Moonset 01: Moonset

by Scott Tracey

  I moved for the exit. Righteous indignation or not, carrying Bailey was a struggle. I wasn’t born in a gym like Mal—my arms only had so much strength. I might have moved a bit quicker than necessary, but they’d blame it on the anger.

  There was a car out front, and I slid Bailey into the back, laying her head carefully down on the seat. She started to stir as soon as I pulled away. “Jus … ?”

  “You’re okay,” I said, swallowing. “You did really good, Bails. Saved the day.”

  “Not yet,” she murmured, shifting until she found a more comfortable position. She was out again almost instantly.

  Quinn wasn’t one of the Witchers who drove us back to the house, and the two who rode with us didn’t try to say anything or interfere at all. I carried Bailey up into her room, passing Cole’s shut door and hearing the bass of his music rattling the walls. He didn’t even open the door to see what was going on.

  Jenna appeared at the top of the steps when I walked into the house. “Quinn called. Told me what happened. Are you okay?” She looked like she was about to fly down the stairs, and that was a remarkably un-Jenna like thing to see.

  “I’m fine. We’re both fine. Bailey wore herself out. She’s sleeping it off. I’m about to do the same.” While I’d been fine slinging magic around at the time, now that the adrenaline had started to disappear, exhaustion crept in and took its place.

  “Right,” she said quietly. “Everyone’s meeting over here tomorrow. They want us to stay inside again for a couple of days. Totally ruins my plans for the weekend.” She didn’t sound too broken up about it.

  “Have you noticed how every time there’s a problem, they try to pull us off the streets?” I wondered, grabbing the railing post at the bottom of the stairs. “I thought we were supposed to be bait.”

  Jenna shrugged. “I think they don’t know what they want us to be. For what it’s worth, Quinn was arguing on the phone with someone about pulling us out of here. And that was before the attack.” She came down the stairs slowly, her mouth pursed in thought. “Not saying he’s our new best friend, but maybe he’s not a total pawn.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, licking my lips. I wanted something to drink, but the kitchen was too far. I’d just grab some water in the bathroom. Or maybe there was still a bottle left in my room from earlier.

  I started climbing the stairs, almost at the top when she asked, “Other than the warlock interruptus, how was the date? Everything you ever dreamed?”

  Everything I should have expected, more like. I wasn’t ready to tell Jenna about Ash. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone. “It was fine. I’m going to bed.”

  Jenna watched me from the bottom of the stairs. “Night, Justin.”

  All thoughts of sleep evaporated when I walked into my room. There, carefully laid out on the edge of my bed, was my father’s spellbook. The one that I’d locked up in the school a week ago.

  Twenty-Five

  (On being asked why she followed Moonset)

  “We changed the world. Who wouldn’t want that?

  They never acted superior to us. But they were.”

  (pause) “They had plans for all of us.”

  Lucinda Dale (S)

  Personal Interview

  What was it doing here? It had been almost a week since I’d deposited the book inside a locker at school until I could figure out some other way to get rid of it. The book was dangerous. Maybe not physically dangerous, the way the Santa mannequins had been tonight, but dangerous on so many other levels. The amount of trouble I could get into if someone knew I had Sherrod Daggett’s spellbook in my bedroom.

  There was something poking out of the top. A paper that I definitely hadn’t seen before. Something new. I flipped the book open, and a postcard fell out. Well, half of a postcard. It had been torn right down the middle. Turning it over in my hand, I saw the Golden Gate Bridge in half of its glory. I turned it back around, and the message that had been written in red pen.

  Happy reading. CB.

  CB. Cullen Bridger. Like the bridge on the postcard hadn’t been obvious enough. He’d been here? In my house? He was here in Carrow Mill?

  I went to the door, about to shout for someone—Jenna, Quinn, anyone—but reality stopped me. I couldn’t show anyone. Not anyone. Jenna would want to know where the spellbook had come from. Quinn would turn me over to the Witchers and the Congress. Mal would just get pissed.

