Witch's Brew - Spellspinners 1 (Spellspinners of Melas County)

by Heidi R. Kling

“Rose is my middle name,” I said.

  “It suits you.”

  Our faces were so close, we were practically breathing the words.

  “Lily, I…I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

  “Neither do I.”

  The moon beamed in slivers through the glass panes. He brushed a dark lock of hair out of his eyes, which shone through the night like sapphires. Suddenly, it was quiet outside. Too quiet. He turned inward again in case the boys were near his room.

  What would you be doing if you weren’t here?

  What do you mean?

  What do you do for fun, in the evenings?

  Oh. Um. Go to the beach maybe?

  At night?

  We have bonfires sometimes.

  Remembering what I normally did felt strange. Reality didn’t seem real anymore.

  “So if I went down to the beach, say tomorrow night, I would find you?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Possibly or definitely?”

  “Definitely.”

  Loud footsteps rang outside his door. Then a pounding of knuckles on wood. “Logan! Dude, you in there?”

  Don’t make a sound. “Just a sec!” Logan called out.

  “Finally. We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Dude, I hate to break it to you but something’s wrong with your dog.”

  His mouth curled down at me.

  “One minute,” he said.

  The doorknob rattled. “What do you have against your door?”

  I closed my eyes and spun a spell that made a flow of water sound like the shower.

  Logan caught on immediately. “Can’t hear you, Chance! In the shower.”

  “Alright, I’ll wait. But hurry your ass up. Somebody found a long blonde hair, too. We’re thinking it might be those witches you were talking to at the Brew, raiding the place.”

  I turned the shower noise up louder, and Logan mumbled something inaudible.

  Chance didn’t move from his guard spot outside the door. Did he suspect I was in here?

  I winced and Logan shook his head quietly. Don’t make a peep. Have you ever levitated before?

  I’ve been practicing, but I’m not very good at it.

  This is just like levitating only backwards. Here’s the spell.

  He crossed over to his desk, and flipped open a book. Then he ran his fingers over the words, and together we read through the chant in our binding minds.

  The energy in the room was palpable. The pillowcases rippled on his bed, the hangers in his closet rattled. He took my hand in his.

  How is this working? I mean, Orchid and I spin spells together, but she’s a witch and you’re a…

  “What?”

  “Shh!”

  He looked so earnest, I thought about bringing it up again. The idea that he might be the Chosen One. The link to a peace treaty. But the timing wasn’t right. Not yet.

  What if I was wrong?

  You up for it? he asked, his eyes flashing.

  What do we have to lose?

  He wasn’t going anywhere, and I had to get home somehow. I gestured toward the barricaded door, while Logan climbed up to his windowsill, and braced himself against the interior frame with one arm. The moonlight captured the ink now swirling down his forearm, the curious Celtic ropes, the fascinating, bold swirls and designs.

  I like that one. I dared to touch the ink as he pulled me up.

  The dragon.

  It’s awesome.

  Thanks.

  I was still clutching his forearm. Under my skin, the dragon’s fire began to glow. The wind blew through our clothes, our hair, chilling me to the bone. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him.

  “You scared?” he mumbled.

  “A little.”

  “When our hands touch repeat this mantra:

  bones light as summer’s feathers

  floating weightless winter’s snow

  Repeat it until we’re on the ground.”

  “That will work?”

  His eyes bore into mine. “Two is always stronger than one.”

  “But what if it doesn’t work?”

  I flashed on the signs to look for in the chosen one: youth, breathing…and flight.

  Flight.

  “Don’t worry,” he said confidently. “We got this.”

  Maybe we did.

  Clutching each other’s hands, we stepped out the window and into the night.

  Suddenly we were floating down, down toward the grass, light as a feather, cool as the first snow of winter.

  “Wow,” I said, as my socked feet mashed into the damp grass, “that was amazing.”

  “Told you,” he said. “You did good, you know, for a witch.”

  “Funny,” I said, playfully elbowing him.

