Magic Brew

by T. Rae Mitchell

  7

  Damaged Goods

  “EDGE!”

  The voice is familiar but I’m drawing a blank. Those angry faces and blood-curdling shrieks messed me up.

  “Time to look alive, dude.”

  Someone jostles me, knocking my head against metal.

  My heavy lids open to the subway car and streetlights streaking by outside the windows. Hurley’s leaning over me, gripping my shoulders, his face flushed as he shakes me even harder. Frustrated, he balls up a fist.

  Fletcher grabs him by the wrist. “Whoa, no need to punch his lights out. Looks like they’re comin’ on.”

  I blink at Hurley. He’s back to his usual forest elf size. The only sign of the Oni demon are the reds of his irises, the small horns hidden beneath his spiked hair and his six-fingered hands. It’s good to see. The last time I saw him, he was mangling that Bonegrinder. But he’s still got dried blood all around his mouth. He looks like a little kid who got into the jam jar. I tap my bottom lip. “You might wanna get that. You missed a little.”

  He grins with relief, then looks at his reflection in the window. “Oh, thanks,” he says as he lifts the bottom of his t-shirt up to his face and spits on it before rubbing the blood off.

  I reach for my sliced neck. The slightest pressure stings. One of the guys put a makeshift bandage on me while I was passed out. The cloth is wet, but at least I’m not leaking all over the place. My head hurts like someone bowled with it and threw a strike every time. But I shouldn’t moan about it. I’m not the one who got my skull bashed in.

  Grief sits like a brick in the pit of my stomach. Booker was just a kid with a face full of peach fuzz. He didn’t deserve to go so soon.

  Pulling myself up to a sitting position, I look for his body. “Where’s Booker? You left without him? We never leave our own behind!”

  Everyone shifts uncomfortably and looks away.

  “What were we supposed to do with that rumble going down?” Zulu says. “Carry his dead ass out of there along with yours? We barely got out alive as it was.”

  The others nod sheepishly, muttering in agreement. Everyone except Pandora. She’s staring out the window. Her glamour’s down and her curled horns are there for the world to see.

  How could I forget what happened to Nyx, even for a minute? My gut twists into painful knots. I can’t believe she’s gone too. Not like that. She would’ve wanted to go out doing some serious damage first. “Think there’s any chance Nyx made it?”

  Pandora looks at me, her green eyes burning with fury.

  Eaten up with guilt, I look down at my shaking fists. If Nyx hadn’t stepped in for me, she’d be with us right now.

  “What? No comment on the prez?” Zulu asks.

  Confused, I frown at him. Why the hell should any of us care what happened to that backstabbing prick?

  Zulu punches the wall. “We’re three soldiers down in case you’re interested. Maddox didn’t make it out with us. He was out cold like you.”

  “Wait, are you saying Maddox passed out too?”

  Zulu snorts. “Are you pickin’ up anything I’m throwin’ down here?”

  He keeps talking, but it’s all background noise. My mind’s on the moment the Highborns knocked me out with that awful shriek. Maddox must’ve been hit the same way. Which means the portal probably snapped shut, given that Maddox was the one controlling the portal. Good. That means the warlocks weren’t able to step through.

  “Edge! Did you hear me?” Zulu yells. “I said the Bad Hats took Maddox!”

  I look at him incredulously. “You think Maddox was taken by the warlocks? Did any of you even see how Booker died?”

  Moving in closer, Zulu looms over me. “We were balls deep in a goddamn war zone. What was there to see besides you catchin’ z’s?”

  I stand up too fast. The motion makes my head spin. I grab hold of a pole to hold steady. “You really wanna know?” I say through clenched teeth. “Maddox killed Booker.”

  Zulu stares at me. I tense, knowing he’s about to snap.

  He takes a wild swing at me, missing as I duck low. His left side is wide open so I grind a right hook up into his spleen. The punch knocks his wind out, but it’s not enough to stop him. Charging me, he yells, “You lying sack of–”

  Bulking up into Big Red, Hurley barrels into Zulu so hard he hits the other side of the car. “Lay off, man,” Hurley growls. “Can’t you see Edge is still out of it?”

