by Gina LaManna
“So who says?”
“Everyone. You’re the Mixologist.”
“Okay. Say I believe all of this. Why do you really want to break away from here? After all these years, why now?”
A small pool of tears formed in her eyes, and she shook her head. “I just do.”
“Convince me that I should believe you.”
“I have—had—a baby boy. His father was a human. I met his father when we were moving between locations, and we dated for some months. It’s the only contact I’ve ever had with a human, and he was wonderful.”
“Why didn’t you stay with him?”
“He caught me when I tried to escape. And since my baby had human blood, he didn’t let me keep him.” Tears pricked at her eyes as her voice shook. “I left without telling them goodbye. My baby needs his mother.”
“I’m sorry, Belinda.”
“I’ve been debating how to leave since that day, but...” She peeked around once more, and then gestured to her arms. Thin strips of vines had begun to circle her forearms. “He has a charm so that any time one of us gets the urge to leave, to flee, it reminds us of our ties to The Faction. It’s not a matter of wanting to leave; this might be the first time I’m able.”
“We’ll get you out of here,” I promised. “And your son will know you.”
Belinda stopped, looking thoughtfully out the window at the swirling clouds. We’d reached the end of a long corridor. Suits of armor along the edges stood bare, save for the torches beaming from the walls.
“We are all part of this curse,” she said hollowly, reaching for a torch. She gestured to the skies beyond. “That blackness. We are all tied to the dark magic—I can feel it in my bones. The destruction, the terror, the unrest. We created that.”
Beyond the window the smoke puffed and chugged through the sky, circling us, tightening, constricting the very air inside. I rested an arm on Belinda’s where the vines had slowly begun to retreat.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “But I need you to think back; this next question is incredibly important.”
An idea had popped into my head, a dangerous, risky one. Stupid, even, but I needed to find out the answer to my theory. “Did he tell you how wish magic works?”
“No. He never explains himself.”
“You’re sure you’re linked to the spell?” I twirled her around to face me, demanding her answer. “You’re positive?”
She raised her hands and stared at her fingers. “It shot through me like an electrical shock, jolted me, locked into place. We all felt it; we were all holding hands in a big circle.”
Which meant, I realized, that she was bound by the rules of wish magic, just as Lucian would be. When a witch performed a spell, he or she had to obey the rules that went with it. I’d learned that in Basic Witchcraft 101.
The more uncommon knowledge was that wish magic took three factors: Do no harm, seek not for selfish purposes, and inspire a sense of wonder. I stood back, contemplating as Belinda watched.
“He must abide by these laws. He’s the stakeholder in the spell,” I muttered, pacing in circles. “Which means he must believe so fully in his cause that the wish wasn’t selfish.”
“What are you talking about?”
I waved her off, muttering under my breath. “He clearly had a sense of wonder for wish magic, or it wouldn’t have worked. And lastly, he must have made the wish truly believing he wouldn’t cause harm to another being.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If the laws of magic are true,” I said, my voice giddy with excitement. “That means anyone with a stake in the spell is bound by the same rules.”
“Including me?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” I blinked, running through the logic once more before nodding to confirm it. “If the spell cannot cause harm to anyone by the sheer nature of its being, then anyone bound to it cannot cause harm within its bounds.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Locke, you’re going to have to explain—”
“Take your torch and press it to my hand,” I instructed Belinda. “Please.”
“No!” She recoiled, bringing the torch closer to her. “I don’t want to hurt you!”
“You won’t! I don’t have time to explain. If you want to help, this is how you can help.” I reached for the arm that held the torch, lowering it close enough to my palm to feel the heat. “I’m going to let go, and you must touch my hand with the fire.”
“But—”
“Do you trust me to get you out of here?”
A troubled gleam bounced in her eye. Then, a quiet yes.
Belinda gritted her teeth, clearly unhappy with the turn of events. She met my gaze and her face changed, probably at the determination in my own. We both inhaled at the same time, and then she plunged the torch toward me.
It should’ve burned, it should’ve singed; my flesh should’ve bubbled and boiled under the heat of the flame, and I should’ve passed out from the pain. I should’ve screamed with all the air in my lungs.
Yet somehow, I didn’t even flinch. The torch felt like a warm, tender caress on my palm, as if I’d submerged my arm in bathwater.
“Why aren’t you—” she yanked the torch away at the sound of footsteps.
I’d barely processed my theory, the realization sending a surge of hope to my core. Anyone with a stake in the spell can’t hurt me. They couldn’t hurt us. Not, at least, if we were within the bounds of Wishery.
That umbrella of a black cloud, the black magic, had turned from my captor into my savior. We would be protected by the sheer nature of wish magic. Nobody, including Lucian, could hurt us... physically.
“Good evening, Belinda,” Lucian stepped from a door nearby, giving neither of us time to move, to hide, to react. Her face read guilty, while mine had settled in awe. “We’re quite far from Lily’s room, aren’t we?”
“Tour,” Belinda murmured, still looking surprised. “Took her on a tour.”
I latched onto her dazed expression and stepped forward. “Leave her out of this. We both know what happened here. I’m looking for a way out and forced Belinda to show me around.”
