Wish Hunter (The Savannah River Series Book 1)

by Hero Bowen

  “Good,” Kaleena said as she started the car.

  Nadia’s mind raced. Both Grace and Basha were on the run now, and she had a feeling she knew what Basha would do while lying low. Her grandmother had made it clear she wanted to knock Kaleena off her perch, and when Basha set her mind to something, nothing on Earth could stop her from succeeding—no matter who she had to step on to get it done.

  If Kaleena ever found out Basha was alive, she’d know Nadia had lied—and then Nadia would truly be seeing nothing but darkness. Plus, Kaleena would surely be keeping a closer eye on her little sister from now on, knowing that Nadia was aware of the phrasing of her first wish. But at least Nadia now knew for certain that being the “perfect spy” didn’t mean she had to always tell Kaleena the truth.

  As the Tesla pulled away from the curb, Nadia stared out the window at the flames devouring the remains of her home. She’d grown up within those walls, had her first steps, her first heartbreaks, her first everything there. A shudder climbed through her—whatever Kaminski family bonds had existed had burned to cinders when Kaleena set the mansion on fire. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. As Nadia had learned tonight, the foundations of the home might’ve seemed sturdy, but it had collapsed long before the fire consumed it.

  It’s not all doom and gloom, she reminded herself. At least now she had a hope of reviving Nick. Regardless of what Grace or Kaleena thought, it wasn’t impossible. Basha was living proof of that, and Nadia had the journal down the back of her jeans that would hopefully show the way. If—no, when—she brought him back, she’d get her answers at last. She’d ask him who killed him and why, filling in all the blanks that had tortured her for a year.

  And I’ll ask you what you wished for. That was a fresh blank she’d have to deal with, but once Nick was back where he belonged, beside her, there wouldn’t be any more unanswered questions.

  Chapter Thirty

  The drowsy halogens of the wishing cellar added ten tons to Nadia’s already heavy lids. She tried to focus on the two smooth wooden jars on the circular table that acted as mediators between her and her sister, but every couple of seconds, the wish traps blurred into amorphous blobs.

  Thanks to the smoke inhalation—plus all the towering emotional peaks and gutting troughs in the last twenty-four hours—Nadia felt close to collapsing. If it hadn’t been for the rushing fizz of gaining two potent wishes from Kaleena, she’d have passed out already.

  “I don’t see why we had to do this now.” Nadia’s jaw clicked through a painful yawn.

  Kaleena tutted at her. “We’re almost done, so strap on your big-girl boots.”

  Nadia didn’t even have the energy to respond to the condescension. “I’m exhausted, Ka—Wishmaster.”

  After returning from the house, Kaleena had marched Nadia straight here to start the process of give-and-take. This was how the Wishmaster rolled. When a bargain was struck, she gave the indebted the number of wishes they didn’t have, then took them back with a respective secret, before keeping those wishes as collateral until their end of the deal was fulfilled. Nadia tried not to think about what might happen to people who refused. If Kaleena could kill anyone “who would do harm unto others” without getting caught, it was probably easy enough for her to twist the parameters to suit her needs. All she’d have to do was believe that the other party intended to do harm, the way Grace simply had to make something into a game in order to win it, and Kaleena could whip out her license to kill.

  Kaleena remained unbothered, flipping open the lid of the first wish trap. “You don’t leave this room until I have those wishes back, so start spilling secrets. Just two, unless you feel like confessing more for the hell of it.”

  Nadia clasped her hands together and wedged them between her clamped thighs, feeling completely exposed. It had to be a good secret—a heart secret—or the wishes wouldn’t wing their way back into the wish trap. But, considering her fragile mental state, she wasn’t too far off a total breakdown, and the last thing she wanted to do was reveal something that might endanger her or her mom or her babcia or Miles—

  Miles. I’d feel better if Miles was here. The thought surprised her, but then again, he seemed to be the only person she could rely on. Maybe that was why Kaleena had him hauled off elsewhere when they’d arrived back at HQ.

  “I’m waiting.” Kaleena drummed her fingernails on the table.

