Slightly Spellbound

by Kimberly Frost

  “You’ll be stuck. Indefinitely invisible.”

  “Nah,” I said, walking away. “The spell will rub off eventually. My magic’s kind of wobbly,” I said, which was true, but of course, the last time I’d made someone disappear and turn bite-sized, it had stuck really well. It had taken us weeks and a dangerous adventure to lift that spell. What if I stayed invisible for months? That would be a complete pain in the behind.

  I stepped tentatively into the territory where my senses muted and then back. I squatted down, looking at the ground, trying to find a line or symbol marking the transition.

  “It’s the lych’s magic.”

  “It is? Is it poisonous?”

  “Not to fae.”

  “Well, that’s okay, then, right? Since I’m half,” I said.

  He shrugged.

  “What is a lych anyway?” I asked.

  “If you offered me friendship and hospitality, I’d be very generous with information.”

  “Yeah, you’re just the guy to help me out,” I said. “Rose-thorn-wielding, arrow-shooting, cat-threatening faery that you are.” I stood. “The truth is, Crux, I recently met an alligator who tried to swallow me in a single bite. He was more trustworthy than you.” I took a deep breath of fresh forest air before I stepped across the invisible line into the muted world of lych magic.

  He chuckled. “The alligator’s in good company. Like him, I enjoyed the taste of you. Swallowing you in one bite, or several, would be a pleasure.”

  Lecherous jerk. I blushed, frowned, and kept walking.

  “You can’t ignore me forever,” he called.

  “You’re likely right about that,” I said. “Eventually, I’ll probably shoot you. Or run you out of town. Or both.”

  He laughed, and that annoying sound was the last thing I heard as I ventured deeper into the heart of a sensory wasteland.

  • • •

  THE NIGHT FELT full of cobwebs, like my skin was covered in cotton candy. I rubbed but couldn’t get the film off. The air thickened and clogged my mouth and throat. I had a really strong urge to turn back before I suffocated, but buried somewhere deep in my belly was another instinct. It said to soldier on. It told me I was getting close.

  I put my palms out in front of me as though pushing through muck, but then my feet stopped. I looked down at the edge of murky mud that my toes curled back from. Knowing how fond of mud my toes are, this struck me as weird. I inched back and crouched down, eyeing it suspiciously. I reached out and sank my finger into the grime. It was cold and heavy as death. I jerked my hand away. The tarry mess clung to my finger. I wiped it on the ground, getting as much off as I could in the damp grass.

  I was not going through that mud, but the instincts that had carried me through the crossing didn’t want me to turn back. The marshmallow still warm in my belly drew me north. I squinted, trying to see through the dark fog. There didn’t seem to be anything in front of me. Just more of the same terrain that I’d come through, but I heard something through my clogged ears. I held my breath and cocked my head, listening.

  Tweets.

  In the distance, birds chirped.

  Those little guys again. They’d been near Vangie’s hotel room, too. Were they watching over her? Like a fallen Snow White?

  I had to go on, but I misplaced my hand as I tried to stand and it sank to the wrist in that lifeless bog. I didn’t have any doubt that if the mud pit was deep enough, my body would sink like a stone in quicksand.

  I walked the edge, and it seemed to go on forever, like an unending line in the forest, like a moat as long as the wall of China.

  Can’t go around. Can’t go across.

  I glanced at a large tree.

  Have to go over.

  I climbed, my bare legs scraping bark. I paid them no mind. When I was around ten feet up, I crawled out onto a thick limb. Too bad Mercutio wasn’t with me. This maneuver was just his style. Plus, I think he would’ve appreciated my nimbleness. The limb grew narrow, but I balanced like a gymnast on a beam. Well, kind of. I didn’t walk out there on my toes; I inched out on my belly like a worm. A worm with hands and feet clutching the branch. Okay, maybe Mercutio wouldn’t have been that impressed.

  At the end of the branch, it dipped toward the ground. I dropped off the side, dangling by my arms. I swept my toes over the dirt. Definitely not a Tammy-Jo-swallowing mud moat. I let go and landed solid.

  I turned and stepped forward, feeling a pop. My ears cleared, the air thinned to normal, and the smell of gardenias and death hit me like a fist.

