Halfway Hexed

by Kimberly Frost

  “What?” I asked, clamoring to my feet. I rushed back to the clearing. Bryn was on his knees, bleeding from his arm and neck, arms outstretched to ward off spells from both Barrett and Mrs. Thornton.

  “Stop!” I screamed. “Stop it!”

  Mercutio darted sideways, drawing my eyes.

  Scarface! No!

  With dead eyes and a black expression, Scarface pointed his gun at Bryn’s back. My arm moved instantly, finger squeezing the trigger, and I unloaded the clip. Scarface’s stunned expression fixed on me as he crumpled. I swiveled back to Bryn.

  He lay facedown on the ground. I ran to him, sliding the last few feet.

  “No!” I screamed, finding the bloody hole in his back. I turned him over and ripped open his shirt. No wound. The bullet was somewhere in his chest.

  With labored breathing, he turned deathly pale, blue eyes wide with shock. “Can’t breathe,” he gasped.

  “No,” I sobbed, bending forward and holding his chest. I didn’t know how to help him. “Please, please don’t die. Take power from me.” I kissed him, but his eyes rolled back.

  I saw Mrs. Thornton’s legs and I jerked up, shoving her back. “Don’t touch him!” I snarled. “I’ll kill you if you touch him.”

  “You won’t because you can’t. I’m the most powerful witch in the world,” she said coolly. “Now move aside. He’s dying. I’ll end his pain.”

  I stood and stepped over Bryn’s body, advancing on her. She flung a spell that knocked me to my knees. The pain was terrible, like all my bones were grinding against each other, crushing my insides.

  I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe.

  She stepped around me. “I should have done this years ago,” she said, leaning over Bryn.

  When her spell released me, I fell forward. I rolled immediately and kicked her leg, knocking her down. She didn’t strike the ground. Her body levitated, her magic stronger than gravity.

  I crawled on top of Bryn, covering his body to protect him from her.

  “Move!” she said.

  “Maggie, let her say good-bye to him,” John Barrett called. “Come help me with this leg. I’m bleeding badly!”

  I twisted my arms around Bryn’s neck and kissed him, trying to shove magic into him. It didn’t work. He didn’t inhale. He wasn’t breathing.

  Fear and panic swallowed me up, my heart breaking.

  “Please,” I mumbled, searching for the words that would keep him with me.

  Blood of my blood. Bone of my bone.

  Two bodies, one. Never alone.

  I felt a white burning in my chest, like a balloon had been inflated too far, like my chest would explode. Mercutio yowled next to me.

  “Ahhh! Bite him,” I rasped. “Here. Make a hole,” I said, shoving Merc’s head down against Bryn’s chest. “Something’s in there. Let it out. Hurry—” I swayed, the world darkening. I was dying, too. I fell onto Bryn’s chest.

  The world lurched and faded through a haze of spots and stripes. Pain pierced my chest, like a spike stabbing me. A rush of hissing air escaped, and hot blood sprayed my face. My vision cleared. Bloody bubbles frothed out of Bryn’s punctured chest, releasing the deadly pressure.

  My eyes darted around. Mrs. Thornton had gone to John Barrett and was binding his leg where I’d shot him.

  I drew my finger across my cut leg and mixed my blood with Bryn’s, then rubbed it over my lips like gloss. “Blood of my blood, bone of my bone,” I whispered as I kissed him. He breathed in, magic curling from my mouth to his. I pushed it into him, wanting him to have it all.

  He mumbled against my lips.

  “My God, no! My friend,” Andre sobbed, kneeling over us. Andre lapsed into German as I stood.

  “Watch over him, Andre,” I said.

  Mrs. Thornton finished tying a makeshift bandage around John Barrett’s leg. I dug my toes in the mud, just as she turned her head and narrowed her eyes at me.

  She stood. “What have you done?” she asked, stalking toward me.

  “To kill one of us, you have to kill us both.”

  She sighed wearily. “And you think I want you alive more than I want him dead?”

  “Don’t you?” I asked, backing toward the woods.

  “It’s not too late for Melanie or Marlee to have another child. I have many things with which to bargain. One doesn’t become the most powerful force in magic by letting sentiment rule.”

