Runaway Witch

by N. D. MacLaine

  Chloe scoffed softly.

  “But then I realized you could still be of some use,” Stephen said. “You see, I was at a loss locating the keystone. Azrathael even refused to tell me, no matter what I offered. He didn't appreciate my intentions. But yours were much more in line with his own.

  “So I thought I'd let things play out. I allowed you to make your plans. I contacted Anastasia and informed her that Christopher was on his way. And I had Bradley extract the location of the stone from your memories when he blocked them.” He took a breath. “Well, mostly blocked them. I made sure you'd remember enough to make your way to Chandler, but not the reason why. I trusted you would eventually puzzle it out.”

  I was feeling sick to my stomach.

  “Meanwhile,” he said, “I informed Anastasia of what I'd learned about the stone's location. She made plans of her own.”

  Anastasia said, “I contacted Mr. Locke and hired him to look into it. He had an idea immediately, having known about the updates to the museum. He went that night but found nothing. He also checked the storage building. He thought the stone may be somewhere he didn't know about, so he decided a discussion with Mr. Grant might be in order. He hired the vampires in the wee hours of the morning, told them to wait in the storage building and set off the alarm that night. Unfortunately, Mr. Grant was away, and his son showed up.” I glanced at Evan.

  “And then so did you,” Stephen said. “We had no idea the two plans would collide, especially so soon.”

  Anastasia said, “After we learned that Christopher had both the sword and the stone, I decided perhaps we should speed things along, so I found you and unlocked some of your missing time.”

  Stephen said, “And everything worked out. We have both pieces.”

  “And you can destroy them,” Evan said, but I could hear doubt in his voice.

  “We could indeed,” Stephen said. “If that was our goal.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I whispered. “You want to bring him back. You and Anastasia have been working together.”

  “Not at first,” the Brit said. “Neither of us really wanted to share the power Tasraan will grant. But we realized it might be prudent to put aside our differences. Some power is better than none.”

  I looked at the others. “And you all knew?”

  Chloe smiled wickedly. “Daddy told the rest of us when he decided we'd be okay with it. You and Chris were the only ones he never told. You were naive enough to buy into the 'fighting the good fight' bullshit well after we all figured out something else was going on. Daddy will make sure we all live like royalty.”

  Stephen said, “And speaking of Christopher, I'm surprised he's not part of this reunion.”

  Whatever look came over my face–loathing, anger, pain–it told him everything. “Oh, dear, have we done something regrettable?”

  I lunged at him, but the twins jumped forward and grabbed my arms. I spat some pretty foul language at them.

  Stephen laughed. “It's time for us to go. Bradley?”

  Bradley brushed his fingers against the side of my head, and all of my memories unlocked.

  * * * * *

  It was just over a week ago that I learned of Stephen's true plans, and the discovery had been entirely unintentional.

  In an incredibly rare occurrence, Chris and I had found ourselves alone in the house, and we'd been playfully arguing about necromancy–the magic of raising the dead. It was something Stephen strictly forbade, but we weren't discussing actually doing it, just what was possible.

  “I'm telling you,” I said, “they come back in whatever state of decomposition they're already in.”

  Chris shook his head. “I guarantee you there's some way to restore their bodies.”

  We went back and forth for a little while, then I finally said, “You know Stephen probably has a book that would answer this.”

  Chris gave me a look. “If he does, it would be in his study.”

  Stephen's study, in the attic above his third-floor bedroom, was absolutely, unquestionably off limits to all of us. It would be tantamount to an act of treason to enter it, so of course it was the subject of myriad legends and dares among the rest of us.

  “You know there are probably spells to keep us out,” Chris said.

  “Probably,” I agreed, eyeing the stairs that led up to his bedroom. We were silent for a few seconds, then both of us bolted up them.

  Stephen's room was big and grand. He had an actual four-poster bed with drapery. A bed, I might add, that seemed bigger than some New York City apartments. We were treading on unfamiliar territory now. We'd never set foot in his bedroom–as far as I knew, Chloe was the only one who had–and we had no idea where the entrance to his study was.