  He glanced around, making sure none of the warlocks were close by, before he approached the sleeping dogs that had just began to stir. He spoke to it in a low, sweet voice. “Hey there, big guy. Good boy, Kujo. ”

  “He’s waking up.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Fitting name by the way.”

  “I know, right? I’ve had him since I was eight. I sort of love the guy.”

  “That explains it. I’ve had my cat Tabitha since I was eight. Something about the bonds you make as a kid.”

  “Yep. So you can see why I was pissed? What if I snuck onto your property and poisoned her catnip or some such?”

  I gasped, and slugged him hard in the shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Ouch!”

  “Don’t even joke about hurting Tabitha.”

  “Let me guess, Tabitha is a black cat?”

  “Black as night, Mr. Warlock Sir.”

  “OOOOOOOOOHMMMMYYYYYGODDESSES. Can you two shut up already? A crazy gang of warlocks is combing the grounds looking for you two. And, Lil! Two minutes until mossy-camo is GONE. If the Orange Beast gets towed, or those crazy lox get a hold of it, it’s your ass.”

  “I gotta go.”

  “I guess so.”

  I sighed, and he tentatively touched my elbow, then backed off again, like he wanted to say something else.

  “Are you kidding me?” Orchid called from over the fence, “Parting is such sweet sorrow, blah-freaking-blah! We all know how your doomed love story ends, so Lily, can we please GO?”

  “Orchid, shhh!”

  I turned to Logan. “Sorry about not bringing your amulet. Here, keep mine for collateral until I can return yours.”

  I opened up his hand and placed the stone into it, then closed his fingers around its glow.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I insist.” He leaned over so I could whisper in his ear, “Find out more about it if you can. And I’ll get yours to you soon. I swear. Sorry about him, too.” I pointed down at the dog that was now licking my ankle. “I’m sorry, Logan, but your dog is disgusting.”

  “I’m a warlock,” he said, with a half-grin, his eyes flashing through the night “And you’re the one who came looking for me, remember?”

  A sound rang out across the lawn, the shrill sound of metal clashing against metal. A blast, hollers, and then smoke streaking across the night sky.

  “They’re coming,” Logan said, “You guys better get out of here.”

  His eyes ran over my eyes, down my nose and paused on my lips.

  He wanted to kiss me.

  I wanted him to. Man, did I want him to.

  Another flash and boom. More yelling.

  They were close.

  Standing on my tiptoes I kissed him quickly on the cheek; then before I could note his reaction, I scurried over the fence and booked ass back to Orchid’s truck on feet so light I felt I was flying.

  Logan

  “You seem to be in a far better mood,” Chance hissed as they walked back to their rooms after dropping Kujo off at his kennel.

  “Do I?”

  “Uh, yes...Logan…are you sure you’re in control here? I know she was here, and I know you w
ere hiding her. She’s not one of us. You have no reason to protect her. You aren’t allowed to protect her.”

  “I don’t care,” Logan said, surprised by the conviction in his voice.

  When he saw her, it was better than surfing. Better than Breathing. Her being in his room tonight, then practicing magic together…

  “Uh-oh, dude,” Chance said, sagging visibly, “he’s back.”

  Logan broke out of his Lily daze and saw a black BMW in the spotlight shadows of the driveway—its license plate reading 1Hemlox1. A familiar rotten feeling spread through his gut.

  “This is some welcoming party,” Father sneered, leaning against his luxury vehicle. The moon streaked through the clouds, highlighting his pallid skin. “What are you boys still doing up?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Excited about the Gleaning. How was your trip, Master?” Chance asked.

  “Excellent, Chance, thank you. I’m cautiously…optimistic about the future. Business is tight right now with the economy in such a mess, but when you have a good product like we do, there is always a market.”

  Jacob’s red-rimmed eyes twinkled mischievously as he looked the boys over. Logan thought he might tell them more; he looked like he wanted to let them in on his dangerous secret.

  Logan had always wondered about his company. The factories they kept overseas. The true use of the pharmaceuticals they manufactured. For the most part, Jacob was pretty tight-lipped about the operation. But he was also a braggart, and when he’d sucked a few too many back, on the rare occasion he let himself indulge in something other than magic, a few secrets tended to leak out.