  Nadia nodded. “Right, a secret.” She swallowed the frog in her throat. “Well, I suppose . . .” The words struggled to come out. “About two and a half years ago . . . No, two years, three months, and one week ago, I had a miscarriage. Afterward, the doctor said I was about eleven weeks along, but I hadn’t been sick, and I had my implant so there weren’t any missed periods to let me know. I found out I was pregnant and that I’d lost the baby in the same day. Depressing, really, to have that kind of news delivered in such a brutal way.” Her breath hitched, her eyes stinging with tired tears. “I never told anyone, not even Nick. There didn’t seem to be a point.”

  Nadia put a hand to her chest as the dual wish rush fizzled down to a singular tingle. One down, one more to go. She lifted her gaze to see if anything she’d said had reached her sister, but Kaleena’s face remained impassive as she touched the wish trap, apparently satisfied: a blank, cold sea, with no ripples or hidden currents of emotion beneath.

  “That’s one,” Kaleena prompted, opening the lid of the second jar.

  Nadia wanted to scream, but she bit her tongue. “My second secret . . .” She waited for inspiration. “When we were kids, I suppose I always felt sorry for you having to scrape Mom off the floor after Dad left. But I was secretly glad it wasn’t me having to fill those big shoes when he was gone.”

  Kaleena wrapped her hands around the wishing jar and sighed. “Not strong enough, little sister. Dig deeper. You’ve been in this game long enough to know what constitutes a heart secret.”

  Of course, Nadia had a bunch of secrets, but not many she could share with the Wishmaster. “Basha is alive” would get her skewered. “I can see where our mom is” would end the same way. “Your spying wish has some major flaws” was one she wanted to throw in Kaleena’s face, but it needed to stay hidden for as long as humanly possible.

  After a minute of nervous hesitation, she found something in her well of shared memories that she hoped would cut it as a heart secret. “It was my fault Roscoe died when we were kids. I let him out of the rabbit hutch after you told me not to, and the neighbor’s cat got him. He didn’t nibble his way out; I sawed that hole myself afterward.”

  Kaleena clapped her hands together. “I knew it!” She looked down in confusion for a moment, as if unsettled by her own outburst. Slowly, she sat back down and touched the wish trap. She smiled and closed the lid.

  “All done. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Kaleena sat back in her chair. “You can sleep now, and we’ll start on the second task in the morning when you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

  Desperate as Nadia was to hit the hay, a creeping worry held her in her chair. “Just tell me what the task is now. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to sleep.”

  “I have other things to attend to, and you look like crap. It can wait.” Kaleena gathered the wish traps into her arms and called out, “Calypso!” Her lackey entered, flashing those dead shark eyes. “Escort Nadia to her room. And make sure she gets a change of clothes and a shower—she smells like old fireplace logs. Come back here afterward. I’ve got another job that needs your skills, if you’re up for it.”

  “Will do. You know me—all work, all play. Gotta keep my aim sharp.” Calypso took out her knife and spun it on her palm, then turned her blade to Nadia, flicking it up to tell her to stand. “And don’t try touching me, or I’ll show you that my aim isn’t all I keep sharp.”

  Evidently, news of what Nadia could do had spread to Kaleena’s inner circle. She glanced at her sister, but Kaleena had turned away—and she was humming to herself, as nonchalant as ever. Why wasn
’t the Wishmaster more worried after Grace’s warning? Had her ego really inflated to such bulbous proportions that she believed no one would even consider crossing her? Or did she know something Nadia and Grace didn’t?

  After traipsing through another muddled labyrinth of corridors and hallways, Nadia found herself being marched along the upper floor of the building.

  “This is yours.” Calypso gestured to a sturdy-looking metal door. She opened it wide for Nadia to enter, but movement two doors down made her pause. Croak had just emerged from another room, a familiar face behind him.

  “Miles!” Nadia broke away from Calypso, knowing the shark-eyed woman wouldn’t dare to grab her, in case it left her open to being spied on.

  He cracked a grin as she ran up to the door. “You still up? I thought you’d have conked out ages ago, since you fell asleep twice on the way back.”

  “I thought you were down in the vaults!” Nadia said, her chest swelling with relief. “I just came from a meeting with the Wishmaster. She’s got something big planned for the morning.”