  We started looking around, feeling walls, checking behind a couple of paintings as though it were a safe we were looking for. We also felt magically, to see if anything was hidden by glamour. In the end, there was nothing magical about it. There was a secret panel in the wall that pushed open, revealing a steep, narrow staircase.

  “I can't believe I don't feel any magical protection at all,” Chris whispered, uncomfortable even though we knew Stephen wasn't there.

  “Maybe he just trusts us not to do it,” I said, starting to feel guilty about breaking that trust.

  We got to the top and entered into the dark room. The only light came filtering through stained-glass windows that lined the ceiling. It was eerie. Chris found a light switch.

  There were low bookshelves along three of the walls, the fourth covered by a curtain. A worktable sat in the middle of the room, more books and a laptop on it.

  “What's that noise?” Chris asked.

  I heard it, too, an odd bubbling sound that seemed to be coming from behind the curtain. Curious, I tugged it aside.

  And my world changed.

  Behind the curtain was a large tank of water. Inside the tank was a teenage boy, floating serenely. He was dressed in only a pair of shorts. He looked familiar.

  “Ally,” Chris gasped. “That's David Pinkston.”

  I looked closer, and though the boy's hair was longer, and he'd grown a couple of inches, it was definitely the boy we'd saved in Chicago. “Stephen said he went home after the ritual to cleanse his blood,” I said. “This doesn't make any sense.”

  “I think that's sleepwater,” Chris said, moving towards the tank.

  Sleepwater was exactly what it sounds like–put someone in it and they fall asleep. They remain that way, with no need for food or anything, until you take them out.

  “He must have been here all this time,” I said.

  Chris moved to the worktable. One of the books on top of it was a handwritten journal. He leafed through it. “Look at this,” he said, indicating a page.

  Summoned Azrathael today. Refused to provide me the location of Tasraan's keystone. See video.

  The entry was dated a few months ago.

  Chris opened Stephen's laptop and clicked around until he found a folder full of videos named by date. He opened the one corresponding to the date in the journal entry.

  It was taken in the study. Stephen had drawn a pentagram on the floor. Chris and I watched as he summoned Azrathael and began to talk to him. “Tasraan's keystone,” Azrathael said. “Yes, I do believe I've heard of it.”

  Stephen said, “According to my sources, you know its location.”

  “Hmm,” muttered the demon. “That's only somewhat accurate. What are your intentions with it?”

  Stephen rolled his eyes. “I'm certainly not looking for a paperweight!”

  “You intend to release him,” Azrathael said. Stephen nodded.

  The demon was silent for a moment. “Not all of my kind seek to enslave your world, Stephen St. James. Some of us prefer to be more insidious. Should Tasraan have his way, he'll rule over all, and leave nothing for the rest of us. What fun would that be?”

  Stephen glowered at the demon. “I'll grant you unlimited freedom in exchange for the information.�
�

  “Should you do that, my first act will be to tear your body into tiny pieces and feed them to stray cats. I will not help you.” Azrathael vanished from the pentagram.

  Stephen flew into a rage, throwing various items around the room and screaming, “I didn't dismiss you, you son of a bitch! Get back here!” The video ended.

  Chris and I looked at each other, shocked. We started reading more of the journal, and we pieced together the years of preparation and searching and planning Stephen had done. We read all about Tasraan, what he'd done, what he would have done if he hadn't been bound. Not every assignment we'd be sent on had been about Tasraan–some had genuinely been to keep powerful artifacts out of the wrong hands–but quite a bit of them had. We learned that David Pinkston was a direct descendant of the man who'd first summoned Tasraan to the earth, and as such he should be used when summoning him again. When Chris and I had “rescued” him from those witches in Chicago, we'd actually interrupted the ritual that would have legitimately purified his blood and prevented him from being involved in Tasraan's return. His parents had, in fact, willingly turned him over to them. After we'd returned with David, Stephen had sent Chloe and the twins back to Chicago to kill the old witches. They were dead because of our sleep spell.