  He’s been in my house. There’s been Witchers all over the place for weeks and he just strolled in here like it was no big deal. I sank down onto the bed, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. Why did I even steal it? What was wrong with me?

  Bridger knew I’d found Sherrod’s book. But why would he want me to have it? Unless there was something in the book he wanted me to find. All the more reason to get rid of the book again.

  But the Maleficia attack tonight only reinforced how little I knew on my own. If it hadn’t been for Ash, the mannequins would have taken one of us. Or both. Maybe there were spells in the book that would help me protect the others.

  I kept going back and forth, seeing both the pros and the cons. But a knock at the door tore the thoughts from my head and sent a fresh wave of panic rushing through my chest.

  “Just a second,” I managed to say, shoving the book between the mattresses and pulling the comforter down over the top. It wasn’t the most ingenious hiding place ever, but it would do for a minute. I looked around the room, concerned that anything else might be out of place. At a casual glance, everything looked the same, but appearances were deceiving. A warlock had been in my room. Who knows what else he’d done in here.

  I couldn’t worry about that now. I looked towards my door. Jenna wouldn’t knock. Quinn must have gotten home. But when I opened the door, it was Ash standing there, not Quinn.

  “Jenna let me in,” she said, not meeting my eyes.

  “I’m really tired,” I lied.

  She came into the room and closed the door behind her. “I’m not staying long.” It was like all the fight had drained out of her, and it made her almost unrecognizable. Ash was chaos and flirtation. This melancholy girl was like a pale imitation. But maybe you never knew the real her. It would make sense, wouldn’t it?

  “Was any of it true?” I asked. Even though I didn’t want to, I had to know. I had to be able to prepare myself, so that this never happened again.

  “Do you know who Robert Cooper is?” she asked in lieu of answering.

  I shrugged. Everyone knew who he was. He was the closest thing the witch world had to a president. “Head of the Congress, Coven Leader of Eventide.”

  “Your guardian’s grandfather, and Illana’s husband. He’s been watching you ever since you came to Carrow Mill. He’s the reason you’re here.” She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth it down. “He’s the reason I’m here, too.”

  There it was. The truth. Finally. “So you’re a spy. Watch what I say and do, and report back. But why me? Why not one of the others? What made me so special?”

  “You told me once that all you had was each other,” Ash said as she moved toward my window. As she passed my bed, my heart froze in panic, but she passed by without noticing the hidden tome between my sheets. Most kids hide Playboys between their mattresses. Not me.

  “But it’s more than that,” she continued. “All you have is them, and all they have is you. You’re the one they listen to, the one that keeps order as best you can. All the files say it: if you want to learn about the children of Moonset, you go to Justin.”

  “So you were spying on me.” Hearing it all laid out so clinically didn’t make me feel any better. It made me sick to my stomach, thinking about the hours people must have put into assessing us, speculating about our lives.

  “At first,” she admitted. “Justin, I wasn’t lying when I said I like you. You’re not what I expected. But it’
s not that easy to tell Robert Cooper that you’re giving up on the job he gave you. He was the one that recruited me into the Witchers in the first place—I mean, for now it’s just training but after I graduate—”

  I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. She was so calm! “Do you get how messed up this is? I was starting to trust you! Do you have any idea how many people I actually confide in like that?” It was a short list. Four names.

  Ash looked up at me, and met my eyes. “I know,” she said. “I studied your file. You asked me if it was all an act earlier. I never lied to you, not really. They picked me because I fit the profile of what they thought you’d like.”

  They know me pretty well. The thought crossed my mind unbidden, and only served to make me more angry. This was a game to all of them. The Congress thought they could throw us here, dangle us in front of the warlock, and play with our lives. Was this what they did to our parents? Were they just as manipulative back then? Because if the answer was yes, I could see why my parents started a rebellion.

