Casters Series Box Set

by Norah Wilson

  “What did they say?” Maryanne asked.

  Alex shook her head. “The dream was too long ago. I don’t remember it exactly. But I’m pretty sure one of them said, ‘Just look at those beautiful eyes.’ She was dressed all in black and—” Alex stopped suddenly. “The other woman called her Vesta.”

  “Vesta Walker came to you in a dream!” Maryanne’s voice rose. “And she came to me through the stones and through the grimoire she left for me.”

  “You mean that you found,” Brooke said.

  “No, that she left for me,” Maryanne said. “I know it. She may not have known who I was—who I would be—but I think she knew someone would be coming for that book.”

  “And she came to Connie too, apparently,” Brooke said. “But Connie didn’t trust her.”

  “That’s a shame.” Maryanne’s voice was barely a whisper. “Guys, I don’t know why Connie didn’t trust her.”

  “Hello!” Brooke shouted. “She was a Walker!”

  “She married a Walker,” Maryanne said. “But she was trying to help. I know from the stones, from being in Vesta’s room—from everything! I feel it.”

  “There’s a connection here—between Vesta and the casters,” Alex said. “Maybe there’s an answer too. Or the start of one. We need that grimoire.”

  Brooke wouldn’t show it, but she couldn’t help but feel hurt. Vesta had come to Alex in the dream, to Connie in person, and to Maryanne through her grimoire. She hadn’t come to Brooke at all. She wasn’t part of whatever ‘connection’ there was.

  Even in this caster life—this super-freakin’-natural life—she was on the outside.

  And it was all Brooke could take. No, it was more than she could take.

  No one noticed this time when she backed out of the cave. Maryanne didn’t grab her arm or tell her not to go. Alex sure as hell wouldn’t.

  Brooke wanted to shatter the night with a caster scream, let the pain bleed out in a foghorn deep, bone-rattling, psyche-shaking shriek. Holding it inside, she raced away before she shattered with it.

  She had to let it out! Had to…do something with it.

  In Mansbridge, the snow had melted away. But at the top of Hants High Mountain it would be another few days before all the snow was gone completely. Her eye caught the gleam of a small pond close to the cave, its surface still sealed by ice. Brooke shot toward it.

  She’d leave the scream in there. No one could see her, and no one would know she’d ever been there. She just had to get away, be alone. She’d pass right through that layer of ice, leaving it completely undisturbed.

  Except she didn’t.

  Brooke broke through the ice.

  Not just soared through it, but actually shattered the frozen layer. She heard it cracking, felt it breaking around her body, felt the press of the water. Not with a heaviness, and not with pain, but definitely with a panic that was totally unexpected. She and Alex and Maryanne had all been in the St. John River in caster form, had passed through ice and snow without any repercussions or ill effects. But now, with her cast below that pond’s surface, her original felt like she was drowning.

  Her need to scream forgotten, Brooke shot back up out of the pond and into the night. Below her, chunks of ice bobbed and floated in the inky water. Inside the cave her body gasped, as if grabbing for air.

  She hovered there over the pond, momentarily too shocked to move.

  What the hell was going on?

  Chapter 3

  Hicks and Hitches

  Alex

  Alex shot over to Brooke’s original when she heard her panicked intake of breath. Without thinking, her own original had instinctively, spontaneously, tried to turn her head toward Brooke, but she couldn’t even manage that simple move. The helplessness angered her. C.W. Stanley had drugged her to make her helpless. To rape her.

  Anyone could hurt her while she was cast out of her body and there’d be nothing she could do about it. Her cast looked down; her original looked up. She clenched her dark fists tightly.

  No, that wasn’t true. She wasn’t without some defense. Her cast could shriek any human attacker mad.

  Maryanne’s cast joined her at Brooke’s side. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” Alex looked around the cave. There was no sign of Brooke.

  “She probably needed some space,” Maryanne said.

  “And she gasped like that because…?”

  “No way we can know.” Maryanne’s shrug looked heavy, resigned. She peered closely at Brooke. “Whatever it was, it seems to have passed.”

