by Ariel Hunter
Because, no matter what he said, why would he want a witch whose powers were caged?
Chapter 18
I stared at the dress box on my bed. Callan had dropped it off for me hours ago. I had yet to look at it. I didn’t even know what color it was, but it didn’t really matter either. The least I could do, after all he had done for me, was wear the dress he wanted to see me in on what would likely be our last night together.
Zilla nudged the edge of the box with his nose. I smiled at him, then scooped him up and set him on the nearby white leather purse I would be taking so that he could come with.
“Alright, let’s see what we’re working with here.” I had been to the gala a few times before, since my mom and uncle were on the Council. Each year, it was quite the spectacular affair in a brilliant mansion’s garden courtyard: decor, caterers, entertainment. This would be the first time I would be going with a date.
I took the lid off the box and my breath caught.
Damn . . .
I lifted the dress out of the box. It was royal blue, matching the little agama’s scales exactly. A beautiful array of lace over sheer fabric covered my more intimate bits, and the chiffon mermaid tail would accentuate my curves.
“It’s okay to want to look beautiful, right, Zilla?” I murmured as I slipped into it. I turned to the mirror and my mouth dropped open. It was hella sexy.
The dress was sheer around my waist, just barely a light blue vein of mesh. Geometric patterns of lace wound up to shield my chest and make a collar around my neck, with curls and angles, but they bent inward and around my breasts, leaving my cleavage and shoulders bare. The royal blue chiffon took over right around my thigh, making it still easy to move as the fabric pooled around me but didn’t drag on the floor.
There was a tentative knock on the door.
“I just wanted to check on you. We’re running late. Are you ready?”
“As ready as I can be,” I said.
Callan opened the door to the bedroom and stepped in. He was wearing a black fitted tux, for once, instead of the Witching robes. The cut was simple and sleek, and it fit him to perfection—accentuating those proud shoulders and broad chest. Callan halted in his tracks, and I watched him in the mirror. He breathed in deeply, the sudden rise and fall of his chest and clenched hands reminding me of the way those hands had grabbed me the other night.
“You look stunning,” he managed, after letting his eyes do a full sweep of my form.
My cheeks flushed. “It’s a beautiful dress. Thank you.”
“Mmm,” he hummed gruffly as I turned to face him. “I think the pleasure is all mine getting to see you in it.” His fingers flexed at his side as if he were fighting the urge to unwrap me.
I signaled to Zilla to jump into the purse as I picked it up. Callan cleared his throat and held out his hand.
“I’ll be basically human by the end of the night.” Unless talking to my uncle worked, not that I was going to tell him that right now. I didn’t want him to blame my uncle if I failed.
“It changes nothing,” he said huskily, a promise that part of me wanted to believe. He made me wonder if he could really do it—would really do it. Stand by a witch with no power.
He squeezed my hand tightly and before I could respond, he teleported us out.
We were greeted by an usher as we arrived in the teleport entry room. A grand doorway, festooned with flowers and ribbons, opened up to reveal a great descending staircase into an exotic garden. Tall trees, manicured hedges in the shapes of farm animals, and spectacular magically lit bonfires, burning without smoke, were arrayed throughout the space. Stone bridges passed over winding canals and wove around on terraces. Draped ribbons and tapestries, feathers and lanterns, shells and flowers were arrayed in beautiful arrangements, all in bright reds, oranges, yellows, and white. Resembling flames and the spirit of renewal for welcoming vitality and seeking the summer pastures.
Many guests were already present, all dressed in tux’s and ballgowns just like us. They ambled around the courtyard gardens with grace, laughter, and merriment, as caterers bobbed about with silver trays and dispensed drinks.
The bar. Yes. I want to hit up the bar.
Bu, really, I first need to find my uncle . . .
Callan let go of my hand, looking me up and down one more time. His eyes were sad.
“Notify me when they fetch you for the ceremony, okay? It will just be a few of the head Council. They will take you to a private room to cage your powers. I have a few people I need to check in with.”
