had long since worn off, leaving me feeling depleted.
Thankfully, there was one tiny bright spot in this terrible night. In the last hour the healers had staunched Father’s bleeding. Now they were just working on replenishing what he’d lost. The Wardwells believed that overall my father’s bodily functions were stabilizing. But that still left the threat of the curse that no one understood. Whatever magic the black witch had placed on him was very serious and kept reversing bits of their progress.
Most witches despised black magic, ancient evil methods or incantations gifted to vile witches and warlocks from the royals of Hell. And yet, even though it was despicable to work with darker energies, I couldn’t help but wish the Wardwells knew how to do it. Or even that I possessed the ability to wield that forbidden power.
Knowing how to work black magic would increase Father’s chances of survival, and I’d do anything to save him.
One of the Wardwells moved, catching my
attention. The son, Alex, was walking toward a table filled with an assortment of herbs and random Western medical supplies. He picked up a vial with a label too small for me to read, uncorked it, and sniffed.
“We already tried that elixir, Al,” John said with a heavy sigh.
“I know, but that was when he first got here. We’ve stabilized him since then. Maybe now it will have a different outcome.”
John shook his head, but Alice interceded. “Let him try, John. What harm is it going to do?”
I cringed at the insinuation. Father was already so far gone that what could a vial of God-knew-what do to him?
Mother stood up. She’d been silent for hours, her hands clenching and releasing the folds of her shirt until the fabric stayed crushed up. Mother had many magical strengths, but healing was not one of them. I imagined that she felt as helpless as I did.
“If there’s any hope that elixir will save my husband, then give it to him.” Her voice cracked from disuse, but somehow Mother still sounded commanding.
Alex nodded as he transferred the solution to a syringe and cleaned a new spot on my father’s arm. Despite my tumultuous mix of frustration, confusion, and sadness, I had to admit that watching the Wardwells work was intriguing. The family ran like a machine. The son, in particular, was impressive. He acted as though he’d been in a medical ward or healer’s sanctuary all of his life. It was clear that what knowledge he’d attained, he’d studied hard to earn.
Unlike Jackson. The thought came as a bit of a surprise, although it wasn’t a stretch that I’d connect the two. These last few days had been the worst of my life. Once or twice a part of me had even wondered if maybe Jackson had cast a curse on me after our breakup. But after I really considered it, I doubted he could manage something so advanced. Jackson did the bare minimum to get by, unlike the guy standing before me.
I studied the young healer, watching the muscles pop in his forearms as he repositioned Father and administered the injection. After a few moments had passed, the heart monitor was still beeping dangerously fast. The remedy didn’t seem to be working. John sighed and began flipping through the same book he’d been referencing for the last hour.
Alex’s lips were tight, annoyed, but instead of joining his parents and consulting with them, he darted across the room again, toward a different stack of books.
“Mom! The black witch was from Romania, right?”
Alice nodded, and Alex pulled a text from the middle of the pile and began flipping through it as though his life depended on it. Minutes passed and a million questions raced through my mind as I watched him puzzle over the book.
Were there specific Romanian incantations? Most of the ones I’d heard my mother utter were Latin, or a variation of it. But I knew older spells existed too, which meant there were probably spells in other languages. And if they existed, and they were in Romanian, would Alex be able to read them? Did they use a different alphabet over there?
Alex dropped the tome he was reading and rushed back to the exam table. His eyes blazed, and he undid the top two buttons on his shirt as he went. Despite the fact that I was in a blood-soaked room with my father dying on the table, heat pooled in my hips.
Get a grip, Di, I chastised myself.
“Stand back, Dad,” Alex commanded, which made John arch an eyebrow.
“What have you got up your sleeve now, Al?”
“I’ll explain later,” Alex said. Then he placed his hands on my father’s chest and began to mutter words in an unintelligible language.
The air in the room stilled. I became painfully aware that the heart monitor’s beeping was picking up speed. What was Alex doing? It seemed to be causing Father even more distress.
Within seconds the beeping became so rapid that distinguishing one beep from the next became impossible. I itched to dart across the room and rip Alex off Father—was seriously considering it—when the energy in the room shifted drastically.
Mother and Alice gasped. John inched forward, probably trying to determine what had happened, but Alex didn’t move a muscle. He kept his eyes closed, the strange words spilling from his mouth.
A chill washed over me, and I couldn’t sit still any longer. I stood, and at that exact moment a shadow dragon burst from my father’s chest and released a hair-raising roar.
A shriek ripped up my throat, and I fell to the floor. My mother jumped in front of me, and three different incantations streamed from the adults’ lips.