  The wind whipped rain across my face, making me blink. “I’m your own flesh and blood. Please don’t do this.”

  “Undo the bond between you and Lyons. You can’t save him, but you can save yourself,” she said, edging toward me, a predator stalking prey.

  I stood under an enormous oak, cringing. “Betray the people I love? I don’t do that,” I whispered, dragging my foot across the roots to make the cut gush blood. “Would rather die.”

  She sighed and raised her arm. “So be it.”

  Tears welled. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Protect me, tree. Stop her dead.”

  The branch cracked with a sound that drowned out the thunder. I heard her shriek, felt the ground quake.

  I bit my lip, the pain almost as strong as the lump in my throat. I opened my eyes. Part of the branch had pierced her belly. She lay pinned and breathless, her lips bloodless white.

  Tears overflowed as I knelt over her. “You made me,” I whispered. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

  She clenched her jaw and whispered a spell, lifting the heavy tree limb a couple of inches. She grabbed her skewered stomach with a cry of pain and let the limb fall. The rain ebbed and stopped, like heaven had turned off a faucet.

  “I underestimated you,” she said with a gurgling breath. “I, of all people.”

  “Hello, Margaret.”

  I looked up, and Bryn’s mother’s ghost stood a few feet away, all luminous light and glowing skin.

  Mrs. Thornton didn’t look at her.

  I stared at the Winterhawk, horrified. “It was you? You killed Bryn’s mom and trapped her soul?”

  “She married a Lyons against our wishes. She was our student. We mentored her. She—she should have listened. She defied us. She wasted—wasted her talent. Wasted her life . . .” Mrs. Thornton clutched her stomach.

  “Let’s not forget my spells,” Cassandra said.

  “Yes,” Margaret said fiercely. “I ruled—ruled the whole world with those spells.” She coughed and moaned. “Ruled.”

  I felt Mrs. Thornton’s soul leave her body, a rush of cold air passing me.

  I looked up at Cassandra. Her light brightened.

  “Hi,” I stammered, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Your son’s here. He’d give anything to see you.”

  She floated closer. “You freed me.” Her phantom finger traced my cheek, down my neck, and came to rest over the spot where her brooch was under the silk, touching my skin. “Such a lovely, brave girl. Will you help me do one more thing before I go?”

  I nodded, biting my lip.

  A brush of silk and warmth, and then my body was crowded. I exhaled, squeezing smaller until the warmth closed around me. My hands and arms changed, like a glamour covering me. The hair hanging down darkened to deep chestnut.

  We stood and walked to where Bryn lay. His breathing was even, but fast, his skin still pale, but not deathly so.

  His eyes widened when he saw us. “Are you—Who are you?” he rasped.

  “You know,” we whispered, bending down. We brushed a kiss over his cheek. “My beautiful son. How much I’ve always loved you. More than life.” Another kiss. “I’ll see you again, but not soon.” We smiled at him. “Not soon.”

  He clutched our arm, and we squeezed his hand.

  “Where is he? Where is Lennox?” we asked, standing. We turned and returned to the trees.

  Lennox sat propped against a trunk. He looked disheveled and dazed.

  “Here you are,” we said softly and knelt next to him.

  With effort, he raised his battered fac
e. He tipped his skull against the bark. “Am I dreaming or am I dead?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Have you written songs for me this week?” we asked.

  He raised his brows. “I . . . don’t write songs anymore. Not since you left me.”

  “My love,” we whispered and kissed him.

  He cupped the back of our head, the kiss deep and full of pain and passion. It got hard to breathe. We pulled back. He tried to hold on.

  “Cassie, stay,” he said fiercely.

  “I loved you more than music. More than magic. More than life,” we whispered. “Don’t forget me.”

  “Never,” he said with tears in his eyes. “Not for a day. Not for an hour.”

  As her soul tore free of my body, I fell back. I landed on the ground, staring up as she rose through the tree limbs into the star-studded sky.

  The ground was so very cold, and I was so very tired.

  Chapter 39

  I woke up crying, but couldn’t remember my dream. I felt Merc’s fur against one arm and touched him, then rolled on my side. Bryn was next to me in the bed, an IV dripping in his arm. Dr. Suri was asleep in a nearby chair. Both of them had more than a day’s worth of stubble.

