Then, like a slap against my head, an image of a man in a white coat slammed into me. The one I’d held by the throat, watching his head dangle. And another man, with an accent. Without conscious thought my fingers went to rub my neck and shoulder, where once I’d felt scar tissue. Now even that was gone.
What the Sam hell was going on?
“We going to get out of here?” Sabina nudged me. “Or you going to keep meditating.”
Freaking out was more like it. So far my questions raised more questions than answers. Which wasn’t getting us anywhere. But I would get answers and soon. What happened to me? Would the IR team help me? And how was I going to find Bran? And those were just for starters.
I rose to my feet, glad the door at my back helped to keep me upright.
“You got a plan now?” Sabina asked, her voice sounding wary.
“Don’t have a plan,” I admitted, stepping away and turning toward the door. “But I do have an idea.”
If Sabina’s face weren’t so exhausted, I’d say her eyebrows raised, but at least she’d joined me facing the door.
“Good.” I hadn’t asked for her help. I could use it, but no telling what kind of state she’d be in if she pulled magic. Or even how much magic she could pull. Some witches were more focused on herbs and potions. True magic was way out of their league.
“What’re you going to do?” she asked, chewing her lip.
“Try a door-opening spell.”
“You mean like in Harry Potter?”
I gave her a get-real look. “No, more like this.” I closed my eyes, slowed my breathing and spread my hands palm forward toward the door. My Latin was rusty but the worst I could do was blow us off the stairs and back into the pool. At least that’s what I hoped was the worst.
I’d only used this spell once, years ago, to break into the boys’ locker room at good ol’ Terreton Jr. High. It worked like a charm then. Well, except for setting off the fire alarm, when it backfired just a smidge, and sent a tower of black smoke barreling down the hall.
Best not to think about that too much.
I took one more deep breath and started.
“Conivolus. Conivola. Conivolum.
Closed. Hidden. Covered.
Adopertus. Adoperta. Adopertum.
Veiled. Disguised. Hiding.
Clausus. Clausa. Clausum.
Impervious to feeling. Locked in. Enclosed.
Aperio. Aperire. Aperui.
Uncover. Open. Disclose.
To thine change. Through my hands.
Dissero. Disserere. Disseravi.
Unfasten. Unbar. Unlock.”
I pushed everything I had at the spell. Which wasn’t a lot. It took a few seconds before we heard a loud rumble, followed by a thud, then the door squeaked open.
Maybe I was getting better at this magic stuff. Or a hint more consistent. Wasn’t that like life, just when you decided to chuck something because you’d never get it and return to the way you’d always been, only then did all the practicing start paying off. Maybe now I could feel like I wasn’t such a loser as a witch. Being a shaman, which I’d barely touched understanding, was a whole other issue.
“Wow, you’ve got to teach me that.” Sabina uttered a low whistle.
I was too busy scrambling to wrap my fingers around the door edge to wonder if she had learned any magic before she was kicked out of her home. First things first though.
It took the two of us to wedge the heavy-assed door open enough to squeeze through.
“Now what?” Sabina demanded as I followed her and before I got my bearings. Once I did I bit back a groan.
We’d left a wide-open area for a claustrophobic-inducing concrete shaft filled with the fire-red glow. There was a small tunnel leading off of it at about thigh height and a second tunnel, straight above us with a rusty ladder that looked taped together. It led up, way up to where the red light pulsed through some scattered holes. Manhole cover? Probably.
I craned my neck as far back as it would go to judge the length we’d have to climb and the chances of the ladder surviving two of us scrambling up it. Not good.
But we’d already survived worse and were still kicking.
“My guess is one of us at a time can give the ladder a shot.”
Sabina was giving me her patented yeah-right look. “And if it crumbles?”
“Then the other one catches.” I didn’t say it’d be a perfect plan. With a quick glance at the cramped tunnel I added, “If the ladder breaks, we can always start crawling through the low tunnel as a fallback option.”