  I let out a slow breath and tiptoed forward. A tent shimmered into view, like a desert mirage. One second there’d been nothing, the next a large white tent that could’ve slept at least ten people appeared right in front of me. Black sparrows were in all the branches of the surrounding trees. I narrowed my eyes. Not only weren’t the seaside sparrows extinct, Duvall and Dyson seemed to be infested with them. Why was that? I wondered.

  I crept forward and turned sideways to move the tarp as little as possible as I entered the tent. There were half a dozen burning oil lanterns and in the center of the room, Vangie lay as I’d seen her in my vision, pale and unmoving.

  Small feathers lay scattered around her, and clusters of wilting gardenias stretched from her waist to her throat. A crown of them had been placed on her head since I’d last seen her. Moving closer, I pushed the gardenias aside and found several small splotches of dried blood on her chest. I clenched my teeth. Somebody was in big trouble when I caught up to him.

  I bent and touched her cool skin. Under her jaw, her pulse throbbed, though faintly. She wasn’t gray as she’d been in my vision. I tilted my head and studied her. Her skin was as white as a pearl and silky smooth.

  I lifted her gown’s neckline and looked inside, finding a circle of thin cuts. How deep were they? Not very, I thought. They were arranged in a perfect little oval, like an Art Deco jewelry design. I imagined someone performing a blood ritual. What kind of spell had she been used for? I wondered with a shudder.

  All right, then. We’re getting the heck out of here.

  I grabbed the flower crown and dragged it off her head. Tossing it aside, I whispered her name. She didn’t respond. I shook her shoulders.

  “Vangie, wake up,” I said louder.

  She lay still as a corpse.

  “Evangeline! Open your eyes!” I hollered.

  Then I remembered that she wouldn’t be able to hear me anyway since I was invisible. I slapped her cheeks lightly, but that didn’t work. I pressed down on her chin. I didn’t spot any pieces of poison apple in her mouth. Just checking, I thought with a shake of my head.

  I swiped the gardenia petals off her and saw blue bruises on her neck. She’d been sliced and choked. I stiffened with fury.

  “C’mon, you have to get up,” I said, pushing hard on her collarbones. She bobbed. My brows shot up, and I lifted the willowy fabric of her dress so I could see what she lay on. It was an air mattress, like she was on a deadly supernatural camping trip.

  “All right. I’m not a faery prince, but for all I know I could be a faery princess. I never knew my daddy or his people. I suppose I could be royalty. Nobody’s said I’m not.” I bent and kissed her. My lips tingled, but hers didn’t even twitch. She tasted like menthol cough drops and Bryn’s magic. His spell must have worked, at least a little. That’s why she didn’t look as dead and gray. If I could get her back to his house, we could do more magic spells to heal her and maybe she’d be okay.

  “Well,” I told her. “I didn’t expect a kiss from me to work, but a kiss from the rescuer always does the trick in movies, so I had to give it a shot.”

  I heaved a sigh and decided to try a spell.

  Digging my toes in the dirt, I said, “Hi, Earth. It’s me, witch-fae Tammy Jo Trask again. I don’t think me being invisible means you can’t hear me. Pretty sure you’re stronger than any magic, witch or faery. I’ve got to get my friend out of here, and she’s a little too big fo
r me to carry. Anyway, if you’re not busy, I could use your help.” I cleared my throat. “Here goes.”

  I bent close to Vangie’s ear.

  It’s not morning, but it’s time to get up.

  This creepy camping is no fun.

  Defy the lych and wake on up.

  We’re leaving on the run.

  Nothing at all happened, except that I slapped my hip in frustration and cursed a little.

  “Well, Vangie, you can be stubborn about staying unconscious if you want, but I’m not leaving you here.” I ripped the hem of her dress and tied the fabric around the handhold at one end of the air mattress. I dragged the mattress into a position that was on a direct line to the tarp door and then hooked the torn fabric over my shoulder. I leaned forward and pulled. It was slow work hauling that mattress over the ground, but I got it outside.

  I was fairly sure that the air mattress would float over the mud, but I ripped some more strips of fabric and tied them together. I hooked the tree branch with an end and gave a tug to slip the knot into a tight noose.