  “I think you should go,” I said, trying desperately to stay calm and keep my voice level. If I started screaming at Ash, I might lose control again. And this time, I wouldn’t have the excuse of some teacher working magic against me as a defense.

  “Justin, that’s not the only reason I’m here. You need to be careful. Cooper wants you all handed to the warlock on a silver platter. He had me watching you to see how you’d react. How long it would take before the warlock either took you out—or recruited you to his side. He wants the warlock dead, and he’s just hoping the five of you will be collateral damage.”

  The spellbook. My eyes moved towards the bed, and I had to physically force myself to look up at the ceiling. Cullen Bridger was taunting us. He had been all along.

  “The Congress is split, though. Illana wants the warlock caught, but she’s not willing to sacrifice you and the others.”

  “Illana hates us almost as much as everyone else does. She’s just too classy not to say it to our faces,” I said.

  “I don’t think it’s like that. Honestly, I think she wants to keep you guys safe. That’s why she moved here. Why she’s been so involved. But you haven’t exactly made it easy.”

  The idea that I hadn’t made life easy for the sixty-something battle-hardened woman almost made me smile.

  She walked over towards me, her hands reaching out and then pulling back before she actually touched me. She looked almost scared. “I know you can’t trust me anymore, and I get it. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I’m not sorry I got to know you. People could have gotten really hurt tonight. You stopped them. I won’t ever forget that.”

  “We stopped them,” I muttered.

  “Yeah,” she said, like I said something incredibly sweet, “we did.”

  “You probably could have taken them on by yourself,” I said, unable to help myself. Bitterness clouded my words. “The only reason I was any help at all was because you taught me the spell. I mean, if Bailey and I hadn’t been there … ” I trailed off suddenly. I had been about to say that Ash wasn’t the only witch in that theater.

  “What is it?”

  I thought back to the lobby after the attack. Looking for something I couldn’t place. Now I remembered what that was. “Have you heard from Luca? He got out okay, right?” I hadn’t thought about him at the time, but in hindsight, I had to wonder. Mal would probably be upset if the only living relative he had died accidentally and no one noticed.

  She looked at me in surprise. “He must have slipped out before the attack. Probably got scared when he saw all the Santas on parade.”

  “But you saw him?”

  “I mean, for a minute,” she said, eyes distant. “After it was all over, he was there with us when the cleanup crew was finally leaving. Why?”

  I shook my head. “I just wanted to make sure.” I cleared my throat. “You should probably go.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty tired,” she said, shifting her weight and biting the corner of her lip. “I meant what I said. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah,” I said, tersely, moving to the door and pulling it open. “I heard.”

  Sleep never came. I laid on my bed and stared at the ceiling. With every minute that passed, I imagined I could feel the weight of the spellbook up against the mattress more and more, until it was an unavoidable lump under my leg. No matter how much I shifted, or how I rearranged myself, I could still feel the book underneath me.

  After about an hour of tossing and turning, I gave up. The spellbook was almost like a siren’s song, calling me to read it. It was the middle of the night. No one was awake. But just to be sure I locked my door and moved my desk chair underneath the knob, creating a barrier if anyone tried forcing their way in.

  I turned on all the lights. I don’t know why, but it made me feel better. Then I pulled the book out from between the mattresses, and set it on my lap. This was it. I could just take a little peek. Just enough to see how bad the contents were. If Sherrod was the monster I expected, I’d stop right there.

  I flipped to a random page.

  There is something about her, a light in her eyes that only I see.

  What? I leaned closer, as if I could learn more of the book through osmosis. I held my finger on that page and continued flipping through. Page after page was lined with shorthand—spells and their explanations, all written in a tight, clear hand. And then there was the English—thoughts and anecdotes of people I didn’t know and stories I’d never heard.

  It really was a journal.