  As if to interject her own bit into the conversation, Brooke’s nostrils flared as she took in a deep breath.

  Alex nodded. “You’re right.”

  Maryanne drifted back to the cave’s wall again, but Alex couldn’t seem to pull herself away from their inert bodies. From Brooke’s staring eyes. A moment later though, Maryanne summoned her, breaking the spell. Alex soared over to join Maryanne, who was once more studying the writing down by the cold stone floor.

  “I’m thinking Vesta Walker would have had to sit on the ground to carve the words so close to the floor.”

  Alex sank down close enough to run her fingers over and through each letter. She wasn’t sensitive like Maryanne; she couldn’t pick up vibes from places or things. But there was something about the words themselves…

  Words.

  They were the love of Alex’s life.

  And it hit her all over again how desperately she wanted to be a writer.

  In the last month of school, Alex had let her English teacher, Mrs. Fredericks, look at more of her work. She had told her it was just stuff she’d had lying around. That wasn’t true at all. She’d worked her ass off on two short stories—not even for credit—and submitted them for Mrs. Fredericks’ critique. She’d ripped those stories straight from her heart.

  Alex still remembered the day her teacher had asked her to stay after class. Older-than-sin Mrs. Fredericks had taken off her glasses, laid the pieces of writing flat on her desk between the two of them, and said, “As I’ve told you before, Alexandra, I’ve taught for over forty years, and I know a true writer when I see one. I also told you that you were among the best writers I’d ever seen in my career as a teacher. I have to withdraw that comment. I see, from these pieces, that I was wrong in my assessment.”

  Alex had felt tears stinging the back of her eyes, and despite how much she’d dropped her tough-as-nails persona in the last year, she would still rather take a kick to the gut than let anyone see her cry. She’d been about to bolt. About to grab the pages from the old bat’s desk, rip them to shreds, and run out of the classroom. But Mrs. Fredericks had grabbed one of Alex’s black-nailed hands instead. “Alexandra, there is no maybe about it. You are by far the best writer I’ve ever had the privilege of teaching.”

  She’d frozen. That moment had frozen in time.

  In that moment there had been not a single shred of internal dispute, no more I wonder if I can…I wonder if I dare? Alex was going to be a writer.

  That night she’d applied to university, submitting the online form and application payment. The letter came weeks later. She had been accepted into the University of Victoria. She’d study writing. UVic was in British Columbia, the other side of the country. But that was going to be her start. A clean slate. Writing was going to be her life.

  Until Brooke had locked her out of that life!

  “What are you talking about now?”

  Alex turned at Bryce’s sharp tone; he was clearly frustrated by his inability to hear the girls in their caster form. Her fists clenched as he stood there at the mouth of the cave. His large frame almost filled the entire opening.

  Maryanne shook her head vigorously. She motioned with a waving hand for him to come near. Alex wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or not, but apparently, it wasn’t up to her.

  Maryanne pointed to the bottom of the wall. Bryce crouched down by the floor. It took a minute for his eyes to
adjust, but soon they did—at least enough to read the writing on the wall. He ran a solid hand over the initials.

  “Grammy,” he said.

  Maryanne nodded.

  With the worn tip of the copper knife dragging through the dirt on the cave floor, Maryanne began writing out for Bryce an abbreviated version of what they’d talked about, how his grandmother would have had to sit on the floor of the cave in order to have scratched her words into the cave wall.

  Bryce watched Maryanne attentively. Alex watched him.

  Dammit! This felt wrong.

  Alex had been closest to Connie Harvell, and even though Connie’s cast had long since been reunited with her remains, this still felt as if she was somehow violating Connie’s trust—breaking her confidence—by bringing a Walker here. By needing a Walker here.

  “Yes, Grammy would have had to sit on the ground,” Bryce said as Maryanne finished her message. “She had poor circulation in her legs. She died when I was just a kid, before I got sick, but I do remember how much it pained her to walk.” Bryce shook his head. “How the heck did she even get up here?”