  “Okay, Vangie, here we go,” I said, kneeling on the mattress next to her calves and pushing us out onto the moat. The stinking mud glopped up the sides of the air mattress. I gagged and wrinkled my nose, trying not to breathe too deeply.

  I pulled and paddled us until the mattress bumped against the other edge.

  “Good,” I murmured. “I’ll just climb off.” I crawled over Vangie, but all of a sudden the mattress jerked. I fell forward, my elbows on the regular ground, but the mattress popped out from under me and my legs fell into the mud. I yelled as the mud sucked me down. I had to battle my way out of the muck, and by the time I did, Vangie and the mattress were almost out of reach.

  Skeleton Guy was on the far side of the moat, hauling Vangie and the mattress away.

  I dove forward and grabbed the fabric hooked to the handle on my end.

  “You let go! She’s my friend! You’re not keeping her!” He couldn’t hear me, which was lucky, but also unsatisfying.

  Skeleton Guy yanked and I had to let go or fall into the bog. If I fell all the way in, I knew I’d drown. That mud was too thick and foul.

  I needed to knock Skeleton Guy into it. I ran and jumped, grabbing the fabric hanging from the tree. I swung like Tarzan and kicked Skeleton Guy. My feet sank into the nearly translucent flesh that apparently sometimes covered his bones. It was like he was made of Jell-O.

  “Gross!” I yelled, yanking my legs back.

  Fleshy Skeleton Guy dropped the mattress and fell back, clutching his middle.

  “What are you?” I demanded, trying to rub the gelatinous goop off my legs.

  He whispered a spell and magic blasted the area. I’d swung back over to the ground under the tree, then dropped and rolled out of the line of fire. The smell of decay from the mud was mixed with a weird cloying perfume smell. Crushed gardenias, I realized.

  The mud and goop dried, feeling like sugar glaze on my limbs, making me itch. I scraped at it and stood. My nails dug into a very itchy spot and I hissed at the burn. I felt wetness and knew I’d scratched hard enough to draw blood. Blurred images flashed before my eyes. I squinted but couldn’t make out the details, except that I’d left Texas.

  Wind whipped all around my head, and screeching birds flew with beating wings toward me. The sparrows circled, then dove and pecked at my legs. I beat them away.

  I inhaled a breath of gardenias and rotten eggs, and I saw a girl on a bed of leaves. She lay next to a pond in a park. On every side, tall buildings loomed, and on a bridge crossing the pond, a row of sparrows watched. A blond man with his back to me scattered gardenia petals on her body and whispered.

  I strained my eyes, studying the fallen girl. The vision was hazy, as if behind a veil. Stars dotted the misty sky. The constellations sparkled, pulsing with power. I followed their light down and saw her face.

  Edie.

  It was my very own aunt Edie. She lay perfectly still with alabaster skin and dark waves clinging to her shoulders.

  “No!” I screamed as the figure flourished a knife and bent over her. He cut with care like a master painter at his canvas. Slivers of pain sliced me. Stop it!

  The image disappeared with a pop, and I was back in Duvall, clutching my chest. I jerked my hands up. No blood. I was okay, except that I was sure I’d seen Edie’s murderer preparing to kill her. I felt cold all the way to the marrow of my bones.

  Skeleton Guy and his rotten magic were connected to Edie’s death. Had he been there? Was he the legacy of her murderer? All that was left of a monster?

  And Vangie, his latest victim. How much longer did she have before he killed her?

  I rushed around the tree and back to the moat.

  “Don’t you dare! I’ll kill you!” I screamed. Unfortunately, threats are a lot more effective if the threatened party can hear them being made.

  Skeleton Guy didn’t look up. He pulled Vangie off the mattress and carried her away. I ran and jumped. I sailed over the moat, almost making it all the way across. One leg sank into the mud, but my other foot made it to the bank. I sprang forward, dragging my leg free.

  I sprinted after Skeleton Guy, but he disappeared. Light from the stars beamed down, and I zipped through the trees.

  I couldn’t find Skeleton Guy and Vangie in the woods. “Where is he, Trees? Where did he go?” I panted, listening for a hint. The trees remained silent under an oppressive spell. “C’mon!” I yelled, my hands in fists, my muscles tight.

  Minutes ticked by, and I raced left and right, straining my eyes for a sign of them. In the distance I heard a car motor.