  “If anyone could do it, Hemlox can.” Logan hoped Jacob didn’t detect the air of mockery in his voice. The irony that the warlocks’ multibillion-dollar-a-year company was named after a medieval potion used by witches wasn’t lost on Logan.

  “Let me help you with your bags, Master,” Chance said, walking toward the trunk of the car. The way Chance’s voice changed around Jacob, the way he jumped at the drop of his liquid red eyes to do his bidding made Logan physically sick.

  It hadn’t bothered him before.

  He felt the amulet pulse.

  As if it was now egging Logan on.

  What?

  Then, Father held out his hand, physically stopping Chance in his tracks. “That won’t be necessary, Chance. Save your energy, son.”

  Chance bumped into an invisible wall of energy, a force field that Father had created.

  Sardonic humor etched into Jacob’s sneer. “Remember the Gleaning coming right up. The Congression wants a guaranteed triumph. I want wins in every category. Nothing sloppy. You boys need to rise to the next level. The witches must be defeated this time around. No exceptions.”

  Chance nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  Logan clenched his fist in the shadows, and dared to ask, “Do you have the list yet, Father?”

  Jacob’s head slowly turned toward Logan. Parting his lips, his forked tongue flickered out of his cracked white mouth. “You are asking for the witch’s name?”

  “Inquiring if you have the list, yes.”

  “Why is it of interest to you, Logan, which one you fight?” His fingers, like a demon’s claw, scratched through the night air. “They are all the same.”

  Logan pictured Lily’s face, and then quickly erased it before Father could catch it.

  No, they certainly weren’t all the same.

  Catching Chance’s look of warning, he kicked a rock, planned for a safe retreat. For Chance’s sake if not for Logan’s. Angering Jacob, questioning Jacob, never ended well for the boys. “Just curious is all.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

  Father replying with mundane clichés? Just one of the best things about his winning personality.

  Jacob’s eyes were focused on Logan’s. He took a step toward him, snake-like in his movements, red eyes practically dripping in scornful warning. “At first you may be disarmed by the witches. Outwardly they are lovely, and their charms rival even Cleopatra’s. But remember, boys”—Jacob’s crimson eyes darted from Logan to Chance and back to Logan—“their beauty, their kindness, it is all a facade. They are weak and wicked. They only want to blend in with humans. They refuse to want more. To be more. It’s a disgrace that we mighty warlocks have to rely on their tainted magic at all. If I may let you boys in on a little secret?” He paused for dramatic effect. “We may not have to rely on it for much longer.”

  With the rage of emotion, the cadence of Jacob’s breath sped up, then sputtered and jerked as if his voice was a skipping CD. Whiffs of black gas trailed from his nose. Logan took a step back in a vain attempt to duck out of the way before the putrid smell could hit him.

  Jacob’s bony shoulders slumped as he rested a weary claw-like hand on his own forehead, mopping up thick, yellow sweat.

  Logan caught Chance’s sidelong concerned glance.

  Father’s health was getting worse. That was clear. It was impossible to hide his condition from the public eye, so he stayed hidden here at the Academy, only traveling via his private jet, and then, only was in the presence of his family or the Congression.

  Only in the presence of others like him.

  At night his coughing was even louder, scratchier. Sometimes he coughed so much he heaved, which turned Logan’s stomach. Jacob was getting pickier with his eating too—refusing most meat and vegetables, relying solely on hard-boiled eggs he’d swallow whole.

  It was as if he was losing his humanity entirely.

  Logan worried about Father more than he let on. As confusing and volatile as their relationship was, he cared about him. He would be interested to see at the Stones if the other members of the Congression were suffering from a similar fate. This rapid aging and disease that seemed to hit warlocks at middle age.

  Jacob had looked young and spry only five years ago. Biologically, Logan knew he couldn’t be any older than 45. But now, with his watery eyes, fragile frame and never-ending cough, he looked like he was verging on ninety.