I nodded, and then he vanished into the crowd.
Now, where will my uncle be? I looked around the gorgeous greenery, the red sparks of the fire flaring rouge across all attendees in their magnificence. In all likelihood, he would probably be at the bar too . . .
I threaded my way over bridges and through the soft grass to the nearest bar. It was a wide horseshoe. The caterers were coming around with champagne, but if you wanted the hard stuff, you had to come to one of the—
A hand caught my arm. I pulled my other hand back in an immediate reaction to throw pink power. Trent Brecker dropped my arm and held his hands up, laughing. “Whoa, there, I give up. You win. I know better than to take you on in a fight, Marnie McTavish.”
His ice-blue eyes laughed at me. He shook back his curly blonde hair and smoothed his blue tux and then smiled at me. It made him look as fake as a Ken doll. “I was hoping I would see you here before the ceremony. I was told the bad news just yesterday. I can’t believe they’re going through with this on a witch with so much potential.”
“Yes, that’s the Council’s plan.” My eyes were still active around the crowd, trying to find my uncle. A great burst of sparks went up to the left as another bonfire was lit and the crowd cheered.
“But not your plan?” he asked, his eyes shrewd. “Would I be too eager if I offered to be of some use in that plan?”
My eyes narrowed at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I hold quite a bit of sway with the Council. They tend to listen to what I have to say. I’ve done a mission or two for them, you might remember.” He winked, and I wanted to hurl. His charm was missing a few beats this time. I didn’t need to be reminded that he was the all-star Knight warlock of the witching world. The claim of his glory might work on some women, but it wouldn’t work on me. He seemed to sense that as I looked away and shifted gears. “I could vouch for you. If you aligned with me, said that you would be willing to let me be your Mystic, I will stand with you and we can make sure your powers aren’t caged. That would be such a waste. Please, Marnie. Let me help. Let me show you how a gold warlock who knows what he is doing works his magic.”
I knew his charm from the time I met him had been fake, and I had played along then. But now he was pissing me off. Trent ran his finger through the purse strap down my arm, tugging at it gently. I was hyper-aware of Zilla’s presence and hoped the little lizard didn’t budge.
“Callan knows exactly how to work more than just his magic,” I said as I jerked the purse string away. “Some men don’t need flashy magic to impress women.”
Trent forced a smile to his face, but his eyes had darkened.
“You don’t want to miss out on the chance of studying under me.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll find my own way through this.” I stepped around him. “Enjoy the party.” I took advantage of an approaching crowd of rowdy warlocks and slipped in between them, leaving Trent fuming behind me.
Now, where is my Uncle? I didn’t know how much time the Council would wait before calling me in to cage my powers. Surely, they would want to get that done before any of the entertainment started?
I angled toward the bar and, sure enough, there he was. In a white tux with black trim, leaning heavily on the edge. My good ol’ Uncle Wyatt.
I placed my hand on his shoulder. He turned to me and smiled.
“Hey kiddo, you look beautiful.” He leaned in to press a kiss to my cheek. The scent
of alcohol made me lift an eyebrow.
“You look drunk,” I said, barely hiding my grin.
He tipped his Old Fashioned at me. “Just a little buzzed. The night’s still young . . .” His eyes sharpened for a moment, seeming far more sober as he looked me over. Then the happy, easy-going smile came back, and I pushed my unease away.
“But not getting any younger,” I added as I signaled for the bartender to make me one too, and then I leaned onto the bar. I held Zilla and my purse close beside me. “I need your help. I don’t want to cage my powers. If I have to take another Mystic, I will, though I really don’t want it to be Trent . . .”
My uncle looked at me seriously and put down his drink. He shook his head. “Marnie, I’m sorry. I wish there were something I could do. I’m only one member of the Council. Your mom and I, together, spoke with them already, tried to convince them not to take these steps.”
