Magic Brew

by T. Rae Mitchell

  My body jolts in reaction to a smack on my forehead. Not a bullet, something wet. I instantly see red. Somebody pissed on me. But then I see that everyone’s pants are zipped. Had to come from the gun. “Really?” I say. “You’re packin’ a water gun?” Rising to my feet, I glance at the others. “And rubber knives? That’s…well, that’s just plain tacky.”

  The leader frowns at his gun. “Cállate la pinche boca!” He shakes his gun. It makes a sloshing sound. Squeezing the trigger again, he stares at the stream of water in shock. “Vete a su chingada madre! What happened to it? This was some serious chrome!” he snarls.

  The one holding onto Sienna shoves her toward me like she’s diseased. “He’s a brujo! Probably one of the Bad Hats,” he says, kissing the cross on his necklace.

  I catch Sienna in one arm and pull her close. “That’s right,” I say, playing on their fear. “I wasn’t talkin’ about the pigs.”

  The Cholos back up, staring at me like I’m about to crack the earth open and drop them straight into hell. They look ready to bolt.

  “You do realize I went easy on you?” I say, holding them in place.

  They nod readily.

  “How about this. I won’t hex you with the Plentius Shortimus curse if you truck on over to the parking lot and mix it up with those bikers the same way you did us.”

  They glance in the direction of the Bonegrinders revving their engines impatiently.

  “What’s this curse?” the leader asks, obviously torn about which is the lesser of two evils.

  “Filling your shorts with explosive diarrhea,” I explain. I wait a beat to let that sink in, and then I add, “Every day for the rest of your lives.” Got that one from Booker. He liked threatening Hurley with it whenever he ribbed him about being a virgin. Don’t know if the hex is real, but Hurley took it seriously enough to stop yanking his chain.

  “Mierda!” the leader swears.

  “Exactly,” I say. “Glad to know we understand each other.”

  Reluctantly, and without another word, the Cholos turn and head toward the parking lot.

  “That was amazing what you did,” Sienna says as I start pushing the bike as fast as I can. I bought us a little time but we’ve gotta jet before the Bonegrinders get it out of them which way we went.

  “Oh that? I was bluffing. I don’t really know how to make somebody crap their pants.”

  “No, I mean turning their knives and gun into toys.”

  “Huh? No, they were packin’ fakes. They didn’t want to lose face by admitting it.”

  Sienna shakes her head. “That knife was real. He cut me when he first grabbed me. Look, he drew blood.” She lifts her blouse, revealing a small knick near the bottom of her ribs.

  My throat constricts. What have I gotten her into? If I had any decency, I’d let her go right now. But I don’t want to. I want her with me.

  Besides, I need her to speak to Anguish for me. There’s still more I have to know.

  Leaning into the handlebars with all my weight, I push the bike across the last stretch of the yard at an exhausting jog. Not easy with this aching arm. All that fighting opened the cut even more. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.

  I’ll worry about patching myself up later though. Right now I’ve got bigger things on my mind, like how the hell I turned steel into plastic and rubber. That wasn’t what I was aiming for. I’ve always prided myself on the exactness of my Djinn powers–sensing trouble ahead, pinpointing the enemy’s position with complete accuracy, teleporting to wherever my thoughts took me, and executing the most believable illusions.

  But this new power is unpredictable. Chaotic. I can’t rely on it.

  We finally reach the other side of King Towers. Glancing back, I make sure we’re still alone before I start the bike. Sienna goes to climb on behind me, but something makes me block her from getting on. “This is as far as you go.” I dig in my pocket for the sixty bucks I lifted off the guy on the train. “Here, this’ll be plenty for the cab ride home. If you don’t have a phone you can call from the Laundromat up on the corner.”

  Her mouth drops open in surprise. “What if I don’t want to go?”

  It’s my turn to look surprised, but I’m quick to cover it with a frown. “It’s not your call. I don’t need you anymore. You’re slowin’ me down.”