“Why not—”
“Because anything horizontal is going to keep us down here. The streets are above us so that makes the most sense.”
“Got it.” I could see her weighing the odds before she asked, “Who goes first?”
“Since we don’t have a coin to toss and you’re lighter than I am, you head up.”
“And if I can’t get the grate or cover or whatever is at the top open, what then?”
“Then we deal with it.”
Was I ever this pessimistic as a teen? Probably, but sheesh. I added, “If I go and break the ladder we’re down to hands and knees through that.” I pointed at the tunnel. “You want that for sure, be my guest.”
Either my suggestion, or tone, got to her as she snarled, “I need a boost up.”
I cupped my hands, bent my knees, and hoped I had it in me to lift her high enough. I had no idea how I’d do the same maneuver on my own, but one problem at a time.
“Come on,” I snarled, feeling like déjà vu all over again. “The sooner you go the sooner we can get out of here.”
She sucked in a deep breath and used my shoulders to steady herself as she slipped her left foot into my hands. I was as surprised as she was that we didn’t both topple.
When I was sure she was as stable as she was going to get I counted to three and pushed upwards.
Must have had more in me than I expected as I thrust her high enough she easily reached the lowest rung of the ladder.
“Wish me luck,” she mumbled, her words echoing in the tube surrounding her. It’d be a tight fit for my shoulders given she barely cleared an inch on any side.
I swear each rung she climbed took as much out of me as her as I stood there willing her upward. At one point she hesitated, her breathing ragged, her heart near bursting as the ladder shuddered, but didn’t break.
All I could do was watch the light from the top become dimmer and dimmer as her shape blocked it.
Step. Pull. Step.
“Doing a great job,” I shouted from below.
“Fuck you,” came the weak response.
I didn’t blame her. We were both running on fumes.
Step. Pull. Step.
“Almost there,” I called out, no longer looking up to give my neck a break.
Step. Pull. Step.
I was surprised when I heard her shaky, “I’m here.”
Like a shot of high-dose adrenaline, I wanted to jump up and high-five her. “What’s up there?” I called when she got very quiet.
No answer.
“Sabina, talk to me.”
I heard a short laugh and not the ha-ha funny kind.
“What is it?” I called out again, half-tempted to jump on that ladder and shake some spirit back into her.
“The world’s heaviest manhole cover,” she said, so quietly I had to strain to hear her.
“Can you move it?”
I know, I know, it was a stupid question so I wasn’t surprised when she bit off a snort. “If I could, do ya think I’d just be hangin’ here for the fun of it?”
Since I assumed that was a rhetorical question I didn’t bother answering. So we had two options. I’d follow her up the ladder and hope it didn’t break with the weight of the two of us on it or try a propulsion spell on the iron cover. Except she was between it and me, which meant I stood as good a chance of shooting her up and against the cover as I did of exploding it off.<
br />
So I guessed we were down to one option.
“Hold on, I’m coming,” I shouted, taking a running leap to reach the first metal rung.
Chapter Twenty-seven
I swear that climb was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Okay, maybe not as bad as fighting grimples, djinns, or crazy-assed Weres, but close. Each step creaked and shuddered, making my muscles tense, sweat running down my temples. I could hear Sabina’s heartbeat escalating the closer I came. And I’d been wrong about it being tight, the space was impossibly close-fitting, until I was sure my shirt and skin were rubbed raw by the time I pulled myself up beside her.
“Feel like a damn sausage,” she mumbled as I caught my breath.
And that was before I told her, “You’re going to have to squeeze yourself as far as possible against one side.”
“Why?”
“You want a propulsion spell hitting you full force from a few inches away, be my guest.”
“You don’t have to be snotty,” she said, but at least she was now leaning as far as she could away from me.
“You so haven’t seen snotty.” Yet.