  “Dude, I’m rock solid,” I say, game face on as I eyeball the whole gang. If none of them saw what Maddox did to Booker, they won’t believe he’s a warlock and in with the Bad Hats. Not with the way they’re staring at me, like I’m tripping out on one of India’s happy hour home brews.

  Including the Mech standing next to Justice. Pausing for a split second, I search for any other surprise passengers. Fortunately, we’ve got the whole subway car to ourselves. “Anyone happen to notice there’s an unfriendly in the room?”

  “That’s Justice’s new bootlicker,” Knox says, running his gaze over the Mech’s machinery. Sucking in the last of his cigarette, he blows the smoke in the Mech’s face. No reaction. Looking disappointed, Knox drops the butt and reaches for another. He must’ve used a lot of fire in the battle. The only time he chain smokes is when he needs refueling.

  “I offered to melt him down to something useful like a pair of dumbbells,” Knox continues, “but Justice wouldn’t let me.”

  Justice shrugs. “He’s an innocent now, completely devoted to me.”

  “We call him Gort,” Constantine adds.

  I still don’t like it, but I let it go. “How long was I out?”

  “Twenty minutes, give or take,” Fletcher says as he sits down next to Pandora. The stiff angle of her back relaxes as she leans against his arm.

  Constantine grabs the subway handles, swinging his body back and forth. “Yup, we’re home free. Coney, here we come.”

  I shake my head. “We’re home free when we’re walking into Magic Brew and not a minute sooner. Anything could hit us between here and there.”

  “Nobody’s coming after us on the train. It’s neutral ground,” Constantine argues.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure after what went down tonight.” I don’t need my Djinn powers to know I’m being hunted as we speak. But how do I tell them we’re in danger because I’m King Newyddilyn’s son and the Bad Hats are after my blood to reopen that frickin’ portal so they can ambush the Highborns? If they didn’t believe me about Maddox, they won’t swallow that. I’m still not sure I believe it myself. It’s best I step around all that for now.

  Constantine lets go of the straps and lands in front of me. “Why would anyone come after us anyway?”

  “Hmm, for starters? Maybe the Gray Boys after you hugged one of them to death. And I’m pretty sure the Bonegrinders didn’t take to the Hamburglar here goin’ to town on a brother like he was a Big Mac.”

  Hurley looks all insulted. “I wasn’t the only one who went slightly overboard. Pandora snuffed plenty of her own.”

  Without turning away from the window, Pan throws the unicorn. That middle finger of hers is one of her favorite signs.

  I slap Hurley on the shoulder. “Just sayin’ we need to stay frosty and keep our ears to the ground. Feel me?”

  The train suddenly comes to a screeching halt, rocking us all off balance. The lights go out. It’s blacker than night in here.

  We’re stuck inside the tunnel. Not good.

  Knox lights up the car with both hands blazing. “Good call, Edge. Your spidey senses must be tinglin’ like crazy.”

  “Yeah,” Constantine says, “what’s going on out there?”

  Shit. Do I tell them I can’t sense what’s happening outside the car? My skin breaks out in a cold sweat. If I tell them I’m damaged goods, I could lose rank. If that’s gone, it’s only a matter of time before I’m out. They won’t want me around. Not if I’m useless. No. I can’t let that happen. I’d rather let Rade finish cutting my
throat.

  Hurley presses his face to the window. “Is it a power outage?”

  “Let’s get a train operator on the line and find out,” Constantine says as he pulls his cell phone out. “What the…? My phone’s fried!”

  We all dig in our pockets, checking our precious phones. The car fills with a bunch of swearing upon finding out our phones are dead.

  “Must’ve happened at the summit,” Fletcher says. “Remember that mega watt blast that knocked us all on our ass? I’ve never felt anything like it. I’d bet good money that was the punch the warlocks needed to take the Wall down.”

  Hurley’s eyes go round. “You really think the Wall’s down?”

  Fletcher shrugs. “Won’t know for sure until we get back to the ocean and see for ourselves.”

  “Those rat bastards owe me a new phone,” Constantine grumbles.