  Alex watched as Maryanne gave Bryce an exaggerated shrug. That had become their obvious cue for I don’t know, as opposed to a thumbs-up, which stood for that’s right, a vigorous head shake for no, and an exaggerated nod for yes. Four visual cues they’d developed already. She hoped they wouldn’t end up with a long repertoire…

  She hoped it wouldn’t be needed.

  She had to reunite her cast and body! Had to!

  It had been one of the most disturbing experiences of Alex’s life for her original and cast to touch, with no conceivable way to reunite. No way to merge! It was almost sickening in both her consciousnesses. Not to mention off-the-charts terrifying on a level that was hard to describe.

  And yet she would describe it. If ever she got back into her body—became that writer—she damn well would find the words.

  “Know something else?” Maryanne said.

  For a split second, Alex thought Maryanne was talking to Bryce. But of course, she wasn’t. And in any case, Bryce was fully absorbed looking at the words on the wall.

  “What?”

  “Vesta Walker didn’t write ‘Connie’ or ‘Heller’.”

  “Smart. What if some hiker came up here and saw it?” Alex said. “Vesta wouldn’t want anyone else to see a message left for the Mansbridge Heller. She wouldn’t want to give away that this was one of Connie’s hiding places.”

  There was a heavy pause.

  “Or so we assume,” Maryanne said.

  “Yeah, so we assume,” Alex muttered. “This might have been a Walker trap. It still could be.”

  She watched as Maryanne slowly turned her dark face toward Bryce.

  He turned his own gaze up to her.

  Bryce straightened in frustration. “Damn it, I wish I could hear you guys.”

  Obviously without thinking, Maryanne put what she must have supposed to be a pacifying hand on his forearm. It was clearly meant as a comforting gesture, yet Bryce pulled away quickly. Too quickly. Repulsed. Maryanne shot backward.

  “Sorry.” Bryce shook his head. “Just…sorry. I’m tired is all, Maryanne.”

  He walked to the cave’s narrow exit, wiping his sleeveless arm where Maryanne had touched him. “I need some air.” Even more sunlight greeted him as he walked back out.

  “I hope Brooke gets back soon,” Maryanne said. “Or if she can’t, I hope she stays hidden somewhere until nightfall.”

  “She’ll be back when she needs something. Or someone.”

  “She feels awful over all this, Alex. You know Brooke. She’s her own worst enemy. When she saw you and me with the diary that wasn’t even supposed to exist anymore, it hurt her. She thought the worst. Who wouldn’t?”

  There was empathy in Maryanne’s voice, but there was a certain amount of accusation too. Alex had been keeping the doll and diary from them for months. That had been wrong. Stupidly, selfishly wrong. Brooke, predictably, had reacted to this, as Brooke always did—by lashing out at everyone around her. And herself.

  “Speaking of books hidden away,” Maryanne said. “We have to get our hands on that grimoire.”

  “Right,” Alex said. “How? Tell Bryce to bring it?”

  That would take some explaining.

  Maryanne hesitated. “No. I’m going to go get it. And I’m going now.”

  “Are you nuts? It’s almost full daylight! You’re just going to soar through the sky, waving to all the paper carriers, greeting the UPS drivers, and—”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm.” Maryanne fisted her dark caster hands on her hips. “I’ll go with Bryce in the truck.”

  Apparently there was considerable need for sarcasm. “Oh, that’ll look sweet! Bryce Walker driving around town with a Heller! That won’t look even a little bit suspicious. And have you forgotten that you need flesh around you or you’ll shoot through the car when he speeds up? Either that or copper.”

  Or iron. Alex left that thought unspoken.

  “No one will see me,” Maryanne said. “I’ll curl up, rest most of my cast on Bryce’s lap, and hold on.”

  On his lap? Alex snorted. “Well, that should cure any and all boners for like…ever! You saw the way he reacted when you touched his arm.”

  Maryanne’s silence was telling. She’d seen it, all right.

  “I’m going, Alex,” she said, firmly. “End of debate.”

  “What are you going to tell him?”

