Evil Waking (Magic Trackers Book 3)

by Michael La Ronn

  Darius and I carried her into the shop, downstairs past the kitchen and into the living room.

  Destiny laid out blankets on our sectional leather couch and we set Harriet down and covered her.

  Niecy brought a glass of water.

  Harriet shifted uncomfortably until she could get settled. Gripping her side, she groaned.

  “Great way…to start the night,” she said.

  “My night just keeps getting better and better,” I said.

  “I appreciate the help,” Harriet said. “I wasn't expecting an injury tonight.”

  “Whoever stabbed you had bad aim,” Darius said. “A couple of inches in either direction and you would have been a goner.”

  “Who attacked you?” I asked.

  “A dream mage,” Harriet said. “His name was…Balthus.”

  We all gasped.

  “He's causing all kinds of trouble, then,” I said. “He just sent me a death threat.”

  “He surprised me,” Harriet said. “I wasn't looking for him. He came out of nowhere.”

  The idea of a dream mage stabbing a shadow was foreign to me.

  “Balthus and I have a special kind of bad blood,” Harriet said. “It pre-dates you, Aisha.”

  Balthus and Harriet were probably around the same age. I imagined them fighting in a dark alley, Harriet as a shadow warping around him as he swung his knife at her.

  “Who is he?” I asked. “Aside from a gargantuan asshole?”

  “A traditionalist,” Harriet said. “He cares very much about dream mages, and he wants to control them. I feared he would take issue with your success, but not quite like this. Where's your death threat?”

  I handed her the letter.

  She read it with an expressionless face. She folded it neatly and handed it back.

  “He's serious,” she said.

  “No shit,” Darius said. “That's why we called you.”

  Harriet climbed off the couch, but I pushed her back onto it.

  “You're in no condition to go anywhere,” I said.

  Harriet repositioned herself on the couch, touching her side. I had never seen her in pain before. Honestly, I didn't think it was possible.

  Made me want to find Balthus that much more.

  Harriet closed her eyes. I could tell she was trying to warp away. Her body faded away, then rematerialized.

  “I've taken too much damage,” she said. “I won't be able to warp for a few hours.”

  “Stay put,” Darius said. “What can we do in the meantime?”

  “It's outside your skill level,” Harriet said.

  “A lot of things are,” Darius said. “But that hasn't stopped us in the past.”

  “You keep saying you want me to join the Shadow Walkers,” I said. “Tonight, we’re honorary members.”

  I never thought I'd utter those words.

  Hell, I didn't even know what the Shadow Walkers actually did.

  But it didn't matter.

  Not now.

  Not tonight.

  Harriet grinned. “You sure you know what that means?”

  “I said honorary, which means temporary,” I said. “Don't get the wrong idea.”

  Harriet closed her eyes, trying to warp again. Not able to disappear, she cursed.

  “Originally, I proposed for you to spend a few hours with me,” she said. “But you'll have to go without me.”

  “Go where?” I asked.

  “To begin the tides of battle,” Harriet said.

  “Damn,” Niecy said. “You make it sound so serious.”

  “That's because it is,” Harriet said, sitting up.

  “Tell us what we have to do,” I said. “I'm ready for anything right now.”

  “It's time to assemble my crew,” Harriet said. “Meeting them will show you what I do every night…and what your grandmother did.”

  My heart raced.

  “We’re going to need all the help we can get,” Harriet said. “Because take it from me: the last person on the planet you want rampaging after you is a dream mage.”

  “Or a shadow,” Destiny said.

  “A shadow kills without wasting a second,” Harriet said. “An evil dream mage will prolong it, make the suffering nearly endless.”

  “Fun,” Darius said.

  We listened as Harriet gave us directions.

  10

  Darius and I took the orange line uptown. It was a hike to the bus stop—eight blocks in the snow in order to catch the nearest bus that took us to a transfer.

  We walked in silence, staying focused on the street ahead of us in case someone jumped out of the shadows.

  On a night like this, paranoia wasn’t a bad thing.

  We caught the bus and separated, with Darius sitting in the back and me in the middle so he could keep an eye on everyone.

  The bumpy ride through the city gave me a lot of time to reflect on our strategy.

  We had to split up. Darius and I went to meet Harriet’s first associate, with Destiny and Niecy going to visit the second out in the suburbs. We would meet up again in the Ronson Street Pavilion, the geographical center of town. We left Harriet in the shop with plenty of healing charms, hot chocolate, and doughnuts to keep her happy. She was safe there; we had fortified the shop so well that no one could enter the shop unless they were a shadow. And even a shadow would have a hard time negotiating the trap glyphs Darius set all over the house.

  The bus took us through the hood, and as it turned onto Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard, the sights took me back to when I was a girl, walking up and down this street to go to school.

  I could never forget the liquor stores on every corner, the storefront churches with bars over the doors and windows, the food stores where you could always get a hot tripe sandwich, the Wizmo’s Fried Chicken knock-offs, the poverty centers, the grocery stores with police officers standing near the front doors, the dilapidated houses squeezed between the storefronts, the majestic elementary schools with three stories that were the only safe haven for a kid in this place—and honestly, that wasn’t saying much.