  “Master? Are you all right?” Chance asked when the coughing fit subsided. Jacob didn’t like to be touched as it was happening. The boys were instructed by Mother to treat him the same as they always had. To Jacob, weakness was worse than death.

  To be pitied was the ultimate form of weakness.

  Jacob turned his palms down toward the earth, and laughed. A wicked, pointed laugh, as he pulled evil from the underworld, into his broken limbs and out his twisted mouth. Onto his sons.

  Hunkering down, Logan sucked in a breath of clean air and held it in his lungs. He watched Chance stumble back and fall, immersed in a cloud of gas. Now Chance was the one coughing, gagging, as Crimson-level poison seeped into his lungs.

  Starting to feel lightheaded from holding his breath, Logan dove toward Chance. He yanked off his own t-shirt, and held it to his friend’s face. “Breathe into this.”

  Too late. Chance’s eyes were red, rolling back.

  “Chance! Father, stop this! You’re hurting him!”

  Speaking was foolish. The gas seeped into Logan, and now, he too was gasping from the spellbinding poison.

  One of the older boys, Blain, had warned him once long ago. If Jacob ever unleashes the red ash, you must focus on something beautiful. Something good. So it can’t take complete hold over you.

  Lily.

  Gasping, Logan concentrated until he saw Lily’s creamy face, her half-moon eyes, her hair flowing over his open palms.

  Lily.

  Chance’s body hunched over into the dirt. Logan wanted to scream, but couldn’t lose the last of the pure oxygen in his lungs. Then Lily’s image in the air, in his mind—he couldn’t tell the difference anymore in all this red fog—morphed into a red-eyed, snake-haired mythical creature that snarled at him.

  A witch from a childhood fairytale. A wicked witch from a little boy’s nightmare.

  Father grinned at the gasping boys, the sick-spell from moments ago passed. Pleased, their Maste
r’s forked tongue flicked from his mouth as he sputtered red-gassed spit down on the asphalt. It hit the ground like black soot. “Don’t ever ask me about witches. It’s never a good idea. Oh well,” he said cheerfully, “nothing ventured, nothing gained. At least now you’ll be prepared for battle, boys.”

  Logan smelled smoke and had a vision of a child’s tree house—tall and alone in the middle of a thick, dark forest. He heard screaming. Realizing it was his own voice, Logan jerked himself awake with a start.

  Father’s spell. It must still be in his system. Logan felt worse than he ever had, even after the days where he spent too much time with the euca leaves. He was a mess. His head pounded, his gut ached, and his muscles were sore.

  Logan moaned, rubbed his head hard, deep into his temples with his bony knuckles, trying to dig the horrid nightmares away.

  A pounding at the door reverberated in his throbbing head.

  “Go away!” He lay back down on his bed. The pounding grew louder. “What?”

  The door opened. Logan rolled over, pulling a black t-shirt over his head and yanking up some sweats over his boxers.

  Chance.

  “Shut the door.” Logan listened for anyone who might be eavesdropping, before he lowered his voice into a scratchy whisper and said, “We need to look for a counterspell. Father is banking on winning this fight. After yesterday, I don’t think he’d stop at anything to complete whatever he’s up to with the Congression.”

  Chance nodded. “I thought of that too.”

  “And…” Logan fell back. “Chance. What if I hurt Lily?”

  “Cheese, listen. You have to get that witch out of your head. You look like shit. Get in the shower.”

  Logan rubbed his head. “Can I trust you, Chance? Really trust you?”

  “Of course.”

  Logan dug into his pocket, pulled out the amulet.

  “You still have her amulet?”

  “I think it protects me. It’s like…it’s alive or something. I can’t explain it, but it pulses and gets hot, and it feels like its part of me, like it’s communicating with me.”

  “It is an amulet,” Chance said.

  “Yes, but mine never did anything. It just sat there, you know, like a stone.”

  “Don’t you pay attention in classes, Cheese? Amulets protect people from danger, charms to ward off evil spirits and such—