  She turned the knife—the etching tool—in her hand. “I’ll tell him I need some of Vesta’s stones. For strength. He’ll believe me. He knows my connection to those crystals.” Maryanne started toward the cave’s opening.

  “He’s a Walker, Maryanne,” Alex called after her. It was all the warning she could muster.

  “He’s Bryce!” Maryanne stopped but she didn’t turn around. “Do you think this is easy for him, Alex? Being here?”

  “With us?”

  “Not just that, but here. This is the place. This is where he nearly died when he was a kid. He would have drowned in that pond out there had Connie not been here to save him. Bryce still has nightmares about it—he told me. He’s still scared to death of water.” Finally, Maryanne turned toward Alex. “He’s back here because we need him.”

  With that she was gone, leaving Alex to stew in her thoughts about Bryce Walker. She didn’t trust the man, not by a long shot.

  And despite her brave words, neither did Maryanne. Because clearly she hadn’t told Bryce about finding Vesta’s grimoire in that trunk full of stones. She’d had lots of chances to tell him, given how much time they’d spent together these past months. Even now, she didn’t chance telling him about it, though it meant she had to take that risky, awkward trip in his truck to fetch it herself.

  Interesting.

  Sunlight claimed some of the shadows nearest the entrance and she floated back to their bodies. She was thirsty—her original, not her cast. But even if she had a copper cup to fetch some of the melting snow, she wouldn’t dare venture out of this cave for hours yet.

  Daytime for casters. The most dangerous time.

  But there was something more now. Daytime felt wrong.

  Chapter 4

  Back Track

  Brooke

  Brooke hid high up within the full branches of the oak by the river behind Harvell House.

  It was early Sunday morning, and it was a pretty safe bet that all the girls in the house would still be sleeping. Just the same, she took a very big chance being there.

  She looked up and down the St. John River.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t just her fellow residents of Harvell House—the so-called rejects of Reject Row—she had to worry about. There were more than a few old homes along this stretch of river, many of them with an excellent view of the old Victorian house that served as a dormitory for twelve Streep Academy students. If anyone in those neighboring houses happened to look out the window as she m
ade a break from the tree’s cover, they’d see her.

  Dammit!

  She should have made the wild dash to the house as soon as she’d arrived instead of hiding away in the tree. The morning was growing brighter, and once she was out in the open, there’d be precious little time to do what she had to do.

  But she’d had to steady herself first, and that hadn’t been easy.

  Brooke’s mind was still reeling over what had happened. She’d broken through the freakin’ ice! How was that even possible? Casters moved through trees, water, earth, concrete! Even iron in small amounts—though the nails ripped streaks of pain into them. She’d moved through snow, and yes, they’d glided through icicles when they’d flown through the trees this past winter.

  What was different about the ice on that pond?

  Brooke should have gone back to tell Maryanne and Alex what had happened. When her cast had plunged through the ice, her original had gasped, and both casters had rushed to her side. She should have gone back then, if only to reassure them. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d come here to Harvell House. There was still a task to be done, one that couldn’t wait.

  But seriously—what the hell was happening that her form had cracked the ice? She looked down at her empty, black hands. She turned them slowly but saw nothing new. She passed her arm through the oak tree’s trunk as easily as ever. As far as she could tell, nothing in her had changed.

  And yet… She thought back to Dani’s little dog, Missy. Last winter, when Dani had stopped to talk to the three of them as they sat on that park bench in the town square, her tiny toy dog had barked and growled at them like some kind of hellhound. It hadn’t been just Missy. While animals still cowered and ran from their caster forms, lately when they were their normal selves—cast and original fused—cats hissed at them. Dogs barked and bared their teeth.

  Maybe they were changing more than any of them realized.

  A freshening wind rattled the leaves and smaller branches. Through the stir of them, Brooke could see the sun had climbed a little bit higher. Then the relative quiet of the morning was broken by a sound from the river. A coxswain commanding her rowers. They’d be passing by Harvell House in a matter of minutes. A truck rolled along the road on the other side of the river.