  A car motor?

  I was pretty sure that Skeleton Guy couldn’t drive. Did he have a master who had been waiting for him?

  “No!” I yelled, stomping my foot. I ran toward the sound, but it faded away before I reached the clearing. I’d lost her. I shoved my hands through my hair, raking my nails over my scalp. I’d lost her to a murderer, and I had no idea how much time she had left.

  31

  ON THE WAY back to Bryn’s, tears spilled down my freezing cheeks, and I tried to organize my thoughts. I couldn’t ignore the fact that Crux had shown up right around the time that Vangie had been abducted, and he claimed to know what the creature was that had taken her. Did he have something to do with it? Or was he really in Duvall for some other reason? And, if so, what?

  As brilliant as Bryn was, there was no way he could help me with fae magic or politics. I realized I did have a way to get information on the Unseelie court. There was a small fae operative named Nixella Pipken Rose that I’d defeated. I could summon her.

  “Nixella Pipken Rose, come to me.”

  Nixella appeared, instantly furious, as usual. She was the size of the average six- or seven-year-old, but her skin was as green as a ripe avocado, and she had fingers and toes that were twice as long as a human’s. She sneered, baring her teeth, which were pointed to needlelike tips.

  “How dare you!” she yelled. “You have no right to call me to you. No right to use my name. You promised not to! When I took your cat out of that burning house.”

  “Oops. I forgot about that.”

  “Stupid, stupid witch,” she said, giving me a vicious shove.

  “Hang on, Nixella, I have a question for you.”

  “Why would I answer your questions? I wish you were dead,” she snapped.

  “Yeah, well, you may get your wish, but before that we could make a trade. There must be something you want?”

  She paused, some of her anger cooling. “You only have one talent.”

  “I do?” I asked, trying to figure out which magical thing she thought I did well. I couldn’t imagine.

  “Yes, stupid witch. You make sweeties.”

  “Oh, right. I am talented at that.”

  “I want vanilla cake with vanilla icing,” she said. “No, honey cakes with extra honey. No, spice cake with sweet creamy cheese frosting.”

  “I can do th
at. I’ll make you a cake.”

  “Not one! A bunch of pastries. No, a stacked cake.”

  “Sure.”

  “Taller than me.”

  “Taller than—”

  “Taller than me! I get to pick the layer cake’s flavors. As many as I want.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But first, you have to answer my questions. What is the faery knight Crux’s mission in Duvall?”

  She froze. “One of the golden knights is in Duvall?”

  “You didn’t know? Your queen sent him.”

  “My queen? She did not! If my lady highness could command a golden knight, she would order him to kill the Seelie Queen and when he came to report his triumphant success, she’d have him skinned and mounted on a torture cross.”

  My brows shot up. “Isn’t Crux an assassin of the Unseelie court?”

  Nixella shook her head.

  “Then who is Crux?”

  “Crux is a knight of the Seelie court. Part of the golden trio, which we hate more than all others.”

  “The golden trio?”

  “Caedrin, the tracker. Crux, the trainer. Colis, the tree-keeper. The reported favorites of their queen. They’re deadly and kill all Seelie enemies, including our own great assassin, Bitter Nole. If given a chance, I would cut the heart from Crux’s body, burn it black, and serve it at a party to mark the anniversary of Nole’s death.”

  “You said Crux is a trainer. Who does he train?”

  “Seelie spies and assassins. Where did you see Crux, worthless witch? In the woods? How far from here? What was he doing? What did he say? Tell me everything, and I’ll see that you’re rewarded.”

  I pointed and explained about running into him in the woods. The Unseelie fae weren’t my allies, but neither were the Seelie. If the Unseelie wanted to run Crux off, that would suit me fine.

  “Nixella, I’m invisible to humans.”

  “Yes, I see the spell.” She tilted her head. “It looks rather . . . golden. Did Crux help you with it? You must never align yourself with the Seelie. Not if you expect to live here in our territory. The queen doesn’t like witches, but she tolerates your kind as long as you don’t damage what’s ours, the trails, the woods . . . She suspects that nature will kill you all eventually, so my lady highness doesn’t trouble herself about you. But any ally to the light fae—that would be—” She pursed her lips. “No, she would never suffer a Seelie friend to live.”