“But if you tried again—”
He was shaking his head. “They had decided before you teleported your class to the ocean that there would be action taken if you did something else. They are worried you will cause some rift that none of them will have the power to cover up or fix.”
Just like what Callan had said: they were worried I was more powerful than them. But that was stupid. Of course I was more powerful. And also more easily manipulated it seemed.
I put my hand in the purse. Zilla nudged my fingers. My heart sank and my chest shook as I took an unsteady breath.
My uncle shook his head again. “If I thought it would help, I’d do something. But no good will come of us speaking to them again. I’m sorry. They are set on this course of action. In their minds, it’s already done.”
I opened then closed my mouth, panic freezing all thought. My uncle held my gaze, then he wrapped his arms around me into a hug.
“It will be okay.” I knew he spoke the words out of reflex as one of my parental figures, but they felt as empty as they did ten years ago when my dad up and left.
I pulled back from him as a trio of Council guards headed our way. They stopped in front of me wordlessly. My uncle squeezed my hand, dropped his arm from my shoulder, and nodded.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
The guards led me away, witches and warlocks stirred from their merriment just for a moment to let us pass, but I wondered if any of them thought to ask themselves what was going to happen to me.
Should I summon Callan? He had told me to . . . but I wasn’t sure wanted him there. I didn’t want him to see me like that. It wouldn’t be like it was before I had magic. The caging was a brutal affair and rarely used anymore. Or so I had been told.
He’d fought for me before I was ever willing to fight for myself. This was my fault, and he didn’t deserve to see me like this when he clearly cared about me—perhaps more than anyone. I knew without a shadow of doubt he would fight for me, no matter the consequences. Unlike my uncle. That’s exactly why he couldn’t be there.
The guards escorted me to a side door in the courtyard and we entered a room that was profoundly blank aside from the Paragon Witch and Wizard, my mother, and three other Council members. There was also a wizened old warlock named Xaro that I knew would be performing most of the ceremony. Callan had told me he had been the one to perform this action for centuries for the Council.
My uncle closed the door behind him.
“Sit on the floor, Ms. McTavish,” Josie said. I obeyed. My heart was racing. I was pulling at the chiffon on my dress. I was having trouble breathing. I clutched my purse to my chest. Maybe if they didn’t ask about him, or didn’t know I had brought him, Zilla wouldn’t leave me.
“I would like to ask that you don’t cage my powers, please. I’ll study with anyone. I’ll do what you—”
“It’s too late for that.” Hiram TallTalker motioned to Xaro. I looked at my mom quickly. She covered her mouth with her hand. Tears were streaming down her face. My uncle went to her side and put his arm around her.
“But—”
“No more talking. We must prepare the caging. You had many chances, Ms. McTavish. This is the consequence of your transgressions.” Josie’s voice was sad, which surprised me, but I supposed it was sad to any witch to see another one have her wings clipped.
I sat sideways on the floor, not in the most graceful position in my gown. They could have gotten me a chair, I grumbled to myself, but the room was just a blank, brown, hollowed-out place that would serve any purpose it needed.
Tonight, it is severing me from half my soul, I realized.
I shook my head, bowing it to my chest, holding my purse tightly, wishing I could have Zilla in my hands as Xaro began to walk in circles around me. He chanted, swelling a purple glow in the room. The tears that were making it hard to swallow threatened to be unleashed and my chest was starting to hurt with holding them back.
I looked up at my uncle and mom where they held each other tight, barely visible through the purple glow that was hovering around me.
I can’t believe this is happening.
The purple began to shape itself into a cage around me, bars winding up around my body. Then, one of the tall spines of the cage narrowed into a point above my head. I stared up at it, tears leaking from my eyes.
The purple shot down through my face, shuddered through my body, and when it exited my stomach, it pulled with it an immense swath of pink magic, forcibly tearing it from the source of my soul.
I screamed.
The pink was ripped from within me, peeling away like bones being torn from my skeleton.
Another bar of the purple cage made a point and slammed down through my skull, reaching in and ricocheting back out with a bundle of my pink magic.