I had to let go of the ladder, bracing my back against the far wall to free my clammy hands, steadying myself with my wet shoes propped against the metal rungs. Only when I was sure I wasn’t going to jettison down the tube I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath, one smelling of rain layered with gas and oil, two scents I never thought I’d be happy to guzzle in.
Focusing, I began the chant I’d used what felt like hours ago.
“Musca. Moveō. Volō.”
A slight breeze frothed in the tube.
“You sure this is going to work?” Sabina asked.
“Quiet.”
Concentrate.
“But what if—”
“Keep chatting and we’ll never get out of here.”
She sniffed in response. That I could ignore.
“Volō. Volō. Volō. Rumpō.
Musca. Volō. Rumpō.
Volō. Rumpō.”
I wondered why the magic felt so sluggish? So hard to tap into? I know I hadn’t used magic a lot in my life until I’d joined the team, but it’d never felt so diluted. Or maybe this was the mercurial response of a gift I’d never wanted?
“You are more than you were,” a woman’s voice whispered against me.
Scared the willies out of me as I jerked, glad the tube was so damn tight there wasn’t a lot of room to jump out of my skin.
Mom? I said mentally, not wanting to freak out Sabina, or myself, anymore. Where are you?
“I’ve never left you,” she answered. A response slicing me from the inside out. Now was not the time to tell her she sure as hell did leave me, and my brothers, and my dad. Instead I shook my head, willing myself to ignore her voice, and timing, so I could concentrate on the spell. That and getting out of this hole.
I ignored her presence, and swallowed past the deep lump in my throat, as I calmed my voice.
“Medius. Damnum. Rumpō.
Damnum. Rumpō.
Damnum absque injuria.”
The manhole cover started gyrating like the lid on a boiling pot. Only then did I realize that if we were beneath a busy street I could be shooting a heavy metal disc into oncoming traffic, and given the size of some of the compact European cars on the street, that could be lethal.
Too late. Like a geyser pulled from a deep well, magic swelled up, thrusting the cover upwards, as a champagne cork released from its pressure.
“Yahoo!” Sabina shouted, pulling herself upward to suck in fresh air.
Until I grabbed her shirt and held her back.
“What the—”
“Check for cars,” I warned, feeling like the fuddy-duddy parental unit, so I added, “I’m not going to pick up the pieces from a car ripping off your head.”
“Fine, Mom,” she shot back.
No way had I ever been that snotty as a teen. Okay, maybe once. Or twice. Or—never mind.
I watched as Sabina timidly poked the top of her head out, then shot up. She pulled herself out of the tunnel so fast I didn’t even have time to hear if it was safe.
Must be.
I followed close behind her, but more judiciously, something being an IR agent taught me. But even before I reached the opening, I could feel raindrops washing against my face.
Sweet, wet, clean rain.
A low moan of pure ecstasy escaped before I caught myself and lifted my head beyond the hole's rim.
A cobblestone street, but it looked like a narrow back alley more than a main thoroughfare. There were no people about though I could make out the rustle of a cat pawing through a trashcan somewhere nearby and the scamper of rats against stone. Since when had I possessed hyper hearing?
I didn’t waste a lot of thoughts on the issue as the source of the malevolent red light flashed into my eyes. A pizza joint with a neon red sign that spun and flashed stronger than any beacon warning system I’d ever seen. That was it? I’d been following the SOS siren-call of a pizza light? How sad was that?
“You coming?” Sabina was already melding into the shadows of the nearest buildings.
“Yeah.” I heaved myself out, wondering if I should try to find the manhole cover and replace it before some person or car fell into the opening. But as I glanced around, I couldn’t see the disc. Garbage cans and one huge dumpster, cardboard piles, windows with bars across them and scarred metal doors. It could have been any dive area of any major city.
“What are you doing now?” Sabina was gaining a lot more attitude now that she wasn’t dependent on my saving her scrawny ass.
“Leaving the hole open is an accident waiting to happen.”