For a moment, Lucian angered, then eased. He glanced at Belinda, and then at me, as my insinuation set into place. “I see you are my daughter. I didn’t think you’d allow yourself to use mind bending.”
I kept my mouth shut, letting him carry the conversation from here. I knew he’d believe that I’d used blood magic to get Belinda here. Of course he’d believe me because it was the very same thing he would’ve done.
He’d never consider there was another way to ask for her help, and that was my advantage over him. There is always another way, I thought. If only he could understand that, we might not be here in the first place.
“No sign of Poppy?” he asked. “I assume that’s who you’re looking for. You won’t leave without her. Hence the reason I needed to bring her here in the first place.”
“Where is she?” I snarled. “I will stay if you let Poppy go.”
“Get on to your quarters, Belinda,” Lucian said, turning slightly to speak to his staff. “I’ll take Lily from here.”
Belinda’s honest shock saved her. Mumbling, she stumbled away from me, swinging the torch like a drunken sailor. She scurried away down the hall, stopping every few feet to turn and stare at me.
Once she was gone, a wave of relief washed through my body. Until he spoke.
“Clever girl, aren’t you?” His voice rang out clearly. “Once, I would’ve done that too.”
“Done what?” My pulse raced. I strained for a glimpse of Belinda, but she’d rounded a corner and moved from sight. “What are you talking about?”
He pursed his lips, but didn’t respond. Instead, almost in answer, a shrill scream sounded from around the bend, and I knew it belonged to Belinda.
“Let her go,” I rasped. “This is between me and you. Don’t get her involved.”
The screams silenced, and he shook his
head. “She already involved herself when she offered to help you. Don’t worry, she’s alive,” he said. “Unharmed. It was just a warning.”
Belinda appeared then, eyes vacant. “As you wish, sir,” she intoned. “I am sorry.”
“Belinda will see you to your room,” my father said. “And she will lock you inside. Good evening, Lily. If you’d like to keep her free from mind bending, I suggest you leave her uninvolved in your attempts to escape.”
“Wait!” I yelled after him. “You’re just leaving me with her?”
He turned, smiling, as if it pleased him I’d asked the question. “I have no fear about leaving you with her, Lily. Your mind bending abilities, though inherited from me, are untrained and wild. You will not break Belinda no matter how hard you try.”
“But—”
“Ah, I know you believe that you can outthink me, but that’s where you’re mistaken. See, I have two perspectives, Lily; I was like you once.” He raised long, slender fingers to his lips and rested them there. “But I’ve seen more. I’ve been broken, and I’ve risen to new heights from it—heights I’d never have achieved otherwise.”
“New heights? No,” I said, my fingers clenching into fists. “You’ve fallen to new lows.”
He grimaced, displeased at my response. “You might reconsider when you learn of the human ways. The filthy humans who murdered your mother. The woman I loved more than anything, the woman who loved you, I’m sure, more than life itself. She risked her life to save you, and...” He shook his head. “The humans took it from her. She was protecting you from the paranormals, but she couldn’t keep herself safe from them.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I knew her longer than you. But alas, that’s neither here nor there. I’m simply urging you to remember that I know the way you think, but that you can never know the way I think. So, if you decide to try another plan to escape, someone will suffer. Isn’t that right, Belinda?”
I watched in horror as Belinda nodded, eyes blank, and then screamed. Her face, expressionless, was more eerie than the sounds she was making—she gave no sign of pain, save for a blood curdling wail that boiled my skin.
“Good evening,” he said, dismissing me with a nod.
“Come, Lily,” Belinda intoned, then began marching in that robotic movement signature of mind bending.
I watched the walls as we walked, every window and doorway. His magic was stronger than I’d thought; he could use blood magic for so long, and from such a distance.
Luckily, there were other ways to break the spell. It had worked on Zin, just minutes before she’d attempted to poison our own grandmother.
“Belinda, listen,” I said as we walked. “It’s me, Lily.”
“Lily, we are walking to your room.”
“Yes! I’m going to save you, remember? We’re going to be free, I promise you.”
“I serve at the pleasure of The Faction.”
I walked behind her, struggling to make this conversation more personal. To force her to latch onto a piece of information that would jolt her free from the fingers of blood magic my father kept pressed to her. Something—a word, a memory, a phrase—that would help her remember herself, to pull her from the depths of the fog.
We stopped outside my bedroom door a few minutes later. Nothing I’d said, nothing I’d promised, made even an inkling of a difference.
“Belinda, wait,” I said. “Please, focus on what I’m saying. Listen to my voice.”
“I am listening to your voice,” she agreed, monotone. “We have reached our destination. Please step inside the room.”
“Belinda—” I repeated her name, praying for any sign of recognition, but she stopped me mid-sentence as she raised both hands in a stiff motion and rested them on my shoulders.
I glanced down, seconds before she gave me a shove that had me hurtling across the room. I hadn’t been prepared for her to use force, and I’d especially not been prepared for the power behind it. Therefore, I hadn’t braced myself whatsoever, and I crashed into the corner of the desk before sliding to the ground.