  I hate myself for putting that hurt look on her face. She’s too kind. Too gentle. I wish there was at least a spark of meanness in her eyes, like there is in everyone else I know. It would make it so much easier to push her away.

  Crinkling the money in her fist, Sienna turns her face from me. It’s all I can do to keep from pulling her back onto the bike with me.

  But I don’t. I resist with everything I’ve got. Giving into the touchy feelies in the middle of this shitstorm would be a mistake on so many levels. No. I’m doing us both a favor ending this before it starts.

  Forcing my gaze straight ahead, I kick the engine on and burn out of there at warp speed.

  18

  Where The Wildlings Are

  HURLEY’S PARKED AND WAITING FOR ME when I reach the top of Central Park on West Drive. It’s good to see he gave the Bonegrinders the slip. Pulling to a stop, I turn off the engine, feeling the tension drain out of me.

  “Where’ve you been, man? Started thinkin’ you bit the big one,” Hurley says, his expression more worried than angry.

  “The redcaps are hard to shake.”

  Hurley looks at my sliced jacket and the blood dripping down over my hand. “Looks like you almost didn’t.”

  Clenching my teeth against the pain, I shrug. “Eh, it’s just a nick.”

  “A couple of inches deep.” He winces. “You probably need stitches.”

  I take off my belt, wrap it around my bicep and buckle it, while acting like any pressure whatsoever isn’t excruciating. “That’ll do for now.”

  “If you say so.” He nudges his chin at the empty seat behind me. “Where’s your arm candy? She give you the slip?”

  Swallowing hard, I clear my throat. “Nah, I sent her packin’. More trouble than she’s worth.”

  “Most chicks are.”

  I twist around, glancing back along the road behind us. “Figured the others would’ve been here by now.”

  “Yeah I know. Hope they didn’t get hit.” Hurley keeps talking, but it’s noise to me. Anguish has landed further down the road and is pointing at a footpath.

  “Listen, I gotta check somethin’ out. Wait here for the others until I get back.”

  Hurley crosses his arms and shakes his head. “No way, man. I’ll go nuts if I have to sit here with my thumb up my ass any longer.”

  “What if they show up and nobody’s here?”

  “Nyx knows how to find you.”

  “You disrespecting my orders?”

  His rebellious expression turns sullen. “No.”

  “Just askin’, cuz it sounded–”

  “I’ll wait,” Hurley snaps, face reddening, horns protruding.

  “I won’t be long,” I say as I fall into a jog and turn off onto the path.

  “No, by all means, take your time,” Hurley calls after me. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do!”

  •

  It’s been twenty minutes since I last checked my watch–now 2:34 a.m.–and I’m still following the dark angel through the woods. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever get to wherever this mysterious wildling lives. Strangely, instead of getting all worked up about it, I’m getting calmer. For the moment, the city and all its present dangers have fallen away.

  Nature is all that exists here in the middle of the North Woods. I’m feeling the wildlife around me, the birds quiet in their nests, squirrels burrowed in the hollows of trees, raccoons rustling in the bushes. My night vision’s crystal clear, lit up by those pulsing streams of gold light streaming within the trees, leaves and rocks. I’m seeing into the deepest shadows, catching movements of the forest’s other wild things.

  They�
��ve been watching me since I stepped on the path. They’d be impossible to see with normal sight, what with their heads of thin branches, spindly bodies the color of moss and bark. But I can see them plain as day, and this time, they’re not vanishing like before.

  The only thing that’s vanished is Anguish. I look around for my dark guide. I don’t see the mope anywhere. I sent Sienna too soon. I shouldn’t have let my feelings get in the way. Having her here to tell me where Anguish wants me to go would be a whole lot easier than following the angel’s random appearances.

  I’m not taking another step. This meeting needs to happen now, or I’m heading back. Time’s not on my side tonight.

  Searching the shadows, I look directly at the fearsome little faces staring back at me. “I’m here to see Duil'dir. Can you take me to him?”

  They scatter out of sight. But they’re not gone. I can hear them whispering to each other. To anyone else they’d sound like the wind through the leaves, but I hear the words within the breezy noises. I sense the language is ancient, even older than the Sidhe tongue, but somehow the meaning comes through loud and clear.