  We passed the intersection of Skinner Avenue, the street where I grew up. Trees shaded the houses, and I wondered what my grandmother’s house looked like now.

  We passed a group of teenagers in oversized coats gathered on the street corner, laughing and joking around. We passed old black men and women sitting on their front porches, watching the streets solemnly. We passed street walkers getting ready for a night shift, hair teased and short skirts hugging cellulite. We passed a drunk man in a pink windbreaker shambling down the street with a beer can in a paper bag. We passed homeless people sleeping in blankets against wrought-iron fences. We passed cars with spinners on the tires, old cars with neon paint jobs, trucks lifted up on suspension systems, motorcycles driven by teenagers with no helmets. And everywhere, music. Bumpin’ and bouncin’.

  My old hood.

  As we neared the end of the boulevard, I was happy to be through it. I’d spent too much of my life here. It took everything I had to get out—money, pride, luck. Too many of my old friends were still here, if they were still alive.

  I glanced at Darius. He looked out the window wistfully.

  I could tell he was thinking the same thing as me.

  If it hadn’t been for me, he probably would have been one of the kids on the corner. And God knows what would have happened to Destiny.

  Rolling through here was a sad reminder of what our lives could have been, and what life is for so many of our people. Not all of them. But too many.

  Soon the run-down storefronts disappeared, replaced by empty lots overgrown with weeds.

  The landscape changed from flat to hilly as the bus rumbled into the St. Alsatius Parrish, the section of town reserved for only the highest net worths.

  Instead of storefront churches and budget grocery stores, there were restaurants and bars. Seriously. Lots of them. On every corner. And they were full.

  Occasionally, we passe
d a street that led off into a gated community shrouded by trees. There was no mistaking the gigantic urban mansions through the branches and leaves.

  The bus let us off on Ennius Street, a tree-filled street that didn’t have a single piece of trash on the sidewalk.

  The streets were neatly plowed, the signs on the storefronts were perfectly lit, and the cars parked along the sides of the streets were new models.

  Despite the niceness and newness of the place, it was still just as cold, and the wind blew through us as we gathered on the corner, strategizing our next steps.

  “Ain’t been up here in a while,” Darius said, glancing around. We stood in front of a bar called Absolute Zero. People walked in and out wearing parkas, and they stood around the bar, whose fixtures were made of ice, drinking cocktails with their parkas still on.

  Darius shook his head.

  “Don’t you go to a bar to warm up?” he asked.

  I shrugged.

  “A drink is a drink is a drink,” I said. “No matter what temperature you drink it, I guess.”

  You never knew what you would see anywhere in the city, but that was especially true in the St. Alsatius Parrish. Most of the hot new trends originated here; I suspected I’d see a sub-zero bar pop up in our neighborhood in around a year.

  “We’re looking for a Hattie and Terrance Lovelace,” I said, looking at a piece of paper that Harriet had scribbled on. I repeated the address.

  “Hattie and Terrance Lovelace,” Darius said. “I know those names. Where do I know those names?”

  “Apparently, she’s a shadow,” I said.

  “Huh,” he said. “That's not how I remember it. I swear I have seen their names before.”

  He talked to himself for a few seconds, then shrugged it off.

  We started down the street.

  “What are the chances she lives in a tiny little apartment?” Darius asked.

  “I’d say next to zero,” I said.

  “Next to zero or zero?” Darius asked. “Specify your bet so that I can win.”

  “No bets,” I said. “I don’t have a betting mind tonight.”

  I pointed up the street toward a gated community. A long wrought-iron gate blocked entry to the street.

  “Damn,” Darius said. “I was just joking, but uhh, never mind.”

  We charged up the street toward the gate, the wind blowing at our backs.

  A guard station sat in front of the gate. A sleepy-eyed guard in a parka and earmuffs eyed us as we approached.

  “We’re here to visit Hattie Lovelace,” I said.

  “Who are you?” the guard asked.

  “Visitors,” I said. “Friends of Harriet Shadow.”

  Harriet had given us specific instructions on exactly what to say.

  “Harriet Shadow, eh?” the guard asked. “Which way does a shadow fall?”

  I smirked, remembering Harriet’s ridiculous code phrase.

  “Away from the sun,” I said.

  The guard pressed a button and opened the gate. We ran through and caught a sidewalk, our boots crunching on salt.

  “That was easy enough,” Darius said. “I expected that guard to give us trouble.”

  “I’m more worried about Hattie,” I said. “I’m hoping she’ll at least let us say who we are before shutting the door on our faces.”

  We had a good look at the houses now. They were sprawling, three-story urban mansions that were so picturesque they could have been featured on the home and garden channels on television. The yards had trees, which was unheard of in Kemiston, and every house was well-kept.

  “Wonder what the people who live here do for a living,” I said.

  “I bet they’re doctors, lawyers, and college professors,” Darius said.

  “I don’t even think they could afford to live here,” I said.

  We counted houses and stopped at Hattie’s home, a red-brick Tudor with a generous front yard and a porte-cochère near the front door with a gray Rolls Royce parked under it. The place had at least six or seven bedrooms, and every window was lit up.