The sound of an explosion filled my ears as a wave of heat rolled over me. I held my breath, waiting for more fighting, but it didn’t happen.
Instead, the room stilled. The heart rate monitor fell silent and my own heart started to race at what the deafening silence meant. Mother let out a choked sob and gripped my hand as the Wardwells leaned over Father. The tension in the room mounted.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
Alice clapped her hands to her mouth and shot a glance at John, who pressed his lips together and patted Alex on the back.
Taking in their reactions, air filled my lungs once again.
The moment I awoke in an unfamiliar room, my body tightened. It took only seconds of listening to the sounds outside the bedroom door to remind me that I was in the Wardwells’ home—or their healing sanctuary—whatever it was, I still wasn’t sure. Nor did I think it mattered. Mother and I had accepted Alice’s invitation to stay in the small hours of the morning. After hours of Father walking the line between life and death, we were reluctant to leave his bedside. But John insisted that whatever force the black witch had planted inside my father had been released and that the best thing we could do would be to get some rest. The Wardwells planned on rotating watch over Father’s bedside all night long, and promised to come get us if he took a turn for the worse.
After all the excitement and terror it had taken a while to fall asleep, but eventually my body gave in to exhaustion. Since then, I hadn’t woken up once, not even when Mother left the room. As I was usually a light sleeper and an early riser, it was weird to know I could slumber so completely in an unfamiliar place. But I had, and now that I was awake and memories of the night before were returning, I sort of wished that I could ignore the day and fall back asleep.
Definitely the worst birthday ever. If it hadn’t been for Alex, we would have lost Father.
An image of the attractive, young healer popped into my mind. A sudden strong compulsion to talk to him and thank him for all that he’d done came over me. I lifted myself out of bed to change, opened my overnight bag, and extracted the few items I’d hurriedly stuffed inside before leaving Spellcasters.
I changed into leggings and a tunic and pulled my long blonde hair into a ponytail. Trying to feel a little more human, I rinsed my face with hot water. I’d just patted my face dry and was about to go find the rest of the group when I recalled once again how tasty Alex had looked the night before. Spinning around I found my purse and extracted my matte red lipstick. I applied it to my lips and rubbed in a few dabs on my cheeks for blush. I studied myself in the mirror. Mascara would help erase the exhaustion on my face, but I hadn’t packed any. This was as good as it was going to get.
I followed the chatter and entered the kitchen to find Alice and Alex sitting at a table with my mother. John was pouring mugs of coffee at the breakfast bar.
“Good morning, Diana,” Mother said as she accepted a coffee from John. “Did we wake you?”
I shook my head. “No, actually I’m surprised I slept in this late.” At Spellcasters I always woke up at seven to get my day started. When high school was in session it was five because Mother or a Spellcasters staff member had to drive me to the human school in Portland, Maine. It was already almost nine. “How’s Father?”
“Better. He opened his eyes a couple times this morning,” John smiled. “Of course he fell back asleep almost right away, but that’s still a good sign.”
A weight lifted off my chest. I sat down at the table next to my mother and accepted a c
up of coffee from John. I preferred tea and didn’t usually drink coffee. But after the long night, I couldn’t resist. Plus, they had a bottle of cinnamon sugar creamer on the table, and with enough creamer, coffee was palatable.
“Will we be back in time for the first round of Spellcasters entrance exams? Or will I have to attend the second round in two weeks?” I asked my mother, unsure if she’d already planned to stay here a few days or if we’d be heading back soon.
Her eyes traveled to Alice and John. “Actually, funny you mention those. We were just discussing the entry exams.”
My eyebrows pulled together. On our way here Mother had said that the Wardwells were not a legacy family. Of course, new students could apply to test into Spellcasters, and a few did every year, but they had to ask for permission months in advance. Additional arrangements were required for families not indoctrinated into the ways of espionage and that took time. So, if Alex would not be at the testing, why would they be talking about it?
Reading the question in my eyes, my mother expounded. “The Wardwells requested a spot at the exams for Alexander months ago.”
“And, unsurprisingly, Spellcasters denied our appeal.” John leaned against the counter, his lips a thin line. “However, we were planning on petitioning that in person this week, during the first round of entry exams. That way he still had a chance to attend the second round of exams.”
My lips parted in surprise. Why had he been denied? He seemed capable enough. Unless, of course, healing was his only skill. Or there were problems between his family and the government. The latter didn’t seem likely though since we were here because the PIA had sent Father to the Wardwells.
“Why was he not invited to the formal testing?” I asked.
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