  “I’m here to learn. That’s all, nothing more.”

  A few of them peer at me from behind the branches, trying to decide whether to help me.

  “I need to understand what this is,” I say, tapping my chest, where the crystal sits.

  A sudden breeze blows through the trees, gusting past me, pulling the wildlings along with it. Their voices carry in the wind, telling me to follow. Fast little bastards. I can barely keep up. Fortunately, this unnatural wind they kicked up is at my back, pushing me in the direction they keep disappearing toward.

  A few minutes later, the footpath meets up with a stream, leading through a large stone archway. The wildlings gather around both sides of the arch, carefully avoiding the boulders and stonework, preferring to stay within the cover of the surrounding bushes. They don’t seem to want to go any further, so I continue into the tunnel.

  The moment I step past the arch, the air grows thick, filling with the smell of moist earth. It must be a portal entrance. I’ve only crossed a few, but there’s no mistaking them, what with the sudden shift in temperature and change in the air. As I continue through the tunnel, I hear a waterfall. I come out the other side, where the water’s pouring over the rockery, spilling into the stream flanking the pathway.

  A small movement near the top of the waterfall catches my attention but all I see is the scraggly remnants of a tree stump. Then I look again. A pair of dark liquid eyes stare back from amongst the gnarled branches. Whorled, dark brown bark engraved in ancient symbols cover the bridge of the nose, forehead, cheekbones and chin. Oily, moss-colored pointed ears, pruned lips and eyelids are the only soft flesh within the hardened, stern expression of the face.

  After a long moment of staring at each other, the creature finally speaks in the same language as the wildlings. His voice is deep and gravelly. Again, the language escapes me but the meaning comes through telepathically. “You come seeking Duil'dir,” he says, tilting his head to one side.

  “Yeah. You him?”

  His gaze is unblinking, piercing in its intensity. “Duil'dir is here.”

  Not exactly a straightforward answer, but I’ll take it as a yes. “I need to know how to control this,” I say, thumping my chest.

  The glassy, solid brown orbs of his eyes drop to where the crystal sits. “Can you control the sun?”

  What kind of question is that? “No,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “We are done here.” He turns to leave.

  “Whoa, hold on! That’s not fair. Nobody can control the sun.”

  “Duil'dir can,” he says.

  Is this what I hiked all the way out here for? A pissing match with a stubborn wildling? “Okay,” I say, willing to play along, but only because I’m desperate. “How?”

  “I can direct the sun’s light into dark places. I can block it out. I can shine its light behind shapes to cast false shadows.”

  “Oh, well I can do that. If I wanted to, but I don’t see the point.”

  “Light is the source of reality. Reality is what you shed light on.”

  Something in his message strikes a chord. “Are you saying this light in me can change things into whatever I want?”

  He tells me no with a shake of his head. “Your light is directed by what is in the heart, not the mind.”

  I think back to when I turned the knives and gun into toys. I wanted to destroy those weapons and seriously damage the Cholos doing it. But if Duil'dir’s saying what I think he’s saying, that means my heart’s a big pushover. No wonder Nyx thinks I’m not cut out for the kill.

  “What about getting rid of this?” I ask, pulling the sleeve of my jacket up to show him the ward Maddox smacked me down me with. “Can I use the light to remove it?”

  “Nothing can be done as long as your eyes are swamped with darkness.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You must shine the light on the false shadows others cast. Only then will you see past the illusion and know the truth.”

  I frown at him, still unsure of what he’s saying. “So…I need to light up from the inside and burn this mother off? Is that what you mean?”

  He doesn’t answer. Guess I’ll have to take that as a yes. Looking down at the ward, I zero in on the tattoo, picturing the ink vanishing from my skin and the symbol losing all its power over me.

  Seconds tick by.

  I try again, this time scowling at the stubborn mark. Why don’t I feel anything? There’s no warming under my skin, no fading of the ink. But then again, I didn’t see when the gun and knives turned to rubber and plastic either. Maybe the ward doesn’t need to disappear from my wrist for it to deactivate. Maybe it worked.