  I looked around the small downstairs guest room.

  Bryn opened his eyes. They were bloodshot, but back to their usual bright blue.

  “We’re alive,” I said.

  “Apparently,” he said in a raspy voice. “Against all odds.”

  I smiled. Against all odds. “You’re probably not used to being the underdog. Lucky I was there to show you how it’s done.”

  “Lucky you were there,” he agreed.

  I turned my head, hearing children’s voices. “What’s going on? Who’s out there?”

  “A lot of places flooded. This house didn’t.”

  I sat up slowly, feeling a little woozy. “So?”

  “People asked to stay here.”

  “And you said yes?” I didn’t manage to keep the shock from my voice.

  He nodded.

  I smiled and kissed his cheek. “That is so sweet of you.”

  The corner of his mouth curled up as his lids drifted shut. “I knew you would think so.”

  My brows rose, but he didn’t open his eyes again. I climbed out of bed, letting out a hiss of pain when my foot hit the floor. The problem with wounded feet is sooner or later you have to walk on them.

  Someone had dressed me in white flannel pajamas. I didn’t want to think about who, since I was sure Bryn would’ve been too weak to do it.

  I shuffled out of the room. There were people scattered everywhere. On air mattresses and sleeping bags, sitting on couches and in chairs. The ladies from First Methodist were serving donuts and scones and coffee.

  I heard agitated German and followed it to where Andre was arguing with Rollie the vampire, as Johnny tried to calm them down.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “Rollie bite Mr. Andre. Mr. Andre get mad.”

  Since Andre was standing and shaking a fist at Rollie, I took it that Andre was okay despite the pincushion treatment.

  “Rollie!” I said.

  “What? I would’ve bitten your boyfriend, but he didn’t look like he could spare even a drop. What in the world did you do to him?” Rollie asked.

  I shot him a harassed look. “Can’t you get blood from a blood bank?” I demanded. “Put some of those packets in a foam cooler in your trunk for when you travel?”

  “I only drink organic.”

  “This isn’t a Whole Foods! This is a house. Behave yourself.”

  I marched back out into the hallway and smiled at all the people who were telling me good morning. I wandered into the kitchen.

  Cookie and Mr. Jenson were at the countertop. Cookie poured brownie mix into a pan. Mr. Jenson poured steaming water into a teapot.

  Aunt Mel and Lennox Lyons were sitting together at the kitchen table, but stopped talking when they saw me.

  “Morning,” I said hesitantly.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Aunt Mel said, getting up to give me a hug.

  “You’re not mad?” I asked.

  “No. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.” She kissed me, and I smelled her black currant and flowers perfume, felt her hoop earring graze my jaw. Home. So great.

  As she sat back down, I moved over to Mr. Jenson.

  “Mr. Jenson, remember that doll you were keeping for me? What’d you do with her?” I whispered, thinking that the last thing I wanted was for anyone to discover the mini Jenna Reitgarten.

  “I took her out of the glass case to let her clothes air out. She and her companion doll are in the locked library,” he said in a low voice.

  “Oh, good. I’ll figure out how to get them back to their rightful owners after breakfast. Or if I’m too busy and Bryn’s too tired, maybe after dinner . . . or, you know, tomorrow.” I smiled. Just a little.

  “Very good,” Mr. Jenson murmured, totally unfazed as he got warm scones out of the oven. When I get old, I plan to be as unflappable as Mr. Jenson.

  I started to the door, but caught Lennox’s eye as I passed the table.

  “Good morning,” I said. “Are you—How are you?”

  “Better than I’ve been,” he said, his voice smooth. He poured coffee into a cup and nodded to the chair next to him. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  The invitation shocked and warmed me.

  “Um, maybe later? There are a lot of people around. I’m gonna get dressed.” I reached over and took the cup, having a swallow of the dark roast and snagging a warm brownie drizzled with caramel. I took a couple fast bites and set the rest on the saucer next to my cup. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I got as far as the door before I turned back. “I’m glad you’re better.”