  “I got the same invite, so I guess we’ll find out together. Maybe she thinks we make a good team. Either way, I’m looking forward to wiping out this debt ASAP. Already told my manager I’m extending my relaxing stay in Savannah.”

  “Enough chitchat,” Calypso growled. “The rules are for you to stay in your rooms. So get in there.”

  “I’ve got some meditation to do anyway,” Miles said. “I have to be in my zone at 11:11, to really channel those chakras.” He gave Nadia a meaningful look. “If I miss it, I’m not myself.”

  Nadia understood, or at least she thought she did. Come 11:11, she’d have some channeling to do.

  For a moment, Nadia stood in the small annex, observing the bedroom beyond. She’d expected stark walls and sparse furnishings, to remind her she wasn’t free here. Instead, she found a room that looked like it belonged in a boutique hotel. Just how big was this place?

  She kicked off her shoes and socks and let the plush, plum-toned carpet envelop her bare feet as she shuffled over to the regal four-poster bed that took up most of the room. An obnoxiously large TV hung on the wall opposite the bed, while a solid oak writing desk took pride of place before an expansive window with a view of the street below. A thin plastic film that coated the pane made it impossible for Nadia to see much beyond vague light and shadow outside, and she was sure the same was true for anyone looking in.

  She found a closet with freshly laundered jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters in her size, plus some more formal attire—a blazer, a striped shirt, and cigarette pants—that resembled Kaleena’s fashion choices.

  The bathroom was sleek and well apportioned: a rainforest shower, a bunch of hotel-sized samples, and even a freaking bidet. This was a cage, but a well-gilded one.

  “Don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep,” she told herself as she sprawled out on the bed, sinking into the deep, cozy mattress and burying her face in one of the marshmallow pillows.

  Lifting her head wearily, she checked the LED clock on the bedside table. It read 11:09. Two more minutes and she could zip away to Miles’s mind. What her autopilot body would do while she was gone was anyone’s guess, but at least it wouldn’t be able to get out of the room. Small mercies.

  When the clock changed to 11:11, she closed her eyes and concentrated on Miles. The sucking vortex had become familiar enough that she barely felt it anymore, so it came as a bit of a surprise when she found herself staring at Miles’s face. For a terrifying moment, she worried she’d somehow zapped outside of his body and was just floating there—a bodiless entity with nowhere to go.

  He leaned closer, his eyes comically wide. “You in there, Nadia?”

  Still panicking, she realized she could feel his hands braced against a hard surface, along with the flutter of nerves in his stomach. The soothing, familiar smell of hotel shower gel drifted into his nostrils.

  Holy crap. It’s just a mirror. Oh, thank God. It’s just a mirror. She breathed a sigh of relief inside his head.

  “Guess you can’t talk back, huh?” Miles smiled anxiously. “If you’re not in there, I’m just a weirdo talking to myself in a mirror. So, you better be. Unless my message wasn’t clear? I tried to be clever, but maybe it was too vague. Ugh, I guess I’ll have to ask you in the morning and feel like an idiot then.”

  I’m here. She knew he couldn’t hear or sense her, but she felt she owed him a conversation instead of a monologue.

  He tapped his temple. “You know, the Wishmaster wanted to send me out solo on that ‘errand’ to your house. But I asked her to let you come with me because, well, I figured you’d want the chance to talk to your family again. Though I’m real sorry it turned out how it did.”

  Me too. A sudden swell of admiration hit her, even in astral form. He had pressured Kaleena not out of self-interest but to ensure that Nadia could have some sense of closure.

  “This might sound stupid, but I feel like I’ve known you forever now,” Miles continued. “It’s like being in a band, you know? Your bassist might’ve done some dumb shit—chucked a TV out a hotel window or something—but you have their back because . . . well, because you’ve stuck together, so you might as well keep sticking together. Does that make sense? Nah, probably not.

  “Anyway, as messed up as the past couple days have been, it’s almost been good for me.” He paused, thinking. “Working with you has been a way to prove to myself that I’m more than just a rich, famous, good-looking, talented musician, with an ass you could bounce a quarter off.” He grinned cheekily. Nadia would’ve grinned back, if she’d had the lips.

