by T. L. Martin
Every inch of the underground was covered now, no hall or room unscathed. Tortured shrieks and victorious howls blended together, humming all around us.
Suddenly my stomach twisted. The feeling struck me from out of nowhere, and I felt like I was going to be sick. I reached a hand out to the nearest wall to steady my teetering legs. I closed my eyes briefly to diminish the nausea, but when I opened them again, it had only intensified.
I glanced over at Desmond, squinting through the blurred vision. His swaying body was keeled over, gripping his stomach tightly.
Something was terribly wrong.
Scanning the tunnel, I was startled to find we weren’t the only ones. Not a single person seemed to be fighting anymore, as each of us struggled to steady ourselves.
Desmond’s blue eyes locked onto mine, and he staggered toward me. He wrapped an arm around me. I curled myself into his body. Our eyes strayed to the room occupying Priscilla and Tempest as the once pint-sized glow erupted into an enormous light.
The spell. Could Priscilla be doing this to us? But...what kind of spell would someone as powerful as Priscilla need extra strength for? Her last words resurfaced in my mind: For what is to come next, it is I who must apologize. What did she mean?
I didn’t know why, but just as the corners of my vision began to surrender to darkness, an inexplicable pang told me this might be our final moment together for a long time, if ever again. As the last of my strength faded, I let my head collapse into the curve of Desmond’s neck. He squeezed me tightly, exactly like he had on the evening of our dance—as though he would never let me go.
That was the last moment I had with him before my world went dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: STRANGE THINGS
I pulled my blankets over my head, trying to hide from the daylight for a moment longer. Just as I drifted back into the comfort of sleep, a loud ringing noise jolted me.
“Ugh,” I groaned, dragging myself out of the bed and trudging down the stairs. Why did Aunt Stacy always call the landline instead of my cell phone?
“Hello,” I yawned.
“There you are, Charlie.” My aunt’s voice was drowned out by jumbled background noises, and I plugged one of my ears in an unsuccessful attempt to hear her better. “I’ve been searching for your email that never came.”
“My email?” I repeated groggily.
“Yes,” she answered exasperatedly. “You were supposed to email me? About the study abroad program? Seriously, Charlie. I didn’t know if you were even in the country anymore.”
I paused, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Was she referring to the study abroad program in Canada? “I was accepted for that thing?”
I heard her sigh on the other end of the line. “Good Lord, girl. Go back to sleep. I’m at the airport picking up my luggage, so I’ll be home soon. We can talk about it then and get all the details sorted out.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled distantly. “Okay.”
“And Charlie?” she asked.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
I smiled. “Love you too, Stace.”
We hung up, and I tried to focus. Why was my memory so damn hazy? Running a tired hand through my hair, I peeked out the window and noticed the mailman pulling away. I hopped down the front steps and grabbed the white envelopes, casually flipping through them. Bill, bill, credit card offer, bill, junk mail...sure enough, there was an envelope addressed from the official board for the Science and Medicine Study Abroad Programs. Tearing it open, I unfolded the letter and scanned through.
Dear Charlotte Eden: We are pleased to welcome you to our Canadian study abroad program in the field of Science and Medicine...
I was accepted after all. I shook my head gently, as though the movement would help sort through my muddled mind. Setting the letter down, I headed upstairs to get dressed. I could certainly use a morning run.
A cool chill slithered up my back, and I slipped a sweater over my head to warm up.
The clouds were calm this morning and the breeze light as I approached Ray’s old house. The “For Sale” sign was still up. I swallowed hard. We hadn’t even held a memorial yet, since his heart attack, and my own heart still swelled at the thought of him.
I picked up my feet, forcing them to propel me against the wind. My jog quickened to a hard run. I flew past the familiar houses in a blur, challenging my body to race against the cars. Before I knew it, I found myself approaching Old Town Bandon. It was quiet this early in the morning, and I slowed my pace back down to a steady jog. Joe was out unloading items from his truck to Tony's Crabshack, and he greeted me with a cheerful wave. I waved back, happy that he and Stacey were doing so well.
Making my way past Cobbler’s Bench, a golden doorframe beside it caught my eye. I didn’t know what it was about the place that intrigued me so, but I stopped myself, peeking in through the closed glass door.
Aside from the single customer scanning some candles along the wall shelf, the only other person who seemed to be inside was a girl standing behind the register. Her black hair fell in her face as she leaned back against the counter, looking down and fidgeting with something around her finger.
“Can I help you?”
The unexpected voice made me jump as I watched a blond-haired guy step before me, pausing to raise a curious brow as he placed a hand on the door’s handle.
“Um...no. Just looking.”
“You sure? I’m not much of a tea drinker either,” he added with an easy smile, “but we’ve got some damn good danishes.”
I smiled back politely but shook my head. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
He gave a shrug. “All right. Well, have a good one.”
The door jingled as he entered the shop. I felt hesitant to leave, but I couldn’t place the reasoning behind it. I lingered outside for a moment longer, hugging my arms around my chest to fight the cold wave washing over me.
A wooden sign to my right struck me, and I read the letters that had been carved into it. Welcome to Your Tea Stop.