  Closing my eyes, I turn my awareness inward, reaching for my Djinn fire. Damn, I still can’t get to it. The barrier is still firmly in place. I should’ve known this stupid detour would be a waste of time.

  “It didn’t work. Got any more bright ideas?” I say, gritting my teeth as I glance back up at Duil'dir.

  There’s no answer. He’s gone.

  19

  Weakest Links

  THE OTHERS ARE THERE WITH HURLEY when I get back. Seeing how much smaller our gang is now, hits me hard, driving it home just how much we’ve lost tonight. My knees go weak as I walk up the road toward them. Damn, I can’t go losing it now and let myself be pulled down by it all. I’ve gotta hang tough and get us back to Magic Brew. That’s the only place we’ll be safe.

  Other than Hurley and Nyx, the others look pretty pissed off. Not sure how they feel toward me. Things were already tense between us before we got separated.

  Knox steps up and bumps fists with me. “Heard Justice is history too,” he says, sticking an unlit cigarette between his lips.

  “Yeah. Another one too many,” I say.

  Shaking his head, he touches a red-hot finger to the tip and lights up.

  “Just tell me you took care of him. Promise me you didn’t leave him there to rot,” Constantine says, his voice rough with emotion.

  “I took him to Trinity. Found a nice crypt for him,” Nyx says.

  “He would’ve liked that,” Constantine says, looking down to hide the tears standing in his eyes.

  I grab Justice’s book from the back pocket of my jeans and hand it to him. He turns the paperback over in his hands, staring at the bloodstained cover. “At least we won’t have to hear any more twisted Paradise Lost sermons,” Constantine says, wiping his eyes roughly. “Those really got on my nerves.”

  “This was a lame idea, man,” Zulu butts in. I didn’t think he could look worse, but he does. For a black dude, he’s lookin’ awfully pale, and his lips and gills are caked over with some kind of green slime crusting around the edges. He puts a whole new meaning to lookin’ green around the gills.

  “Why’d we have to backtrack our sorry asses up here to meet you? You should’ve come to us,” Zulu accuses me. “At
least then we’d be closer to home.”

  Nyx and Pandora step up beside me. “We need to help Edge get his powers back online,” Nyx says.

  “He’s not the only one,” Zulu says. “Try puking newts every ten minutes. They taste like ass.”

  Hurley snorts. “You would know.”

  Usually Zulu would go ballistic on Hurley for something like that, but he’s too busy glaring at me. “What makes you so special anyway?” he shouts. “Maddox is gone, probably dusted by now. We don’t have to suck up to his golden boy anymore.”

  Pandora shoves him back, making him stumble and nearly fall.

  “Damn, girl!” Zulu swears. “Take it easy.”

  “This isn’t about favorites,” Nyx says. “There’s a whole lot you don’t know, and not knowing is what’s going to take us out. So listen up.”

  I stop her. “I should be the one to tell them.”

  “No,” Nyx says, her gray gaze burning into me. “This can’t come from you.”

  Clenching my fists, I throw her a warning look. Is she planning to out me? I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s been pretty angry about Sienna.

  Nyx brushes past me. “Maddox is a liar and a traitor. I saw him turn Edge’s ward against him.” Pain flashes over her face. “And he bashed Booker’s head in with a stick. I saw it all, and it was plain to see Rade and Maddox were thick as thieves. I wouldn’t be surprised if he helped plan the summit.”

  “This is news to me,” Hurley says, his face turning a deep shade of red. “Why’d you hold out on me?”

  “Dude, I tried telling you before the Dreads hit us in the subway,” I remind him.

  “Oh yeah,” he mutters, but he still looks pissed.

  “You’re wrong about Maddox!” Zulu yells. “The Bad Hats must’ve hexed him. Me and Mad Dawg, we go way back–longer than any of you. The dude’s got heart. Always has. He wouldn’t screw us like that. We’re his crew. We meant everything to him.”