I swear she groaned, then ran around the corner and disappeared. No good bye, no nothing. Of all the ungrateful, self-absorbed witches …
“Here.” She crept up behind me as I was pulling myself to my feet. I swore she did it just to see me jump.
“What—” Then I saw what was in her hand. A traffic cone. Two actually. “Where’d you get those?”
“It takes about three seconds to find someplace falling apart in this city. You find one in the process of being fixed and voila, warning cones.”
“But doesn’t that leave another place for innocents to get hurt if these cones aren’t there?”
“Duh! I only took two. The French always use six times more than they need. As if the more cones the more they must be working, when the exact opposite is true.”
Since I wasn’t here to get into a discussion of the pros and cons of the French work ethic, I grabbed the cones, positioned them and went to wipe my hands on my jeans only to realize they’d get dirtier not cleaner. The rain was helping a little in rinsing some muck off us, but not enough.
First things first though. “You have any idea where we are?”
“I’m thinking Montmarte but can’t be sure. Around on the street you can tell we’re looking down on the city and we’re not that far away so that’s my best guess.”
“Wouldn’t it be busier?” I looked around at the backs of what might be closed bakeries and small mom and pop shops.
“Not if it’s early or late enough. Most places shut down by two a.m., and the bakeries don’t start until closer to four so it’s probably between two-thirty and four.”
“I’m impressed.” And I was. I liked her logic.
“So what now?” She cocked her head to the side like a bird waiting for crumbs.
“Now you go your way and I go mine.” Yeah, it was brutal but to the point. The longer this kid hung out with me, the more chance she had of getting in the middle of more than she could handle.
“That’s it? Kicking me to the curb?”
“For your own good.” Damn, now I sounded like my dad right before he grounded me for months on end.
Exhaustion. That was part of it. Feeling lost and disconnected didn’t help. I had no phone. No money. No way of even knowing if my team was still at the safe house in Paris
. My dad was, or had been here, but where?
One problem at a time.
First problem—Sabina. What about her?
“Don’t even think of ditching me now,” she growled as if she could read my mind.
“You’d be safer far away from me.” That was the truth. Until I could figure out who had nabbed me and why, I was putting anyone around me at risk. It was one thing to ask a fellow IR team member for help. Another to bring a civilian into the mix, even if she was a witch, or wanna-be witch. On the other hand, if I kept her close, at least for a short period of time, I might find out more about who took her and that could lead to who took me. Convoluted, I know, but it made sense to me.
Besides, I hated the thought of her being alone with a target painted on her. If they had nabbed her once, what was going to keep them from grabbing her again?
“Come on, then,” I said. “But I’m making no promises. I know some people staying at a place that shouldn’t be far from here. If they are still there, and it’s a big if, at the least we could get some grub, change our clothes and find a place to catch up on sleep. Then you’re on your own.” I meant that last part. The team, or Ling Mai, was in a better position to keep her safe.
“Sounds great,” she said with more enthusiasm then she’d showed about anything so far.
I decided to use the rambling walk through cobblestone streets while Paris woke up around us as a chance to ask a few more questions. Hadn’t someone said knowledge was power?
“So how much do you know about witchcraft?” I asked, obviously more wiped out than I realized as I jumped right to the sixty-four thousand dollar question instead of leading up to it.
Sabina actually stopped and cut me a withering look. “What kind of stupid question is that?”
I scrubbed my face with my hands, forgetting they were not that clean. Yuck! “Look, I’m not trying to pry. I’m trying to figure out what the bad guys might have wanted from you that I also have. If we can figure that out, we might know who they are or what they want.”
It was a long shot. It wasn’t like there was a Witches-R-Us hierarchy to consult. Some witches followed certain practices or beliefs and others crossed the lines. You could be witch-born, like I was, a Celtic witch, a kitchen witch, a Dianic witch, a Strega witch, a hedge witch and that was the tip of the iceberg.
INVISIBLE FATE BOOK THREE: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) Page 12