Huh. Strange that I’d never noticed it before.
Finally turning on my heel, I yelped softly as I ran directly into something solid. I rubbed a hand to my head, stumbling back a step. Looking up, I was surprised to find it wasn’t a thing at all, but a striking young man. His deep blue eyes pierced straight into mine beneath a row of dark lashes.
“Oh. Sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t see you.”
For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes scanned my face, inspecting it closely. The intensity of his gaze prompted me to glance down uneasily.
“It’s all right,” he finally said. His voice was deep, husky, and sounded oddly familiar.
“Do I...have we met before?” I asked.
I watched the defined line of his jaw tighten firmly before he spoke. “I don’t believe so.”
We stood there in thickening silence for another moment before I shifted uncomfortably. I could have sworn I’d seen him before. There was something about him, something about those eyes.
“Um, okay...well...” I cleared my throat. “I better go.”
He said nothing, and I finally broke away. I took my time when I began walking again, slowly strolling down the foggy street.
“I’ll see you, Charlie.”
My head snapped back at what I thought was the soft whisper of my name, but I was surprised to find that no one was even there.
***
The faded red trunk of Pixie’s old Volkswagen Beetle slammed shut as she pushed off of it with her hip, juggling an overfilled cardboard box in her hands.
Just breathe, she reminded herself.
Susan was already waiting for her just outside of Sula’s cottage. She tried to smile as Pixie approached, but there was no masking the shock and sadness they both shared.
“Good morning,” Susan muttered, allowing Pixie to enter the house before her. She lingered for a moment as Pixie slowly set the box down on the carpet.
“It’
s okay,” Pixie whispered. “I’m okay,” she clarified. Susan didn’t need to know the truth. “You can get back to your kids.”
She could tell Susan was hesitant to leave, but the whiney whimpers sounding from the baby monitor in her hand beckoned to her.
“All right,” the kind woman finally replied. “But, remember: I’m only one house away if you need anything.”
Pixie gave her a reassuring nod. “Thank you.”
She waited until Susan reached the other end of the dirt-ridden yard to close the door before allowing herself to finally turn around and confront the cottage’s living room. Her breath hitched at the sight, and she backed up against the door.
It wasn’t as though she was unaware of what to expect. Matt had explained quite clearly to her that they were using this space temporarily until a better solution was worked out. But the warning didn’t help to lighten the blow once she found herself face to face with them like this.
Both sofas, one to her immediate left and the other at the opposite end of the cramped space, had been dismantled, with their mattresses fully expanded into their bed forms. The one nearest to her held an unconscious Priscilla, while the other supported Tempest’s motionless body. The two witches slept soundlessly beneath heavy comforters, resembling their neighboring Sula far too closely.
How had it come to this? All three Primaries trapped in a deep sleep, and all lying beneath the same roof.
Pixie finally forced her wobbly legs to step forward, making their way to Priscilla’s body. She kneeled beside the sofa bed, placing a hand over the lovely woman who, over the years, had become so much more than the mentor her parents had asked her to be. A minute ticked by, and then another, until Pixie lost track of time completely.
She didn’t know what she hoped to accomplish by sitting there, staring at Priscilla’s closed eyes. It wasn’t as if she was going to get any answers by doing so. Answers about last night, about the spell.
When Pixie had woken up in her own bed in the middle of the night, no idea how she’d gotten there, she immediately set out to find the others. But it became obvious in a matter of minutes upon doing so that they didn’t know what she knew. Desmond was nowhere to be found, Charlie had slept straight through Pixie’s phone calls and door-knocking, and Quinn and Matt’s shock and frenzy solely derived from having discovered Priscilla and Tempest’s limp bodies on the ground, side by side. Nothing more, nothing less.
What kind of spell was it that could make everyone forget so much that had happened? And, more than that, actual events seemed to be wiped clean as if they never took place to begin with. At least one event she was personally aware of: syncing. Even now, she could feel the shift. The lack of energy flowing through her veins. She still had magic, of course. The ability to heal. But it felt just as though she had never synced with Charlie at all.
“Why?” she suddenly heard herself ask. “Why am I the only one who seems to remember? What–what am I meant to do? Please, just...” She hardly noticed she was sobbing now, choking out her words as the terrifying starkness of the situation overwhelmed her completely. “Just tell me what to do.”
She wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand and shook her head hopelessly. Priscilla’s long, ashy hair framed her unflinching face, a face that appeared more worn than ever with distinguished lines that marked years of trials, failures, and triumphs.
Pixie glanced over her shoulder at the other sofa bed. Tempest lay just as still, though the contrast in each of the witch’s resting places was immediately noticeable. Whereas Priscilla had three downy pillows to line the length of the bed, Tempest had none. Priscilla had a pearly silk throw topping her comforter; Tempest’s was bare.
She could almost crack a smile at what must have been Quinn’s doing. Although, Matt had to have had some say in the matter; Quinn probably would have left the witch for dead if it were only up to her. Not to say she didn’t deserve it—or worse—but none of them knew what kind of spell was at work. If Priscilla and Tempest were linked together in it, as they certainly appeared to be, who knew how Priscilla would be affected if something were to happen to Tempest?