  Emily likes to be chased—all chicks do. She spellcasts with such finesse—so unlike Diana. One could end a drought with just enough rain, the other would unleash a hurricane to show off her power. So vastly different—they should hate each other on sight, but there is some sort of … understanding between them. I do NOT understand women.

  I almost dropped the book. He was writing about my mother. And … Jenna’s. The fact that he called them “chicks” was too unbelievable to even process, so I pretended I hadn’t seen it. I’d never understood how either woman continued to stand by him, knowing that he’d gotten both of them pregnant—one his wife, one his mistress.

  Yet they’d both stayed with him, for the sake of their Coven and all their plans. Their wars.

  This is your chance to find out what made him tick. The thought didn’t ease my conscience. Jenna would take the offer of new spells without question, without caring what strings came attached to that power. But I wasn’t so short-sighted. This book was dangerous.

  I flipped to the one of the pages lined with spells—

  Sherrod was meticulous about breaking everything down for later. It took only a minute or two to translate the written.

  It said: “to avoid the thought police.”

  I looked over the lines of the spell, pieced them together in my head. Most verbal spells were only a few words long—but to write it out, and do it safely, you had to break each piece down into several lines worth of longhand. There were forms of “connection,” “thought,” and “channel.”

  A telepathy spell? I perked up, more intrigued than I was a moment ago. This didn’t have the staccato rhythm of a traditional spell—was it something Sherrod had invented himself? It sounded as though the spell could open a link between two minds, although I wasn’t sure what the name meant by the “thought police.”

  I continued paging through the book, stopping every so often to translate the title of spells. Sherrod was a fan of obscure names, ones that didn’t always explain what the spell actually did so much as some anecdote of his life I wasn’t privy to. Or maybe he just liked to be pretentious. Some of his spells had the ring of bad poetry. “Crows nesting on my heart.” “Forever the blanket of silence.” “The empty night sours.”

  There were mentions of my mother, and Jenna’s, but it wasn’t a traditional journal. More like random t
houghts and observations that he needed to get out, and the spellbook was there. Before I even realized I was doing it, I started copying some of the spells in my English notebook, tucked between notes I’d taken about the themes of Macbeth. I followed each entry with my guess as to what the spell did.

  The problem was in the details. Some of the spells were self-explanatory—Sherrod had written out a whole section of spells that made his school life inconsequential. Spells to enhance memory and eloquence, ones that made him more persuasive—something he didn’t need—and spells to make people receptive to his ideas.

  It was the other spells that had caught my interest, though. No one had ever mentioned that Sherrod was something of a maverick when it came to learning magic. He preferred the spells he created with his own hands, rather than those he’d been taught. The same points were repeated constantly in the journaled sections—magic should constantly be evolving, but it was witches who forced it to stagnate. He thought the practice of handing down spellbooks was deplorable.

  There were also whole passages that read like an opus to his ego. Emily continued to elude him, and Diana made it clear she wouldn’t play second fiddle. It was hard to reconcile the teen I was reading about—who clearly wanted both girls—with the man who was technically my father.

  The other part that was troubling me was that there was nothing that suggested Sherrod Daggett was drawn to the darkness. He wasn’t the outcast student, secretly thinking of how he’d get his revenge. There was only an occasional sense of his growing awareness of politics—of the Covens and their role in administrating our world. If anything, he sounded like a revolutionary. He had grand ideas, and thought outside the box.

  If I didn’t know who he’d become, I could have almost admired him. At least his ideas—Sherrod as a teenager sounded like a douchebag. I might be the same age now as he was when he wrote some of these entries, and I didn’t have an ounce of his self-awareness or his activism. And I hoped I wasn’t half the douche he was.

  Then, somewhere around the last third of the book, the personal entries stopped. There were no more hints about how torn he was between the girls or how everyone should be involved in their government. The last section of the book was devoted to Coven spells, spells that utilized the bond between the witches. There was no explanation for what had changed—had Moonset changed him right from the start?