I stayed down, pleading with Belinda. My eyes, my words, everything I could think of, yet it didn’t make a difference. She’d been under the influence too long; the spell was too difficult to break.
“Belinda, for your son,” I begged. “Please, focus.”
“I have no son.”
“You do,” I said, climbing to my feet. I inched across the room. “You have a son, and he’d love to meet you. A baby boy, a little boy now, out in the world. You want to find him.”
Belinda blinked, watching me with rapt attention. “A son?”
“A son. A child. You wanted me to bring you to him, and I promised. You’ll get to see him soon, okay?”
A flash of understanding appeared, and I latched onto it, grasping at her hands and squeezing. Unfortunately, my touch had the opposite effect, and instead, she raised a hand and slapped me across the cheek.
“I have no son,” she said.
Then she turned and slammed the door shut so hard the entire room shuddered.
Footsteps carried her away, the sting of my cheek nothing compared to the pain lodged in my heart.
Chapter 29
THE NEXT DAY IN WISHERY was spent in a cave of my own thoughts: I worried about Poppy and the others, fretted over Belinda, dreamed of Ranger X, wondered what Gus might be thinking, or Trinket and Mimsey and Hettie. I worried about what would come this evening, and I worried if I would be prepared.
Around lunchtime, the worry faded and the hunger set in its place. I didn’t dare ask for food, but the gnawing in my stomach grew worse, and by the time late afternoon rolled around I was starving.
Focusing instead on organizing my vials and potions, I used a simple Shielding Spell, an incantation designed to blur my movements from anyone watching, while I worked. Testing bits of potions, perfecting them, I combined the ingredients for the spell that would break the black magic and hopefully dissolve the dark dome over Wishery.
Once combined, I studied the vial of antidote, and I knew that there wasn’t enough of it. For starters, the silver hadn’t been left to absorb sunlight for three days, soaking up the light to strengthen its properties. It’d be too weak to break the curse once and for all.
Worse, there was just too little of it. Too little antidote to make a difference for an entire village. I’d need a vat, a cauldron fully brewed, to make any sort of dent in the city limits.
Once I’d prepared both potions—one to break Wishery’s curse and the Long Isle Iced Tea for Poppy’s party—I developed another plan. Slipping into the closet, I located the dress that Belinda had set aside for the evening’s gala.
I surveyed it from a distance first, stepping as far back in the walk-in closet as possible. A shade of light blue in color, it boasted soft, flowing fabrics and a bit of volume in the skirt. A truly beautiful ball gown. Only the circumstances dictated the unease that went along with wearing it.
However, this dress would work perfectly for my plan. From within the confines of the closet, I set to work with a bit of magic and the sewing kit I’d found in one of the drawers. I pricked my fingers a few times, but managed to stumble through a skill I’d never taken the time to learn. I was going for function, not artistry.
Eventually, I stepped back and surveyed my work with pride. It would do.
I debated slipping into the dress to try it on and test my handiwork, but before I could do any such thing, the door flew open and someone from within yelled a hello.
I stepped from the closet, tucking the sewing kit behind my back, and came face to face with a strikingly peculiar man. His hair had been shaved on one side, and he wore skinny leather pants with a bright yellow tank top. Enough eyeliner caked his eyes to give him the haunting look of a raccoon.
“You must be Lily,” he said, sticking out a thin arm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Bartholomew, and I will be helping you get ready for the gala to
night.”
“Thanks,” I said, offering a confused smile, “but I’m not really in need of help. I’m just planning on popping into the ball gown.”
“Pop!” His eyes widened, and he giggled. “Just popping in, you’re hilarious!” He chortled then, watching my face for a sign I was kidding. “Pop! Pop! Pop!”
I couldn’t quite bring myself to laugh since I didn’t see anything funny about it. “I’d prefer not to go at all.”
“Oh, honey. You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. I’m a prisoner. I have nobody to impress.”
Bartholomew clucked his tongue. “Doesn’t mean you can’t look fabulous,” he said, popping over to me and pinching the sides of my clothing. I still had on my street attire from the day before because it was the only thing here that belonged to me aside from my potions. There was a comfort to wearing them. “You have an excellent figure. You’ll make my job easy.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Bartholomew the Great,” he said. “The paranormals call me Bartholomew, the humans prefer Bart. Who knows why? I don’t mind either way. I still work the same magic on all of my clients.”
“Who sent you here?”
“Belinda.”
“But Belinda is...” I stopped, wondering for the millionth time today where she’d gone. “Where is Belinda?”
“She’s downstairs preparing the food. She makes an excellent chocolate truffle.”
“Do you work for The Faction?”
“I work for whomever pays me,” he said, pulling out a comb from thin air and beginning to pluck at my hair.
“Are you helping with anyone else?”
“Just you, my dear. You’re the guest of honor, yes? Belinda thought you might like a helping hand.”
“But—”
“Hush now, and let me work.”
After an hour of hair tugging, eyebrow tweezing, and lip painting, I looked like a new woman. Bartholomew had talked the entire time, yammering on about one client or another.
“You work with humans, yet you’re here, employed by The Faction? Don’t you take issue with that?”