Besides, even though no one else could remember it, Tempest and Priscilla could still have been synced to Charlie, just as she and Desmond may have been. The fact that she could no longer feel the bond coursing through her wasn’t enough to take on risks. A deadly fate for one could be a deadly fate for all.
Brushing the tears from her cheeks, Pixie stood tall and took in one long breath. It was loud and shaky and full of uncertainty, but at least it was a start. If this thing had to fall on her shoulders, she was going to try to deal with it head on, just as Priscilla would expect of her.
But first, she would do what she came here for.
She made her way back to the front door and untucked the top folds of the box she’d brought in with her, first withdrawing the item that lay at the peak of the pile. A Bagua mirror. The piece was small and decorated with an intricate, brown web-like symbol at its core. The original artifact was meant to keep negative energy and dark spirits from entering the space it guarded. She set it aside for now and retrieved the next: long, dangling wind chimes that twinkled beautifully when hit just right by the sunlight. The small, blue Nazar amulet followed—which Pixie preferred to refer to as the evil-eye stone—just before a handful of fresh cinnamon sticks. Last, though certainly not least, was a bundle of Quinn’s handcrafted black protection candles.
Pixie didn’t know if any of the objects, other than Quinn’s candles, would be effective or if she was letting superstitions get the best of her, but she didn’t care either way. The fact was, three Primaries were lying defenseless in the cottage of a baron field, and they needed all the protection they could get. The enchantment Priscilla had already cast over the house for Sula was their only saving grace, but Pixie could already feel its effects wearing off and had no way of telling how much longer it would last.
She pulled the hammer and nails out from the bottom of the box and set them aside with the rest of the items, deciding to check in on Sula briefly before getting to work. Sula’s bedroom door opened smoothly, and she left it unlatched behind her. The girl looked as tranquil as ever resting upon the comfortable bed, despite the harsh reality that her life had become.
Paralyzing roses and mysterious spells...magic had a way of making even Pixie doubt its nature at times.
She leaned forward and pulled the fluffy blanket up over Sula’s small shoulders, hovering for a moment before reluctantly parting with the sleeping girl.
Just as she turned her back, a pair of thin yet strong arms quickly wrapped themselves around her, trapping her own arms alongside her body. Pixie’s heart slammed against her chest as she struggled to face her attacker, but the grip was unyielding. Finally spotting the mirror that hung across from her, the thumping in her chest froze completely when she found herself staring into the eyes of Sula herself.
The young Primary was almost just as Pixie remembered her, with her beautiful brunette hair pouring over her shoulders and the gentle curves of her face as angelic as ever. But the eyes...these were not the lively and endearing brown eyes Pixie so clearly recalled. They were dull, all but lifeless, but for a rich, violet streak sporadically flickering through them.
Violet eyes...she had never seen such a thing.
“You’re not Sula—” That was all Pixie managed to squeeze out through the intense pressure of the girl’s grip before her neck was abruptly being crushed. The girl had repositioned one arm so it curled around Pixie’s neck, clenching firmly against her throat while the other fought to keep her still.
Clawing over her shoulder, Pixie desperately tried to ward off the unexpected blow, but her airway was severed without leniency. She watched helplessly as the imposter’s face began to blur around the edges, realizing with despair and horror that she only had seconds before she would lose consciousness completely.
EPILOGUE
There was nothing like it. The
feel of fresh skin, acclimating itself to her with the ease of slipping on a brand new pair of shoes. The sickening scent of lilacs and vanilla, lingering from whatever shampoo was used, made her lips curl in disgust. But she could get past the little things, with a body as marvelous as this one. These legs, still weak, wobbled when she moved them, carefully placing one foot before the other in the dark, narrow tunnel.
This body was indeed more frail than most. Disappointing after such a long wait. The depleted muscles didn’t even have the strength to kill that little redheaded witch, she thought with a frown. At least the girl losing consciousness was enough to allow her to get away. Then again, what else could she expect? Her new bones had been all but rusting away on that bed for three years. She knew this precious body would grow stronger—far stronger.
As would she.
These insufferable, grueling years she’d had to endure, bouncing from body to body. No matter…it was all in the past now. She had finally made it into the body she’d so desired.
The body of a Primary.
Sure, it may have taken three years, but her plan was effective. Stealing Tempest’s roses worked, and the young Primary she wanted had finally become weak enough for her to take over.
She’d thought it was bad having to be in that old woman’s body, but this one wasn’t too far off. Oh, and the child’s was so much worse. The small hands...the short footsteps. That bemused look in the Opal girl’s eyes, though...yes, it was all worth it once they’d finally met each other’s gaze.
You couldn’t break a bond like theirs.
Adella Aldridge knew patience well, and this time it had certainly paid off. She knew how to persevere, to act upon her instincts without hesitation, and she knew, better than anyone, that she would succeed. After all, she always did.
She could glimpse it now, the chestnut cabinet door swinging idly open. It was waiting, calling for her. Even buried beneath an unkempt pile of books, the unhinged safe glimmered through.