  “Damn,” Darius said, putting his fist to his mouth. “That Rolls Royce is niiiiiice.”

  “It’s probably worth more than the two of us combined,” I said.

  We stopped at a gate that blocked the driveway. I pressed a button on the control panel.

  A sharp female voice responded. From the timbre, she was definitely black.

  “Who is it?”

  “We’re friends of Harriet Shadow,” I said. “Aisha and Darius Robinson. Harriet sent us.”

  Pause.

  “Which way does a shadow shrink?” the voice asked.

  I chuckled. Second code phrase.

  “Toward the sun,” I said.

  The gate buzzed and opened.

  “Stay off the lawn,” the woman said. “Follow the footpath through the garden. When the path forks, go left, please.”

  Darius and I looked at each other.

  “Really specific directions,” Darius whispered.

  We followed a curving stone footpath that cut through a symmetrical double-lawn. The lawn was cut into two rectangles of snow, and the footpath was meticulously cleared, with only a thin film of snow on the stone.

  And sure enough, the path forked in two directions: left, around the house, and right, toward the porte-cochère.

  “Why wouldn’t we go to the front door?” Darius asked, starting for the front of the house.

  “Maybe there’s a side door she prefers to use,” I said. I grabbed him by his collar and dragged him left. “Let’s follow instructions, okay?”

  As we followed the footpath around the side of the house, the grounds darkened as hedges rose around the path. I didn’t see any side doors.

  “This is the longest walk ever, man,” Darius said. “Guess she doesn’t want anybody to see us raggedy two walking in through the front door. Rich people are weird like that.”

  I was irritated too.

  Maybe he was right.

  I opened my mouth to tell Darius that maybe she was leading us to the back door.

  But no sound came out.

  A flash of light blinded me.

  Darius put his hands in front of his face and yelled.

  “Oh, sh—”

  He disappeared, leaving behind a stitch of light in the darkness.

  In his place, a diamond black glyph rotated quickly.

  “Shit!” I cried.

  It was a glyph trap. A crazy expensive, elaborate one too.

  “Darius!” I cried.

  But the black diamond zoomed at me, expanding so that there was nowhere for me to run.

  I cursed again as it swallowed me and my world went black.

  11

  My body felt like it was being ripped apart. My arms, legs, and head were pulled in different directions, and I thought they would pop.

  All around me was a rushing sound, like a furious waterfall.

  The darkness swarmed around me, pushing down on every square inch of my body.

  My eyes couldn't adjust. I couldn't see.

  I couldn't breathe.

  I inhaled shadows, and they swarmed through me.

  I didn't know what the hell was happening to me.

  I was either dying or I was…

  Nope. I was probably dying.

  I wanted to scream, but the shadows filled my mouth and I couldn't speak.

  Slowly, I suffocated, and the shadows swarmed my body like a feeding frenzy.

  I closed my eyes.

  Damn glyph traps.

  I hoped Darius wasn't suffering the same fate.

  My chest swelled as I took what felt like my last breath.

  Then it all stopped.

  It was as if someone flipped a switch on a pressure valve.

  The pressure relented. The shadows swirled around me one more time before dissipating into the darkness.

  A rush of oxygen entered my mouth and nose, and I breathed in, my lungs and eyes stinging.
<
br />   I floated, weightless.

  Then the darkness faded.

  I landed on a concrete floor with a hard thud.

  A bright white light shone in my eyes, temporarily blinding me.

  A soft voice called my name.

  “Aisha.”

  Darius. I knew his voice anywhere, and it was weak.

  “D,” I said.

  My eyes focused.

  We were in a gray room. Gray concrete walls. There were a few yellow pillars here and there. The room was big enough to fit several cars and still have room left over.

  I spotted an orange basketball shoe behind one of the pillars.

  Darius.

  I struggled to my feet, gasping. The glyph had taken all of my energy.

  I stumbled toward him, falling to my knees several times.

  The room spun around me. My stomach churned and I was so nauseous that I wanted to sit down. But I pushed through it and reached Darius, steadying myself on the pillar next to him.

  He lay on his side, eyes closed.

  He was still breathing. Thank God.

  I shook him by the shoulder.

  “Wake up,” I said. “We've…got…to get out of here.”

  Saying those words took the rest of my energy and I fell to my knees.

  Darius opened his eyes.

  “D,” I whispered.

  He startled and looked around.

  “D,” I said again.

  He swatted at me as if he didn't know me.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “I'm me,” I said.

  A mirror rested on the pillar behind me.

  I saw myself, with overgrown fangs and scales all over my skin. I looked like a cross between a lizard and a vampire.

  I screamed, but only air came out.

  I stumbled back.

  “You're not Aisha,” Darius said.

  “D, it is me,” I said.

  He cursed and snapped his fingers. Orange magic appeared on his fingertips.

  “You're not Aisha!” he cried.

  He rushed at me.

  12

  I ducked as Darius swung at me.

  His eyes were full of hatred.

  He didn't recognize me.

  I glanced at myself again.

  I was a monster. My fangs and my scales and my eyes! God!