I screamed again, grabbing at the ground, my breath coming in gasps, as the pink was forcibly removed from inside of me.
It happened again and again as I writhed on the floor, clawing in pain at the nothingness of the carpet that would offer no salvation. Finally, I curled up into a little ball, clutching at my purse, not even sure if Zilla was still in it, blubbering tears rolling down my face as the final prong of purple plunged into me and then slithered out with the last tether of my pink magic.
The pink was roiling in a cloud of sparking fury in the air of the room, shrouded in a purple cloak, white and red sparks rocketing off within its binds.
Xaro stood over me a moment more, then held his hands up, far apart, then clapped them together. With a huge whoosh, the purple condensed, collapsing my pink magic into a miniscule speck, a bellow of air rushing through the room as it was extinguished.
“Where is it?” I croaked out, pushing myself back up to a seated position, smearing my tears across my face, blinking against their blur. It’s empty . . . my soul is empty . . . “Where did it go?”
“It’s caged within,” Josie said. “Completely inaccessible. It can only be unbound in a different ceremony. If that time ever comes.”
I stared at my shaking hands. The depth of the vacuum inside me could only be described as the agony of experiencing all your insides hollowed out.
Zilla . . . I reached for my purse in a daze, afraid to look inside.
Explosions rocked the room. The Council staggered to the side. I looked at the door that we had entered through. Screams snuck through the crack underneath.
The Paragons looked at each other in alarm, then rushed for the door. My mom and uncle came to my side quickly. The Council members flung open the door and I could smell smoke.
Another bomb went off, rocking the room, throwing my mom against me as she held me tight.
Where is Callan? Where is he?
My mom held my hand. I tried to focus on her. “Marnie, I have to help. We are being attacked.”
“Lila, go, I’ll get her to safety.” My uncle lifted me up, and I grabbed for my purse as smoke filled the room. I put my hand in, panicked . . . terrified of what I might not find . . .
Zilla nuzzled my fingertips.
Despite the att
ack going on, calm suffused me because Zilla was still here. My powers may be caged, but they weren’t truly gone.
My uncle brushed past the Councilmembers in the doorway, pulling me along pathways strung with ribbons that were now on fire. He skipped us up steps to a long, lone hallway.
“Marnie, I am going to teleport us, okay?” He put me down, steadying me as I stood. I nodded, my mind slowly clearing. I looked out at the gardens and courtyards, stunned that the gala was under attack. Then my uncle’s strong, sure hand was in mine, and he whipped us away from the scene.
Smoke gradually cleared from before my eyes. Still dazed I reached out for something, anything—
My hand brushed against metal.
Fire shot through me, burning away the fuzziness in my brain. A light breeze shifted some of the haze and I could see.
I was on a raised platform that swayed a little, hanging from a chain high above, and all around me were the circular binds of a rigid cage, burning hot.
It was like my vision. I was inside the cage from my vision.
It was real.
I had been captured by the Collector.
Chapter 19
A figure moved through the mist and then it cleared enough for me to see my Uncle Wyatt, standing in front of me, on the outside of my cage. His white and black trimmed tux a bright light in the smokiness of the cavern. I wanted to call out to him for help, and then I realized . . .
He is the one that put me here.
I leaned forward on my knees, grabbing for the bars of the cage, pulling back just in time, remembering the searing heat that awaited me if I touched them.
“Not you,” I yelled through the grip of shock that threatened to choke off my words entirely. How could he do this? “How can you be the Collector, Uncle? How can you do this to me?”
My Uncle laughed as he strode slow circles around my cage, the haze wafting around him, clinging to him as he moved. I shifted to follow his stride as he walked, bolstering my still shaking, magic-bound body with heaving deep breaths. I grit my teeth and used my fists to prop myself against the iron floor of the cage. The blue material of my gown was getting smeared with rust, the lace and chiffon rubbed rough against the harshness of tarnished metal that had been forged centuries ago.