  Chris and I had been used, and the man we'd trusted like a father had been the one to use us. We were hurt, and we were angry.

  We spent the next couple of days deciding what to do. On Stephen's laptop, we had found detailed, updated intel on Anastasia's security, so we knew we could get the sword. All we needed was the location of the stone.

  Which is what led to us summoning Azrathael. Turns out, I'd only remembered part of what had happened that night. At one point, I had informed the demon of our intention to destroy the artifacts, and that's why Azrathael agreed to provide us the information. Anastasia had made sure not to let me see that part.

  After that, Chris had left for London, and I'd returned to the house to research Chandler. I found the Sunset Motel on the internet and texted Chris to meet me there, then I went downstairs to sneak out, where I met Stephen. He had known about our plan because of the camera he used in his study, which had recorded us when we entered.

  I got away, they caught me, they blocked my memories, and the rest is history.

  TWENTY

  “Ally!” Evan's voice pierced through the fog of memories. “Wake up right now!”

  I opened my eyes. I was lying on the snowy ground, groggy. I felt so stupid. Everything made sense now. They'd let me run around Chandler when they could easily have found me. Everything had been orchestrated to nudge me in the right direction: all the “traitor” comments, Walker's words in the park, which memories Anastasia gave back. If only Chris and I had talked more. If only I had said what I thought we'd been up to, or he had said what we'd actually been doing. But both of us had been sure we knew what was going on. And now Chris was gone.

  I'd been played like a fiddle. I let that fuel my anger. I would mourn later.

  “How long have I been out?” I asked as I sat up.

  “At least half an hour,” Evan answered. He pulled me tomy feet.

  “We've gotta get out of here,” I said. We backtracked to roughly the same spot where we'd entered the Wintrelinden. I opened a gateway and we stepped back into the park.

  It was dark, and not just from the heavy storm clouds that still filled the sky. It was much later than when we'd left.

  “Damn it,” I muttered. “That's the real reason they picked the Wintrelinden for our meeting. Time moves differently there. They wanted to keep me out of the way.”

  We rushed to the car and checked the time. It was after ten p.m. “According to Stephen's journal,” I said, remembering it quite clearly now, “Tasraan was bound in a cemetery called Maplewood at ten minutes till midnight on August sixth.” We began shedding the winter clothes.

  “That's today,” Evan said.

  I said, “Yep. That's when he hasto be called back. Do you know where the cemetery is?”

  Evan started the car. “Yeah, it's about fifteen miles away. It's this big old country cemetery.”

  “Get us there,” I said.

  He started driving. I tried to come up with some kind of plan, but all I managed was “Stop Stephen from raising Tasraan.” There were just too many unknowns in the mix, like what kind of security he'd have.

  It started to rain, lightly, drops splattering the windshield. As we started to pass a trailer park, the ground in front of us exploded. Evan slammed on the brakes and swerved into the entrance to the trailer park.

  Joseph rushed up to my side of the car and yanked my door open. He grabbed me and roughly pulled me out of the car. I fell onto the asphalt, quickly jumping back to my feet.

  John pulled Evan out of the driver's seat and held him. Bradley stood off to one side, watching passively. And ahead of us, Chloe was glaring. “She's mine,” she told Joseph, stalking in our direction. Joseph frowned but stepped off to the side with the others.

  “Ally,” Chloe said, “you never did know when to quit. You've lost, girly. You need to accept it.”

  We started circling each other, our eyes locked. “Maybe,” I said. “But I can still make it as difficult for you as possible.”

  She shrugged. “Well, I guess I'll have to kill you.” She didn't seem too disappointed. In quick movements, she reached her right hand toward the sky while simultaneously pointing her left hand at me. Lightning streaked down from the sky into her right hand and shot out of her left, right at me. I jumped to one side to avoid it. Then I lifted my own hand to the sky.