  “Of course you are. You’ve taken it upon yourself to fix everything that’s wrong with the world.” His voice was dry, but the corner of his mouth edged up into a smile. Just like Bryn’s. “What’s on your agenda next week? Peace in the Middle East? Should take you what? Three or four days to clear that up?”

  “Nah.” I laughed softly. “At least a week.”

  He choked out a laugh.

  I waved and left the kitchen, not able to wipe the smile from my face. I spotted Steve standing guard outside Bryn’s library door.

  I nodded. “How’s the arm?” I asked.

  “Still works,” he said, glancing at Georgia Sue who was taking a group of ladies on a tour of the hallway paintings.

  “Now this one’s by that Pissarro. Isn’t that so pretty? Just like a museum. Oh here’s Tammy Jo,” Georgia said, rushing over to give me a hug. “People are talking about you! You saved that little Paige and her babysitter after you’d already rescued a carload of little lost girls. Some people are even saying you saved the town. And Bryn Lyons told everyone you convinced him to open up his house so people would have a roof over their heads while the town dries out.”

  “People aren’t mad at me?” I asked, glancing around. No one seemed to be giving me dirty looks. “No one’s siding with the Reitgartens?”

  “Haven’t you heard? The sheriff’s got proof that Mindy Glusky from Dyson is the one who arranged for those gunmen to come to the Fish-and-Fowl fund-raiser, and Mindy’s claiming that Jenna put her up to it. Sheriff Hobbs wants those Reitgartens for questioning, and where are they? Some folks are saying they took off to avoid getting interrogated.”

  “Wow.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “So when Jenna turns up—”

  “If she turns up.”

  “She’ll be in trouble? She’ll have a hard time convincing people to believe whatever wild explanations she has for her crazy behavior.”

  Georgia Sue nodded.

  “Well, I hope it all dies down real quick, so the town can get back to normal,” I said, extracting myself from them, feeling good that no one seemed to want to yell at me—or, you know, burn me at the stake. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have to get dressed.
”

  Craig Cuskin appeared in a doorway. I raised my eyebrows, surprised to see him.

  “I snuck onto their computers and deleted the footage of you. I overwrote the disks with new stuff,” he said.

  “So it’s gone?”

  “Yeah, you forgive me?”

  I nodded.

  “Good, because you rock. We all think so. Maybe you’d let us do a calendar with pictures of you—regular pictures. Just swimsuits . . . to raise money for the Duvall rebuilding,” he said. “You know, for charity, Tammy Jo.”

  “Aren’t there enough girls in bikinis on the Internet for you?” I said, flabbergasted.

  “It’s not the same . . .” he said, but I didn’t hear the rest of his argument.

  I limped up the stairs on my sore foot and went to the green guest room.

  I pulled the door open and walked in, surprised to find John Barrett lying on the bed in a nightshirt with his leg bandaged and his arm shackled to the bed frame.

  “Oh. Hi there,” I said. “Your leg okay?”

  “Cracked tibia. Nice shot.”

  “Um. Thanks,” I said hesitantly.

  “I’m not angry about you shooting me. It was just business,” he said.

  I thought in his place I’d have taken it personally, but didn’t say so. I perched on the chair next to the bed. “I guess you’ve lost your job now as president, huh?”

  “You killed the president.”

  “You mean she was secretly in charge of everything? You just pretended to be?”

  He nodded. “She never had the title, but she didn’t need it.”

  “How come you went along with that?”

  His eyes twinkled. “A great many reasons.”

  “Did you help her kill Bryn’s mom? Cassandra?”

  “No, but I helped her cover it up,” he said with a sigh. “Lovely Cassie was the greatest spell-writer of her age, but she was going to expose Margaret for using her brilliant work. Spells that could wipe away any traces of dangerous or powerful magic. Spells that could wound from a distance. She’d written them as class assignments when she was in your grandmother Josephine’s courses. Margaret saw their potential. She saved thousands of lives by eliminating threats to our world. She was a patriot. And later, she was a great leader. There was only one problem. Cassandra recognized the spells and confronted Maggie. A serious mistake. Cassie’s death should’ve been the end of it, but then Cassie’s son grew up and would not stay quietly in America, away from politics. And he got involved with you.”