  “Nothing’s wrong with the line,” Gort interrupts, his voice strangely modulated as the cables in his mechanical arm slither and spark against the roof of the car. “Black magic’s cutting all juice to the train.”

  Justice turns to the Mech. “Heaven shalt look down and smile upon you. Give me five,” he says, slapping Gort’s hand.

  “So the real question is, who the hell’s after us?” Fletcher says, looking at me.

  Every muscle in my body pulls tight. Time to soldier up. I’ve got to tell them. “Listen up. I was hit hard back there. Rade messed with my ward. He locked down my Djinn powers, so my radar’s off.” It pains me to work with half-truths, but they’ll never believe Maddox did this.

  “We’re running blind? You really can’t tell who’s out there?” Fletcher asks.

  “Not exactly, but I’ve got a pretty good idea it’s–”

  Zulu bulldozes his way to the front, shoving his face inches from mine. “Look who got cut down to size. Guess that means we won’t be callin’ you the big kahuna.”

  “Really? You’re gonna get up in my grill about that again? Get out of my face and stop chokin’ me with that dragon breath of yours!” I shove him back. The effort takes all my steam. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s challenged my rank, but he’s got leverage this time. I can’t show any weakness. I have to stand tall on this one.

  “What are you gonna do about it?” he goads. “Maddox isn’t here to protect your vaporous genie ass anymore.”

  “Like I need that,” I say, tasting the bile of betrayal rising in my throat.

  Zulu folds his arms. “You know you’re not hard core enough to be chief.”

  “You wouldn’t be disrespecting his choice if he was here.”

  “Well he ain’t here, is he? Even if he was, it’s no secret I can’t follow a dude whose balls hadn’t even dropped when he got jumped into the gang.”

  He’s got a point there. I was only nine when Maddox recruited me.

  Zulu sees it all over my face and nods. “Truth hurts. You know the time’s come for the boys in the room to step aside and let the man take over.”

  Hurley barrels into him, slamming Zulu to the wall, his forearm pressed against his Adam’s apple. “That’s not how it works,” Hurley snarls, his leathery features flaring an angry shade of red. “Maddox made Edge second. Not you. He takes over as prez.”

  Knox grabs Hurley by the back of his jacket and throws him off. “Unless Edge isn’t fit to command.” He glances at me. “Sorry, man, but you’re not up to speed.”

  “Damn right!” Zulu says, his chest puffed up with victory. “Without his power he’s as useless as a gullie.”

  Just like that, the gang grows quiet. Their silence shouts louder than anything they could ever say. If I don’t do something here and now, every scrap of respect I gained over the last ten years will go up in smoke.

  “Not so fast,” I say, glaring at Zulu. “Booker said I could get my Djinn powers back on board if we burn the ward off. He was about to do it before he–”

  “Right on,” Hurley jumps in, his expression hopeful. “Knox, torch that mofo off.”

  Knox steps forward, his hand glowing so red-hot I can see through skin and flesh to every bone inside. “No sweat.”

  “For you,” I say, gulping dryly as I pull my sleeve back and brace for the impending pain.

  As Knox reaches for the ward on my wrist, the windows shatter and the car fills with the deafening flap of hundreds of wings and shrieks.

  8

  Evil Dread

  LIKE ONE MIND, WE BACK INTO EACH OTHER, facing outward in a tight circle as we’re pelted by broken glass. Beaks and claws scratch my face and hands. Knox lets out a war cry, blasting a stream of fire into the darkness, lighting up a vicious swarm of bats and crows filling the subway car. Those few that catch fire go up in puffs of smoke and ash–the telltale sign of a witch’s shadow demons.

  Son of a bitch. We’re surrounded by Dread witches.

  These pasty-faced chicks with their creepy black makeup and funerary Victorian garb twisted up with S&M leather are not what you want to meet in a dark tunnel. They’re the mothers of warlocks, the queens of spells, the goddesses of nightmares.

  “Get down, I’m goin’ super nova!” Knox shouts.

  “No, don’t!” I shout. But it’s too late. I’m forced to drop to my knees along with the others as a scorching wave of flames blazes in a full circle above our heads. The swarm of shadow demons catches fire like dry leaves in the wind, countless burning embers coiling inward before turning to ash. Silence falls just as surely as the silt raining on our heads.