  He busted out laughing, clutching his abdomen. “Did I just say that? Now I’m hoping you ain’t up in there. You won’t let me live that down.” He calmed to a soft chuckle. “I’m hoping you can’t read my thoughts either, but I got the feeling that ain’t part of the body-hopping deal.”

  She couldn’t, but she could feel the nervous energy bubbling inside him, like champagne fizzing in a flute. If she’d been in the room with him, she’d have reminded him that his charisma and his good humor probably had a lot to do with his success. He deserved an ego stroke after going out on so many limbs for her recently.

  “Damn, this psychoanalysis stuff ain’t easy.” He rubbed a hand across his buzzed head. “I see why folks pay you the big bucks to do it for them. Yakking in a mirror is probably a one-way ticket to crazy town, right? Hey, that’s an album name if there ever was one, maybe for like a—”

  You’re rambling . . .

  “I’m rambling, aren’t I?” he said, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Anyway, look, I’m just glad we’re still alive. And seeing your situation, it . . . I don’t know, made me get you more. I mean, you’ve got a lot of baggage trailing you. You’re tough, you know, but you’re also . . . softer. Softer than I’d be, if I’d gone through what you have—and I mean that in a good way!

  “When my mom died, I couldn’t get out of bed for a week,” he went on, his eyes glazing over. “I leaned on some crutches that wouldn’t have made her proud at all. It took a while for me to wake up and smell the stale smoke, and I realized I had two choices: drown everything out in the white noise of being drunk or high, or turn myself around and try to pour all that grief into something. A terrible album with the reviewers, sure, but it was my therapy. And mock my baths all you like, but that’s part of my daily decision to be a better version of myself. Seems like I still fail most of the time, but hey—live and learn.”

  Nadia spoke back to him in her mind. What if that better version of me is gone? What if I had it, and it died when Nick did? I’ve tried to get myself together, I’ve tried to move forward, but going back to the way things were is the only way I can heal. I know it is. It embarrassed her to admit, but she wasn’t sure who she was without Nick. Maybe that revealed a lack of character, but it was the truth, nonetheless.

  “What I’m trying to say is, I can’t imagine what it was like f
or you to lose your husband.” He dipped his chin to his chest, lowering his eyes. “And I just want you to know that, now that we’ve gone through all this shit together, we’re . . . stuck together. Welcome to the band, I guess. Or maybe I’m joining yours. Whichever.” He yawned, his speech slowing.

  Moving away from the mirror, he padded through to the bedroom and flopped back on the bed. “I’ve got your back, Nads—that’s the last time I’ll call you that, I swear—and I know you’ve got mine.” He laughed to himself, and she sensed he might say more. But as the silence stretched on, his eyes closed slowly, and his breaths grew softer. In his loose, relaxed body, Nadia could feel that he’d fallen asleep.

  Leaving him to his well-earned rest, Nadia returned to her body to find it standing in a robe in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her teeth, her hair wet. She burst out laughing, confused by how her body seemed to have a mind of its own while her actual mind was elsewhere. Who was running this puppet? Whoever it was, she was grateful it’d had the sense to shower. It wasn’t all fun and games, though—if her body did what it wanted while she was gone, she’d have to be careful about that in the future.

  After swilling the toothpaste from her mouth, Nadia stared at herself in the mirror, echoing him. “You’re a good person, Miles. And I’m lucky to get to see a side of you that no one else gets to see.”

  She headed out of the bathroom and crawled into bed. Tired as she was, she still couldn’t sleep. Her body was begging for rest, but her mind wasn’t playing ball, no matter how many times she flipped and flopped under the covers.

  Exasperated, she got up and searched her pile of clothes for the journal.

  She untied the black ribbon that held the book closed and opened it to the first page, which read: This journal is the property of Julita Kaminski.

  Sitting cross-legged, she began to read the delicate, expressive handwriting of her own great-grandmother. The same one whose image hung above her bed. Or used to. Having been driven straight here, with no opportunity to watch the news, she didn’t know how much of the Kaminski Mansion remained, if any.