  At first, nothing happened. “Pathetic,” she scoffed. Then a few hailstones pelted her. Then more, getting bigger. Finally a hailstorm with baseball-sized stones began to fall on her. I was utilizing the weather system already in place, feeding it, but keeping it isolated over her like something in a cartoon. She ran, and I had it follow her.

  Another bolt of lightning struck a branch above me, and I noticed it just in time to bound out of the way. My concentration wavered, and the hail stopped.

  It was raining a little harder now, and Chloe hurled a gale of icy wind at me. The raindrops froze, becoming pellets of frozen shrapnel as they struck me, adding to the tiny nicks in my face and arms that had come from the glass back at the motel. I called up a warm wind of my own, using my natural ability with fire. It met her cold air and the rain evaporated instantly into a haze. The winds were roaring around us, so I couldn't hear precisely what Evan screamed, but I saw motion out of the corner of my eye. A tornado had formed nearby, probably a by-product of our weather manipulations. Instantly, Chloe and I stopped struggling with wind and focused on the twister, each of us trying to gain control of it.

  Residents of the trailer park were running out of their homes, barely taking notice of us as they sought shelter from the tornado. Chloe tried to steer it toward me, while I fought to keep it away from all the people.

  I didn't notice at first that she'd stopped fighting me and let me have total control of it, until she sent another lightning bolt at me. It struck at my feet, knocking me back to the ground, dazed. The lightning had burned my jeans but just barely managed to avoid the skin. All of my hair was on end. I imagined I looked like someone filled with static electricity from one of those electric-ball-thingies they sometimes show in science classes.

  Chloe glowered at me. “You're done,” she shouted over the storm. “All these years, I've had to listen to Daddy talk about how great you are. I told him you didn't fit in with us, that he shouldn't trust you. And I was right. Now I get to do what I've dreamed of doing ever since the day he brought you home.”

  I felt her gather another, even stronger lightning bolt to fry me. She didn't notice what I was doing.

  The twins did, though. “Chloe!” one of them yelled.

  She spun, but it was too late. The tornado came bolting at her–and dropped a single-wide trailer onto her in a violent, loud crash.

  The oth
ers watched, aghast. I reached out magically and broke up the twister, and it dissipated. Then I stood, brushed myself off, and looked at Bradley and the twins. “You have no power here,” I deadpanned. “Be gone before somebody drops a house on you.”

  Maybe it was the look in my eyes. Maybe it was all the droplets of blood from the dozens of tiny cuts I had. Maybe it was just the simple fact that I'd crushed Chloe with a trailer. Whatever it was, they ran, leaving Evan behind.

  He was watching me, awed or shocked or some combination thereof. When I got to him, he said, “All right, Glinda.”

  I managed a tiny smile. “Let's go, Dorothy.”

  “Dorothy?” he said with mock offense. “I'm Dorothy?” I said nothing as we walked toward the car.

  He shrugged. “Well, I'm certainly not in Kansas anymore.” That actually made me chuckle.

  TWENTY-ONE

  By the time we reached the cemetery, it was after eleven. The entrance to the graveyard took us over a small bridge above a waterway known as Oak Creek. It was raining pretty hard now, and the tree branches were swaying wildly. We got out of the car and looked ahead. From here, we'd have to walk deeper into the cemetery.

  Evan opened the trunk and pulled out the baseball bat he'd used on Lizard Lady, and I grabbed a tire iron. I led the way into the cemetery. I could feel a heavy gathering of magic nearby, and the magic here felt stronger even than it had in Chandler.

  As we moved closer to the confluence of magic ahead, I saw a stone archway. I was certain that would be the entrance to Tasraan's grave.

  We started for it, and suddenly a hand shot out of the ground and grabbed my ankle. I let out an involuntary shriek and yanked my foot free as a corpse pulled itself out of the ground. It was hideous, its skin decaying, bones exposed in spots. It wore the tattered remains of its burial suit.

  All around and ahead of us, more bodies started climbing from their graves, some fresher than others, some so old they were little more than skeletons. “I told you they came back decomposed,” I muttered.