  This is bad. The witches got exactly what they wanted. Physical contact. The ashes of their shadow familiars are absorbing our essence, relaying who and what we are back to them.

  Knox yells out, turns into a human torch and flies backward. He’s pinned to the wall with a shocked look. The witches, like any conjurer, know how to control the elements. And anyone with elemental blood. He’s not in danger of burning up. The blue flame beneath the outer fire is cooling. It’s why his clothes never catch fire. But he’s out of commission until we sew this up.

  Fletcher’s the one I’m worried about. He’s an air elemental and part–

  An invisible force slams Fletcher straight up onto the ceiling, trapping him in his own tornado of wind. “Clear out! I’m losing it!” he shouts, a vicious snarl taking over his voice. Concern splashes across Pandora’s face as scales rupture Fletcher’s skin. His bones crack loudly as they break and reconfigure into the form of a huge cougar. Howls of pain fill the car as horns thrust from his skull, piercing his newly grown reptilian hide.

  The shift looks unpleasant, but more so for us. There’s a primordial vengeance demon thrashing above our heads, ready to claw the life out of anyone who gets too close.

  “The Lapland witches dance around us, inventing their own torments,” Justice says. “We need a force as fierce as ten furies, terrible as Hell to–”

  “Speak regular or shut your biblical pie hole!” Zulu interjects.

  For the first time tonight I agree with him.

  “Piss off!” Constantine says. “He’s sayin’ we need some serious magic to fight the Dreads. Without Maddox, Booker and Edge, we don’t stand a chance.”

  Zulu pounds his chest like King Kong. “Who do you think you’re huddled next to? You’re lookin’ at a goddamned witch doctor. Those ball busters don’t have anything on me. I fart stronger magic than this.”

  “Yeah? Then why don’t you rip one off and get those harpies to flock off?” Hurley says.

  “And what’re you doing? Squat, that’s what,” Zulu shouts.

  “Get me close enough and I’ll go fangy on the whole lot.”

  “Don’t be stupid. That’s not how it works with the Dreads,” Constantine says.

  Hurley’s face flushes a deep red. “So I’ve never rumbled with the Dreads. What’s the big deal?”

  “The Dreads are like the Bad Hats. They don’t get their hands dirty with street fights,” Constantine explains. “These evil hags cast nightmare spells tailor-made just for
you. And the worst part is you’ll never see it coming.”

  “True that,” I add. “I’ve heard a Dread spell starts with a whisper and ends with a roar. We might be under their spells right now.”

  “Which is why you all need to back up and give me some space so I can run some premium voodoo on their pasty-white asses,” Zulu says.

  It’s eating me up how useless I am. I’d never be sitting here waiting for the witches to make their move. I’d pinpoint every witch’s position. Then I’d smoke out of here, grab them two at a time and drop the black-eyed bitches in the Harlem River before they knew what hit them. Or, if I was feeling especially creative, I’d distract them with a convincing illusion, like the old bait and switch. Make them think our gang’s facing off with them while we split in the opposite direction.

  Instead, I’ve got to put my trust in Zulu? I’ll take his muscle in a rumble any day, but his conjuring needs work. His skills can’t touch the Dreads.

  With Fletcher going nuts and clawing the air above us, Zulu pulls a fist-sized leather pouch from his pocket and dumps out a revolting array of items: shriveled worms, a frog, bugs, a nasty shrunken head, chicken bones and small vials of dust. Muttering some sort of gibberish, he pops the cork on a vial and draws the shape of an eye with the black powder. Then he takes off his smelly voodoo necklace made of bird claws and lizard tails and shakes it over the symbol.

  The temperature drops, so cold I can see my breath. Huh, Zulu actually stirred something up.

  He throws back his head. His eyes roll up, showing the whites as he shakes in stilted, disjointed movements. He looks ridiculous. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so freaked out.

  A convulsion rocks his body. He’s gulping and choking, and his throat’s bulging with something big sliding up the length of his neck.

  It’s gross. We’re all inching back as far as we can.